ESSAYS ON ENGLISH
LITERATURE
ESSAYS ON ENGLISH
LITERATURE
BY THOMAS M^NICOLL
ALDI
LONDON
BASIL MONTAGU PICKERING
196 PICCADILLY
1861
fR
TO
JOHN ROBINSON KAY E s q^
OF WALMERSLEY HOUSE
LANCAS HIRE
ARE CORDIALLY AND RESPECTFULLY
INSCRIBED
^-» ,- » r H*J
PREFACE,
F a Preface be only of the nature of
an apology^ it is better omitted even
from the mofi indifferent work.
But a few words of explanation may be ne-
ceffary to put the reader in poffeffion of fome
fa5ls whith have largely influenced andfhaped
the author's plan. In the prefent caje^ it is
likely that without a ftatement of the circum-
fl;ances of their origin^ the following Effays
would be judged by too high a flandard, and
made liable to unfair exceptions, The omif-
fion of that ftatement might alfo feem to im-
peach the authofs candour.
It is hoped that many perfons may be led to
read this volume to whom its contents will be
X PREFACE.
entirely new. But it is right to mention that
the majority of the Effays form part of the
author's contributions to the London Quar-
terly Review ; that the Jecond and third
papers y as well as a portion of the firfly have
alfo had a place in our 'periodical literature ;
and that only the little apologue at the end of
the volume appears now for the firji time.
The author has no defire to fhift the refpon-
fihility of this reprint^ by fuggefiing the
urgency of friends. The EJfays could not
have appeared in their prefent form without
his conjent ; and if they fhould be judged un-
worthy of that honour J he will clearly be open
to the fufpicion of entertaining an undue opin-
ion of their ujefulnejs or merit. This inference
is fo obvious^ that he can loje nothing by its
frank admifjion. The fa^ iSy that he believes
the critical portions of this volume may ftill
be offervice in correal ing fome of the vices of
our popular literature ; and this belief muft
PREFACE. xi
form his apology for retaining certain flric-
tures, as in the EJfay on Popular Criticifm,
which he would otherwije havechofen to omit.
Aloft of the remaining papers are difcurfive
rather than critical ; andjome of the earlieft
in date are not free from a rhetorical em-
phafis of ftyle which belongs to inexperience.
The author has given them a place in this
colle5lion becaufe they harmonize with the
general contents of his volume^ andaljo becaufe,
with all their imperfe5fion, he ftill holds them
to be fubftantially juft. He will fay no more
in their behalf left he fhould be thought to de-
precate that free criticifm of his own perfor-
mances which he has never Jcrupled to exercife
on the works of other men ; and Jo ^ ftanding
quite afide, he leaves them to their fortune.
r. M.
Chelfea, Feb. 22, 1861.
CONTENTS.
Page
Auto-biographies (1851-3) 1
Sacred Poetry ; Milton and Pollok (1851) ... 65
On the Writings of Mr. Carlyle (1852) . . . . iiz
Tendencies of Modern Poetiy (1854) 171
Popular Criticifm (1855) 204.
Alfred Tennyfon (1855) 24.8
No6tes Ambrofianas (1856) 277
New Poems of Browning and Landor (1856) . . 298
Bofwell's Letters (1857) 315
The Terror of Bagdat 344.
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
E are afTured by philofophers that there
is nothmg futile or fuperfluous in the
material world. Even the refufe of
man becomes the refource of Nature,
who weaves her gayeft mantle from the fhreds
he fcatters, and in whofe wonderful economy
there is ufe as well as place for all that we con-
temptuoufly call " rubbifh." Indeed, there is no
end to the intereft and the beauty of many trivial
and ofFenfive things. Ignorance on the one hand,
and engrofling worldlinefs on the other, are hourly
blinding us to the moft valuable truths enfhrined
in very humble forms, and confirming our habits
of indifference towards a world of common won-
ders. If our eyes were really open, the moft
common-place of daily objects would afTume a
romantic novelty, and invite a more intimate
refearch. With a limited clafs of perfons, this
is actually the cafe, — bleft as they are with an
a6live intelligence and a fcientific curiofity, and
thefe contributing to induce a conftant habit of
2 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
obfervation. This enviable gift — for it is a gift
as well as a habit — acSts like a charm in opening
the fources of a thoufand pleafures. An eye
pra6lifed and familiar in the obfervation of na-
ture, and accuftomed to trace in every obje(Sl of
comparative infignificance or doubtful utility fome
curious phenomenon of its exiftence — an eye that
fees relation, and defign, and even benefit, in
objects vi^hich are merely repulfive to the igno-
rant, can hardly fall upon a fpot of earth that is
not fruitful in peculiar interefl:. Intelligently
viewed, the very vermin take rank in creation,
and even duft is recognized as the detritus of fyfl:e-
matic ftrata. The rock that is fo bare and profit-
lefs to the uninformed is to fuch a man an eloquent
companion ; it tells him the hiftory of its ages,
and reveals to him the fears of its experience :
and fo minutely has the record been preferved for
our philofopher, that the guft of wind blown
many centuries ago has left itfelf a witnefs in the
filent rain-drop fallen into a flanted bed. In like
manner, while his houfekeeper regards with min-
gled fcorn and deteftation that moft ogre-like of
infedts, the fpider, and thinks her broom dif-
honoured by fuch contact, he has not difdained to
obferve, in thatleaft regarded corner of the houfe,
another diftin6l variety of form, an uninftru6led
but infpired weaver making his matchlefs web,
and a peculiar type of thofe predatory habits
which, in a manner immediate or indirect, caufe
every clafs of beings in its turn to become the
prey of fome other.
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 3
There is an intereft fimilar in kind to this,
and hke this almoft infinitely diverfified, in the
hourly experience of the obferver of human life
and manners : there is an analogous charm de-
rived from the ftudy of even the lowed type of
chara6i:er, the flight but fufficient links of caufe
and confequence in the moft unimportant chain
of incidents, the mingled tiffue of trivial and gro-
tefque and ferious pafTages in a career of the moft
ordinary kind. But what was merely the pleafure
of intelligence in the phyfical furveyis heightened
by our human fympathy in the moral : the pic-
turefque becomes intenfified into the pathetic; and
thofe viciflitudes of fortune which lead out our
curiofity to follow another's courfe are repeatedly
fuggefting a poflible parallel in our own. It is no
fubjedt of wonder, then, that man fhould have a
peculiar and abforbing intereft in man, where his
intellect and fympathies may expatiate together.
If the adventures of an atom, whether hiftorically
or philofophically confidered, are ready to prove
full of profit and delight ; if the life of an inre6l:
is found to touch upon and illuftrate a thoufand
natural truths, and furnifti a diftindive type of
animate exiftence ; how much more real muft
our intereft be in the moft unpromifing of human
chara6ters, and the obfcureft fragment of human
ftory ! The ftone recoiling from our carelefs feet,
and the foffil caft up by the miner's fhovel, is
each a link in the great chain of nature, — is
joined infeparably to all that went before and all
that is yet to come : you cannot ignore its pre-
4 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
fence without grofs injury to the material logic in
which God has embodied and demonftrated his
creative wlfdom. But of man all this Is true by
emphafis ; and though he fhould be the vileft,
pooreft, and idleft of his race, and lefs miffed from
the courts of life than the dog which kept faithful
watch and ward over his mafter's houfe, as man
he is joined to a far higher economy, and flamped
with a more Divine fignlficance ; nor can he fail
to illuftrate, even in his obfcureft wanderings,
and in his moft humble deeds, the majefty of
fplritual laws and the myftery of human life.
And, befides thefe indications of a great ideal,
typical of his fpecles, and ever and anon ftrug-
gling to the furface through the wrecks of fome
awful foregone calamity, there is in every man a
feparate Individuality of thought and aftion, each
breathing Its peculiar moral. No two lives run
parallel for an inftant of time : no two hearts are
fynchronous in the pulfations of their hopes and
fears. Each is the hero of a feparate drama : for
him the earth is as really a ftage prepared as for
the great Protagonlft himfelf : for his Individual
drama of probation all nature Is a flore-room of
acceflbrles, and all the tribes of men fubordinate.
And though thefe feveral lives do conftantly in-
terfeft and crofs each other, and all traces of
feeble men feem perpetually loft in the footmarks
of the ftrong and leaping, yet if we follow care-
fully the leaft of thefe defpifed, we fhall find him
to be the central figure of fome imaginable moral
circle, and the hero of a true dramatic unity.
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, 5
By thefe obfervations we have chofen to intro-
duce the fubje6l of this paper, becaufe we think
they plainly illuftrate, and largely account for, the
deep invariable intereft fo commonly felt in bio-
graphical details, and efpecially in the more full
and accurate revelations of auto-biography. For,
be it obferved, this intereft is, for the moft part,
independent both of greatnefs and virtue in the
hero of the ftory, and even of any unufual for-
tunes affe6ling his career. It feems to demand
only, what may be termed genu'inenefs in the nar-
rative, and d'lre^nefs in the narrator. Truth, we
might have faid, was necefTary, did we not re-
member inftances in which exaggerations of every
kind, and even grofs and palpable departures from
veracity, were chara6leriftic but not mifleading,
and therefore rather enhancing the general fidelity
of portraiture defired, — juft as FalftafF is better
known by his prepofterous falfehoods, than he
could have been by a faithful narrative of the
death of Percy. In all thefe confeflions, however,
we look for a certain opennefs and freedom, and
even a fimplicity of fpeech; but by this laft re-
quirement we are not to be confidered as de-
nouncing thofe affe6tations which may have
become the fecond nature of the auto-biogra-
pher, and fo contribute an important charm,
but as infifting only that the writer reveal him-
felf, with real candour, or through fome tranf-
parent artifice, and that all his cunning and
duplicity, though fo great as to include felf-
deception, 7^^// not deceive us.
6 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
After thefe confiderations, we Ihall not be
furprifed to find that the plaineft clafs of thefe
writings are commonly the moft interefting ; or
rather, the intereft of them is more fl:ri6lly of the
kind proper to auto-biography. This clafs con-
fifts of memoirs ofperfons remarkable for neither
their gifts, nor attainments, nor even extraor-
dinary fortunes. Not always does the life de-
fcribed prefent any novel features to the imagi-
nation of the reader, nor is it even neceflary that
either in ftyle or fentiment fhould the narrative
rife above the level of mediocrity. The moral
ftandard of the hero may be contemptible, like
that of Vidocq the French thief-taker; or his
perfonal hiftory trivial, like that of Lackington
the bookfeller : but in the meaneft fubjeft of
thefe memoirs, and in the moft ordinary fcenes
depi£i:ured from the daily life of man, if there be
only that fincerity in the memorialift which
engages confidence in the narrative, we fhall
find attra6tion and inftrucSlion in a high degree.
The pi6ture, indeed, may be wanting in the ela-
boration and fpiritual fuggeftivenefs of a true work
of art ; but it will have the excellence peculiar to
a daguerreotype portrait, — a literal and detailed
truth to nature. Charadters may not appear
there in moments of their higheft mood, nor
even true to their better felves ; but their mo-
mentary prefentment is caught and preferved for
ever, and neither the tone of attitude nor the fig-
nificance of drefs is loft.
To reconcile the aflerted interefts of thefe
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, 7
loweft fpecimens of auto-biography with the defi-
ciencies attributed to them as a clafs, it may be
necefTary to fpeak of thofe deficiencies in quali-
fied terms. While it is true (for example) that
romantic or important incidents may be entirely
abfent from the ftory, it muft be remembered
that — as our opening analogy fuggefts — the va-
rieties of human circumftances infure, in every
cafe, a real, novel, and peculiar intereft ; that as
no two individual faces are alike, fo neither are
any two individual chara6lers, and ftill lefs any
two individual careers. Again : if ability or at-
tainments in any high degree are pronounced
unnecefTary on the part of fuch memoir-writer, it
is fimply meant that he need have none fufficient
of itfelf to diftinguifli him, — no talent to com-
mand for himfelf the public admiration, and no
fcientific or literary acquirement to furnifh his
book with a topic of intereft extraneous to him-
felf. But ability of fome kind he will have :
genius itfelf is, perhaps, more a matter of degree
than a rare and exclufive endowment ; and the
humbleft author will ever and anon, in fome
dire6lion or another, and in a milder or more
brilliant way, give evidence of the *' divinity that
ftirs within him." Befides, there are many fources
of intereft, — fuch as, idiofyncrafy, native mental
bias, or fome moral quality forced into promi-
nence by ftrefs of fortune, — one or other of
which muft appear in the moft ordinary record of
human life. And if the ads of men fo widely
differ, and their circumftantial relations are fo
8 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
complicate and varied, how difl:in(£l and multi-
plied muft be their fprings of a6lion ! How often
fhaded by infirmity the luftre of their moft vir-
tuous deeds ! How often their darkefl: woof of
error fhot with a relieving brightnefs !
But is there no fuch thing as trite or common-
place in thefe confeffions ? In the literal tranf-
cript of real life, rarely. It is true that the writer's
moral or general reflections may, from the feeble-
nefs of his reafon, be trite in the extreme ; and
an excefs of fuch reflexions over matters of fa6t
will render the narrative both tedious and com-
monplace. All extra-literal matter, if not put
in with artift-like, judicious touches, tends to
deftroy vraifemhlance^ and caufe endlefs contra-
dictions; for what is that which belongs neither
to nature nor to art, but a monftrofity? Inflances
of this kind of auto-biography are not infrequent;
but they are foon forgotten, or never attain
notice. It occafionally happens alfo that a
vanity the moft contemptible, becaufe totally
unredeemed by anything worthy of mark either
in character or experience, induces fome dullard
to make public confeflion of his incompetence,
and feek to break from the hopelefs obfcurity
to which he is appointed ; and his felf-laudatory
work will, of courfe, be, like himfelf, moft weari-
fome and weak. But this will never refult from
the humble nature of the details, nor even from
the unfkilfulnefs of the compiler ; for thefe can-
not of themfelves produce the morally ahfurd.
Truth, however defultory, will manifeft a beauty
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, g
of its own ; however difconne^ted, its parts will
finally cohere. Fragments of broken glafs, when
thrown into a kaleidofcope, afTume the richeft
colour and moft regular of fhapes ; and every
revolution of the inftrument difpofes them into a
new combination, equal in beauty, though diffi-
milar in figure. And fo the life that is moft
trifling and difconnedted, and as deftitute of bril-
liance or arrangement as pieces of pale and fhat-
tered glafs, may afTume a pi6lurefque variety, pro-
portioned to the number of the afpe6ls under
which it is prefented. Each of us takes the view
of another's chequered fortunes through the tube
of diflance, whether offpace or time, — a medium
that for the moment fhuts out all obfervation be-
fide, and narrows the attention where it concen-
trates the light.
Let the reader, if he would be convinced of
the inexhauflible fund of entertainment and re-
mark fupplied by human manners and affairs,
note down in detail the experiences and obferva-
tions of his life : and, in particular, let him por-
tray the characleriflic features of thofe to whom
he once ftood related, or with whom he has been
led to afTociate ; and omit no fingularity in their
hiflory or pofition which may formerly have
awakened his own curiofity. Perhaps he may
not hitherto have fuppofed his life to have been
fruitful either in anecdote or character : but
refle6lion will inflrud him otherwife. Things
trivial in themfelves will become fignificant in
relation to their confequences j and perfons of
10 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
ordinary ftamp may be remembered and fet forth
by fome occafional fuccefs or felicitous remark.
Did he never cherifh a fecret regret rerpe6ling
father, or fifter, or coufm, or friend, that one
of fuch peculiar ability, or fuch perfect but
fequeftered virtue, fhould be fo little known, —
that in his heart and memory only fhould furvive,
and fo ultimately perifh, a pi6lure of excellencies
quite unique, vi^hen blended in a charming indi-
viduality ? Among the recolle61:ions of his child-
hood, is he never haunted by fome lovely half-
ideal image of grace and beauty, companion of
his fports ? or does no romantic friendfhip of his
boyhood remind him of the time when afFe6lion
had all the tendernefs, and more than all the
truth, of paffion ? Did he never meet with elec-
trifying kindnefs in an unlikely quarter ? or was
he never fhocked into a momentary mifanthropy
by ingratitude or failing goodnefs ? Have not his
own opinions, tafles, and difpofitions been curi-
oufly influenced and modified by outward circum-
flances, as well as inward growth ? or the little
current of his own fortunes been diverted by
fome accidental barrier, and had to wear a chan-
nel for itfelf ? And were not thefe events, though
roughly thus conje6tured by another, attended by
fuch features of novelty and chance-control, that
the detailed flory would have at once the charm
of fi(Si;ion and the perfuafivenefs of truth ?
Many books occur to us as furnifhing illuflra-
tion of thefe remarks ; but we take — almofl at
random — The Auto-biography of a Working Man^
I
JUrO-BIOGRJPHIES. ii
publlfhed within the laft hw years. If not the
moft recent, neither is it the leaft fuitable for
that purpofe. Unpretending as is this little work,
and confifting of the fimpleft details of private life
and ordinary labours, it juftifies the aflertion already
ventured, that neither talent in the writer, nor
intereft in the record, will commonly be found
wanting in works of this kind j that a diftin6l
individuality may be expedled in the hero-author,
and both variety and unity in the auto-hiftory.
The volume is of goodly dimenfions, and con-
tains the fulleft particulars of a perfonal career
" by One who has whijiled at the Ploughs De-
fpite the unpromifing nature of its title, we doubt
if a more entertaining record of humble life and
honourable induftry was ever penned. It is cha-
ra6terized by an air of manly fmcerity and fterling
moral fenfe, and gives evidence of a native tafte
for the good and the beautiful, improved by dili-
gent felf-culture. From the firft page to the laft,
there is no fuch thing as wearying \ but, on the
contrary, the reader is led onward by a quiet but
increafmg intereft, that makes the time lapfe by
infenfibly. There is throughout the volume, and
efpecially in the earlier chapters, a freflinefs in
the details, a fimplicity in the chara6lers, and a
modeft dignity in the author's manner, that unite
to enlift our curiofity and fecure our confidence.
The materials furnifhed to the auto-biographer
by the circumftances of his birth and after em-
ployments, were poor and unpromifing ; but our
readers (hall have fome opportunity for judging.
12 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
His father, having occafion for migrating fouth-
ward from his native village, in the centre of
Scotland, fettled as a farm-labourer in the county
of Berwickfhire ; and there married a blooming
young woman, fervant in a farm-houfe, and
daughter of John Orkney, a working man. Of
thefe his parents our author was the eleventh and
laft child. The poverty of this worthy family
rendered their very exiftence a ftruggle j for low
wages and high prices made it a difficult matter
to provide for fo large a houfehold ; and not all
the induftry of a fteady and upright father, nor all
the diligence and care of a thrifty, tender mother,
could do more than avert the extreme of defti-
tution. Such were the humble circumftances of
our author's parentage and birth. But no falfe
fhame leads him to fpeak flightingly, or with
other than dutiful remembrance and afFe6lion, of
this period of his childhood and youth. His
reminifcences of peafant-life and early trials, —
including fome months of miferable fchooling, in
which his unfortunate inferiority of clothes and
general poverty brought upon him the injuftice
and contempt of well-drefTed lads and fervile
pedagogue, — are told with graphic force and in
an admirable fpirit. Herding his mafler's cows
was the employment of many years of his boy-
hood ; and in his relation of that period of his life
occur many anecdotes charadteriftic of country life
and manners, and paflages indicative of the growth
of his own difpofition, moral and intelle6lual.
At fchool he is unmercifully thrafhed " on the
JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 13
hands, head, face, neck, fhoulders, back, legs,
everywhere," until bliftered : but he difdains to
wince. " I fat fullen and in torture all the day,
my poor fifter Mary glancing at me from her
book ; fhe not crying, but her heart beating as if
it would burft for me. When we got out of the
fchool to go home, and were away from all the
other fcholars on our lonely road to Thriepland
Hill, fhe foothed me with kind words, and we
cried then, both of us/' The charader of his
father, a rigorous Diflenter of the {^d: called
" Anti-burghers," is not without dignity ; nor
that of his mother without a homely fweetnefs :
and it is efpecially gratifying to witnefs, in the
real noblenefs of thefe humble peafants and their
children, an interefting proof that no circum-
ftances are in themfelves fo wretched or fo bafe
but goodnefs may redeem them from contempt,
and even inveft them with moral beauty. The
whole career of this auto-biographer, could we fol-
low it throughout, would furnifh a continued illuf-
tration of the fame truth. Chara^ler, working from
within outwards, is the great transformer of man-
kind, and the fource of true individual diftinilion.
The bafhful hob-nailed cowherd of this hiftory
becomes by accident acquainted with the poetry
of Burns, and glows, for the firft time, with an
intellectual pleafure. He next covets the loan of
Anfon's Voyages, of which he had heard parts ;
but only after a fearful ftruggle with his fhame-
facednefs does he take courage to afk it : then in
the fields, at refting-time, he reads about the
14 JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
brave fhip Centurion^ and all that befell her.
After a while, a brother in England fuggefting
that he might join him and become a forefter, it
feems defirable that Hutton's " Menfuration "
fhould be ftudied : —
^^ But where get to Hutton^ and how, was the
quejiion. I had no money of my own^ and my mother
at that time had none; the cow had not calved^
and there was no butter jelling to bring in money.
Yet I could not reji : if I could not then buy Hutton^
I muft fee it. One day ^ in March^ I was driving
the harrows, it being the time of f owing the fpring
corn^ and I thought fo much about becoming a good
fcholar^ and built fuch cafiles in the air, that^ tired
as I was [and going at the harrows from five in
the morning to fix at nighty on foft loofefand^ is one
of the moft tiring days of work upon a farm)^ I
took off my Jhoes, fcraped the earth from them, and
outofthem^ wajhed hands and face^ and walked to
Dunbar, a dijiance of fix miles^ to inquire if
Mutton's ' Menfuration ' was fold there, and, if
pofftble^ to look at it, — to fee with my eyes the actual
Jhape andfi%e of the book which was to he the key to
my future fortunes, George Miller was in the Jhop
himfelf and told me the book was four Jhillings.
That fum of four Jhillings feemed to me to he the
moft precious amount of money which ever came out
of the Mint : I had it not ; nor had I one JhilUng ;
but I had feen the book^ and had told George
Miller not to fell it to anyone elfe ; and fo I walked
over the fix miles^ large with the thought that it
JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, 15
would be mine at far theft when the cow calved^ —
perhaps fooner.^'
The money was raifed, the book bought and
ftudied ; but inftead of becoming a forefter in
England, our hero (now fifteen years of age) was
raifed to the dignity of ploughman in his native
place, and drove the moil: lively and fprightly pair
of horfes on the farm, — to wit, Nannie and Kate.
We cannot now follow the fubfequent career of
this intelligent and independent man ; but it is
replete with intereft and inftru6lion. His cruel
punifhment when in the regiment of the Scots'
Greys, his manly bearing throughout that painful
affair, and his difdainful refufal to become a mar-
tyr-mendicant for his own profit, are all honour-
able alike to his morality and good fenfe ; and
equally fo, the political moderation with which
he laboured for Reform, the tempered joy with
which he hailed it, and the judgment with which
he reftrained the ardour or condemned the ex-
tremes of fiercer Radicals.
If fuch is the auto-biography of common life,
we may proceed with expectation of yet greater
pleafure to the auto-biography of adventure. This
latter clafs of writings, in which the homely
perfonal details of the former appear in con-
nection with extraordinary incidents and foreign
objeCts, is of a fafcinating character, and was
{hrewdly appreciated by the beft of our earlier
novelifts, Daniel Defoe, who adapted its peculiar
i6 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
features to the purpofes of ficSlion. In this form ac-
cordingly we are prefented with Robinfon Crufoe,
Moll Flanders, and other popular worthies. The
charm of thefe and fimilar creations of art, which
lies chiefly in the literal portraiture of minuteft
details as well as novel objects, is not ftriclly
belonging to art proper ; it is dependent upon
a faculty which is the humbleft that art can
exercife, — the faculty of imitation. Their art,
therefore, is not of the higheft kind, and does not
appeal fo much to the educated mind as the
popular inftincS ; not to the imagination, but to
the fenfes and the memory. They are painted
with Dutch fidelity and care ; but there is feldom
more than meets the eye : there is no fuggeftion
of the romance of matter, no indication that all
nature is typical. For this reafon the fi6litious
narrative has little or no advantage over the true.
The pleafure arifing from a confcious and clever
imitation will hardly compenfate for the abfence
of that vivid intereft which always attaches to a
relation of real perfonal adventures. In the pic-
turefque and quiet parts verifimilitude will be
charming ; but in the more critical incidents of
human ftory, reality would prove enchaining. If
the internal truth of the former approve it to be
genuine, we have this added fatisfadion in the
latter, — that we know it to be authentic.
Eldorado, or Adventures in the Path of Empire^
is the narrative of an ifolated, but remarkable
paflage in its author's life, and, at the fame time,
of the moft ftartling epifode in modern hiftorv. It
JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 17
contains the perfonal experience and obfervation
of an intelligent pilgrim to California, the Eldorado
of the Pacific. If truth ever exceeded the ftrange-
nefs and romance of fiction, it affiiredly does fo
in thefe brilliant pages, which will remain to ex-
cite the wonder of remote pofterity, and be cre-
dited only becaufe the marvels they reveal tran-
fcend the limits of invention. The book is,
beyond comparifon, the ableft record of an un-
paralleled event. It defcribes the golden crufade
of the world, — morepidurefquein coftume, more
diverfified in chara6ler, more fertile in hopes, more
befet with difcouragements, and more pregnant
with difappointments, than the boldeft crufade of
the age of chivalry. It is fimple, literal, and unex-
aggerated, — what the author faw with his eyes,
and heard with his ears: but it is, neverthelefs,
grand and aftonifhing ; for he wandered in a
region alternated with redundant forefts and im-
meafurable deferts, towards rivers girdled by the
golden fands of Paftolus, and mountains teeming
with the fruit of Aladdin's garden. In this motley
pilgrimage are the reprefentatives of every nation,
converging from all quarters of the globe, jour-
neying in every variety of manner, encountering
every conceivable fhape of danger, toil, defti-
tution, and difeafe, many hearts finking in defpair,
and many frames exhaufled unto death. Yet all are
not animated by the ignoble luft of gold. In
thefe innumerable groups may be found a wide
diverfity of motives: from our author, enamoured
of the pi^turefque in nature, character, and life,
c
1 8 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES,
to the moft covetous of Californian devotees,
whofe dollars are the filver fhrines of the god
whom he pronounces great, and who looks out
for the painted booths of San Francifco as eagerly
as the Jew for the heights of the City of David, or
the Hindoo for the glittering minarets of Benares.
It would be difficult to juftify, by a fmgle
brief quotation, fuch as our fpace admits, the
charafter of varied intereft afcribed to thefe vo-
lumes; but a fmgle extract may ferve to illuftrate
the author's animated ftyle, and afford a glimpfe
at leaft of his adventure. The difficulty con-
fifts in choofmg. The voyage from New York
to Chagres, — the journey acrofs the Ifthmus, — •
Panama and its ruined churches and waiting
emigrants, — the glorious coafting on the Pacific
fhores, — and the bewildering, buftling ftreets of
San Francifco on a firft arrival, — thefe would
each fupply a page for our purpofe. Then our
author's journey inland, — the mule-back progrefs
and camp-life reftings of his march, — Stockton at
noon-day with its glowing ftreet of tents, fprung
up, like gigantic mufhrooms, almoft in a night, —
the Diggings, — the return to San Francifco, — the
thoufand novel features of that ftrange city, — ex-
curfions here and there and back again, — thefe are
a few rough indications of the ftores from which
we are to fele6l a fample. We give the author's
memorandum of the laft day of his voyage, and
landing in California : —
" At laft the voyage is drawing to a clofe. Fifty-
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 19
one days have elapfed fince leaving New Tork^ in
which time we have^ in a manner^ coajted both
fides of the North American Continent^ from the
parallel of 40° N. to its termination^ within a few
degrees of the Equator^ over feas once ploughed by
the keels of Columbus and Balboa^ of Grija Iva and
Sebajlian Vifcaino. All is excitement on board;
the Captain has juji taken his noon obfervation.
We are running along the Jhore^ within fix or
eight miles' dijiance ; the hills are bare and fandy^
but loom up finely through the deep blue haze. A
brig bound to San Francifco^ but fallen off to lee-
ward of the harbour^ is making a new tack on our
left, to come up again. The coafi trends fomewhat
more to the wejlward^ and a notch or gap is at laji
vifible in its lofty outline.
" An hour later; we are in front of the entrance
to San Francifco Bay. The mountains on the
northern fide are 3,000 feet in height^ and come
boldly down to the fea. As the view opens through
the fplendidjirait^ three or four miles in width^
the ifiand rock of Alcatraz appears^ gleaming white
in the dijiance. An inward-bound Jhip follows clofe
on our wake^ urged on by zvind and tide. There is
a fmall fort perched among the trees on our right^
where the ft rait is narroweji ; and a glance at the
formation of the hills /hows that this pafs might be
made impregnable as Gibraltar. The town is fill
concealed behind the promontory around which the
Bay turns to the fouth ward ; but between Alcatraz
and the Ifiand of Terba Buena, now coming into
fight^ I can fee veffels at anchor. High through
20 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
the vapour in front ^ and thirty miles dijiant^ rifes the
Peak of Monte Diablo^ which overlooks everything
between the Sierra Nevada and the ocean. On our
left opens the Bight ofSoufolito^ where the U. S. pro-
peller ' Maffachufetts' and feveral other veffels are
at anchor.
" At Jafl we are through the Golden Gate., — -fit
name for fuch a magnificent portal to the commerce
of the Pacific ! Yerba Buena Ifiand is in front ;
fouthward and wefiward opens the renowned har-
bour.^ crowded with the /hipping of the world, maji
behind 7nafl^ and vejfel behind veffel^ the fags
of all nations fluttering in the bree%e ! Around the
curving fijore of the bay^ and upon the fides of three
hills which rife fleeply from the water^ the middle
one receding fo as to form a bold amphitheatre^ the
town is planted^ and fe ems fear cely yet to have taken
root ; for tents, canvas^ plank, mud^ and adobe
houfes^ are mingled together with the leaft apparent
attempt at order and durability. But I am not yet on
fioore. The gun of the ' Panama ' hasjuft announced
our arrival to the people on land. We glide on with
the tide, pafi the U. S. fi?ip ' Ohio^' and oppofite the
main landings outfide of theforeji ofmafls. A dozen
boats are creeping out to us over the water; theftgnal
is given — the anchor drops — our voyage is overJ*^
It may be thought that as thefe volumes of
Mr. Bayard Taylor are written with pracSifed
literary fkill, and derive moreover fuch unufual
intereft from the fcene and fubjedt, they cannot
fairly be adduced as an average fpecimen of the
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES, 2 1
auto-biography of adventure. It muft be acknow-
ledged, indeed, that in thefe refpedls the book is
fuperior to moft of its clafs. Yet, on the other
hand, what is gained in artiftic finifli is probably
loft in homely character and frefhnefs ; and per-
haps the motley multitudes whom the author
encounters and defcribes, but barely compenfate
for the breathlefs intereft of more perfonal for-
tunes and folitary peril. On the whole, therefore,
our choice was not exceptional or extreme ; and
we may add that the work was recommended to our
curiofity by its extraordinary fubje6t, and to our
courteous preference as the work of an American
author.
The life of Benvenuto Cellini, the Florentine
artift, belongs to a compound clafs of hiftory and
adventure. It has many features of fmgular in-
tereft, which unite in forming a moft entertaining
book. The author's character is made up of
curious contradi6lions. Though a man of tafte
and letters, and engaged in a profperous career of
art, he feems to have been one of the rudeft
brawlers in an age and city infefted with bullies
and afTaffins. He thought little of planting his
dagger in the nape of his enemy's neck, or forcing
his fword to the hilt in his enemy's body. The
audacity with which he committed thefe outrages
is coolly refle6ted in the page upon which he re-
cords them. A notion of the facrednefs of human
life feems never to intrude upon him ; and he
wreaks mortal vengeance as much for an infult-
22 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
ing look of one whom he diflikes, as for the
death of a brother perifhing in a ftreet-afFray.
With adventures like thefe (including an im-
prifonment in the caftle of St. Angelo, an ef-
cape thence, and various intrigues), are given
particulars of advancement in his profeflion, and
inftances of his fkill in medalling and fculpture.
The higheft parties in Rome and Florence diftin-
guifh him by their patronage ; and he appears to
have been entirely at his eafe in his intervievi^s with
Pontiffs, Cardinals, and Grand Dukes. Pope
Clement VII. he feverely ledures for proceeding
in a hafty moment, on hearing of fome mur-
derous attack, to order our worthy goldfmith to
be feized and hanged ; and he intimates, in no
doubtful language, what a remorfeful time of it
His Holinefs muft have had for the remainder
of life, had not Providence defeated his un-
natural defign by means of an efcape ! Twice
our author is preferved from death by poifon ;
and times without number (according to his own
ftatement) is he purfued by rancorous and jealous
enemies. Yet his life and interefts feem well-
advanced and guarded both by himfelf and by for-
tune ; and, admirable artift as he was, his pros-
perity kept pace with his deferts. Throughout
the memoir we have many incidental notices of
artifts and learned men, anecdotes illuftrative of
the age and country, and glimpfes of the ftormy po-
litics and difordered fociety of that moft chequered
era of Italian hiftory. Thefe fcenes and fketches,
which in themfelves have a certain hiftorical im-
JUrO-BIOGRAPHIES, 23
portance, are doubly entertaining in their con-
ne6lion with fo vivid a perfonal narrative, in
vi^hich the ftory of individual fortunes is thus em-
belhfhed and illuftrated by contemporary lights.
We muft briefly mention, if only to commend,
the Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinfon^ by Lucy^ his
Widow^ as remarkable for a combination of all
thofe elements of intereft which pertain to its
clafs. It is not, profefTediy, an auto-biography ;
but, as the writer concerns herfelf chiefly with
the fortunes of one who as a hufband fliared
them with herfelf, it is virtually fuch ; and the
more fo, as her prominent chara(5ler and genius have
ftamped upon all her reminifcences and opinions
a powerful individuality. As this work is now
well known, and within the reach of all clafTes of
readers, we (hall further charafterize it in a few
lines only, intended rather to awaken than fully to
gratify an intereft in its ftory. Lucy, daughter of
Sir Allen Apfley, Lieutenant of the Tower of
London, was born in that famous citadel on the
29th of January, 16^^ . ^v^^s married, at the age
of eighteen, to Mr. (afterwards Colonel) Hutch-
infon ; and — accompanying and animating his
courfe as a confcientious foldier of the Parlia-
ment, and confoling with her fympathy the retire-
ment in which he lamented the perverfion of
the Commonwealth — was afterwards forward to
fhare, and doomed relu6lantly to furvive, his per-
fecution and imprifonment at the Reftoration. It
was then, when her bereavement had left nothing
but a dreary widowhood in profpecEl, that (he
24 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
chofe rather to look back upon the fellowfhip
fhe had enjoyed. Since hope could no longer
promife her a continuance, memory fhould at
leaft cheer her with a rehearfal, of its pleafures j
and, if fhe could never more receive or tender
the daily counfel and encouragement, it was left
her to record the exemplary career of a hufband
and a father, a patriot and a Chriftian. The
fpirit in which her memorial was thus under-
taken and written is worthy of all praife ; while
the talents which it manifefts, and the high moral
tone by which it is pervaded, call forth the live-
lieft admiration. Her portraitures of public men
of that time, with whom her hufband was aflb-
ciated, or to whom he was oppofed, are drawn
with confiderable fkill ; and, though her repub-
lican opinions are no way difguifed, nor her puri-
tan fympathies unduly fupprelTed, fhe generoufly
admits the noble qualities of a foe, and candidly
laments the infincerity of a pretended patriot and
friend. She was naturally fufceptible of all truly
feminine afFe6lions, as well as eminently capable
of exercifmg the more rigid duties of her fphere ;
yet, while fhe freely difcourfes of the latter, as
more properly becoming the dignity of an Englifh
matron, fhe holds the former as for the moft part
unworthy of recollection or regard. Thus her
work is, perhaps, wanting in due lightnefs and
relief. The principal exception is her account,
in the commencement, of her hufband's courtfhip
and their fubfequent marriage. It is a mofl pleaf-
ing epifode, full of fweetnefs of manner and
JUrO-BIOGRAPHIES. 25
beauty of chara6ler ; convincing the mind that
their union was a hallowed bond of love and prin-
ciple, and preluding with cheerful and moft hope-
ful ftrains the more ferious drama of their wedded
life. In the progrefs of that double life, the reader
is charmed to obferve the growing correfpondence
of character in wife and hufband: how her gentle-
nefs and truth infenfibly modify and fway his mar-
tial bearing ; and how his foldierly fenfe of duty
and honour gives tone and firmnefs to the mother
and the wife. All this accords with the beautiful
philofophy of the poet : —
" Yet in the long years liker muft they grow 5
The man be more of woman, flie of man :
*****
More like the double-natured poet each j
Till at the laft flie fet herfelf to him,
Like perfeft mufic unto noble words."
There is a clafs of auto-biographies which may
be called epifodical. Thefe are concerned with
fome brief or ifolated period in the writer's hiftory,
chofen for the moft part with reference to its more
eventful character, whether of perfonal adventure
merely, or of a more public intereft. To this
clafs belong fome of the moft fafcinating auto-
hiftories. We could fcarcely inftance one more
interefting or improving than the Memoirs of
his Impriibnment related by Silvio Pellico. The
reader will probably remember that Silvio Pellico
is an Italian poet of high repute, and known efpe-
cially as the author of feveral tragedies. In the
year 1820 he was arrefted, at Milan, on a charge
26 JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
of confpiring againft the Auftrian government;
and he was confined in the prifon of that city till
the following year. Thence he was removed to a
room under the burning leads of Venice ; and,
finally, transferred to the fortrefs of Spielberg,
where he fufFered the ftridleft durance, till re-
leafed from a protra6led torture of ten years in
the month of Auguft, 1830. Perfonal liberty is
the firft blefling of every man. It is that on
which he depends for the acquirement and enjoy-
ment of every other. This much our reafon
teaches; but the miferies attendant on captivity
we can only faintly furmife, till the experience of
fuch fufferers as Silvio Pellico is brought to our
aid. Happy Britons that we are ! We pine when
the weather clouds our fun, or temporary illnefs
fhuts us from the air. But, if our lot had been caft
under clearer fkles, the beft among us, and the
moft delicately nurtured, might have found both
one and the other barred from his fervice or
changed into a curfe ; the fun, in its fummer
height and ftrength, employed to fcorch his
brain, while he found no retreat, till approaching
winter fhould warn his tormentors to hurry the
wafted human ruin to a more difmal region,
aflailed alternately by froft and damp. Such was
the fate of Silvio Pellico. But phyfical fufferings
would naturally be the lighteft in the cafe of fuch
a man. Social and mental deprivations, with con-
tinued aflaults of temptation on his moral being,
would form the bittereft ingredients of his mifery.
Accordingly, his narrative is of the moft touching
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, 27
kind. The key-note is pitched in this little fen-
tence : " The waking which follows the firft
night in prifon is horrible." His dreams had not
yet been weaned from home, or ftiaped by prifon
objeds. The firft cheerful thought of his awaking
moment, that rofe like a grateful exhalation, was
fuddenly condenfed amid the furrounding gloom,
and defcended in tears. His fpirit faw at a glance
the long hopelefs future, as a drowning man fees
the irrevocable paft. He was in the crifis of
his hiftory : the time gone by had never feemed
to him fo bright as now ; the time to come ap-
peared proportionably dark. His foul flood, as
it were, on the Bridge of Sighs, " a palace and a
prifon on each hand :" that he had left, and this
he was about to enter. The moft afFe61:ing de-
privation that he now fufFers is that of fomething
that he may love. More than the cheerful light, or
the fmiling landfcape, or the bufy ftreet ; more
even than the dear liberty to choofe his path and
go whither he pleafes, to lie down upon this funny
fward, or go in and out among that laughing
crowd ; — more painful than the need of thefe is
the aching want he feels of the companionable, —
of fympathetic eyes that he may look into, — of a
voice of kindnefs that he may hear and anfwer.
His home appears to have been a very happy one:
he fpeaks with great tendernefs of father, mother,
brothers, and fifters ; and he has fo much time
now to dwell upon their memory, fo little hope
that he (hall fee them more ! For a while they
occupy his heart almoft to burfting. But the plea-
28 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
fure is too full of pain. The heart, firft tortured
by bereavement, is then mercifully benumbed.
Our fenfibilities refufe to be for ever on the
ftretch; and, like tender feelers, they dravi^ fhortly
back, or attach themfelves to the neareft obje6l,
— to the barren rock, if nothing better be at hand.
So it is with this poor prifoner. He looks round
him for a prefent comfort. A friendly gaoler is
now more to him than once the choiceft friend.
How he yearns for the companionfhip of fome
unfortunate prifoner like himfelf ! But that which
is moft worthy of our admiration, in this little
memoir, is the fpirit of forgivenefs and humility
by which it is hallowed. The difcipline of Pro-
vidence, to which the unhappy poet was fubjefted,
proved falutary and benign. He returned to his
home a wifer and a better man. This is, clearly,
no excufe for the Infliction of fuch mifery as he en-
dured at the hands of a defpotic government; and,
although he has furnifhed us with no means of af-
certaining the jufticeorotherwife of his fentence, —
wifely abftaining from political allufion, and writing
in the fpirit of a chaftened child of God, rather than
of a martyr to the truth, — there is every reafon to
believe that his trial was arbitrary and unfair, and
his puniihment unnecefTarily harfh. No thanks
are due to them that condemned him, though his
mind and heart were both profited by affliction ;
though, refolving to bear the injuftice of men, he
humbly acknowledged the juft judgment of God ;
though the wrongs which he fufFered in his own
perfon made him more tenderly alive to thofe of
MJTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 29
humanity at large. Such improvement, in fuch
circumftances, proves only that he had a noble
fpirit, and fuggefts that his errors w^ere venial.
The darknefs and defertion that made him con-
fcious of a prefent and fupporting God, v^ould
doubtlefs have driven one more feeble and cor-
rupt into utter atheifm ; and the perfonal forrow
that v^akened and w^idened his benevolent fym-
pathies towards all the groaning human race,
vi^'ould have quickened into the bittereft mifan-
thropy any lefs feeling or more felfifti heart.
It is probable that the literary chara61:er will
ever furnifh the moft valuable fubje6ts of auto-
biography. In the perfonal hiftory of its great
teachers the world has long manifefted a lively
intereft ; and it finds new pleafure in contemplat-
ing every added inftance of immortal excellence
caft in a mortal mould. It is gratifying to our
natural curiofity to obtain a glimpfe of the private
relations, fellowfhips, and frailties of one who has
powerfully influenced the public mind, and with
whofe inner and truer felf we have already the pro-
foundeft fympathy. The lives, letters, and con-
feflions of great authors engage our afFeffcionate
attention as much as if they were our relatives
and friends ; for, indeed, our acquaintance with
them, through the medium of their v/orks, may
be equally intimate and unreferved. It is our fym-
pathy with the inner life of thefe great men that
imparts fignificance and value to the fimpleft re-
cord of their hiftory. We want fome picture of
30 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES,
the home they blefled, of the fociety they adorned,
of the fpot their eyes continually refted upon ;
fome illuftrations of the love they infpired, the
reverence they commanded, the characters they
moulded and imprefled. Above all, we vi^ant the
example of their labour and fuccefs held up to
encourage and to ftimulate ; the procefs of their
greatnefs exhibited to after-genei^ations of afpiring
youth. The pidure cannot be adequately fur-
nifhed by another : it muft take fome form
of auto-hiftory, — whether narrative, epiftle, or
journal.
Among memoirs of this clafs, and viewed in
the afpe6l juft indicated, thofe of Edward Gib-
bon, the hiftorian, are full of entertainment and
in{lru6lion. Relaxing the pompous march of thofe
ftately periods by which he has linked together
the antique and mediaeval eras, and following, at
more companionable pace, the individual fortunes
of his own career, he furnifhes to the reader alter-
nately the humblefl: and the higheft fources of di-
verfion; from time to time adorning domeftic inci-
dent or perfonal trait with the fruit of philofophic
judgment and profound refearch, and exhibiting
the fpeftacle of felf-culture advancing to fome of
its moft magnificent refults. To the mere con-
noiffeur, whofe obje6l is limited to the enjoyment
of intellectual luxury, the Life and Journals of this
eminent man will be full of intereft ; but their
chief value will be felt by the determined and
ambitious ftudent. They will ftimulate him to
exertion, and to the utmoft ufe of his opportu-
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, 31
nities, in the acquifition of knowledge ; infplring
emulation of the patient ftudy, deliberate facrifice,
and unflagging zeal, which were devoted to one
purpofe ; and leading to an appreciation of the
power which elicits the triumphs of genius and
learning by not difdaining the common lot of
labour.
But there is often found in literary auto-bio-
graphies the pre-eminent charm of ftyle ; a charm
fo fubtle and pervading as to fufe the whole nar-
rative into one harmonious and enchanting ftory,
as in the cafe of Goethe's beautiful work, Truth
and P oetry from my Life ; or elfe a charm inferior
in artiftic merit, and more fimply biographical, as
that of Franklin's auto-biography. Each of thefe
favourite compofitions affords a model of literary
ftyle, ufmg that word in the enlarged fenfe of
entire manner^ which confifts in form as well as
drefs, and refults in a beautiful correfpondence of
fentiment and expreffion. They are not fo widely
different in merit as in tone and fubjeft ; and al-
though the practical man may prefer the one,
and the imaginative reader the other, we are per-
fuaded that true tafte and the moft cultivated
feeling will find equal pleafure in both.
The auto-biographical writings of Goethe are
among the moft interefting of the literary clafs.
They are comprifed in the work already men-
tioned. Truth and Poetry from my Life^ in the
Letters from Switzerland and Italy ^ and in the
feveral Journals and perfonal memoranda with
which his writin2:s abound. The firft is a con-
32 AUrO-BIOGRJPHIES.
ne6^ed narrative, in twenty books, of the incidents
and experiences of his childhood and youth. The
graceful eafe of its ftyle, which has the effe6l of a
moft pleafing fimplicity, is the refult of perfe6l
art : the whole is the confummate produ6l of a
mind matured under the higheft culture. A pe-
culiar charm lies in the grouping, and in indi-
vidual portraitures — fketches of relatives or lite-
rary friends ; in epifodes of confiderable beauty,
and dramatic fcenes both highly finifhed and effec-
tive. Its greateft defe6t arifes from the author's
moral deficiencies ; — the abfence, for example, of
any generous or commanding paffioninhis nature,
which might have imparted a fubftantive intereft,
and furniftied fomething like an epic clofe, to what
is now a fragment merely. Still it is a fragment
of almoft incomparable beauty, — cold as marble,
but exquifitely moulded and delicately veined.
We can hardly wifh it other than it is. Its pages
are luminous with intelle6tual truth, if not with
moral wifdom ; and, perhaps, no man has rivalled
its author in his eftimate of qualities attaching to
men and things around him. Almoft deftitute of
prejudices and predilections himfelf, his mental
eye dete6led in a moment the inequality and dif-
proportion implied in the preferences of other
men. Their exclufivenefs was a deformity befide
the fymmetry of his univerfal tafte j their definite
and limited belief was bigotry and intolerance in
the eyes of the catholic worfhipper of truth. But
thefe chara61:eriftics are moft prominent in the
Letters from Switzerland and Italy, In thefe,
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES. 33
efpecially, we fee the objeftive tendency of his
mind. He never fhuts his eyes in order to refle6i;:
he is conftantly demanding fome external objecSl,
that he may examine and report upon it. Opinion
and theory rife up, unlaboured, in him. He wants
more material : this is turned into a thought, and
that has taken its place in the mufeum of his
mind. Give fomething more into his hand ; for
he is mafter of all that he has touched, and is
impatiently waiting for more. His powers of
affimilation are fo great that matter cannot be
fupplied him fo faft as he can refolve it, and tranf-
mute it into his fyftem — into bone of fcience or
blood of art. And it is this greed of knowledge —
this untiring exploration of nature — that makes
thefe Letters admirable above others. We begin
to hate, like him, mere fentiment and fpeculation :
we fee the charm of details as we never did before :
we find a hiflory or a hint in every ftony frag-
ment of this coloPfal world, and take for our
motto. Ex pede Herculeui.
Nothing could more faithfully reflect the cha-
ra6ler of Benjamin Franklin than the record he
has left us of himfclf. It is really a photographic
portraiture, in which none of the fignificant de-
tails that compofed his real greatnefs are either
omitted or refined away. Herein he appears (as
indeed he was) the very type of the Anglo-Saxon
chara6ler, — the reprefentative of Englifh pradical
wifdom. In him the influence of race predomi-
nates over that of country ; the former inftindlively
animates his whole nature, the latter is cornpara-
34 JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
tively feeble and acquired. His character is not
materially biaffed by the external or political fea-
tures of the land of his birth. He is hardly fo
much American as Englifh. As a judicious
patriot, indeed, he promptly and fagacioufly
ferves the community among whom his father's
fortunes caufed him to be thrown ; but he ftands
among the more enthufiaftic fpirits of the Revo-
lution with temper, moderation, and experience,
fuch as unite in Englifli ftatefmanfhip. He was
the Alfred of the tranfatlantic commonwealth; if
lefs fmgle in his glory, and lefs authoritative in his
office, yet endowed with the fame enlightened
fpirit of amelioration, the fame rational defire of
compromife between the ideal and the poffible,
the fame ambition of the wideft ufefulnefs. His
genius is the fublime of common fenfe : his virtue
and happinefs (limited and fecular as they unfor-
tunately were) refult from the fupremacy of his
will, the invariable temperance of his life and
manners, and the pra6lical direction of his pur-
fuits. Separately confidered, his anions are trivial,
and his maxims common-place ; but, in their con-
nexion with his fortunes and his philofophy, the
former rife into a pyramid of exemplary fuccefs,
and the latter give laws to a nation's daily life.
His deifm was of fo attractive a kind, and fo re-
commended by a thoufand perfonal and focial
virtues, that there is reafon to fear that many have
turned with difguft from the nominal Chriftianity
of other men to the worfhip of that indefinite Pro-
vidence which he acknovv^ledged. All thefe traits
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES, 35
in Franklin, whether of excellency or imperfe6i:ion,
were eiTentially Englifh in their mode of develop-
ment. If his mafculine intelle6l fcorned the feeble
verbofity of French declamation, and his truer
tafte defpifed the littlenefs of French vanity and
ambition, fo did his temperate judgment condemn
the fenfuality and egotifm of French infidel philo-
fophy. Removed from fuch a people by the
homely character of his greatnefs, he was as far
removed from them in the modeft ftyle of his
unbelief. In Voltaire we fee a fiendifn aftivity
againft the Revelation which condemned his
theories and frowned upon his pleafures ; and in
RoulTeau, a moral blindnefs and corruption which
darkened and tainted his whole moral being, even
while he boafted of the unfullied purity of his foul.
But in Franklin there is too fmcere a love of
virtue to allow of fcorn towards religion. With
piety the moft ardent (as that of Whitefield), if
he has no fympathy, he has yet no quarrel: he
can even admire the eloquence and earnellnefs
of the Preacher J and, giving him credit for the
fimpleft fincerity, he refufes to denounce it as
prieftcraft and pretence.
No extract from the auto-biography of Franklin
could adequately reprefent its excellence. A brick
is proverbially an infufficient fample of a houfe : it
may indicate the ftrength of the material, but can-
not prove the thicknefs or coherence of its wails ;
and much lefs the amplitude of its interior, or the
external beauty of its ftyle. In like manner, a
pafiage from the life of P'ranklin would fhow the
36 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
fimpliclty of its details, and might fuggeft the
plainnefs of the whole ftru6ture : but we could
not infer from it the admirable patience, fkill,
and principle, that flowly, but fecurely, added
ftone to flone, and proportioned part to part;
that facrificed no true advantage or convenience
to a mere trick of fhow; but, feeking with dire6l-
nefs the real objects which the edifice was de-
figned to ferve, refted fatisfied that it fhould owe
its beauty to its fymmetry, and its confideration
to its importance. It is a charming narrative of
an exemplary career, calculated to intereft and
improve readers of every clafs. The ftaple of
every man's life confifts of ordinary duties and
employments ; and, in the proper performance
of thefe with a healthy and hopeful perfeverance,
every man may derive afliftance, counfel, and en-
couragement, from the brave New-Englander's
career. We are all journeying with him on the
level road of life ; but if we would attain fo far,
or obferve fo much, or earn the reft of agefo well
as he, it will behove us to gird up our loins, and,
neither running here nor paufing there, to make
conftant and deliberate progrefs, and hourly to ex-
tend the horizon of our knowledge and purfuits.
Totally different in fubjedl and in ftyle are the
Memoirs of Chateaubriand, the French peer, au-
thor and diplomate, as written by himfelf and be-
queathed for pofthumous publication. This work
is faid to have difappointed the expeftations of his
admirers ; and it is certain that the tumultuous
ftate of continental politics has not fuffered it
JUrO-BIOGRAPHIES. 37
largely to engage, much lefs entirely to engrofs,
that public homage which its author anticipates
with fo much afFe61:ed indifference. For ourfelves,
we have found it, to the full, as eloquent and
picSturefque as the brilliant writings of Chateau-
briand had led us to expe(5t ; and if it prefented
to our eyes no faultlefs hero, without moral ble-
mifh or mental imperfe6lion, we were neither fur-
prifed nor difappointed by the chequered lights
and fliadows. We remembered, moreover, that
it was the pi6lure of a Frenchman drawn by him-
felf. In his foibles, as in his greatnefs, Chateau-
briand was the very type of the natiorial chara6ler
of France ; he was eflentially, conftitutionally, habit-
ually French. This is not faid to difparage his coun-
try, but to chara6lerize himfelf. Neither is the cir-
cumftance a rebatement to the intereft of the work
before us, but rather its conftant charm ; always re-
lieving it from dulnefs, though often at the expenfe
of the hero's dignity. To the Englifh reader of
thefe Memoirs, accuftomed to the modeft referve
of Englifti writers when fpeaking of themfelves,
there is fomething repulfive at the firft in the in-
ordinate vanity of their author. The "glory"
which he fuppofes himfelf to have acquired is ever
prefent with him ; haunts him, as he would fay,
with a melancholy fplendour ; mingles in every
group which he defcribes ; is with him like a fha-
dow in the folitude where he invites the world to
look in upon him. This fame " glory " ferves
him like a gilt pafteboard crown ; and ever as he
comes before you he feems to fet it down upon
38 JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
the table, fighing like a paviour, as though it were
maffive with gold, and lined with thorns ; and
then, with piteous looks, he implores your com-
paflion for the viclim of too much greatnefs. You
find it difficult — when this fcene has been re-
peated over and over again — to reftrain your dif-
guft at fo much genius and fo little fenfe. You
begin to doubt the reality of his renown, when
you hear it moft luftily fliouted by himfelf, with
a deprecating whine to ferve as echo. You
are ready to afk him if he happens to have his
title and credentials in his pocket. If fo, what
are they? Who made him famous? What proves
his greatnefs ? Did he build the pyramids, defign
St. Peter's, or write Paradife Loft? Is he the
Wandering Jew, or Napoleon grown lean and
run to feed ? To this he anfwers with an un-
earthly groan, and ftill fits wringing his hands,
and invoking his remorfelefs "^/wV^,"
Thofe who have read thefe Memoirs will ac-
knowledge that the author's vanity and egotifm
are not overdrawn by us : thofe who have not,
will wonder how fuch moral weaknefs can con-
fift with talent in the writer, patience in the
reader, or intereft in the work. Yet the writer
has talents of a very high order : the reader is
more often prompted to admiration than exercifed
in patience : and the work unites moft of the
characteriftic beauties of auto-biography. The
period of the Memoirs is remarkably compre-
henfive, and chequered with fcenes of the moft
ftriking variety and contraft. The individual for-
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES. 39
tunes of the author are coloured, more or lefs, by
every public change ; yet he conftantly ftands by
with graphic pencil, and fketches for our plea-
fure. Born under the decline and dotage of the
old regime^ he witnefled fucceffively the Revo-
lution, the Confulate, the Empire, the Reftoration,
the Revolution of July, 1830 ; and, before he
lapfed into his final fleep, his dying pillov^ v^as
rocked by the Revolution of February, 1848.
Starting from a dilapidated family-manfion in an
obfcure part of Brittany, he mingled with cour-
tiers at Paris, with Indian favages in the Ame-
rican woods and prairies, with poor emigrants at
one time, and ambaffadors and princes at another,
in the crowded city and fuperb court of London ;
incurring now the perilous difpleafure of the
tyrant Buonaparte, and attracting always the
admiration of generous hearts by his chivalric
and independent bearing, by his fcorn of char-
tered infolence, and by his eloquent fympathy with
humanity at large. The ftyle in which the per-
fonal and public memoranda of his life are written,
is worthy of high praife. It is at once fententious
and pi6lurefque ; it touches upon falient points
with unfailing (kill ; and often cryflallizes, in
one gem-like fentence, the philofophy of a cha-
racter or career. Chateaubriand, like other French
authors, will often give an exaggerated importance
to trifles ; and he is more affedled by matters of
external fhow, novelty, or coincidence, than an
Englifhman of well-trained mind would fufPer him-
fclf to be. But his manner is attraCtive when his
40 AUTO-BIOGRJPHIES.
matter is trivial: he is feldom jejune, and never
common-place. His reflections are original, and
often profound, — the refult of poetic inftindi:,
rather than of laborious analyfis. His portraitures
are felicitous and ftriking ; his fummary of im-
portant events, lucid and fair; his fketches of
fcenes, incidents, and interviews, dramatic in the
extreme. His narrative is often coloured above
nature, detailed beyond literal fa6t. This is done,
we are perfuaded, unconfcioufly. His veracity is
above fufpicion. But then his imagination is be-
yond control. In recalling a converfation that he
has taken part in, or a fcene that he has witneiTed,
he cannot bear that the one fhould be reported in
broken or general terms, and the other indif-
tin6lly given : this muft be a picture, and that a
little drama. They are works of art founded upon
fa6l. The truth is there, but not in its literal
photographic drefs. It is elaborated for pofterity,
to hang in the gallery of his Memoirs for ever.
As an illuftration of the ftyle and fentiment of
Chateaubriand, in the graver paiTages of this auto-
biography, we extract a part of his parallel be-
twixt two mightybut diflimilar heroes: — ^^IVaJh-
ington does not^ like Napoleon^ belong to that clafs of
men who ajfume fuper human proportions. Nothing
ajionijhing is attached to his per/on : he is not
placed on a vajl theatre i he is not engaged in a
Jlruggle with the moji Jkilful captains and the moji
powerful monarchs of the age. He does not rujh
from Memphis to Vienna.^ from Cadiz to Mofcozv.
He defends himfelfwith a handful of citizens^ in a
JUrO-BIOGRJPHIES, 41
comparatively unknown land, and in the narrow
circle of the domejlic hearth : he does not wage
battles which renew the triu?nphs of Arhela and
Pharfalia. He does not overturn thrones, to build
up others with their ruins ; he does not fay to the
kings waiting at his gates, —
^ S^'ils fe fonttrop attendre, et qu'Attila s\nnuie.^
Something offilence feems to envelope the actions of
Wajlnngton. He aSfs leifurely. One would fay,
he felt himfelf burdened with the liberty of the
future^ and that he feared to compromife it. It is
not his own dejlinies which this hero of a new fi amp
bears, but thofe of his country : he does not permit
himfelf to fp or t with what does not belong to him.
But from this profound humility what light is about
to burjl forth ! Seek amidji the frejls where the
fword of Wajhington flajhed^ and what will you
find? Tombs? No; a world I Wafoington has
left the United States as the trophy of his field
of battle Buonaparte prefents none of the
features of this grave American. He wages a
noify Jiruggle in an ancient land; he wijhes to
create nothing but his own renown ; he burdens
himfelf only with his own fate. He feems to be
aware that his mijfion will be a Jhort one^ — that
the torrent which defcends from fuch a height vjill
flow fajl. He hajlens to enjoy and to abufe his glory
as if it were a fleeting youth. Like the gods of
Homer, he wi/hes to reach the end of the world in
four fieps. He appears in every character ; he
haflily infcribes his name in the records of all
42 JUrO-BIOGRAPHIES,
nations ; he throws crowns to his family and his
foldiers ; he is hajiy in his monuments, his laws,
and his viSiories, Brooding over the world^ with
one hand he overturns kings^ with the other he
beats doiun the giant of revolution. But^ in cruJJj-
ing anarchy^ hefiifes liberty, and ends by lofing his
own on his lafi field of battle Each is
recompenfed according to his works. Waftnngton
raifes a nation to happinefs ; then.^ laying down his
magijierial authority.^ he finks to refl, beneath his
own roof amidft the regrets of his country?nen
and the veneration of nations Buona-
parte robs a nation of its independence. A depofed
Emperor.^ he is hurried into exile., where the terror
of the globe he has ravaged does not think him
fecurely enough imprifoned under the guardian/hip
of the ocean. He expires. This news, publifljed
at the gate of the palace in front of which the con-
queror caufed fo many funerals to be proclaimed.,
neither arrejis the ftep nor aftonijhes the mind of
the by-paffer The republic of Wajhington
remains-, the empire of Buonaparte is defiroyed.
Wajhington and Buonaparte both fprang from the
bofom of democracy. Both born fro?n Liberty^ the
firfl was faithful to her., the fecond betrayed her.""
The remainder of this famous parallel isinfimilar
ftyle J and the reader's impreilion throughout is,
that the author fpeaks more admiringly of his
brilliant and audacious countryman, even when
his language juftly difcriminates the truer great-
nefs of the American patriot. While he praifes
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES, 43
the perfonal humility of Wafhington, his praife
founds much hke pity. He feems to regret that
fo vivid a glory as his fhould be diffipated over a bar-
ren continent, and ftream mildly through all time.
He would have regarded him with more wonder
and delight, if — inftead of fharing his heroifm and
fuccefs with fellow-foldiers and future generations
— he had gathered up both one and the other into
his own perfon, exhaufted on himfelf the fruits
of a thoufand triumphs, and concentrated in his
own the renown of a thoufand warriors.
In memoirs and confeffions of every clafs the
French have a diftinguifhed reputation, and we
gladly invite attention to another and more favour-
able example of that fchool. The Memoirs of his
Touth^ which M. de Lamartine has recently given
to the world, are invefted with a romantic beauty
of fentiment, perhaps never employed with equal
fuccefs in the delineation of a6tual life. This little
work, indeed, brief and unfinifhed as it is, appears
to us the moft admirable produ6lion of its author,
or the one moft accordant with the tafte of Eng-
lifh readers. It is full of attractions, both for fim-
ple and cultivated minds. The vanity fo offen-
fively difplayed in the Memoirs of Chateaubriand
is here prefented in a modified and fimpler form :
for although the egotifm of M. de Lamartine is
manifefted in a truly national degree, it does not
lead him to make lofty comparifons between him-
felf and the world's moft memorable men, as M.
Chateaubriand repeatedly does j it induces him only
44 JV^rO-BIOGRJPHIES.
to colour fomewhat too highly the perfonal merits
of his hero, and never to forget how brilliant an
enfemhle is due to France and to himfelf. In other
refpe6ls thefe Memoirs differ from thofe of Cha-
teaubriand. The ftyle is more elaborate, and the
ftory more developed and connected \ and if the
language is more frequently diffufe than fenten-
tious, and the fentiment rather poetical than
appropriate, the one is recognized as the fponta-
neous medium of the other, and the whole is not
too glowing for the picture of blended acSlual and
ideal in the auto-biography of a poet's youth. One
portraiture contained in thofe Memoirs is of ex-
quifite beauty and diftinguiflied merit ; it is that
of the author's mother. The excellence of the
fubjecSt has, in this cafe, admirably fecondedthe
execution of the artift. The mere fancy of the
latter could never have fupplied the abfence of
the former : the purely fi6titious heroines of the
poet are falfe and feeble in comparifon with this
facred object of memory and love. But if fuch a
character tranfcended his powers of invention, it
harmonized too well with his own high nature
and fplendid gifts to baffle his depicting powers.
Sure we are that no one can read this affectionate
tribute on the part of M. de Lamartine to a pa-
rent dignified by all that is worthy of efteem, and
endeared by qualities that irrefiltibly infpire love,
without reverence and admiration, — a reverence
and admiration that are reflected from the object
to the author, from the pattern virtue of the mo-
ther to the devotion and homage of the fon. This
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES. 45
filial record is of an elaborate length, as well as
beauty : the author dwells with fondnefs and
delight upon reminifcences fo hallowed, and
lingers in the angelic prefence, at once fami-
liar and divine. A fmall portion only of this in-
terefting memorial is all that we can here infert;
but it will fuffice to fhow the manner and fpirit
of the whole. After defcribing the benevolent
vifits and almfgiving to which his pious mother
devoted a part of every morning, and in which
fhe aflbciated her young children, the author pro-
ceeds : —
" When all this hujile of the daily occupations
was at laji over^ when we had dined^ when the
neighbours y who occafionally came to pay us a vifit^
had retired^ and when the Jhadows of the mountain^
Jlealing along the little garden^ had already wrapped
it in the twilight of the clofing day^ my mother
feparated h erf elf from us for a Jhort period. She
left us either in the little faloon^ or in a corner of the
garden at feme dijiance from her. She at laji took
her hour of repofe and meditation.^ apart and alone.
This was the moment which Jhe devoted to reflec-
tion ; when^ all her thoughts called ho?ne^ all the
wandering afpirations and feelings of the day turned
inwards, Jhe communed with God.^ who formed her
fureft folace and fupport. Toung as we were, we
knew the private hour which Jhe referved to herfelf
atnidfi the bufy duties of the day. We moved away
infiinSfively from the alley of the garden where Jhe
was wont to walk at this hour, as if we had feared
46 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
to interrupt or to overhear the myfter'ious and confi-
dential outpourings of her heart to her Creator, It
was a little walk formed of yellow fand^ approaching
to a red colour^ bordered with ftrawherries^ and
lined on each fide by a row' of fruit-trees which
rofe no higher than her head. A large clump of
hazel-trees terminated the walk on one fide ^ and a
wall on the other. It was the moft deferted and
Jheltered fpot of the garden. It was for this reafon
Jhe preferred it ; for what Jhe faw there was within
herfelf and not in the horizon which bounded her
vifion. She walked with a rapid^ but meafured^
Jiepj like one whofe thoughts are bufily occupied^ who
Tnarches on to a fixed and certain goal^ and whofe
enthufiafm rifes as he proceeds. She had her head
ufually uncovered^ her beautiful black hair half
floating in the breeze^ her countenance a little
graver than during the reft of the day^ fometimes
fight ly bent towards the ground^ fometimes raifed
to heaven^ where the gaze feemed to fearch
for the firfi ftars that began to detach themfelves
from the deep blue of the firmament. Her arms
were bare from the elbow downwards^ her hands
fometimes clafped like thofe of a perfon engaged in
prayer^ fometimes at liberty^ and plucking abfently
a rofe or a few violet marrows^ whofe tall Jialks
fprang up along the margin of the walk. So?neti?nes
her lips were half parted and motionlefs^ fometimes
firmly clofed and working with a perceptible move-
ment^ like thofe of one talking through a drea?n. . .
. . . When Jhe iff ued from this fan^uary of her
foul^ and returned to us again, her eyes were moijl-
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 47
ened^ her features even tnore ferene and fuhdued
than ufual. The never-ceafing fmile which fat upon
her graceful lips^ wore even a more tender and more
loving exprcjjion. One would have faid that Jhe
had thrown off a burden offadnefs^ or relieved her
mind of a weight of adoration^ and that Jhe walked
more lightly under her duties during the remainder
of the day."
Such in her higheft, and fimilar in her fub-
ordinate, relations, was the mother of M. de La-
martine. But the maternal chara6ler was that
in which flie pre-eminently excelled : it appears,
indeed, to have fulfilled in her the meafure of
perfe6i:ion. Even duly confidering the filial heart
and poetic mind of her memorialift, the reader can
hardly conceive of her as lefs than fully exem.pli-
fying the virtues of faith and practice, or as failing
in any the fmallefl particular of motherly love
and care. He is not furprifed, therefore, to find
that the childifh fenfibilities of the future poet,
foftered by fo pure and tender a concern, were
rudelyfhocked when, at the age often years, he left
home for the firft time, and found himfelf joftled
and difregarded in a public fchool, — a ftranger to
the fmalleft kindnefs, and a loathing witnefs of
vulgar and depraved habits. From this rude
fcene he boldly efcaped, returning home, and was
afterwards placed at a fuperior feminary under the
guardianfhip of mild and learned Jefuits. Here,
however, his great ftimulus to fuccefs in ftudy
was the profped: of again joining the family
48 JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES.
circle ; and that goal he appears to have at-
tained by abfolutely exhaufting the learning of
his teachers. To his enjoyment of domeftic
happinefs was now added the delightful freedom
of opening intellecSlual youth.
" Having returned to Milly a Jhort time before
the fall of the leaf I thought I never could enjoy
fufficiently the torrent of inward happinefs with
which a Jenfe of liberty in the abode of my child-
hood and in the bofom of my family filled my breafi.
It was the conquejl of my age of manhood. My
mother had caufed a little chamber to be prepared
for myfelf alo7ie : it was fituated in an angle of the
houfe^ and the window opened into a lovely walk of
hazel-trees. It contained only a bed without cur-
tains^ a tahle^ and feme /helves, fixed againfi a
wall^ to contain my books. My father had pur-
chafed for me the three articles which ferve to com-
plete the virile robe of an adolefcent.^ — a watch^ a
fowling-piece^ and a horfe^ as if to notify to ?ne that
henceforth the hours^ the plains^ and the realms of
fpace^ were my own. I took poffejfion of ?ny inde-
pendence with a rapture which lafied fever al months.
The day was abandoned wholly to the chafe along
with my father .^ to drejfing my horfe in the ft able .^
or to galloping him, with my hand twined in
his mane^ through the neighbouring valleys. The
evenings were given up to the fweet inter courfe of
family in the faloon^ along with my mother, my
father, and feme friends of the family^ or in read-
ing aloud the works of hiflorians and poets
AUrO-BIOGRAPHIES. 49
Among thefe poets^ thofe whom I adfnire in pre-
ference were not the ancients^ zvhofe clajjic pages
we had^ when too youngs moiflened with our tears ^
and with the fweat of our Jiudies. There exhaled
from them^ when I opened their pages ^ a fort ofpri-
fon odour of zvearinefs and of conjiraint which made
me Jhut them again^ as a delivered captive hates to
look again upon his former chains. But they were
thofe which are not infcrihed in the catalogue of
works ofjiudy^ — the modern poets^ Italian^ Englijh^
German.^ French^ — poets whofe flejh and blood are
our own fleJh and bloody who feel^ who think^ who
love^ who fmg^ as %ue feel^ as we think^ as we fing^
as we love^ we the men of modern times ; fuch as
Taffo^ Dante^ Petrarch^ Shakefpeare^ Milton^ Cha-
teaubriand^ — who fang like them? — above all,
Ojftan^ that poet of the vague and undefined,, that
miji of the imagination^ that inarticulate plaint of the
Northern Seas^ that foam of the waves^ that murmur
of the Jhadows, that eddying of the clouds around
the te?npejl-beaten peaks of Scotland^ that northern
Dante^ as grand^ as majejiic^ as fupernatural^ as
the Dante of Florence^ and ?nore fenfible than he^
and who often wrings from his phanto?ns cries ?nore
human and more heart-rending than thofe of the
heroes of Homer, "
Afterwards, we have yet further proof of the
vivid and lafting impreflion which the works of
Offian made upon the youthful poet's mind; and
we cannot help thinking, that to his inordinate
ftudy of the northern bard may be traced the cha-
E
50 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
raderiftic defe6ts both of the poetry and profe of
M. de Lamartine. Thefe defeds, as it appears
to us, confift in the fubftitution of the vague for
the definite, and a preference for brilliance of co-.
lour over diftin6lnefs and truth of outline ; and
are precifely vi^hat might be anticipated from the
undue influence of the poems of OfTian. It is
true, indeed, that a vi^ide difference diftinguifhes
the earlier and later minftrels ; but it is the differ-
ence of diflance, and not of difTimilarity, — the
difference betwixt rude antiquity and modern times,
and betwixt the bleak and mifly north and the
warm and golden fouth. In the one, we have the
fombre genii of a frowning clime and an heroic
age, floating cloud-wife over fcaur and mountain,
and filling up the paufes of the florm with an an-
fwering gufl of forrow, as the chorus of the Greek
drama echoes and heightens the mourner's grief;
and in the other, every garden of the funny fouth
is made to glow like Paradife, and every maiden's
walk feems haunted by angelic innocence, and
every youth is a divinity, and all verdure is hope,
and all funfhine heaven. In the creations of
M. de Lamartine there is more variety than in
thofe of OiTian, but hardly more of individuality :
perfons they are not fo much as types, nor fub-
ftances fo much as fhadows. They are abflrac-
tions of the poetry of life, rather than living and
concrete examples. And for this reafon, they will
always burn upon the ardent imaginations of the
young, though they may ceafe to gratify the
experienced intelle6l in riper years. Even the
AUTO-BIOGRJPHIES. 5 1
lovely Graziella, whofe image and hiftory adorn
thefe Memoirs with their choiceft epifode, is
hardly an exception to this rule of typical portrai-
ture. A maiden of Greek defcent and Italian
birth, inheriting the claflic beauty of her anceftors,
and abforbing the attra6live glow and foftnefs of
her native clime, we conceive of her as the para-
gon of youth and beauty ; — as the foundling of
dame Fortune, caft upon an ifland rock, adopted
by Nature herfelf, and by her endowed with a
plenitude of gifts and graces that tranfcend the
vulgar and conventional ornaments of life. Yet
it muft be owned that this perfe6lion of charms,
and abfolute fimplicity of manners, make up an
enchanting ideal ; and that it is after all touchingly
human and tenderly feminine. How exquifitely
is the tranfition from girlhood to womanhood in-
dicated on the occafion of her liftening, for the
firft time, to the tale of Paul and Virginia, as it is
brokenly interpreted to the fiflierman's family by
the lips of the poet,
^^ The young girl felt her heart, till then dormant^
revealed to her^ as it were^ in the foul of Virginia.
She feemed to have groivn fix years older in that
half hour. The Jlorms of pajjion had marbled her
forehead, the azure white of her eyes, and her
cheeks. She refemhled a calm and fieltered lake^ on
which the funjhine^ the wind, and the Jhade were
Jiruggling together for the fir J} time.''
But we muft not be feduced into a repetition of
the beautiful ftory of Graziella, or rather into a
52 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
poor abridgment of it ; for it muft ceafe to charm,
if touched by ruder hands than thofe of its firft
framer, and made lefs or other than it is.
Two Englifh contemporaries of Chateaubriand
and Lamartine had alfo planned a retrofpeil of
their illuftrious lives ; but the auto-biographies
commenced by Scott and Southey were early in-
terrupted by long delays, and finally broken ofF by
death. We have only a fragment of each, written
with a tafte and judgment that make us deeply
regret the lofs of that which is unwritten, and of
which we feem to have been fo accidentally de-
prived. In their completed ftate, they would have
been models of auto-biography, uniting the fim-
plicity and fidelity of the humbleft works of the
clafs to all that is morally and intellectually noble,
to the manly modefty of true greatnefs, and the
felicity of true tafte. Both thefe eminent authors
were mafters of a pure Englifh ftyle; and, if Scott
had an advantage in the humour of character and
anecdote, the moral tone and admirable exprefiion
of Southey imparted a beautiful clearnefs to the
reminifcences of his youth. The one, from the
obje6live tendency of his mind, enriched his per-
fonal hiftory with fketches of contemporary
perfons and external things ; the other, writing
more fubje6lively, though ftill with an obferving
eye and a healthy mind, clothed his narrative of
every aflbciation or tranfa6lion with an elevation
of fentiment and a dignity of language peculiar to
himfelf. Sir Walter Scott has found, in his fon-
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES. 53
in-law, an able continuator, worthy of that office :
the narrative of Lockhart is, indeed, as excellent
a fubftitute for the Poet's auto-biography as the
cafe would admit of. But Southey, we conceive,
has been lefs fortunate in this refpe6l : the Me-
moirs of his Life and Correfpondence, as prepared
by his fon, are fo inferior in intereft and merit, as
greatly to deepen our regret at the incompletenefs
of the fketch which forms its commencement,
and which, in a more finifhed ftate, — fupplemented
by a fele6tion of the author's beft letters, — would
have furniflied the prefent age, and future times,
with an admirable example of literary hiftory.
Under the circumftances of this double depriva-
tion, it remains for us to make fome paffing
reference to a work lefs exalted, both in merit and
pretenfion, but not without an intereft of its own ;
and then to conclude this brief fummary, by a
notice of the volume which fuggefted it.
An announcement of the Auto-hiography of
Leigh Hunt was full of promife to the lover of
modern literature. There is no man of the pre-
fent age to whom the profeffion of letters, adopted
(ifwemayfoexprefsourfelves)byirrefiftiblechoice,
has proved a more conftant fervice of delight than
to him, — a fervice to which, though with variety
of fortune but conftancy of love, he has now ad-
hered through half a century, — and none to
whofe excurfive genius and companionable teach-
ing the general reader is indebted for fo large a
meafure of intelle6tual paftime. In mufical
phrafe, he has always written con fptrito. It may.
54 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
indeed, have often happened to him, as to more
fortunate authors, that to buckle to his tafk and
bend to the defk, defpite the alluring funfhine and
inviting flowers, involved at firft a little hardftiip
and felf-denial ; but once there, he grew happy
and contented. To defcant of freedom in the
meadows, or nature among the mountains, feemed
the next beft thing to a perfonal enjoyment of the
fame. Seated in his quiet ftudy, he became the
literary correfpondent of the reading world ; took
down a volume of this poet, or of that eiTayift,
and, diving into the treafury of his own memory
and fancy, rehearfed the one with a commentary
of dainty thoughts, and fupplemented the other
with the fruits of his own experience. He has
not, indeed, laid claim to the honours of conqueft
over any branch of fcience, or by a fmgle produc-
tion* approved his right to be efteemed one of
the mafters of poetic art ; but his tafteful and
congenial expofition of the latter will more than
excufe his sfthetic averfion to the cold theoria of
the former. If he is not entitled to a ProfefTor-
fhip in the one department, he has been long re-
* We have not forgotten the graceful and pathetic Le-
gend of Florence^ efpecially diftinguifhed by the nervous and
novel rhythm of its verfe, the fweetnefs of its domeftic fen-
timent, and its general purity and frefhnefs. But we are
not quite fatisfied, that its moral is as unexceptionable as its
ftyle j and, even granting it to be a noble fpecimen of dra-
matic art, it would hardly be fufficient of itfelf to fecure
a high pofition for its author. On the whole, we look
upon the two large volumes which form Leigh Hunt's
London Journal, as the field where his genius has expatiated
to moft advantage ; it is that alio from which he has lately
garnered fome of his moft pleafant lucubrations.
AUrO-BIOGRJPHIES, 55
ceived as a Mafter of the Revels in the other.
All that wit, humour, imagination, or fancy have
provided for human pleafure in chafte but exube-
rant forms, have been uftiered by his wand of
enchantment in a thoufand different mafks, ap-
pearing now in Tingle, and now in affociated, beauty,
and lovely alike in every combination and attitude.
Leigh Hunt has not produced an agreeable
hiftory of himfelf. He is generally far more happy
when fpeaking of books, or birds, or neighbours,
or companions of any kind. His Auto-biography
appeared in three volumes, but attradted little
notice and lefs commendation. The ftyle is often
carelefs and faulty in the extreme ; and the more
purely literary portion is not only inferior in ability
to his former eflays, but is in great part deftitute
of novelty to the modern reader. Thus fecond-
rate in its material, and unconne6i:ed as a whole,
it ftands in need of fome friendly indulgence ; but
this we are not inclined to withhold. Too
evidently it was made to order ; it is a pardonable
inftance of book-making. We can eafily con-
ceive the relu6lance with which the tafk was
undertaken, the diftafte with which it was profe-
cuted day by day, and the diffatisfa6tion with
which it was finally difmiffed out of hand. Hence
the feeblenefs of a twice-told tale, the loofenefs
of ftyle, and the defedivenefs of plan. Had it
been entirely a labour of love, it would not have
lacked proportion, unity, and finifti. But other
reafons, no doubt, contributed to thefe defe6):s ;
for thefe in for^e meafure refle6l thofe of the
56 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
author himfelf, — whofe principles and charatSter
are open to exception on fome ferious points.
But if our hero proves no hero after all, like
every other auto-biographer he had at leafl a home,
which may furnifh us fome compenfating glimpfes.
It is commonly faid, that the mothers of great
men are themfelves remarkable ; but did you
never fufpe6l, dear reader, that this is but a very
partial truth ; that men of very middling, ay, and
thofe of very little, powers, are frequently as
favoured in this refpe6l as the nobleft and the
brighteft ? We cannot open the confeffions of
the mereft fcamp, without being furprifed with a
lovely pi6ture of maternal excellence, beaming on
the earlieft page, nurfmg fome puling infant ^^{'^
tined never to reward fuch love ; taking her
higheft pleafure from the faint dawning fmile or
childifli prattle, and her firft anxiety from the
innocent and heedlefs confidence of youth, and
never ceafing to be a mother when her boy has
long renounced the name and charadler of child.
If it be true, in any peculiar and efpecial fenfe,
that " Heaven lies about us in our infancy," can
we doubt who is the angel of our cradle, as well
as the guardian genius of our life ?
It is for the fake of fuch a charad^er that we
give a fketch of the early hiftory of Leigh Hunt.
He was born at the village of Southgate, in
Middlefex, on the 19th of 06lober, 1784. His
parents had not long been fettled in this country,
whither the royalift tendencies of the father — who
was a native of Barbadoes, refident in Philadelphia
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 57
— had caufed him to be driven at the commence-
ment of the American Revolution. This father
appears to have been not lefs fingular in his
chara6ter than in his fortunes ; indeed, the che-
quered nature of the latter plainly refulted, in no
fmall degree, from the eccentricity of the former.
Gifted in fome refpe6ls in a remarkable manner,
the want of a ferious purpofe, as w^ell as of a high
religious principle, caufed thefe gifts to be throw^n
avi^ay upon him : unftable as water, he could not
excel. By change of country, he was fuddenly
metamorphofed from a lawyer into a divine.
" My mother was to follow my father as foon as
pojfible^ which Jhe was not able to do for many
months. The laft time Jhe had feen him^ he was a
laivyer and a partifan^ g^'^^g ^^ut to meet an infuri-
ated populace. On her arrival in England^ Jhe
beheld him in a pulpit^ a Clergyman^ preaching
tranquillity. When my father came over^ he found
it impojfible to continue his profejjion as a lawyer.
Some a£iors who heard him read advifed him to go
on the Jiage ; but he was too proud for that^ and
vjent into the Church.^^
He became a popular Preacher of charity fer-
mons, and particularly excelled in the reading
defk. But it is admitted by his fon that he made
a great miftake in adopting the clerical profeilion.
He remained in a falfe pofition for life. Subfe-
quently he became tutor to the nephew of the
Duke of Chandos, Mr. Leigh, and had fome
58 AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
chance of promotion to a bifhopric ; " but his
Weft Indian temperament fpoiled all." Later
ftill he fell firft into debt and then into prifon,
from which place his fon's earlieft recolleftion of
him dates. He became Unitarian and Univerfal-
ift, and died in the year 1809, aged fifty-feven.
The mother of Leigh Hunt was of a fuperior
chara6ler5 although the complexion of her life and
fentiments was, from true womanly fympathy,
materially coloured by thofe of her hufband. She
was a native of Philadelphia ; and of her relatives
in that city we are told fome pleafmg particulars.
She was, at the time of her marriage, "a brunette
with fine eyes, a tall ladylike perfon, and hair
blacker than is feen of Englifh growth My
mother had no accomplifliments but the two beft
of all, — a love of nature and a love of books.
Dr. Franklin offered to teach her the guitar j but
fhe was too bafhful to become his pupil. She
regretted this afterwards, partly, no doubt, for
having miffed fo illuftrious a mafter. Her firft
child, who died, was named after him." This
lady, after embarking to join her hufband in
England, encountered a violent and protra6led
ftorm, in which fhe is reprefented as behaving with
fingular courage, animating her young children,
and exciting the warmeft admiration of the Cap-
tain. Her fon, who fondly memorializes her
goodnefs, appears to have been the youngeft of
her large family, and was born fome years after
her arrival in England. He has no recolle6lion
therefore of his mother's earlieft afpedt. The
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES, 59
critical danger of her hufband, on the occafion of
his flight from America, had caufed her extreme
fright, and fenfibly ftiaken her conftitution.
" The fight of two men fighting in the Jireets
would drive her in tears down another road; and I
remember^ zvhen we lived near the Park^ Jhe would
take me a long circuit out of the zvay^ rather than
hazard the fpedacle of the foldiers. Little did Jhe
think of the timidity zuith which Jhe was then in-
oculating me^ and what difficulties I Jhould have
when I went to fchool^ to fufiain all thofe fine theo-
ries^ and that unbending refiftance to opprejfion^
which Jhe inculcated. However^ perhaps it turned
out ultimately for the beft. One muji feel more than
ufual for the fore places of humanity^ even to fight
properly in their behalf Never Jhall I forget her
face as it ufed to appear to me coming up the cloijlers^
with that weary hang of the head on one fide, and
that melancholy fmile.^^
There is more about this excellent woman
which we (hould like to quote. We mufl content
ourfelves, however, with one trait more. She
adopted not only the religious, but the republican,
creed of her hufband, and, in maintaining the
latter, was apt to be rather intolerant. Poor lady !
not only can we forgive — we muft even admire —
a vehemence fpringing from the force of ftrongeft
feminine affections. Her zeal may not, indeed,
have been according to knowledge ; but, better
ftill, it was according to love. To regard the un-
6o AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES,
fortunate partner of her life with paffionate efteem,
was a neceffity of her nature, the condition of her
life. The aflertion of his chara6leriftic opinions
was therefore become with her a fort of felf-
defence, and the more fo as he feemed to fail in
them before the world. To this fubje6l fhe would
bring all the inftindive fkill and tender fiercenefs
of a woman ; for it was the apology of her own
devotion, and that which alone redeemed her
married life from felf-contempt.
The moft recent auto-biography is that of
Thomas de Quincey, known to all lovers of
Englifh literature as a writer of fubtle genius and
great learning. It is, emphatically, the auto-
biography of digreffions. To thofe who are fami-
liar with the author's writings, this circumftance
will bring no furprife. It is chara6teriftic of his
fruitful and difcurfive mind, and is that to which
both the charm and imperfe6i:ion of his ftyle are
mainly due. All Mr. De Quincey's works are
diftlnguifhed — not to fay, disfigured — by the very
large proportion of eplfodlcal matter. Not con-
tent with indulging in a copious and ramifying
text, this alfo, in its turn, is loaded and enriched
by numerous illuftrative notes, often of great
value, which hang loofely on the body of the work,
like the fcalps in an Indian's wampum-belt. They
are the trophies of his vigorous and triumphant
genius, gathered from every field of learning.
They often encumber the free exerclfe of his
artiflic talents, fo that few of his produdions have
AUTO-BIOGRAPHIES. 6i
any claim to the beauty of form and higheft fym-
metry : but the reader cannot wi{h them away j
for that would be fo much lofs, while their prefence
is a welcome fuperfluity of good. They are a
kind of riches that our judgment might have for-
bidden us to defire, but which our avarice will not
fuiFer us to refufe. They are an unexpected, and
even a bewildering, addition to the author's theme;
but our greed of knowledge overcomes the ftri6t
fimplicity of tafte, and we take them by the way,
like mouthfuls of a choice collateral falad.
But thefe endlefs deviations of Mr. De Quin-
zty are ftill lefs to be regretted in reference to the
volume of his memoirs. The byways of a country
are always more delightful than the main-road ;
and in a memorial retrofpe6t we may be profitably
led to vifit thofe without wholly lofing fight of
this. The opening chapter is devoted to the
author's remembrances of childhood, and efpecially
of a young and gifted fifter. There is fomething
marvellous in Mr. De Quincey's memory of that
early period, as well as in his eloquent defcriptions
of its affections and its griefs, of its pure and paf-
five happinefs, of the unconfcious awe which
inverts the feeble mind of infancy when (landing,
for the firft time, in the myfterious company of
Death. But the reader of the " Confefiions " is
familiar with this peculiar power of our author,
and we prefer to quote an inftance of domeftic
portraiture.
" This eldeji brother of mine was^ in allrefpe£is^
62 AUrO-BIOGRJPHIES.
a remarkable boy. Haughty he was^ afpiring,
immeafurably a£live ; fertile in refources as Robinfon
Crufoe ; but alfo full of quarrel as it is pojftble to
imagine ; and, in default of any other opponent, he
would have fajiened a quarrel upon his own Jhadow
for prefuming to run before him when going weft-
ward in the morning, whereas in all reafon^ a
Jhadow^ like a dutiful child^ ought to keep deferen-
tially in the rear of that majeftic fubjiance which is
the author of its exifience. Books he detejled, one
and all, excepting only fuch as he happened to write
himfelf And thcfe were not a few. On all fub-
je£is known to man^ from the*" Thirty -nine Articles''
of our Englijh Church, down to pyrotechnics^ leger-
demain^ magic, both black and white^ thaumaturgy,
and necromancy^ he favoured the world (which
world was thenurfery where I lived among myfjiers)
with his feleSf opinions. On this laji fubje5l efpe-
cially — -of necromancy — he zuas very great ; witnefs
his profound work^ though but a fragment, and,
unfortunately, long fmce departed to the bofom of
Cinderella, entitled, * How to Raife a Ghojl ; and
when you^ve Got hi?n Down, How to Keep him
DownJ* To which work, he affured us, that fome
moji learned and enormous man^ whofe name zvas a
foot and a halflong^ had promifed him an appendix,
zvhich appendix treated of the Red Sea and Solomon s
fignet-ring, with forms of M\tt\mus for ghojis that
might be refra£iory, and, probably, a Riot-ASi for
any emeute amongjl ghofts inclined to raife barri-
cades ; fmce he often thrilled our young hearts by
fuppofing the cafe^ [not at all unlikely^ he affirmed^)
JUTO-BIOGRJPHIES. 63
that a federation^ a folemn league and confpiracy^
might take place among the infinite generation of
ghojis againji the fingle generation of men^ at one
time compofing the garrifon of earth. The Roman
phrafe for exprejfing that a man had died^ viz.
' Abiit ad plures,' (' He has gone over to the ma-
jority^') my brother explained to us ; and zve eafily
comprehended that any one generation of the living
human race^ even if combined^ and acting in concert ^
muft he in a frightful minority by comparifon with
all the incalculable generations that had trod this
earth before.''^
From this point the author goes ofF into one of
his digreffions of fpeculation ; but our fpace for-
bids us to admit the whole of this charafteriftic
pafTage. We fhould have liked to tell the reader
more of this enterprifmg boy, and to have enriched
our page with a companion-pi(3:ure, — that of a
younger brother, familiarly called "Pink," ftrangely
endowed with a feminine fenfibility and beauty, in
conneition with heroic ftrength and courao;e.
But we muft forbear. So far as Mr. de Ouincey
has yet proceeded, there is no want of intereft in
his reminifcences ; but his ftyle is more faulty
than we had expelled to find, and the arrangement
of his ftory is hardly agreeable to his acknowledged
flcill and pradice in compofition. One caufe of
this defect is due, no doubt, to the fa6l that fome
of the fketches that make up this volume were
written many years ago, and at different times,
and are only made intelligible in their prefent form
64 JUTO-BIOGRAPHIES.
by repeated reference to the circumftances of their
firft appearance. Of the growth of the author's
mind, under literary influences, we have no
account; and, on the whole, we fhall form a
better opinion of this work from a firft impreffion
than in a critical and ftudied eftimate.
In this hafty fketch of one interefting branch
of literature, of courfe there is much omitted that
individual readers might expe6l to find. Many
ftandard examples of auto-biography have beea
neceflarily pafi^ed by ; with many lighter, but not
lefs curious, memoirs, — fuch as thofe of that
quaint and plaufible impoftor, William Lilly, and
that pleafant and conceited goflip, Colley Gibber.
The one aflures us what it is to lie like an alma-
nack-maker ; and the other calls back the faded
beauties of the ftage, and re-animates their patched
and painted fmiles. We have found no fpace
even for a due confideration of the laft and ableft
of our Englifh Diarifts, — fo remarkable for his
reftlefs energy, his fanguine fpirit, his flu6luating
fortunes, and his refilient hopes ; and fo unfortu-
nate in wanting the fuftained moral temper
requifite for all great achievements, in art as well
as in affairs. From this example we might have
enforced the greateft leflbn which the career of
genius has fupplied to the prefent age. But the
painful hiftory of Benjamin Robert Haydon has
recently been dwelt upon by many of our contem-
poraries ,• and thofe who have taken it to heart are
not likely to require its frefh recital.
SACRED POETRY; MILTON
AND POLLOK.
T is, perhaps, not eafy to determine
the limits within which facred fubje6ts
maybe permitted in modern narrative
or epic poetry. Yet the topic is full
of intereft, and the limitation a very defirable ob-
ject of criticifm ; for, even if we fhould fail of
fatisfa6lorily defining the grounds of facred poetry,
it cannot but be profitable to afcertain the condi-
tions under which alone they may be occupied,
and the manner in which they have been moft
fuccefsfully cultivated. The neceffity of checking
the prefumption of weak and inexperienced poet-
aflers, who are even lefs able to inflate the
trumpets of the Year of Jubilee than to bend the
bow of UlyfTes, is an urgent motive to this end.
We cannot ignore the fa6l, that themes of the
mofl awful importance, gathered from holy writ,
are frequently made the fubjedt-matter of ambi-
tious poems ; and fuch is the general flyle of thefc
F
66 SACRED POETRT;
produ£lions that, whenever we meet with the an-
nouncement of a facred poem, we now make up our
minds for fomething unufually profane. Many of
thefe poems, fo-called, are utter failures ; and, if we
judged from them alone, it might readily be de-
cided that themes fo weighty could not be worthily
fuftained in human hands, and that the Chriftian
verities are both too ferious and too inflexible for
the purpofes of poetic fable. But this eafy deci-
fion of the matter is denied to us : for inftances of
the higheft treatment and wideft fuccefs prefent
themfelves to the mind ; and, though ^qw^ they
are living and eloquent witnefTes for a fpecies of
compofition that is rather difhonoured than dif-
credited by a necropolis of failures. The works
of Milton, and even of Pollok, are of themfelves
fufficient to Ihield from unqualified cenfure the
pra6lice of adventuring upon themes fo high and
difficult. But too much muft not be prefumed
from occafional fuccefs ; nor fhould it be forgot-
ten that the inftances adduced may be the very
exceptions which are faid to eftablifh, rather than
to contradict, a rule. This, indeed, we fufpe6l to
be the cafe. Secular poetry is the rule, and facred
poetry the exception. The fuccefs of the mafters
juft mentioned was neceflary to juftify their own
eflays, and cannot avail to excufe the attempts of
men lefs naturally gifted, or lefs morally prepared.
The undertaking of Milton was full of peril : to
have failed either in truth of defign, or in dignity
of execution, would have degraded the facred
topic of his verfe, and expofed his own weaknefs
MILTON AND POLLOK. 67
and prefumption. He had none to fhow the way,
when, with daring wing, he penetrated " the pal-
pable obfcure," — none to pitch the high key-note
of his eventful fong, when he eflayed " things un-
attempted yet in profe or rhyme." As he incur-
red all the danger of the attempt, fo let him
receive all the praife of his fuccefs. So, in his
degree, with Pollok : to retrace the traverfed
Courfe of Time was an a6t no lefs adventurous, and
perhaps even more arduous, than to relate the lofs
of Paradife. The very triumph of Milton in-
creafed the difficulties of the later bard. To fuc-
ceed equally he muft foar as highly, and yet avoid
the flaming track which revealed the other's
flight. To be worthy of his theme, he muft be
equally fublime and fpiritual with his great prede-
ceflbr, and yet it was neceflary to be abfolutely
original and diftin6l. No doubt the temerity of
this attempt was barely juftified by the refult, and
it will hardly be caufe for wonder if a comparifon
of thefe two authors fhould have the effect of
marking their very unequal merit. Yet the
younger and inferior poet may prove not altogether
unworthy of being brought, though only for a
moment, into the prefence of his mature and
mighty rival ; and we are perfuaded that his
originality and merit will furvive the ordeal.
It Is a remark occurring in the " Table Talk "
of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, that the only fubje<£ts
proper for epic poetry are either national or mundane.
Whether hiftorically or theoretically confidered,
I
68 SACRED POETRT;
this diciium will be found entirely warranted by-
truth. It is true, hiftorically : Homer, Virgil,
and Camoens are authors of great national epics ;
Taflb, Milton, and Pollok, of poems either in the
v/ideft fenfe mundane, or of intereft commenfurate
with the extent of Chriftendom. It is true, theo-
retically : for the ftronger interefts of poetry are
wholly dependent upon perfonal or focial relations;
and it may be fairly afiumed that the cordial at-
tention of a great people is not to be engaged in
the moft brilliant events in which they have no
concern, and with which they have neither na-
tural nor fpiritual connection. Strange as it may
feem, thofe human feelings which are moft uni-
verfally experienced, and fo might be fuppofed
to have equal fympathy with objects near and re-
mote, require a limited, particular, and intimate
bond of fellowfhip : our hearts, when they moft
yearn to embrace the world, find the greater ne-
ceffity to localife their affedions and concentrate
their love. So, if the poetry of a nation is to be
confefledly national and popular, it muft be either
patriotic or religious — muft link itfelf either
with the focial pride or the individual faith of its
members. This continual predominance of felf,
or requirement of perfonal intereft, is the necef-
fary condition of our being and identity, and is
therefore no way difparaging to human nature.
And although it is true that poetry, from the ele-
vation of its tone and the profound humanity of its
fpirit, is the moft calculated of all liberal purfuits
to widen our fympathies, and refine the grofi^er
MILTON AND POLLOK. 69
felfifhnefs of our nature ; yet experience teaches
that fome limited bond of focial or perfonal ties,
fome remote or nearer connection with our indi-
vidual felf, is neceiTary for infpiring that cordial
preference, and fuftaining that unflagging intereft,
which an elaborate poetic narrative demands, and
without which it is neither appreciated nor
enjoyed, neither gladly undertaken nor frequently
refumed.
We are not furprifed to find that Milton, when
contemplating a great poem, and anxioufly feledt-
ing its theme, (hould be "long choofmg and
beginning late ; " and ftill lefs do we wonder that
his choice fhould vacillate, as it did, between our
fabulous national hero. King Arthur, and the head
of the human family. His ultimate decifion was
juftified by the refult ; but the reafons which
determined his choice are fufficiently obvious and
ftrong to enable us to judge how wifely he re-
folved, both in what he rejected and what he
undertook. Had the ftory of King Arthur been
more hiftorical in its credit, more national in its
character, or of more human intereft in itfelf, it
would have furnifhed a fubje61: of fafe and legiti-
mate intereft to our afpiring poet ; and even as it
was, we fhould have had to regret to this day, and
through all time, the fubftitution of his greater
theme, if his genius had proved lefs fuperlative, or
his mind been lefs earneftly religious.* But there
* This was written before the publication of the Idylls of
the King, We may now ftill further congratulate ourfelves
70 SACRED POETRT;
cannot remain a doubt, that he was impelled by
the force of that high religious genius to fmg of
the world's great lapfe and wonderful recovery,
feeling himfelf to pofTefs a moral and intelledlual
fitnefs for the tafk, and finding only in fo vaft and
fpirituala theme due fcope for the amazing facul-
ties and gifts with which God had endowed him.
It is probable that he was yet more fpecially bap-
tized for his great work. He was fufFered to
mount above the ordinary watch-tower of a poet's
fancy, though ftanding lower than the Pifgah of a
Prophet's vifion. He was in fome fort ordained
a feer of the glorious paft, though denied an apo-
calypfe of the ineffable future. This is no more
than to afTert that what he was called to by the
appointment of Providence, he was qualified y^r
by adequate influence ; and that the peculiar fa-
crednefs of his fong was honoured and fuflained by
a yet richer infpiration than that which the highefl
poets are wont to enjoy. But, in faying this, let
us be fairly underflood. In the extraordinary
power afcribed to Milton, we do not hold him up
to the emulation of fucceeding bards ; and it
fhould be duly remembered, that he was not fo
favoured by reafon either of his fubje£l or of his
invocation-prayer. The mere invocation of the
on the final choice of Milton, fince it left the fubje6l of King
Arthur in referve for the prefent Laureate. Mr. Tennyfon
is, even as compared with Milton, " of imagination all com-
pa6t ;" and the region of mythic hiftory and allegoric fi61:ion
is that in which his genius moves moft freely and fucceff-
fuUy.
MILTON AND POLLOK, 71
Holy Spirit, however folemnly phrafed, cannot be
fuppofed to engage His immediate help and direc-
tion in the performance of any work of our vain
imaginations. It is for the moft part the higheft
prefumption of which a poet can be guilty, fo to
addrefs the Divine Being, that the reader is led to
infer that he fecures little fhort of plenary infpi-
ration for the work enfuing ; by which abfolute
freedom from error, and confidence with all
truth, vv^ould be guaranteed. This is to make
God anfwerable for our fm and folly ; to put the
feal of infallible truth to a tiflue of conceptions
fabricated in a corner of darknefs. Some meaner
mufe, the perfonification of human genius and
knowledge, we may allowably invoke ; for, in fo
doing, we exprefs our defire to attain the higheft
meafure of truth and beauty which our limited
faculties permit ; beyond this, it is impiety to go.
But in Milton we think we fee a fubordination of
intelle6lual to moral objects, and an implicit fub-
jeftion of heart and mind to the Divine teaching,
w^hich remove his cafe far from that of ordinary
poets. The ftudy of the Hebrew Scriptures had
been the moft earneft employment of his life :
his mind was imbued with a knowledge and love
and reverence of God's word. His life v^^as pure,
his chara6ter patriarchal. The habitual temper
of his mind v^^as earneft and devout. There was
no mirth or levity in all his broad, deep foul.
What was little, or merely local, won no atten-
tion from him : his mind dwelt only on great
verities and great events. He was, fubftantially,
72 SACRED POETRT;
a faint of the antique Hebrew clafs. If he re-
fented, it was like Samfon : if he triumphed, it
was like Deborah. Yet over thefe fterner ele-
ments of charader was fhed the foftening light of
a better difpenfation, and through them permeated
the tender warmth of a poet's heart. In recount-
ing the fatal fin of the firft Adam, he already ex-
ulted in the triumphant refurre6lion of the Second ;
and the grand old harp which bewailed the
fuccefles of the baleful ferpent, yielded hope and
rapture as he ftruck in the promife of the woman's
conquering Seed. Thus he came, the predeftined
poet of Paradife, to "juftify the ways of God to
man." And, remembering thefe features of his
life and character, — this threefold preparation of
nature, grace, and knowledge, for his great work,
— we may now read with admiration and approval
the noble introdu61:ion of his theme, and his bold
but not unwarranted invocation of the Divine
Spirit : —
*' Of man's firft difobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whole mortal tafte
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With lofs of Eden, till one greater Man
Reftore us, and regain the blifsful feat,
Sing, heavenly mule, that on the fecret top
Of Oreb or of Sinai didft infpire
That Ihepherd who firft taught the chofen feed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rofe out of chaos : or if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd
Faft by the oracle of God j I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous fong,
Th at with no middle flight intends to foar
Above the Aonian mount, while it purfues
Things unattempted yet in profe or rhyme.
MILTON AND POLLOK. 73
And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that doft prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Inftruft me, for Thou know'ft: Thou from the firft
Waft prefent, and, with mighty wings outfpread.
Dove-like fat'ft brooding on the vaft abyfs,
And mad'ft it pregnant : what in me is dark.
Illumine ; what is low, raife and fupport 5
That to the height of this great argument
I may aflert Eternal Providence,
And juftify the ways of God to man."
In this fine exordium, which contains the moral
epitome of the whole poem, may be feen alfo Tome
of the chief characSteriftic beauties of Milton's
ftyle. For example, note the union of fimplicity
and power in thefe lines. There is a dire6lnefs
in the author's flatement of his fubje6t, that en-
gages our fobereft attention ; and the propofition
is not at firft far removed from the language of
ferious profe. Yet fuch is the fkilful conftru^lion
of the verfc, and fo appropriate to his theme the
elevation of the poet's manner, that we foon feel
fenfibly the undulating pinions of the rifing mufe,
and know that we are borne into a higher
element. Still, there is no aflumption of poetic
phrafe ; and the exercifed prerogative of verfe is
fcarcely felt. The meafure is, as it were, abforbed
into the matter : it is the medium only of great,
pure thoughts ; and fo has no attribute or quality
of its own, but thofe only of the thoughts which
it embodies. The lines flow on, in rhythmical
cadences, it is true, but emphafized and varied
and divided more by the immediate requirements
of the fentiment than according to a formal fylla-
bic code. Next to the harmonifing genius of the
74 SACRED POETRT;
poet, this refult is due to the judgment with
which he made fele6lion of the blank-verfe meafure
for his purpofe. We cannot fuppofe that in rhymed
couplets he would have furpaffed the degree of
power, grace, and flexibility, attained by Dryden
and Pope ; yet their produdtions read like ftudied
profeflx)rial le6lures, prepared by a fkilful mafter in
verfe. Indeed, the heroic couplet — upon whofe
two mechanical wings none ever ventured to
" afcend the higheft heaven of invention" without
fufFering the fate of Icarus — is as inferior to the
blank-verfe meafure as an inftrument limited, hard,
intractable, to another of unbounded compafs and
infinite expreflion, capable of the fineft gradations
of found, and limited only by the genius of its maf-
ter. Such is the inftrument which Milton chofe,
fo far at leafl as regards its fubjedtion to his art.
In volume, breadth, and harmony, his magnificent
numbers feemed to ifTue from a full- toned organ,
refounding through the earth as through cathedral
aifles and cloiftered walks, filling the vaulted arch,
and making the whole temple vocal with praife.
For a full confideration of the aSfion and the
characters of Milton's poem, and a confequent de-
fence of its claim to epic dignity and honour, we
muftrefer the reader to Addifon's admirable papers
onParadife Loji^ originally publifhed in The SpeSfa-
tor, and often reprinted, as in the edition of the
poem now before us. To abridge his obferva-
tions would be only incurring a too imminent rifk
of weakening a powerful argument, with the cer-
tainty of traducing a moft lucid and beautiful com-
MILTON AND POLLOK. ys
pofition. To fay (o much in fo little as he has
done, would be next to impoffible ; to fay it as well,
would be to tranfcribe his own words. The latter
courfe, which is the moft defirable, is happily the
leaft neceflary ; as a criticifm fo famous has be-
come proportionately eafy of accefs. We ftiall
merely remark, then, on thefe particular points,
that Addifon feems fully to have eftablifhed that
all thofe excellencies in Homer, which are, from
their nature, eflential to heroic poetry, — whether
of invention, conftru61:ion, chara61:er, or verfifica-
tion, — have their worthy counterpart in the Para-
dife Loji ; and that, where a marked difference ap-
pears, it is commonly demanded by the wide differ-
ence of the fubje6ls, and often ifTues in a contrafl
favourable to the Chriftian bard. For this refult
of a comparifon between the two, which may be
affirmed equally in favour of Milton's poem as a
whole and in parts, one confident in the genius of
our author and thelegitimacyof his theme would be
fully prepared ; for the adequate treatment ofa
fubjedl: which involves the Creation, Fall, and Ref-
toration of mankind, — which allows the introduc-
tion of the angelic rebellion, by way of epifode, —
which has fiends for its confpirators, chaos for its
highway, paradife for its garden, heaven for its
court, angels for its miniflers, and eternity for its
ifTues, — might well outweigh the vaunted " tale of
Troy divine," involving merely the abduction of
a Spartan woman, the rage of an infuriated Greek,
and the fack ofa Trojan city, all long fmce lofl in
the overwhelming wave of time, and periftiing
76 SACRED POETRY;
utterly where they firft appeared. Prize the Iliad
as we may, and fufFer ourfelves to be hurried along
its impetuous tide of beauties as we do, we cannot
forget that it is our lower, fenfuous, feliifh, and
unhallowed nature that is gratified the moft ; that
the ideal of the poet's heroifm, and the object of
our unreafoning admiration, is carnal, and not
moral ; that it exhibits paflion glorified, and brute
energy extolled, and revenge made facred, rather
than duty paramount, and felf renounced, and love
triumphant. We tire of demi-gods, whofe thews
and fmews only prove them fuch, and whofe phyfi-
cal greatnefs is redeemed from contempt only by
the proportioned ftrength of their hatred, pride,
and luft, making them objects yet more of abhor-
rence than difdain. We long for creatures living
under fome great moral law ; for heroes perfifting
againft alldifcouragementin obedience to authority,
or not too proud to feel remorfe where their virtue
has fuiFered defeat. The Iliad as little fatisfies the
purer intellect and fpiritual afpirations of the Chrif-
tian reader, as the boy's " game of foldiers" can
fuffice to pleafe during the reftlefs and inquiring
period of youth, or throughout the nobler years of
maturity and wifdom. It is the primer of moral
life, though the perfection of early art ; a pi6lure,
duly preferved and valued, of our world in its
bright, wilful, wayward infancy, which now hangs
in the nineteenth century of the Chriftian era for
our occafional glance of curiofity and intereft \ in
which we trace the natural rudiments of life, and
mark the rude expreffion of inftindive feelings
MILTON AND POLLOK. tj
which have long fince received fyftematic educa-
tion and moral control. It is therefore that the un-
dertaking of Milton was fo fuperior in importance.
Though we fhould grant that Homer in no way-
failed in regard to qualifications for his tafk, and
was equal in genius to Milton himfelf, we cannot
wonder that the poem of the latter fhould take a
higher place ; that an audience " fit though few,"
but enlarging with the fpread of Chriftian fenti-
ment and pure morality, fliould derive a higher
pleafure from its elevated chara6ter ; and that it
(hould become the acknowledged ftandard of what
is great in poetic ftyle, and of what is true in in-
dividual tafte.
But, notwithftanding this high general eftimate
of the Paradife Loji, we mull admit that the au-
thor does not always furmount the great difficul-
ties of his fubje6l v/ith equal eafe or with uniform
fuccefs. The relations of the celeflial and infer-
nal worlds v/ith our own mixed race and material
planet rendered the choice of appropriate imagery
and jufl analogy a matter of perplexity and hazard j
while the neceffity of limiting poetic invention to
a plan confiflent with revealed truth, and in har-
mony with Chriflian fentiment, taxed to the ut-
moft the judgment and the genius which it was
ultimately to reward with proportionate renown.
What learning and tafle could do to obviate thefe
difadvantages, and reconcile thefe contrarieties, was
done by Milton. But enough is difcoverable in the
poem, both of imperfection and incongruity, to
fhow that his high theme involved ferious poetic
78 SACRED POETRT;
drawbacks ; that, although for the moft part con-
genial to his grave and foaring fpirit, it fometimes
bore him beyond the regions of human fympathy
and diftin6t conception. Thus, in the firft two
books, juftly efteemed among the fineft of the
poem, the author treats of matters fo entirely
foreign to our experience, and fo imperfe6tly con-
ceived by our earthly imaginations, that all his great
fkill can accomplifh is to make us for a time for-
get the grofs materialifm of his infernal regions, and
the parliamentary logic of his fatanic council. For
what is Pandemonium, after all, but a chamber of
debate, reared for the princes of hell ? And though,
with confummate art, our poet has made it rife up
complete as by fpiritual magic, and proportioned
its gloom and vaftnefs to the tarn ifhed grandeur of
the angelic rebels, we fee that it is modelled on the
material principle : we know that it has extenfion,
though unmeafured ; and feats, though they be
thrones ; and lamps, though they need neither trim-
ming nor attendance. So of the debate itfelf. It
is kindred to earthly parliaments : the fpeakers fol-
low and fucceed each other ; anfwer or evade fore-
going arguments ; are impatient, farcaftic, fophif-
tical, and out of order, like their human prototypes.
So of the perfonal adjuncts of Satan : they dif-
tinguifh his royalty and pre-eminence by phyfical
fuperiority ; and he is armed Hke one of Homer's
heroes. It is true that this embodiment of fpiritual
enmity, this material clothing for an ineffable con-
flid, is in great part finely managed : —
MILTON AND POLLOK, 79
" His ponderous fhield,
Ethereal temper, mafTy, large, and round.
Behind him caft : the broad circumference
Hung on his fhoulders like the moon."
Here the poet is indeed meeting his mighty fubje£t
more than half-way, and fo lefTening the fearful dif-
tance betwixt the feen and unfeen worlds : but a
certain incongruity remains ; and when he adds, —
" His fpear — to equal which the talleft pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the maft
Of fome great ammiral, were but a wand —
He walk'd with, to fupport uneafy fteps
Over the burning marie,"—
we become confcious, after a moment's refle6lion,
of the unhappy neceffity which could urge our
poet to fuggeft the greatnefs of a fallen feraph by
defcribing the magnitude of his walking-ftick.
This may appear an unfair expreffion to employ ;
but the idea is precifely that of our author. Its
abfurdity is ftri6lly due to the real difadvantage
which Milton himfelf was unable to obviate ; and,
the oftener thefe paflages of his poem are perufed,
the more diftin(Stly is that difadvantage felt. What
analogy the whole field of nature could fupply, and
what appropriatenefs of expreffion the ftores of
language offered, and what varieties of cadence
and rhythm the profody and tafte of a cunning ear
and cultivated mind could furnifti, were not awant-
ing in our author : for thefe have confpired to pre-
ferve the moft arduous part of his moft arduous
undertaking from fudden failure and abfolute bur-
lefque. And if Milton could do no more than this,
(and, when reporting of celeftial and infernal coun-
cils, we dare not fay he has done more,) the fa6i
8o SACRED POETRY I
is furely fufEcient to warn from fuch dangerous
ground all men lefs richly gifted or lefs thoroughly
prepared.
The fixth book of Paradife Loft ftrikingly ex-
emplifies both the difad vantage juft mentioned, and
the comparative fuccefs vi^ith v^hich it has been en-
countered. It is entirely occupied v^^ith a record
of that confli6t in v/hich the higheft of created
fpirits contended againft the arms of omnipo-
tence, and ftrove on the edge of perdition to fcale
the throne of Deity. The narrative is fuppofed to
be related by the archangel Raphael to our father
Adam. On one fide of the engagement are
Michael and Gabriel, leading the choice celeftial
cohorts ; and, on the other, Satan with his revolted
angels ; and the utter difcomfiture of the rebels is
only achieved by Meffiah, coming in his Father's
might. To put this brief but pregnant argument
in detail, and yet lofe none of its impreflive and even
awful chara6ter, would feem to tafk the powers of
fome eye-witneffing feraph, ftriking his harp of
gold, and rehearfmg in the ear of heaven that an-
cient and celeftial epos. Were it about to be at-
tempted by man for the firft time, how earneftly
fhould we difTuade ! what fruit of folly ftiould we
deprecate ! But it is the praife of Milton that here
he has incurred no cenfure j for, not to fail in fuch
a tafk is greatly to fucceed. In fome degree he re-
conciles us to that terreftrial analogy, inadequate
though it be, which in the opening books reminds
us of the grofs materials which every painter of the
/n/^r«omuft employ, that through our corporal fenfe
MILTON AND POLLOK. 8i
he may reach our more fpiritual imagination. In-
deed, the method is undoubtedly legitimate, though
one of extreme difficulty. Whatfoever is unfeen
or unknown, provided we have fome clear in-
telle6lual conception of it, may be illuftrated by
fome vifible counterpart, or fet forth in fome
human analogy. Our compound nature infures
this. Our experience unites the two worlds of
material and immaterial things ; and the poet
caufes the one to correfpond entirely to the other.
The ftrife of the " embattled feraphim" does not
utterly tranfcend his powers ; but it taxes them to
the utmoft, and demands them in fulnefs and per-
fe61:ion. The reader may hear Milton himfelf, as
he acknowledges the weaknefs ofa mortal's tongue,
and yet labours with the theme of angels. The
paflage which relates the encounter of Satan and
the archangel Michael is an exemplification of the
mingled merit and defe6l afcribed to the fuper-
natural portions of the poem.
In fuch lines we have fome intimation of the
arduous nature of the poet's tafk, and feel perhaps
fome mifgivings as to his real competence and
power. But, as he advances, he appears to tri-
umph over every difficulty. We foon become
confcious that he is rifmg " to the height of his
great argument." He is at length mafter of his
theme, moulding it by the fervour of his genius
into fymmetrical and glowing beauty. The ap-
proach of Meffiah to decide the battle, which
threatens to uproot the foundations of heaven, is
defcribed with aftonifhing majefly and power, and
G
82 SACRED POETRT;
founds in our ears like the voice of another prophet,
charged with the announcement of a new apoca-
lypfe. But the vifion is retrofpe6tive, and the
voice thrills backward paft the morning ftars. Our
bard has caught the fpirit of Ezekiel, and fo makes
bold with his grand imagery, and refle£ls into
primaeval eras a portion of his magnificent pro-
phecy. Nothing furely can be finer, either in con-
ception, meafure, or language, than the deliberate,
folitary, overwhelming inroad of Mefliah among
the banded rebels.
" So fpake the Son, and into terror changed
His countenance, too fevere to be beheld,
And full of wrath bent on His enemies.
At once the Four fpread out their Ifarry wings
With dreadful fhade contiguous, and the orbs
Of His fierce chariot roll'd, as with the found
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous hoft.
He on His impious foes right onward drove,
Gloomy as night ; under His burning wheels
The fteadfaft empyrean fliook throughout,
Ail but the throne itfelf of God. Full foon
Among them He arrived j in His right hand
Grafping ten thoufand thunders, which He fent
Before Him, fuch as in their fouls infix'd
Plagues : they, allonifli'd, all refiftance loft.
All courage j down their idle weapons dropt:
O'er ftiields and helms and helmed heads He rode
Of thrones and mighty feraphim proftrate.
That wifh'd the mountains now might be again
Thrown on them, as a (helter from His ire.
Nor lefs on either fide tempeftuous fell
His arrows, from the fourfold-vifaged Four,
Diftin61: with eyes, and from the living wheels,
Diftin6l alike with multitude of eyes j
One fpirit in them ruled, and every eye
Glared lightning, and fiiot forth pernicious fire
Among the' accurft, that witherM all their ftrength.
And of their wonted vigour left them drain'd,
Exhaufted, fpiritlefs, afflided, fallen."
MILTON AND POLLOK, 83
Of the allegory of Sin and Death, in the fecond
book, we entertain an almofl unmixed admiration.
It is faid, indeed, that allegorical figures fhould
have been held inadmiffible by our author, as in-
terfering with the more definite impreffion of his
infernal chara6lers, and as beino; too fhadowy to
encounter the perfonal hoftility of Satan, though
himfelf a fpirit. But thefe theoretical objections
(to which the fineft inftances of allegory are open)
vanifh under the influence of the poet's power,
when we fee depi6lured the ftrange refemblance of
thefe mighty combatants before hell-gates. They
are of undoubted kin : Sin has Satan for her parent,
and is the inceftuous mother of his offspring,
Death ; and here truth and allegory are fo ex-
quifitely blended, that no revulfion is experienced
from a confufion of nature, but only a fenfe of awe,
in prefence of the deformity, malignity, and hate
of this triumvirate of terrors. Was ever fight more
monftrous or confounding than that of Satan and
his ghaftly fon ? Was ever fo inconceivable a
duel pictured by fo realizing a pen ?
" So fpake the grifly Terror, and in fhape,
So ipeaking and lb threatening, grew tenfold
More dreadful and deform. On the other fide,
Incenfed with indignation, Satan flood,
Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge
In the arftic fky, and from his horrid hair
Shakes peililence and war."
We never read this or kindred pafiliges in our
author without exulting in the power of language,
and the range of a poet's art. The pencil of the
84 SACRED POETRT;
grandeft painter muft fail here. What would be
the Titanic figures of Michael Angelo, or the
vafty darknefs of Martin, in comparifon with this
fuggefted and portentous vifion, — thrown, not
upon the feeble retina of the eye, but upon the
kindling and growing imagination, capable of re-
ceiving, in undiminifhed length and fervour, the
image of Satan when he fo flood " unterrified, and
like a comet burn'd." The whole remainder of
this book, to the moment when the arch-fiend —
labouring through chaos, paved only with the
rugged and difordered elements — ifllies to a fight
of the new creation he is feeking, is a continued
illuftration of this remark concerning the power of
language, and abundantly teftifies to our author's
fkill in its employment.
But the fineft beauties of this " divine poem"
are yet to be remarked. Thefe confift in the hu-
manities, which are the features moft diflinguifhed
in every great poetic work, be it facred or profane.
Every true poet, even when his flight is for the
moft part ethereal, derives (like Antaeus) frefh
ftrength and vigour from the touch of his native
earth. We have elfewhere endeavoured to {how
that invention in the creative fenfe is not the poet's
attribute, but only in the fenfe of combination ;
and that nature is the original of his profoundeft
work of art. From this it might readily be inferred,
if it were not daily ktn to be the cafe, that imita-
tion is with him moft perfeft where obfervation is
moft conftant and complete ; that human life and
character yield finer fubje6ls for his pencil than an-
MILTON AND POLLOK. 85
gelic creatures, and terreftrial lake and mountain
more tempting landfcape than that garden which
is watered by the river of life. The facred epic of
Milton furnifhes a ftriking illuftration of this truth.
Its grandeur is not, after ail, its true greatnefs : its
ftrength and beauty and fublimity are manifefted
in human love and frailty and afflidtion, rather than
in feraphic ardours and unfullied joy. The hero
in whom is concentred all its potent intereft is
Adam, worthy to be the father ofour race, and for
whom we feel a filial fentiment of love, awed into
higher reverence by its long defcent. The part-
ner of his ftupendous fortunes both heightens and
attracts that intereft into her own lovely character,
— which is ftill an undivided intereft, as in the
moon we fee only the reflected glory of the fun.
The manner in which our firft parents are re-
prefented by Milton is extremely fine ; and equally
fo in their ftate of innocence, of temptation, and
of guilt. So well to paint them in their firft eftate
is the more admirable, as it was the more difficult ;
for it was but too likely that an attempt to delin-
eate the perfe«5lion of Paradife fhould end in feeble
generalifation and utter want of chara6ter. Yet
individuality is ftamped upon their human perfec-
tion. In Adam we have all the grace and gene-
rofity of chivalry, without its boaftful language and
impradlicable aims ; and all the weight of know-
ledge and wifdom, without its partiality or pride.
He is ftrong without infolence, ardent without in-
temperance, and elevated without ambition. He
is the foremoft as well as the firft of men, the head
86 SACRED POETRT;
as well as the author of us all. Fairer than Ab-
lalom, more royal than Auguftus, more beneficent
than Alfred, — in him are gathered up all the
nobleft virtues of his nobleft fons. But his quali-
ties and honours are real and not conventional, ab-
folute and not comparative, and neither fuUied by-
infirmities nor clouded by error. The character
of Eve is, perhaps, the moft lovely conception of
vi'oman that was ever embodied by the poet's art.
She is the counterpart and confort of Adam — bone
of his bone, and flefh of his flefh ; the complement
of his nature, and the crown of his exiftence. Made
for him by the Almighty's hand, fhe was the com-
plete fulfilment of his defires and wants ; drawn
from him as the cloud is from the bofom of the
ocean, fhe yearned towards him as the river hur-
ries to its primal fource. The exquifite contraft,
and the no lefs perfect correfpondence, of this noble
pair, are beautifully fuftained throughout. Their
love is the acknowledged pattern-pafiion of all fuc-
ceeding generations : founded on efteem, growing
through admiration, cemented by gratitude, and
fubfifting in confidence and joy.
The firfi: acquaintance and union of this noble
pair, as rehearfed in Eve's delightful reminifcence,
and in language fo modefl, conjugal, and true, is
probably the moft charming paiTage in the whole
poem. Its great beauty can hardly fail to imprefs
the moft carelefs reader : it appeals alike to the
fimpleft heart and the moft cultured imagination.
Of fimilar merit and ftill higher intereft is the
fpeech of Eve on waking from her prompted dream.
MILTON AND POLLOK. 87
in which the fhadow of impending evil is feen for
a moment to darken and difturb her yet pure foul,
and then, in the light of Adam's confolation, pafTes
away as the fhadow of a cloud over the re-fmiling
meadow. To the dream of Eve there is, however,
this objection, — that, as it could not butbe received
as a folemn warning of the danger awaiting our
parents from the temptation of evil fpirits, fo it
greatly aggravates the crime of their fubfequent dif-
obedience. Indeed, that Eve, forewarned, fhould
yet put faith in the flattering promife of the fer-
pent, fuggefts the idea that fome moral taint had
been communicated by the dream itfelf ; that the
foul whifpers of the demon " fquatting at her ear"
had engendered a fatal tendency to fm, or left fome
unholy fpell upon her imagination that weakened
her refiftance of evil, if it did not injure her per-
ception of truth and goodnefs.
The circumftances of the Fall, including its
more immediate confequences, are fet forth by
Milton with much judgment and tafte. He invents
but few particulars which are not more or lefs fug-
gefted by the Scripture hiftory, and none that are
not confident with it. The fubje6l being under-
taken, the dramatic a6):ion of his poem demanded
fome fuller details of Dur parents' fm than was fur-
nifhed by the language of infpiration ; and thefe,
we think, he has imagined and defcribed in a man-
ner open to the leaft poffible obje6lion. With a
juft appreciation of the objecSl and means of art, he
has felicitoufly avoided involving himfelf in theo-
logical difficulties, and lawfully availed himfelf of
88 SACRED POETRY i
that meafure of poetic licence which the general
language of Scripture allowed, and the human in-
tereft of his poem required. But the Bible remains,
throughout, both his authority and his model.
The whole narrative of the temptation and fall has
a fcriptural air. Adam is identical with the patri-
arch of our race, of whom Mofes writes in terms
fo fimple and dignified. Eve is the mother ofus
all, and the collateral mate of Adam. If A4ilton
has fomewhat harfhly reprefented the fatal weak-
nefs of the woman, he has not extenuated the
more wilful guilt of the man. If the character of
Adam is tinclured with fome of our author's proper
felf, and that of Eve embodies his own opinion of
female excellence and frailty, we cannot but ac-
knowledge that his ideals were noble and engaging,
and worthy to be fet on high as the reprefenta-
tives of our race. The ninth book of Paradife
Loft, in which the crifis of human hiftory is re-
corded, abounds in paflages of intereft and fkilful
delineation. We have noble mufic and manly wif-
dom in almoft every line. It might be profitably
read and difcufled, verfe by verfe ; or read with
conftant paufes and occafional repetition : for, like
all true poetry, its light is in itfelf, and deliberate
re-perufal will manifeft it more and more. The
immediate efFedls of the Fall upon our firft parents,
— their carnal intemperance, mutual reproach, and
angry recriminations, — are in ftridl keeping both
with the Mofaic record and the known depravity
of our nature ; while they are made ftri6tly to fub-
ferve the artiftical purpofes of the poet. Well
MILTON AND POLLOK. 89
may the miferable Adam, late the friend and
favourite of God, but feeling now the ruinous dif-
obedienceto have corruptedand degraded his whole
being, exclaim in anguifh, —
" How (hall I behold the face
Henceforth of God or angel, erft with joy
And rapture fo oft beheld ? Thofe heavenly fliapes
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze
Infufferably bright. O might I heie
In folitude live favage ; in fome glade
Obfcured, where higheft woods, impenetrable
To ftar or fun-light, fpread their umbrage broad
And brown as evening ! Cover me, ye pines !
Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs
Hide me, where I may never fee them more !"
From this point the poem advances fteadily in In-
tereft and beauty to the end. In the tenth book
the altercation of our parents is renewed, and its
features are more characSteriftically marked. The
angry inve6f ives of Adam alternate with generous
compaffion for the grief of his unhappy partner.
His impatience of her folly is contrafted with her
meek fubmiflion to a lot of fhame and forrow. We
regret, with him, the curiofity and pride which
lured Eve into difobedience ; but we admire in her
the patient love and fortitude ftill witnefled in her
daughters, and gratefully acknowledge that woman
has abundantly cheered the defolation which in a
fubordinate degree is due to her. In the next and
penultimate book the archangel Michael is com-
miflioned to drive out the difobedient pair from the
garden of God's own planting. His announce-
ment of that duty ftrikes them with defpair and
grief:^
90 SACRED POETRY;
*' He added not ; for Adam at the news
Heart-ftiuck with chilling gripe of forrow ftood.
That all his fenfes bound : Eve, who unfeen
Yet all had heard, with audible lament
Difcover'd foon the place of her retire.
* O unexpe6led ftroke, worfe than of death !
Muft I then leave thee, Paradife ? thus leave
Thee, native foil ! thefe happy walks and fhades
Fit haunt for gods ? where I had hope to fpend,
Quiet though fad, the refpite of that day
That mull be mortal to us both. O flowers,
That never w-illin other climate grow,
My early vifitation, and my laft
At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the firft opening bud, and gave ye names!
Who now fhall rear ye to the fun, or rank
Your tribes, and w^ater from the ambrofial fount?
Thee, laftly, nuptial bower ! by me adorn'd
With what to fight or fmell was fweet ! from thee '
How fhall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world ; to this obfcure
And wild ? how fhall we breathe in other air
Lefs pure, accuflom'd to immortal fruits ? ' "
We find it difficult to reftrain our quotations
within necefTary limits. It is the efFe6l of this
fuperb poem that, the more we read of it, the more
we wifh to read : our ear grows accuftomed to its
fonorous meafure, and our mind rifes to the tone of
its majeftic fenfe. We have heard how Eve la-
ments the impending expulfion ; and we muft find
room for a few lines of Adam's lamentation alfo.
" This moft: affli61s me, that, departing hence,
As from His face I fhall be hid, deprived
His bleffed countenance. Here I could frequent
With worlhip place by place where He vouchfafed
Prefence Divine ; and to my fons relate,
' On this mount He appear'd ; under this tree
Stood vifible j among thefe pines His voice
I heard j here with Him at this fountain talk'd.'
*****
MILTON AND POLLOK, 91
In yonder nether world where fhall I feek
His bright appearances, or footftep trace ?
For though I fled Him angry, yet, recall'd
To life prolonged and promiled race, I now
Gladly behold though but Hisutmoft flcirts
Of glory, and far off His fteps adore."
Then the archangel fliows to Adam, from the
higheft hill of Paradife, the future generations of
the world. We have before had a retrofpe(3:ive
epifode, and here is a vifion of anticipation. Gabriel
related the wars of the angels, and the marvels of
creation : Michael now rolls back the curtain of
the future j and our prime anceftor is alternately
furprifed, and awed, and comforted, as great cities,
wide-fpread evils, and the long promifed Saviour,
fucceffively appear. This epitome of human hif-
tory is full of attractions, moral and pidurefque ;
the whole relation by which the vifion is accom-
panied is fuftained with the dignity of the heroic
Chriftian mufe. It extends to nearly the clofe of
the laft book ; and by its fulnefs of promife we are
better prepared for the rigorous fulfilment of the
angel's miffion. We read with dimmed eyes, but
not with defpairing hearts, of our unhappy parents,
when, driven out of Paradife, they looked back and
faw it " waved over by that flaming brand j'* we be-
hold them going forrowfully into exile ; but they
go " hand in hand" together, and every tear that
forces itfelf into their human eyes breaks into a rain-
bow in the light of hope and mutual confolation.
In this great poem, as in the perfe6t fhield of
Achilles, the total univerfe is epitomifed; but the
univerfe, as known to Milton, exceeds and enfolds
92 SACRED POETRT;
that of Homer, as the ethereal fpaces envelop earth.
Its twelve books comprehend, as in a zodiac, the
fumand feafons of human hiftory; — removing from
the fummer folftice of Divine complacency and
love, to the dark and cheerlefs vv^inter of difobe-
dience and disfavour, but emerging toward the in-
finite gladnefs again. The whole of man, and the
auguft miniftry ofhis falvation, are embodied here :
his creation and benediction ; the weight of his
curfe, and the promife of his recovery ; the un-
peopled feats of the angels, and the repeopled
thrones of faints ; the Deity Himfelf, dividingamong
the Perfons of His Godhead a feveral fhare in the
great drama of redemption, projected from ever-
lafting, and crowning the eternal years.
To this comprehenfive theme our author has
brought a correfponding breadth of treatment, and
richnefs of decoration. The grand outlines of his
fubje6t, which extend into three worlds, are filled
with their appropriate lights and fhadows, con-
trafting while they blend, and harmonifed into one
magnificent frefco by a miracle of art. The tapef-
try which he has embroidered for no fingle nation,
but for the family of Adam, glows with the colours
of every clime, and ftirs with the a6tions of every
age. He has rifled ancient learning and all fcience ;
exhaufted the refources of technic fkill, and
moulded to his purpofe every rugged element of
good ; elicited a grace even from barbaric ftory,
and fpoiled the pagan gods of praife and tribute due
only to Jehovah whom he fung. And all thefe
treafures of knowledge and power are made fub-
MILTON AND POLLOK. 93
fervlent to one great moral end. They revolve,
indeed, on the axis of the poet's perfonal genius,
but advance only in obedience to the central and
attra6ting glory of God; and the native impulfe,
fo far from hurrying him apart, fpeeds him along
the orbit of his cheerful deftiny, as a planet obeys,
in every hair's breadth ofits journey, the ruling and
reftraining influence of the fun.
An immediate tranfition from Milton to Pollok
is not necefTarily an abrupt one. The differences of
gait, and height, and feature, are eafily difcerned ;
but their inviolate office is the fame. Moreover,
their identic infpiration may befaidtohave derived
from one to the other. The priefthood of genius
is not, indeed, hereditary ; but each high Jiamen
of the order is wont to light his torch at a prede-
celTor's fire. We remember to have read that
Cowley was firft infpired with a love of poetry by
a perufal of the Fairy ^een^ — a copy of which he
chanced upon in fome old-fafhioned window-
fettle. And it was when the youthful Pollok —
then an humble labourer on his father's farm in
Renfrewfhire — made fudden prize of the Paradife
Loft " among fome old books, on theupper flielf of
the wall-prefs in the kitchen" at his uncle's houfe,
that his innate love of all noble and beautiful things
expatiated for the firft time in an imaginative work
and an ideal world ; and poffibly then the firft vague
longings for poetical renown, and the firft dim out-
lines of his future theme, arofe to animate and
occupy the profound enthufiafm of his nature.
94 SACRED POETRY -,
But, though the fire was communicated, the fuel
was his own, and the afpiring tongueof flam e was
fhaped and coloured by intrinfic genius. Cowley
is not more diftin6t from Spenfer than Pollok is
from Milton : the interval between the former two
is greater, but the difference of the latter is not lefs
decided. It is difficult to perceive, in the meta-
phyfical conceits and tortuous ingenuity of Cow-
ley's poems, any indication of his love for Spenfer,
— whofe affluent ftream of verfe, fparkling with
inexhauftible romance, feems to difdain its mea-
fured limits, and revels beneath the redundant im-
agery of its own fertile banks, and then flows on-
ward with majeftic fweep, a copious, moral, and
refounding fong. It cannot be fo ftriclly main-
tained that The Courfe of Time awakens no recol-
lection of the Paradife Lojl ; for Urania is the mufe
of both, and under her guidance each poet ven-
tures " into the heaven of heavens." But, withal,
there is a ftriking difference as to the manner in
which they fo " prefume." This difference, how-
ever, will be more properly characterized after we
have illuftrated, more at large, the ftyle and pur-
pofe of the later work
The manner in which the a6lion of the poem
opens, after a brief invocation, is very bold and
ftriking. The imagination of the reader is at once
feized upon, and therewith he is tranfported to a
region and a period yet incalculably diftant in the
future and unfeen world. It is the poet's defign
to rehearfe the general fortunes of our earth, in
connection with the moral hiftory of mankind.
For this no hill in time affords fufficient profpeCt :
MILTON AND POLLOK. 95
all muft be feen in conne6lion with the end, and
bearing the approval of God's everlafting fmile, or
the eclipfe and condemnation of His averted coun-
tenance. Rapt upvi^ards on the pinion of the
mufe, v^^e find ourfelves fuddenly partaking of the
eternal calm, infinitely removed from the duft and
turmoil of this paffing fcene.
** Long was the day, fo long expefted, paft
Of the eternal doom, that gave to each
Of all the human race his due reward.
The fun — earth's fun, and moon, and ftars, had ceafed
To number feafons, days, and months, and years.
To mortal man. Hope was forgotten, and fear;
And time, with all its chance and change, andfmiles
And frequent tears, and deeds of villany
Or righteoufnefs,once talk'd of much, as things
Of great renown, was now but ill remember'd ;
In dim and fhadowy vifion of the paft
Seen far remote, as country which has left
The traveller's ipeedy ftep, retiring back
From morn till even ; and long eternity
Had roU'd his mighty years."
The epoch and the fcene being fo magnificent,
it is fitting that the ailors fhould be no lefs than
angels and beatified fpirits ; and the mighty pro-
fcenium, whofe breadth is that of the New Jerufa-
lem, is accordingly fo occupied. Firft we behold
" two youthful fons of Paradife," who employ the
unmeafured hours in pure and facred converfe,
" high on the hills of immortality." Theie look
from time to time over the boundlefs profpe(St of
fpace, ready to welcome fome returning meflenger
of light, or fome creature newly perfected in virtue,
" from other worlds arrived, confirmed in good."
*' Thus viewing, one they faw, on hafty wing
Direfting towards heaven his coiu-fe ; and now,
His flight afcendingnear the battlements
And lofty hills on which they walk'd, approach'd.
96 SACRED POETRT;
For round and round, in fpacious circuit, wide,
Mountains of tailed ftature circumfcribe
The plains of Paradife, whofe tops, array'd
In uncreated radiance, feem fo pure
That nought but angel's foot, or faint's, eleft
Of God, may venture there to walk. Here oft
The fons of blifs take morn or evening paftime,
Delighted to behold ten thoufand worlds
Around their funs revolving in the vaft
External fpace, or liften the harmonies
That each to other in its motion fmgs.
And hence, in middle heaven remote, is feen
The mount of God in awful glory bright.
Within, no orb create of moon, or ftar.
Or fun, gives light 5 for God's own countenance,
Beaming eternally, gives light to all."
The new-arrived is aftranger from a diftant world,
who, having in his flight heavenward come fud-
denly to a mountainous wall of fiery adamant,
and, entering, feen v/ithin a number of wretched
beings tortured and tofled upon a burning lake, in-
quires of the blefied two what may be the juft
caufe offo much mifery. Thefe cannot anfwer
him ; but they call to mind " an ancient bard of
earth," who is wont to recall events that long ago
befell the human family. To him the three re-
pair, and liften with grave attention and growing
intereft while he recounts the hiftory of his native
fpot, the earth. It is this narration which forms
the bulk and body of the poem, extending from the
fecond to the final book.
Hitherto our brief quotations have not been
eminently chara6teriftic of our author. His pre-
lude teaches us of things celeftial; but Milton had
fo taught us before with unexampled tafte and dig-
nity. It is only juftice, then, to fay that the merits
MILTON AND POLLOK, 97
oiThe Courfe of Time are diftincSt and peculiar ; and
while they muft be allowed to range far lower thzn
thofe of the Paradife Loji^ they yet more widely
differ from them. The originality of Pollok's
genius ftrikes us in every page of his work ; and is
as vifible in his treatment of the fubjedt at large, as
in verfification and verbal expreffion. His poem
might be diftinguiftied as the Evangelical Epic. It
dwells rather upon the moral chara61:er of in-
dividual man, than on the external hiflory of his
race : it defcribes the varieties of folly which fe-
parately feduced the human family in their pro-
bationary ftate : it expofes the evil heart of
unbelief, of pride, of avarice, and of fenfuality : it
depi(£ls the humbleft and the higheft focial virtues,
and exemplifies them in charming portraitures, —
as in that af a young and dying mother : it in-
ftances, among the providential affli6lions of man-
kind, the mental cloud of difappointment by which
the author had himfelf been chaftened and im-
proved. No hypocrify is left unftripped, no vanity
undeteded, no lie uncontradi6ted. The poet in
imagination afcends to the everlafting heights of
futurity, and aflumes the awful pofition of a fpirit
who has long fmce left the day of doom behind,
that he may fee with undeluded eyes, and drefs in
their true colours, the bufy perfonages of earth. As
they approach him from the mafquerade of time,
each uncovers his features to the light, and hears
himfelf unflatteringlydefcribed. What an epitome
of human life is here ! All that feduced men from
their duty — the vices that were plainly and grofHy
H
98 SACRED POETRY;
fuch,andthe plaufible ambition which aflumed to be
equally allied to virtue and to honour ; and all that
obfcured the truth of eternal things from the heed-
lefs fons of time ; and all the falfe diftincSlions and
awards that made the external afpe(ft of fociety one
hugedifguife ; the indulgences of youth, the worldli-
nefs of manhood, the covetoufnefs of age ; God's
judgments gracioufly fufpended, and man's indiffe-
rence fatally prolonged, till Divine forbearance be-
came exhaufted juft when human wickednefs had
grown moft infatuated, and the defiance hurled to
heaven touched the electric cloud charged with Al-
mighty wrath — thefe are the moral features, and
this the general cataftrophe, embodied in The
Courfe of Time. From this mafterly review of
temporal hiftory it is difficult to choofe an example,
becaufe fuch choice involves reje<Slion ; yet many
ifolated paflages have become fuch through their
fuperior excellence, and live vividly in the reader's
memory. The chara6ler of Byron is drawn with
a vigour worthy of his own amazing pencil, and
with a moral truth and comprehenfivenefs that ex-
ceed his mofl: admired delineations. It is a favour-
ite paflage, and well known to the young ; but fo
highly chara6i:eriftic of our author's beft manner,
and fo admirably fitted to fuftain repeated perufal,
that we are tempted to tranfcribe a part of it once
more.
" He touched his harp, and nations heard entranced.
Asfome vaft river of unfailing fource,
Rapid, exhauftlefs, deep, his numbers flowM,
And open'd new fountains in the human heart.
Where Fancy halted, wearj- in her flight,
MILTON AND POLLOK, 99
In other men, his frefh as morning rofe,
And foar'd untrodden heights, and feemM at home
Where angels bafhful looked. Others though great
Beneath their arguments feem'd ftruggling, whiles
He from above descending ftoop'd to touch
The loftieft thought ; and proudly ftoop'd, as though
It fcarce deferved his verfe. With Nature's lelf
He leemM an old acquaintance, free to jeil
At will with all her glorious majefty.
He laid his hand upon ' the Ocean's name,'
And play'd familiar with his hoary locks ;
Stood on the Alps, ftood on the Apennines,
And with the thunder talk'd as friend to friend ;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing.
In fportive twift — the lightning's fiery wing,
Which, as the footfteps of the dreadful God,
Marching upon the Itorm in vengeance, feem'd ;
Then turn'd, and with the grasfhopper, who fung
His evening long beneath his feet, converfed.
Suns, moons, and ftars, and clouds, his fillers were ;
Rocks, mountains, meteors, feas, and winds, and ftorms.
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he fcarce
As equals deem'd. All pafTions of all men,
The wild and tame, the gentle and ferene ;
All thoughts, all maxims, facred and profane j
All creeds, all feafons,Time, Eternity ;
All that was hated and all that was dear ;
All that was hoped, all that was fear'd, by man ;
He tofl'd about as tempeft-wither'd leaves.
Then fmiling look'd upon the wreck he made.
The vices of mankind have feldom been more
truly difcriminated, or more unfparingly expofed,
than in the pages of this young moralift and poet.
By turns they are forcibly denounced and ftrongly
fatirifed. The author does not paufe to polifh his
well-headed arrows, fo eager is he to launch them
at the hydra he aflails. With bitter farcafm he
gives triple point to his inventive, making it rankle
wherever it has force to reach. This habit of de-
100 SACRED POETRT;
nunciation to which his fubjecSl led him, has not, in-
deed, contributed to the poetical perfection of our
author's work : on the contrary, it has marred with
its intemperate tone, and lowered by its familiar
phrafeology, and broken by its abrupt and rugged
verification, the grace, dignity, and harmony pro-
per to epic fong. And here it may be well to fay
what fhould candidly be faid from this lefs favour-
able point of view. It cannot be difguifed from the
reader that many blemifties and imperfedlions de-
tra6l from the general merits of the poem. It is
planned, as a whole, with exceeding judgment ;
but its execution is very unequal. The paflages of
fuftained dignity and power are comparatively few,
while the poet's manner frequently degenerates into
familiarity and coarfenefs. Familiarity of language
or illuftration is not neceflarily beneath the dignity
of epic verfe. How fimple and beautiful are fome
of the metaphors in Dante's Divine Comedy ! and
eventhofe which have no remarkable grace to re-
commend them have commonly the appropriate
merit of being graphic in a high degree. " Rapidly
as the pen writes I or O" is the comparifon by
which the Tufcan pictures, almoft to our eyes, the
fudden effect of a fcorching and deftroying flame.
The allufion is to fomething familiar, but not low ;
for the art of writing is univerfally efteemed, and
therefore the mind is not offended by reference to
its moft fimple a6l. But Pollok is not always in-
fluenced by the fame good tafl:e. Force and con-
trafi: he feeks at any price ; and he achieves a bold
antithefis by dropping fuddenly from the '' feventh
MILTON AND POLLOK. loi
heaven of invention" into the limbo of all low and
creeping things. On the eve of judgment he vi^arns
the yet rejoicing fun that he fhall prefently be feen
to " fet behind eternity," but fpoils this noble image
with a feeble anti-climax, — ^^ For thou Jh alt go to
bed to-night and ne er awake l^"* Unfortunately,
this deficiency of tafte afFe6ls fomething more than
mere metaphors and phrafes : it cafts whole para-
graphs in a rhetorical rather than a poetic mould,
and exchanges the tranquil, undoubting manner of
the mufe, for the denouncing and vehement tones
of the preacher. It would appear that the author's
religious zeal urges him to this ; but, rightly con-
fidered, neither his fubje6l nor his purpofe de-
mands fo great a facrifice : if one or the other did
fo, the poetic medium were improperly chofen.
The Courfe of Time is probably familiar to moft
of our readers : it is therefore unnecefTary to oc-
cupy any of our limited fpace with inftances of the
author's lefs perfect ftyle. It is much more defir-
able to invite to a re-perufal of one of thofe better
paflages which are equally chara6teriftic, and yet
more frequent. Pollok was neither mifanthropi-
cal nor fanatic, but a truly Chriftian poet and philo-
fopher^ and hence, throughout his retrofpecl of
time, he rejoices to remember and acknowledge
abundant fources and fcenes of happinefs, chequer-
ing the darker ground of human life with varied
fhapes of beauty, and innumerable though evanef-
cent fancies. The fifth book largely teflifies to our
author's cordial love of nature and humanity.
102 SJCRED POETRT;
*' Abundant and dlverfified above
All number, were the fources of delight j
As infinite as were the lips that drank j
And to the pure all innocent and pure 5
The fimpleft Hill to wileft men the beft.
* » *
And there were, too — Harp ! lift thy voice on high,
And run in rapid numbers o'er the face
Of Nature's fcenery, — and there w-ere day
And night, and rifing funs and fetting funs,
And clouds that feem'd like chariots of faints,
By fiery couriers drawn, as brightly hued
As if the glorious, bufliy, golden locks
Of thoufand cherubim had been fhorn off,
And on the temples hung of Morn and Even :
And there were moons and ftars, and darknefs llreak'd
With light ; and voice of tempeft heard fecure :
And there were feafons coming evermore,
And going ftill, all fair, and always new.
With bloom, and fruit, and fields of hoary grain :
And there were hills of flock, and groves of fong,
And flowery ftreams, and garden-walks embower'd,
Where fide by fide the role and lily bloom'd ;
And facred founts, wild harps, and moonlight glens,
And forefts vafl:, fair lawns, and lonely oaks,
And little willows fippingat the brook j
Old wizard haunts and dancing feats of mirth;
Gay feftive bowers and palaces in duft ;
Dark owlet nooks and caves and battled rocks ;
And winding valleys roofd with pendant fiiade j
And tall and perilous cliffs, that overlooked
The breadth of ocean fleeping on his waves ;
Sounds, fights, fmells, taftes, the heaven and earth,profufe
In endlefs fvveets, above all praife of fong :
For not to ufe alone did Providence
Abound ; but large example gave to man
Of grace, and ornament, and fplendour rich,
Suited abundantly to every tafte."
The ocean is a favourite theme with poets of
every grade. But, w^hile it has a fafcination for
all who feel the poetical tendency, it is only a
fnare to thofe whofe power of comprehenfion and
MILTON AND POLLOK, 103
expreffion falls lamentably fhort of their undefined
longings and myfterious awe. While it ferves to
prove the maflery of the mighty, it very plainly
expofes theweaknefs of the weak. For this reafon
we may fafely make it the teft of the defcriptive
and general powers of a poet ; andjwhen we would
know if he be juftified in adventuring fome ambi-
tious flight of fong, let us follow him to the fhores
of that mighty element which girdles all the earth,
and liften how he puts words to its inarticulate
mufic, and evolves rich harmony from its difcord-
ant thunders, and interprets betwixt the God of
nature and the inferior fons of God. For the true
poet the ocean is a mighty inftrument : without
the touching of his fingers, it is " full of found and
fury, fignifying nothing :" the chaotic waves tum-
ble unmeaningly, till the fiat of intelligence roll
over them, and then they afTume the true eternal
order, in unifon with the mufic of the fpheres. All
great poets fhow their maftery here : Homer in a
few grand lines, through which the deep fea feems
to pour itfelf i Virgil in more than one pi6turefque
and fonorous paflage ; and our great dramatift in a
brief ftorm of poetry, in which we fee by glimpfes
the poor fhip-boy " on the high and giddy maft,"
rocked fearfully " in cradle of the rude imperious
furge." With modern bards a yet bolder min-
ftrelfy has been crowned with yet more eminent
fuccefs. It is to the mighty fea, with its refound-
ing fliores and unappeafable commotion, that
Byron leads the wearied and wayward Childe,
there to feek calmnefs for a feafon from the tumult
104 SJCRED POETRY;
of contending paffions in prefence of a confufion
and a noife fo vaft as to be awful, and there tolofe
all fenfe of his forrow in oblivion of him felf,— ex-
ulting in a confcioufnefs of His only majefty and
power who rebukes the pride of man with one un-
conquerable element. And it is in profpeft of the
fame (as feen from St. Leonard's) that the bard of
Hope re-tunes and ftrengthens his lyre, teachingit
a not lefs dulcet but more harmonious meafure, and
fmging therewith, in a rapture of new health and
gladnefs, Hatl to thy face and odours^ glorious Sea!
But the ftrain in which our author commemo-
rates the ocean is inferior to none of thefe. It is a
magnificent apoftrophe, almoft worthy the hal-
lowed lips and the immortal harp of the long-fainted
bard from whom it is fuppofed to break, and of the
refurreclion-morning on which his triumphant
memory revifits it. He feems to magnify and
glory in the thalaffian might and muric,j'jft when
both are about to be fufpended for ever, and gladly
feizes occafion to prolong its murmuring echo
through the eternal vaults.
" Great Ocean ! too, that morning thou the call
Of reftitution heard'ft, and reverently
To the laft trumpet's voice in filence lilien'd.
Great ocean ! ftrongeft of creation's fons,
Unconquerable, unrepofed, untired.
That rolPd the wild, profound, eternal bafs
In Nature's anthem, and made muiic fuch
As pleafed the ear of God ! Original,
Unmarr'd, unfaded work of Deity,
And unburlelqued by mortal's puny Ikill,
From age to age enduring and unchanged,
Majeftical, inimitable, vaft.
Loud uttering latire day and night on each
MILTON AND POLLOK. 105
Succeeding race and little pompous work
Of man ! unf alien, religious, holy Sea !
Thou bow'dft thy glorious head to none, fearMft none,
Heardft none, to none didft honour, but to God,
Thy Maker, only worthy to receive
Thy great obeifance ! Undifcover'd Sea!
Into thy dark, unknown, myfterious caves.
And fecret haunts, unfathomablydeep
Beyond all vifible retired, none went
And came again, to tell the wonders there.
Tremendous Sea ! what time thou lifted up
Thy waves on high, and with thy winds and ftorms
Strange paftime took, and fhook thy mighty fides
Indignantly, the pride of navies fell;
Beyond the arm of help, unheard, unfeen,
Sunk friend and foe, with all their wealth and uar j
And on thy fhores men of a thoufand tribes.
Polite and barbarous, trembling, ftood amazed,
Confounded, terrified, and thought vaft thoughts
Of ruin, bound lefTnels, omnipotence,
Infinitude, eternity ; and thought
And wonderM ftill, and grafp'd, and grafp'd, and grafp'd
Again : beyond her reach, exerting all
The foul, to take thy great idea in.
To comprehend incomprehenfible ;
And wonder'd more, and felt their littlenefs.
Self-purifying, unpolluted Sea !
Lover unchangeable, thy faithful breaft
For ever heaving to the lovely Moon,
That, like a (hy and holy virgin, robed
In faintly white, walk'd nightly in the heavens,
And to thy everlafting ferenade
Gave gracious audience; nor was woo'd in vain.
That morning thou, that flumber'd not before
Nor flept, great Ocean ! laid thy waves to reft.
And hufti'd thy mighty minftrelfy. No breath
Thy deep compofure fl-Irr'd, no fin, no oar;
Like beauty newly dead, fo calm,fo ftill,
So lovely, thou, beneath the light that fell
From angel-chariots, fentineird on high,
Repofed and liften'd, and law thy living changed.
Thy dead arife. Charybdis llften'd, and Scylla ;
And favage Euxine on the Thracian beach
Lay motionlefs; and every battle-ftiip
Stood ftill ; and every ftiip of merchandife,
And all that fail'd of every name, ftood ftill."
io6 SACRED POETRY ;
With this noble ftrain our extra6ls muft con-
clude. In the Book where it occurs, as well as in
that which immediately follows, there are many
paflages of a very high ftyle of poetry. The con-
dition of the world, when the morning of the judg-
ment broke over it with the light of a common
day, — the heedlefs, headlong, and unprincipled pur-
fuits of men, — the fudden paralyfis of nature, and
the arreft made upon all the tribes and nations of
mankind, — are ranged in ftriking contrail before
us. The little feathered fongfter fainting in middle
air, while on his harmony " perpetual filence fell,"
— and the lordly eagle dropping into the valley, " a
clod of clay," — and the ploughman falling before
his fleers, — and the (hepherd witneffing his flock
" around him turn to dufl," — while the lion in his
den
" Grew cold and ftlfF, or in the furious chafe
With timid fawn, that fcarcely mifsM his paws," —
this awful fufpenfion of the whole creation is very
vividly defcribed ; and the filence of momentary
diflblution condemns with ftartling fuddennefs and
folemnity the preceding humof bufinefs and of folly.
Not lefs impreffive is the review of the vafl and
rifen multitude who are feen to cover thickly all
the land and fea, ^' of every nation blent, and every
age." Then follows the fentence of irrevocable
doom, — the approval of the righteous, and the con-
demnation of the wicked; fucceeded by the in-
flant perdition of the one, and the immediate trans-
lation of the other to heaven. In thefe latter
Books the author well fuftains the accumulating
MILTON AND POLLOK. 107
intereft of his theme ; his imagery becomes gran-
der, and his verfe more weighty ; and, as his
chariot of time nears the appointed goal, the fpokes
of its mighty wheels gleam far more vividly, and
its burning axle glows under the increafed momen-
tum and accelerated fpeed. We may inftance,
among the moft ftriking portions of the tenth and
laft Book, the defcription of the outpouring of the
Divine vengeance, commencing, " So faying, God
grew dark with utter wrath ;" and (for its poetical
merit) the deftrudtion of the long-guilty earth by
fire, preparatory to its renewal and re-habitation.
The hymns addrefTed to the Almighty are alfo very
noble.
We are reluctant, in conclufion, to compare the
merits of Milton and Pollok. While comparifons
are proverbially odious, they are efpecially fo when
employed to depreciate the lefTer of two admirable
authors, each pofTeiTed of diftindl and independent
merits. Points of wideft difference do not necef-
farily involve inferiority in the fmalleft degree,
while they may fkilfully be made to imply it in the
greateft. To compare Milton and Pollok in this
fpirit would be a gratuitous injury to the latter,
whofe pretenfions never made fo bold a rivalry.
Yet we may be allowed to diftinguifti their charac-
teriftic merits, if only to (how the wide difference
in their manner and defign, and the confequent ab-
furdity of an unfriendly contraft. The great in-
feriority of Pollok's work may be admitted from
the firft. The author's true admirers never con-
tended or thought otherwife. They confider, in-
io8 SACRED POETRY I
deed, that The Courfe of Time has from its firft ap-
pearance, with fome brief exceptions, been unduly
depreciated by the literary world ; but they ac-
knowledge, alfo, that many zealous perfons have
erred yet more widely, though from more par-
donable motives, in extolling it as the equal of the
Paradife Loft^ and the co-heir of its renown. In
truth, no reflecting perfon could fail to obferve
that the two works are of widely different orders of
merit ; and it is more than probable that this ine-
quality, extended to the authors, was radical as well
as adventitious, and due in a large degree to differ-
ence of native power. But the queftion of natural
gifts is here complicated by circumftantialdiverfity.
The years, the era, and the country of our authors
were unlike. The one wrote in the eager dawn of
manhood, but under the fhadow of a cloud deftined
to ftifle all his day of life. The other poured forth
his foul in fong v/hen his eyes had returned from
beholding the vanity of all earthly things, and his
ears had grown only the more fenfitive to the mufic
of an unfeen world. As the buoyant energy of
youth differs from the fuftaining ftrength of riper
years, fo does the charafter of Pollok differ from
that of Milton. What the redundant foliage of
June is to the golden fruit of Auguft, fuch is The
Courfe of Time to the Paradife Loft, The natural
ardour of Pollok was in the ftage of daring effort
and unlimited promife 5 but the grave tempera-
ment of Milton had grown yet more rugged
through years of poverty and negle6l, while his
real tendernefs found expreffion only through his
MILTON AND POLLOK. 109
imagination, and fo modulated his verfes into trueft
pathos. PoUok was not wholly unindebted to
claiHc lore, for he had lately been a diligent fcholar ;
but Milton had from earlieft boyhood drunk freely
of the Caftalian fpring, had ever found it fweet and
pleafant to his tafte, and conftantly returned to it
with never-fatisfied delight. And this diverfity is
plainly traceable in their refpecftive poems, in-
fluencing the choice and moulding the form
throughout. The Courfe of Time is a bold car-
toon, filled in with all the typical chara6ters of
earth, but having little or no local colouring to
give warmth and harmony to the whole ; the
Paradife Loft is an imperifhable frefco, painted
in vaft compartments, under the glowing light
of a Syrian fun, with more than Buonarotti's
power, and only lefs than Raffaelle's grace. Pollok
is yet in the flufh of youth, but feels a prophetic
intimation of his fate, and fo makes hafte to be
famous. Milton, like the Royal Preacher, has felt
the vanity of life ; and, like Saul, he is at times
pofleffed of an evil fpirit : yet, in emulation of the
one, he has not neglefted to rifle the treafures of
nature and of art, to put together a temple worthy
of the Lord ; and, with a fkill tranfcending the
fuUen greatnefs of the other, he becomes his own
enchanter ; and, with fl:rains that might almoll
^' create a foul under the ribs of death," he charms
the evil genius from his bofom. One looks for-
ward to the judgment, and onward to the blifs of
faints made perfe6l ; the other, equally overleap-
ing " the flaming bounds of time and fpace," runs
no SJCRED POETRT;
backward and precipitates himfelf beyond the fur-
ther wall of Paradife, and fpreads wing in the pre-
Adamite eternity. But the contraft is almoft
endlefs. We might fhow how one is the type of
the Chriftian, and the other of the Jewifh, era ; —
how Pollok comes to us preaching the fimple and
pure morality and love of his Mafter Chrift ; and
how Milton appears to our imagination in the
gorgeous trappings of the Aaronic priefthood,
Twinging in his hand a golden cenfer, and leading
the grateful litanies of ever)^ tribe.
But we muft haften to conclude. Milton's work
muft ever receive fuperior honour, but may be
deftined, notwithftanding, to a comparatively nar-
row circle of readers. His theme and manner are
grave, elaborate, and ftately ; his verfe, unlike the
fimpler fabric and ruder texture of the other, is a
perfect web of harmony, bright with inwoven
graces, and coflly with embroidered learning ; his
matchlefs work is full of fuch poetry as none but
fpirits fomewhat kindred can enjoy, and preg-
nant with exquifite allufions which heighten the
imaginative feaft with the charms of refined aflbci-
ation. Many qualities and accomplishments go to
the formation of the readers of fuch a poet ; and,
therefore, when he defired to find " fit audience,"
he was aware it muft confift of " few." The fub-
je(5t of Pollok's mufe is of more common and per-
fonal intereft, and its treatment is appropriately
fimple, inftead of laboured or recondite. Its re-
ligious earneftnefs recommends it to many who
would not fo readily appreciate a more purely po-
MIL TON AND POLLOK. 1 1 1
etical merit. On the whole, the ftyle of the youth-
ful author is not ill adapted to his defign and fub-
je6t. For a great purpofe he feized the facred lyre,
and " rolled its numbers down the tide of time.'*
He did fo with a fuccefs that has been too grudg-
ingly allowed by literary men ; for, abating only
the carelefs execution of many paflages, we can
fcarcely conceive anything more fuited to intereft
and imprefs the ferious reader than the copious
freedom of its languge, — level to the fimpleft ap-
prehenfion ; and the vigorous mufic of its verfe,
— melody to the moft unpra6tifed ear.
ON THE WRITINGS OF
MR. CARLYLE.
T is a remarkable fa6l, that every lite-
rary work which has achieved a per-
manent reputation, or attained to the
pofition of a national claflic, is more
or lefs perfe6t in rerpe6t of ftyle. So uniformly is
this found to be the cafe, that, although many
works are more efteemed for the wifdom of their
contents than the graces of their manner, yet we
may fafely predicate that a glaring deficiency in
point of ftyle would prove fatal to their perma-
nent fuccefs. We can fcarcely, for our own
part, imagine the cafe of a manual of wifdom
which fliould be wanting in its appropriate vehicle
of form and language ; for great thoughts are
moulded, in return, by expreffions which they have
ferved to modulate ; and it is certain that this per-
fe6lion of manner is a neceflary condition of their
univerfal acceptance and uncloying delightfulnefs.
No other quality, apart from this, ever availed to
fave the production of human wit or ingenuity from
early neglecSt and ultimate oblivion. Works of the
profoundeft learning, of deep natural refearch, and
MR. CJRLTLE. 113
of great critical fagacity, that feverally aftoniftied
contemporary minds with refults equally magnifi-
cent and valuable, have perifhed from their own
weight, not being animated and buoyed by that
fubtle fpirit from which the charm of ftyle is con-
ftantly evolved. Thefe authors had found nature
lavifli of materials, and fondly conceived that it
wasreferved for them to arrange and preferve them
for human admiration ; but they proved collecSlors
only, and not artifts : they failed to evoke order
out of confufion, or to vindicate the fupreme utility
of beauty. The moment that death took them
from their cumulative work, it was liable to be
feized upon by fome more mafterly and plaftic
genius ; to be broken up, and fifted, and put
through a procefs of feleifion ; and then joined,
and fhaped, and moulded, and made perfect : — the
huge folio chronicles, crowded with matters vital
and indifferent, take then the claiTic form of hif-
tory, where fa6ts appear only in their relation to
truth, and fo become the manualsof ftatefmen and
philofophers. Thus Tacitus and Humefurvivea
thoufand more laborious annalifts. The latter,
indeed, is a ftriking example of the infinite per-
fuafivenefs of flyle. So apt, confident, and har-
monious, are the ideas in his great work, and fo
lucid, pure, and varied the expreffion, that it may
henceforth defy the multiplied competition of ages.
No fruitful refearch will fuflice to difcredit it, and
no novelty of thought avail to fuperfede it. It is
immortal by the conditions of its birth j for it
I
114 ON THE WRITINGS OF
afTumed the body of truth when it received the foul
of genius.
Let not the flovenly or eccentric writer fay
fcornfully of Style, that it is the mere externalifm
of thought, as unworthy of a philofopher's atten-
tion as the cut of his coat or the fhape of his hat.
It is the outward and vifible fign of exactly corref-
ponding graces. It is not drefs to the wax-figure,
but form and expreffion to the ftatue. Style is
one of the moft comprehenfive terms in our lan-
guage ; and, as applied to literature and the arts, is
made to include both the harmony of thought and
language, and the felicitous correfpondence of both
to truth and nature. It is, therefore, asrequifite
that the mathematician and themoralift fhould aim
at perfection in ftyle, as it is that the poet and the
humorift {hould do fo ; or rather it is a merit as ne-
celTary to evince the maftery ofthe former as it is to
fecure the triumphs of the latter. Exactitude of
thought can only manifeft itfelf by precifion of lan-
guage and clearnefs of expreffion ; and fo a definite
and axiomatic ftyle will appropriately fy mbolife and
embody a definite philofophy. What, then, muft
we think of him who pra6tically all'erts that ordi-
nary grammatical language is a poor and inadequate
medium of his thoughts ? who, not fatisfied with a
fimple predicate of truth, or an intelligible flate-
ment of opinion, breaks out into ftrange apof-
trophes, half-fentences, and fighs, which no man
can rationally connect, or even feparately con-
ftrue ?
Style, therefore, is not a merely fuperficial merit ;
MR. CARLTLE. 115
nor can it be reje6led as an unfair teft of found
authorfhip and claffic compofition. If a humorifl:
is happy in his portraiture of chara61:er, it is that
felicity of delineation that makes his compofition
elegant, and not the mere choice of appropriate
phrafeology and illuftration ; for thefe latter are
fuggefted by the former, and have perhaps little to
recommend them but their fimplicity and truth.
If a poet is indeed the mafter of his theme, lan-
guage will be to him as potter's clay, and the
completed poem will prove the faultlefs image of
his fancy. If the moralift or philofopher is really
diftindi: and confident in his ideas, his words will be
only the pure medium of thofe ideas, and the reader
will fenfibly enjoy the prefence of his author's
mind. Failing to exprefs himfelf in this clear,
proper, unfuperfluous manner, there is a hitch
fomewhere in our author's greatnefs. Wanting
this ferene, oracular, and perfecSl fpeech, he muft
not hope to have a liftening world for his audience,
or to entrance pofterity by an undying voice. Lefs
than wife, let him be content to learn : not yet
perfe6l, let him continue to improve. The " pro-
phets" of mankind muft not come from Babel,
ftammering difcordant tongues. If " nature" has
indeed commiflioned them, they will employ her
one true language, known to allher children.
We have been led into thefe remarks by an at-
tempt to account for the eccentricities of Mr.
Carlyle's more recent and charafteriftic work ;
and we regret to fay that the conclufion juft ar-
rived at bears ftrongly againft the pretentious
ii6 ON THE WRITINGS OF
claims of thofe very fingular producSlions. We
fhould blame Mr. Carlyle even more, if wq
efteemed his genius fomewhat higher. But the
grofs abfurdity of his ftyle is, we fufpecl, not fo
much his fault as his misfortune. His wanton de-
fiance of grammar and of tafte is not a mere wilful
abufe of power, but rather a pitiable exhibition of
wealcnefs. Letitbejuft fuppofed that Mr. Car-
lyle may have — as he is conftantly affirming or in-
fmuating — fome grand fpecific for the improve-
ment of mankind. But ordinary language is in-
adequate for its expreffion, and he breaks out into
one of the unknown tongues. It would feem, then,
Mr. Carlyle pofleiTes ideas not only profoundly
good and ufeful — for fuch were thofe of Bacon and
Locke — but incommunicable alfo. The language
of daily life might indeed fuffice to convey the vul-
gar truths of his great predecefTors. Their lips
might drop maxims of fimpleft wifdom " as faft as
the Arabian trees their medicinal gum." With
them their readers may ftill have intelligent en-
joyment, as not wholly deftitute of the fame
reafon and afFe6^ions. But to prefume to under-
ftand Mr. Carlyle would be making ourfelves too
much his equals, if it did not even give us the ad-
vantage over him. Let us, then, be content to
wonder. Too much familiarity breeds contempt ;
and if we knew him better, is it certain we fhould
efteem or truft him more ? It is well that we
fhould not be undeceived ; let us live in hope if we
die in defpair ; let us repeat his oracular words time
after time, and guefs them in our own favour, and
MR. CARLTLE, 117
delude ourfelves to the laft. Shall we, forfooth,
prefume to know more than our mafter ?
The works to which thefe obfervations apply
range in refpeil of number to fome ten or dozen
volumes, publiihed at jQiort intervals during the
laft twenty years. To many of our readers they
will probably be more or lefs familiar ; but to a
greater number the author and his works are
known, it may be, only by repute. It is defirable,
therefore, that we fhould iirft mention fome of the
publications by name ; and afterwards illuftrate
their chara6ler, and juftify our animadverfions, by
one or two examples, feleded with due fairnefs,
but neceflary brevity. Let us ftate at once that
our chief obje6t is not to challenge Mr. Carlyle's
literary reputation, or to deny his literary merits.
If we deplore the popular character of the one,
and fpeak in qualified and meafured terms of the
other, it is that we may the better accomplifh the
ulterior purpofe we have in view, by fliowing that,
if the public accept of this falfe teacher as their
prophet, it is not becaufe they are pardonably mif-
led by a fubtle and confummate genius. With
this objecl in view, we have thought it right to de-
vote a preliminary feftion to Mr. Carlyle's literary
chara6fer, and afterwards to examine his preten-
fions as a focial and religious philofopher.
In a chronological retrofpe6t of Mr. Carlyle's
writings, the order of time is coincident with that
of merit ; and on this head we may be expedted to
enlarge. But the moftufeful part of a critic's office,
and therefore the moft important, is monitory and
ii8 ON THE WRITINGS OF
corrective. Were it otherwife, we might find a
good deal to fay in Mr. Carlyle's praife, even to the
exclufion of all cenfure, from difinclination and
want of fpace. As it is, while maintaining the
error and expofing the danger of his unqualified
admirers, we will not fail to mention thofe better
qualities to which other pens have done more than
ample juftice. Why fhould we deny that which
is patent to all the literary world, which alone miti-
gates the folly of its praife, and which gives efpecial
emphafis to our note of warning and reproof ?
The earlieft and beft works of Mr. Carlyle ap-
peared in the departments of biography and criti-
cifm : his Life of Schiller remains a favourable
fpecimen of the former j and the colle6i:ion en-
titled Mifcellanies^ in four volumes, and confifUng
chiefly of his contributions to the Edinburgh and
Foreign Quarterly Reviews^ furnifh fpecimens of
his genius for the latter. With thefe productions
we may clafs — as making together the lift of thofe
exercifes of his pen which may be excepted from
the general animadverfions we feel bound to make
— his nervous and beautiful tranflation of the TVil-
hehn Meifier^ and his right earneft introduction to,
and able editing of, CromweWs Letters^ at a com-
paratively recent period. In all thefe works there
is a degree of merit and originality which no reader
will be difpofed to queftion or reluCtant to acknow-
ledge. Their tone is for the moft part healthy
and mafculine ; and if fome of the author's views,
incidentally introduced, are exceptionable or ex-
treme, the treatment of his fubjeCl is, in the main.
MR. CARLTLE, 119
correal as well as mafterly ; its outline, bold, de-
finite, and true ; and its colouring, alternately vivid,
picSlurefque, and quaint. The critical Mifcella-
n'les may be named as moft to our tafte and Judg-
ment, — the work in which we think the author
has evinced the trueft power, and found the real
bent of his difcurfive genius, which is critical
rather than didacSlic, and defcriptive more than
philofophical. His papers on the German authors,
Wieland, Goethe, Schiller, and Richter ; on the
Scotchmen, Burns and Walter Scott; on the
Englifh, Johnfon, and his much-gifted, much-def-
pifed biographer j on Mirabeau, Voltaire, and
Diderot ; are fpecimens of intelleftual portrait-
painting, differing widely indeed from the weak
water-colours of too many literary artifls, and
dafhed rather with the breadth of Raeburn than
linifhed with the ftudied elegance of Lawrence.
This talent of graphic portraiture is perhaps the
moft remarkable gift of our author; and, aided by
marvellous chiaro'fcuro and ftrong fcenical efFe6ts,
it finds almoft boundlefs indulgence in his work on
the French Revolution., which we have hefitated to
clafs among his better writings, (notwithflanding
its evidence of rare ability,) both becaufe of its
ethical unfoundnefs and its impertinent obfcurities
offlyle. Mr. Carlyle entitles it a HiJIory ; but it
is no fuch thing. Any gentleman of refpe^lable
bufinefs habits, average intelligence, and moderate
leifure, who fhould repair to this work for a con-
fecutive and clear account of the great Revolution
in France, fraught with its own unmiffakable lef-
120 ON THE WRITINGS OF
fons of philofophy, would become fadly bewildered
at the veryoutfet. The riddle of thefphinx, pro-
pofed in Ethiopia, or written in hieroglyphics,
would be nothing to the threatening problems of
that flrange wild book. Let the initiated ^qvj be-
laud it as they may, and fpealc of its occult and rare
philofophy ; true hifliory is written fo that he who
runs may read ; true learning is fimple as well as
fublime in its refults ; true wifdom communicates
the lore of genius in the language of a child. To
thofe by whom the fubje£l has been previoufly
maftered, Mr. Carlyle's eccentric volumes will
have a certain intereft, — to fome of thefe, a perfect
fafcination. But there is no rational coherence,
after all j or none that is fufficiently apparent.
And already " art is long, and time is fleeting ;" if
we perplex and lengthen out the one, do we not
virtually wafte our little portion of the other ?
Thofe, therefore, who fpeak of this work as a
model of the true hiftoric ftyle, know not what
they fay. It is a commentary, and not a hiftory ;
a feries of fitful fketches, not' an example of ferene
art ; a panorama — painted in lurid hues, and ex-
hibited by torch-light — of the fearful reign of
terror, moft like that ancient one of anarchy and
chaos.
From the period of this laft publication it was
that the erratic ftyle of Mr. Carlyle became aggra-
vated and confirmed. This was evidently to be
traced to his undifcriminating love of German let-
ters and philofophy, and efpecially of the latter j for
the former, feparately confidered, is at leaft too pure
MR. CARLTLE, 121
and claflical, in its beft examples, to be chargeable
with Mr. Carlyle's obfcure and unequal mode of
fpeech. The lucid profe of Goethe is rather the
reproachful contraft, than the juftifying model, of
his admirer : it is the perfe6l medium of the
author's thoughts, like a fheet of fine plate-glafs,
through which the bright and moving objects of
nature are beheld, and which interpofes only an
airof ferenity and diftance ; while the language of
Mr. Carlyle refembles too much a pane of knotted,
blue, unequal glafs, giving to all things a cerulean
or prifmatic hue, and diftorting them into all unreal
fhapes. From Jean Paul Richter he has evidently
copied much, and imbibed more. But this was
furely an unfortunate ftandard to fet up, and en-
tirely unworthy of an original mind. What is
natural and chara6leriftic of the German Richter,
who could write no otherwife, is ofFenfive and un-
pardonable in the Anglo-Scotchman, trained in
clearer modes of thought, and capable of purer
fpeech. The truth is, as we fhall fhortly fee, that
our author had confounded two things which
fhould ever be kept diflinil ; and in their turn they
have confounded him. He proclaimed the banns
of German art and German Metaphyfics ; or at
leaft he attempted to accompliih the unnatural
union. Not content with being a critic of the
grand Teutonic poetry, he afpired at the fame mo-
ment of time to be an expofitor of German myfti-
cal philofophy. Either, fmgly confidered, was a
tafk worthy of his powers, though the former was
more congenial to his ftyle of thought and com-
122 ON THE WRITINGS OF
pofition. But, if both were to be undertaken,
they at leaft demanded a feparate, diftincSl, and
ferious treatment. Mr. Carlyle Teemed to think
otherwife ; and the attempt to give philofophic
views of nature, man, and God, in a fictitious
framework, and a difconne6ted, light, irreverent
manner, refulted in a work entitled Sartor Refar-
tuSy or the Life and Opinions ofHerr Teufelfdrokh.
This compound of profanity and jargon is a fair
fpecimen of our author's ethical and literary merits,
as feen in all his recent and chara6teriftic works ;
and therefore we fhall take the trouble of examin-
ing it more nearly than it otherwife deferves.
Afterwards we will look into our author's book on
Heroes and Hero Worjhip ; and there probably we
fhall find a more undifguifed acknowledgment of
the two great principles of his audacious fyftem,
manifefting themfelves in an idolatry efTentially
pagan, and a pantheifm virtually godlefs.
Dulnefs is by no means a common fault with
Mr. Carlyle. His genius is too brilliant to fail of
attracting even the carelefs reader, and withal fo er-
ratic that our fenfe of admiration is prolonged by
that of growing wonder, not to fay alarm. We
follow him at firft with praife on our lip, and ex-
pectation in our hearts ; and, when we have ceafed
to admire and truft him, a certain powerful curi-
ofity compels us to follow his myflerious flight ;
and when we can no longer trace his whereabouts,
we ftand loft in wonder at the blue flame in which
hedifappeared. Ever verging toward fome quar-
MR, CARLTLE. 123
ter of the higheft heaven, we ftill hope to pafs with
him into more facred precin6ts ; and when he falls
fuddenly plumb down through the inane, there is
a myftery in that exit by which we are halfwith-
drawn from difappointment and difguft.
But dull and irkfome Mr. Carlyle often is, if you
will only let him play out his play ; and the reafon
of this is obvious on a moment's refle6tion : for
only what we intelligently enjoy can we permanently
attend to and admire. The greateft philofopher
will obferve the ftars all night, and only grieve
when the " garifh day" drowns all their folemn
beauty, and the " work-day world" begins to cla-
mour down their ethereal mufic. But who that is
paft childhood will not weary of a difplay of fire-
works, prolonged and repeated through all the
patient night, till every beautiful device has become
worn down to a fkeleton of wood and wire, and
the memory of each bright and rufhing rocket is
loft in the {^n^^ of its black and fulphurous recoil ?
In fome fuch manner as this have we been alter-
nately attrafted and repelled ; fuccefli vely charmed,
furprifed, and difappointed ; but ultimately and
thoroughly wearied and perplexed ; by Mr. Car-
lyle's firft efTay in tranfcendental art-philofophy.
It is entitled, Sartor Refartus : the Life and
Opinions of Herr Teufelfdrockh. In Three Books.
It is elfewhere termed by its author The Philofophy
of Clothesy 2ind confifts of fragments of the obfcure
hiftory, and fpecimens of the ponderous work, of
a learned German Profefibr. But this imputed
origin is evidently fi6titious ; the editor and author
124 ON THE WRITINGS OF
are not only fimilar, but identical ; the book is
properly lettered on the back, what it emphatically
is throughout, " Carlyle's Sartor Refartus." His
paternity is audible in every page, where he fings
wild lullabies to his odd-featured child, mixed up
with quaint denials : it betrays itfelf, moreover, in
his every movement, gefture and grimace. Herr
Teufelfdrockh is as hiftorical a charader as Die-
drich Knickerbocker ; but we cannot fay that The
Philofophy of Clothes is either as intelligible or as
delightful as the famous Hiftory of New-York.
Both, indeed, — the high-Dutchman and the low,
— are in turn the fource and fubjecl of rare fatiric
humour ; but that of Diedrich is genuine, broad,
unmixed, and loveable ; while Teufelfdrockh is
himfelf a very evident " unreality" or " fham," —
a hollow mafk, provided with a fettled, erudite,
mechanic fmile, to difguife the painful nature of
thofe profane and unprofitable fpeculations of
which it is made the mouth-piece. In brief, Mr.
Irving's fi61:itious hiftory is a model of its kind ;
and its perfe61: ftyle is the refult both of the con-
fcious legitimacy of his plan, and of the rare felicity
and balance of his powers ; while Mr. Carlyle
ftumbles in the rugged path of his pfeudo-bio-
graphy, andjuftly fears that when he moft fuccelT-
fully tranfports or puzzles us, he moft plainly
fliows the hero and the author to be identical ; and
fo, haftening to ridicule or qualify the philofophic
rant of the one, we are left wholly confounded as
to the real fentiments of the other.
But it may, perhaps, be faid,we do injuftice to
MR, CJRLTLE. 125
Mr. Carlyle by comparing him with an author fo
different as Mr. Irving ; that, the object of the
latter being the amufement of his readers only, he
is left free to attend to the graces of ftyle, as he is
more dependent upon thefe ; while the purpofe of
the former is other and far higher, aiming to blend
improvement with delight, and to initiate us into
fome of the profoundeft myfteries of nature by lift-
ing a corner of the veil which divides the world of
matter from the world of fpirit. Juft fo : fome-
thing like this we believe to be our author's great
defign ; he defires to pafs through all external
{hows, which are to nature what clothing is to
man, and to lay his hand upon the naked heart of
God's great univerfe, and to repeat in our atten-
tive ears the burden of its *' healthful mufic."
But, before -we commend his temerity, we muft
learn of his fuccefs. Since he attempts fo much
more than the author to whom reference has been
made, if his fuccefs be only equal, the refult willbe
of far greater power and value. But to the refult
we muil appeal, and not to the attempt alone ; and
therefore it was that we conceived no injuftice
would be done to him by comparing his elaborate
work with Mr. Irving's humbler efTay, which in
fome points itrefembles ; for, wherein it differs, it
might be expected to excel. That fuch is not the
cafe, we have deliberately proved for ourfelves;
and our wifh is that we could, with reafonable bre-
vity, furnifh the means of conviction to our readers.
But it is impolTible to convey any adequate notion
of this book, the Sartor Rejartus^ by means of ab-
126 ON THE WRITINGS OF
fl:ra6l or fynopfis ; and this, alfo, for the old reafon,
— it is mainly unintelligible. As a rational being
foon wearies of the moft agreeable jargon, fo it is
impolTible to carry away the fubftance or meaning
which it never had. Neither the beauties nor the
abfurdities of our author are properly transferable
or tranflatable. To appreciate a gorgeous pile of
clouds, you muft fee them in extenfo for yourfelf :
we cannot fliake down fome few folds by way of
fpecimen. Their beauty confifts in their fantaftic
variety of fhape ; their long-drawn filaments o(
vapour ; their mountain-ridges that run down half
the zodiac, and their volcanic peaks that tower to
the meridian; their unfubftantial vaftnefs, ever
moving, and ever breaking into ineftimable num-
bers ; their infinite gradations of light and colour,
following the wake of day in piclurefque confufion,
and melting each into the other; their endlefs
imagery of all things ailual, poffible, and conceiv-
able ; their fudden apparition ; their filence, fwift-
nefs, and evanefcence; theboundlefs field of their
mufter, and the unimaginable fplendour of their
march. It is in a cloud-land fomewhat refembling
this, that the genius of Mr. Carlyle revels and dif-
ports itfelf, weaving his fineft works out of mifts
and exhalation, and breaking up the rainbow (as
though jealous of the beauty which refults from
law) that he may fling its colours to enrich the
dragon and chameleon of his fiery web. We have
truths here ; but not maftered, and not marfhalled :
and fo in their order — or rather in their turn —
they difappear, and leave our minds fo far unoc-
MR. CARLTLE, 127
cupied. And thus, at the end of our author's per-
formance, we find no pofition to which we have
advanced ; we are ftill gazing into cloud-land, and
there feems a hurrying over the blue fpaces ; but
the laft fquadron of that brilliant army is as Ineffec-
tive as the firft \ their banners are neither tarnifhed
by duft and ftrife, nor crowned with victory and
laurel ; they pafs idly over the parade-ground of
the fky, and the blue fpaces are left vacant as be-
fore.
Now, from all this we want the reader to judge
how difficult it muft be to give a plain ftatement or
abridgment of the work before us ; or to put in {"j-
noptical form any fentiments or views of Mr. Car-
lyle which he has chofen to colle6t and print to-
gether, as though forming a confiftent and intelli-
gible whole.. And it is the difficulty of fele£tion,
fpringing from the fame caufe, which has hitherto
prevented us from allowing our author to fpeak for
himfelf, and lead us, we fear, into a rather tedious
attempt to characterize the ftyle and tenor of his
book. We muft now, however, redeem our
promife, and juftify our defcription, by an extract
from the volume itfelf, referving fome general ob-
fervations upon its whole fpirit and tendency. We
choofe, with all fairnefs, a pafTage in our author's
beft manner, which fhows, fo far as afingle extradt
can, the .peculiar afpirations by which he is pof-
feffed — rather than infpired. It is taken from the
feventh chapter of the firft book, entitled. The
World out of Clothes ; and, like the reft of the
moft daring part of the volume, which is full of in-
128 ON THE WRITINGS OF
terrogatories, fuggeflions, and crudities, is adroitly
fpoken through his alias the philofopher.
" With men ofafpeculattve turn, [writes Teufelf-
dr'dckh^) there come feafons^ meditative^ fweet^ yet
awful^ hours^ when in wonder and fear you afk
yourfelfthat unanfwerable quejiion^ " Who am I ;"
the thing that can fay '^ /" (das Wefen das fich Ich
nennt ?) The world^ with its loud trafficking^ re-
tires into the dijiance; and through the paper-hang-
ings ^ and Jione-w alls ^ and thick-plied tiffiues of com-
merce and polity^ and all the living and Ufelefs in-
teguments [of fociety and a body) wherewith your
exijience is furrounded^ — the fight reaches forth into
the void deep^ and you are alone with the univerfe^
and filently commune with it^ as one m^yfierious pre-
fence with another. . . Who am I? What is this
me? A voice, a motion, an appearance; — fome
embodied vifualifed idea in the eternal mind? Cogito,
ergo fum. Alas, poor cogitator, this takes us but a
little way. Sure enough I am ; and lately was not ;
but whence P How P Whereto P The anfwer lies
around, written in all colours and motions, uttered
in all tones of jubilee and wail, in thoufand-figured,
thoufand-voiced, harmonious nature; but where is
the cunning eye and ear to whom that God-written
apocalypfe will yield articulate meaning P We fit
as in a boundlefs phantafmagoria and dream-grotto :
boundlefs,for the faint eft fiar, the re?notefi century,
lies not even nearer the verge thereof: founds and
many-coloured vifions fit round our fenfe ; but Him,
the unfiumbering, whofe work both dream and
MR. CJRLTLE. 129
dreamer are^ we fee not ; except in rare half-waking
mo?nentSyfufpeSf not. Creation^ fays one, lies before
us like a glorious rainbow ; but the fun that made it
lies behind us, hidden from us. Then^ in that
Jlrange dream, how we clutch at Jhadows as if they
were fubjiances ; and fleep deepeji while fancying
ourfelves moft awake I Which of your philofophical
fyfiems is other than a dream-theorem ; a nett
quotient, confidently given out.^ where divifor and
dividend are both unknown ? What are all your
national wars^ with their Mofcow retreats^ and
fanguinary^ hate- filled revolutions.^ but the fomnam-
huUfin of uneafy fleepers ? This dreaming^ this
fomnambulifm^ is what we on earth call ^^ life ;^^
wherein the inojl.^ indeed., undoubtingly wander^ as
if they knew right hand from left ; yet they only are
wife vjho knoiv they knoiu nothing. . . . Pity that
all metaphyfics had hitherto proved fo inexpreffibly
unprodu5live ! The riddle of man's being is fiill
like the fphinx^sfecret ; a riddle that he cannot read.,
and for ignorance of which he fuffers death, the
worfi death, a fpirituaL What are your axioms.,
and categories, and fyjiems, and aphorifms ? Words.,
zvords. High air-cajtles are cunningly built of
words., the words well bedded alfo in good logic ?nortar.,
wherein., however., no knowledge will come to lodge.
The whole is greater than the part : how exceed-
ingly true ! Nature abhors a vacuum : hozv ex-
ceedingly falfe and calumnious ! Again, nothing
can a(5l but where it is : with all my heart ; only.,
WHERE is it ? Be not the fiave of words ; is not
the dijlant., the dead., tvhile I love it., and long for it,
K
130 ON THE WRITINGS OF
and tnourn for it, here in the genuine fenfe as truly
as the floor I ft and on ? But that fame where,
with its brother wn'S.^^arefrorn thefirfl the mafter-
colours of our dream-grotto -, fay^ rather^ the canvas
[the warp and woof thereof) vjhereon all our dreams
and life-vifions are painted. Neverthelefs has not a
deeper meditation taught certain of every climate
and age that the where and the when ^ fo myf-
terioufly infeparahle from our thoughts^ are hut
fuperficial^ terrefirial adheftons to thought ; that the
Seer may difcern them where they mount up out of
the celeftial Everywhere and For-ever ? have
not all nations conceived their God as omniprefent and
eternal ', as exifting in a univerfal here, an ever-
lafiing now ? Think well^ thou wilt find that
fpace is but a fnode of our human fenfe^ fo likewife
time ; there is no fpace and no time ; we are — we
know not what I Ught-fparkles floating in the cdther
of Deity!''
Here, then, we have our author's philofophy,
epitomifed by hlmfelf. He begins with fpurning
the Cartefian ftand-point, Cogito^ ergo fum^ profef-
fedly as a bafis far too narrow, but really as one
unneceflarily folid ; for hov/ can the firmnefs of
reafon ferve him who is about to take fuch a meta-
phyfical Plight ? Yet, to do Mr. Carlyle juflice,
he is here more explicit than ufual. His philofo-
phical principles are tolerably well exprelTed in the
paflage above quoted ; and though he has con-
trived to fay as much in a page as he could hardly
perhaps eftabiifh in a volume, yet it is an agreeable
MR, CARLTLE. 131
change to be able to underftand his meaning. To
accept his theory is, of courfe, another matter, and
one that is much more difficult. That theory de-
mands no elaborate refutation at our hands. Even
if difpofed to difpute the fteps (or leaps) by which
he hurriedly arrives at the conclufion, " there is no
fpace and no time,'' we have too little left of either
to fpend that little in defending the reality of both.
Our chief concern is w^ith the problem of being,
which he fo boldly undertakes to foh^e ; and we
prefer to judge of his fuccefs by the refult attained.
We will repeat that refult in his own words ; he
{hall anfwer the momentous queflion ; and then
let the reader judge how far the philofophy of Mr.
Carlyle is likely tofupply or fuperfede the more vul-
gar truths of religion. Hear him ! '* We are —
we know not what ; — light-fparkles floating in the
aether of Deity !" Of courfe, the latter claufe is
utterly unmeaning, if we regard the former as a
true confeflion. But that confeffion is full of fio-ni-
ficance. When Mr. Carlyle is led to own his
darknefs, how thick and palpable muft that dark-
nefs be ! Well may he lament that metaphyfics
fhould prove " fo inexpreffibly unprodu6i:ive !"*
* The judicious reader will obferve that our remarks are
intended, not fo much to depreciate the value of metaphy-
fical Icience (if fcience it be), as to fhow how miferabiy it
is mifapplied by our author ; and how totally inadequate it
is at all times either to explain the origin and nature of our
being, or to fupply, from a confideration of its fuppofed
character and deftiny, the moral rule of life to our I'pecies.
As with our ordinary duties, fo alfo with thofe of a more
ftriftly religious charafter : both are apprehended by the
moral fenfe, availing itfelf of every prefent light j andaswc
132 ON THE WRITINGS OF
But is this really all ? Is there no pafTage in
Mr. Carlyle's volume more definite and fatisfac-
tory than this ? So far as we can judge, there is
abfolutely none. In his own emphatic phrafe, the
whole is a " weltering chaos." Inftead of folving
the riddle of exiftence, he repeats it time after
time with every doleful emphafis, and turns itup-
fide down — that we may not lofe its meaning
through treating it with too much reverence. We
read on, without advancing j and go further, only
to fareworfe. Sometimes the title of a chapter
promifes much, and then we are certain to be dif-
appointed moft j till at laft the repeated evil works
its own cure, and a brilliant heading, like the ftarry
nucleus of a comet, prepares us for a cloudy and
attenuated tail. At one time we fee written. The
Everlafting No^ and wonder what deeper or what
voider vacuum has been difcovered by this prince
of negative philofophers ; but it proves only to be
a labelled fpecimen of his great gaping univerfe.
Vv^ith fome faint hope we come upon another
chapter, and read. The EverlaftingTea ; but, after
the moft intent liftening, the noify oracle is found
to have confufed, but not informed the mind.
do not paufein the performance of the relative duties of life
till each is proved obligatoiy by a complete fyftem of ethics
whofe authority fliould admit of nopofTibledoubt — for then
life itfelf mull ceafe ere a theory of life could be univerfally
agreed upon ; fo, in matters of religion, we are led firft to
acknowledge the being and word of God, and then the
reafonablenefs of our faith is increafmgly manifefted by the
correfpondence of natural and revealed truth, and of our
experience, to the relation inftin6lively alTumed.
MR. CARLTLE. 133
Many high-founding phrafes, as " fanc^luary of for-
row," or " divine depth of forrow," come unex-
plained upon us ; and many fcriptural precepts, as,
" Love not pleafure — love God," " Whatfoever
thy hand findeth to do, do it vi^ith thy might," are
thrown in our path ; but to enjoy — or even rightly
to appreciate — them, we muft (hut our eyes to
Mr. Carlyle's" dream-grotto," and remember the
fulnefs of evangelic truth which is ftored up in the
briefeft line of infpiration. Love God ! This is
indeed " the EverlaflingYea ;" for it is the primal
law of our creation, and the ultimate perfe6tion of
faint and angel. Truth is truth, even upon the
lips of prefumption. But what does the precept
mean, in the mind of Mr. Carlyle ? Is it with him
anything but a time-honoured phrafe, hallowed by
the unfufpedting faith of eighteen centuries, and
embodying, in a fuperftitious formula, the vague
longings of a hundred million hearts ? We fear
not. Belfhazzar drank wine with his princes, his
wives and his concubines, out of the confecrated
vefTels of the temple : they drank wine^ and praifed
the gods of gold^ and of ft her ^ of brafs^ of iron^ of
wood^ and ofjione. And in like manner the fym-
bols of a yet purer faith, the language and pre-
cepts of the fame holy and jealous God, are dif-
honoured and profaned in our own day, ifwithlefs
infolence of manner, yet with only the more pro-
found contempt, by men who call upon His name
in one breath and queftion Hisexiftence in another,
and who dare to diftribute His incommuni-
cable attributes as the property of trees and flones,
134 ON THE WRITINGS OF
deifying if not adoring the infenfate forms of
nature.*
The next work of Mr. Carlyle, confifting of fix
lectures on Heroes and Hero Worjhip^ is entertain-
ing enough ; and, what is more, it pofTefles one
good pervading thought. Finding a grain of gold,
he has hammered it out into two hundred leaves.
To glorify the fons of genius is one of the literary
tendencies of the age ; but Mr. Carlyle's book was
the firft to fix the features of the popular heroic,
and to furnifli a brief gallery of heroes, each in his
place and order. We fay advifedly " the popular
heroic;" for Mr. Carlyle's notion ofheroifm is not
eflentially different from the vulgar one, of which
the chief element is extraordinary power. To this,
indeed, is due the ftriking intereft with which our
author's pencil has invefted the fubjedl: ; for he has
drawn the popular idol in a pi6lurefque and com-
manding attitude. We admit, moreover, that
fome of his views are conceived with hiftorical ac-
curacy, though treated with poetical expreflion \
and there is very much of the volume which is
even profoundly true, and commends itfelf no lefs
* It would be eafy to juftify this ftrong condemnation by
a ieries of extrafts, whether of whole paffages or fingle
phrafes. Yet, if we had fpace and time at our command
for this purpofe, the refult would be lefs convincing to the
reader than a perfonal acquaintance with the writings them-
felves } for our author's tone is fceptical throughout, and
can only be defended from the charge of grofs profanity by
the frank avowal of unbelief. That avowal is not made j
on the contrary, the armoury of Scripture is pillaged for a
traitor's purpofe, but in the guife of an adherent to the
facred caufe. Yet Mr. Carlyle is the great eulogift of (in-
cerity, the denouncer of all hypocrify and" cant !"
MR. CARLTLE, 135
to the judgment than the fympathies of men. But,
after all, we are compelled to fay that this danger-
ous topic is very dangeroufly handled. Pi6torially,
Mr. Carlyle's characters are well and ftrongly
marked ; but, ethically, they are not difcriminated,
the true from the falfe. Courage, earneftnefs,
fuccefs, thefe are the qualities our author delights
to recognize and honour. But thefe are furely the
grofler attributes of greatnefs, correfponding only
to mufcular fuperiority or a larger flow of fpirits.
Is there no ftandard of true greatnefs apart from
its more vifible adtions and efFe6ls ? The politi-
cal agitator is then more heroic than the filent and
felf-denying comforter, — the bronze-headed form
of the ufurper more noble than the patient face of
the uncomplaining martyr. Accordingly, we find
Mr. Carlyle making little diftinCtion in his heroes
befide their feveral degrees of earneftnefs and
power. Force of character, quite independently
of its diredlion, is the virtue he almoft exclufively
admires. Grant this notion of a hero to be juft,
and then — however little we may thereafter value
fuch a character — we muft allow that it here re-
ceives amplejuftice. Thus, for example, through-
out his portraiture of Luther, we fee that the
fturdy nature of the man has made him a favourite ;
not the purity of his motives, nor the unwavering
confidence of his mind, nor even the facred juftice
of his caufe. We feel that by a fimilar treatment
the names of Dominic and of Attila might be
ennobled. The chara6ler of Luther is, notwith-
ftanding, ably delineated in this book ; and the fol-
136 ON THE WRITINGS OF
lowing paflage will ferve to fhow how the profound
humanity of the German Reformer is appreciated
by the fympathy of genius : —
^^ At the fame time^ they err greatly who Imagine
that this man's courage was ferocity^ — mere coarfe
difohedient ohjiinacy and favagery, as many do. Far
from that. There may he an abfence of fear which
arifes from the abfence of thought or affeSfion, from
the prefence of hatred and fiupid fury. TVe do not
value the courage of the tiger highly. With Luther
it was far otherwife ; no accufation could be more
unjufi than this of mere ferocious violence brought
againjl him. A mofl gentle heart withal^ full of
pity and love^ as indeed the truly valiant heart ever
is. The tiger., before aflronger foe.^flies : the tiger
is not what we call valiant, only fierce and cruel. I
know few things more touching than thofefoft breath-
ings of affeSlion^ foft as a child's or a mother s^ in
this great wild heart of Luther. So honejl, unad-
ulterated with any cant., homely rude in their utter-
ance^ pure as water welling from the rock
Once he looks out from his foUtary '^ Patjnos^ the
Wartburg., in the middle of the night : the great
vault of immenfity^ long flights of clouds failing
through it, — dumb., gaunt, huge., — who fupports all
that? ^ None ever faw the pillars of it j yet it is
fupported.^ God fupports it. We muji know that
God is great, that God is good, and trufi where we
cannot fee. Returning home fro?n Leipfic once, he
isfiruck by the beauty of the harvefi fields. How it
Jlands, that golden yellow corn, on its fair taper Jl em.
MR, CARLTLE, 137
its golden head bent^ all rich and waving there^ —
the meek earthy at God's kind biddings has produced
it once again ; the bread of man ! In the garden
at Wittenberg^ one evening at funfet.^ a little bird
has perched for the night. That little bird^fays
Luther ; above it are the fiars and deep heaven of
worlds ; yet it has folded its little zvings ; gone trujl-
fully to reft there as in its ho?ne : the maker of it
has given it too a home I Neither are mirthful turns
wanting : there is a great free human heart in this
man. The comjnon fpeech of him has a rugged
nohlenefs^ idiomatic^ exprejftve^ genuine ; gleams here
and there with beautiful poetic tints. One feels him
to be a great brother-man.'*
This is true of Luther, as it is true of a thoufand
other noble natures. But we have no hint of " the
greateftgreatnefs of the man ;" for that was peculiar
to himfelf, as it was expreffly beftowed for the
accomplifhment of an extraordinary work. There-
fore Luther was not well chofen as the type of
Mr. Carlyle's hero ; but he feems determined to
confound things fpiritual with things natural, and
to attribute the effects of both to the operation of
one uniform dynamic agency. The great error of
the book feems to be this exaltation of a certain
blind and irrefpe6live force. If might is right,
then indeed we muft acknowledge with him the
greatnefs alike of Burns and Luther, of Napoleon
and Knox. Nay, if there be no evil but weaknefs,
and if determination is of itfelf heroic, and if fuccefs
fufficiently proclaims divinity, then muft we accept
138 ON THE WRITINGS OF
the whole feries of demi-gods in his pantheon,
" from Norfe Odin to Englifh Samuel Johnfon,
from the Divine Founder of Chriftianity to the
withered Pontiff of Encyclopaedifm." But the
reader may inquire, What is the truth or value of
a fyftem which clafTes thefe together, confounding
good and evil, and not even diftinguifhing between
human and divine ? We cannot tell. We only
know that, if an indomitable will or wide dominion
is their bond of union, the awful group may be
fitly completed by another member, — by Satan,
that arch-hero. To that powerful prince has been
juftly afcribed the virtue here made common to
them all. It is he whom the " purged ear" of the
poet heard exclaim. To be weak is to be miferable ;
and from this fentiment arofe that famous refolu-
tion, — was it not heroic in the firft degree ? — Evi/^
be thou my good !
But we have not yet done with the fubje6l of
hero-worfhip. It is too ftrongly charadteriftic of
Mr. Carlyle's moft injurious writings, and too pro-
minent a development of the prevailing atheifm,
to be difmifled without a more radical expofure.
Moreover, we have no wifh to evade the difficul
ties of our tafk by confining ourfelves to the lan-
guage of cenfure ; and there are fome pafiages in
Mr. Carlyle's book which are really fo plaufible in
themfelves, (while they are at the fame time
abfolutely fearful in their confequences,) that many
a fincerely honeft reader would doubt his own
candour if he did not at once admit their force.
The copy before us has apparently fallen into the
MR. CARLTLE. 139
hands of fuch a reader ; and we find its pages
marked here and there with an approving pencil.
The following is a paiTage fo approved. It occurs
in Mr. Carlyle's account of the genus " Prophet,"
which, of courfe, is a natural production, though of
rather high clafs and character : —
'* We have chofen Mahomet^ not as the moji
eminent Prophet^ hut as the one we are freeji to
[peak of. He is by no means the trueji of Prophets ;
but I do efieem him a true one. Farther.^ as there
is no danger of us becoming any of us Mahometans^
1 mean to fay all the good of him Ijufily can. It is
the way to get at his fecret : let us try to under/land
what he meant with the world ; what the world
fneant and means with him will then be a more
anfwerable quejiion. One current hypothefts about
Mahomet^ that he was afcheming impojior^ a false-
hood incarnate.^ that his is a mere mafs of quackery
and fatuity begins really to be now untenable to any
one. The lies which well-meaning zeal has heaped
round this man are difgraceful to our/elves only.
When Pococke inquired of Grotius where the proof
was of thatfiory of the pigeon trained to pick peas
from Mahomet's ear^ and pafs^for an angel dictat-
ing to him ; Grotius anfwered that there was no
proof! It is really time to difmifs all that. The
word this manfpoke has been the life-guidance now of
one hundred and eighty ?nillions of ?nen thefe tzvelve
hundred years. Thefe hundred and eighty millions
were made by God as well as zue. A greater number
of God'' s creatures believe in Mahomet's word at
140 ON THE WRITINGS OF
this hour than in any word whatever. Are we to
Juppofe that it was a miferahle piece of fpiritual
legerdejnain^ — this which fo many creatures of the
almighty have lived and died by ? I, for my part^
cannot form any fuch fuppofition . I zvill believe mojl
things fooner than that. One would be entirely at
a lofs what to think of this world, if quackery fo
grew and were fan^ioned here.^^
And this it is which perpetually triumphs over
Mr. Carlyle, and which occafionally ftaggers the
mind of his benevolent reader. Is it poffiblethat
vaft numbers of our race fhould follow and em-
brace a hollow lie ? or, if fo, is not fo popular a
delufion fomething more genuine, more admirable,
even more true, than the naked verities which
attra6l only our pureft afFeclions, and fatisfy our
higheft reafon ? In matters of religion this writer
afFe6ls the large majority. In matters of philofophy,
we fuppofe, he would hefitate to apply this very
dignified teft of truth, or it would tell fadly againft
his hero-worfhip : Galileo muft then have been
pronounced an obftinate old heretic to afTert the
motion of the earth, when all the world befides,
who had eyes as well as he, declared that they faw
nothing of the kind. This interefting corollary is
however kept wholly out of fight. Truth is impor-
tant in matters of fcience \ but with refpe6l to re-
ligion we are all fomany children, and one nurfery-
ftory is as good as another — be it taken from the
annals of England or of fairy-land. Enough if the
little creatures are perfuaded and amufed, diverted
MR. CARLTLE. 141
from all prefent mifchief, and deluded into a
romantic paft or future.
The way in which Mr. Carlyle has been led to
accept every form of religious error as not wholly
or chiefly untrue, — zs fubje^ively right gyqu. when
ohjettively wrongs — it is not difficult to trace. In
his philofophy, evil is but a circumftance ; good-
nefs is the very eflence of man's nature, as of all
elfe. Men, indeed, may be deceived by their own
fenfes and reafon, — as were thofe zealots who im-
prifoned Galileo ; but the moft brutal mafles of
mankind are never mifled by their paffions, or
degraded by the objedi of their love and worfhip.
The human heart is fo pure, fo prone to good, that
Mr. Carlyle can truft it to any amount ! If he
would know, therefore, what is worthy of peculiar
reverence, and of as much belief as a philofopher
of his fchool may condefcend to, he has only to
obferve the dire6tion of vaft mafles of our fpecies,
and follow in their wake — at leaft with his approv-
ing eyes : for, of courfe, fo catholic a philofopher
cannot join himfelf to any fingle band of worfhip-
pers. They will lead him (in contemplation) to
an altar and agodfufficient and appropriate for the
time, and only to be fuperfeded by fome later
development of the religion of nature. It matters
not greatly what is to be worfhipped — an angel, or
an onion ; a gracious, or a malignant being ; God,
in fpirit and in truth, or the devil, withobfcene and
cruel rites. Human nature is fo lovely a thing, if
left to wander at its own fweet will !
In this way Mr. Carlyle is driven to extol the
142 ON THE WRITINGS OF
idolatrous pra6lices v/hlch he cannot confiftently
condemn. Setting out with the do6trine of the
natural purity and rectitude of the human heart, he
muft hold himfelf ready to accept its every mani-
feftation as a type of innate beauty and virtue. The
tendency of our uncorrupted inftindts is furely
towards the great and good Divinity from which
we have our being. As water finds its own level,
and as the rivers haften to the fea, does not the
creature, by an invariable law, tend ever to the
Creator ? So he reafons, a priori ; and the refult
is a theory of harmony throughout the univerfe of
God. Unfortunately, if he fhould reverfe the
procefs, and argue from efFe6t to caufe, will he
find the fame pure fource operating as the fountain
of hiftory and life ? What is the God that is fo
varioufly worfhipped ? Do the obfcene rights of
Indian mythology celebrate a God of purity ? or
the bloody hecatombs of Mexican or Druid
worfhip give fatisfadtion to a God of mercy ? Are
we led ftraightway to adoration of the Divine
unity, by the contemplation often thoufand deities?
Do we recognize the Divine eflence in perifhable
wood or ftone, the Divine glory in images of His
meaneft creatures, or in monfters compounded by
the moft loathfome imagination of man ? Not
only are human aberrations, however various, all
laid forfooth along the fingle path of rectitude, but
human contradi6tions are charged full with the
Divine confiftency. Our author can prove that
all forms of religion are efTentially right, however
oppofed in fpirit and expreffion to each other ; but
MR, CJRLTLE. 143
itis onlyby demonftrating that none can poffiblybe
wrong. At prefent he has only affirmed as much :
we wait with fome curiofity for the demonftration.
The Chriftian philofopher is, happily, at no lofs
to account for the idolatry which he both admits
and laments. All the phenomena of human nature,
and efpecially thofe arifmg from the confufion of
good and evil, are explicable in the light of Scrip-
ture truth : at leaft, that confufion, as witnefTed in
the world, receives much light, if not a fullfolu-
tion, from the book which has preferved to us
the facred hiftory of mankind. In this matter
reafon is eminently the handmaid of revelation.
The more thoroughly we appreciate the con-
tinual afpirations of mankind after fome ideal
good, the more readily do we admit the truth
of that record which affirms that God made man
in His own image : the more deeply we experience,
and the m.ore widely we obferve, the deceitfulnefs,
the hatred, and the cruelty ofthe human heart, the
more willingly fhould we embrace that book
which fo emphatically declares, " The heart is de-
ceitful above all things, and defperately wicked."
Hiftory is intelligible only in the light ofthe bible :
the bloodieft as well as the beft mythology bears
witnefs to the religion of Chrift. " They have
forfaken Me, the fountain of living waters, and
hewed them out cifterns, broken cifterns, that can
hold no water." The whole fad ftory of humanity,
with all its innuaierable forms of crime and folly,
is epitomifed in that one text. It is God's lamenta-
tion over the departure of His favourite race.
144 ON THE WRITINGS OF
They have left Him ; and whither fhall they
go ? Live independently they cannot. They
w^ere not made for themfelves. They have vi^an-
dered boldly from the Fountain of all authority as
well as happinefs, only to fuffer an infatiable thirft
both of worfhip and delight.
Let us confider for a moment the cafe of the
Arabian Prophet, — fo peculiar in itfelf, and fo
plaufible in our author's ftatement. Now, let it
be afTumed that Mahomet has often been mif-
reprefented and maligned ; that he had certain
commanding moral qualities as well as intelle6i:ual
gifts ; that he was not, in the vulgar fenfe of the
word, an impoftor, fmce it may be held that no
man ever impoied a new creed on mankind till he
had firft impofed it on himfelf ; and hypocrify is
but a fubordinate — we had almoft faid an uncon-
fcious — element in the forces of fanaticifm. But
we fubmit that the fpread of his tenets is out of all
proportion to his individual powers. We muft
look for the fecret of his fuccefs rather in the
chara6ter and circumftances ofthe Arabian people,
than in the perfonal greatnefs of their prophet. In-
deed, it is the common error of Mr. Carlyle and his
fellow-worfhippers to magnify individual human
agency till it is fomething god-like, and then to
render it an undue homage. They forget " what
great effedls from trivial caufes fpring." They
knov/ it is certain that mighty confequences muft
proceed from adequate caufes ; but the river rolling
through the plain is not all due to the rill efcaping
through a cleft of the mountain. It is fed by
MR, CARLYLE, 145
neighbouring rivulets, and augmented by the
winter-rains ; the higher table-land is fecretly but
furely drained for its increafe ; and a thoufand in-
dependent fprings find glad fellowfhip and afwlfter
courfe in its community of waves. And fuch is
the hiftory of Iflamifm in relation to the influence of
its Prophet. Mahomet was but a fuperior type of
his own followers, not the feminal author of that
race. It is probable that his character was deeply
infcribed upon his little fe6t ; and it has grown
vaftly in the lapfe of ages, as a name carved upon
a ftripling oak enlarges from year to year ; only
(in each cafe) what has been gained In magnitude
is loft in diftlnftnefs and in depth. We are not
partial to that fpirit of modern criticlfm which
delights in turning the remote into the mythical,
and explaining the literal by the fymbolical \ nor
do we wifh to fee it applied to the ftory of
Mahomet. Fable and fa6l, like wheat and tares,
are too intimately blended In that field of time for
any but the angel of the judgment to difcrlminate.
But the records are too contradictory, too extraor-
dinary, too parabolical for us to accept them as literal
truth. What feems to us extravagance may be
thought Indeed only common jufllce to the Pro-
phet's memory, and profitable reading to his
genuine difclples ; but the oriental hlftorlanmufl
be felt rather than underflood by us. His lan-
guage of flowers defies tranflation ; and if its
odorous beauty embalms a chara6f:er that muft
otherwife have decayed like that of common mor-
tals, we ftiall not err too far in admiring that which
L
146 ON THE WRITINGS OF
proclaims, if not the real worth of the deceafed,
yet the love and reverence of his kindred. And
here another confideration meets us. As w^ith the
fa6ls of the Prophet's hiftory, fo alfo v^^ith the
moral character of his a£lions : if we cannot dif-
criminate the former, how fhall we rightly
eftimate the latter ? The great Judge only can
apply the ftandard in every individual cafe ; but
with the Arabian leader the rule is widely differ-
ent from that which will condemn an Englifh
profeffing Chriftian, or even an enlightened Eng-
lifh deift. It is not pretended, even by the moft
uncompromifmg champions of our faith, that
Mahomet and his followers will be arraigned in one
indi6lment,and involved in one wholefale fentence.
We believe, with Mr. Carlyle that " condemnable
idolatry is infincere idolatry ;" but we believe,
further, that all idolatry is infmcere. Who can
find out God to perfe6tion ? Truly none. But
what human foul was ever fully fatisfied with lefs
than God ? Finite in himfelf, man belongs to the
Infinite. Having no plummet that can found im-
menfity, all lefTer waters are too fhallow for his
foul ; and where his plummet ftrikes he dare not
wholly venture. Perhaps not the dulleft favage
who has made the wooden god which he believes
in, does heartily believe in the god which he has
made. Better than this, that he fhould be his own
divinit}^ — though then how forely muft he feel the
need of another and a higher, if only to fave him
from a tyranny at once fo impotent and fo ruinous
— from the domination of a creature fo weak and
wicked as himfelf.
MR. CARLTLE. 147
Fully to countera6t the whole of the evil fug-
geftions infufed into this work, would require a
fyftematic expofure of undue length. A falfehood
may be infinuated in a line, which can only be
thoroughly difproved and difplaced by a compre-
henfive ftatement of the truth, and this, to be ex-
clufive of error, muft be broad as well as funda-
mental. The pantheiftic theories of Mr. Carlyle,
which are more properly crudities in him, afTume
a fhape more worthy of the name in other writers
of the fame fchool ; for even Parker and Newman,
with all their vague and wordy fentiments, pretend
to a fcientific method, and fo frankly fubmit their
doctrines to a due examination ; and if, after all,
they prove in part unintelligible and for the reft un-
tenable, we muft refpeft the apparent fmcerity of
the men, while we fternly condemn the raftinefs
and prefumption of the teachers. It is to authors
like thefc, therefore, that we muft repair for a text,
when propofmg to difcufs the philofophy of the
" Catholic Series." Mr. Carlyle is an author yi^/
generis^ who only ufes the new ecledlicifm as a fit-
ting framework for his panorama of all great human
movements ; whether puritan, or thug, or fanf-
culotte ; in fliort, it is only as an author, deter-
mined at all cofts to be efFe6live, that he finds
fuitable material and variety in fo very " catholic"
a creed.
We cannot leave this part of our fubjedl without
one further remark. The ravings of Hero-worjhip
fitly fupplement the impious doubts of Teufelf-
droch. Idolatry is the refuge of man's heart from
148 ON THE WRITINGS OF
the horrors of pure atheifm ; and in this curfe both
favage and philofopher are equally involved. The
one abandons his offspring to fome bloody tyrant
deified as Moloch ; the other burns incenfe at the
hardly lefs bloody fhrine of Napoleon the Great.
No fooner is the fountain of living water dis-
paraged and deferted, under the idea that a wife
and well-ordered mind fhould never thirft for any
good external or fuperior to itfelf, than our wife
man is feen ftealthily drinking at fome foul human
cefs-pool, or hewing out fy ftem-cifterns of his own,
" broken cifterns," coUeding every earth-polluted
ftream, but retaining only its fediment and flime.
And thus God vindicates His truth, even in the
cafe of thofe who continue to outrage and deny
His claims. When their proud hearts refufe to
bow before the Majefty of heaven and earth, fay-
ing, " Who is God, that we fhould fear Him ?"
He caufes them to Hck the very duft from ofF His
feet.
We haften to a brief confideration of Mr. Car-
lyle's laft work, and the more gladly, as it promifes
to exemplify the fruits of his teaching in the life
and death of a difciple. But one word by the way,
if only to indicate with the flri6left brevity the
tone and charadler of two intermediate publica-
tions. Thefe are called refpe6tively Paji and Pre-
fent and Latter-Day Pamphlets. They are appa-
rently intended to perpetuate Mr. Carlyle's focial
and political opinions, — which they promife to do
much as the Egyptians preferved their dead, dif-
MR, CARLTLE. 149
figuring with powerful drugs and fpices, difguifing
in a thoufand tortuous linen-folds, and hiding in
dark narrow chambers under a huge pyramid of
ftones. This is Mr. Carlyle's method of prefent-
ing his embodied philofophy to the admiration of
mankind ; and in thefe circumftances it is
naturally a matter of fome little difficulty to do
ample juftice in our reprefentation. So fuccefsfully
are his thoughts difguifed and mummified, that,
even if we could fucceed in removing fufficient of
the cumbrous ftone-heap where they lie entombed,
to admit a ray of common day-light, we fear that
their fymmetry and complexion would prove any-
thing but charming to the eye of modern tafte. In
fhort, thefe pyramids of hard words are likely to
remain the inexplicable monument of their buil-
der's folly, juft ferving to remind the world of that
fpecies of pompous oblivion which is fometimes
achieved, by the wild genius of men like Jacob
Bcehme, for do6lrines which are not commonly
dead, or fimply corrupt, but heavily fealed down
in their moft difmal grave, and fetid with a rank
and complicated odour.
Let us pick one ancient rag out of this lefTer
pyramid, called Paji andPrefent; holding it, never-
thelefs, at a wholefome diftance, and letting hea-
ven's blefled air blow in between. It is the old
maxim, Lahorare eft orare^ — " To labour is to
pray : work is fufficient worfhip." If the book
urges anything, it is the neceffity, the dignity,
the virtue of labour. This idea is certainly
not a new one. In fome fhape or other it is
150 ON THE WRITINGS OF
as common to be met with as bits of broken
glafs. But, put into Mr. Carlyle's kaleidofcope,
it is aftonifhing how pretty and how bright the
notion is ; into how many novel forms it Aides
with every movement of the fingers, — always,
indeed, with the fame fhowy colours, but ever
varying its fantaftic pattern. The folly of this
deception is apparent to the leaft reflecting and
confcientious mind. To labour is not to pray.
We may ufe God's materials, and yet deny His
right and title to them ; we may co-operate, for
our own ends, with certain of His eftabhfhed laws,
and yet ignore His power and prefence in them.
Shall a man rob God? Yet men do it every day ;
appropriating His means, and fruftrating His pur-
pofe ; feeking their own aggrandifement rather
than His glory, Mr. Carlyle's philofophy is not
very deep if it does not teach him that labour, con-
fidered per fe^ is of no moral value, but only as it
is an appropriate or appointed means to a lawful
and noble end. True it is that induftry is an
obligation of our prefent ftate, fo linked with the
economy of human life, that we profit or fufFer, in
certain eftablifhed degrees, according as our efforts
are well or ill dire^ed and fuftained. But this
a6t, or this feries of a6ts, has no element of wor-
fhip in it. We cannot pretend to Divine favour
by obedience in fome points to the law originally
written in our natures, but now well-nigh oblite-
rated through fin j we dare not even come into
the Divine prefence with no other offering than the
fruit of our labour. This prefumptuous error is
MR. CARLTLE. 151
as old as Cain, who alfo dared pra6lically to aflert
that to work with his hands was fufEciently to
worfhip God, and who offered the fruits of the
earth cultivated by him as a fatisfaci:ory acknow-
ledgment of fealty and fubordination. But God
rejected his offering with difpleafure ; for this was,
in effect, to appeal to the law, which frowned
fleadily and with awful threatening upon the un-
bloody facrifice of Cain. And now, as then^ it is
only as all our works are begun, continued, and
ended in Him, " the Propitiation," by whom we
find accefs and favour, that they are in any wife
acceptable to God. Prefented in any other name,
the moft ponderous offering of induftry or genius
that we may roll upwards toward His throne will
only recoil in infinite mifchief and condemnation
on our fouls.*
The Latter-Day Pamphlets., in their collefted
fhape, form perhaps the mofl extraordinary pro-
du6lion of the age. A book fo entirely and obfti-
nately unintelligible was, probably, never written ;
* If Mr. Carlyle were not fo great a philofopher, and
too highly flattered to adopt readily the teaching of a meek
and pious Ipirit, he might learn whence the true lan6lity of
labour is derived, from the lips of good George Herbert : —
" Teach me, my God and King,
In all things Thee to fee.
And what I do in anything
To do it as for Thee.
' A fei-yant with this claufe
Makes drudgery divine :
Who fweeps a room as for Thy laws.
Makes that and the a6lion fine."
152 ON THE WRITINGS OF
and certainly one at the fame time fo original and
amufmg was never read. Of courfe, we do not
intend to fay that its words and fentences are
feparately void of meaning, or wholly incapable of
conftruclion : but this we do deliberately affirm,
that on no one of the many fuhje Sis which Mr. Car-
lyle's pen here glances upon, or plays around, do
we find any dire£i or deliberate exprejfion of opinion ,^
theoretical or praSfical^ deduced as a focial truth,
or urged as a political neceffity ; nor have we any
the flighteft idea of Mr. Carlyle's remedy, or clafs
or feries of remedies, for the great and many evils
of fociety ; — evils which, according to our author,
are not merely attendant upon the working of our
focial and political fyftem, but incorporated with
its very eflence, and lying at the root of all civi-
lized inftitutions. Effrontery and inconfiftency
are ftamped in brazen characters on every page of
this grofs libel. The induftry and earneftnefs
that were, as we have feen, " the be-all and the
end-all " of his moral code, are here of no avail to
propitiate his wrath at what he deems their mad
and ruinous mifdirection, but only ferve to aggra-
vate the fpafm of his rage. Talk of offending
" the Divine filences ! " (as our precious author fo
indignantly does) — furely never were the filent
energies and patient fufferings and human virtues
of our toiling race fo impudently outraged and
infulted as by this loud torrent of invecSlive. No
one clafs is fpared from his catalogue of nuifances
that "offend the fun," and "cry out for burial."
All is rottennefs and diforder in the focial fabric ;
MR. CARLTLE. 153
all is fpeedlly falling back to chaos. With mar-
vellous inconfiftency, the man who fees fuch grace
and goodnefs in every form of human worfhip —
though its incenfe be the fume of paflion and its
rites the folemnization of cruelty and luft — fees
only gilded vice and unmitigated folly in every
walk and inftitution of civilized life ! Falling
from the mad prophetic rant of his former works,
he is here exhibited, not as the Cajfandra^ but the
Therfites.^ of the age ; ftanding, in turn, over every
filent group of labourers in this earneft century
and moft earneft country, and voiding his unwhole-
fome abufe equally over all. In thefe pages every
time-honoured virtue that adorns humanity meets
with indignant denial or fcornful depreciation.
Philanthropy is maudlin, and benevolence is weak-
nefs, and induftry is avarice, and ftatefmanftiip is
trickery, and liberty a chimera, and religion cant !
England is efpecially the target of Mr. Carlyle's
fcorn : the Britifh conftitution is the choiceft
fpecimen of folly which the fun beholds in all this
great " mufeum of abfurdities." Indeed, almoft
the only preference of a pofitive kind which may
be diftin6lly gathered from this book, made up as
it is for the moft part of inexplicable hatreds and
diflikes, is the author's hearty preference of a good,
ftrong, iron defpotifm to the moft elaborate and
well-balanced conftitutional government. No-
thing feems to irritate him fo much as the words
" emancipation," " enfranchifement," " liberty,"
" voluntary principle." Prifon-vifiting and me-
lioration very evidently difguft him ; and as to
154 ON THE WRITINGS OF
flavery, fo cordial is his regret for the decadence of
that ancient inftitution, that he feems to emulate
the zeal of poor Bofwell, who declared that to
abolifti the flave trade would be to " fhut the gates
of mercy on mankind !"
Such are Mr. Carlyle's views of fociety, as at
prefent conftituted. But the moft difcouraging
circumftance is the abfence of any fpecific or
remedy. We are pretty frequently told, indeed,
that unlefs we fpeedily adopt another method, and
chime in with the eternal laws, we muft look out
for fomething dreadful ; and the very leaft that
would feem likely to befall us, (but we hope it is
only his ftrong way of fpeaking,) is a fudden
chaos, or univerfal limbo. We are warned, fre-
quently enough, that it will not do to go about
mending and tinkering the unhappy manners of
the age ; for it is fo rotten, and we are fuch
bunglers, that we (hall infallibly make more holes
than we can flop. We muft begin de novo^ and
ftart right this time, and keep fo too, or we fhall
prefently be overtaken by — we really dare not tell
the reader what, partly becaufe it is fo alarming in
Mr. Carlyle's language, and partly becaufe we do
not exadly underftand the nature of the danger,
after all. It is juft poffible that matters are not fo
bad as we had begun to fear. And, indeed, the
moft agreeable feeling which we have known to
refult from a perufal of thefe Latter-Day Pam-
phlets^ is when, clofmg them with a painful but
confufed impreffion of the hopelefs ftate of Eng-
land, — its mammon-worfhip, follies, and hypocri-
MR, CARLTLE, 155
fies, — we turn to the bufinefs and intercourfe of
life, and find fo many encouraging features in fo-
ciety ; fo many noble tendencies, active and bene-
volent; and fo large an amount of private virtue
and individual piety, contributing to the general
order and fuccefs, and multiplying, on all hands,
the fum of human happinefs. The change is fome-
thing like that w^hich might be experienced in
turning from the v^ards of an hofpital in Bedlam,
to the green fields of the hufbandman, or the glori-
ous forum of public life and affairs.
But it is moft important to know the nature and
extent of Mr. Carlyle's influence in the religious
or ferious world, and efpecially among thofe ardent
fpirits who are ready to follow the moft daring
leader into the fpiritual myfteries of our nature.
His focial views are not likely to have great weight
with pra6tical men till they fhall be more clearly
defined, and by this means better underftood. But
it is not thus with regard to his religious fpecula-
tions : for, ftrange enough, men do not extend the
neceffity of that pra6lical wifdom to the perfonal
affairs of the foul, which they fail not to recognize
in matters of merely temporal concern. In the
latter cafe, a man foon becomes convinced that, if
he look not after his own bufmefs, he cannot fhare
the general profperity, though he admire and ap-
preciate it never fo much. But how many are
there who indulge an intemperate curiofity as to the
nature of the human fpirit, — its origin, and effence,
and chara61:er, and deftiny, — who yet feel no para-
mount intereft in the fafety of their own ! Of God,
156 ON THE WRITINGS OF
too, they have a certain ftrange defire to know
much that muft remain unknown till we can "fee
Him as He is :" but to feek a preparation for that
transforming vifion — by afcertaining His favour,
and their perfonal relationfhip to Him, and feeking
firft a renewal of, and then a perpetual growth in,
His image and likenefs — feems never to occur to
them as the firft as well as the higheft point for
their confideration, the chief and only wifdom of
every individual foul of man. It is to this clafs of
minds that the writings of Mr. Carlyle are efpe-
cially alluring. Wandering after a forbidden know-
ledge, and fcarcely expecting to be made certain or
fatisfied, they do not quarrel with the unfatisfaftory
nature of his excurfions into the myfteries of being,
dazzling, but unproductive, as they are. Reverf-
ing the divinely-appointed order, they neglect to
tafte firft of the tree of life, and foon find the bit-
ter fruit of that other tree to be the knowledge of
their own mortality and mifery, and the oblivion
of all divine and faving truth.
The laft publication of Mr. Carlyle, as we have
already intimated, is the Life of John Sterling. Of
this affecting ftory we have no heart to fpeak in
much detail ; and we are glad to entertain a rea-
fonable perfuafion that the reader of thefe pages is
more or lefs acquainted with its fubje6l, at leaft
through the medium of literary notices and extracts.
To thofe, however, by whom he may be unknown
or unremembered, we would briefly fay — John
Sterling was a young man of great literary promife,
and confiderable though defultory performance;
MR, CJRLTLE, 157
contributing papers of varied merit, firft to the
"Athenaeum," afterwards to'' Blackwood's Maga-
zine," and occafionally to one or other of the
" Quarterly Reviews." Having an ardent defire
to do good, and feeling a growing inclination to
theological ftudies and minifterial purfuits, he ac-
ceded to the propofal of his friend Archdeacon
Hare, took holy orders, and became curate in the
parifh of Hertfmonceaux. After a brief fervice of
eight months, he was compelled by failing health
to relinquifh the facred fundlions ; and for the re-
mainder of his melancholy days did little more
than bear manfully the burden of a wafting life,
and dream fitfully the dreams of an unfound ambi-
tion, and wander, a well-nigh hopelefs invalid, in
purfuit of milder air and mitigated pain, to Madeira
and to Rome, and finally to Ventnor in the Ifle
of Wight, where, on the i8th of September, 1844,
" all thofe ftruggles and ftrenuous often-foiled en-
deavours of eight-and-thirty years lay hufhed in
death."
But why do we fpeak of Sterling's premature
decline as confifting of melancholy days, and his
whole life as an afFeding ftory ? Afflidions, though
in themfelves grievous, may be welcomed as falu-
tary difcipline, and even prized for the ftronger
confolations they induce. The valley of the (hadow
of death is not always or altogether dark : the Di-
vine fmile may diflipate its central gloom, and the
fhining city beyond may indicate its glorious termi-
nation. Nor does the language of the biographer,
when he refers to " thofe ftruggles, and ftrenuous
158 ON THE WRITINGS OF
often- foiled endeavours," of neceffity imply a
lamentable or unhappy frame of mind. A warfare
that is ftill a confcious triumph, or a race that gives
increafed afllirance of fuccefs, is already crowned
with a virtual anticipation of reward ; it partakes
of the blefiednefs of final victory, as well as of the
wearinefs of prefent ftrife : nay, this little weari-
nefs is loft in that profound bleflednefs, as the
exulting foul fubje6ls and colours all the lefTer man.
It is not, therefore, the fuffering believer, nor the
difabled Minifter, that we prefume to pity. The
champion of the truth may be difmounted by pro-
vidence, but he can only be overcome by fin ; and
when be may no longer lead on the aggreflive
ranks, and neither advance nor witnefs their full
or final triumph, fo long as he holds faft the ftiield
of faith, his perfonal fafety is fecured as by a feven-
fold aegis ; and the general victory of the church
may well be trufted by him to its great Deliverer
and Head.
Injuftice to Mr. Carlyle, we muft remark that
Sterling's defledlion from the path of orthodoxy
and the fimplicity of faith feems to have com-
menced before their perfonal acquaintance with
each other; and in juftice to Sterling himfelf, we
muft hefitate to admit that he ever wholly aban-
doned or thoroughly miftrufted thofe great fcrip-
tural truths which he had early imbibed. It is not,
we think, for any fellow creature to fay whether,
or when, or in what degree, he knowingly fuffered
himfelf to be deceived by the fpecioufnefs of carnal
reafon, and henceforth found no clue out of the
MR, CJRLTLE. 159
tangled labyrinth of nature. His powers were
brilliant and active. There is evidence in his
writings of much acutenefs ; and a certain ready
produ6livenefs was alfo chara^teriftic of his fertile
and well-cultivated mind. But of wifdom — which
has been happily defined by a living author as that
exercife of the under/landing into which the heart
enters — he feems to have had but little fliare ; and
hence his life, defpite a certain moral bias, and the
affluence of an intelle6t fparkling, if not profound,
appears to have had no commanding moral pur-
pofe, and to have borne no pra6lical or correfpond-
ing fruit. We gather, from a careful perufal both
of Mr. Hare's account of his friend, and Mr. Car-
lyle's more elaborate biography, that a habit of un-
profitable fpeculation had early gained upon the
mind of young Sterling ; and to us it is no lefs
apparent that this fubjedlive tendency of his, this
morbid introverfion of the mental eye into the
myfteries of his own nature, and this curious pry-
ing into the fprings of public faith, while dangerous
to the moft philofophic and religious mind, if un-
duly or exclufively indulged, were particularly fo
in his cafe. And here, may we venture on a
remark of general application ? Being eftabliflied
in a faith to which all natural and moral things
bear evidence, and the beft teftimony of which is
lodged in the innermoft confcioufnefs of the fpirit,
— with what fhow of wifdom does a man abandon
or begin to doubt the fa6ls and verities of Scripture,
merely upon the application of certain arbitrary
principles of criticifm, which feemonly to difcredit
i6o ON THE WRITINGS OF
in one way what has been fo frequently attacked
in fo many, yet fuccefsfully in none ? That philo-
fophy muft be clear and mafterly indeed which
would reafon the fun out of the heavens, and dif-
prove alike the noon-tide heat, and vernal green,
and fummer bloom. It will hardly do to point to
fome remaining patch of fnow, or fome unfruitful
fpace of earth. A Chriftian has all the materials
of a juft and comprehenfive faith, while he can
never obtain more than a fra6lion of the materials
due to a confiftent fcepticifm j fo that the moral
evidences of Chriftianity, while they are fufceptible f
of almoft endlefs illuftration from the fide of nature
and reafon, cannot poffibly receive therefrom any
general or abiding injury ; and much lefs are they *
in danger of being fuperfeded thereby. While it is
competent to us to go on to demonjirate the Chrif-
tian's faith, the vaft majority of believers are
content to feel its truth, with fuch corroboration
only as the experience and obfervation of every
day fupply. " Man's firft word," fays Archdeacon
Hare, " is2^^^ ; his fecond. No ; his third and laft,
Yes ; and, while the bulk of men flop fhort at the
firft, very few attain to the third." Poor Sterling
feems to have prefled into the fecond ftage without
ftrength to traverfe all its rugged breadth ; but,
though he never attained to the laft perfe6tion of
belief, where the philofopher and faint ^e found to
be identical, there is fome reafon to hope that by a
gracious influence he was led to retrace his fteps,
to linger near — and quietly pafs over into — the
firft happy paths ofafimple and fatisfying faith.
MR, CARLTLE, i6i
If the ratlonaliftic philofophy was fo highly in-
jurious to the peace of Sterling, Thomas Carlyle
was not more fortunately chofen to be his " guide,
philofopher, and friend." We would not exagge-
rate the influence of the latter upon the former,
which was probably lefs than the reader of Mr.
Carlyle's biography would be led to fuppofe. Ster-
ling always fought the battle of orthodox Chrif-
tianity againft the irregular darts of that ftrange
Teutonic genius ; and this both in public and pri-
vate, with the pen as well as with the tongue. But
though many of thefe fiery darts were repelled,
fome evidently remained to fret his fpirit to the
laft, even if not permitted to prove mortal to his
fpiritual health. He was ftrongly fafcinated by
the energy, the boldnefs, and the eloquent unrea-
fon of his friend ; and, though he hefitated to call
him mafter, he could not wholly refift the autho-
rity of his mind. It is melancholy to think how
pernicious was that unequal friendfhip to the feebler
of the twain. Sometimes he feems to wifli to
throw ofF the galling yoke from his fpirit ; but per-
fonal and intellectual ties difcouraged this moral
enfranchifement. That Sterling never ^/W wholly
break through this bondage, is evident from his
laft letter to our author, written only a month be-
fore his death. How could Mr. Carlyle dare to
print a meflage fo burdened with reproach, — re-
proach more dreadful, becaufe half-unconfcious
and wholly uncomplaining ? " For the firft time
for many months," fays Sterling, " it feems poflible
to fend you a ^qvj words, merely, however, for
M
1 62 ON THE WRITINGS OF
remembrance and farewell. On higher matters
there is nothing to fay. I tread the common road
into the great darknefs, without any thought of
fear, and with very much of hope. With regard
to You and Me, I cannot begin to write ; having
nothing for it but to keep fhut the lid of thofe
fecrets with all the iron weights that are in my
power. Towards me it is ftill more true than
towards England, that no man has been and done
like you. Heaven blefs you ! If I can lend a
hand when there, that will not be wanting. It
is all very ftrange ; but not one hundredth part fo
fad as it feems to the ftanders-by."
Thus does this dying man adopt the language
of Deifm, in deference to the fcoffing mafter of his
mind ; while it is evident that the light of nature
by which alone he dares to write, is only as a
fepulchral lamp, " making night hideous," and the
prepared grave difmal beyond expreffion. "/
tread the common road into the great darknefs! " If
we had been perufmg the life of fome heathen of
good renown, whofe lot had fallen in a gentile
land, ages before "life and immortality were
brought to light by the gofpel," this would flill
have been a melancholy clofe. Even then, we
muft have dropped a tear for mortal mifery un-
relieved by any certain hope, and courageoufly
enduring what it was fo helplefs to remove ; and
fighed Alas! for that poor philofophy which could
not draw the earneft of immortality from the deep
well of human confcioufnefs, or truft the fparkling
promife as it rofe. But this is a pi6lure of fome-
MR. CARLTLE. 163
thing infinitely worfe, — a confummation e ven
more frightful in its filence than that of the poor
ftudent, led to the twelfth hour of his laft day of
liberty, impiety, and pleafure, who finds his lamp
expiring in deep fobs of light, and fupernatural
noifes gradually invading all the air. So with
poor Sterling, but that he would not be known
(at leaft by one mocking fpirit) either to complain
or tremble. Life's bufinefs has been idly done in
idle fpeculations on its myfteries ; and now there
is neither comfort in the paft norafTurance for the
infinite future. And what is the return or con-
folation offered by Mr. Carlyle for a facrifice fo
unfpeakable as this, made by his young difciple ?
He amufes himfelf by drawing the life of his
feeble friend, for fuch he evidently holds him to
have been ; makes it as artiflic as pofiible, arrang-
ing his chief figure in the moft interefting of atti-
tudes, fupported by back-ground and acceffories
of the moft attradlive kind. His zeal and admi-
ration for the " hero" of his work is (as ufual)
quite fubordinate to his intereft in the work itfelf.
Not, perhaps, that he loves Sterling lefs, but that
he values Carlyle more. His genius deigns to
fhine upon him only as the fun upon a fatellite,
and that merely upon the hither fide, where he
fees himfelf refle6led. His pity often borders on
contempt ; and he feems to difmifs the book into
the world with the air of a man who has done well
with a very poor fubje6l, and made a miferable
human fcarecrow into a very tolerable clothes-
horfe to receive his own tawdry finery.
1 64 ON THE WRITINGS OF
We have feen that the end, as exhibited in Mr.
Carlyle's p^ges, is very full of gloom ; but in Mr.
Hare's account it afflimes a more cheering arpe6l.
The evening before his death, John Sterhng wrote
thefe lines in pencil, and gave them to his fifter.
Why they v/ere fuppreffed in Mr. Carlyle's narra-
tive, will fuificiently appear from the verfes them-
felves, which would hardly have contributed to the
impreffion he was defirous ot leaving on the
reader's mind.
** Could we but hear all nature's voice,
From glowworm up to fun,
'T would Tpeak with one concordant voice,
' Thy ivill, O God ! be done:
" But hark, a fadder, mightier prayer,
From all men's hearts that live : —
' Thy nvill be done in earth and heaven,
And Thou my Jins forgi-ve /' "
Thus, in a few pencilled lines, we have fome
recantation of poor Sterling's errors, — fome ac-
knowledgment of the two great truths of natural
and revealed religion. Thefe he, perhaps, never
quite relinquiflied, though Mr. Carlyle would lead
us to imply as much. The mafler and difciple
were then divided in fentiment, before they were
divorced by death. The mafter ftill teaches the
independence of nature, and the abfurdity of " a
perfonal God j" but the pupil afferts the authority
of the Creator, and the fubmijfion of every
creature. The mafter ftill affirms the purity and
re6litudeof man's inner heart, maintaining that all
deviations from truth and goodnefs have an exter-
nal origin in oppofition to internal teaching ; but
MR. CARLTLE. 165
the pupil gathers only this humiliating truth from
human error, — the need, to wit, of Divine forgive-
nefs. Probably Mr. Carlyle would fneer at the
crowning weaknefs of his friend, always " wanting
in due ftrength." For ourfelves, we are thankful
for this additional teftimony to the wretchednefs
of unbelief, and the truth of Chriftianity.
Of Mr. Carlyle we have little more to fay.
The reader is now enabled to judge, with fome
accuracy, both of his talent and of his teaching.
We commenced by bringing his vaunted literary
excellence to the fmgle but fufficient teft of ftyle ;
and though our fpace did not admit of fuch quota-
tions as might be neceiTary to convince the unac-
quainted of his grand deficiency in this particular,
we confidently appeal even to his admirers, if we
have not fairly characSferifed his ftyle, and that
without exaggeration. Of courfe thofewho blindly
admire and follow him will affert this to be his
higheft merit, and fay that when he differs from
other eminent examples offtyle he therein far fur-
paffes them, and ferves to dete6f their weaknefs
and incompetence. Thus an American enthufiaft
triumphantly contrafts our author's love of paradox
and fcorn of grammar with " the inanities of Ad-
difon." Contraft indeed ! As there is no account-
ing for taftes, we fhould perhaps be thankful for
the exhibition of one which, if unaccountable, is
not unamufing. We may fuppofe this critic to
have a private opinion that day-light is very infipid
compared with gas in chandeliers ; and we (hall
know that we have met with him once more
1 66 ON THE WRITINGS OF
when we hear convulfions quoted as a proof of
ftrength. Afterwards, we attempted, under many
difficulties, to afcertain the drift of Mr. Carlyle's
philofophy ; but as this was not to be appreciated
on any but tranfcendental principles, and even
fuch as it is, has never been definitely ftated by our
author, we fear that we failed to convey the fatif-
fadlion which we did not receive \ and perhaps
fomething of the kind may account for our author's
failure alfo. One trial more remained. Accord-
ingly, we fought to afcertain the pradical value of
Mr. Carlyle's teaching by reference to the career
and charader of one of his difciples. This was
the more feafible, as the life of fuch difciple was
prepared to our hands by the mafter himfelf : fo
we opened the life of John Sterling. We found
him beginning life full of promife and accomplifh-
ment: we left him on the couch of death, cur-
tained by a more than mortal cloud of doubt and
forrow, which his enfeebled hand could only
partially draw back. What light fell on that death-
bed came not from the lamp of Mr. Carlyle's
philofophy, but from beyond it, making it yet more
pale and fickly.
But is not Mr. Carlyle a writer of extraordinary
genius ? It appears to us that he is not. But the
fubjedt of " genius," with the nature and limita-
tions of its merit, is one upon which we may hope
to find fome future opportunity of fpeaking at
greater length, and with fuller fatisfadion. A
recent French critic — writing in the Revue des
Deux Monies — maintains that Mr. Carlyle is the
MR. CARLTLE. 167
greateft thinker our country has produced in
modern times. We can only fay that, as it feems
to us, he thinks to very Httle purpofe. We ad-
vife the reader, when next he meets an ardent
admirer of our author's writings, to requeft a ftate-
ment of a i^\N definite points for which thofe
writings are to be valued, and efpecially of the par-
ticular truths therein announced or illuftrated.
The poet may claim to be heard in his own
rhythmic and chofen language ; but the philofo-
pher whofe do6lrines or precepts admit of no
abridgment or laconic ftatement, muft permit us
to doubt of their exa6litude or truth. If Mr.
Carlyle is the greateft thinker of our times, alas for
the country of Bacon and of Butler. Nay, we
have, in that cafe, fadly degenerated from the
diale6lic genius of the time of Hume; for, how-
ever fophiftical were the arguments of that philo-
fopher, ftill they were arguments, carefully ad-
dreffed to reafonable men, and thus frankly offer-
ing the opportunity of refutation, which has fmce
been freely accepted and made good. But Mr.
Carlyle offers no fuch opportunity, and deferves
no fuch praife. It has been remarked (with
reference, we believe, to the ftyle of Gibbon) that
it is impoflible to refute a fneer ; and a fimilar
refle6^ion is conftantly rifmg in the mind of the
reader of Mr. Carlyle's productions. He has a
fatal aptitude for word-painting — a gift invaluable
to the writer of poetic fidtion, who can thus put
as it were a fpirit into inanimate obje6ts of nature.
We could name a popular author who has this
1 68 ON THE WRITINGS OF
faculty in perfe6lion, and whofe peculiar praife it
is that he rarely or never abufes it to faften a falfe
impreffion on the mind, by conveying a profound
untruth in the guife of a fuperficial analogy. But
Mr. Carlyle is conftantly offending in this manner,
till the mind of his reader, if not enflaved by his
great fhow of power, revolts againft fuch unfair-
nefs. What does he mean, for inftance, in repre-
fenting the Chriftian Minifter as " weltering " under
a heap of " Hebrew old clothes ?" The real ob-
ject of the author is to imprefs the unguarded reader
with his own particular notion, that Chriftianity is
virtually effete, and fhould in all reafon become
obfolete alfo. The manner of conveying this im-
prefiion is very fubtle. " Hebrew old clothes," —
as though he objected only to a Judaifmg or merely
formal worfhip : but then it is applied in the cafe
of a Proteffant clergyman ; and thus the reader is
almofl involuntarily led, by the dexterous ufe of
this analogy of fancied refemblance, to defpife every
approach to a defined belief in the chara6ler and
commandments of God, and to an orderly celebra-
tion of His worfhip and fervice. And this is the
manner in which our " philofopher " afTumes the
great point at iflue between him and thebeliever ! —
thus fcornfully reje61:ing, as ufelefs and worn-out,
that catholic Chriftianity which is found to be
adapted alike to every age, and clime, and circum-
ftance of man ; which fupplies and harmonifes the
principles both of public and of private virtue ; and
which exalts and bleiTes the individual, while it
advances and ennobles the whole fpecies.
MR. CARLTLE, 169
The pre-eminent moral of Mr. Carlyle's literary
hiftory we take to be this : Every effort after for-
bidden or unprofitable knowledge is rewarded only
by increafed confufion and uncertainty, and in-
duces rather a weaknefs than an improvement of
the intelle6tual and moral powers. To feek, with-
out affiftance from Revelation, an acquaintance
with the myfterious future, is only to infure our
{tumbling even in the prefent life. A too curious
prying into " the fecret things," which belong
only to God, is ever followed by a departure from
thofe fteps of pra6lical truth which already put us
in the dire61:ion and under the influence of our true
and higheft deftiny, and which would ultimately,
in another ftate ofexiftence, lead us into the very
heart of the myftery itfelf. All finite creatures are
fubjeft to the conditions of law, and among thefe
IS gradation as a condition of advance ; yet in virtue
of our fpiritual relation to the Divine Being and
the invifible world, we are allowed to anticipate,
even now, much of that final ftate to which we
are deftined. But this fpiritual nature is alfo under
a law ; and it has pleafed the Father of our fouls
to make implicit reliance on His word, and ready
acceptance of the terms of His favour, the con-
ditions of our initiation into all truth, — into a
living, vivifying ftate of knowledge, which is as
real as it is comprehenfive, and which, even in its
earlieft ftage, is the beginning of eternal life. Thus
pra6lically fecured from all moral error, and thus
faithfully promifed a perfection both of fpiritual and
intellectual good, it is no part of true wifdom to
lyo MR. CARLTLE.
fufFer metaphyfical reafonings — the vapours arlfing
from a grofs and earthly region, to becloud the im-
mediate vifions of the foul ; or to permit the imper-
fe6i: and partial fenfes to overcrow the immortal
fpirit, w^hich alone is able to apprehend the powers
of the world to come. To expe6l that there
fhould be no myftery is to make God our fellow,
and eternity an infinitely dreary day. To admit
that there is and muft be fuch, is to acknowledge
the being of Him who dwelleth in the light
WHICH NO MAN CAN APPROACH UNTO, WHOM NO
MAN HATH SEEN OR CAN SEE. Let US trace Him
reverently where His fteps are clearly feen, and
acknowledge that the leaft of His works, vifible
and ufeful in our moft humble and daily concerns,
is linked in the chain of His adminiftration with
the higheft that takes hold upon His throne, and
anchors the univerfe to His faithfulnefs and power.
And when we have no anfwer or explanation to
give ; when fome awful providence thunders the
judgment of its miflion,and only whifpers itsmyf-
terious mercy ; when evil feems to profper by a
law, and the great counter-law is left to operate
unfeen ; let us then encourage the filence of a
ferene but adlive faith, or only take up the confi-
dent language of the poet : —
'* So He ordain'd, whofe way is in the fea,
His path amidft great waters, and His fteps
Unknown ; — whole judgments are a mighty deep,
Where plummet of archangel's intellect
Could never yet find foundings, but from age
To age let down, drawn up, then thrown again
With lengthened line and added weight, ftill fails j
And ftill the cry in heaven is, ' O THE depth !' "
TENDENCIES OF MODERN
POETRY.
HE publication of thefe two volumes,*
within the fpaceofthelaft few months,
prefents an opportunity of which we
gladly avail ourfelves, and fo proceed
at once to offer fome brief remarks upon the lead-
ing chara6leriftics of modern poetry. The whole
of this wide fubjeft could not, indeed, be dif-
courfed upon from fo limited a text ; but for ex-
hibiting the more prominent features and marked
tendencies of poetry in the prefent day, we could
not, perhaps, have fele6led better illuftrations than
thofe which come moft recently to hand. Of
thofe features and tendencies they furnifh, it is true,
exaggerated types ; but for this reafon they are
* Balder, by the Author of " The Roman 5"" Sind Poems, by
Alexander Smith. In revifing this article, and one or two
others in the prefent volume, the author has made no
attempt to obliterate the traces of their original purpofe and
pofition. If theleffons they contain (hould find no applica-
tion in the future, the papers will atleaft, and all the Iboner,
acquire hiftorical fignificance, — ferve to regifter one impor-
tant phafe or crifis of modern Englilh literature, and to
ftiow that the public journalift was not unfaithful to his
truft.
172 TENDENCIES OF
only the more adapted to our prefent purpofe, as a
public leflbn is illuftrated befl: by examples in high
relief.
It is neceflary, perhaps, to obviate the mere
fufpicion of narrownefs or prejudice. In art we
profefs our taftes to be fufficiently ecle6tic. We
are not of thofe who, from a natural or acquired
bias towards one clafs of poetry, would deny the
name to every compofition of another fchool.
The charm of this great art, as of its greater pro-
totype, is its wonderful variety. It has fomething
for every tafte and every mood ; it breathes fuc-
ceflively the airs of every feafon, and touches by
turns the fimpleft bofom and moft cultivated mind.
And if it be true, — as we believe it is, — that its
great mafters have the fuffrages of every clafs, and
attra6l the humbleft to find fome natural charm
in thofe human features, whofe deeper and divine
fignificance makes the higheft to return, and
ponder, and gain freili intelligence, with every
further contemplation, it is alfo true that there is
another order, whofe office is more limited, but
not lefs authentic. Seldom, indeed, is the gift of
genius thus univerfal in its power; far more fre-
quently is it thus circumfcribed and fpecial. A
Madonna of Raphael, — all can fee beauty there ;
peafant as well as prince, and Proteftant as well
as Catholic ; not only maid and mother, with their
myfterious fympathy, but boy and man, and all
who have ever found or felt fomie natural drain of
love. But where is the connoifleur who has
traced all the magic of its art, and exhaufted all
MODERN POETRr, 173
the treafures of its truth and tendernefs, — who has
perufed it thoroughly, is latisfied completely, and
is content to look upon it for the laft time ? A
play of Shakefpeare, — this is patentto every fchool-
boy ; it is hiftory for the million, a repertory for
every mafquerader, a world for every humorift, a
manual for every ftatefman, a text-book for every
moralift. But where is the fcholar or critic who
has pointed out every beauty, and fupplied the
final glofs, and learnt the whole leflbn ? Honour
then to Shakefpeare and this chofen few ! Thefe
are the High Priefts of Nature, who minifter at the
great altar in the open fervice of the temple. But
there are humbler oratories embayed within its
folemn aides, and there the pilgrims from every
region may hear words of comfort, each in his
own diale6l ; and the priefts themfelves drink fym-
pathizing words from each other's lips. There
are Poets who need Poets for an audience, — who
have fed their imagination upon the rele6left images
and daintieft thoughts ; and menofcoarfer mould
can have no fympathy with thefe. There are
others, who have brought learning to enrich their
art, and whofe elaborate compofitions are fo
many pieces of embroidered tapeftry, bright with
traditionary fplendours, and moving with heroic
life. Honour then to Collins and to Gray ! All are
welcome who are fervants faithful both to virtue
and to man, and who make Truth and Beauty
the handmaids who unveil the face of Nature. In
this fpirit we gladly recognize the mufe of Keats,
with its fenfuous delight in every natural objedt,
174 TENDENCIES OF
and its almoft pagan reverence for the dumb old
deities of Greece, — and the genius of Shelley,
foaring, like his own fkylark, " higher yet, and
higher," and fhedding from illuftrious wings the
whitenefs of ideal beauty on everything beneath.
Neither do we deny that true poetry may, in
fome faint degree, reflect the fpirit of the age which
gives it birth. Of fome fpecies, — fuch as fatire,
comedy, and the like, — it is the peculiar function
fo to do ; and for many of the more ferious kinds,
it is no necefTary detraction, that they indicate,
with more or lefs diftin6lnefs, the chara6ter of the
times in which the author lived. Poetry of the
beft defcription will often take fomething of its
form and temper from popular and paffing in-
fluences, from the force of national and temporary
circumftances : for, though individual genius is the
fire in which it is raifed to its white heat, the pre-
fent age is yet the anvil on which it is beaten into
ihape. This is chiefly true of poetry of a peculiar
kind, moftly popular in its character, and always
lyrical in its expreflion : of that which is higheft
and beft, the moft artiftic and elaborate, we may
confidently fay that it is efTentially independent of
current tendencies, — that a fpirit of utilitarian pro-
grefs, if allowed to interfere, will more frequently
deteriorate than exalt it ; and an age of meta-
phyfical inquiry ferve rather to confound its pure
aefthetic genius, than to yield it a truer or nobler
theory of life.
As there is much error prevalent on this point,
and as that error is, as it feems to us, a principal
MODERN POETRT, 175
caufe of the failure of many poems of undoubted
genius in our day, we may, perhaps, be allowed to
examine it more fully. We are perfuaded that the
ill-conftru6lion and feeble execution of thefe works
are, in great meafure, due to unfound notions of
poetic art ; while only from the obfervance of its
genuine principles can moral truth, and every
minor excellence, refult.
That poetry fhould, according to the language of
our great dramatift, " fhow the very age and body
of the times, its form and preflure," is, indeed, a
maxim offome value to the artift of every clafs ;
but it is frequently repeated in our ears by thofe
who forget to interpret it in the light of that great
mafter's pra6tice, and who both mifbake its mean-
ing, and exaggerate its importance.
Firft, they miftake its meaning. It fignifies, —
at leaft in its application to the art under review, of
which precifely it was not firft fpoken, — not that
poetry of fet purpofe muft, but that poetry of the
right ftamp ever will, refledl the lineaments of //>^
age^ not of the poet himfelf but of that imagined in
the poet's fable. It di6lates, not the choice of
fubje(St, which is left abfolutely free, but the
fidelity of imitation, which isftridly and primarily
demanded by aefthetic law. Is the time we live
in full of earneft inquiry, pra£lical reform, philan-
thropic effort, and focial improvement ? Thefe,
then, will more or lefs appear in all works, even of
the epic clafs, whofe fcene and era are expreflly
identical with ours ; but thefe works moftly take
the fhape of the profe novel. They will feme-
176 TENDENCIES OF
times, alfo, condenfe themfelves in verfe, and find
warm utterance in thofe brief and popular lyrics by
which a nation or a clafs gives expreflion to its
tranfitory throes. But we are fpeaking now of
poems which, by their elaboration or their length,
evidently make pretenfions to the highefl rank of
art ; and the method of true art is not altered by
the genius of an age. Its appeals are made from
one individual mind to another, and not from the
individual to a collective people. It advocates no
meafure of reform, however prefling or defirable ;
it occupies itfelf with no fingle branch ofinduflry
or fcience, however ufeful ; it does not even,
without manifefl deterioration and failure, rehearfe
the crude and difordered fancies of any fmgle mind,
however gifted, and though it be the poet's own.
The nature of art is effentially objective and con-
ftrudive. A poem, like a painting, is flricStly a
compofition, whofe materials — fele6led almofl: in
whatfoever place you will — are faithfully combined
by the aefthetic faculty, — a faculty that is neither
wholly intellectual nor wholly moral, that a6ts in
great meafure like inftin^, but needs the co-opera-
tion of fcience and intelligence.
But, fecondiy, our critics exaggerate the impor-
tance of this maxim, even when underffood in
their own limited and lefler fenfe. Poetry depends
far more on the eflential than the accidental ; on
the permanent than the temporary ; on man himfelf
than , national coftume or political conditions.
For this reafon it is that no poem worthy of the
name can ever grow dim with age, but is frefh
MODERN POETRT. 177
through all time. No man fpeaks fo fmcerely to
his fellow-man as the poet ; none is fo free from
the afFecflations and falfehoods which divide one
clafs in fociety from another, and make one gene-
ration almoft ftrange to that which follows ; no
one, therefore, is fo widely recognized, fo welcome
in every neighbourhood, fo fecure againft the
changing fafhions and confounding diale61:s of time.
The beft, and even the moft popular, poems in the
world are thofe which are lead fhaped or coloured
by the fpirit of the author's age. If the ancients
dill move and delight us, it is not that we have
much in common with pagan Greece or Rome,
either focially or politically confidered ; for by con-
traft in thefe particulars we are yet more divided
from them than by centuries of time. It is as men
beholding the fame fun, feelingthe fame wants, and
fuffering the fame changes. We may ceafe to
wonder then that the ballads recited in their halls,
and the dramas which held breathlefs their aflem-
bled cities, are ftill frequent on our lips, and often
prefent to our minds. If pleafing to the young or
to the old once, — as the Iliad or the OdyfTey, —
why not to youth or to experience now ? If
grateful to the inftin6l of filial piety once, — as the
Antigone of Sophocles, — why not to filial piety in
our day alfo ? That thefe are not even more popu-
lar among us is only becaufe, with all their force
of truth, they are not true enough, — not fimply,
fully, and profoundly fo. They are Greek to a
fault, as well as human to a miracle. Something
of artifice fliffens the march of their otherwife con-
178 TENDENCIES OF
fummate art ; the brooding fhadow of one great
nationalbelief obfcures much of the delicate tracery
of life ; the demands of one grand a6tion admit
too feldom of a fweet and natural relief. Hence
the defe6i:ive fympathy exifting between this age
of readers and that age of poets ; hence the need
of culture and knowledge on the part of the former,
before they can thoroughly enjoy the lofty crea-
tions of the latter. Something, indeed, of this is
chargeable on the great difference, even of perfonal
chara6ter, which the influence of our northern
civilization, and efpecially of the new and better
religion, has wrought upon mankind in modern
times ; but ftill more, we fufpect, is due to the lefs
perfect fympathies of the poet, — for Sophocles is
not the rival of Shakefpeare. For fome of the
higheft purpofes of art, the ancients were fuffi-
ciently related to men in every age to bequeath
examples of abiding intereft ; and, in the main, we
have reafon to congratulate ourfelves on the actual
legacy we enjoy ; and certainly it does not forbid
our admiration and wonder. Even our purer
faith does not neceffarily exclude our fympathy ;
all the nobler fentiments of natural religion — and
poetry as an art would perhaps do well to concern
itfelf with thefe alone — are to be met with in the
bards of every country ; wifdom and beauty find
an oriental drefs in Sadi and Ferdoufi, a claffic one
in Sophocles and Homer, and in either drefs we
may welcome both. If we know how to keep
poetry in its proper place, and expeft from it only
its legitimate effe6ls, we fhall not hefitate to profit
MODERN POETRY. 179
and delight ourfelves by Virgil as fecurely as by
Milton ; if we are fo foolifh as to draw our higheft
principles therefrom, we fhall only err too far in
either cafe.
But if the poet is indeed thus independent, and
reftrained neither to his own locality nor era, it is
certain he will ufe this liberty, and for the moft
part fix his choice upon a difcant or fomewhat un-
familiar fcene. The reafons for this are obvious
and irrefiftible. In the firft place, he is more
likely to apprehend the limits of his fubjecl, to
recognize its genuine features, and to fketch the
whole more freely, when he beholds it from a
certain elevation, — from fome height where no
prejudices can obfcure, and no diflra6tions inter-
rupt, his clear and calm obfervance, — where
ferene impartial art may exercife its fundtions un-
difturbed. But there is another confideration
hardly lefs important. Above all things it is necef-
fary that poetry fhould pleafe ; and that it may
ultimately and profoundly pleafe, it muft firft and
eafily attract. To this end, nothing is more likely
to contribute than fome novelty of external
features, tending to ftimulate our languid curiofity,
and leading us, perhaps unawares, into a deeper
fympathy with all that is of more real and abiding
intereft. True it is that what is moft efTential in
poetry, is that which touches us moft nearly, and
is promptly recognized and felt as true ; but every-
thing which diftinguifhes it as an art, which raifes
it above the level of ordinary profe literature and
learning, is traceable to fome form of pleafure,
i8o TENDENCIES OF
fenfuous or intellectual, as, for inftance, to our
delight in imitation, melody, or grouping. It is
idle to object that a great poet fhould have a
higher purpofe than to pleafe ; enough for us to
know, that to pleafe by means of its legitimate
refources is the firft condition of his art, and for
him to underftand that he can no more difpenfe
with the lighter charm of novelty, than with the
incorporated graces of harmonious verfe.
We hope the relevance of thefe remarks will
foon be more obvious to the reader. Much of the
defeftivenefs of recent poetry arifes, as we think,
from a difregard of thefe firft principles. Its faults,
indeed, are both many and various, affe6ling ftyle
and fentiment as well as plan : but this deliberate
weaknefs of defign is doubtlefs a radical and primary
defeat ; and this vague and vain attempt to give
voice and utterance to the ftruggling forces of the
age, brings a difturbing influence into the young
poet's mind ; while the efFe6l of both together is
to deny to his produ6tion that intereft which arifes
from a definite purpofe and an united action, atten-
ded, as thefe commonly are, by a due variety of
character, and a fober and fubordinated ufe of lan-
guage. The books now claiming our atten-
tion will ferve to illuftrate this degenerate ten-
dency ; but, before turning particularly to them,
we may briefly refer to two living authors who
have fet a contrary example, and proved both
the foundnefs and fuccefs of their canons of art, —
Henry Taylor, in " Philip Van Artevelde," and
Walter Landor, in his " Hellenics." Do we want
MODERN POETRT. i8i
poems more beautiful— can we find any more
genuine — than thefe ? Neither of them is fatu rated
with what is called " the fpirit of the age ;" we do
not know that they are even biafTed by it ; perhaps
theftudent of a hundredyears hence could not learn
the period o^ their production by internal evidence.
Yet ^Qw authors of the prefent day are fo certain
to fulfil their century, few volumes of our teeming
prefs more likely to be ftudied and perufed in the
future. Both works are acceptable to the healthieft
and pureft modern tafte ; for though the fubje6t is
mediaeval in the one cafe, and claflical in the
other, they are the productions, not of antiquarians,
but of poets.
But ours is not the argument of limitation or
undue control; and we gladly admit that, if the
poet is not refl:ri61:ed to the prefent, neither is he
excluded from it. The Mufe that has the wings
of the morning may fold them above our noifieft
cities, and gracefully alight in the forum or the
market-place. The influence of the prefent Lau-
reate has not always been for good upon his fol-
lowers ; for they have caught his tone, but lack
his pure infight and almoft perfect tafte. Yet it
feems to us that, in the poems of Tennyfon him-
felf, both thefe conditions — which refpeCt the
tranfitory and the abiding, and find an element of
this in a chaos of that — are fulfilled in a remarkable
degree. He draws his infpiration from the native
well of his own fancy, and yet fings from his
height of place in the middle of the nineteenth
century. His genius is aflFeCted, but not overborne.
i82 TENDENCIES OF
by the tumultuous fpirit of the times, by the tri-
umphs of material fcience, or the confli6^s of the
public foul. Hence the fweetnefs, as well as the
fubtlety, of his verfe, the clearnefs of his ideas, and
the eafe of his expreilion. The doubt of other
men he feems to pity, rather than to fhare. As a
poet, he knows that enough of the beautiful and
the good remains for him, enough of the lafting
and the true ; and therefore he glances only into
the dark vortex of fcepticifm, and " drops a melo-
dious tear," and in another moment he is foaring
upward and away : refting now on Ida, he re-
modulates the plaint of the deferted CEnone,
henceforth immortal as love and grief can make it ;
and now, alighting on the pillar of St. Simeon
Stylites, he rehearfes the fearful lefTons of afcetic
virtue. From this true conception of his art, and
this faithfulnefs to the univerfal and abiding above
the merely local and tranfient, it is due that the
writings of the Poet-Laureate harmonize with the
ftandard poetry of all times, and take their place
at once as claflic pieces. For choicenefs of imagery
and allufion, for mufical fweetnefs of intonation,
and for that intelle6i:ual quality which is power
and eafe and affluence at once, the poems ofTen-
nyfon may worthily compare with the minor
poetry of Milton. Each is a mafter of lyrical ex-
preilion, and fmgs from his own deep, human
heart, as independent both of age and country.
And yet we dare not fay that there is no indication
that thefe poets lived at different periods ; onlv
that indication, which is pofitive in the cafe of
MODERN POETRT. 183
Tennyfon, is merely negative in that of Milton.
Milton feems to fing for recreation, — to unbend
his fterner genius in fome light exercife of imagi-
nation or fancy ; and fo he borrows fomething of
the fpirit of pagan poetry, the more thoroughly to
mafk the age of puritanifm from his own regard.
In Tennyfon, under much the fame conditions of
facile grace and exquifite allufion, we have
glimpfes of a mind that forecafts the fortunes of
his race, whofe thoughts are all thrown forward
" by the progrefs of the funs," and, like penfive
fliadows, dapple the funny future ; but his fpirit is
cheerful throughout, and full of hope, if not evinc-
ing the confidence of faith ; and, in his fweetwild
mufic, we no longer hear "anceftral voices pro-
phefyingwar," but a chorus — diftant, yet jubilant,
faint as echo, yet rounded and harmonious as the
fpheres — celebrating the age of peace and hap-
pinefs, —
" And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves."
We muft not any longer defer the promifed in-
trodudtion of our two young poets, but forthwith
prefent them to the reader. When he has made
theiracquaintance, our previous obfervations on the
art which they profefs may recur to him as having
a diftinft bearing on our eftimate of their prailice
and fuccefs.
The principal poem in Mr. Smith's volume, en-
titled, " A Life Drama," and that of" Balder," by
theauthorof " The Roman," are elaborate produc-
1 84 TENDENCIES OF
tions of the fame fchool of poetry ; and it is, there-
fore, no caufe for wonder, nor even ground of com-
plaint, that they have much in common. Their
originality is fufficiently marked and diftinguifhed,
and their poetical merits — though in each cafe
graphic and piftorial — are not fo fimilar as to be
eafily confounded. The bond of their union, as
ufual in all fe6ts or fchools of poetry, is rather in
thatvi^hich is adventitious than eflential, — in what
is doubtful t hanin what commands our admiration
and efteem ; and this being the cafe, we fhall not
wonder to find a great refemblance in the external
form of their refpe61:ive poems.
Each of thefe works is remarkable as having the
length of an epic, the form of a drama, and the
nature of a rhapfody. It has, indeed, a beginning,
and fomewhere (if you can find it) a middle, and,
in the long run (if you have only patience) an end ;
but, in the fenfeof Ariftotle, it has none of thefe.
There is abfolutely nothing to prevent you rever-
fing the order of the fcenes, except it be a
fuperftitious notion, that the author muji have had
a reafon for difpofing them as they are at prefent
found. By this oriental ftyle of reading, you will
lofe none of its vivid pafTages, and may fave your-
felf fome general difappointment. Indeed, it is
very likely you will find it improve as you proceed
from that point, as to us it grew ferioufly worfe
while we proceeded from the other.
In each cafe, alfo, a poet is hero as well as
author. This is highly charadteriftic of thepoetical
fraternity in our day. It is evident that the modern
MODERN POETRY. 185
bard efteems no ordinary theme deferving of his
fong ; and fo he turns to glorify himfelf, and wor-
fhip his own art by way of exercifing it. His
rhapfody is all about genius, — its forrows, ecftacies,
divinity, and might ; what it can do if it only
pleafes, and what it fcorns to do for fo miferable
an audience as humanity can furnifh. No longer
holding " the mirror up to Nature," he fits and
turns it fairly on himfelf, and finds trace of thunder
in every fear, and demon-beauty in every fantaftic
lock ; the blue of his eye fuggefts (to him) the
unutterable depths of heaven, and in the curl of
his lip he reads and pra6lifes contempt tor a paltry
world of profe.
It is eafy to find paflages in both of thefe per-
formances which may juftify the chara6ter we have
afcribed to them. The real difficulty is to meet
with a page in which Poefy, or Fame, or Genius is
not extolled or invoked in good fet terms ; though
fometimes this unfortunate paffion — for evidently
it is not reciprocated — finds a natural relief in
equally extreme abufe, after the true lovers' faftiion.
Walter (in the " Life Drama" of Mr. Smith) ex-
claims, with his ufual aptitude of comparifon, —
" I love thee, Poefy ! Thou art a rock ;
I, a weak wave, would break on thee, and die !
^ * * *
O Fame ! Fame ! Fame ! next grandeft word to God !"
And foon afterwards he breaks into prophecy, and
in this manner our author contrives, with charm-
ing innocence and naivete^ to foretell his own ap-
pearance : —
i86 TENDENCIES OF
" My Friend ! a Poet muft ere long arife,
And with a royal fong fun-crown this age,
As a faint's head is with a glory crown'd ;
One who fhall hallow poetry to God,
And to its own high ufe, for poetry is
The grandeft chariot wherein King-thoughts ride 5
One who fhall fervent grafp the fword of fong.
As a ftern fwordfman grafps his keeneft blade,
To find the quickeft paffage to the heart.
A mighty Poet, whom this age fhall choofe
To be its fpokefman to all coming times."
How far Walter, or his author, is likely to " hallow
poetry to God," or be our "fpokefman to all
coming times," we fliall fee by-and-bye. In the
meanwhile let us hear how the poet of" Balder"
apoftrophizes his little matter (of nine thoufand
lines).
'' O thou firfl, laft work !
Thou tardy-growing oak that art to be
My club of war, my ftaff, my fceptre ! Thou
Haft well-nigh gain'd thy height. My early-plann'd.
Long-meditate, and flowly-written epic !
Turning thy leaves, dear labour of my life,
Almoft I feem to turn my life in thee.
Thy many books, my many votive years,
And thy full pages numbered with my days.
I could look back on all that I have built.
As on fome Memphian monument, wherein
The Kings do lie in glory, every one
Each in his houfe, and forward to thy blank,
Fair future, as one gazes into depths
Of necromantic cryftal, and beholds
The heavens come down."
The adoption of fuch fufpicious heroes as thefe
bodes no good to any laboured or ambitious poem.
If epic, it will be without incident, and full of
reverie ; if a drama, the choice fpirit will have all
the fpeaking to himfelf, and the fcene lack adion,
MODERN POETRY. 187
chara6ler, and iiTue. There may, indeed, be
found room for much ingenious defcription, apropos
to anything or nothing; for a poetical hero may
furely exercife a double licence, — his author's, and
his own. Then, all the bits and fragments that
our poet has ever written, in every conceivable
mood and tenfe, may be fitly ufed up here. Thefe
are the conveniences of fuch a plan ; but they
ftop chiefly with the author's part, and do not
much befriend the reader. Many little poems do
not make a great one; ftill lefs do feveral frag-
ments make a whole. An epic poem is not manu-
faftured like a quilt ; nor do the pieces emptied,
whether in difguft or admiration, from a young
man's portfolio, fall, as by magic, into the true
dramatic mould.
But fkill and judgment of the higheft order have
often failed in coping with difficulties which our
young authors boldly add to thofe which lie naturally
in their way. So confident are they of their own
powers, and fo certain to attain the goal of fame,
that they put hurdles on the courfe, and take a five-
barred gate in pure bravado. Their choice of fub-
je6ts in thefe performances are inftances in proof
of this unlucky confidence. We do not think the
poetic character very fuitable for exprefs delinea-
tion by poetic art, even as a matter of occafional
choice, and when one true genius feeks thus to
re-animate another. In a brief monody an intereft
of the kind may poffiblybe fuftained, but hardly in
a poem of more artiftic form. We cannot think
that even Goethe has wholly fucceeded in his
1 88 TENDENCIES OF
dramatic rendering of the life of Taflb. Byron's
"Lament" is more to our liking, becaufe it is lefs
both in pretenfion and extent. But in the cafe of
the authors before us, there is far lefs promife of
fuccefs. Their heroes — Walter in the one cafe,
and Balder in the other — have not the prejiige of
acknowledged genius ; they have no grand aflbcia-
tions to call up, nor any fadelefs laurels to difplay
upon their brows. Of courfe, then, they muft ap-
prove their claims to the character in the work
where they appear, which muft at once eftablifti
the author and the hero. Now, both Mr. Smith
and his anonymous brother have evidently felt this
obligation ; but we almoft defpair of conveying to
the reader any adequate idea of the great efforts,
and greater facrifices, they make in order to obtain
the charadter and praife of genius. It is clear that
they defign to give us the quinteflence of the
genuine article. Nothing that might for a moment
be taken, by thofe who hear it read, for fimple
profe, or recognized as the thought and language of
daily life, is fuffered upon their pages for a moment.
It is one unmitigated ftream of genius, — we fup-
pofe, — that fcorns all rule, as any river of fpirit will
overflow its bounds.
The " Life-Drama" of Mr. Smith is underftood
to be the work of a very young man ; and, there-
fore, we are not without hope that he may yet live
to fhow that friendly reproof has not been loft
upon him. In entertaining fuch a hope, of courfe
we acknowledge the reality of his poetic gifts,
which, indeed, are not inconfiderable. His poem
MODERN POETRY. 189
is moftly free from metaphyfical obfcurities ; and
ifolated pi6tures of great beauty meet you on every
page. He has great eafe, as well as force of lan-
guage : though limited in range, his pencil is ex-
tremely vivid in expreflion. Here is a famous
character, drawn in three lines : —
"Befide that well I read the mighty bard,
Who clad himlelf with beauty, genius, wealth j
Then flung himfelf on his own pallion-pyre.
And was confumed."
Surely that comparifon is very fine. Another
fpecimen of his power, though tinged with his own
peculiar extravagance, is the following, addrefled
to an infant : —
" O thou bright thing, frefli from the hand of God !
The motions of thy dancing limbs are fwayed
By the unceafmg mufic of thy being!
Nearer I feem to God when looking on thee.
'Tis ages fmce He made his youngell ftar :
His hand was on thee, as 't were yefterday,
Thou later Revelation ! Silver ftream,
Breaking with laughter from the lake divine
Whence all things flow ! O bright and fmging babe !
What wilt thou be hereafter ?"
This, we fay, is a favourable example of our
author's manner ; but even in thefe lines we may
trace that extravagance of language which is one
of his prevailing faults. If we were to quote much
more, the reader would foon difcover his other
prominent defeft, namely, a fatalpoverty of ideas.
The poem lacks fubftance, form, and truth ; and,
in fpite of the brilliance of certain parts, it is moft
unfatisfacSlory as a whole. To the young and
ardent it muft neceflarily convey a falfe impreflion
190 TENDENCIES OF
of life ; to the experienced and right-minded it
brings only wearinefs and impatience. The hero
is a poet, who knows nothing of mankind or fo-
ciety, and only the worft part of himfelf. He
talks as familiarly of fun, and moon, and ftars, and
mountains, as if they were his neareft neighbours ;
but of his actual neighbour — of man, in his fober
fphere of a6lion, with chaftened affections, and
reafonable hopes, and cheerful courfe of duties ;
of man, in his varied relationfhips and trials, as
yielding to or maftering his own fortunes — he
knows or tells us ablolutely nothing. Hence his
inceflant ufe of ftars, and clouds, and feas, and
crifped fmiles ; for ignorance inftinctively cowers
down behind extravagance. Not without reafon
does Walter fay, " I love the ftars too much."
Even when he condefcends to any terreftrial ob-
je61:s, they are always the largeft and moft gaudy of
their kind. His garden teems with paffion-flowers ;
his aviary is ftocked with birds of paradife. He
makes love in the moft fumptuous manner poftible.
There is nothing valuable or extenfive which is
not at his lady's fervice : of all his (promifed) pre-
fents, a kingdom is about the pooreft and moft
common-place. He is perfectly enamoured of a
lazy life, and would fill up the hours with endlefs
love and maundering. He is not aftiamed to
fay,—
" O let me live
To love, and flufli, and thrill — or let me die !"
Well, this Walter is the deliberately chofen
'* hero" of Mr. Smith ; not feleCted as a warning,
MODERN POETRT.
IQI
but prefented as a model and example of what he
holds to be the higheft type of man, — the poet,
deftined "to fun-crown this age." We hardly fee
how the author can avoid the imputation of Wal-
ter's fentiments ; at any rate, he is refponfible for
the general chara6ler, as fixed and approved by
the acStion of the poem. Mr. Smith cannot fafely
plead the laws and licence of dramatic poetry ; for
by thefe he is condemned. The work is, indeed,
formally, though not virtually, dramatic ; and as
all that Walter fays or does is unrefuted in the
courfe of the action, and uncontrafted by any
nobler character, the evident moral is, that this
precious hero is the favourite of poet as well as
providence. His end is very edifying. Walter
the feducer has a tranfient paffion, or rather pai-
fage, of remorfe, induced, no doubt, by the recollec-
tion that he has fome fine things to fay in that
charadter ; and then, fuddenly brightening up, he
coolly determines to make a handfome figure in the
world yet, and afterwards, leaving it with contempt,
go as by right to heaven. Only hear him ! —
" I'll reft myfelf, O World, awhile on thee,
And, half in earneft, half in jeft, Til cut
My name upon thee, pal's the arch of Death,
Then on a ftair of ftars go up to God."
This is not indeed the actual finale of the piece ;
but nothing afterwards occurs to alter our imprel-
fion of the whole. Two friends of Weaker meet,
and fpeak of his poem as " a hit ;" they tell us,
moreover, that it was " done at a dalh.'* All this
very naturally confirms our imprefiion that the
192 TENDENCIES OF
author and the hero are identical ; and, if fo, we
muft fay that Mr. Smith has very cleverly antici-
pated the popular effe6l of that ftyle of poetry in
v/hich he has indulged. In a later fcene Walter
meets with the injured Violet, whom he had de-
ferred, and profefles fuddenly to be cured of all his
evil and romantic habits, and turned to conftancy
in love, and duty in the ordinary affairs of life.
There is nothing to make this converfion probable
or permanent. What we muft regard as the moft
hopeful fign of improvement is the flighting way
in which he can endure to mention his favourite
ftars : he is brought to admit, —
" A ftar's a cold thing to a human heart,
And love is better than their radiance."
We gladly pardon the defe6live grammar, in con-
fideration of the fentiment, which indicates atleaft
fome meafure of returning reafon.
Let us turn for a moment to the other volume
before us. Who, then, and what, is " Balder ?"
Balder is not the divinity of Scandinavian mytho-
logy, — the Apollo of the North, — Balder the
Beautiful. Neither is he a perfonification of the
poetic chara6ler. We are afraid he is an Englifh
poet, who has taken to gloomy and unhealthy
ways. The only other perfonage in the drama —
excepting a Do6lor Paul, who appears but twice —
is Amy, the poet's wife. Between thefe two the
long difcourfes of the poem are fuftained, though
in very unequal proportions. Balder has the firft
words and the laft to himfelf, and a very unreafon-
MODERN POETRY. 193
able fhare of all that comes between. Of dialogue
there is comparatively little. The poet foliloquizes
in his ftudy ; and when we are fuppofed (not
without reafon) to have had enough of his diftem-
pered thoughts, we find a fmall relief in hearing
" through the door the voice of Amy," which is
frequently mournful and melodious in the higheft
degree. We are not certain if we rightly apprehend
the prominent idea which difturbsthe reft of Bal-
der, and makes him fo unfociable a being ; but it
would feem that, having totally loft his relifh for
the affairs and fatisfa6tions of life, he has begun to
entertain a morbid and infane defire to behold the
face of Death. Death comes and takes the place
of his babe ; but this touches not him fo much as
Amy ; and as the babe lay on the bofom of his
wife, this is a dread exchange and awful fellowftiip
for her. The plaints of Amy, if occurring in a
piece of more dramatic and realizing power, would
be affecting in a high degree. From this point we
do not thoroughly underftand the author's drift,
but fufpedt that Balder would have more intimate
relations with the grim and fpedral foe. His wife
falls ill ; Balder threatens to murder Do£lor Paul,
if he do not cure her ; and yet — ftill unfatisfied and
craving — he contemplates her flaughter by his ov/n
hand; but whether moved by fome profound
reafon which he holds equal to a repeal of the for-
bidding ftatute, or urged by fate and irrefiftible im-
pulfe, is not clear. An opportunity is given for
the accomplifhment of his defign by the intrufion
of Amy into his ftudy, during his momentary
o
194 TENDENCIES OF
abfence, with the purpofe of awaiting his return.
Balder enters, and takes up a fcroll : it is the MS.
of his great poem. He addrefles it in terms ex-
preffive of his hopes and admiration ; and when
he has got through only a page and a half of choice
comparifons, in which his fondnefs likens it to all
mute but mighty things, his wife makes herfelf
and her mifery known, and flings the ufurping
parchment out of the window into the moat.
Then follows a fcene of pallion and unreafon
which in itfelf is very beautiful and mafterly. The
lady's madnefs throws her into a fwoon ; and in
that unconfcious ftate her hufband is intent on
killing her, when the fcene fuddenly clofes. So
ends this ftrange volume ; but not fo the work ;
for this is only the firft portion 3 and whether
tithe or moiety who fhall tell ?
The following lines, forming part of a long
eulogy prepared by Balder for his vi6lim. Amy,
will put the reader in pofTellion of the manner
which prevails through the entire volume ; it con-
tains, in brief, almoft all the charadteriftic blemifhes
and beauties of our author's ftyle : —
*' So the world blefled her ; and another world,
Like fpheres of cloud that inter-penetrate
Till each is either, met and mixed with this.
And lb the angel Earth that bears her Heaven
About her, fo that wherefoe'erin fpace
Her footftep ftayeth, we look up, and fay-
That Heaven is there — She moved, and made all times
And leaibns equal ; trode the mortal life
Immortally, and with her human tears
Bedewed the everlalHng, till the Paft
And Future lapfed into a golden Now
For ever beft. She was much like the moon
MODERN POETRT, 195
Seen in the day-time, that by day receives
Like joy with us, but when our night is dark,
Lit by the changelefs fun we cannot fee,
Shineth no lefs. And fhe was like the moon
Becaufe the beams that brightened her paffed o'er
Our dark heads, and we knew them not for light
Till they came back from hers j and {he was like
The moon, that wherefoe'er appeared her wane
Or crefcent, was no lofs or gain in her,
But in the changed beholder. I, who faw
Her conftant countenance, and had its orb
Still full on me, with whom fhe rofe and fet,
Knew file had no lunation. In herfelf
The elements of holinefs were merged
In white completion, and all graces did
The part of each. To man or Deity
Her finlefs life had nought whereof to give
Of worfe or better, for fhe was to God
As a Imile to a face. Ah, God of Beauty !
Where in this lifelefs pifture my poor hand
Hath done her wrong, forgive ; fhe was Thy fmile, —
How could I paint her ? That I dared effay
Her image, and am innocent, I plead
Refifllefs intuition, which believes
Where knowledge fails, and powerlefsto divine
Or to confound, ftill calls the face and fmile
Not one, but twain, and contradifts the fenfe
Material, which, beholding her, beholds
EfTence, not Effluence, nor Thine, but Thee."
The faults of this elaborate defcription — which
is only the fummary or concluding part of one far
more extenfive — are radical and pervading. It is
extravagant in the extreme ; and yet, after all, what
qualities that really command love and efteem,
are told us of this lady ? It is only a tranfcen-
dental doll that the poet has drefled up in mift and
moonbeam, without one human feature to attraft
our regard or engage our confidence. Perhaps,
innocence — the innocence native to unfullied
creatures — is the charm intended to prevail
196 TENDENCIES OF
throughout the picture. Not to urge that this is
falfe to nature, and far beyond the range of our
belief and fympathy, the author manifeftly fails in
the embodiment of his fair ideal. Not in fuch
ethereal graces did Milton clothe the Eve of Para-
dife, — not fo dangeroufly did he venture to con-
found her eflence with that of the Divine and Per-
{qB. Being ; yet, in that lovely portraiture, wq
have all that is womanly, and true, and pure, —
humanity idealized by the perfection of its feveral
qualities, and feminine afFe£lion and devotion fub-
fifting in the lovelieft of human moulds. But this
picture of the poet's Amy is furely moft unreal ;
we can form no conception of fuch a being as he
labours to depi6t j it is fo fhadowy that the moon,
intended to inveft it only, ftreams fairly through it ;
and, at the firft light of day, — the firft dawn of re-
flection, — it melts infenfibly off, and we have not
the faintefl notion left us of this unearthly beauty.
Yet, as we are bound to believe that Amy was
everything to her enamoured poet, what muft we
think of her deliberate and barbarous murder at
his hands ? Surely, no doubt fhould have been
allowed to reft upon our minds of the nature and
ftrength of motive leading to this diabolic purpofe.
Of the final and prefiding moral of this un-
finifhed poem we cannot pretend to fpeak ; but
the tendency of the part before us we do nothefi-
tate both to judge and condemn. Apart from the
outrageous action with which it feems to conclude,
— the efFedt of which is fo fubordinate that we omit
it from our calculation, — there is more than
MODERN POETRr, 197
enough to fatlsfy us, that no time can be lefs pro-
fitably fpent than that devoted to its perufal. Many
of its faults originate, no doubt, in that defective
ftrudture to which our introductory remarks had
reference ; but we muft point them out now, in
the particular fhape which they afTume, as grofs
faults of exaggeration and difproportion, both in
ftyle and fentiment.
The ftyle of " Balder" may be pronounced
equally remarkable for beauties and defe6ts ; but it
muft be underftood that its beauties are limited to
the minor quahties of expreffion and illuftration,
while the larger attributes of ftyle, deftined to
harmonize and order and fubordinate the parts,
are almoft wholly wanting. It is frequently ob-
fcure as well as gorgeous, feemingly written with
great facility, and certainly read with a fluent eafe
which makes the fearch for meaning, however ne-
ceflary, quite impra6ticable. Once launched upon
a tide of verfe fo affluent and fparkling, the reader
is foon carried out of his own, if not his author's
depth ; and, hopelefs of regaining his feet, refigns
himfelf to float away while all the willowy and
monotonous banks glide by. The effect of this
kind of poetry upon the mind is very fingular.
Having no earthly intereft, it has, neverthelefs, a
certain charm for the bewildered fenfe. Abound-
ing far more in brilliant imagery than diftin6l ideas,
the reader is aftonifhed by the opulence of lan-
guage and the endlefs fucceflion of pi<5lures pre-
fented, often with great vividnefs, to the mind.
This excefs and total infubordination of imagery is
198 TENDENCIES OF
charaaeriftic of the fchool of rhapfodifts and
dreamers. Sometimes one feeble circumftance or
thought — and that not arifmg out of any incident
in the poem — is treated to a train of ten or even
twenty fimiles, each far outfhining its poor ante-
cedent, which, of courfe, is quite forgotten long
before the laft illuftration has appeared and
vanifhed. Sometimes this poetry is metaphyfical,
and fometimes it is eminently fenfuous ; or rather
it is each by turns, as the thought and illuftration
fucceffively predominate. The thread upon which
much of the delicate and fplendid imagery of
" Balder'' is ftrung, is a peculiar and morbid ftrain
of fpeculation, arifmg in the moody poet's mind.
This pfychological condition, and its curious phe-
nomena, are not eafily defcribed by a pen fo blunt
as ours, but may be found in all their ftrange and
intricate proportions in the poet's endlefs reverie.
The following lines have more or lefs refemblance
to many hundred others, didated by this fame
quejiionahle fpirit : —
" Am I one and every one,
Either and all ? The innumerable race
My Paft j thefe myriad-faced men my hours ?
What ! have I fill'd the earth, and knew it not ?
Why not ? How other ? Am I not immortal ?
And if immortal now, immortal then j
And if immortal then, exiftent now j
But where ? Thou living, moving neighbour, Man,
Art thou my former felf, — me and not me ?
Did I begin, and fhall I end ? Was I
The firft, and (hall I one day, as the laft,
Stand in the front of the long file of man,
And, looking back, behold it winding out.
Far through the unfearch'd void, and meafuring time
Upon eternity, and know myfelf
MODERN POETRY, 199
Sufficient, and that, like a comet, I
Pafs'd through my heaven, and fill'd it ?"
We admit that the metaphyfical idea embodied in
thefe lines is exprefTed In a highly poetical manner;
and perhaps it is not more, but lefs, abfurd in fuch
a drefs than its cuftomary ftyle of fober profe. Yet
a little of this kind of writing is enough ; and we
become naturally impatient when it is found to
prevail through fo large a quantity of verfe, and in
a formof compofition where it was leaftto be ex-
pe<5led.
Turning to a later part of the volume, we find
Balder thus pompoufly witnefling to the vanity of
human life : —
" I have tried all philofophies ; I know
The height and depth of fcience ; I have dug
The emSalmed truth of Karnak, and have iail'd
Tigris and Ganges to the facred fource
Of eaftern wifdom ; I have lived a life
Of noble means to noble ends ; and here
I turn to the four winds, and fay, * In vain,
In vain, in vain, in vain!' "
Surely we ought to be made to fee more diftinftly
how the ufe of " noble means to noble ends" were
fo entirely fruitlefs ; throughout the prefent work
no fuch ends or means are employed or fought
by Balder. Befides, it is very eafy, but not equally
artiftic, for an author to afTert, in fo many words,
the vaft learning and experience of his hero, when
of this, alfo, wholly wanting to be aflured by fome
collateral evidence : — otherwife we are treated only
to a truifm, the echo which every human heart
awakes to the preacher's '* vanity of vanities." In
the cafe of Balder, — dreamer as he is, — fo large a
200 TENDENCIES OF
range of learning and experience is juft what we
are moft difpofed to doubt. He feems to have
enervated his foul, and anticipated the voice of
" vanity," by abftra6ting himfelf from all the
wholefome influences of daily life and common
duty. To idle on the grafs in his beau-ideal of an
earthly Paradife ; to do a day's work would evi-
dently fill him with fatigue and difguft, if the bare
notion of it did not caufe his feeble nature to collapfe.
He cries (like Walter) in the fpint of this luxu-
rious philofophy, —
" Alas ! that one
Should life the days of fummer but to live,
And breathe but as the needful element
The ftrange fuperfluous glory of the air !
Nor rather ftand apart in awe befide
The untouch'd Time, and faying o'er and o'er
In love and wonder, *Thefe are fummer days.'"
And fo this precious fentiment is made the frequent
burden of his fong, and more or lefs precifely its
mufical refrain ; for our bard is found flighting to
the laft
** The untouch'd Time, and faying o'er and o'er
In love and wonder, * Thefe are happy days.' "
We prefume it is not necefl^ary to occupy more
time or fpace by further extracts from this poem.
It is clear that neither nature nor humanity is
fairly reprefented in the pages of " Balder." For
the one you have the colour without the compofi-
tion of Turner ; the bright, headlong, and dif-
ordered rack of clouds, but not the delicate and
MODERN POETRT. 201
truthful line of coaft. For the other you have the
vivid palette of the pre-Raphaelite, but not his
faithful and pathetic pencil. To the laft-named
fchool of art the poem bears fome ftriking points
of refemblance ; but, on examination, v/e fhall
find more of contraft than coincidence in thefe
artiftic fchools. Both are obfervant of the delicate
and the minute in nature, and full of exquifite by-
play ; but the pre-Raphaelite is a realift, and the
modern poet an ideal rhapfodift ; the one trufts to
find due fentiment and moral refult from an almoft
literal exhibition of the truth ; the other dreams
his dream of metaphyfical and wildefi: beauty, and
then rifles nature for images of like power, like
majefty, like evanefcence, or like grace. We
fhould lefs regret the ftru6tural defers of this
poem, if it abounded in aphorifms of fubftantial
worth. When our great poet drew the character
of a man moft worldly-wife, he put into his mouth
an involuntary tribute to virtue, that is in admirable
keeping and full of moral truth. The counfel of
Polonius to his fon is fummed up in one brief
maxim : —
"To thine own felfbe true,
And it muft follow, as the night the day,
Thou canft not then be falle to any man."
How well does this exprefs the linked order of the
moral virtues ! — the focialnot only confiftent with,
but included in, the perfonal, and both fo intimately
joined, that to do higheft juftice to yourfelf, is alfo
to fulfil the laws of brotherhood and duty to your
neighbour. Our author, among all his brilliant
202 TENDENCIES OF
fayings, finds no opportunity of teaching fuch a
truth. In the *' Night Thoughts" of Dr. Young,
there are a thoufand inftances of the value of this
fecondary element of poetry, and the more valuable
in that work, becaufe the primary artiftic element
is wanting. But nothing of the kind rewards the
reader of this ftrange farrago.
In taking leave of Mr. Smith and his companion,
we hope that none who have gone with us thus far
together, can miftake the real grounds of cenfure
upon which we have proceeded. If we have fome-
times fpoken lightly of their defeats, it is not
becaufe we under-rate the ferious mifchief of fuch
productions. If many features expofe them to
flight and ridicule, their fpirit and tendency make
them obnoxious alfo to our juft reproof. Our
readers have had fome means of judging of the
freedom, bordering upon profanity, with which
they make light ufe of the name and chara6ler of
God ; but this is done to an extent which our
few extrads could not adequately fhow. On the
lower grounds of art their condemnation is as
ftriftly merited.
The author of" Balder" is the more deferving
of reproof, though perhaps only the lefs Hkely to
profit by it, becaufe it is his fecond work and moll:
deliberate choice. Yet talents fo high as thofe
which this author poflelTes, were not given to be
fquandered in intemperate fancies, which, while
they enervate the recklefs pofTefi^or, can only de-
prave the fine imagination and relax the moral
tone of rifing manhood. The youth of England,
MODERN POETRT. 203
if they are to meet manfully the duties of their
future life, muft be hardy in their intellectual paf-
time as well as in their holiday fports ; for the
one is as necefTary to their mental and moral health,
as the other to their phyfical maturity. To fteep
their minds in poetry like that which we have
turned from, is about as wife as to fpend their fum-
mer evenings, and make their nightly bed, in a
(teaming hot-houfe, only for the privilege of re-
pofmg under the leaves of fome huge exotic. How
much better to follow the mufe of Scott over
breezy heath and mountain fell ; to watch the
feaft in Brankfome Hall, or purfue the flying flag
as he feeks " the wild heaths of Uum-Var !" It is
the faftiion, we know, to decry the poetic achieve-
ments of Sir Walter Scott, to ftyle them (what,
indeed, they are) mere verfified romances : and
we may admit that many of his contemporaries,
as Campbell, Rogers, and Coleridge, ftruck loftier
mufic from their lyres, and warbled a fweeter and
a rarer fong. But let the new generation of poets
beware how they pufli the ftrain too far, and give
us fo much that is intenfely poetical (as they intend
it) ; and efpecially how they permit the expref-
fional parts of poetry to overlay its more fubftan-
tial elements. The fure efFedt of this will be to
drive us back to the homelier but healthier ftan-
dards, and among the reft to the plain but nervous
minftrelfy of Scott, with its fimple melody and
vivid frefhnefs, its hearty fympathy with external
nature, and its fkilful blending of the familiar and
romantic.
POPULAR CRITICISM.
HE fpirit which prefides over compofi-
tion of the pureft fort, is known by
the name of tafte -, the choice and
order of language in which it finds
expreffion, is denominated ftyle. Is the former
ever a fuperfluous gift ? Is the latter a merely
fuperficial quality ? Thefe inquiries we propofe to
anfwer, firft by a dire6t, and then by a more ex-
plicit, negative.
There is the clofeft poffible relation and interac-
tion between the form and fubftance of literary
works ; and the lighteft graces of a given produc-
tion will be found rather chara6teriftic than inde- ,
pendent of its eflential merits. In ftyle we have, I
therefore, an indication as well as an inftrument of
truth. It is a teft of the competence, fidelity, and
triumph of an author, — at leaft, within certain
obvious limits, — as well as a guarantee of his le-
gitimate influence in the world of mind. Even
the flighteft produ6l of literary tafte, however frail
and indefinable its graces may appear, is not to be
POPULAR CRITICISM, 205
too lightly rated ; for if thefe graces fhould be
clofely analyfed and obferved, it will be found that
the appofite and the truthful are their prevailing
elements, and the fource alike of their beauty,
chara6ler, and moral worth.
It may furprife fome readers to fpealc of the
moral worth of mere works of tafte ; it will fur-
prife them yet more to afTert the immoral tendency
of produftions groflly deficient in this quality. It
feems, indeed, to be very generally unfufpe6ied,
that weak, prefumptuous, and foolifh writings, and
fuch as are loaded with fpurious ornament, or filled
with falfe conclufions, are a6tually demoralizing in
their effects upon fociety ; that they gradually, but
furely, deprave the moral fenfe, as well as darken
the underflanding ; that too frequently they are
the fource of error and confufion, in regard to fome
Df the authoritative do6lrines and duties of our
fphere. Yet, as a fa6t, the alliance of falfe tafte
ind unfixed principles is very notable in the popu-
ar literature of our day. Efpecially is this to be
^bferved in the tendency to indulge in factitious
fentiment, or in bold, unwarranted, and profane
malogies, — in the difpofition to remove ancient
andmarks, and to confound important diftin6lions.
[n thefe refpe6ls the caufe of virtue and religion is
jften ferioufly betrayed by its profefTed fervants.
^hile infidelity — at leaft in fome quarters — is
tnitten with a fatal love of truth, with a fpirit of
:andour, diligence, and ilri(5l inquiry ; and is thus
nduced to bring its monftrous features to the light,
uid fcare thereby both wife and fimple from its
2o6 POPULAR CRITICISM,
embrace ; irrellgion, on the other hand, is foftered
and encouraged by loofe ftatements and florid pic-
tures proceeding from the hands of nominally
Chriftian men. It is well that we fhould under-
ftand the real danger of our literature ; that, namely,
wherein its worft chara6i:er begins, and which is
moft fwift, though moft infidious, in its advances.
There is little to be dreaded from the purfuits of
fcientific men, foberly and fairly conducted, nor
from their conclufions, duly weighed and openly
ftated, even when thefe men may be fufpecled of
no love for truth beyond its material manifeftations.
But much evil is to be apprehended, and, indeed, is
daily witnefled, from loofe and paflionate appeals
to the imagination and aiFe6lions ; from a ftyle
which never deviates from the falfe heroic pitch,
leaping from one pit of bathos to another ; from a
criticifm which runs riot among follies it was in-
vented to reftrain, which knows neither difcrimina-
tion nor temper, which deals out hafty and whole-
fale meafures of admiration and difguft, which
confounds human genius with divine infpiration,
and brackets the all-unequal names of holy Pro-
phets and profane and faithlefs poets.
The evils we aflert and deplore may commonly
be traced (as will prefently be fhown) to glaring
incapacity and prefumption in the clafs of writers
we refer to ; but they are ferioufly aggravated by
want of common faithfulnefs and care in the dis-
charge of ferious duties. The lack of diligent
fidelity is produdlive of great mifchief in any call-
ing in which man may engage. Even a fingle fault
POPULAR CRITICISM, 207
is never ifolated in its charafter, but is propagated
in a thoufand fad refults. The neglecSt of any duty,
the moft private and perfonal, — the committal of a
wrong in any fphere, the moft limited and tempo-
rary, — is fraught with evils which reach far beyond
both our eftimation and control ; and only that
the providence and grace of God are continually
countera6ting this fatal pronenefs of evil to extend
and multiply itfelf, we fhould fee fuch efFecSls
fpringing up from our daily a6ts of thoughtleflhefs,
frivolity, and pride, as we now aflbciate only with
crimes of the blackeft hue. But evil is not lefs
manifeftly evil becaufe of this benignant law. Its
efFe6ls ftill extend themfelves to the third and
fourth generation. The fpoken lie, the momen-
tary fneer, are neither flight nor tranfient in their
influence J they re-appear and are re-echoed upon
the lips of children's children. But in written
books falfehood has a charter and dominion ftill
more hoftile to the interefts and authority of truth.
And literary falfehood is pernicious, not in propor-
tion to its magnitude or malice, but to its unfuf-
pe6ted character, to its alliance with the femblance
of fome, and the reality of other, virtues, to its
appeal to the vain imaginations and idle prejudices
of the reader. Beginning in the thoughtlefs mif-
ufe of words, it may end in the confufion of all
moral truth. The fteps of this declenfion may be
diftindly traced. Extravagant afl^ertion always
involves fome departure from ftri6l rectitude, as
well as from the rules of tafte. Unwarrantable
praife or cenfure is mifleading from a fimilar excefs.
2o8 POPULAR CRITICISM,
Even the mifemployment of a word may ferioufly
affe6t the judgment of a reader in reference to
fome important principle ; may confound diftinc-
tions neceflary to be duly kept in view, or in-
fenfibly create a prejudice the moft lafting and
unjuft. It will, therefore, commonly happen, that
the lofs of time incurred, and the vacuity or diffipa-
tion of mind induced, will be among the lighteft
evils of inferior literature ; falfe opinions and fatal
preferences are heedleffly engendered j the habit
of intellectual and moral difcipline is loft in the
craving after pernicious ftimulus ; and an uncon-
querable diftafte for chafte and thoughtful com-
pofition cuts oiFthe very hope of future elevation
or improvement. And hence we may learn the
value, above all natural gifts and all external
acquirements, of that careful, diligent, and con-
fcientious fpirit of authorfhip which loves truth for
its own fake, — truth in fubftance, in tone, in detail,
in the lighteft word, — and fees no merit in the
moft ingenious and attra6live paradox.
The theme opened up to us by thefe reflections
is of no fmall extent ; but, in the hw pages allotted
to this article, we can deal with it only in one de-
partment. We ftiall proceed to fpeak, then, of
the moft prevalent and injurious of thefe exifting
evils. Some nuifances there are which cry out for
immediate abatement, and this is one of them. We
hold that both the manifeft deterioration of the
public tafte, and the threatening confufion of
moral truth, are mainly due to the example and
encouragement of our popular critics and fine
POPULAR CRITICISM, 209
writers ; and of thefe the moft notorious offender
is Mr. George Gilfillan.
Many reafons concur to fix our choice upon the
writings of this gentleman, and to juftify the free
handling we propofe to give them. The popu-
larity of their author we naturally infer, both from
the frequency with which his name is quoted in
the provincial newfpapers, and the fa6t that one of
his works has been encouraged into a third feries,
and another into a third edition. This popularity
among a large clafs of readers involves no fmall
amount of influence, and no light meafure of re-
fponfibility. But Mr. Gilfillan has a further claim
upon our attention. In the pages of no other
living writer, at leaft of equal reputation, could we
find fo many prime examples of fo many literary
faults. He reprefents very fairly and fully one
confiderable fe61:ion of the prefs, with its coarfe
attra61:ions and many blemiihes and imperfections ;
and we are not furprifed to learn from himfelf,
that he contributes largely to four or five of the
popular ferials of the day. He will, no doubt, be
flattered to learn that traces of his " dafhing" hand
are very vifible on their pages ; for there he leaves
his mark in unmiftakable chara6ters.
We do not fcruple at the utmoft freedom in
dealing with the public character of Mr. Gilfillan.
His own pra6lice would releafe us from any great
reftraint of delicacy, and, indeed, would juftify us
in a degree of licence which we decline to ufe.
To the judgment of a ftri6t and candid criticifm,
he is particularly open. He cannot plead youth
p
210 POPULAR CRITICISM.
in bar of juft feverity, fince we learn from his own
pages that it is full twenty years fince he attained
the age of manhood. He cannot plead inex-
perience, fmce he is a voluminous and inceflant
writer ; and the volume now before us is a third
feries of literary verdicts deliberately colle6ted and
re-iflued to the world. He cannot plead modefty
of pretenfion, or a defire to {hun the obfervation
of the public ; for the fame volume exhibits him
in the character of a judge, claiming a wide and
comprehenfive jurifdi61:ion, — a critic of men and
affairs as well as of books and authors, — a critic of
critics, challenging the judgments of fuch men as
Macaulay and Hallam, and approving or condemn-
ing, by his own ftandard, the weights and meafures
long current in the world of criticifm.
Confidering our own pofition, we are not likely
to fet up too high a ftandardof critical excellence,
or to demand perfection from Mr. Gilfillan in the
exercife of the functions he has afTumed. We
have no idea, for inftance, that the talents of a
critic muft needs emulate the genius of his author ;
and, indeed, this is one of the very grounds of our
complaint againft Mr. Gilfillan. Under an ex-
aggerated notion of the fympathy exifting between
a genial critic and a great orator or poet, he
abfolutely feems to run a race with them, and to
difpute their prize. This is not a mere occafional
fally of our critic ; it is very deliberately defended,
as well as uniformly praCtifed, by him. He
actually fays, in fo many words, " Every criticifm
on a true poem fhould be itfelf a poem." We
POPULAR CRITICISM. 211
fliall prefently fee what ftrange follies he is be-
trayed into by thefe fudden and unchecked im-
pulfes of admiration.
We may afk, in pafling, what is the value of
this '* genial criticifm ?" Surely, as criticifm, it is
of the leaft poffible fignificance or value. There
are cafes, it is readily granted, in which the ab-
fence of a certain fympathy with the loftieft mood
and the moft delicate fancies of genius, is a dif-
qualification for the critical office, at leaft in fo far
as thefe cafes are concerned. But every critic is
not called, nor is any frequently, to give a public
eftimate of thefe high and peculiar monuments of
greatnefs ; and even when this qualification is
plainly defiderated, the judgment pronounced will
not greatly err, if formed according to recognized
and important principles. An example may ferve
to make our meaning clear. Dr. Johnfon fur-
nifhes, in his own character, a ftriking inftance of
defective fympathy ; but his writings are no lefs
ftriking fpecimens of mafterly criticifm. He had
no very delicate perception of the refined and
beautiful, — no ear for the moft delicious fnatches
of poetic mufic. His limited tafte permitted him
only partially to appreciate the airy fancies of a
Collins, or the fuperb imaginntion of a Gray. The
elements of Milton's minor poetry were too fubtle,
and their combination too exquifite, to fenfibly
affect his groflTer organization, or find an index of
fufficient delicacy in that coloftal mind. Yet even
to thefe he did no pofitive injuftice ; of fome of
them he has faid finer things than their moft paf-
212 POPULAR CRITICISM.
fionate admirers. In all the other countlefs fub-
je6i:s fubmitted to his difcriminating power, he
ftands confefTedly the firfl: of critics. And why
fo ? Simply becaufe the moft neceflary and
valuable qualities of the critic were poflefTed by
him in plenitude and perfe6lion. For thefe quali-
ties, be it remembered, are not rightly concerned
with the rareft individual beauties of authorfhip.
When an orator or poet " fnatches a grace beyond
the reach of art," the critic may duly point it out,
and, if need be, defend this occafional exercife of
the prerogative of genius ; but to the art his duty
is for the moft part properly reftridled, and under
its generous laws he is to fee the products of the
individual mind moft happily fubdued.
The chara6i:er and fphere of true criticifm will
be better underftood, if we remember that it is de-
ductive in its origin, and difciplinary in its applica-
tion. It is<^(f^«^/i;^inits origin. The higheft critics
the world has yet feen — from Ariftotle down to
Addifon and Johnfon — have all deduced the rules
of compofition, and framed its feveral ftandards,
rather from the examples of the poets than from
neceflary and abftract laws. What the grammarian
does for ordinary language, that the critic performs
in refpe6t to the more exalted language of the
mufe. Ariftotle himfelf is the fervant rather than
the Procruftean tyrant of the fons of genius , for
thefe are a fountain of law unto themfelves , and it
was the humbler duty of the Stagyrite to tranflate
the art of Homer into axioms and rules of fcience,
and to publifti them as the authorized grammar of
POPULAR CRITICISM. 213
poetry thenceforth. And If any demur to this re-
ftri6lion, and complain that the chartered rights of
genius are fo confined or forfeited, we beg them to
confider that the grammar of poetry Is not only
taken from the mafters of fong themfelves, and is
therefore fubftantially and perpetually corre6t, but
that, like other grammars, it is capable of large ad-
ditions and improvements from time to time ; that,
as frefh examples of the language of the mufe are
fuggefted and given off by the deeper and wider
experience of humanity, the vocabulary and theory
of the critic alfo will expand, and find new illuftra-
tions to widen and confirm its ancient laws. So
we find It In the hIfi:ory of literature : criticifm has
followed In the wake of the advancing arts, If at a
becoming diftance, yet with equal fteps. The
great principles of criticifm, like thofe ofuniverfal
grammar, are the fame in every tongue, and are
applicable through all time to works in poetry,
eloquence, hlftory, or the fine arts j and if it re-
quired the genius of an Arlftotle to formulate thefe
principles in the beginning, It is competent to a
Wilfon or a Dallas to carry them further towards
perfedtion, and give to his theoria nobler degrees
of beauty, majefty, and ftrength.
But for all practical purpofes, criticifm muft be
confidered as one of the applied arts ; and. In this
characSler, Its a6tion is ftrlilly difciplinary . To
conferve the purity of language, and maintain the
dignity of letters ; to reftrain the exceffes of youth-
ful genius, and to point out the models of trueft
excellence j to fupply the defe6ls, and countera6t
214 POPULAR CRITICISM.
the biafes of partial education ; to encourage noble
effort ; to reprove unworthy affectation ; to warn
againft the indulgence of a luxuriant fancy, and to
cherifn the exercife of fober thought as the bafis of
every genuine performance, — thefe are, in brief,
the duties to be confcientioufly fulfilled. For their
adequate difcharge is demanded, no doubt, fome
natural advantage, — fomething akin to that excel-
lence which the critic is to promote and keep ever
before him ; for how fhall he venture publicly to
approve and crown what he does not confcioufly
or well appreciate ? But the qualities moft efTen-
tial are good judgment and cultivated tafle, — a
power of difcrimination which refides in a ftrong
native underflanding, when developed by careful
exercife, and furnifhed with confiderable know-
ledge. We would not overflate the accomplifh-
ments necefTary for the due performance of literary
cenforfhip in this age of vafl literary produ6livenefs.
Happily they are not many, nor, for the mofl part,
fuch as may not, with diligence, be almofl in-
definitely improved. They are nearly all included
in a loving intimacy with the elder mailers of com-
pofition, combined with a readinefs to greet the
ancient law in its neweft manifeflation, and to re-
cognize both variety and degrees of excellence in
the kingdom of mind. Perhaps only the felf-
affertion of ignorance and intolerance are abfolute
difqualifications. Our profeflional critics form
now a large and influential body ; but they have
no legiflative function. They are fimply an
organized police, bound to maintain order and
POPULAR CRITICISM. 215
decorum in the republic of letters ; or, at the moft,
they are its magiftrates, fet " for the punifhment
of evil-doers, and the praife of them that do well."
It is not neceflary for them to difcufs the merits of
the laws which they adminifter ; it is ftill more
unfeemly to promulge and a6l upon impromptu
canons of their own.
The lefTon we would draw from thefe con-
fiderations fhall be very fimply ftated. While the
pofitive merits of a critic may be of almoft any
quality and degree, there are certain negative ones
which are indifpenfable. It is the leaft we can
expe6t from a literary cenfor, that he fhould not
himfelf infringe the literary proprieties. If he do
not fenfibly elevate, he muft not actually corrupt,
the public tafte. Any wanton experiments upon
language, any unfeemly afFeilation or difplay, any
indulgence of tawdry rhetoric or foolifli extrava-
gance of tone, is not only a dereliction of private
(iuty, but a betrayal of the public intereft. Above
all, or next only to that honefty of intention which
we will aflume to influence, in fome meafure, the
moft thoughtlefs and incapable, it is neceffary that
no infirmity of temper fhould interfere with the
deliberate mood of juftice, or fubftitute the lan-
guage of coarfe perfonal inventive for that of
critical difpleafure.
Now all thefe blemifhes are very prominent in
the pages of Mr. Gillillan. In effeft, if not in
intention, he is a corrupter and a mifleader of
youth. He is not free from faults of language
which would difgrace the themes of a third-clafs
2i6 POPULAR CRITICISM.
fchool-boy. His ftyle is always loofe, and very often
turgid ; epithets the leaft appropriate are chofen
only for their fuppofed efFecStivenefs, and yoked
together without parity or propriety of any kind.
His rafhnefs hurries him into aflertions of the
wildeft nature, and his freedom borders clofely
upon profanity. And, as if thefe were fo many
virtues which make our author impatient of infe-
rior merit, and give to him an unufual licence in
the language of reproach, he fcolds in good fet
terms, and in a ftyle which lacks only difcrimination
and decency to make it pofitively fevere.
The charadleriftic laft mentioned ftiall be firft
exemplified. Mr. Neale, a clergyman of the
Church of England, with ftrong Anglican preju-
dices, undertakes to alter and adapt the '' Pilgrim's
Progrefs " for the ufe of children in the Englifh
Church. The defign was foolifh in the extreme,
but not difhoneft. Neither the fame nor the in-
fluence of Bunyan is at this time of day at the
mercy of either Jefuit or Tra61:arian. His book
is fo thoroughly imbued with the fpirit of a true
evangelift, that it defies perverfion. The editor
of fome particular reprint may mar its literary
beauties, and even injure its fcriptural fimplicity ;
but the " improver " muft be anfwerable for this
diftortion, and enough of the original will doubt-
lefs remain to outweigh and countera6l its faults.
We dare not fay the attempt was really diftioneft,
becaufe confcientious men have frequently felt
juftified in exercifing a fimilar liberty, though, as
we think, generally with much higher wifdom and
POPULAR CRITICISM, ii-j
far truer tafte. In noticing this book, Mr. Gil-
fillan lofes all difcretion, when perhaps he required
it moft. A judicious eftimate of the folly involved
in the defign, and committed in the execution, of
this book, with a firm and appropriate reproof
adminiftered to the prefumptuous editor, would
have been a very feafonable fervice to the reading
world, and not unlikely to deter other zealots from a
like offence. But there is no element of perfua-
fion in the flyle which Mr. Gilfillan has adopted.
We have as little tafle for Mr. Neale's improve-
ment of Bunyan as Mr. Gilfillan himfelf j but why
fhould our critic fubflitute perfonal abufe for defi-
nite expofure ? There is, furely, no more wit than
charity in his exclamation : " O, J. M. Neale !
thou miferable ninny, and bigot of the firfl magni-
tude !" Such a pitiful want of temper was never
aggravated by fuch a plentiful lack of tafle. Even
the hafte and warmth of compofition can never
juflify the ufe of fuch unworthy language ; but
what mufl we think of the judgment which de-
liberately transfers it from the fwift oblivion of a
popular Scottifh ferial to the region of ferene and
fettled literature ? If Mr. Gilfillan could have
Jhown his author to be a ninny and a bigot, he
might have kept clean lips, and fpared to infult
the criminal whom it was his duty only to convidt.
This is not an occafional fault of Mr. Gilfillan.
None of his faults, indeed, are fo. They are re-
peated with tirefome iteration ; and there is as
little variety in his a6tual blemifhes as in his inten-
ded beauties. So thickly do thefe abufive epithets
2i8 POPULAR CRITICISM.
occur in Mr. Gilfillan's pages, that we grow
accuftomed, if not reconciled, to them. But
fometimesa background of charming delicacy brings
out thts favourite figure into ftrong relief. On the
very page, for inftance, where he rebukes a northern
journalift for calling the late Mr. Hazlitt " an afs,"
he pronounces a certain living critic, whom he
points out by no uncertain name, to be an " ape
of the firft magnitude !"
When Mr. Gilfillan's page is unufually free
from thefe rhetorical difplays, we are admitted to
a glimpfe of his ordinary ftyle, forming the back-
ground of thefe ftriking pictures. This level com-
pofition, as it comparatively is, may be fairly des-
cribed as frivolous in fubftance, and very loofe and
feeble in expreffion. What makes this wretched
manufacture more contemptible, is the contrafted
dignity of his pretended theme. We have, for
example, a feries of papers under the title of " A
Conftellation of Sacred Authors." It is rather,
however, as facred orators that Mr. Gilfillan treats
Chalmers, and Hall, and Irving, although, by
fele6ling this method, he is able to furnifti only
fecond-hand defcriptions. It is queftionable, we
have always thought, how far the charaCteriftic
and comparative merits of great pulpit celebrities,
even when they have departed from us, may be
canvafTed with advantage and propriety. But it is
certain that Mr. Gilfillan's treatment of thefe
fubje6ls is open to the ftrongeft objections. His
lighteft fault is trivial goffiping, which can have
no rational bearing on the theme propofed. A
POPULAR CRITICISM. 219
fober eftimate of the minifterial gifts of the orator,
and of the peculiar manner of their development
and exercife, is the moft removed from the range
of our critic's power ; but it is alfo that which he
is leaft defirous to fupply. The paper on " Robert
Hall" may be inftanced as in ftriking contrail
with the dignity and power of that great man's
genius ; it is weak and unworthy to the laft degree.
Of the truth of this cenfure we will enable the
reader to judge for himfelf. After afTuring us that
the efTay is meant as a " calm and comprehenfive
view" of Mr. Hall's " real charadleriftics, both in
point of merit, of fault, and of fimple deficiency,'*
our critic proceeds in the manner following : —
" JVe labour, like all critics who have never
feen their author^ under confiderahle difadv ant ages.
' Knowledge is power. ^ Still more, craving Lord
Bacon's pardon^ vifion is power. Ccsjar faid a
fimilar thing when he wrote^ ' Vidi, vici.' To fee
is to conquer^ if you happen to have the faculty of
clear ^full^ c on clu five fight. In other cafes^ the fight
of a man whom you mifappreciate^ and^ though you
have eyes^ cannot fee ^ is a curfe to your conception of
his character. Tou look at him through a mijl of
prejudice which difcolours his vifage^ and even^ when
it exaggerates^ dijhrts his /iature. Far otherwife
with the prepared^ yet unprepojfeffed^ look of intelli-
gent love.''
Very curious is the jumble of ideas in this fhort
paflage. No man accuftomed to accuracy of
220 POPULAR CRITICISM,
thought or language could have fo hopeleflly con-
founded ordinary fight with mental appreciation.
And then, what an improvement of Lord Bacon's
apophthegm ! what an interpretation of C^far's
famous boaft ! That Mr. Gilfillan fhould pro-
nounce" the look of intelligent love" to be " pre-
pared," yet at the fame time " unprepofTeiTed," is
an attempt at exquifite refinement which we
cannot recommend him to repeat : his forte is
quite in the oppofite dire6tion. After a full page
of this material, in which our critic's entanglement
is every moment frightfully increafed, a fudden
effort brings him to his immediate theme ; and the
character of Robert Hall is fet forth in this edi-
fying manner : —
" We have met with fome of thofe who have feen
and heard him talk and preachy and their accounts
have coincided in this^ — that he was more powerful
in the parlour than in the pulpit. He was more at
eafe in the former. He had his pipe in his mouthy
his tea-pot hefide him^ eager ears liftening to catch
his every whifper^ bright eyes raining influence on
him ; and under thefe various excitements he was
fure to Jhine. His fpirits rofe^ his wit flajhed^ his
keen and pointed fentences thickened^ and his audience
began to imagine him a Baptiji Burke or a fohnfon
RedivivuSy and to wijh that Bofwell were to undergo
a refurreSiion too. In thefe evening parties he
appeared, we fufpe^f^ to greater advantage than in
the mornings, when Miniflers from all quarters
called to fee the lion of Leicejler^ and tried to tempt
POPULAR CRITICISM. 221
him to roar by fuch quejilons as, ' Whether do you
thinky Air. Hall^ Cicero or Demofthenes the greater
orator?^ ' IVas Burke the author of yuniusf*
^Whether is Bentham or Wilherforce the leading
fpirit of the age?^ l^c. ^c. How Hall kept his
gravity or his temper under fuch a fire of queries,
not to fpeak of the fmoke of the half putrid incenfe
amid which it came forth ^ we cannot tell. He was^
however^ although a vehement and irritable^ a very
polite^ man ; and^ like Dr. fohnfon^ he ' loved to
fold his legs^ and have his talk out.^ Many of his
vifitors^ too^ were really diflinguifljed men, and were
Jurcy when they returned home^ to circulate his
repartees,, and fpread abroad his fame. Hence ,^ even
in the forenoon s,^ he fometimes faid brilliant things,
many of which have been diligently colleSfed by the
late excellent Dr. Balmer and others^ and are to be
found in his Memoirs.'*''
We have no fpace for further extra6l of this
fort ; but we can aflure the reader that there is
nothing better than this foolifh and unprofitable
goffip in Mr. Gilfillan*s " clear and comprehenfive
view" of Robert Hall. Equally void of ufeful
knowledge and juft difcrimination are the eflays on
Dr. Chalmers and Edward Irving. They only
derive the moft tranfient intereft from the mifap-
propriation of thefe great names, which run the
greateft rifk of difenchantment from fuch popular
degradation and abufe. Let the reader turn to
the flippant article on Dr. Winter Hamilton, and
then he may be prepared for the qualifications of
222 POPULAR CRITICISM,
a critic who could write, and print, and publifh,
and re-publifh an eftimate of minifterial chara6ler,
commencing in the loweft pot-houfe ftyle.
We cannot pretend to challenge all the queftion-
able verdi6ts of this book, nor to point out a tithe
of its literary faults ; and having little hope of Mr.
Gilfillan's improvement, we fhall glance at fome of
his more prominent peculiarities rather with a
view to the reader's profit than his own. If we
fhould not be able to preferve throughout a tone of j
ferious remonftrance, the fault will not be ours ;
and, in the end, we will endeavour to make fome
amends by eliciting the moral of the whole.
Let us inftance, in the firft place, our author's
ftyle of panegyric. Marked though it is by con-
fiderable novelty and boldnefs, we cannot bring
ourfelves to relifti it. Always profufe, it is often
ftrangely mifapplied, and much too frequently
profane. Other critics think it needful to give
praife in detail, meafure, and proportion ; but Mr.
Gilfillan finds it more convenient to throw it by
the lump, and often it falls upon the wrong perfon,
and always it alights with damaging efFe6t. Modeft,
reputable men, who naturally flirink from being
forced into comparifon with famous, lofty, and even
facred worthies, may well fear to attract the
admiration of our author. Mr. Ifaac Taylor is
here pronounced " a Chriftian Coloflus ;" Ed-
ward Irving, a " Titan among Titans, a Boanerges
among the Sons of Thunder." When the latter
preaches in the Caledonian chapel, " it is Ifaiah
or Ezekiel over again, uttering their ftern yet
POPULAR CRITICISM. 223
mufical and poetic burdens." The imagery and
language of the former is nothing lefs than " bar-
baric pearl and gold." " Bulwer has made out
his claim to be the Milton of novelifts." Difraeli
" bears a ftriking refemblance to Bonaparte."
The poem of " Balder" is " a wildernefs of
thought, — a fea of towering imagery and paflion."
There is much more of the fame difcriminating
kind, as we fhall prefently difcover. In the mean-
time we are fpared the trouble of chara6terizing
this ftyle of panegyric by our author himfelf, who,
in two or three fentences of this volume, gene-
roufly gives us the key to all the reft. Thus we
read, (on page 237,) " Falfe or ignorant panegyric
is eafily detected. // is clumfy, carelefs^ andfulfome ;
it often praifes writers for qualities they pojfefs not^
or it fmgles out their faults for beauties^ or^ by over-
doings overleaps itfelf and falls on the other fide,''*
This is faid by our author without a remorfeful
twinge, — with all the oblivious calmnefs of a lucid
interval.
But Mr. Gilfillan tells us, " he is nothing if
not critical." Unfortunately he cannot qualify
his wholefale adulation without ftultifying himfelf.
In one little fentence he will fnatch back all the
laboured and pompous praife he has beftowed,
and flap the receiver's face into the bargain. Thus,
after having encouraged one of our young poets
with outrageous eulogy, he quietly lodges this
little ftone in the other pocket : " Many of his
pafTages would be greatly improved by leaving out
every third line." If this cenfure be honeft, what
224 POPULAR CRITICISM.
muft be the value of the praife that went before ?
The fa6t, of courfe, is, that the poet did not merit
either one or the other ; and we hope he may be
able to defpife them both.
Of epithet and expletive there is no lack in
Mr. Gilfillan's page. Indeed, it is here more
plentiful than choice, and more prominent by far
than pleafmg. It would be very idle, however, to
regret the abfence of that meafured nice propriety
of phrafe — the warp of language fixing the woof
of thought — which is the inwoven and enduring
charm of every literary fabric. It is far more
natural, under the circumftances, to wifh that our
critic's fingle epithets were a trifle more appro-
priate, and that their combinations did not utterly
defy appreciation. We can only afford to give a
folitary fpecimen of this peculiarity : it mufl there-
fore be one of the compound kind, and ufeful as
a Chinefe puzzle on a winter's evening. Who,
then, but Mr. Gilfillan could have found terms to
praife " the glozvingly acute^ gorgeoujly clear^ and
da%%lingly deep criticifms of poor Hazlitt ? " The
reader who derives from this defcription any defi-
nite idea of Mr. Hazlitt's literary character, is
worth knowing ; and we fhould be proud to make
his acquaintance.
The language of illuflration and metaphor forms
a ftill larger element in our author's compofition.
Perhaps his particular admirers — and poffibly the
hero himfelf, in an unguarded moment of felf-
dalliance — would fay his ftrength refides in thefe
abundant flowers of fpeech, as Samfon's in his
POPULAR CRITICISM, 225
profufe and curling locks. We do him then pe-
culiar juftice in pointing attention to a number of
thefe tropes.
So incongruous are our author's figures — fo
frequently and unaccountably changed in the courfe
of a fmgle fentence — that when a really juft re-
fle6lion efcapes him, it is either diftorted or des-
troyed by the very language intended to give it
force. The following is a ftriking inftance of this
fault : —
*' For too often we believe that high genius is a
myftery and a terror to itfelf; that it communicates
with the demoniac mines of fulphur as well as the
divine fources ; and that only God's grace can de-
termine to which of thefe it is to he permanently con-
neSfed; and that only the ftern alembic of death
can fettle the queftion, to which it has on the whole
turned, whether it has really been the radiant angel
or the difo-uifed fiend."
We are puzzled to conceive how an author fo
pradlifed as Mr. Gilfillan could have deliberately
written the laft claufe of this fentence ; though
indeed we have no occafion to be furprifed at
anything of the fort. The "ftern alembic" is
pofitively a new idea. Yet it is not difficult to
match the foregoing extract by applying to the
fame fource : —
" If Mr. Majfey comes {as we truji he Jhall) to
a true belief it will corroborate him for every trial
22 6 POPULAR CRITICISM.
and every fad internal and external experience ; and
he will ftand like an Atlas above the ruins of a
world, — calm, firm, penfive, but preffing forwards
and looking on high."
The allufion to Atlas is here peculiarly unfor-
tunate, as that mythological perfonage is fuppofed
to have flood below a world which was not in ruins,
and in an attitude quite inconfiftent with " looking
on high ;" and even were it otherwife, the pofi-
tion of " {landing, calm and firm," fomewhat
militates againfl the notion of his " preffing for-
wards." A fimile is commonly employed to affifl
our realization of fome thought ; but it is no won-
der that the very oppofite effeil attends one fo ill
chofen as the above. Indeed, we muft abfolutely
forget it, before we can appreciate the literal
meaning of our author. The refleclion is good \
but the figure is a nuifance and a blot. The fame
remark applies to the following : —
" Byron was miferahle becaufe he felt hhnfelf an
orphan^ a funbeam cut off from his fource, without
hope and zvithout God in the world,''
Any one but Mr. GilfiUan would infallibly have
put his pen through the middle claufe of this hafly
and ill-confidered fentence : though flill trite, it
would have been at leaft tolerable. But it never
occurs to our author, that a miferable funbeam,
deflitute of hope and of God, is a very abfurd and
incongruous idea j and he gathers it accordingly
into his book of many beauties.
POPULAR CRITICISM. 227
Our readers will probably be gratified to hear
Mr. Gilfillan's "judgment'* on Milton and Shake-
fpeare. The oracular volume from which we
have already learnt (o much, is not filent here.
Of Milton, indeed, we have no formal or deliberate
eftimate ; but his genius, character, and works,
are made to do various duty in ifolated fentences
throughout the book, furnifhing eafy ready-made
comparifons of intelleftual and moral greatnefs.
In thefe allufive paflages all the diftin6tive features
of the poet's qhara6lerare very innocently forgotten,
and prophecies delivered by divine infpiration are
coupled with poems fuggefted only by human
fancy. Thus, in the paper on ^fchylus, we read
of " yet loftier regions, fuch as Job, Ifaiah, and
the Paradife Loft." Between this latter work
and the Prometheus, we have an elaborate parallel,
of which, however, it will probably fuffice to quote
the following fentences : —
" It was comparatively eafy for Mfchylus to enUjl
our fympathies for Prometheus, if once he were re-
prefented good and injured. But firf} to reprefent
Satan as guilty ; again to wring a confejjion of this
from his own lips ; and yet, thirdly^ to teach us to
admire^ refpe^^ pity, and almoji love him all the
while^ was a problem which only a Milton was able
either tojiate or to folve.'^
If this was Milton's problem, — to make us ref-
pe6t and almoft love the Prince of Darknefs, — he
has, in our opinion, very happily failed : were it
228 POPULAR CRITICISM,
otherwife, our refpe6l for the author would be
inverfely proportioned to that which his hero was
permitted to infpire. But Mr. Gilfillan has fallen
into a curious miftake. He has evidently in this,
and apparently in fome other points, confounded
the Satan of Milton's poem with the Satan of Mr.
Robert Montgomery, — two chara6ters that are
efTentially different. The Satan of Mr. Mont-
gomery exhibits fuch candour, penitence, and fcorn
of evil habits, that it is impoffible not to " refpedt
and almoft love him."
From the clofmg article of this interefting vol-
ume, we feledl: a paffage on " the poet of all time.**
It may fitly pair off with that jult quoted on his
great fucceffor : —
" Shakefpeare' s wit and humour are hound to-
gether in general hy the amiahle hand of good-nature.
What a contraft to Swift! He loathes; Shake-
fpeare, at the worft, hates. His is the flavering
and ferocious ire of a maniac-, Shakefpeare' s.^ that
of a man. Swift hroods, like their Jhadow^ over the
fejlering fores and the moral ulcers of mankind;
Shakefpeare touches them with a ray of poetry, which
beautifies if it cannot heal. ' Gulliver* is the day-
hook of a fiend ; ^ Timon* is the magnificent outbreak
of an injured angel. His wit^ hozv fertile, quick ^
forgetive ! Congreve and Sheridan are poor and
forced in the comparifon. Hoiu long they ufed to fit
hatching fome clever conceit! and what a cackling
they made when it had chipped the fioell! Shake-
fpeare threw forth a Mercutio or a Faljlafif at once.
POPULAR CRITICISM. 229
each embodying in himfelf a world of laughter, and
there an end. His humour, how broad^ rich,fubtle^
poiuerful^ and full of genius and geniality it is !
JVhy^ Bardolph's red nofe eclipfes all the dramatic
characters that have fucceeded. Ancient Pijiol
himfelf fhoots dozvn the whole of the Farquhars,
Wycherleys, Sheridans^ Goldfniths, and Colmans put
together. Dogberry is the prince of donkeys^ p^flt
prefent^ and to come. When /hall we ever have fuch
another tinker as Chrifiopher Sly ? Sir Andrew
Aguecheek ! the very na?ne makes you quake with
laughter. And., like a v aft fir loin of Englijh roafi
beef rich and dripping., lies along the mighty Falfiaff,
with humour oozing out of every corner and cranny
of his vaft corporation.^^
If the reader thinks that one perufal will fuffice
for the full appreciation of this palTage, we afTure
him he is much miftaken. The efFe6t of a fmgle
reading is only to confound ; but a repetition will
infallibly add wonder to his confufion, till, loft in
fucceflive objects of amazement, confufion once
more takes the place of wonder. Colle6i:ing our
fcattered fenfes, we may now attempt to point out
fome of the curiofities of this paragraph of errors.
Not one fentence of the whole is left undiftin-
guifhed either by obfcurity, abfurdity, or falfehood.
Relatives are hopelellly divided from their antece-
dents ; words chofen for their force, and mutually
confronted, are made to exchange meanings, and
fo become ridiculous by emphafis ; while figures
the moft incongruous are reckleflly mixed up with
230 POPULAR CRITICISM.
facts the mofi: literal. We are not furprifed to read
of " the Havering and ferocious ire of a maniac ; "
but quite new to us is " that of a man." We had
fuppofed that loathing was fometimes pardonable,
and hatred never ; but it feems that v/hile Swift
loathes, Shakefpeare " only hates." The inftinc-
tive fenfibihty of virtue is given to the gloomy
IriQi Dean ; the radical and unamiable vice is
charged upon our "winfome Willie." In hischoice
of fimiles our critic is equally felicitous. Swift
broods over an ulcer like its fhadow ! but Shake-
fpeare beautifies it by a ray of poetry ! We do not
expect — and hardly wi{h — to fee the match for
that comparifon. Its effect is to make us incon-
tinently fhut our eyes and hold our breath. The
remaining curiofities of this pafTage rather puzzle
than furprife us. Why is Gulliver a " book," and
Timon only an " outbreak ? " Then, immediately
follov/ing, whofe " wit" is fo " forgetive ?" And,
not to be too troublefome, what is " forgetive
wit?" Perhaps it is that fort which makes An-
cient Piftol " f/'joot down" the v/hole of the
Farquhars, Wycherleys, &c. The verdi6i: upon
honeft Dogberry moft readers will difpute, think-
ing the author has waived too readily his own pre-
tenfions. Only the coarfe comparifon of FalftafF
has the tame diftinction of being literal and obvious
without abfurdity.
A critic like our author is naturally fevere upon
his imbecile contemporaries. When Mr. Hallam
difcourfes about poetry, Mr. GilfiUan is " reminded
of a blind man difcourfing on the rainbow;" and
POPULAR CRITICISM, 231
complacently remarks, " The power of criticizing
is as completely denied him as is a fixth fenfe ; and
worfe, he is not confcious of the want." In
another precious morfel, we learn that " Hallam is
feldom uxiduly minute, neverunfair, and rarely one-
fided : his want is fmiply that of the warm infight
which ' loofens the bands of the Orions' of poetry,
and gives a fwiftfolutionto all its fplendid problems."
The misfortune of Mr. Hallam is, that he does
not belong to the " impulfive" fchool of criticifm ;
our author, therefore, writes him down "mechani-
cal." His paper on Arioflo is pronounced " cold
and creeping ;" and here we may remark, that
Mr. Gilfillan evidently employs thefe words as
fynonymous and interchangeable. If you are clear
you are fo cold ! If temperate, you muft needs
be very tame. The truth is, Mr. Gilfillan has
acquired a morbid love for the errors of genius ;
and this paffion hurries him fo far, that not only
does he defend and juftify the grofleft blemifiies
he can difcover, but very confidently carries his
principles into praftice, and makes a merit of
imitating the " glorious faults" of our great writ-
ers.
We {hould be very forry to vindicate the literary
chara6ler of Henry Hallam from the cenfures of
George Gilfillan. It is not yet come to that. In
one fhort fentence, — " He has far too much taft
and knowledge to commit any grofs blunders," —
our critic himfelf fays more for his author than we
could venture to fay for our critic. The reader
will probably take our word for it, that Mr. Hal-
232 POPULJR CRITICISM.
lam's paper on the " Paradife Loft" contains no
fuch morceau as that with which we have prefented
him from Mr. Gilfillan's page.
If Mr. Hallam is held thus lightly in our
author's judgment and efteem, the writings of Mr.
Macaulay appear to excite only his utmoft anger
and difdain. There is fomething about them
which he can neither forget nor forgive. Often
trampled down by his fcorn, they are fure prefently
to rife in his face, and irritate him beyond endur-
ance. This reftlefs and recurring enmity is, per-
haps, not difficult to be underftood. The very
exiftence of fuch a critic as Mr. Macaulay— not to
mention his popularity and influence — is a per-
petual offence to fuch a writer as Mr. Gilfillan ;
a filent, but fignificant, reproach. Our author
feels that " his genius is rebuked" by the mafter
of a ftyle diftinguifhed for accuracy, eafe, and ful-
nefs, at once fo dignified and fo corre6t ; and more
efpecially as he is unable to taunt the Effayift with
facrificing beauty to corrednefs, or with being
cold, uninterefting, or conventional, in deference
to literary orthodoxy. No doubt it is very irrita-
ting to obferve, beyond the poffibility of doubt or
of denial, that a writer fo eminently " corred" is,
at the fame time, very far removed from " creep-
ir»g-" To be judicious, temperate, and truft-
worthy, yet neither voted dull, nor abandoned by
the younger fpirits, nor fhelved in a dufty corner
of the reference-library ; to be ornate, as well as
accurate, in compofition ; to infpire enthufiafm,
yet bear the ftrideft fcrutiny ; to fuffer the re-
POPULAR CRITICISM. 233
ftralnts of grammar and propriety, yet achieve a
proud, and even popular, fuccefs, — all this is un-
pardonable vice in Mr. Macaulay, and more than
Mr. Gilfillancan vi^ell bear. Our author wonders
that fuch "abject trafh" (thefe are his v/ords)
fhould "gain unchallenged acceptance,and require
his humble pen to dafh it into expofure and con-
tempt." And " dafh it" accordingly he does. In
the firft place, vv^e are invited to the rehearfal of a
literary parallel, inftituted by our critic, between
the characSters of Burke and Macaulay. We need
hardly fay, that this comparifon is not more odious
than gratuitous. Some points of it are true, but
not pertinent ; while much the greater part is both
impertinent and untrue. The following fentences
are too chara6leriftic, at leaft of their inditer, to
be pafTed unquoted : —
" Burke's dlgrejfions are thofe of uncontrollable
power ^ wantoning in its Jirength ; Afacaulay's are
thofe of deliberate purpofe and elaborate effort^ to
relieve and make its byways increafe the intereji of
his highways, Burke^s moji memorable things are
Jirong^ftmple fentences of wifdom^ or epithets^ each
carrying a quejiion on its pointy or burning coals from
his fa?ning genius; Macaulay^ s are chiefly happy
illufirations^ or verbal antithefes^ or clever allitera-
tions. Macaulay often feems^ and^ we believe^ is^
fmcere^ but he is never in earnefi ; Burke^ on all
higher quejiions^ becomes a ' burning one^ — earnefi
to the brink of frenzy. . Macaulay' s
literary enthufiafm has now a far and for?nal air^
234 POPULAR CRITICISM.
itfeems an old cloak of college-days worn threadbare ;
Burke's has about it a frejh and glorious glofs^ — it is
the ever renewed (kin of his fpirit. Macaulay lies
fnugly and fweetly in the p enfold of a party ; Burke
is ever and anon burfiijig it to fragments. Ma-
caulay s moral indignation is too laboured and anti-
thetical to be very profound; Burke's ?nakes his
heart palpitate, his hand clench , and his face kindle^
like that of Mofes as he came down from the
Mount.''
Referving our remark on this irreverent dimax,
let us call the attention of the reader to the claufe
we have diftinguifhed by Roman type. When he
has fully appreciated the pretty thought that the
*'fkin" of Mr. Burke's "fpirit" was periodically
caft, like a ferpent's Hough, we have another compa-
rifon to ofFerto the admirers of that ftatefman, alfo
drawn from natural hiftory, and alfo fuggefted by
the pleafant fancy of our author. It is only a little
farther on in the volume, that Mr. Burke is de-
fcribed as " a mental camelopard," for the fmgular
reafon, that " he was patient as a camel, and as a
leopard fwift and richly fpotted." Mr. Gilfillan
feemingly forgets, or poffibly is not aware, that the
camelopard is not a hybrid, deriving its qualities
from thefe two creatures, though his name happens
to be a compound of theirs. The moil: charitable
of natural hiftorians never afcribed patience to the
giraffe : even with reference to the camel, it is a
long exploded fuperftition, which doubtlefs was
originally due to the fa6t that, like ourfelves, he
POPULAR CRITICISM. 235
ftands in great need of that pallive virtue, and has
abundant opportunities for bringing it to per-
fed^ion.
This depreciatory parallel — for fuch we fuppofe
it was intended to be — may be accepted as a
fpecimen of Mr. Gilfillan's fkill in a form of com-
pofition to which he is peculiarly partial. We are
treated in this volume to no lefs than three in
honour of Edmund Burke, — to wit, Burke and
Macaulay, Burke and Johnfon, and Burke and
Brougham ; the latter thrown off impromptu^ and
included in a parenthefis of half a page. Indeed,
Burke has the honour of attra6ling the moft
dangerous regards of Mr. Gilfillan, who never
fpeaks of that great man without enthufiafm of the
moft rapturous and incoherent fort. This is a very
curious and inftru(51:ive fadl ; it fhows, not only
that love may exift with infinite difparity, but that
the deepeft admiration is not neceflarily transform-
ing in its chara6ler. Our author warmly admires
the works of Edmund Burke, and writes himfelf
like — George Gilfillan.
With the organ of comparifon fo ftrongly de-
veloped, our critic is hardly fair in laying to Mr.
Macaulay's charge an undue fondnefs for antithefis
and point. It is only too evident, that he fpares
no pains to attain the fame dexterity, with what
fuccefs might eafily be fhown. If we were in-
clined to follow the example of thefe authorities,
— and perhaps it is our turn, — there could not
poffibly prefent itfelf a more favourable occafion.
One critic handled by another, and both compared
236 POPULAR CRITICISM.
by a third, — there is fomething unufual at leaft in
that. But we muft decline the tempting invitation,
not becaufe it is a little abfurd, as well as ungene-
rous, " to compare great things with fmall ;"for the
epic poets do it without reproach \ — but the points
of contraft exifting between the literary charadlers
of Mr. Macaulay and our author are too numerous,
as well as too obvious, for our rehearfal. There
is, indeed, a more fummary method of comparifon,
in which fome charadteriftic beauty or defect is made
inclufive and decifive of all the others. Thus we
might mutually oppofe the chief faults of thefe
contending parties. The great fault of Mr. Ma-
caulay's ftyle is its pofitive uniformity ofexcellence.
Unlike every author that we know befides. Homer
himfelf included, he never nods. So unflagging
his genius, fo fleeplefs his adivity, fo prompt his
memory, fo available his learning, that the reader
gains no moment of repofe, till attention, fafcinated
fo long, fuddenly fails, and the mind runs fairly off
to find relief. Invited to an intelle6tual repaft,
we have fumptuous viands in great variety and
matchlefs profufion fet before us; but one luxury
fucceeds another with fuch rapidity, that tafte has
barely time for perfe6l fatisfa6lion, and we fuddenly
quit the ftill groaning table to avoid the evils of
excefs. This fplendid profufion is, in fome fenfe,
a fault as well as a misfortune ; for literature in-
tended to anfwer human needs, fhould be more
nearly adapted to the chara6ter and powers of
human nature. But we fubmit, that it is a very
different fault which Mr. Gilfillan commits, and a
POPULAR CRITICISM. 237
very dliFerent misfortune which his readers fuffer.
On his part, too, there is a ceafelefs profufion ; but
it is of words inftead of thoughts, of colours in-
ftead of images; of errors, inanities, and abfurdi-
ties ; of great truths miferably garbled, and doubt-
ful ones intolerably mouthed. For the mental
repaft which he ferves up he has evidently rifled
richer tables, gathered a mifcellaneous heap of odds
and ends, fwept them into his own difh, added a
copious ftream of frothy rhetoric, and whipped the
whole into a towering fyllabub. Indulgence in
fuch a compound can only be attended by naufea
or inflation.
As it will ferve to bring us to the moft impor-
tant part of our fubje6t, we muft take fome further
freedom with Mr. Macaulay's name, while we
briefly mention another exploit of our author. Mr.
Gilfillan cannot reft till he has broken a lance with
his "rival" in the critical arena. Challenging Mr.
Macaulay's eftimate of Lord Bacon's genius and
philofophy, he charges the reviewer with facrificing
the character of Plato, in order the more pointedly
to honour the great Englifh fage. Having picked
this " pretty quarrel," — we cannot but admire his
boldnefs, — our critic at once proceeds to recon-
ftru6t the parallel, and give Plato the better half
of each antithefis. Had our fpace permitted, we
fhould have been glad to offer thefe rival compofi-
tions to the reader in collateral columns. As this
is not convenient, fo neither is it quite neceflary to
an underftanding of their refpeftive merits. A
fingle fentence, chofen in all fairnefs from either
238 POPULAR CRITICISM.
eftimate, will fuffice to indicate the charadler of
both :— " The philofophy of Plato," fays Mr. Ma-
caulay, " began in words, and ended in words. The
philofophy of Bacon began in obfervation, and
ended in a6ls." See now how Mr. Gilfillan turns
the tables : — " Bacon cured corns, and Plato
heals confciences !" It is too late to afk the
reader to decide between thefe two ; for he has
already done fo. If both critics facrifice a fhare
of truth to the love of verbal antithefis, it is only
Mr. Gilfillan who outrages tafte and judgment for
the fake of a paltry alliteration. If Mr. Macaulay
has fomewhat underrated the influence of Plato in
the world, he has at leaft done noble juftice to the
fruitful philofophy of the Engliih fage : but our
author has ingenioufly contrived to wrong both
worthies ; for, dealing only in extremes, he muft
needs thruft them one upon either horn of his
critical dilemma, and the vidtim of his adulation
is, as ufual, the one moft deeply wronged. Moft
deeply wronged, we fay, becaufe the mind revolts
from an afcription of divine and faving power, even
to the moft illuftrious of the heathen, and is,
therefore, apt to become intolerant of his juft pre-
tenfions.
If we trouble ourfelves or our readers further
with Mr. Gilfillan's opinions upon Plato, it is only
becaufe fomething more is involved than a point of
literary tafte. We commenced by aflerting the
intimate connexion between juft criticifm and
moral truth, between traftiy and unworthy litera-
ture and falfehood of the moft dangerous fort. Not
POPULAR CRITICISM. 239
willing to beat the air, and have no profit for our
pains, we fixed the charge of public deterioration
upon a writer of no fmall pretenfions ; and that
charge we are bound by every proper motive to
make good.
Mr. Gilfillan's Quixotic championfhip of Plato
urges him into groflly exaggerated flatements,
both of the elevation of that philofopher's doctrine,
and of the extent and value of his influence on
mankind. Chriftianity is reprefented as the mere
fulfilment of Platonifm : the heathen fage is placed
but little lower than Chrift, and generally on a par
with the Apoftle John. We are gravely informed
that a combination of the philofophy of Plato, and
the divine teaching and working of Jefus confti-
tutes the only theology deferving the name ; and
that Plato's harveft lay in " the flow yield of fouls."
The only apology for this language of a Chriftian
minifter is a pitiful one at beft. The real meaning
and tendency of the expreflions ufed are probably
unfufpe6ted by the author himfelf. He writes
with an eager love of antithefis and difplay, in
which all other confiderations are merged and loft.
It is ufelefs, then, for this and other reafons, to
point out to Mr. Gilfillan wherein confifts the
error, fo vital andpervading, which disfigures his
comparative eftimate of Chriftianity and Platonifm.
He does not need to be told the truth, and he is
incapable of improving by its repetition. It is not
from a pofitive ignorance of the diftin6lion which
it behoved him to maintain, that he has written
thus defectively ; but from a total incapacity of
240 POPULAR CRITICISM.
keeping that diftindlion clearly before him, and of
expreffing it in adequate and proper terms. This
is apparent from the fingular fa6t that, in this very-
volume, the author profefles the higheft admiration
for Mr. Henry Rogers' noble efTay on Plato, and
a6tually quotes the beautiful paragraph in which
the chara6ler of Socrates — the model of Platonic
virtue — is fo ftrikingly contrafted with that of our
Redeemer. Thus it fortunately happens, that the
fame blundering indifcretion which threatens to
produce fo much mifchief, provides, in fome
meafure, for its own corre6lion and rebuke.
But this is not the only inftance in which Mr.
Gilfillan is betrayed, by his befetting genius, into
deluding and unwarrantable language. If the
danger is fometimes fmall, it is only becaufe the
abfurdity is too great, or the obfcurity too denfe.
Thus, in the following fentences, the mind is rather
ftiocked by the appearance of evil, than aflaulted
by a6lual untruth. " A new poet, like a new
planet, is another proof of the continued exiftence
of the creative energy of the Father of fpirits. He
is a new mefTenger and mediator between the In-
finite and the race of man." The firft fentence is
nothing but a high-founding truifm ; for that only
is predicated of poet and planet, which is equally-
true of oyfter and pebble. If the latter fentence
could be proved to mean anything, it would pro-
bably appear as an offence againft religion ; fo we
cling to the perfuafion of its inanity, left we fhould
be obliged to condemn it as blafphemous and pro-
fane. In Hke manner, when Mr. Gilfillan de-
POPULAR CRITICISM. 241
clares that " the ftars are the developments of
God's Own Head," we feel a momentary revulfion,
but refufe to attribute the expreflion to any de-
liberate or confcious want of reverence for the
Divine Majefty. It is fimply the natural refult of
fo much ambition, hurry, tafteleflhefs, and in-
capacity. But we did feel, and we do, ftrong
indignation and difguft on meeting the pafTage in
which our author compares the face of Mr. Burke,
after fpeaking in the Houfe of Commons, to the
countenance of Mofes as it fhone with refle6i:ed
glory, after forty days' communion with his Maker.
Anything more reprehenfible than this, conceived
in worfe tafte, or uttered in more wanton defiance
of propriety and truth, could not readily be found
beyond the limits of the book in which it is con-
tained. Within thofe limits it is only too often
and too nearly approached.
But Mr. GilfiUan has alfo come forward as a
critic of facred literature ; and this circumftance
calls for a few obfervations on " The Bards of the
Bible," a work already praifed and popular.
As compared with that which we have juft put
down, this volume is agreeable and meritorious,
free from many of the author's more glaring faults,
and of fufficient intereft to gratify a refpe6table and
numerous clafs. The fubjecSt is itfelf fo great and
inexhauftible, that he muft be a forry writer indeed
who cannot turn it to advantage. To one who
commands a fluent pen, and who is moreover
unchecked by the fpirit of reverence, — yes, even
for the mere book-maker, — what a quarry is fur-
R
242 POPULAR CRITICISM.
nifhed in the Chrlftian Bible ! Its grand old ftories
of patriarchal life, its fublime chara6lers, its gor-
geous fcenery,its human pathos and divine wifdom,
its dignity, variety, and univerfality; and thefe all
coloured and endeared by the afTociations of dawn-
ing intelligence and early childhood, form a body
of material, the rudeft index of w^hich muft needs
outvie in intereft the moft finifhed fpecimens of
human art. As eaftern peafants build their rude
huts from the ruins of Baalbec, fo do fuch authors
conftrucl their literary edifices, — vi^oful in their
difproportions, and ciumfy in their poor con-
trivances, but very coftly in their material of cedar
and gold, of porphyry and brafs ; and here a fculp-
tured image, not quite effaced, and there a pillar
or an altar, not yet overthrown, are more than
enough to rivet the attention and reward the
fearch.
The faults of this book, we fay, are not fo
glaring as thofe of the author's "Third Gallery of
Portraits ;" but they are fubftantially the fame in
character, however fubdued in tone and modified
in form. There is the fame lack of precifion,
difcrimination, and fobriety j the fame taftelefs and
tirefome flrain upon the imagination of the reader.
The work throughout is vague in its portraitures,
unworthy in its allufions, and irreverent in its
treatment. It is in the preface to this volume
that our author enunciates the maxim already
quoted, " Every true criticifm on a genuine poem
is itfelf a poem." Accordingly the author pro-
POPULAR CRITICISM. 243
duces a rhapfody when he imagines he is writing a
critique. Trying his predeceflbrs by his own
warm ftandard, he finds them cold and tame.
Lowth is only " elegant ;" he " never rifes to the
height of his great argument." His criticifm wants
" fubtlety, power, and abandonment." (Surely a
critic is the only fpecies of judge who was ever
impeached for this deficiency, — this fatal want of
" abandonment.") But Herder, it feems, " was a
man of another fpirit ; and his report of the good
land of Hebrew poetry, compared to Lowth's, is
that of Caleb or Jofhua to that of the other Jewifh
fpies." One would naturally fuppofe, from the
allufion of this pafi^age, that Biftiop Lowth fpoke
in moft difparaging terms of " the good land of
Hebrew poetry j" but our author probably means
that he lived long and familiarly in that " good
land," explored all its vineyards, tafted all its
variety of fruits, and gathered more than one rich
fpecimen, — which, indeed, is true.
It muft be granted that Mr. Gilfillan is a critic
of a very different ftamp to Bifhop Lowth. His
notion of poetry is fo loofe and general, that he
feems to hold that whatever is good in literature is
poetical. Thus with him all the Bible is true
poetry, and one bard not eflentially diftinguifhed
from another. We have poetry of the New
Teftament as well as of the Old ; and it is with
evident relu6tance that our author excepts from
the fame category the argumentative writings of
St. Paul. \n all this Mr. Gilfillan gives evidence
244 POPULAR CRITICISM.
of much good feeling and many devout afTocia-
tions ; but none of any peculiar fitnefs for the
office whofe functions he has afTumed.
While the plan of this work is thus radically
faulty, the ftyle and fpirit of its execution confpire
to make it really pernicious. When he meets with a
chapter infcribed^'ThePoetry of the Pentateuch,"
the phrafe is fufficiently doubtful to make the
reader paufe, or hold himfelf ready for further in-
timations of the author's meaning. In what fenfe
is the Pentateuch to be efteemed as fo much
poetry } Knowing Mr. Gilfillan's peculiar man-
ner, we are able to acquit him of doubting the
authenticity and truth of the Mofaic record ; but
the curfory reader of his volume may not be
equally prepared. He finds a frequent tranfition
from fome high-founding praife of Hebrew King
or Prophet to a modern and perhaps not much
refpe6ted name. In point of tafte, this is an ob-
vious blemifh, as nothing but difenchantment can
refult. Thefe allufions are feldom warranted by
any real propriety, and never fancftioned by any
evident advantage ; they are gratuitous folecifms
in a work where a certain dignity of tone is de-
manded by the elevation of its theme. We could
fpare our author many of his grander flights, to
efcape the humiliation and danger of his fudden
and perilous defcents ; for danger of a certain
kind there is. The diftincfive infpiration of the
facred bards is not, indeed, denied j but they are
torcedunceremonioufly into profane company, and
compared at random with modern and even living
POPULAR CRITICISM, 245
authors ; till the reader is apt to fuppofe them all of
one guild. It is of no ufe to aflert a diftincStion in
one place, and then lofe fight of it in every other.
Why fhould the names of Shelley and Coleridge
and Byron, — of " Lalla Rookh" and Macaulay's
" Lays,"— of " Macbeth," " Feftus," and the
" Pilgrim's Progrefs," fo frequently appear on
pages profefiedly devoted to the Bards of the
Bible ? Serving no purpofe of ufeful illuftration,
their introduction is at beft a grave impertinence
and an oitentatious folly.
It is time to bring thefe ftriftures to a clofe ;
but it remains for us to notice, by anticipation, a
remonftrance to which they may poflibly expofe
ourfelves. We have faid much about our author's
faults, but w\\2it of his real merits ? Are they ab-
folutely nil J or we fo injurious as to fupprefs them ?
Let us own that fomething might have been in-
genioully arrayed upon the other fide. A book
may be pofitively worfe than worthlefs, and yet
not abfolutely void of merit. As there is no
popular fallacy which does not take rife from fome
partial or defective view of truth, fo, perhaps, never
was there a literary reputation earned without
talent of fome kind or other. This talent may be
folitary, and fo ufelefs ; perverted, and fo mif-
chievous ; out of all proportion, a deformity, an
excrefcence ; but fomething there will be to ex-
tenuate, if not to juftify, the public folly. If a
writer chance to be the reverfe of faftidious, he
may run on at almoft any length upon any given
fubje6l. If he be, moreover, a perfon of vivid
246 POPULAR CRITICISM,
imagination, he can hardly fail to give off fome
ftriking things, ftruck out in the impetuofity of
his headlong courfe. Mr. Gilfillan is an author
of this kind. He has imagination, though it
be not elevated or enlarged, not cultivated or
enriched, not trained by intelle6lual habits, or
fubordinated to the rule of judgment. It is a
fomevi^hat diftempered imagination, too foon ex-
cited, and too far indulged. Our author's thoughts
are therefore only fine by accident. His fimiles
are generally audacious failures j but occafionally
they are of ftriking excellence, and, like a for-
tunate rebellion, juftify themfelves by their fuccefs.
When he fays of John Sterling, " His mental
ftruggles, though fevere, were not of that earth-
quaking kind vv^hich fhook the foul of Arnold, and
drove Sartor howling through the Everlajiing No^
like a lion caught in a foreji fire ; " there is a fplen-
dour about this final image w^hich makes us v^^ifli
it v^^ere not fo awkwardly introduced. Still better,
becaufe not fo encumbered, is his defcription of
the policy and power of Ruflia, as " thefilent con-
fpiracy of ages, — cold, vaji^ quietly progrejjive, as a
glacier gathering round an Alpine valley.''^ Thefe
images, we fay, are fine ; and they are fo becaufe
of their ftriking aptitude and truth ; and a few
more of the fame kind might, doubtlefs, be ga-
thered from this author's publications. But to
what good end ? It is certainly not defirable to
encourage the ufe of Mr. Gilfillan's pen on the
wide, and high, and folemn, and important themes
of which he is enamoured, for the fake of giving
POPULAR CRITICISM, 247
full fcope to the indulgence of this gift of doubtful
value ; and to themes of humbler chara6ler and
lefTer moment he will hardly be perfuaded. If
any confideration could induce Mr. Gilfillan to
forget, for fome fhort time, the great men of the
world, — to leave the Aiirabeaus and Miltons on
their craggy heights ; if he would lay afide all
books, and watch the world of men and nature
with calmer eyes, and never write a line fuggefted
by one already written, — we fhould yet have
hopes of him. But we fear he is too far gone in
his love of power to defcend from his di6tatorial
eminence ; and we cannot flatter his pretenfions to
occupy the throne of univerfal criticifm. While
he is making his pompous awards in every con-
ceivable dire6i:ion, we point to the evidence juft
given as in very ridiculous contrail. He has in
truth no fmgle qualification for the office of a
critic, either of facred or profane literature, and,
in afluming the one after the other, he has only
added prefumption to incompetence, and irrever-
ence to prefumption.
ALFRED TENNYSON.
E have in Mr. Tennyfon the pureft
fpecimen ofthepoetic character which
the laft half-century has produced ;
and this we fay in entire remembrance
of the great poetic lights by which that period has
been illuftrated and adorned. It may be premature
to fix the relative pofition of a ftar fo recently ap-
pearing in the literary firmament ; but the purity
and fplendour of its ray are not to be miftaken.
If the cafe be fo ; if (to purfue the metaphor a little
longer) an orb of fong be really before us ; the
art-critic may do well to put by his opera-glafs as
quite unferviceable, fince the telefcope itfelf will
only ferve to feparate it in its fphere, and aflift us
in defining its relative pofition. The glafs of
criticifm may deteft a meteor or falfe light of any
kind ; but it cannot augment the glory of a ftar.
In other words, a great poet is at nearly equal dif-
tance from us all. Tafte, fcience, and the niceft
obfervation do but imperfecSlly appreciate what the
naked fenfe enables all men to enjoy. Of courfe,
this is no reafon why the lofty fphere of Mr.
ALFRED TENNTSON. 249
Tennyfon fhould be tacitly aflumed by us ; and it
will prefently appear that, while we deem it futile
to offer direct proofs of his poetic rank, we are yet
ready to affign fome reafons for that very favour-
able eftimate which we have formed and exprefled.
Since a new poet is not unfrequently announced,
it is time that we fhould learn to take the term in
an accommodated fenfe, or otherwife to qualify
unreafonable hopes. This we may bell do by re-
membering all the virtues which that title promifes,
and all the honours which it properly confers. By
fo doing we (hall be more juft to the new afpirant ;
we fhall bear in mind how many are the chances
againft his being either now, or in the future, a
worthy heir of fame, and feel neither difappoint-
ment nor contempt becaufe his young deferts fail
far below the ftandard of poetic greatnefs. Have
any of us well obferved how high that ftandard is ?
While poetic feeling is by no means an uncommon
element in human nature, and poetic power is not
the leaft frequent of natural endowments, a great
poet is, perhaps, the rareft of all human chara6ters.
Perfection, indeed, is not to be expelled in this
earthly ftate, while humanity is fubje6t to fo many
drawbacks and infirmities ; but pofitive excellence
is more frequently achieved in any intellectual
fphere than that of poetry. This is due chiefly to
the faft, that it is not an intellectual fphere alone,
— that for the art and myftery of fong is demanded
a combination of natural gifts, and moral qualities,
and concurrent circumffances, fuch as no other
exercife of genius calls for; while thefe conditions
250 ALFRED TENNTSON.
are as delicate in their nature as they are impera-
tive in their obligation ; and the world, which is
fo conftantly miniftering to them on the one hand,
is as conftantly militating againft them on the
other.
The natural endowments of the poet are pri-
mary and indifpenfable ; for thefe fupply the very
bafis of his charader. The large brain, or uni-
verfal organ, fufceptive of all the affedions, and
apprehenfive of all the truths of humanity, — in
this gift are included all the reft. It would be
unprofitable, if noworfe, to go further in this direc-
tion, except, perhaps, to fuggeft thatfome faculty,
anfwering to the ideality of the phrenologifts, is
the arch and crown of all the others, is the medium
by which they all communicate, and in which they
all inofculate and end. This may form the original
diftinction of poetic genius ; but otherwife it may
be faid to confift in a certain fulnefs and harmony
of all the faculties, which ferve to infure a rare and
unerring infight into nature, ufingthat term in the
moft comprehenfive fenfe. The brain, the mind,
the chara6ler of a great poet, is totus^ teres^ atque
rotundus.
It is true, then, — an old truth ever new, — that
the poet is born and not made. But let us not
therefore judge that his deftiny is accomplifhed, or
his crown fure. Baffled, wearied, or diverted from
his courfe, he may never reach the goal for which
Dame Nature has equipped him. He may be
born a poet, and die a philofopher ; he may be born
a great poet, and die an obfcure one ! This para-
ALFRED TENNTSON 251
dox is not inexplicable, is not hard to be under-
ftood. The truth is, that to live the life poetic,
to nourifh all its afFecSlions, to develope all its
powers, and fo eventually to anfwer all its miffion,
is at once a great trial of conftancy, and the teft
of fuperior fortune. The pofitive attributes of the
poetic chara6ler are, we repeat, primary and indif-
penfable ; but thefe are of themfelves inadequate,
and may altogether fail in conferring, by their own
inherent force, either the confummate minftrelfy
or the immortal guerdon. Hence many perfons
of poetic mark and promife, whofe energies have
afterwards found fcopeand exercife in otherfpheres,
have not been able to fuftain the poetic chara6ler
in all its breadth, fimplicity, and power. Born
under the fmile of all the mufes, they have finally
attached themfelves to one. Feeling the ftirrings
of the prophetic genius, they haveallowedthe fpirit
of the world to break in upon them, and loft its
facred mood. From deliberate choice or gradual
inclination, at the fuggeftion of duty or from the
violence of circumftances, the poet has often fold
his vaft inheritance, and bought a field ; given up
his intereft in the beauties of a world, and centered
it upon fome fmall produdti ve province ; exchanged,
it may be, divination for fcience, and art for criti-
cifm. Nor {hould we wonder at this circumftance.
There is nothing more eafy than this procefs of
deterioration ; for fuch it is, though not always to
be deplored. The poet, as belonging to the order
of a natural priefthood, fhould be devoted and fet
apart to his fpecial office. He muft go in and out
252 ALFRED TENNYSON,
among mankind, fuftain all its relations, experience
all its forrows, have fhare in all its delights ; but
he muft gather up the fkirts of his " finging robes,"
as he pafles through the forum and the market,
as he mingles with the crowd of partifans and
worldlings, as he loiters in the halls of induftry and
fcience. He muft contra6l no duft or ftain of any
clafs. He muft be in the world, but not of the
world ; may indulge its partialities, but muft have
no fhare in its prejudices; may love his country
much, but muft love his fpecies more. Knowledge
he muft have ; but it muft not be labelled or laid
up in artificial forms. What he gains as ?ifavan
he muft enjoy like a child, that he may employ it
like a poet. Now, againft this mood of wife fim-
plicity, of earneft but catholic delight, a thoufand
influences array themfelves, — poverty with its
cares, bufmefs with its diftracSlions, and pleafure
with its ftrong allurements. The beft qualities of
the poet's nature may prove his moft befetting
fnares. His keen love of approbation maylead
him to feek the praife of a frivolous fociety, or a
fuperficial age. His love of knowledge may divert
him into partial ftudies ; his love of beauty betray
him into luxurious and fatal eafe. Or all thefe
may act together, and diffipate the mind, and de-
grade the moral fenfe, until he makes ftiipwreck
both of happinefs and fame ; foundering, like fome
rich merchantman, ill-manned but coftly- freighted,
the victim of too much treafure and unequal fea-
manftiip.
But this is not all. The conditions neceftary
ALFRED TENNYSON. 253
for the production of a poet of the firft order, are
befet with peculiar difficulties in a period of ad-
vanced civilization and high literary attainments.
All that is valuable in a poet's education is the fruit
of his individual effort, of fevere but generous felf-
culture ; and hence it follows, that he has more to
lofe than gain by the mechanical aids to knowledge,
by the eager fpirit of refearch, by the varied and
ceafelefs acquifitions of an era like our own. It
was not always fo. In the world's nonage he
enjoyed a liberty dearer than aught befide ; and in
finging from his own full heart and mind, in cele-
brating, without model, di6lation, or reftraint of
any kind, heroic deeds, ftrange fortunes, pure love,
and fimple faith, he rehearfed all the powers of
language, and anticipated all the refources of in-
vention. Hence that miracle of art, that epitome
of literature, which bears the name of Homer.
Hence the fulnefs, clearnefs, and authority of
Shakefpeare's mufe. And becaufe this freedom
was gradually invaded by the advance of fcience,
or enfeebled by prefcriptive laws, we have to lament
the poor imitative notes of the poetry of the lail
century, and the " uncertain found" delivered
from the filver trumpet of the prefent.
It is truethat the generation which has only
lately paiTed away had juft caufe to glory in its
bards. If no "bright particular ilar" burns foli-
tary in that quarter of the hemifphere, we may fee
there a conftellation oflights, diffimilar in radiance
and of different magnitudes, but foftly blending all
their affociated glories. Much fine and genuine
254 ALFRED TENNTSON.
poetry illuftrated the regency and reign of George
the Fourth. Yet the deteriorating influences we
have enumerated may eafily be traced in the pro-
du6lions of that period j and even when they have
allowed fome compofitions to come forth pure and
uninjured, they have ftill operated with certain
efFe6t in preventing the full development, or in
marring the grand fimplicity, of the poet's charac-
ter. We repeat, this is not always to be regretted ;
other forms of literature have often profited by
this deviation or perverfion ; but the fa(5t at leaft
may be clearly afcertained by a brief reference to
our poetic kalendar.
Of all the modern poets, Campbell and Rogers
have made fureft work for immortality. What-
ever is eflential and permanent in poetry of the an-
cient claffic type, has been beautifully adapted by
the Englifli mufe of Rogers. In Campbell, there
is frequently fomething of a more meretricious
chara6ler ; but many of his lyrics have the true
bardic fpirit and the ftrong Saxon voice ; and his
ftory of Gertrude and her fortunes in the wilder-
nefs of the Savannah, while it breathes an Arca-
dian fweetnefs of its own, is inverted with a thou-
fand graces which confer a perdurable beauty.
But neither of thefe authors is the great command-
ing poet of his age ; and ftill lefs can this be faid
of any of their celebrated contemporaries. Scott
revived with eminent fuccefs the foul of border
minftrelfy ; but his hearty, healthful verfe had
neither the concentration nor the pitch of poetry;
it pleafed rather from the romance and frefhnefs of
ALFRED TENNTSON. 255
his theme, than becaufe of its general truth or deep
fignificance. Byron, even in his beft produ6lions,
evinced a fatal lack of comprehenfivenefs, a defi-
cient eye for form, and an excefs of fentiment not
often of the pureft fort. His intenfe egotifm un-
fitted him for doing juftice to other and more
noble types of chara6ler ; while a great egotift is
never a great poet, unlefs (like Milton or Dante)
he is alfo the greateft and foremoft man of his age.
He wanted the moral far more than the intellectual
qualities of greatnefs ; and had no right conception
of the beauty, dignity, and power of virtue. In-
capable of exercifing the higheft fun6lions of the
poet, he might probably have become the firft
fatirift of his day. The mufe of Shelley was the
apotheofis of philofophy. Liftening to his fong, it
feemed that the foul of Plato was paffing mourn-
fully over an aeolian lyre, and a beautiful abftradion
— call it wifdom, liberty, or virtue — rofe in fuper-
natural fplendour, and vaniftied among the ftars.
The genius of Moore was mufical rather than
poetic : he delighted and excelled in melody, but
always failed in profound or harmonious combina-
tions. Fancy he had, and feeling in a moderate
degree ; but in imagination he was almoft totally
deficient. His ftyle was artificial, — his tafte for
the beautiful, limited, conventional, and fa6titious.
Neither the Englifh heart nor the Englifh head
could find fatisfadion in his minftrelfy ; and even
his fweeteft fongs lofe more than half their charms
when divorced from the melodious airs which
animated them at the firft, and gave to them the
256 ALFRED TENNTSON.
principle of life. Southey was a lefs popular but
far more genuine poet. Indeed, all the gifts, and
nearly all the graces, of his art were prefent with
him ; and this he has evinced by the tafte, variety,
and invention of his numerous verfe. But he
ftudied man too little, and books far too exclufively.
The frefhnefs and the freedom of the poetic cha-
racter were loft in his fcholarly feclufion: he taxed
his powerful mind with continual efforts of re-pro-
du6tion ; and the genius that v/as at firft only
difturbed became finally overlaid. His thirfl: of
knowledge joined with the exigencies of daily life
to draw him from communion with the mufe ; and
inftead of the greateft poet of the age, he will be
henceforth known as the nobleft and pureft of its
men of letters. Far different moral caufes led to
no very different iffue the marvellous pov/ers of
Coleridge. With the fineft ear, the moft delicate
fancy, and the moft fuperb imagination of any poet
of that famous period, he left the dial that ftands
within the poet's garden to peer behind the clock-
work of the univerfe, and grew bewildered in pre-
fence of the vaft machinerv, and fell ftunned and
voicelefs before the awful proceffion of its wheels.
He exchanged poetic fynthefis for metaphyfical
analyfis ; gathered fome fragments of the under-
working law, but relinquifhed all the fmiling
•appanage of nature. The world ftill waited for
its poet. Many thought he had alreadv come in
the perfon of William Wordfworth, whofe pre-
tenfions were defpifed or overlooked, only becaufe
of the ftudied plainnefs of his appeal. Yet thofe
ALFRED TENNTSON. 257
pretenfions were at leaft fufficiently advanced, if
not haughtily preferred or royally fupported. He
eflayed all the varieties of his art, from ballad
meafures to epic lengths ; but he had not eminent
fuccefs in more than two. Excepting only fome
fifty of his fonnets and a few noble odes, there is
nothing in his volumes which the world could not
well fpare. His ballads are not fo much fimple as
naked, not fo much homely as profaic. His " Ex-
curfion " is tedious, verbofe, metaphyseal ; ela-
borate in manner, and not ftinted in dimenfions,
it is quite wanting in conflru(flive art ; it is indefi-
nite in its purpofe, and inconclufive as a whole.
There is little difficulty in pointing out this author's
chief defeft. He had the poet's mind, but not the
poet's manner; he had fomething of the artift's
tafteful eye, but little of the artift's fkilful hand.
His touch was often feeble, hefitating, ineffectual ;
and feldom did he inform the picSlure with a pleaf-
ing or a perfect grace. The philofophical element
is too manifeft and too predominant in all his
works. A fage he was ; but no crowned poet, no
magician. He had the lore of Profpero, his
gravity, and his dignity; but no wand was in his
hand, and no Ariel at his beck.
From each of the authors we have named, many
beautiful poems have been received into the antho-
logy of England ; but who is by emphafis the
POET ? We find fomething to admire in the
"works" of every one; but where is the mafter
that lifts up all the powers of our hearts and minds
together, and makes nature to dance in concert
258 ALFRED TENNYSON.
with the foul at the mere hearing of his voice ?
The Chriftabel of Coleridge, the O'Connor's
Child of Campbell, the Adonais and Ode to the
Sky-Lark of poor unhappy Shelley, Moore's tender
Melodies, and Wordfworth's noble Sonnets, —
thefe are choice pieces in our claffical repertory,
and we can only fpare them from our fide becaufe
they are already graven in our hearts. But fome-
thing of higher note, of rarer excellence, is yet a-
wanting ; and while the world yet waits, breathlefs
with expectation, a clear high voice is heard ad-
vancing on the ear, and the poet's advent is unmif-
takeably announced in the chara6ter of his fore-
runner.
" The rain had fallen, the Poet arofe,
He pafs'ci by the town, and out of the ftreet,
A light wind blew from the gates of the lun,
And waves of lliadow went over the wheat,
And he fat him down in a lonely place.
And chanted a melody loud and fweet.
That made the wild fwan paufe in her cloud.
And the lark drop down at his feet.
" The fwallow ftopt as he hunted the bee.
The fnake flipt under a fpray.
The wild hawk flood with the down on his beak,
And ftared with his foot on the prey.
And the nightingale thought, ' I have fung many fongs.
But never a one fo gay;
For he fings of what the world will be,
When the years have died away.' "
It is not our intention to enter minutely into
the chara6ter and merits of Mr. Tennyfon's poetry.
Prefuming that our author's publications are more
or lefs familiar to the reader, we fhall briefly indi-
cate the qualities which feem to juftify in fome
ALFRED TENNTSON. 259
degree the praife of his admirers, and give to him
a high and independent place among the Englifh
poets. To this courfe we are certainly moved by-
no fpirit of partifanfhip ; and wq may equally dif-
claim that feeling of exclufive preference w^hich is
fo apt to warp the judgment and corrupt the tafte.
Our lympathies (as the reader probably by this time
knows) are not deeply engaged in favour of the
fubje6tive fchool of poetry, with which Mr. Tenny-
fon is commonly, but not quite fairly, identified ;
yet it is only juft that the diftindion fhould be
made, and clearly marked, between what is genuine
and original in the prefent claimant, and what is
meretricious and extravagant in his younger rivals.
There is fome danger of the former fharing in the
condemnation of the latter; and fo an injuflice
may be done to one of the moft gifted of his race
and order. Yet it is furely idle to confound the
merits and pofition of Mr. Tennyfon with thofe of
certain imitators and enthufiafts. His poems are
too well conceived, his thoughts too harmonioufly
ordered, to allow anything but reckleflnefs or in-
capacity fo far to misjudge his real character. He
has no relation to what has been defignated '' the
fpafmodic fchool of poetry," excepting that his
genius has quickened into unequal emulation the
poetic inftindl of far inferior men ; and in thefe
cafes it was only natural that the external features
of his poetry fhould be moft clofely followed, and
carried to " wafteful and ridiculous excefs." Hence
his frequent but felicitous ufe of flowers, for the
fubordinate purpofes of fentiment and imagery,
26o ALFRED TENNYSON,
is mere purpofelefs profufion in the pages of fome
of our younger poets ; and what in him is but an
occafional voice of wonder, or of doubt, becomes
in them an intolerable fenfe of moral confufion,
and a monotonous wail of mifanthropic grief.
But your orthodox man of tafte will reject the
claims of Mr. Tennyfon, as ftoutly as thofe of his
mofl extravagant contemporaries. His delight is
in the fatires and the epitaphs of Pope. He calls
eafily to memory, and repeats, with proudeft em-
phafis, the opening lines of " The Traveller," and
triumphantly inquires, " Do you want finer poetry
than that ? " He believes alfo in Shakefpeare ;
and though it is perhaps twenty years fince he
read much of the great mafter's volume, you may
truft him for corre6f quotation, as he illuflrates
fome paffing incident, fome trait of chara61:er, fome
point of cafuiflry, by noble apophthegm or golden
rule of life. Yet it may be obferved, that if his
love of Shakefpeare is unmeafured, his appreciation
is fomewhat limited. The poet is for him a clear-
eyed, mellow-voiced, and genial man of the world,
a (hrevvd obferver, a pleafant fatirift, a merry wit.
He heartily enjoys the Shakefpearian comedy ;
but gives the hiftory and tragedy, the fentiment
and forrow, quite a fecond place ; puts "As you
like it " before " The Tempefl," and quotes more
frequently the fayings of Polonius than thofe of
Hamlet. Our orthodox man of tafte is not to be
defpifed. For thefe ftrong preferences we rather
honour than condemn him. What he admires, is
genuine, is admirable ; whoever elfe is found in
ALFRED TENNTSON. 261
judgment, he at leaft is fo. Nor do we fay that
the Laureate of the prefent day will ever take rank
with the univerfal favourites, the claffics of all
time. But orthodoxy is apt to be literal and harfh,
as well as found ; and when it charges obfcurity,
excefs, and wantonnefs upon the poetic meafures
of Mr. Tennyfon, it is quite pollible that the defi-
ciency and fault may not reft wholly with the
poet. Handel is the grand maeftro ; yet is there
no mufic in the wild and wailing fymphonies of
Beethoven ? Goethe is the great fage ; yet is
there no wifdom, {himmering Hke innumerable
glowworms, in the foreft of Jean Paul's quaint
fancy and invention \ Gainfborough and Rey-
nolds are the glory of the Britifh fchool ; but is no
fentiment to be found in the fertile grace of Stoth-
ard, no freftinefs in the homely paftorals of Con-
ftable ? It is the higheft-mounted man who fees
the fartheft ; and that is the trueft tafte which
comprehends the wideft kingdom and the moft
numerous fubje61:s in its impartial range. But
befides this neceflary power of catholic apprecia-
tion of all that is genuine in literature or art, an-
other confideration ftiould reprefs exclufive judg-
ments. The writings of Pope and Goldfmith, and
even thofe of Shakefpeare, form no fufficient teft
of the reader's love of poetry ; for a man of com-
parative dulnefs may find amufement in the mere
letter of thefe compofitions. It is quite another
thing to find pleafure in Spenfer's " Fairy Queen,"
or Milton's " Comus," or, of later date, in the fine
fragments of young Keats, beautiful as Elgin
262 ALFRED TENNYSON.
marbles. This is indeed to give evidence of deep
poetic feeling ; and it is juft the ear and fancy
Vi^hich are fo arrefted, that v^ill find, as v^e believe,
a fatisfacSlion, not inferior, but flill deeper and more
complete, in the produ6lions of the prefent Lau-
reate.
Mr. Tennyfon has been thought to ow^e much
to the philofophic mufe of Wordfworth ; but we
cannot trace the debt. The only likenefs w^e can
difcern betw^een thefe authors, is in the devotion
of their lives to the attainment of poetic excellence.
Becaufe of this fuflained and rare devotion, in
vi^hich they equally fecured fome pure advantages,
and exercifed their povi^ers with fulleft freedom,
we may all the more fairly eftimate the relative
refults. One grand particular may be felefted as,
in fome degree, inclufive of all the reft ; and figni-
ficant, if not decifive, of their refpe6live merit.
The difference in the ftyle or manner of thefe two
poets is ftriking, and, at the fame time, chara6ler-
iftic of more eflential differences. Wordfworth's
thoughts are often beautiful and juft ; and being,
moreover, elaborately fet in meafured verfe and
ftudled phrafe, there is a certain dignity about the
whole, which challenges the praife of poetry. Yet
we feel, fometimes painfully, the fubfervience of
the fpirit to the letter of poetic truth, of the
aefthetic to the rational appreciation of external
things, and mark too clearly the deliberate coinage
and patent artifice of all his words and lines.
Poetry is with him the fele6led medium of his
thoughts, not the fpontaneous language of infpired
ALFRED TENNTSON. 263
lips. It is very different with Mr. Tennyfon.
The bees of Hybla have fwarmed about his mouth
in infancy, — a marvellous eafe and fweetnefs are
found in all his utterance. He does not afTume
the language of poetry ; he rather realizes the ftory
of the royal fairy v^hofe words were all pure pearls.
He puts a poetic thought in poetic phrafe natu-
rally, necefTarily, as every action of a prince fpeaks
of high breeding and habitual power. But this is
not all. If this were his chief merit, if poetic
phrafe were allowed to ftand in place of profounder
qualities of truth, then the palm fhould juftly be
awarded to the fage of Rydal. Better a rhythmical
philofophy than a fhallow poetry. Better the
labouring, mournful, doubtful voice of Nature cry-
ing after God, and a difcord tortured out of the
" ftill fad mufic of humanity," than the proceffion
of inane and glittering fancies, catching, like
bubbles, the neareft light, and then burfting from
fheer tenuity and emptinefs. But is it fo with the
mufe of Alfred Tennyfon? His beauties of lan-
guage and poetic phrafe are not the fet purpofe,
but the pure redundancies, of his genius ; and yet
they are not fo far redundant but that they are
made to ferve the chief defign, — to give collateral
light, to touch, and tone, and harmonize the whole
pi6lure. Underlying all that wealth and beauty
of expreffion, that play of fancy, that fparkling
evanefcent foam of imagery, the author's main
defign, like the ftrong current of a calm fummer
fea, carries his reader forward almoft imperceptibly ;
and fo lulling are the fights and meafures which
264 JLFRED TENNTSON.
falute him, — fo idle the green, white, crefting, and
relapfing waves, fo motionlefs the thin, pure, dap-
pled fleeces of the upper fky, — that he can hardly
perfuade himfelf that he is drifted towards fome
grand conclufion, towards fome ifland of rare
lovelinefs and regenerating clime, towards fome
new continent of boundlefs treafure and dominion.
Yet fo it is. In all the poems of our author there
is more than meets the eye of the imagination, and
more than the delighted ear can well appreciate.
The moral is profoundly felt, the lefTon is received
at once into the heart ; but not lefs clearly are we
taught, not lefs certainly are we raifed into a region
of elevated truths. P'rom a higher point we furvey
a wider field, bounded by a more diflant, but ftill
beautiful, horizon. From a "peak in Darien,"
from fome rare ftand-point of this poor and
" ignorant prefent," we catch glimpfes of the tide-
lefs and boundlefs Pacific of ideal truth, and feel
how profound is that divine faying, that only " the
things which are unfeen are eternal."
This union, or rather this interfufion, of
thought and language ; this wonderful co-ordina-
tion of detail and defign, of final purpofe and fub-
ordinate expreffion ; this fubtle incorporation of
the fpirit of poetry, by which the grolTer medium
is fublimed, and the diviner eflence proje6ted into
form ; is eminently feen in our author's poem of
"The Two Voices." In that fine dialogue, a
troubled foul maintains a controverfy v/ith his evil
monitor : in what ftyle and temper, and with what
ultimate fuccefs, a hw quotations may fuffice to
fhow.
ALFRED TENNTSON. 265
'* Again the voice fpake unto me,
'Thou art fo fteepM in mifery.
Surely 'twere better not to be.
" * Thine anguifh will not let thee deep.
Nor any train of reafon keep :
Thou canft not think, but thou wilt weep.'
"I faid, ' The years with change advance ;
If I make dark my countenance,
I fhut my life from happier chance.
" * Some turn this ficknefs yet may take.
Even yet.' But he : ' What drug can make
A wither'd palfy ceafe to fhake ?'
" I wept, ' Though I lliould die, I know
That all about the thorn will blow
In tufts of rofy-tinted fnow j
" ' And men, through novel fpheres of thought.
Still moving after truths long fought.
Will learn new things when I am not.'
" * Yet,' faid the fecret voice, ' fome time
Sooner or later, will grey prime
Make thy grafs hoar with early rime.
" * Not lefs fwift fouls that yearn for light.
Rapt after heaven's ftarry flight,
Would fweep the tracks of day and night.
" * Not lefs the bee would range her cells.
The furzy prickle fire the dells,
The foxglove clufter dappled bells.'
" I faid that ' all the years invent j
Each month is various to prefent
The world with fome development.
" * Were this not well, to bide mine hour,
Though watching from a ruin'd tower.
How grows the day of human power ?'
" ' The higheft-mounted mind,' he faid,
* Still fees the facred morning fpread
The filent fummit over head.
" * Will thirty feafons render plain
Thofe lonely lights that llill remain
Juft breaking over land and main ?
266 ALFRED TENNTSON,
"* Or make that morn, from his cold crown
And cryftal filence creeping down,
Flood with full daylight glebe and town ?
" * Forerun thy peers, thy time, and let
Thy feet, millenniums hence, be fet
In midft of knowledge dream'd not yet.
" 'Thou haft not gained a real height,
Nor art thou nearer to the light,
Becaufe the fcale is infinite.' "
Maftering a ftrong reluctance, we pafs by many
beautiful verfes of this poem ; and, further on, we
read : —
" ' O dull one-fided voice,' faid I,
* Wilt thou make everything a lie,
To flatter me that I may die ?
*' * I know that age to age fucceeds,
Blowing a noife of tongues and deeds,
A dull of fyftems and of creeds.
" * I cannot hide that fome have ftriven,
Achieving calm, to whom was given
The joy that mixes man with heaven :
" * Who, rowing hard againft the ftream,
Saw diftant gates of Eden gleam,
And did not dream it was a dream j
" * But heard, by fecret tranfport led.
Even in the charnels of the dead,
The murmur of the fountain-head —
" ' Which did accomplifh their defire.
Bore and forbore, and did not tire,
Like Stephen, an unquench'dfire :
*' ' He heeded not reviling tones.
Nor fold his heart to idle moans.
Though curfed, and fcornM, and bruifed with ftones :
** * But looking upward, full of grace,
He prayM, and from a happy place,
God's glory fmote him in the face. ' "
However the general tenor of our author's philo-
ALFRED TENNTSON. 267
fophy be judged, — and on that topic we referve a
few remarks, — there can be little doubt of its
highly poetical charafter ; and the verfes we have
tranfcribed are fufficient to fuftain what we have
juft preferred as the peculiar praife of Mr. Tenny-
fon. All he writes is poetry : it may be of more
or lefs diftinguifhed merit, and more or lefs obvious
in its truth and beauty ; but in every mood of his
mind, in all the tones and meafures of his fong,
the poet's office is fuftained, and the poetic func-
tion purely exercifed. We have no logic chopped
into longs and fhorts ; no dull, pert argument,
dreiled up in figured robes, in which it naturally, but
abfurdly, ftumbles at almoft every ftep. In the
midft of a bufy, learned, enterprifmg age, our
author has efcaped its deadening and deteriorating
influences, and is as pure a minftrel as any trou-
badour of the age of chivalry.
Before quitting this poem of " The Two
Voices," which fo happily exemplifies our author's
poetic ftyle, it may be allowed to carry us ftill for-
ward in our eflimate ; for it is not more beautiful
in parts, than it is complete and perfe6l as a whole.
There is great truth to nature, and a fine moral
leiTon, embodied in the concluding verfes. In his
mental ftruggles the tempted fufFerer has, in each
inflance, manfully repelled the fuggeflions of
" The Voice ;" but his triumph is not complete,
his cure is not efietSted, without affiflance from
the external world. A morbid introverfion of
the mind, an eager, but unhallowed, curiofity, had
evidently fown the firfl feeds of doubt, and given
268 ALFRED TENNYSON,
occafion to the tempter of his foul ; and the evil
one had him, as it were, at difadvantage on his own
ground, fo long as the conteft was maintained
wholly from within. A new arena muft be chofen ;
frefher and healthier influences muft be allowed
to invigorate and fecond nature ; a6lion muft con-
firm the feeble di6lates of his reafon, and wideft
obfervation corre61: the partial data of fecluded
thought, and bring the whole being into accord-
ance with the world of nature and the arrange-
ments of Providence : —
** I ceafed, and fat as one forlorn.
Then faid the voice in quiet icorn,
* Behold, it is the Sabbath morn !'
" And I arofe, and I releafed
The cafement, and the light increafed
With frefhnefs in the dawning eaft.
" Like foften'd airs that blowing fteal
When woods begin to uncongeal,
The fweet church-bells began to peal.
" On to God's houfe the people preft :
Palling the place where each muft reft.
Each enter'd like a welcome gueft.
** One walk'd between his wife and child
With meafured foot-fall firm and mild,
And now and then he gravely fmiled.
" The prudent partner of his blood
Lean'd on him, faithful, gentle, good.
Wearing the rofe of womanhood.
" And in their double love fecure.
The little maiden walk'd demure.
Pacing with downward eyelids pure.
" Thefe three made unity fo fweet.
My frozen heart began to beat,
Rememberins: its ancient heat.
ALFRED TENNTSON. 269
" I bleft them, and they wandered on :
I fpoke, but anfwer came there none :
The dull and bitter voice was gone.
" A fecond voice was at mine ear,
A little whifper filver-clear,
A murmur, ' Be of better cheer.'
*' As from fome blifsful neighbourhood,
A notice faintly underftood,
* I fee the end, and know the good.*
" A little hint to folace woe,
A hint, a whifper breathing low,
' I may not fpeak of what I know.'
" Like an -^olian harp that wakes
No certain air, but overtakes
Far thought with mufic which it makes :
" Such feem'd the whifper at my fide :
* What is 't thou knoweft, fweet voice,' I cried.
* A hidden hope,' the voice replied :
" So heavenly-toned that in that hour
From out my fuUen heart a power
Broke, like the rainbow from the fhower,
" To feel, although no tongue can prove.
That every cloud that fpreads above.
And veileth love, itfelf is love."
In " The Palace of Art," and " The Vifion of
Sin," the fame fine vein of moral poetry fubfifts.
But the moft popular and perfe6l of our author's
compofitions do not prefent the moral element fo
diftin(Stively : in thefe it is merely held in folution,
while in thofe it is caft down as a bright precipitate.
The poet is generally fuccefsful in both thefe
ftylesofcompofition. What an air of truth, and
health, and happinefs, breathes in his Englifh
idyls ! — in " Dora" and "The Gardener's Daugh-
ter," and that exquilite bucohc, '* The Talking
Oak." But the genius of our poet, like the genius
270 ALFRED TENNTSON.
of his age, is eflentially lyrical. The lighteft of
individual fancies, and the graveft of prophetic
burthens, flow from him in eafy, and abundant,
and pellucid fong. In " The Princefs" we have
both thefe elements — idyllic fweetnefs and lyrical
perfection — well exemplified, and linked together
by a fable of infinite delicacy and grace. The
poem is " a Medley," for the age is fuch ; and all
its various qualities and features are reprefented in
its pages ; and efpecially are they fketched in its
fantaftic prologue with a touch fo light, fo faithful,
fo poetical, that it appears rather the efFe6l of magic
than of art. Again : what freedom of defign and
execution in the ftory of thofe wilful beauties !
what images of feminine lovelinefs ! what diflblv-
ing views of wayward and capricious paffion !
what final glimpfes into the heart and oratory of
true womanhood ! But the fineft meafures of this
poem are diftincl and feparable. Its fongs and
idyls are incomparably beautiful ; and now haunt
the foul with a fenfe of its own m.yftery and im-
mortality, and now " lap it in foft Lydian airs."
Who that has read can ever forget the " fmall,
fweet idyl," beginning, " Come down, O maid !
from yonder fhepherd height ?" Too well known,
alfo, is the famous Bugle Song to admit of its quo-
tation ; but the echo of it remains upon the ear,
and wanders through the mind and heart, and
grows only the more diftindl as it faints in utter
finenefs.
In the poem of In Memoriam^ the admirers
of our author recognize the fulfilment of his
I
ALFRED TENNYSON. 271
higheft promifes, and the culmination of all his bril-
liant powers. Others point to it in vindication of
their former coldnefs and miftruft, as ftrongly con-
firming the charges of obfcurity, exaggeration, and
myfticifm. One thing, at lead, is clear : this
poem is intenfely chara6leriftic of the author ; if it
owes much to the fineft qualities of his genius, it
indicates fomething alfo of his prevailing fault.
The reader will remember that this memorial
poem is compofed of a feries of fmaller poems, or
ftrophes, written under the influence, more or lefs
remote, of grief for the lofs of a dear and moft ac-
complilhed friend, and finally depofited — a handful
of violets, a chaplet of i?nmorteUes — upon a long-
cold grave. The charadfer of this rare tribute of
love and admiration is quite unique. Compofed
at different times, and under different moods of
mind, it varies in the perfonal pathos of its grief.
Mourning the early lofs of a much-gifted friend,
the poet's genius prompts him to fpeculation ; and
he glances, with wondering, awed, yet not un-
fteady gaze, into the myfi:ery of life, the deftiny of
man. In this attitude of brooding thought — in
its intenfely fubje6five charafter — lie both the
ftrength and weaknefs of this poem, its value as a
rare and precious ftudy, its ifolation from the popu-
lar fympathy and tafte. Here again we have that
happy fufion of fentiment and language, and that
interaition of thought, and mufic, and exprefiion,
which give fo great a charm to all our author's
poetry. Thefe harmonies are, with many readers,
the chief merit of In Memoria?n ; but perhaps
272 ALFRED TENNTSON.
its moft fafcinating quality is that which borders
clofely upon the obfcure, — which fuggefts to the
foul, rather than fpeaks to the mind, and affords
dim intimations of fomething " more than meets
the ear." The fpeculations of the poet have given
rife to great fufpicions of his faith j and fome have
charged a pantheiftical tendency upon the whole
production. We do not wonder at the grave
fufpicions ; but the conclufion of the author's
pantheifm feems to us unfounded. We have no
decided recognition of revealed and faving truth,
nor any indication of that clear and perfect con-
fidence which the gofpel confers on the believer ;
but faith in God, in His perfonal chara6ter, in His
overruling, but myfterious, providence, and even
in His gracious purpofes through Chrift, does ap-
pear in our author's pages, and comes to relieve
his gloomiefl doubts. He recoils from the con-
clufions of learned infidels, and from the cold
fpeclre which they worfhip under the name of
" Nature."
" And he, fhall he,
" Man, her laft work, who feemM fo fair.
Such fplendld purpofe in his eyes,
Who roird the plalm to wintry fkies.
Who built him fanes of fruitlels prayer;
" Who trufted God was love indeed,
And love Creation's final law ; —
Though Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravin, fhriek'd againft his creed ;
*' Who loved, who fufFer'd countlefs ills.
Who battled for the True, the Juft, —
Be blown about the defert duft,
Or feal'd within the iron hills ?
ALFRED TENNTSON. 273
" No more ? A monfter then, a dream,
A difcord j dragons of the prime.
That tare each other in their flime.
Were mellow mufic match'd with him. ^
" O, life as futile, then, as frail !
O for Thy voice to foothe and blefs !
What hope of anfwer, or redrefs ?
Behind the veil, behind the veil."
Little fpace is left to us to fpealc of Mr. Tenny-
fon's laft production : but the work is in every-
body's hands, our contemporaries have difcufled at
large its beauties and defeats, and, after the gene-
ral views we have prefented of what feems to us
the chara6i:er of our author's poetry, few words
will fuffice to (how in what manner we eftimate
the neweffort of his mufe. The poem of ^^Maud^''
which was expecSted with too great eagernefs, has
been naturally received with too little candour and
allowance. This is the tax an author pays for
his own great reputation. We not only ex-
pect: (till better things of him than he has yet
achieved, but his work muft be of a certain pre-
conceived defcription, and his triumph univerfal
as well as eminent. He muft pleafe all, and each
in his own way. If his later ftyle refemble the
former, he is faid to be wearing himfelfout ; if it
confiderably differ, he is lofmg himfelf in a wrong
direction. Now the poem before us, though long
enough to give the leading title to a volume of
minor pieces, makes no extraordinary pretenfions,
and challenges no efpecial admiration. It is no
allegory of the war on the one hand, and no epic
illuftration on the other. It is the dithyrambic of
274 ALFRED TENNYSON,
a thwarted and embittered youth, degraded by the
evils of a peftilent and bloated peace. This fub-
jecl was probably felecfled as affording occafion for
exhibiting the focial ufes of a war like that in which
.we are engaged, — an object, no doubt, primary in
the defign of the poet, but made fecondary and in-
cidental only in his poem. We are not altogether
pleafed with the choice which Mr. Tennyfon
has made. In truth, the poem is not eminently
pleafing as a whole ; it lacks that clearnefs, fym-
metry, and ferene expreflion, which are the laft
perfection of the artiff. Yet ourjuft confidence
in Mr. Tennyfon makes us diffident in this con-
clufion ; and fure v/e are that repeated ftudy of
his poem has greatly leffened the diffatisfaction
which a firft perufal left upon our minds. Some
readers mifs painfully the wonted eafe and fmooth-
nefs of our author's poetry : but an ear fo cunning
as this mafter's is not eafily betrayed ; and under
his moft rugged lines will be found a full current
of harmonious mufic, fuch as no dulcet meafures
can pretend to. The fecret of this verfification —
of its novelty, abruptnefs, and feeming harfhnefs —
is its profound and exquifite adaptation to the mind
as well as to the ear : it reconciles the voice of
paffion, the moods of waywardnefs and fear, with
the fupreme demands of art ; it is reprefentative
poetry in the loweft as well as in the higheft fenfe.
Take, for example, the firft ftrophe of the poem.
We have feen thefe ftanzas quoted as a merebur-
lefque of poetry. Read them again, — read them
aloud ; and it cannot fail to be perceived that the
ALFRED TENNTSON. 275
choice of accentual, rather than of pure metrical,
effe6t was moft felicitous. Say, if you pleafe, our
author has turned a column of police reports into
poetry. Yet, poetry it furely is, and that of a very
noble kind. Every word is effective ; every ac-
cent falls in the critical place and time ; every line
is graphic and fonorous in the laft degree. The
paffage reads like a public indidlment, and, rifmg
into a declaration of war, feems to clofe with the
blaft of a trumpet.
The remaining beauties of this poem are ac-
knowledged and felt by all. There is no need to
quote, much lefs to vindicate, the inimitable fong
beginning, " Com.e into the garden, Maud." It
is the exuberant paffion of a true and earneft heart,
unfolding in an atmofphere of balmieft oriental
fancies, and efflorefcing into rich and odorous
beauty — fo fweet that the fenfe aches at it, fo deli-
cate that no pencil can define it, fo fimple that a
child may fall in love with it, fo fubtle that no
philofophy can analyfe it, fo marvellous that all
muft be content to ponder and enjoy it. But this
queen-lyric is only fuperior, and not folitary, in its
beauty. It overpeers a band of rival graces. Only
lefs charming than the invocation we have re-
ferred to is the ftrain commencing, " Go not,
happy day, from the (hining fields ;" but it is to
the other as the primrofe to the rofe. In the pen-
ultimate ftrophe of the poem we have a ftill
higher triumph of poetic genius in the delineation
of a difordered mind. Nothing is more certain in
fa6):, and nothing more difficult to realize in art,
276 ALFRED TENNTSON.
than the " method" which is involved even in
utter " madnefs." It is a teft worthy of the powers
of Shakefpearehimfelf; and few befides have pafled
it undegraded. Yet Mr. Tennyfon muft be num-
bered with the few, fo admirable is the manner in
which gleams of memory, and glimpfes of the
truth, are made to break through the lowering
clouds of paffion and unreafon.
Of the minor poems which compofe the latter
half of this volume, the fineft is the " Ode," firft
publifhed on occafion of the Great Duke's burial.
To fay that it is worthy of the author, and equal to
the theme is high, but not unmerited praife. It is
m.artial mufic, keen, clear, or duly muffled, re-
training its exulting note in prefence of the grave,
and that one Foe, unconcjuered and unevaded.
" The Brook" is an idyl of the kind in which Mr.
Tennyfon has always fuch fuccefs ; and the lines
fuggefted by " The Daify," fo different from thofe
of Montgomery and Burns which bear the fame
title, are written in the author's chara6leriftic
manner, and have an independent beauty of their
own.
NOCTES AMBROSIAN^.
HE fame man in different circum-
ftances, and what then ? Poftpone
his birth, tranflate his home, alter his
focial grade, and, in all outward things,
reverfe his fortune ; will his chara6ler be developed
into the fame fubftantial form ? Can the imagina-
tion re-adjuft the features of a life in any new pofi-
tion ? To do fo would be a matter of the highefl:
difficulty, but perhaps it is not quite impoffible.
Yet, if we endeavour to eftimate the refults of
this hypothetical combination, our conclufion muft
remain unverified : it is only a conjefture at the
beft. With perfons of ordinary flamp, who ac-
cept their deftiny as infants receive their breath
and children daily bread, it is eafy to conceive how
little alteration would be made in their lot by
their birth happening in other lands or earlier ages.
To know the habits of fuch age or country is to
know the quality and tenor of their lives. A poft-
man of theprefent day may not have been a letter-
carrier in the period of the Commonwealth ; but,
fo far as his lot depended on himfelf, it would not
have ranged much higher. But what if Cromwell
278 NOCTES AMBROSUNM.
had been the Ton of fome modern Barclay ? Would
he have followed the genius of command to the
borders of revolution, or been content with the
parliamentary pofition, fay, of Sir Fowell Buxton,
taken arms againft the accurfed Slave-trade, and
crowned his reputation in our own day by a fmgle-
handed conteft with public abufes of every kind
and fhape ? Alas ! there is none in whom we
can recognize the re-animated foul of Cromwell.
And then, Alfred, the Saxon Monarch, — fuppofe
him to have been born in a humbler fphere, but a
brighter age, emerging from the middle clafs on
this fide of the ftruggling millennium of the modern
world, inftead offhining at the moment of its grim
beginning. Shall we ftyle him author, politician,
or profperous merchant? He might have been
one or all : he would have been eminent for large
views in fome department of national or focial
policy : he muft have commanded the refpe6t and
admiration of all wife men in the fphere fele6^ed by
his will and illuftrated by his genius and refource.
We know not if thefe fpeculations may feemto
the reader plaufible, or otherwife. But there is
one ancient chara6ter for whom we have no diffi-
culty in finding a modern reprefentative ; and this
we do fet forth with greater confidence. Suppofe
that one of thofe yellow-haired and lawlefs fea-
kings, who diflurbed the Heptarchy, and fang the
wild fongs of Scandinavia as they failed in quefl of
plunder or in pure love of conqueft and renown ;
who flood only in fear of Thor, the Thunder-god,
and gave conftant praife and worfhip to Balder,
NOCTES AMBROSIANM. 279
the blue-eyed deity of love and mufic, — fuppofe
the deftiny of fuch an one poftponed to our well-
regulated age, and his firft breath drawn in modern
Edinburgh, inftead of his laft figh breathed in de-
fiance on the fhore of the ftormy Hebrides ; how
then fliall all his powers, phyfical and moral, de-
velope and attach themfelves ? It feems to us that
fuch a phenomenon has really occurred. The
ftrong, fierce, generous Viking wakes to unfeafon-
able life at the dawning of the nineteenth century.
He brings with him all the adventurous daring of
a pirate's nature, in union with all the paflionate
afFe6lions of a poet's heart. He grows up to the
royal ftature of humanity, his yellow hair falling
in untamed profufion about his mafiive brows.
He leaps a diftance fo gigantic that the lowland
carle flares in metaphyfical aftonifhment. With
equal eafe he will knock down a bullock, or drink
drown a baillie. His mirth is more uproarious than
the laughter which fhakes Olympus ; his wifdom
and ferenity more mellow than the fun which fets
behind the hills of Morven. There is no due
outlet for his a6live enterprife, and fo his bufy
mind goes out after all knowledge, — lifts itfelf up
on the wings of poefy, and darts forth its eagle
vifion into the cloudland of philofophy. Untrained
as a marauder, he becomes terrible as a critic.
Denied the murderous club of his forefathers, he
feizes eagerly upon a trenchant weapon of offence,
— fince caught up into heaven, and known as the
conftellation of The Crutch^ — and becomes hence-
forth the terror of all feeble poets and conceited
28o NOCTES AMBROSIANM.
cockneys, and tyrant over all the foes of Tory-
dom.
In this fketch of the character of the late Pro-
feflbr Wilfon we have briefly indicated the
ftrength, variety, and affluence of his natural gifts;
and we have no doubt that when we are furnifhed
with a detailed narrative of his life and feveral per-
formances, it will more than juftify our fummary
defcription. But the reader is not called upon to
wait for fuch a proof. It was as the " Chriftopher
North" of Blackwood's Magazine that ProfefTor
Wilfon earned his fplendid reputation ; and the
fulnefs and maturity of his athletic powers were
all put forth in the compofition of the NoSfes
Amhrofiance^ now before us. In thefe admirable
papers the man as well as the author, the humour-
ift as well as the philofopher, the citizen as well as
the moralift, appears in the utmoft freedom of un-
drefs, and from them, more truly perhaps than
from any circumftantial memoir, may be drawn
the faireft eftimate of his chara6ler, opinions, and
career.
Some of our readers may remember the time,
— now thirty years gone by, — when thefe papers
began to attract the attention of the public ; and
we ourfelves can recall the pleafure which (ten
years later) the laft few numbers of the feries,
then juft brought to a triumphant conclufion, pro-
duced in our minds, in that opening ftage of
youth when the love of reading is a pailion the
moft eager and predominant. But many will re-
quire to be told, and others to be reminded, that
the NoSies Amhrofiance aflume to be the record of
NOCTES AMBROSIANM, 281
convivial mirth and rational difcourfe occurring at
certain imaginary fuppers, under the roof of one
Ambrofe, in the city of Edinburgh. The prin-
cipal interlocutors are three, — Chriftopher North,
Editor of Blackwood's Magazine ; Hogg, the
Ettrick Shepherd ; and Timothy Tickler, a gentle-
man of the old fchool, ftanding fix feet four in
his flocking feet. None of thefe chara6ters are
purely imaginary ; yet as they appear in the work
before us, in eminent relief and due proportion,
they are all the mafterly creations of ProfefTor
Wilfon.
Tickler is fuppofed to adumbrate, in certain
perfonal traits, the character of Robert Sym, the
author's maternal uncle, who, as the editor in-
forms us, "died in 1844, at the age of ninety-
four, having retained to the laft the full pofTeiiion
of his faculties, and enjoyed uninterrupted good
health to witliin a very 'i^v^ years of his deceafe."
He was formerly a writer to the Signet, but retired
from bufinefs at the commencement of the prefent
century. He does not appear to have been a lite-
rary chara6ler, in the ftri^ter fenfe of the phrafe,
and had no further conne6tion with Blackwood's
Magazine than that arifmg from an intereft in
its fuccefs, and a friendfhip with its chief con-
tributors. We may readily conclude with Mr.
Ferrier, that the Tickler of the No^es is almoft
entirely a creature of the imagination, or, at leaft,
a faint but noble outline worthily filled in. In the
figure of Chriftopher North, the author has
fketched himfelf, — not ftricSlly in his own character
and perfon, and not in his profeflbrial robes, but
282 NOCTES JMBROSIANM,
in his editorial capacity, as feated in the chair of
" Maga," and fwaying the critical fceptre in the
northern capital. We recognize the likenefs as
conditionally true. In fome notable particulars
the Chriftopher North of " Maga " and the Nobles
differs from the ProfefTor Wilfon of private life.
The former is a gouty old bachelor, hobbling by
the aid of his memorable crutch \ the latter was
then in the prim.e of life, and the proud father of
a happy family. The former gives himfelf dida-
torial airs, and fpeaks fometimes as one " flown
with infolence and wine ;" the latter was generous,
candid, afFeclionate, and juft. But the difference
ends in thefe few affectations, and fome others of
a kindred fort. The boundlefs animal fpirits, the
glorious invective, the fparkling wit, the ripe and
ready wifdom, of the " old man eloquent," are all
characSteriftic of the great Profeffor. Through his
pleafant mafk we fee the features of the firft profe-
poet of theage,beamingwith benignity and kindling
with a mild intelligence j and it adds a zeft to the
reader's pleafure to know, that, although dear Chrif-
topher a6ts rather as moderator than leader in thefe
mirthful y^zV^^j, yet he is not merely the prefiding
genius of the fcene, but the Profpero of all this
brilliant mafquerade, at whofe fole bidding thefe
philofophic revels rife and fall as by enchantment.
But the Mercurius, or chief fpeaker, of thefe
convivial meetings is the Ettrick Shepherd. Here,
too, we have a real character, of genuine but
limited proportions ; but we fee it expanded to
the meafure of ideal greatnefs, ftamped with a
NOCTES JMBROSUNM. 283
broader and far deeper individuality, and fuftained
throughout with wonderful fuccefs. James Hogg,
the poet of Mount Benger, fupplied the hint of
this delightful chara6ter ; and the homely, genial,
joyous temperament of his original is never loft
fight of in our author's fine delineation. But the
Shepherd of the NoSies is virtually a new creation.
" Out of very jlender materials ^^ fays the pre-
fent editor^ " an ideal infinitely greater and more
real^ and more original^ than the prototype from
which it was drawn ., has been bodied forth. Bear-
ing in mind that thefe dialogues are converfations on
jnen and manners^ life and literature^ we may con-
fidently aff.rm that nowhere within the compafs of
that /pedes of compofition is there to be found a
chara£ier at all comparable to this one in richnefs
and readinefs of refource. In wifdom the Shepherd
equals the Socrates of Plato ; in humour he fur-
pajjes the Faljlaffof Shakefpeare, Clear and prompt.^
he might have flood up againfi Dr. Johnfon in clofe
and peremptory argument ; fertile and copious j he
rnight have rivalled Burke in amplitude of decla?na-
tion ; while his opulent imaginative powers of comi-
cal defcription inveji all that he utters either with
a piSturefque vividnefs or graphic quaintnefs pecu-
liarly his own.'' — Preface, p. xvii.
So far Mr. Ferrier. If we cannot quite fub-
fcribe to the whole of this eulogium, it is only
becaufe we think the writer has confounded the
total effed of thefe matchlefs dialogues, and put
284 NOCTES AMBROSIANJE,
all to the account of him who is certainly their
brighteft ornament. It is evident that even
dramatic confiftency would exclude the Shepherd-
poet from rivalling the united powers of Plato,
Shakefpeare, and Johnfon ; and if the qualities of
thefe great authors be fuggefted, as we grant
they are, by the richnefs, ftrength, variety, and
beauty of the dialogues, it is to be confidered that
the whole triumvirate contribute to the general
efFe6t, which, ftri6lly fpeaking, muft be imputed
to the Protean genius of the author. But the
Shepherd is, neverthelefs, pre-eminent in thefe
colloquial difplays ; an infinite amount of poetry
and humour is made to flow from his lips as from
a fountain ; both North and Tickler delight to
draw him forth, and liften to his naive and fhrewd
philofophy. In the feventeenth number of the
NoSles he rifes into a truly Socratic ftrain, which
almoft mars, by its excefs of elevated thought, the
harmony of his rare but more homely powers,
efpecially when he is found quoting Greek with
the appropriatenefs and eafe of a well-furnifhed
fcholar; and this fcene, in conjunction with
numerous others, would almoft juftify the com-
prehenfive chara6ler affigned him by the editor.
Such are the chief perfonages who meet at thefe
fympofia; and nothing is more admirable than the
manner in which their characters are developed
and fuftained. For dramatic power, for freedom,
force, and copioufnefs of language and illuftration,
thefe papers have no parallel in ancient or modern
literature. Lucian is tame, and Landor infufFer-
NOCTES AMBROSUNM. 285
ably ftifF, in comparifon with the author of thefe
Scottifh revels. The poilibilities of genius, under
the influence of high animal fpirits, were never,
hitherto, fo fully manifefted. Nothing could ex-
ceed the realizing power which fets the fcene, the
company, fo vividly before the reader ; which
makes his ear ring with the boifterous mirth, or
drink in the fteady, flowing, interrupted, and re-
current ftream of converfation ; which fimulates
the efFe6t of feftive indulgence, and from imaginary
viands diftils an intelle6lual wine, bright with the
pureft and moft fparkling hues of wit, and rich
with humour the moft genial and exalting.
We grant it would not be eafy, in the brief
fpace allotted to this paper, to prove by mere
quotation how merited is all the praife we have
beftowed. The very nature of the work pre-
cludes the poflibility of doing fo. The chara6ter-
iftic of the Nodes is not an unufual polifh in dif-
courfe, nor even a critical fagacity both uniform
and profound : it is rather the combination of end-
lefs variety with perpetual frefhnefs, — the alterna-
tion of a brilliant fancy, glancing upon a thoufand
objects, and fometimes rifing into a triumphant
ftrain of natural defcription, with the tranquil fall
of fober converfation, varied only by the quainteft
humour, the flyeft fatire, the pleafanteft exaggera-
tion, and the " wee bit " Scottifh fong, trolled
forth by the firft of Shepherds in the moft unc-
tuous and expreflive of all paftoral dialeds. It is
obvious that no "fample " can convey an adequate
idea of dialogues fo varied and fo difcurfive. It
286 NOCTES JMBROSUNM,
may afford fome notion of their ftrength and
flavour, but none of their freedom, affluence, or
range. If chofen for its unufual power and beauty,
a world of chara6leriftic excellence is then ex-
cluded : if of average and more level qualities, it
muft fufFer by removal from the place in which it
fpontaneoufly occurred, and acquire, by reafon of
its being formally and feparately introduced, a
triviality and weaknefs which do not attach to it
in its original connection. It is fo in other and
graver works befide the prefent. A page from
Bofwell's Life of Johnfon would poorly reprefent
the intellecSlual vigour and fagacity of that true
man j for many of Johnfon's recorded fayings are
trivial or falfe in fubftance, as others are harih
and unadvifed in fpirit and expreffion ; and it is
only our perfuafion of his moral worth and general
wifdom which imparts a prevailing intereft to the
whole. Befides and above the literary merit of
his converfationSj are their hiftoric value and their
dramatic charm. The impreffion of a moment is
left for all the ages ; and we fee a giant's cafual
footftep, perhaps awkward and awry, made on the
fand of time, and hardened into rock. So the in-
tereft of Bofwell's work is mainly biographical ; as
an imperfonal collection of aphorifms it would be
fadly imperfect, and fubject to a thoufand chal-
lenges. It muft be owned, however, that a work
of imagination like the prefent exifts under fome-
what different conditions. Having little or nothing
of hiftoric value, it depends chiefly on dramatic
intereft and propriety. The author prefents us
NOCTES AMBROSIANM. 287
with an original compofition rather than a veritable
record, and it behoves him therefore to put a due
fignificance into its lighted parts : as we have not
the fatisfadion always arifing from the vrai, we
may juftly claim a fuflained prefentment of the
vraifefnblable. We bring ProfefTor Wilfon to this
teft in prefenting the following paiTage, which
very fairly exhibits the ordinary texture of thefe
dialoojues, and nothing- more : —
" Tickler. — Among the many ufeful difcoveries
of this age^ none more fo^ my dear Hogg, than that
poets are a fet of very abfurd inhabitants of this
earth. Thefimple fa£f of their prefuming to have a
language of their own^ Jhould have dijhed them cen-
turies ago. A pretty kind of language^ to be fur e.^ it
was ; andj confcious thetnfelves of its abfurdity^ they
palmed it upon the Mufes^ and jufiified their own
ufe of it on the plea of infpiration !
" North. — 77//, in courfe of time^ an honefi man
of the name of IVordfworth was born^ who had too
much integrity to fubmit to the law of their lingo^
andy to the anger and a/lonijhment of the order^
began to [peak in good^found,fober^ intelligible profe.
Then was a revolution. All who adhered to the
ancient regime, became^ in a few years^ utterly in-
comprehenfible, and were coughed down by the public.
On the other hand^ all thofe who adopted the new
theory^ obferved that they were fnerely accommodat-
ing themf elves to the language of their brethren of
mankind,
" Tickler. — Then the pig came fnorting out of
288 NOCTES AMBROSIANM.
the poke^ and it appeared that ndfuch thing as poetry,
ejfentially diJiinSf from profe^ could exiji. True^
that there are fome old luomen and children who
rhyme^ but the breed will foon be extinSf, and a poet
in Scotland will be as fear ce as a capercail%ie,
" North. — Since the extinSfion^ therefore^ of
Englijh poetry^ there has been a wide extenfion of
the legitimate province of prof e. People who have
got any genius^ find that they may traverfe it as they
will^ onfoot^ on horfeback^ or in chariot.
" Tickler. — A Pegafus with vjings always
feemed to me a filly and inefficient quadruped, A
horfe was never made to fly on feathers.^ but to gal-
lop on hoofs. Tou dejiroy the idea of his peculiar
powers the moment you clap pinions to his Jhoulder,
and make him paw the clouds.
"North. — Certainly. How poor the image of- —
* Heaven's warrior-horfe, beneath his fiery form,
Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the ftorm,' —
to one of Wellington' s Aide-de-Camps^ on an Eng-
liflj hunter^ charging his way through the French
Cuirajfiers^ to order up the Scotch Greys againji the
Old Guards moving on to redeem the difafirous day
of Waterloo !
" Tickler. — Poetry^ therefore^ being by univerfal
confent exploded^ all men^ and women^ and children
are at liberty to ufe what Jiyle they choofe^ provided
that it be in the form of profe. Cram it full of
imagery as an egg is full of?neat. T/' caller, down
it will go^ and the reader be grateful for his
breakfajl. Pour it out fnnple^ like whey^ or milk
andwater^ and a fwallow will be found enamoured
NOCTES AMBROSIANM. 289
of the liquid murmur. Let it gurgle forth, rich and
racy^ like a haggis^ and there areftomachs that will
not fcun her. Fat paragraphs will be bolted like
bacon ; and^ as he puts a period to the exifience of
a lofty climax^ the reader will exclaim^ ' O, the roafi
beef of Old England! and O, the Englijh roafi
beef!'
" North. — TFell faid^ Tickler : that profe com-
pofttion jhould always be a plain uncondimented dijhy
is a dogma no longer endurable. Henceforth I Jhall
Jhow^ not only favour^ but praife^ to all profe books
that contain any ?neaning^ however fmall ; whereas
I Jhall ufe all vampers like the great American
Jhrike, commemorated in lafi number^ who flicks
fnall finging birds on Jharp pointed thorns^ and
leaves them ficking there in the funjhine^ a rueful^
if not a favingy fpe£iacle to the chorijlers of the
grove.''
In this exaltation of profe literature there is, of
courfe, fome pleafant exaggeration ; and the fhep-
herd is allowed to ftep in immediately with a
hearty vindication of the ancientfupremacy of
fong. But there is a meafure of ferioufnefs in
thefe colloquial di£fa^ and the praftice of Chrifto-
pher North ftrongly corroborates his afTertion of
the range and capabilities of profe compofition.
Much, indeed, of the literature of modern times
might be adduced in favour of the fame opinion ;
but the works of ProfefTor Wilfon are the mofl:
ftriking evidences in its behalf, and none more fo
than the treafury of wit and humour, of pathos and
u
290 NOCTES AMBROSUNM.
pi6torial effects, with which we are now concerned.
It is no exaggeration to fay, that the profe paftorals
of the Ettrick Shepherd, fcattered in prodigal pro-
fufion throughout thefe animated pages, have more
of the power and fpirit of poetry than all the paf-
torals which were ever fafhioned into verfe. They
have the firft frefh bloom of nature on them, and
breathe the fweet free air of meadow and of moun-
tain fide. Henceforth the plains of Sicily are not
more clallical than Altrive and the banks of Yar-
row. But the Shepherd's powers are not limited
to the poetry of natural obje6ts and of country life.
A fhrewd obferver of men and manners, he is
mafter of every variety of chara6ter and incident,
and, with the aid of his facile tongue, embalms
them in the unftuous diale6l of Scotland. Not
emulating the literary converfations of North and
Tickler, he fhoots ahead of them by virtue of his
buoyant genius, and feizes upon the merits of a
thoufand glancing topics ; is at home and para-
mount in every country fport, and makes the land-
fcape glide ghoftly by, as he defcribes a fkating
feat from Yarrow into Edinburgh ; has trueft
fympathy for the moral beauty of old age, and
fpeaks of it with loving lips, while, in the perfon of
Madame Genlis, he finds a revolting contraft, and
brings out the picture of a fuperannuated French
coquette, with a (kilful, Apid, and unfparing hand ;
divines chara6ler by the countenance with inftinc-
tive readinefs, and reads the ligns ofhypocrify and
gluttony, as well as thofe of benevolence and vir-
tue, with marvellous precifion j rehearfes, with
NOCTES AMBROSIANM, ^o^i
equal power, the day-dreams of his fancy and the
night-mare ftill haunting his excited recollection,
and raifes the gambler's " hell," like an earthly
pandemonium, fo vividly before the reader's eye
that innocence itfelf muft realize its truth. In
fhort, we fee a homely dialedl:, made fo plaftic,
copious, and extenfile, in the hands of genius,
that it anfwers every poffible demand, and feconds
the defcriptive powers which make incurfions into
every region, both of nature and of art, — from the
gorgeous fummer of a Highland loch, to the faded
and fulfome tapeftryofan ancient hackney-coach.
In the No£ies Amhrofiance the reader may afTure
himfelf that this is but a feeble underftatement of
the truth ; but too many extradls would be necef-
fary to give a competent idea of the whole produc-
tion. For this purpofe, we fhould need to tranf-
cribe, inter alia^ the firft part of the third number
of the A^(7<:^^j, and the feventeenth number entire.
The former would exhibit Tickler in his chara6ler
of fportfman among the Highland lochs ; the
latter would prefent the Shepherd's chara6ler
complete, from the richefl vein of praCtical
humour to the higheft and fereneft flight of medi-
tative genius. But another fcene would be ftill
wanting to a juft appreciation of the whole. Thefe
famous interlocutors fhould be heard difcourftng
on fome topic of focial or moral intereft, of a
mixed perfonal and literary chara6ter. Of this
kind is the converfation of North and the Shep-
herd on the domeftic rupture of Lord and Lady
Byron, occurring at the clofe of the fecond
292 NOCTES AMBROSUNM,
volume. It is full of a fine humanity, and breathes
the profoundeft wifdom of the heart. Between
the fpeakers almoft every view of the cafe is
fuggefted, and the claims of charity and juftice
nicely weighed.
We muft not put afide this brilliant and ori-
ginal produ6i:ion without briefly examining a few
obje6tions to which it is apparently open. Some
of them, we think, are founded in juftice and pro-
priety. The work is not without grave defe6ls
and blemiflies, though deferving that praife of
general truth and literary merit, which has been
fo liberally awarded. The occafional unfairnefs
and inaccuracy of fome of its political and perfonal
ftridlures may be referred partly to its peculiar
plan, and partly to the circumftances of its pro-
du6lion. The editor truly defcribes it as "a
wildernefs of rejoicing fancies," — and brambles as
well as wild flowers are encountered in its devious
and romantic paths. The freedom and undrefs
in which the characters appear at thefe re-unions
is, at leaft, as patent as the racinefs of their con-
vivial humour, or the fplendour of their poetic
flights. It could hardly fail to happen that, in a
compofition of this kind, written with extraordi-
nary fpeed, and adapted to the occafions of a
monthly journal, there fhould be traces both of
hafty judgment and tranfient but unworthy feel-
ing. Eftufions fo copious and fo unpremeditated
may be expe6led to evince the author's human
weaknefs, as well as to manifeft his extraordinary
powers ; and fuch is actually the cafe. Scattered
NOCTES AMBROSIANM, 293
through thefe pages are many obfervations, criti-
cifms, and conclufions, which moft readers will
not hefitate to rejedl as crude, or doubtful, or un-
tenable. Even on literary fubje6ls, — where the
author is moft found and catholic, — fome partiali-
ties are eafily difcerned to be the unconfcious
fource of critical delinquencies, as when a very
indifferent copy of verfes by Delta is pronounced
" beautiful," while the poetry of Southey is capti-
oully differed and fcornfully contemned. The
coarfenefs which is frequently and intimately
blended with the humour of thefe volumes is ftill
more to be regretted ; for we know of no procefs
of excifion by which it could have been removed
by editorial hands, without deftru(3:ion of their
chara6leriftic merits. Neither are the author's
religious fentiments, or the allufions and defcrip-
tions bearing upon facred topics, in which his
charadters indulge, quite unexceptionable, or in
the pureft tafte. The moral tone of the work we
hold, indeed, to be found and Chriftian in the
main. Revelation is never for an inftant doubted
or depreciated ; and religion is ever recognized as
the fource of our moft ennobling fentiments. But
we are not quite pleafed with the tone in which
the Shepherd is made to fpeak of profeiling Chrif-
tian people. We give up to his graphic ridicule
the features of the hypocrite and the fenfualift ;
we do not find much fault with his defcription of
the fleeping congregation at the kirk ; but why
are all the moft unbecoming vanities and indul-
gences here charged upon " religious ladies,"
294 NOCTES JMBROSIJNM.
while the worldly young lady is reprefented as the
very emblem of cheerful innocence and truth,
beaming with natural piety the moft amiable and
refrefhing? It is charitable to fuggeft that dramatic
confiftency extorted this grave afperfion and de-
lufive theory ; for they are quite in keeping with
the Shepherd's favourite fentiment, that poetry is
true religion.
But objections may be felt to certain features
of thefe volumes, which are yet not infufceptible
of a legitimate ground of defence ; and thofe we
fliall confider, and this we ftiall propofe, with all
franknefs and fmcerity.
There is one feature of the No5Us Amhrofiance
for which the fober reader fhould be fpecially pre-
pared ; namely, the great devotion, both practical
and theoretical, which the members feem con-
ftantly paying to the pleafures of the table. The
Shepherd and his companions do not hefitate to
interrupt the moft entertaining theme, or fineft
fentiment, with a greedy anticipation of the fupper;
and when it comes, there is evidently nothing
lacking. By fudden transformation is then pre-
fented the feaft in feafon and the flowing bowl.
The critical difcourfe, the moral cenfure, the elo-
quent appreciation of the charms of nature, ceafe
on their lips, and are fucceeded by the well-drawn
merits of a Scotch haggis, and the heart-felt praife
of punch. The converfation is retained only as
an intellectual condiment by thefe devoted men.
Hearty as gourmands, yet delicate as epicures,
they quicken the zeft of appetite by the indulgence
NOCTES AMBROSIANM. 295
of a learned fancy, and heighten the relifh of moft
fumptuous viands by the flavour of choice Attic
fait. Prefently, as the night advances, a boifterous
mirth fucceeds to the quiet interchange of plea-
fantry and wit ; and North — the ftately and the
fage — is not unfrequently fupported in unvenerable
plight to the coach or couch awaiting him. From
a pidlure fo undignified as this fome readers will
be apt to turn with very natural diflike; they may
even haftily pronounce it to be of pernicious and
immoral tendency. But we fubmit that thefe
imaginary revels muft be wholly mifconftrued be-
fore they can be totally condemned. To our
minds there is a fine Shakefpearian humour in
thefe fcenes, which gives them the immunity of
fliadowy art-creations, fo that they evade, by their
buoyant unreality, the weight of ferious rebuke.
We fee that all this animal excefs is purely fuppo-
fititious; and though the humour which conceives
it may fail by repetition, (as indeed it does,) we
muft not forget the origin and fphere of that con-
ception. There is here no call for the verdi6t of
a committee of the Temperance Society; for the
whole proceeding is removed beyond the limits of
their practical commiflion, removed even beyond
the limits of " this vifible diurnal fphere," into the
region of imaginative art. The moft temperate
of us all would hefitate to ground a ferious charge
of gluttony againfl Charles Lamb, fimply upon
his unduous praife of young roaft-pig (for which
difli it is very pofTible the author had no a6tual
preference) ; and it would be equally unjuft, or.
296 NOCTES AMBROSIANM.
rather, equally ridiculous, to condemn altogether
the imaginary revels which, in the prefent inftance,
fupply the occafion of fo much agreeable and
" large difcourfe."
The fame confideration will ferve greatly to
modify another queftionable feature of thefe dia-
logues. Written at a time of great political
a6tivity, and infpired, as we have feen, by the
higheft energy of animal fpirits, they abound in
freedom of remark too often bordering upon per-
fonal abufe. But fome critics have exaggerated,
we think, both the number and character of thefe
injurious paflages. With one or two exceptions,
the abufe of North is not perfonal, in the ofFenfive
fenfe of that term. His inve6tive is generally a
matter of pure humour, and no more indicates
malice or uncharitablenefs, than his delightful
felf-glorification betokens a degrading vanity. The
genius of exaggeration feems to infpire the whole
tirade. It is the pra6lice of an able archer on an
indifferent target; and though he plucks his keen-
headed arrows out of the vocabulary of ridicule
and fcorn, and launches them with equal force and
truth of aim, it is not that he may wound the
apple of the eye before him, but rather that he
may empty the quiver of his own excited genius.
Even when Chriftopher is in a really fplenetic
mood, and fpeaks with downright injuftice of
fome contemporary book or author, it adds fome-
thing to the dramatic charm of thefe fympofia ;
and, after all, there is not much harm done : the
NOCTES JMBROSUNM. 297
well-read reader ftill judges for himfelf of merits
which are evidently difparaged from accidental and
temporary feeling, and remembers that the con-
vivial chair is not the feat of meafured and impartial
juftice.
NEW POEMS OF BROWNING AND
LANDOR.
E prefume that moft readers of the
prefent day, and our own among the
number, have had the theory of poetry
fufficiently difcufled before them. The
fubje6t has not been confined to feparate efTays on
" Poetics J " for hardly is a fingle paper written to
introduce fome recent book of verfes, but the
critic launches into generalities of the moft im-
pofing kind, in which much that is true is very
fafely ventured on, and perhaps fomething that is
new is rather modeftly propounded. If there is
no great harm in this pra6lice, there is certainly a
limit to its propriety and ufefulnefs. An intro-
duction of the kind referred to is not decifive of
the author's merits, even when it feems to bear
moft fairly on them ; for fo ample is the fphere
and theory of poetry, and fo great the ingenuity
of our critical brethren, that a very partial ftate-
ment may be invefted with the air of a moft com-
plete one, and judgment given on the authority of
minor canons without fufpicion raifed of a larger
and more equitable rule. For the purpofes of
BROWNING AND LANDOR. 299
juftice, then, the pra6llce is at leaft a doubtful, if
not a dangerous, one. The fcope for entertain-
ment which it furnifhes is more confiderable ;
but at the fame time nothing is fo liable to degene-
rate into tedioufnefs as any line of general remark,
which necefTarily involves fo large an amount of
repetitions and commonplaces. For thefe reafons,
which both define and urge the claims of a due
economy of time and fpace, we fhall proceed at
once to open our poetic budget.
The firft author on our lift tempts us to extend
the depreciatory obfervations already made. With
Mr. Browning before us we are ftrongly difpofed
to doubt the utility, not merely of prelufive canons,
but of direcSt and fpecial criticifm. So far as the
authors themfelves are concerned, and efpecially
thofe belonging to the minftrel tribe, it is likely
that our office might ceafe without material lofs
or detriment. Poets of the higheft ftamp are
their own fevereft cenfors ; thofe of the fecond
grade are commonly unalterable, the flaves of their
own idiofyncrafy ; while bards of the loweft order
are too wilful to admit, or too feeble to profit by,
either precept or reproof. Mr. Browning belongs
to the fecond clafs, which is even more hopelefs
than the laft. Mediocrity of poetic merit may be
corrected by judicious criticifm, and improved up
to a certain point ; but the native eccentricity of
genius is not to be reduced to a more perfect
fphere. The defe6ls of Mr. Browning's poetry
are as charaderiftic as its beauties : indeed, the
former in fome degree depend upon the latter, and
300 NEW POEMS;
by this time, at leaft, they are pradlically infepar-
able. We muft then accept our author for what
he is, and wafte no time in fruitlefs lamentations
or advice. The energy of higheft genius works
itfelf clear of all befetments, till both character
and fame are "rounded as a ftar j" but no external
influence is appreciable in this refult. We think
it very doubtful now, if the genius of Mr. Brown-
ing will iiTue from its nebulous retreat, and orb
itfelf diflin(Slly in our literary heaven : but certainly
no terreftrial power can operate upon him to that
end. In his cafe, therefore, and in thofe of fome
others who alfo are more or lefs confirmed in their
poetic character, we fhall confult only the pleafure
and improvement of our readers : we fhall ftri(5tly
obferve and illuftrate the phenomena as they arife
before us, and make no reflections but fuch as
fall directly from the mirror we hold up.
The earlieft fruits of Mr. Browning's mufe — if
we except the poem of " Sordello," which the
author appears to have repudiated, and which
fhould not therefore be taken into account — were
publifhed, in feries, under the fymbolic name of
" Bells and Pomegranates," and confift of dramas
and dramatic lyrics. His new poems differ very
flightly in form, and flill lefs in character, from
thefe produdtions. The volumes entitled " Men
and Women " confift entirely of lyrical mono-
logues, about fifty in number. If the title of the
firft work was fomewhat far-fetched and fantaftical,
that of the fecond is much too literal to be appro-
priate. There is mufic and perfume — recondite
BROWNING AND LANDOR, 301
mufic and exotic perfume — in the one ; but how
limited and exceptional is the human nature of
the other !
We have already intimated that Mr. Browning
is fo confirmed in his poetic ways, as to be far
beyond the reach of falutary difcipline. He may
be held up as a warning, and in fome few points
commended as an example ; but we have no idea
that he is capable of profiting even by ftri6lures
which his own candid judgment may bow to and
admit. His latefl publication has fatisfied our
minds of this fa6t. The new poems of Mr.
Browning are only fo many new examples of his
peculiar ftyle, — a flyle flill harfh, in fpite of inti-
mations of a hidden mufic, and ftill obfcure, in
fpite of occafional gleams of happieffc meaning.
They fhow no improvement in the way of genial
growth, but only fome advance of technic fkill.
They are efFufions which have hardened in the
mould of a definite and curious intelledl:, — not
fruits which have ripened on the living vine of
genius. It happens always in fuch cafes that any
eccentricity of ftyle becomes more marked, and
any defedlive vifion more contracSled ; and it is
flrikingly fo in the inflance now before us, where
the author's mannerifm is more prominent and
gratuitous than ever. In this refpe6l the poetry
of Mr. Browning is directly oppofed to that of
Mr. Tennyfon. While the genius of the latter
is mellowing year by year, the mufe of the former
becomes only more perverfe. The fpirit of
poetry is an eminently plaftic power, — the only
302 NEW POEMS -,
certain agent of poetical expreffion ; and in fofter-
ing this expanfive fpirit, which is to works of art
what the vital power is in the organic world, Mr.
Tennyfon has caufed his genius to efflorefce fo
freely and fpontaneoufly, that the crude hufk has
fallen more and more away, — his early faults of
language have ceafed infenfibly, and his verfe has
gradually become the pure tranfparent medium of
his thoughts. Mr. Browning has not fo rid him-
felf of his befetting faults. We do not forget that
the ftyle of art he pra6lifes is wholly different,
that his range and object are exprelTly limited.
Very unequal are thefe two, in depth and compafs,
as well as in tone and colour. The one is daily
getting farther out to fea, takes deeper foundings
and frefh obfervations ; while the other rocks idly
in the fame Italian bay, and levels his glafs at the
fame few quaint and liftlefs figures on the beach.
But independently of this effential difference, we
would point attention to the fa6l, that the inferior
poet is alfo the inferior artift ; that, while the ex-
preffion of the one always finds entrance, and is
felt within the foul, the other not feldom fails in
his humbler appeal to the underftanding and
aefthetic fenfe. It may be difficult — or, indeed,
impoffible — to give the full meaning of Mr. Tenny-
fon's language in any other terms ; but this is only
becaufe true poetry has no equivalent; we are
borne along with it notwithftanding, — it does not
leave us where we were, but carries us whitherfo-
ever it will. But Mr. Browning is a lover of the
piclurefque, a ftudent of men, and a fketcher of
BROWNING AND LANDOR. 303
character and coftume ; and it behoves him to be
at leaft fo far literal and intelligible, that we may-
appreciate the object he draws from the fame por-
tion which he occupies. Now, our charge is, that
he is not thus literal and intelligible ; and this
brings us to the queftion which fo many afk them-
fel ves, — Mr. Browning is acknowledged for fo clever
a man, that they are afhamed to afk their neigh-
bours, — Hov/ is it that Mr. Browning's poetry is
fo hard to read, fo very difficult to underftand ?
The admirers of our author would probably tell
us that he writes only for the cultivated hw^ and
that poetry of that ftamp is never obvious to the
popular mind, or relifhed by the popular tafte. If
we reply, that this is not true of the moft eminent,
and point to Homer and Shakefpeare, they will fay,
that they are content to fee him in a lower feat,
and fignificantly point to Milton and to Gray. Yet
the reference is rather plaufible than juft. Milton
wrote two hundred years ago, when the Englifh
language was ftill unmoulded and unfixed ; yet if
the " Comus" or " L'Allegro" be not very widely
appreciated, the reafon is not to be found in its
obfcurity, to which charge, indeed, it is not ftricSlly
liable. Its elevation of thought, and delicacy of
treatment, are remarkable ; and thefe remove it
from the fympathy and tafte of vulgar readers ;
but its meanings are direct and clear.. No doubt
its claffical allufions make fome demand upon the
reader's previous knowledge ; but without fuch
knowledge it is fufficiently pleafmg and intelligible
even upon one perufal. But no fuch knowledge
304 NEW POEMS;
avails to the underftanding of Mr. Browning's
mufe, without repeated appHcation and fevereft
ftudy. Even an acquaintance with the localities
and life of modern Italy may be added to his pre-
vious ftock, and he fhall ftill be in the dark as to
the fignificance and drift of the author's poem ; he
may ftill puzzle himfelf over " A Toccata of
Galuppi's," — while the title itfelf is enough to
frighten or perplex the untravelled reader. One
perufal of that fingular performance will hardly
gratify the moft attentive mind ; and a perfon
of only average poetic tafte will have fmall in-
ducement to venture on a fecond. It muft be
owned that the poem is fadly wanting in clearnefs
and dire6lnefs. Even thofe who are fain to admire
becaufe they are content to ftudy it, and who
fancy they difcern and feel fomething of its fine
impreftive moral, are not thoroughly affured that
they enter into the author's fpirit, or rightly eftimate
the fentiment and meaning of his verfes. To fome
— and not a few — the poem will be writ in hiero-
glyphic fymbols j and the fault is not wholly in
themfelves, — the poet's ftyle and language is un-
warrantably broken and obfcure. The fa6l is,
that Mr. Browning is too proud for anything. He
difdains to take a little pains to put the reader at a
fimilar advantage with himfelf,— to give a prepara-
tory ftatement which may help to make his fub-
fequent efFufion plain and logical. He fcorns the
good old ftyle of beginning at the beginning. He
ftarts from any point and fpeaks in any tenfe he
pleafes ; is never fimple or literal for a moment ;
BROWNING AND LANDOR. 305
leaves out (or outof fight) a link here and another
there of that which forms the inevitable chain of
truth, making a hint or a word fupply its place ;
and, if you fail to comprehend the whole, is ap-
parently fatisfied that he knows better, and has the
advantage of you there. He abandons himfelf to a
train of vivid affociations, and brings out fome fea-
tures of them with remarkable efFecSt ; but he gives
you no clue whereby to follow him throughout.
It is this harfhnefs, which of courfe is real, and
this obfcurity, which is chiefly fuperficial, that will
always render Mr. Browning's poetry unpopular,
becaufe they interfere with its eafy and complete
enjoyment. But we can readily believe that his
fmall circle of admirers are very ardent in their
admiration, and almoft unmeafured in their praife.
In the firfl: place, we value an appreciation arrived
at only after fome expenditure of time and ftudy.
And then the ear, the mind, become gradually
attuned to the new modes of thought and fpeech.
But there is fomething more than this. Both the
merits and defeats of Mr. Browning's poetry are
fuch as belong to a peculiar fchool of art ; and the
mafters in every fchool have the power of roufing
the enthufiafm of kindred minds ; they gather
round them a band of attached difciples, and are
followed by the plaudits of delighted connoifleurs.
This is more feldom noticed in our poets than in
the fifter art of painting; and, indeed, the poems
of Mr. Browning find an almoft perfe61: analogy
in the pi6lures of a certain modern fchool. Our
author refembles the pre-RafFaelites both in choice
X
3o6 NEW POEMS;
of fubjecl and in ftyle of treatment. He has the
fame vivid and realizing touch, and the fame love
of exquifite detail. Like them he has a ftrong
averfion to all that is conventional in the language
of his art, and like them, alfo, is liable to be mif.
apprehended and decried. His very fidelity to
nature, exprefTed with fo much novelty and bold-
nefs, incurs the charge of eccentricity and herefy.
The traditions of his art are lefs to him than the
imprefTion of his own fenfes, and the fkill of his
own right hand. But, as a poet, he muft count
upon lefs general admiration than his brother artift.
If even truth of colour is not fully eftimated by the
uneducated fenfe, and the pre-RafFaelite muft firft
furprife before thoroughly convincing and delight-
ing us, much more the independent ufe of lan-
guage. We muft know the right force of words
before we feel them ; and then only are we pre-
pared to recognize the completer meafures of poetic
truth, which Coleridge has defined to be the heft
words in the hejl order. We fay then, of Mr.
Browning, that although any reader may be war-
ranted in faying what he is not, — a great poet ; yet
only an accomplifhed few are able to judge of his
peculiar meafures, and pronounce him what he is
— an original and graphic artift. He is fairly open
to rebuke, and liable, befides, to general neglect ;
but no thoughtful perfon will defpife either his
talents or attainments.
The reader of his volumes will notice the large
fhare of attention which Mr. Browning has be-
ftowed on the pictures and painters of the Italian
BROIVN/NG AND LANDOR, 307
fchools. They are all very chara6teriftic fketches ;
and as they are for the moft part in our author's
better manner, we fhould have willingly transferred
a fpecimen to our pages, — fuch as " Andrea del
Sarto, called the Faultlefs Painter," — but their
length forbids. The fame objection refts againft
our introdu6lion to the reader of" Bifliop Blou-
gram's Apology." The verfes fo entitled embody
the after-dinner talk of a dignitary of the Romifh
Church, who, for the edification of a fceptical com-
panion, endeavours to fhow that a certain amount
of faith is expedient to the wife, and that no larger
meafure is practicable in the conditions under
which we live. He compares our life to a voyage
in which all our available fpaceisa narrow '* cabin,"
whofe limits exclude all but the moft necefl'ary and
convenient articles. In jfihort, this worthy Prelate
advocates a moft comfortable compromife between
the rival claims of the gofpel and the world.
Utterly falfe as fuch cafuiftry muft be, it is here
moft pleafantly and ably argued. But more to
our judgment, if not to our tafte, as well as more
convenient for the purpofe of extrad-tion, is the fol-
lowhig little poem, called " Tranfcendentalifm : a
Poem in Twelve Books." It reads in fome parts
like our author's own defence.
** Stop playing, poet ! may a brother ipeak ?
""T is you fpeak, that's your error ! Song's our art j
Whereas you pleafe to Tpeak thefe naked thoughts,
Inftead of drefting them in fights and founds:
— Fine thoughts, good thoughts, thoughts fit to treafure
up !
But why fuch long prolufion and difplay,
3o8 NEW POEMS ;
Such turning and adjuftment of the harp,
And taking it upon the breaft at length,
Only to fpeak dry words acrofs its ftrings ?
Stark naked thought is in requeft enough —
Speak profe, and holloa it till Europe hears!
The fix-foot Swifs-tube, traced about with bark,
Which helps the hunter's voice from Alp to Alp —
Exchange our harp for that — who hinders you ?
— But here's your fault : grown men want thought you
think ; —
Thought's what they mean by verfe, and feek in verfe :
Boys leek for images in melody,
Men muft have reafon — fo you aim at men.
Quite otherwife ! Obje6ls throng our youth, 'tis true j
We fee and hear, and do not wonder much.
If you could tell us what they mean, indeed !
As Swedifh Boehme never cared for plants.
Until it happ'd, in walking in the fields.
He noticed all at once the plants could fpeak ;
Many turn'd with loofen'd tongue to talk with him :
That day the daify had an eye indeed, —
Colloquized with the cowilip on fuch themes !
We find them extant yet in Jacob's profe.
But by the time youth fteps a ftage or two,
While reading profe in that tough book he wrote,
(Collating and emendating the fame.
And fettling on the fenfe moft to our mind,)
We fhut the clafps, and find life's fummer paft.
Then, who helps men, pray, to repair our lofs }
Another Boehme with a tougher book
And fubtler meanings of what rofes fay —
Or fome ftout Mage like him of Halberftadt,
John, who made things Boehme wrote thoughts about ?
He with a look you ! vents a brace of rhymes.
And in them breaks the fudden rofe herfelf,
Over us, under, round us every fide ;
Nay, in and out the tables and the chairs.
And mufty volumes, — Boehme's book and all, —
Buries us with a glory young once more,
Pouring heaven into this fliort houfe of life.
— So come, the harp back to your heart again !
You are a poem though your poem's naught.
The beft of all you did before, believe.
Was your own boy's face over the fine chords
Bent, following the cherub at the top
That points to God with his pair'd half-moon wings. "
BROWNING AND LANDOR. 309
We hardly know if thefe lines ferve more to
vindicate or to condemn the author's pra6lice. No
doubt a hw more readings would improve our in-
fight ; but our prelent impreffion is only faint, and
fo far not favourable to Mr. Browning's own per-
formance. He avoids the error, indeed, of giving
us " ftark naked thoughts ;" but moft honeft men
will find his verfe as "tough" as Jacob Boehme's
celeftial profe. We leave the matter to occupy
the reader's leifurely confideration ; and pafs on to
one of plainer fpeech.
A few words will fuffice to introduce the new
produ6tion of Walter Savage Landor. In the
penultimate iiTue of this vigorous writer, — ftill
vigorous on the verge of fourfcore years, — we
gratefully accepted what were proffered as the
'* Laft Fruits ofFan OldTree," and which, bytheir
flavour and abundance, teftified to the continued
foundnefs of the flock. We have now more " lafl
fruit ;" and its flavour is flill of the fine fort, though
it may lack fomething of its wonted fulnefs and
body.
In " Antony and 06tavius" Mr. Landor has
done a bold thing. He has never, indeed, been
wanting in courage and independence of the
haughtiefl kind ; and in the magic circle which his
genius has defcribed and peopled, he has not hefi-
tated to evoke the fpirits of the mofl mighty dead,
— to re-animate the tongues of Plato and of
Cicero ; to make Dante, and Petrarca, and Spen-
fer difcourfe high wifdom, and pour out their ten-
310 NEW POEMS;
dereft complaint ; to fhow us Milton in his blind old
age, and Shakefpeare in the affluent promife of his
youth. With what wonderful fuccefs he has done
all this, the reader of his works need not be told.
But in the flender book before us he appears not
as the delineator, but as the rival, of Shakefpeare ;
not as one who ventured to imagine the tenor of
his youth, but as one who dares to challenge com-
parifon with the works of his manhood. Of courfe,
Mr. Landor repudiates the thought of rivalry fo
bold as this : —
'* Few ^^^ fays he^ ^^have obtained the privilege of
entering Shakefpeare^ s garden^ and of feeing him take
turn after turn, quite alone^ now nimbly^ now
gravely^ on his broad and lofty terrace, . . . Let
us never venture where he is walkings whether in
deep meditation, or in buoyant fpirits. Enough is it
for us to ramble and loiter in the narrower paths
below, and look up at the various images which, in
the prodigality of his wealthy he has placed in every
quarter, . . . Before you, reader, are fame fcattered
leaves gathered from under them ; carefuller hands
may arrange and comprefs them in a book of their
own^ and thus for a while preferve them, if rude
children do not finger them firji^ and tamper zuith
their fragility,'^
But the fa6t remains that our author has chofen
to treat the fame fubje6l as Shakefpeare, and in a
dramatic form ; and though no one will be fo
unjuft as to inftitute a formal comparifon, yet
BROWNING AND LANDOR. 311
neither can any difarm his memory of the brighteft
afTociations connected with the theme. It happens,
too, that it is one of Shakefpeare's mafter-pleces
which is thus recalled. How wonderfully is the
poet's genius difplayed In the drama of " Antony
and Cleopatra ! " It feems to us the very richeft
fruit of his exuberant mind, difplaying an almoft
miraculous knowledge of the human heart, and an
inexhauftible fund of fplrit and invention. The
author does not perfonally appear, but he feems In
efFe6t to be himfelf fafcinated by the " ferpent of
old Nile," — to nurfe an enthufiafm which boldly
challenges the equal admiration of the reader, and
to afk triumphantly. Who can blame Antony
without half coveting his luxurious lot ? And
what was there In the world he loft to compare
with the world's paragon for whom he left it, and
whofe wanton fancy he completely conquered and
abforbed, kindling into heroic fervour the Epicurean
paffion of her heart, like a tropic garden fet on
fire by the unufual blazing of the fun ? Pompeys
and Caefars the world will never be without ; but
Antony could only play his part while Cleopatra
lived. And fo, — who blames him? — he melted
into the cup of his love the jewel of a rare and
coftly genius, and, drinking that intoxicating
draught, he gladly exhaufted the utmoft fortune
of the gods.
Yet, In fplte of this mafterly pre-occupation of
the theme, the " Antony and 06tavius " of Mr.
Landor has merit and intereft of Its own. After
all, it is perhaps the only ground where our author
312 NEW POEMS;
could any way bear up agalnft fuch odds ; for he
is deeply imbued with the antique fpirit, as well
as richly fraught with claffical learning ; and a
brief quotation will fhow with what tafte and fkill
he interprets Plutarch after the Shakefpearian
manner. OcSlavius is already mafter in Egypt,
and to him enters gaily the young Caefarion, fon
of his uncle Julius.
*' Cafarion. Hail ! hail ! my coulin ! Let me kifs that hand
So foft and white. Why hold it back from me ?
I am your coufm, boy Caefarion.
OBa<vius. Who taught you all this courtefy ?
Cafarion. My heart.
Befide, my mother bade me wifh you joy.
Odanj'ius. I would myfelf receive it from her.
C afar ion. Come,
Come then with me j none fee her and are fad.
OSiauius. Then ftie herfelf is not fo ?
Cafarion. Not a whit,
Grave as fhe looks, but fhould be merrier ftill.
OSiwvius. She may expeft all bounty at our hands.
Cafarion. Bounty ! fhe wants no bounty. Look around.
Thofe palaces, thofe temples and their gods,
And myriad priefts within them, all are hers j
And people bring her fhips, and gems, and gold.
O coufm ! do you know what fome men fay,
(If they do fay it,) that your fails, ere long.
Will waft all thele away ?
I wifh 't were true
What elfe they talk.
OSfwvius. What is it .?
Cafarion. That you come
To carry off her alfo. She is grown
Paler J and I have feen her bite her lip
At hearing this. Ha! well I know my mother j
She thinks it may look redder for the bite."
Thus the boy prattles ; but the eye of 06tavius
is upon him, and his admiration is not likely to
pafs over into love.
BROWNING AND LANDOR, 313
" 05la<vius. Agrippa, didft thou mark that comely boy ?
Agrippa. I did indeed.
OSiavius. There Is, methinks, In him
A fomewhat not unlike our common friend.
Agrippa. Unlike ! There never was fuch limllar
Expreflion. I remember Caius Julius
In youth, although my elder by Ibme years ;
Well I remember that high-vaulted brow,
Thofe eyes of eagles under it, thofe lips
At which the Senate and the people ftood
Expeilant for their portals to unclofe ;
Then fpeech, not womanly, but manly fweet.
Came from them, and flied pleafure as the morn
Sheds light.
OBwvius. The boy has too much confidence.
Agrippa. Not for his prototype. When he threw back
That hair in hue like cinnamon, I thought
I faw great Julius tofling his, and warn
The pirates he would give them their defert.
. . . My boy, thou gazeft at thofe arms hung round.
Cafarion. I am not ftrong enough for fword or fhield.
Nor even fo old as my fweet mother was
When I firft rioted upon her knee.
And feized whatever Iparkled in her hair.
Ah ! you had been delighted, had you feen
The pranks fhe pardon'd me ! What gentlenefs !
What playfulnefs !
OSia<vius. Go now, Caefarion.
Cafarion. And had you ever feen my father too !
He was as fond of her as fhe of me.
And often bent his thoughtful brow o'er mine
To kifs what fhe had kifs'd j then held me out
To fliow how he could manage the refraftory ;
Then one long fmile, one preffure to the breaft.
OSianjius. How tedious that boy grows ! lead him away,
Aufidius ! . . , There is mifchief in his mind,
He looks fo guilelefs."
We might, perhaps, have felecSled a more im-
portant fcene than the above, and given the reader
a glimpfe of Mr. Landor's " Antony ; " but wq
vi'ifhed to impart fome notion of the fkill and
freedom of thefe claffic dialogues ; and the lover
314 NEW POEMS,
of this fpecies of poetry will procure the little
volume itfelf. At any rate, our limits are tranf-
grefled, and we muft refrain from quoting more.
We believe the reader will admire the brief ex-
ample we have given. We can aflure him that
the whole twelve fcenes are of the fame com-
plexion. After this novel and fuccefsful effort,
we fhould have no obje6tion to receive a " Corio-
lanus " from the fame ftatuary's hand. " Corio-
lanus ! " What fubje6l more fuited to the haughty
genius and fharp chifel of Walter Landor? It
would form an admirable companion to the " An-
tony and 06lavius." Such compofitions could
enter into no foolifti and unequal rivalry with the
great dramatic mafter-pieces : they would render
homage, and not claim comparifon, — being only
ftill-life illuftrations of the mailer's living fcene.
Welcome as fuch, they might long ftand in the
avenue of Shakefpeare's fame ; — ftand filent, and
face to face, on either fide, diminifhed to all eyes
by the magnitude and glory of the place.
BOSWELL'S LETTERS.
T was the pradice of the moft popular
hiftorian of antiquity to inftitute com-
parifons betwixt certain of his rival
heroes ; but the biographic annals of
mankind afford far more curious parallels than any
which adorn the elaborate page of Plutarch. It
would call for the exercife of fome ingenuity to
find any but the moft external features of refem-
blance in the lives of Agis and Cleomenes, of Syila
and Lyfander. There is more or lefs coincidence
in the tenor of their fortunes or the ftyle of their
ambition ; but in the minor traits of individual
character, in that perfonal idiofyncrafy which com-
bines and graduates the fubfifting elements of
ftrength and of weaknefs, of wifdom and of folly,
there is no ftriking and prevailing likenefs in any
of thefe heroic pairs. The men of Plutarch are
caft in one large mould. They want that variety,
and perhaps that imperfection, of chara6ler, which
is requifite to furnifti inftances either of contraft
or comparifon. Even where they differ from the
general type, it is only as members of the fame
family ; and we detect their identity as we dif-
3i6 BOSTFELVS LETTERS.
tinguifh the features of a Claudius or a Julius in
the heads of the twelve Caefars. But the civiliza-
tion of the Chriftian world, and efpecially of the
Teutonic and Celtic races, is marked by a bolder
individuality of genius. As modern art has opened
up the province of the pifturefque, fo modern life
abounds in varied and contrafted characters ; and
it is this very circumftance which makes our
biographic parallels more rare indeed, but alfo
more curious and complete. And to thefe com-
parifons the pleafures of contraft are not wanting ;
for every point of coincidence is fraught with fome
quality of difference.
We have been led into this train of remark by
a perufal of the volume now before us, which
frequently recalls the pages of another book, and
vividly fets before the reader's mind the piClure of
two choice Arcadians. The name and chara6ter
of Bofwell have, no doubt, often fuggefted thofe
of Samuel Pepys ; but the publication of thefe
familiar letters makes the aflbciation quite in-
fallible ; for they exhibit the refemblance in its
moft ftriking form, and, at the fame time, extend
it to a thoufand particulars. We now know that the
amufing diarift of the feventeenth century revived
in the perfon of Johnfon's faithful henchman and
biographer, the jeft and wonder of the eighteenth.
The likenefs is fortuitous as well as charaCler-
iftical. The circumftance which enables us to
complete the parallel of thefe two worthies, itfelf
fuggefts a fmgular coincidence of fortune. The
pofthumous fame of Pepys and of Bofwell have
BOSWELL'S LETTERS. 317
been equally afFe6led by a fimilar accident, — an
accident not favourable to the perfonal character
of either, but largely conducive to the popularity
of both. No vi'onder both are w^elcome to the
w^orld of readers. A giddy public is admitted into
the fecret confidence of thefe choice fpirits, and
finds it moft exquifite fun ; for rarely is fo thorough
an expofure made of thofe lighter follies which
provide the farce and interlude of human life.
This fecret confidence is precifely of the moft
entertaining kind, — the fulleft and the freeft
poffible; confifting of incidents and thoughts vi^hich
only a fool w^ould commit to any, which no one
elfe would have power or occafion to confide, and
which even he will only whifper to his friend, or
chuckle to himfelf. But the pen is a dangerous
medium of fuch indulgences. Though folly fhould
break its hour-glafs, and write only in the fcattered
fand, who fhall provide that Time, which wan-
tonly deftroys fo much, will not as wantonly pre-
ferve this little, harden the frail tablet into rock,
and leave it in the mufeum of Pofterity ? So at
leaft it has fared with the confidence of Pepys and
of Bofwell. Both were fhrewd men, and were
able to hide fomething of their weaknefies from
contemporary eyes ; but each, forfooth, muft
write himfelf down an afs. The one muft fniggle
over his ticklifti delinquencies in the privacy of a
journal kept in cipher ; and the other muft needs
confefs to an old college chum, now fettling into
the fober walks of clerical and married life ; and
many years after the writer's death, when Pepys
3i8 BOSWELUS LETTERS.
is quite forgotten and Bofwell almoft forgiven, the
diary of the one is carefully deciphered, and the
letters of the other fuddenly difcovered. Of courfe
both are publiflied without fcruple or delay, — for
no man is entitled to the immunities of private
chara6ler fixty years after his death ; the claims
of truth and of fociety furvive, and fuperfede mere
individual rights : our follies can find fan6luary
only in a new-made grave ; and every record that
is fufFered to remain above ground to challenge
the curiofity of another generation, is juftly forfeit
in the intereft of mankind. Let the beaus and
goffips of our day look to it ! For our two leaky
friends the warning is fomewhat late. They have
nothing more to offer or withhold. We know
them from the loweft note to the top of their
compafs. We have made a parlour-window book
out of their " trivial fond records," and find it to
be moft exquifite fooling. We could not be more
thoroughly provided if each of us had a jefter of
his own. Certain it is that Yorick was a fool to
Samuel Pepys. He might tumble to amufe the
Majefty of unburied Denmark, barbarian as he
was J but what is that to keeping the wide table
of Chriftendom on a roar ? No proofs of his
genius are extant ; his wit is a miferable tradition,
vouched only by a mad Prince and ftupid grave-
digger ; he died and made no fign ; he is quite
chapfallen ; the grin remains, but the joke has
long fubfided. Not fo with our incomparable
friend. The merriment we draw from him is
frefh and lively. His exit from the fcene was
BOSWELVS LETTERS. 319
only in order to a transformation. Fortune has
fent him fmartly back, and his future is a brilliant
and perpetual harlequinade. The pen with which
he " ciphered " is changed into a wand : hefmites
upon our wall with it, and old London re-appears.
It is now Whitehall — and Pepys, in the manner
as he lived, is feen to admire at the beauty of
Caftlemaine or the dancing of Monmouth ; the
Houfe of Lords — and deceitful Pepys throngs in
with the faithful Commons, Hands behind the
King's chair, and hears the merry Monarch read
from his lap a fpeech which he finds it difficult to
fpell ; Vauxhall — and it is ftill Pepys, fporting
with Knip or Mercer ; a domeftic interior — and
the fame old beau grows furious to fee his lady in
white wig, in fa6t " ready to burft with anger ;"
a church — and our gallant fidles up to take the
hand of a pretty lady, but retreats on finding it
armed with a pin ; a ftreet — and the worthy man
indulges an honeft blufh becaufe the nofe of his
companion is unreafonably red ! Who is not glad
to remember, that where there is any fhame there
is yet fome virtue ?
But Mr. Bofwell waits to be introduced, and
we have yet to ftate with more diftindlnefs his
claim to come into fuch pleafant company. It is
briefly this. Like Pepys he difplays about an
equal amount of talent and buffoonery in his life-
performance ; and while the firft-named quality
raifed him above the vulgar throng of men, the
latter fet him juft as much below. Arcades ambo^
they ftand the co-heritors of the moft equivocal
320 BOSJVELUS LETTERS.
renown ; the wife man gives them an alternate
meed of admiration and contempt ; and the verieft
booby will gird at them with an inward and grate-
ful fenfe of his fuperior parts. But what makes
the refemblance more ftriking, is the facSl that both
were afFe61:ed with the fame perfonal weaknefTes,
to wit, the inordinate love of pleafure, and an irre-
preflible love of approbation. They both waded
in a fhallow fea of vanity, — and both were loft,
not fo much in overwhelming tides of vice, as by
their dreary diftance from the fhores of virtue.
It is of no ufe denying the ability of either.
Why fhould the world go back a hundred years to
find a coxcomb ? The fa6l is, that no fuch charac-
ter, pure and fimple, is able to arreft and fix the
public mind. A man muft be fomething more
than a fool before he can amufe even the lighter
hours of the good and wife. Pepys was Secretary
to the Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and
James II, and beyond doubt he had much capa-
city as a man of bufinefs. There is fome hint of
his carrying retrenchment and reforms into that
department; but it is certain that his dexterity in
keeping the public accounts was more than the
average of official life prefented. But Pepys was
not merely ufeful in affairs ; he was a patron of the
arts, and a man of fuperior culture. He made a
collection of books and pi6lures which to this day
teftifies to his fcholarfhip and liberal taftes.
Bofwell's reputation as a man of parts refts upon
different and better grounds. It is not from hif-
tory or tradition, but from his own literary works,
BOSWELUS LETTERS. 321
that we derive a knowledge of his powers. With
rare exception it is cuftomary ftill to underrate
them. We muft not allow either the failings or
the follies of this man to lead us into a difparage-
ment of his rare ability. Whatever may be the
value of literary talents, they were pofTefled by
Bofwell in an eminent degree. He certainly did
not write one of the beft of books becaufe he was
one of the weakeft of men, as fome critics would
have us to believe. He wrote it by virtue of
peculiar gifts, and not at the prompting of a fuper-
ftitious reverence, not by the aid of a feminine
garrulity. His great performance derives none of
its fubftantial merit from his folly or his vanity, —
his pedantic habit of moralizing, or his inveterate
love of pleafure. Thefe, no doubt, are the moft
amufmg traits difcovered in his familiar correfpon-
dence ; but how little could fuch qualities con-
tribute to a biography deferving of the name and
chara6ler and times of Johnfon ! Nor was our
author particularly indebted to his opportunities.
We do not underrate the great fubje6t and the
brilliant accefTories which offered themfelvesto his
delineating pen ; but we fay confidently that an
equal occafion had often paffed by, either wholly
unimproved, or turned to miferably fmall account,
for want of a mafter able to appreciate and to feize
the whole. The fa6l is, that Bofwell entertained
from the firft a juft conception of the nature and
method of the work he undertook ; better ll:ill,he
realized his obje6t with a rare felicity, carrying out
his purpofe to the laft with equal perfeverance,
Y
322 BOSWELVS LETTERS.
fkill, and courage. His judgment and conftancy
may be traced in every page of his immortal work ;
but fometimes it more diredtly challenges our
attention. " I cannot," fays he, on one occafion,
" allow any fragment whatever that floats in my
memory, concerning the great fubje6t of this bio-
graphy, to be loft. Though a fmall particular
may appear trifling to fome, it will be reliftied by
others; while every little fpark adds fomethingto
the general blaze ; and to pleafe the true, candid,
warm admirers of Johnfon, and in any degree in-
creafe the fplendour of his reputation, I bid de-
fiance to the fhafts of ridicule, and even of malig-
nity." He then proceeds to relate, with becom-
ing gravity, how the great moralift amufed himfelf
one morning after breakfaft ; how, being in Dr.
Taylor's grounds, he ufed a long pole to force fome
clumps of trees and other rubbifh over a waterfall ;
how at length a large dead cat bafl^ed the toiling
fage, who prefently threw down the pole to Bof-
well, faying, " Come, you/hall take it now ;" and how
the faithful henchman, being " frefh," as well as
faithful, "foon made the cat tumble over the caf-
cade." We fay, brave Bofwell as well as " frefh,"
and wife as well as brave ! We accept with grati-
tude thy pifture of the burly moralift, working
with all his body and rolling with incomparable
laughter : and the world fhall learn that thou, too,
hadft fomething to achieve even when the mighty
failed; that in virtue of elaftic youth and genius
thou didft hurl a dead cat down the ftream, and
left Ulyfles ftanding convulfed upon its bank, a
pidure, at the leaft, for evermore !
BOSWELVS LETTERS. 323
It is the firft great pralfe of Bofwell that he
attached himfelf to fuch a mafter. In this fa6t,
too, we recognize the leading paradox of his career.
The more intimately we come to know the
character of Bofwell, — his vanity, frivolity, and
fenfuality, — the more does the wonder of his hero-
worfliip grow upon us. It is no very rare thing to
meet with a Scotchman who prefers London to
Edinburgh ; and not unfrequently we may have
feen a man about town affli6led with a literary
turn, or haunted by way of confcience with a re-
verence for moral greatnefs ; but the queftion re-
mains. What attraded this poor butterfly and
parafite to the burly, rough-grained moralift and
threadbare fcholar of Fleet Street ? The love of
fplendour and eclat which poflefled the foul of
Bofwell might have led us to think that only
meretricious qualities, and only the moft popular
reputation, would have had any charm for him ;
but the fa6l is otherwife. To Paoli, the hero of
his day, our author paid indeed afliduous court, and
fluttered with evident delight in the beams of his
glory ; but his true allegiance was paid to Johnfon,
and that when Johnfon was very far from reach-
ing the commanding height of reputation which he
finally attained. It is only jufl to Bofwell that
this genuine life-long devotion, for ever unex-
plained as it may be, fhould be fet over againfl a
multitude of his weaknefTes and follies. We ac-
cept it as the teftimony of his better genius to the
dignity of human life, and acknowledge once for
all, that his appreciation of virtue, wifdom, and
324 BOSWELVS LETTERS.
fobriety, was at leaft equal to his inftin(Sl of fop-
pery, and his inordinate love of pleafure.
It is curious to obferve the influence of Johnfon
upon the literary ftyle of his admirer, A certain
elegant and lively freedom belongs to Bofwell's
proper manner, but long intimacy with fo grave a
moralift appears to have added both weight and
point to his expreflions. He does not often fol-
low with equal ftep the fefquipedalian march of
Johnfon ; but fometimes by an unufualfeverity of
thought, and fometimes by a felicitous condenfa-
tion or turn of language, he calls to mind the char-
aiteriftic excellence of his great mafter. Not un-
frequently the fentiment and the phrafe are both to
be referred to this impofing model. Thus in an
able and elaborate letter addrefled to Dr. Johnfon,
we find an ingenious paffage in favour of commu-
tation of the fentence pafTed upon the unhappy Dr.
Dodd, founded upon the many acts of benevolence
and virtue which preceded the folitary crime.
" Such an inftance," he contends, " would do more
to encourage goodnefs than his execution would do
to deter from vice. I am not afraid of any bad
confequence to fociety ; for who will perfevere for
along courfe of years in a diftinguiflied difcharge
of religious duties with a view to commit a forgery
with impunity ?" This fentence is fo truly in the
mafter's ftyle that we look increduloully to the fub-
fcription of the letter, and find that it is indeed
Bofwell retorting the fedate reflection with itsufual
turn, — as a boy may throw back upon a foun-
tain the water he has juft abftraded from it.
BOSWELVS LETTERS. 325
Another inftance of his Johnfonian manner is to
be found in the dedication of his Account of Corfica
to General Paoli. Only liften to this ridiculous
parrot, fwinging from the roof of his mailer's
ftudy ! " Dedications are for moft part the offer-
ings of interefted fervility, or the effufions of par-
tial zeal ; enumerating the virtues of men in whom
no virtues can be found, or predicting greatnefs to
thofe v^ho afterwards pafs their days in unambi-
tious indolence, and die leaving no memorial of
their exiftence but a dedication, in which all their
merit is confefTedly future, and which time has
turned into filent reproach He who
has any experience of mankind will be cautious to
whom he dedicates. Publicly to beftow praife on
merit of which the public is not fenfible, or to raife
flattering expectations which are never fulfilled,
muft fmk the charaCter of an author, and make
him appear a cringing parafiteor a fond enthufiaft.'*
The firft of thefe fentences is very clumfy ; the
fecond is a better imitation of Johnfon's manner :
but both are fpurious, and therefore to be heartily
contemned. It was a millake in Bofwell to coun-
terfeit that weighty ftyle. Bafe metal may pafs
current in a lighter form ; but what bullion mer-
chant was ever deceived by ingots of lead or tin ?
But Bofwell had literary merits of his own ; and
his imitation of Johnfon's manner was happily as
rare as it was gratuitous. His Journey to the
Hebrides is not lefs entertaining than his more
famous biography ; and though it may be faid that
the fame great talker contributes here the fame
326 BOSWELUS LETTERS.
large element of intereft and inftrudtion, our au-
thor's merit is not much afFe61:ed by the remark ;
for we are reminded of the high value of his
peculiar talents, and we congratulate ourfelves, not
exa6lly becaufe Johnfon was the companion of
our lively traveller, but on the good fortune which
made the inimitable Bofwell the companion of
Johnfon. Other fages may wander — and do wan-
der — thither and otherwhere ; but the ftory re-
mains untold, or finds dull record and due oblivion,
like Johnfon's own account of the Hebridean tour.
Of that pair, indeed, we fliall never meet the like,
on any road, in any chronicle ; for the Mercurial
genius, the lively obfervation, the tacSt, fidelity, and
devotion of a Bofwell, are necefTary to that rare
conjun6tion.
It is well known that Bofwell was the butt of
all the wits ; and many men of little mark, whofe
names he has embalmed in his great biography, no
doubt took lawful pleafure in turning his faults to
ridicule. It is certain, alfo, that he was not de-
fpifed without a caufe. But we contend that there
is nothing in his own publications, and efpecially
nothing in his Life ofyohnfon, to render him de-
fpicable in our eyes. His reverence for the learn-
ing, intelleft, and character of that great man, led
him to yield a foolifh and unbecoming deference,
and in the fimplicity of his heart he told a good
ftory to his own difadvantage ; but thefe are traits
of genius compared with the manners of ordinary
men, who frequently pay court to a far more vul-
gar idol for more felfifh ends, and whofe afFe6la-
BOSWELUS LETTERS. 327
tion of independence is both part and proof of
their fervility, as the loweft reverence is rneafured
by the height of its recoil. BofwelPs was at leaft
no common-place toadyifm ; and if we fmile at
his relations to Johnfon, our fmile has nothing of
contempt in it. It is therefore to his behaviour
in general fociety, and to thofe perfonal difplays
which amufed his aflbciates in the aflembly or the
club, in the hours of poft-prandial exhilaration, or
thofe yet more ridiculous of ftate and dignity, — it
is to Bofwell under thefe conditions that we muft
look for the materials and the obje6l of contempt.
Some glimpfes of the kind are attainable in the
writings of his contemporaries ; but how much
better to have his follies given under his own hand
to fome intimate and equal ! Then will he fpeak
out freely, and we fhall more diftin6lly know why
the name of Bofwell has fo long been a fynonym
for fool.
The volume before us anfwers this purpofe and
defcription. It confifts of about one hundred
letters addrefled by Bofwell to the Rev. W. J.
Temple, and forming the only remaining part of
what was probably a voluminous correfpondence ;
for the intimacy between Temple and his friend
was continued during their lives, which lafted a
period of fome threefcore years, and then termi-
nated almoft together. The difcovery of thefe
curious documents is thus related by the editor.
" A few years ago a Clergyman^ having occafton to
buy fome articles at the Jhop of Madame Noel, at
328 BOSJVELUS LETTERS.
Boulogne^ obferved that the paper in which they
were wrapped was the fragment of an Englijh letter.
Upon infpeSiion^ a date and fome names were dif-
covered ; and further invejiigation proved that the
piece of paper in quejiion was part of a correfpon-
dence^ carried on nearly a century before^ between
the biographer of Dr. Samuel f oh nf on and his early
friend the Rev. William johnfon Temple. On
making inquiry^ it was afcertained that this piece
of paper had been taken from a large parcel recently
pur chajed from a hawker^ who was in the habit of
pajfing through Boulogne once or twice a y ear ^ for
the purpofe of fupp lying the different Jhops with
paper. Beyond this no further information could be
obtained. The whole contents of the parcel were
immediately fecured. The majority of the letters
bear the London and Devon poji-marks^ and are
franked by well-known names of that period. Be-
fides thofe written by Bofwell, which are here pub-
lijhed^ were found fever al from Mr. Nichols^ Mr.
Claxton^ and other per fons alluded to in the follozving
pages ^ as well as a few unfinijhedfermons andeffays
by Mr. Temple."— Prehce.
The queftion has of courfe been afked, Are
thefe letters genuine ? and it has been uniformly
anfwered that they are. This afhirance is not
bafed upon the fimple ftatement we have juft
tranfcribed. Many a fpurious document has been
prefaced by a hiftory very plain and plaufible,
vouched for by a learned editor, and iflued by a
publifher of ftrid refpedtability. Much more than
BOSTFELVS LETTERS, 329
thefe are requifite to eftablifli the authenticity of
fuch a work in a manufacturing age like ours ; but
much more alfo may in this cafe be adduced.
Mod: readers will be quite fatisfied with the internal
evidence of thefe letters. They approve them-
felves by their omiffions as well as by their con-
tents ; they deal too largely in new material for a
mere imitator's timid hand, and yet the whole is
not more novel than chara6teriftic. We fee
Bofwell in a gayer form ; but the grub of Johnfon
has only emerged into the butterfly, and flutters in
the face of the Corfican hero. It is the fame
parafite elated and transformed. So alfo we have
Bofwell fucceffively courting, fcheming, grumbling,
drinking, — abufingthe great and reproaching him-
felf, — full of envy, fondnefs, conceit, animal fpirits,
ennuiy and defpair. And many of thefe are new
phafes of chara6ler in one who has hitherto ap-
peared as a fort of flunkey-coxcomb, never greatly
ftirred out of his own deep felf-efteem, not very
ferious, and yet not quite unfteady. But it is Bof-
well after all, — not ftanding befide his mafter's
chair, and fearing a blue-bottle from his mafter's
wig, but efcaped down-ftairs to his other, undrefs
heaven, emptying the bottle, and chucking the
houfemaid under the chin. Yes, it is Bofwell
below ftairs.
We muft glean from thefe letters fome of the
more prominent incidents and traits. Nothing is
more amufmg than the efFe6l which fome fuccefs
in the beft fociety of London produces on the
mind of Bofwell. It affords him an abfolute re-
330 BOSWELUS LETTERS,
velation of his own importance. " I am really," he
fays, " the great man now. I have David Hume
in the forenoon, and Mr. Johnfon in the afternoon,
of the fame day, vifiting me. Sir John Pringle,
Dr. Franklin, and fome more company, dined with
me to-day ; and Mr. Johnfon and General Ogle-
thorpe one day, Mr. Garrick alone another, and
David Hume and fome more //V^r^/z another, dine
with me next week. I give admirable dinners and
good claret ; and the moment I go abroad again,
which will be in a day or two, I fet up my chariot.
This is enjoying the fruits of my labours, and ap-
pearing like the friend of Paoli." This is fuffi-
ciently good, but the continuation is better, — and
mark how careleflly thefe triumphs are introduced !
" ^y the by, the Earl of Pembroke and Captain
Meadows are juft fetting out for Corfica, and I
have the honour of introducing them by a letter to
the General. David Hume came on purpofe the
other day to tell me that the Dukeof Bedford was
very fond of my book, and had recommended it to
the Duchefs. David is really amiable. I al-
ways regret to him his unlucky principles, and he
fmiles at my faith ; but I have a hope which he
has not, or pretends not to have. So who has the
beft of it, my reverend friend ?" Poor David, the
philofopher, is here taken at a fad difad vantage ;
and James the popinjay is making the beft of both
worlds at a great rate. No doubt *' my reverend
friend" was greatly edified.
If you take Bofwell in his own fphere, and
on his own terms, he is worth any money. If you
BOSWELUS LETTERS, 331
fhould ever look down upon your bargain, he will
foon raife himfelf in the market by a cheerful re-
hearfal of his merits. Thefe letters fhow, in a
hundred places, how thoroughly this ingenious
creature had perfuaded himfelf of his own rare
virtue. On thefe occafions the Corfican General
naturally rufhes to his mind, as a fort of unexcep-
tionable reference. When his crofs-grained father,
theftirewd old Laird of Auchinleck, writes with-
out a due fenfe of his paternal privilege, the tra-
velled youth exclaims, " How galling is it to the
friend of Paoli to be treated thus !" and then, giving
his correfpondent that credit for difcernment which
his father had juftly forfeited, he fondly adds,
" Temple, would you not like fuch a fon ? would
you not feel a glow of parental joy ? I know you
would."
The earlier portion of the prefent volume is
enlivened by the gayer fallies of our author, touch-
ing his numerous amours and flirtations. Some
of thefe are difreputable ; but moft of them are
iimply ridiculous. Of the former clafs is his paf-
fion for " a pretty, lively, black little lady," — mean-
ing by this defcription, what Pepys meant in ufing
fimilar terms, namely, a handfome brunette, and
not a nigger beauty. The affair adds little credit
to the character of Bofwell ; and though not offen-
fively obtruded in the publiftied portion of his
letters, it might perhaps have been omitted alto-
gether with advantage.
Not fo his courtfhip of the lovely Blair. This
is much too good a ftory to lofe, and we fhall treat
332 BOSWELVS LETTERS,
the reader to all the particulars we know. It is
thus that our hero opens the catalogue of her
attra6tions in a letter to his friend : " There is a
young lady in the neighbourhood here who has an
eftate of her own, between two and three hundred
a year, juft eighteen, a genteel perfon,an agreeable
face, of a good family, fenfible, good-tempered,
cheerful, pious. You know my grand objecSt is
the ancient family of Auchinleck, — a venerable
and noble principle. How would it do to con-
clude an alliance with the neighbouring princefs,
and add her lands to our dominions ? I Jhould at
once have a pretty little ejiate^ a good houfe^ and a
fweet placeJ^ It is worthy of remark, that the
fummary of advantages contained in the laft fen-
tence does not include the lady, — except we fup-
pofe her to be in the houfe. We are then given
to underftand that the old Laird has been prompt-
ing his fon in this direction. " My father is very
fond of her; it would make him perfe6tly happy :
he gives me hints in this way : / wijh you had her y
— no bad fcheme this ; I think ^ a very good one. But
I will not be in a hurry ; there is plenty of time."
Juft fo. In matters of this fort it is fo eafy to add
temperance to prudence ! When love has its
origin in " a venerable and noble principle," how
calm and reafonable a thing it is !
But once embarked in any enterprife of the
kind, our lover is not long wanting in enthufiafm.
He prefently proceeds with fpirit, and foon arrives
at the declamatory ftage. " The lady in my
neighbourhood is the fineft woman I have ever
BOSTVELL'S LETTERS, 333
feen. I went and vifited her, and (he was fogood
as to prevail with her mother to come to Auchin-
leck, where they flayed four days, and in our ro-
mantic groves I adored her like a divinity." Then,
on a fomewhat lower key: "My father is very
defirous I (hould marry her, — all my relations, all
my neighbours, approve of it." The ftrain is
again raifed a little, but ftill it is no great things :
" She looked quite at home in the houfe of Auchin-
leck. Her pidure would be an ornament to the
gallery. Her children would be all Bofwells and
Temples, and as fine women as thefe are excellent
men." Mufl we conclude that love, like life itfelf,
is a rather mixed affair ?
Nothing will fatisfy him now but making the
lady perfonally known to his friend.. We have
many urgent appeals to this purpofe. '' Temple,
you muft be at Auchinleck ; you mufl fee mv
charming bride. If you cannot return in autumn,
pray refolve to take a ride now, and on pretence
of viewing the feat of your friend, view alfo the
woman who has his heart My Signora is
indeed a wonderful creature : you fhall know all.
But again let me entreat of you to take one ro-
mantic ride, to oblige, mofl elTentially, your moft
cordial friend." This "romantic ride" is foon
arranged. Temple is to pay a vifit at Adamtown,
— the feat of the heirefs,— partly in the character
ofambalTador, and partly in the humbler character
of fpy. He is duly provided with an Itinerary and
*' InflrutSlions." This extraordinary document is
ftill extant, and given in the volume which affords
334 BOSWELUS LETTERS,
us thefe particulars. It is far better than a ftate
paper, and we are tempted to transfer it to our
pages.
" InftrucSlions for Mr. Temple on his Tour to
Auchinleck and Adamtown.
" He will fet out in the fly on Monday morning
and reach Glafgow by noon. Put up at Graham^ s^
and afk for the horfes befpoke by Mr. Bofwell.
Take tickets for the Friday'' s fly. Eat fome cold
viSfuals. Set out for Kingfwell^ to which you have
good road; arrived t her e^ get a guide to put you
through the muir to Loudoun ; from thence Thomas
knows the road to Auchinleck.^ where the worthy
overfeer.^ Mr. fames Bruce., will receive you. Be
cofy with him^ and you will like him much; expeSf
but moderate entertainment.^ as the family is not at
home. Tuefday. — See the houfe ; look at the front;
choofe your room ; advife as to pavilions. Have
fames Bruce to conduSi you to the cab-houfe ; to the
old caflle ; to where I am to make the f up erb grotto;
up the river to Broom/holm ; the natural bridge ;
the grotto; the grotto walk down to the Gothic
bridge : anything elfe he pleafes. Wednefday. —
Breakfafl at eight ; fet out at nine; Thomas will
bring you to Adamtown a little after eleven. Send
up your name ; if pojfible.^ put up your horfes there.,
— they can have cut grafs ; if not^ Thomas will
take them to Mount ain., a place a mile off^ and come
hack and wait at dinner. Give Mifs Blair my
letter. Salute her and her mother ; afk to walk.
See the place fully; think what improvements Jhould
BOSWELUS LETTERS. 335
be made. Talk of my mare^ the purfe^ the chocolate.
Tell^ you are my very old and inti?nate friend.
Praife me for my good qualities., — you know them ;
but talk alfo how odd., how Inconfiant^ how im-
petuous, AJk gravely,. Pray don't you imagine there
is fomething of madnefs in that family? Talk of
my various travels,^ — German princes,, — Voltaire
and Roujfeau. Talk of my father ; my Jirong de-
fire to have my own houfe. Obferve her well. See.,
how amiable ! fudge if Jhe would be happy with
your friend. Think of me as the great man at
Adamtown., — quite clajfical,, too ! Study the mother.
Remember well what paffes. Stay tea. At fix,,
order horfes to go to New Mills, two miles from
Loudoun ; but if they prefs you to flay all night., do
it. Be a man of as much eafe as pojjible. Con-
fider what a romantic expedition you are on ; take
notes \ perhaps you now fix me for life. Thurfday.
— Return io Glafgow from New Mills or from
Adamtown. See High Church., New Church
College., and particularly the paintings, and put
halfa-crown into the box at the door. My friend
Mr. Robert Fowles will J}-) ow you all. Friday. —
Come back in the fly. Bring your portmanteau
here. TVe Jhall fettle where you are to lodge. N.B.
— Tou are to keep an exa£i account of your charges?^
It is juft poffible that fomething almoft as ridi-
culous as the above may have been written gravely
dou^n ; but fuch a compofition has never publicly
tranfpired before. Every line of it, moreover, is
charaderiftic of the weak and worldly fmner it
336 BOSWELVS LETTERS.
proceeds from ; and, on the whole, it Is hard to
fay whether it is more welcome to the humourift,
or more faddening to the graver ftudent of hu-
manity.
Mr. Temple feems to have been well received,
and to have made a favourable impreflion upon
the " princefs " to whom he was accredited ; for
" fhe and Mrs. Blair were quite charmed with the
young parfon, with his neat black periwig and his
polite addrefs." But the caufe he fought to for-
ward was not deftined to profper. From this
time forth no genial fun fmiled on the loves of
Auchinleck and Adamtown. The fwain wrote
duly to thank his miftrefs for the entertainment of
his friend ; but he waited long and anxioufly for
a reply. " What can be the matter ? " he ex-
claims to Temple. " Probably the letter you
carried has been thought ftrange, and fo diftant
from any rational fcheme, that it has been refolved
no longer to carry on fo friendly and eafy an inter-
courfe with me. Or what would you fay if the
formal nabob whom you faw there has ftruck in,
and fo good a bird in hand has made the heirefs
quit the uncertain profpect of catching the bird in
the bufh ? I am curious to fee how this matter
will turn out. The mare, the purfe, the choco-
late, where are they now?" Ay, indeed, where!
We fhall no doubt hear again of that " formal
nabob."
In the meantime there feems to be fome hope
for our friend ; his fun at leaft fhines out for a
feafon. He receives a moft agreeable letter from
BOSWELVS LETTERS. 337
his goddefs, explaining, apologizing, making all fo
bright. He writes to his friend in the higheft
fpirits. '' Am I not now as well as I can be ?
What condefcenfion ! What a defire to pleafe !
She ftudies my difpofition and refolves to be
cautious, &c. Adorable woman ! Don't you
think I had better not write again till I fee her?"
And after an interval of fome weeks he has the
happinefs to date from Adamtown. " In fhort,
I am fitting in the room with my princefs, who is
at this moment a finer woman than ever (he
appeared to be before." Perhaps this is becaufe
the fpell of the enchanting heirefs is ftrongeft on
her own ground. But even here his happinefs is
not unqualified. He proceeds to complain of her
former treatment, and to forebode troubles in the
future. " At laft I am here, and our meeting has
been fuch as you paint in your lafl but one. I
have been here one night ; fhe infifled on my
flaying another. I am drefTed in green and gold.
I have my chaife, in which I fit alone like Mr.
Gray ; and Thomas rides by me in a claret-
coloured fuit with a filver-laced hat." Alas, for
the unreafonablenefs and caprice of woman ! Even
that fplendid apparition of green and gold does not
take away the lady's breath, or much afFe6l the
pulfes of her heart. " But the princefs and I
have not yet made up our quarrel ; fhe talks
lightly of it. I am refolved to have a ferious con-
verfation with her to-morrow morning." The
interview accordingly takes place ; but nothing
fatisfacStory refults. The flate of the cafe appears
338 BOSTVELL'S LETTERS.
to be fomething like this : neither of the parties is
really in love, but one of them is fool enough to
think that he is fo, and therefore naturally be-
comes an amufement and a prey to the other. A
woman that is no better than a pufs, will not
hefitate to play with a heart that is no bigger than
a moufe.
We come now toward the end of this em-
broglio. For the reader's fake we fhould have
been glad if our limits had permitted the infertion
of the thirty-fourth letter of this volume, — for it
contains the beft fcene in the whole comedy,
though not the laft. Poor Bofwell, who entered
upon his part with fuch gay good humour, is now
in earneft, and has perfuaded himfelf (though only
for the moment) that the heroine before him is
really the objedt of his ardent afFe6lions. But the
princefs whifpers him, with a cruel mixture of
franknefs and archnefs, " I wifti I liked you as
well as I do Auchinleck ! " She, too, it feems,
had caft wiftful glances over her neighbour's
fence, and hence her coquetting with a man whom
fhe probably defpifed. But we muft haften to
the clofe, which is really a very droll affair. Bof-
well has met with another unfortunate fuitor of
the princefs, — apparently the " formal nabob "
aforefaid, — but one whom fhe had never en-
couraged ; for in this cafe there was no tempting
propinquity of two eftates. But our young laird
feels a fympathy, and foon puts him on an equal
footing in the matter of their forlorn pretenfions.
They repair to a tavern, and talk over their
BOSWELUS LEl'TERS. 339
grievances. " We fat till two this morning ; we
gave our words, as men of honour, that we would
be honeft to each other, fo that neither fhould
fufFer needleflly ; and to fatisfy ourfelves of our
real fituation, we gave our words that we fhould
both afk her this morning, and I fhould go firfl.
Could anything be better than this ? " We fhould
fay. Certainly not, — but that our eye has already
caught what follows. Bofwell goes for his anfwer,
and he duly gets it. " ' What then,' I exclaimed,
' have I no chance ? ' ' No,' faid fhe. I afked
her to fay fo upon her word and honour. She
fairly repeated the words. So I think. Temple,
I had enough." And this time we quite agree
with him.
The nabob goes, and fares likewife. The
haughty princefs will anfwer no idle queftions
about other fuitors ; but the nabob is welcome to
his A^^. What becomes of the princefs does not
afterwards appear. There is fome rumour of a
Baronet, — but fome rumour alfo of another rup-
ture. Perhaps fhe repented that fhe did not take
the hand (and land) of the gay young Mafter of
Auchinleck. That gentleman is not ferioufly
hurt ; for it is a promifing fign of his recovery that
he turns to his friend with this pleafant obferva-
tion : " Now that all is over, I fee many faults
in her which I did not fee before." Not very
generous certainly ; but perhaps not quite unjufl.
We wifh to have done with this portion of
Bofwell's life, and to witnefs his condud as a
340 BOSIVELUS LETTERS.
married man. But it is not eafy to efcape from
his labyrinth of loves. Ireland, Italy, and even
Holland, in turns fupply the emifTaries of that
tender goddefs whofe vi^illing Have he is ; and no
fooner does he find himfelf at variance v^ith one,
than he is in eager treaty with another. " I am
exceedingly lucky," he writes, " in having efcaped
the infenfible Mifs B. and the furious Zelide ; for
I have now ^^.tn the fineft creature that ever was
formed, la belle Irlandaife. Figure to yourfelf.
Temple," — but the picture is at full length, and
our page is very limited. Yet we cannot refift a
^Qw of the notes of admiration which enfue.
" From morning to night I admired the charming
Mary Anne. Upon my honour, I never was fo
much in love ; I never was before in a fituation
to which there was not fome obje6lion, but here
every flower is united, and not a thorn to be
found. ... I was allowed to v/alk a great deal
with Mifs ; I repeated my fervent paflion
to her again and again ; fhe was pleafed, and I
could fwear that her little heart beat. I carved
the firft letter of her name on a tree : I cut off a
lock of her hair, male pertinax. She promifed not
to forget me, nor to marry a Lord before March."
But long before that time comes round, ourfwain
is himfelf forfworn. He is even once more on his
knees to the cruel princefs I But that is not to be.
At length, — to his ov/n relief and ours, — Bof-
well indeed gets married. His choice, if we may
call it fo, falls on his coufm, Mifs Margaret Mont-
gomerie, — a lady of fev/ perfonal attracSlions, but
BOSIVELVS LETTERS. 341
many higher virtues. Dr. Johnfon fpoke with
rerpe6l: of Mrs. Bofwell, although (lie regarded
him with no efpecial favour. Her hufband praifed
her both in feafon and out of feafon, like a foolifli
hufband as he was. He kept a book which he
called Uxoriana^ in which the " good things " fhe
uttered were preferved.
Bofwell's marriage was, no doubt, of the greateft
value to him. It gave him fome intervals of pure
happinefs ; it deferred the moment of his impend-
ing ruin. But no earthly bleffing will counteraft
the operation of cheriihed and habitual vices ; and
to thefe Bofwell had long been enllaved. He
had learned, in convivial meetings, to take excefs
of drink ; and as years rolled on, the habit
ftrengthened, and every hour of defpondency urged
him to have frefti recourfe to the deftrudive
ftimulus. His abfence from home, his unfettled
purfuits, his eager defire for the notice, the com-
pany, the patronage of the great, added to the
fever of his life, and indire6lly foftered the accurfed
luft of drink.
Early in 1789, Mrs. Bofv/ell fell ferioufly ill.
Still her hufband lingered in London, — for Scot-
land feems to have grov/n increafmgly diftafteful
to him, and he had gained therelu6lant confent of
his wife to make the family refidence in the Englifh
metropolis. But her increafing malady renders
this ftep impoffible. It is curious to remark, in
Bofwell's letters to Temple at this period, how his
focial enjoyments are flightly dafhed with a little
felf-reproach. At length he breaks away from his
342 BOS WELL'S LETTERS.
unworthy allurements, and goes down to witnefs
the fuffering, and the patience of his wife. '* How
difmal, how afFedling," he exclaims, " is it to me
to fee my coufm, my friend, my wife, wafting
before my eyes ! " He returns once more to
London j and on his next fummons home arrives
too late.
Perhaps the lofs of a good wife falls with the
greateft feverity upon the moft unworthy hufband.
He lofes the ftay of his houfe as well as the angel
of his purer hours ; and mifTes, under the prefTure
of a thoufand claims, the virtue of her vicarious
excellence. And as his lofs is relatively greater,
fo are his confolations pofitively fewer. Bofwell
found this to be the cafe when the affliction of his
wife ended in death. Truly had Johnfon pro-
phefied in profpecl of this event, " In lofmg her
you will lofe your anchor, and be toft without
ftability by the waves of life." His mind became
a prey to the bittereft remorfe ; and his houfe was
left to him very defolate. His children claimed
that care which he felt himfelf perfectly helplefs
to beftow. There is fomething very felfifti in his
grief, — perhaps there is in that of moft men, —
but ftill it is painful to witnefs. " I cannot ex-
prefs to you, Temple, what I fuffer from the lofs
of my valuable wife, and the mother of my chil-
dren. While ftie lived, I had no occafion almoft
to think concerning my family ; every particular
was thought of by her, better than I could. I am
the moft helplefs of human beings j I am in a
ftate very much that of one in defpair." He re-
BOSWELUS LETTERS. 343
curs to her memory again in perplexity. " O my
friend, what would I give for one of thofe years
with my deareft coufin, friend, and wife, which
are paft ! . . . She ufed, on all occafions, to be
my comforter; fhe, methinks, could now fuggeft
rational thoughts to me ; but where is fhe ? O
my Temple, I am miferable.'* It is thus that the
louder grave revenges the unreproaching patience
of our friends.
Bofwell furvived his wife fix years, dying on
the 19th of May, 1795. His career is monitory
as well as amufmg. It fhows us how far mere
natural parts and literary talents may fall below
the ordinary ftandard of natural wifdom, — that
genius itfelf may incur both the taint and the dif-
grace of vice, — and that the bittereft lofs and
forrow which befall us are due, not to the imme-
diate providence of God, but to the culpable im-
providence of man.
THE TERROR OF BAGDAT.
T is recorded by that learned Arabian,
Othcolmans Imlac, that the city of
Bagdat was once upon a time vilited
by a wonderful magician. He was
a venerable man with a long beard whiter than
fnow; but he walked ereft without the ailiftance
of a ftafF, as that which he conftantly carried in
his right hand meafured only one foot in length,
and was the instrument of his remarkable enchant-
ments. Soon after his arrival it became known
in the city that there refided an awful power in
this perfonage ; that whenever it pleafed him to
m.ake the flighted: wafture of his wand in the face
of any man, it caufed him in an inftant to lofe all
feeling and confcioufnefs, and fo to remain virtually
dead, through any period of months or years, till
the action was exa(51:ly repeated and the fpell
removed.
When the people heard this it brought to fome
rejoicing and to others difmay. Thofe who
fuffered from fevere bodily pain, or from mental
torture yet more intolerable, hailed it as the pro-
mife of immediate relief j while the young, the
THE TERROR OF BAGDAT. 345
hopeful, and the pleafure-loving, trembled at the
notion of fo terrible a power over all the enjoy-
ments of hfe. It was a matter of ferious inquiry,
therefore, to both thefe clafTes, whether the
magician was of a friendly or a malicious nature ;
whether likely to deaden the anguifh of the
afflidbed, or to rob youth of its gaiety and delight.
Prefently it was proclaimed in Bagdat that all
thofe perfons who were accuftomed to invoke
death for the fake of oblivion were now invited
to obtain oblivion without death. Elrica, the
magician, would give audience for that purpofe in
a public fquare. But, in order that he might not
be overwhelmed by the crowd of fuppliants, it
was enjoined that the feveral clafTes who fought
this advantage or relief fhould come on appointed
days, according to the nature of their cafes. Now
it was not the moft neceffitous, or thofe in cir-
cumftances of the greateft mifery, who were in-
vited to come on the firft day, but only that emi-
nent ^^"N who, though bleft with every comfort of
life, were known to have profefTed a philofophic
indifference to its enjoyments, and a conflant readi-
nefs and even wifh to relinquifh them. The good
Elrica evidently defigned to (how before the whole
city how unconcernedly the wife man fubmits to
death, or voluntarily lapfes into that unconfciouf-
nefs in which the horror of annihilation itfelf con-
fifts.
The avenues to the fquare in which the magi-
cian fat were early befieged by eager crowds, but
the fquare itfelf was refpe6f fully abandonedto that
346 THE TERROR OF BAGDAT.
perfonage. It had been rumoured that a fmall
band of philofophers were preparing to embrace
the opportunity of antedating the oblivion of death.
For fome time, however, no fuch party appeared ;
and the front ranks of the crowd were gradually
urging the others back, from a fear that the magi-
cian, who was prepared with ftafF in hand, ftiould
waft it in their face and leave them for dead. At
length two men, drefied in long white robes, ad-
vanced through the yielding multitude, encourag-
ing each other, and finging a cheerful fong in very
feeble accents. When they faw Elrica, the magi-
cian, they paufed for a moment, and one of them
feemed inclined to return ; but his brother philo-
fopher took him by the arm and led him gently
forward. Then faid Elrica to them, " Hail ! "
And they anfwered, " Hail, mafter ! But tell
us,*' they continued, " how long fhall we lie fenfe-
lefs and as dead before thee ? " " Even till I choofe
that ye fhall rife," faid Elrica; "and if I be called
away from this city ye may never be reftored or
raifed." Then the one that would have turned
grew very pale, for the magician lifted his little
ftaiF; but the other invited its wafture towards
himfelf, and receiving the influence full upon his
face fank gently down upon the ground. Then
the man who yet flood fell trembling upon his
knees, and implored that he might be fuffered to
return home, which was granted by Elrica, "For,"
faid he, "you are not worthy to partake of his
repofe."
No others prefented themfelves before the ma-
THE TERROR OF BAGDAT, 347
gician that day. The crowd continued to look
with increafing awe upon his face, which Teemed
to grow fterner every minute ; and then they fur-
veyed with mingled admiration and pity the calm
and corpfe-like body of the philofopher, who was
prefently removed to a chamber in Elrica's houfe.
On the following day all who fufFered from ex-
treme bodily pain were incited to feek relief at the
hands of the magician. As many in the city were
known to be fo affli6led, it was expelled that a
large number would prefent themfelves in the
public fquare. And, indeed, the number was not
fmall of thofe who were borne thither on litters,
or came fupported by encouraging friends. Yet
it was obferved that whereas many had groaned
moft loudly under their torments until this time,
they now grew fuddenly mild in their complaining,
or altogether filent. Indeed, it feemed as though
the fight only of the awful Elrica had fufficed to
remove their pain ; and not a few profefTed them-
felves fo far recovered as to have no occafion for
the remedy of total oblivion. Some, however,
were induced to accept of that extreme relief;
yet when on the brink of unconfcioufnefs, which
fhould have been to fuch tormented beings wel-
come as the gate of Paradife, the boldefl of them
were feized with a tremor, and their faces turned
white as the magician's beard. One poor fufferer,
who, peradventure had loved nature and his
fpecies more than he had wearied of a painful life,
glanced fondly, as for the laft time, at the declin-
ing fun and the human crowd, and held fo ftrongly
348 THE TERROR OF BAGDJT.
by the hand of a relative or friend that the fpell
which fmote him fenfelefs to the ground difTolved
not the paffionate clafp, and the magician was fain
to unite them in one fate. For the moft part the
patients, however reftlefs and talkative before,
grew thoughtful and taciturn on approaching El-
rica J but fome ceafed not talking to the laft. It
was efpecially obferved that two women came
heedleffly forward as drawn by the novelty of the
fcene rather than perfonal neceflity ; and they
chatted together loudly and irreverently even in
the prefence of the magician. But he fuddenly
filenced both by waving his ftafF in the face of
one ; for when the other faw her companion re-
duced to fuch a pitiful and abfolute filence, being
indeed the famie as dead fmce (he could no longer
talk, fhe turned fuddenly upon her heel and fled
for her very life.
The evening being com.e, it was found that few
only of the fufFerers in the city had fubmitted to
have their pain afluaged by the fufpenfion of all
fenfe and confcioufnefs. Thefe few were then re-
moved to the chamber of filence in the houfe of
Elrica ; and it was announced that any v/hofe
minds were diftracled by misfortune or crime, and
efpecially fuch as were meditating violence againft
themfelves, were bidden to feek relief from the
magician in the fquare. But when the day arrived,
and Elrica was feated in his accuftomed place, no
one ventured near him. A number of all clafTes,
including the wretched and the poor as well as the
opulent and the gay, gathered at a diftance in the
THE TERROR OF BAG DAT, 349
feveral ftreets converging to the fquare : but thefe
were drawn only by curiofity and flood repelled
by fear. The very widow, newly robbed of her
beloved, and whofe voice not many hours before
had ftartled the dull night with cries, imploring
death to return and take her alfo, now hid herfelf
behind the crowd, and glanced as occafion offered
at the dreaded difpenfer of oblivion. The flighteft
intimation of her wearinefs of life would have
caufed the multitude to fall back, and give her
free accefs to his prefence ; but (lie uttered not a
whifper and almoft held her breath.
At length a noife, as of fome one ftruggling,
attra6led all eyes to one fpot, when, the crowd
dividing, two men — officers of the city — v/ere
feen hauling by the fhoulders a wretched creature,
pale and bewildered, who refifted with what little
might he had. But on feeing the magician he was
feized with confternation and trembling, and they
that drao-ged him hitherto henceforward carried
CO
him. Then laying him at the feet of Elrica, one
of the officers faid, " Hail, mafter ! This man
was found by us at daybreak in the a6t of felf-
defl:ru6lion. Already was he ftanding on the
river's edge, adjufting to his neck two heavy
weights of brafs, when we feized him by the arm,
and remembering your injun6tion we charitably
fought to lead him hither. But though he feemed
at firft to yield compliance, as not forry to be forced
back to life, yet with difficulty have we urged him
towards your prefence ; for many times did he
fcek to linger in the bazaars, looking covetoudy at
350 THE TERROR OF BAGDAT.
all the wares expofed, and feeking opportunity to
efcape. Then he became reftive, and behold he
is now convulfed before you." As the officer
ceafed fpeaking, the magician fmiled grimly at the
inconfiftency of the poor wretch in throes before
him ; and then waving the wand in his face, ex-
changed the pallor of cowardice for that of death-
like trance.
Now when it became known that during the
ftay of Elrica none died in the city, or perifhed
otherwife than by his hand, he was fhunned on
every fide, as the only pretender to the ancient
power of death. The fingle fear of the bridegroom
in his gay proceffion was the polTible encounter of
that grim old man ; and the profperous merchant,
who pafied a luxurious evening In recalling the ample
profits of the day, or in forecafting golden ventures
of the morrow, feared the intrufion of that dreaded
ftep, and the fudden accefs of a fleep which fhould
prove too dreamlefs and too long. The refult
was a general clamour for the departure of the
magician ; and Elrica was efcorted through the
city gates. Then all things became as before.
Difeafe and death refumed their natural forms ;
but a great terror was lifted from the heart of the
city, and though the plague from time to time
ravaged it in every quarter, the mingled current
of bufmefs and pleafure was never interrupted as
in the time of that myfterious vifitor.
HiSWICK PRESS : — PRINTED BY WHI TTINGHAM AND W■1LKI^S,
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LAME,