University of California • Berkeley
LOVE'S LAST LABOUR
NOT LOST.
•
r
LOVE'S LAST LABOUR
NOT LOST
BY
GEORGE DANIEL
AUTHOR OF " MERRIE ENGLAND IN THE OLDEN TIME
" DEMOCRITUS IN LONDON"
ETC. ETC.
»i
ALDI
LONDON
BASIL MONTAGU PICKERING
196 PICCADILLY
1863
X
CONTENTS
Page
I
ECOLLECTIONS of CharlesLamb
Samuel Johnfon .... 3a
Old Father Chriftmas . . .63
The Loving Cup, and Horace Wal-
pole . . . . . . .74
New Year's Eve 81
The Prefumed Difinterment of Milton . . 89
Moorfields in the Olden Time . . . .105
Dreams . . . . . . . 113
Recollections of Siddons and John Kemble . 118
What is Happinefs ? ..... 125
Uncle Timothy at Home . . . .130
Tom D'Urfey 142
Old Ballads 147
The Birthday 168
Robert Cruikfhank 173
May-Day 177
A Book of Fools ' 181
Truth and Error. An Epiftle to Eugenio . 187
817
vi Contents.
Farewell! .....
Page
. 206
" Non Omnis Moriar"
. 22 1
To the Comet of July, 1861
. 2S9
The Silent Harp ....
. 290
The Exile .....
• 2 95
Of this Edition Tivo Hundred and Fifty Copies only
are printed.
RECOLLECTIONS
OF CHARLES LAMB.
HAD long been promifed by Uncle
Timothy fome perfonal recollections of
Charles Lamb. It was he who firft
introduced me to that original and
eccentric genius. To remind a man oFhis promife
naturally implies forgetfulnefs on his part, and as
" Wits have fhort memories, and dunces none,"
I found it a delicate talk to jog Uncle Timothy's.
Following the good old fafhion, I had for many
years waited upon him with a birthday gift ; I
therefore determined on the prefent anniverfary
to watch a favourable opportunity of introducing
the fubjecl:, and leave the reft to the chapter of ac-
cidents. Having the entree of his ftudy, I entered
it unceremonioufly. " Bah ! " faid he, " foolifh
flutterers, what frightens you away?" And fure
enough a numerous flight of birds fuddenly took
B
2 Recollections of
wing from his threfhold, and perched upon the
furrounding trees. After paying him my congra-
tulations and prefenting my offering, I inquired the
meaning of this aerial phenomenon. " Receive,"
faid he, with a fmile of welcome, " my beft thanks
for your token of kind remembrance, and let this
(handing me a paper from his writing defk) anfwer
your queftion, while I walk down my garden and
whiffle back the wanderers." I took the manu-
fcript and read as follows : —
(C
In my quiet garden-room
Where I pafs my penfive hours,
And enjoy the fweet perfume
Wafted by my fragrant flow'rs,
Penfioners from every fpray,
Me their morning vifits pay.
Timidly aloof they ftand,
Till grown tamer, they at laft,
Perching upon my open'd hand,
Partake, with fongs, of my repaft —
'Tis then I learn from every bough
How cheap, O Happinefs ! art thou.
And as this feaft (too young to fly),
Their unfledged neftlings cannot fhare,
They to their leafy homes on high
A little part rejoicing bear;
Then this parental duty done,
Again they foaring, feek the fun.
Charles Lamb. 3
When winter chills the parting year,
And falls the fnow, and roars the wind,
My truants daily difappear ;
The Robin only flays behind,
And does his beft to make amends,
Till fpring returns, for abfent friends.
Will they return with fpring? How few! —
By driving ftorm, and leaflefs tree,
By bitter frolt, and damp night-dew,
Full many a voice fhall filenced be ;
And he who fpreads their feaft to-day
May too, ere fpring, have paff 'd away."
A nofegay of choice flowers was the graceful
return that Uncle Timothy made for my pre-
fent when he re-entered his " quiet garden-room."
" I owe you, Sir," faid I, " an apology for my un-
toward intrufion." u And I," he replied, " owe
you a promife. The day is appropriate, and the
hour propitious for its performance ; for fee ! every
bough is alive with chorifters, and hark ! my fayings
will be fet to mufic by their fongs ! " Then with a
clear voice he read from his common-place book —
RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES LAMB.
It was in the Autumn of 18 17 that I firft became
acquainted with Charles Lamb. He had then juft
removed from his fmoke-blackened, difmal chambers
in the Middle Temple, to light, airy, and conve-
4 Recollections of
nient lodgings in Ruffell Street, Covent Garden,
" delightfully fituated between two great theatres,'*
and a fpot admirably fuited to one who would not
exchange " London by Lamp-light for all the glories
of Skiddaw and Helvellyn;" nor "No. 4, Inner
Temple Lane by P##<ri>-light, for Melrofe by Moon-
light!" Of a congenial tafte was his filter. Mary
Lamb preferred the " full tide of human exiftence"
that, from morning to night, ftreamed under her
windows, and the inceffant rattling of coaches and
carts, to rural fights and founds. Covent Garden,
with its earlieft peas and afparagus, was more to her
fancy than the gardens of old Alcinous ! Here
Lamb had his fummer parlour for prints, and his
winter parlour for books ; with everything, like
Goodman Dogberry, "handfome" about him. His
occafional rambles rarely extended beyond Finchley,
on the north ; Dulwich College (for its pictures !),
on the fouth ; and Turnham-green, on the weft.
The eaft, with its narrow and tortuous carrefours,
was unknown to him. He never explored Wapping,
nor walked Whitechapel-ward. In thofe days the
fylvan retreats of far-off Ponder's-End, Chefhunt,
Enfield and Amwell had yet to be realized. After
winding up a narrow pair of flairs (not unlike the
" z'legant ladder" that led to the family crib of Col-
man's Irifh cow-doctor, Mr. Looney Macwoulter),
a vifitor, on entering a middle-fized front room,
would dimly difcern, through tobacco fmoke that
was making its way up the chimney and through the
Charles Lamb. 5
key-holes, a noble head, worthy of Medufa, on which
were fcattered a few grey curls among crifp ones of dark
brown, and an expreffive, thoughtful fet of features
inclining to the Hebrew call. This was mine holt.
Around him at that witching time when " church-
yards yawn," and fobriety in its foft bed is pall
yawning, a band of brothers — who were under no
cloud but that which proceeded from their pipes —
fmoking " like limekilns," kept it up merrily. The
locality generally induced the fubjecl:; hence the
ftage, from " Gammer Gurtori's Needle" down (a
painful defcent !) to the laft (Wardour Street !)
Elizabethan drama, or uproarious, " fenfation,"
brimftone melo-drame that had received its critical
" Goofe" at Covent Garden, or Old Drury, was
the topic of difcuffion. Hazlitt, a pale-faced, fpare
man with fharp, expreffive features and hollow,
piercing eyes, would, after his earneft and fanciful
fafhion, anatomife the character of Hamlet, and find
in it certain points of refemblance to a peculiar
clafs of mankind ; while Coleridge, the inverted
monarch of other men's minds by right of fupreme
ability, would as ftoutly contend that Hamlet was a
conception unlike any other that had ever entered into
the poetical heart or brain; adding, that Shakefpeare
might poffibly have fat to himfelf for the portrait,
and from his own idiofyncrafy borrowed fome of its
fpiritual lights and fhades ; and the metaphyseal
fubtlety and fuperior word-painting of Coleridge
brought him off conqueror. Thofe who have heard
6 Recollections of
Lamb defcant upon, and feen John Kemblea6lZ^r —
and I, happily, have heard and feen both — have, in
truth, a juft conception of the fublime. What Elia has
written upon the heart-broken old King — touching
as it is, and true — may not compare, for terrible
intenfity, with what he has Jpoken. The flood of
extemporaneous eloquence — his nerves braced to
their utmoft tenfion — that he poured forth — for
here his natural defecl: of fpeech gave way to the
high-wrought infpiration of the moment — upon
Lear's madnefs ; the flaming of his melancholy eye
fparkling with fupernatural fire, the quivering of his
fine poetical lips :
*' A broken voice, and his whole function fuiting,
With forms to his conceit;"
befpoke a too mournful fympathy with that moll
piteous of all human calamities, which induced thofe
who were acquainted with his forrowful hiftory to
divert him from a fubject fo perfonally exciting, and
to lead him into flowery paths where fairies
" Hop in our walks, and gambol in our eyes,
And nod to us, and do us courtefies ; "
paths in which he ever delighted to wander.*
Nor were their endeavours unfuccefsful. He
turned from tragedy to comedy with equal facility
and grace. When the difcourfe grew tirefome, and
fome loquacious Coryphaeus of common-place who
* We have all of us, alas ! more or lels, our lunes and
crazes.
Charles Lamb. 7
had yet to learn filence in the probationary fchool of
Pythagoras, and whofe imagination was too fcanty
for his vocabulary, with felf-fatisfied effrontery, was
monotonoufly mouthing, he would play the "logical
contradictory," or " matter-of-Z?> man"* with fome
grotefque locution, tranfparent folecifm or incon-
gruous theory, to the delight of Talfourd (the pet of
the bar for his frolickfome humour), who feconded
his friend's audacity with the racielr. relifh ; while
Hood, fad looking and lickly, whofe brain was a
quiver of fharp jells, and who (as Lamb faid) carried
two faces (a tragic one and a comic) under his name-
fake, gave with a well-pickled and pointed pun com-
mon-place his quietus. A plentiful fupper — for
mine hoft, though a philofopher, had no tafte for
Plato's diet, dates and cold water; or for nourifhing
a friend " on diagrams, and filling his belly with
the eaft wind," — would follow; — after which the
goblets were refilled, the pipes re-fufed, and the
talk renamed for another pleafant hour or two.
The company then took their leave (Coleridge
generally lingering lag-laft), bidding each other
"goodnight;" while labour, returning to its daily
toil, was grumbling "good morning"
* Let it not be inferred from this and other fimilar plea-
fantries that Charles Lamb, like the world, was " given to
lying." He condemned " the heart unfworn, while the
tongue is fworn,'' of Euripides, and would have refpected Chal-
dean Abraham more if he had not fpoken falfely to fave himfelf
and his wife at the Court of Pharaoh. Of the mean duplicity
of Jacob he fpoke with forrow.
8 Recollections of
Upon thefe occafions I was a filent fpeclator,
having much to learn and little to impart, and that
little would have been like fending coals to New-
caftle, or owls to Athens. My fhare of the enter-
tainment was therefore limited to a rubber at whift,
or a quiet game at cribbage with lifter Mary. Seeing
that the fiery draughts of a fiendifh fpring were re-
ducing him to a trembling fhadow, it was with
lively fadsfaction I learnt from his own lips that he
was removing to a cottage at Iflington where certain
intruders " that time hath worn into flovenry; ,,
idlers who led an up-and-down, here-to-day and
gone-to-morrow kind of exirtence, would not be
likely to follow him. In this fuburban retreat —
(" The houfe of Socrates," he faid, " though fmall,
would hold all his friends, and this is quite big
enough to hold all mine") — he was in the year
1823 comfortably fettled. The New River (now
fomewhat si elderly") flowed in front of it, and a
pretty garden in full bearing and in full bloom flou-
rifhed in its rear, fupplying his dinner with vegeta-
bles, his deffert with fruit, and his hearth with
flowers. He took to the culture of plants, and
now, having been honoured with his commands,
I was, for the firft time, of fome ufe to him. He
watched the growth of his tulips with the gufto of a
veteran florift and became learned in all their gaudy
varieties. He grew enamoured of anemones. He
planted, pruned, and grafted ; and feldom walked
abroad without a bouquet in his button-hole ! The
Charles Lamb. 9
role, from its poetical aflbciation with Carew's ex-
quifite fong, —
" Afk me no more where Jove bellows,
When June is pad, the fading rofe" —
was his favourite flower. If the fifties of the New
River knew him not, (cockney Pifcators with their
penny rods had frightened even the minnows away!)
the birds of the air did ; for they congregated upon
his grafs-plot, perched upon his window-fills, neftled
in the eaves of his houfe-top, refponded to his whittle,
pecked up his plum-cake, and ferenaded him morning
and evening with their fongs.* It became one of
his amufements to watch their motions. " Com-
mend me," he faid, " to the fparrows for what our
friend Matthews calls in his * At home/ ' irregular
appropriation.' I remember feeing a precocious
Newgate-bird fnatch from the muckle-mouth of a
plethoric prentice-boy a himng-hot flice of plum-
pudding, and transfer it to his own, to the diverfion
of the byftanders, who could not forbear laughing at
the urchin's mendacious dexterity ; but this Height
of hand feat is nothing to the celerity with which
thefe feathered freebooters will make a tid-bit ex-
change beaks." Seeing his growing fondnefs for
birds, 1 offered him a beautiful bullfinch enfconced
in a handfome cage. But he declined the prefent.
" Every fong that it fung from its wiry prifon,"
* Buffbn, after defcribing the mufic of the robin-redbreaft,
coldly obferves, " this little warbler is excellent roafted."
io Recollections of
faid he, " I could never flatter myfelf was meant for
my ear; but rather a willful note to the paffing
travellers of air that it were with them too ! This
would make me felf-reproachful and fad. Yet I
mould be loth to let the little captive fly, left, being
unufed to liberty, it mould flutter itfelf to death, or
ftarve."
And with what cheerfulnefs and gratitude he
boafted that, for the firft time in his life, he was the
abfolute lord and mafter of a whole houfe ! — of an
undifturbed and a well-condu&ed home ! I helped
him to arrange his darling folios (Beaumont and
Fletcher, Ben Jonfon, and Company !) in his plea-
fant dining-room ; to hang in the beft light his por-
traits of the poets, and his " Hogarths," (the latter
in old-fafhioned ebony frames), in his newly-fur-
nifhed drawing-room; and to adorn the mantel-
pieces with his Chelfea china * fhepherds and fhep-
herdeffes (family relics) which, like their owner,
looked gayer and frefher for the change of air ! He
lived abftemioufly, retired to reft at a reafonable hour
(the midnight chimes had hitherto been to him more
familiar mufic than the lark's), and rofe early. He
took long fummer walks in the neighbouring fields, and
returned with a gathering of wild flowers. "Every
* " I attach a very peculiar value to the common articles of
furniture, the mere pictures, and china, and books, and candle-
fticks, &c. which I have feen grouped together in my infancy,
and while my aunt frill keeps them, it feems to me as if my
father's houfe were not quite broken up." — Dr. Arnold.
Charles Lamb. it
glimpfe of beauty," he faid, "was acceptable and
precious to colour our pale lives." He lamented
the encroachments of " horrid bricks and mortar"
on the green fvvard, and it was during one of our
rural rambles together that he extemporifed in profe,
what I thus (to his cordially exprefTed contentment),
turned and twilled into rhyme : —
"Bricks and mortar! bricks and mortar!
Cut your rambles rather fhorter,
Give green fields a little quarter !
You, in your fuburban fallies,
Turn our pleafant fields and valleys
Into fqualid courts and alleys.
All along our rural paffes
Where tripp'd village lads and IafTes
Not a Jingle blade of grafs is!
Where I faw the dailies fpringing,
Where I heard the blackbird finging,
And the lark while heavenward winging,
I behold a rookery frightful
Which with tatters (tenants rightful !)
Beggary fills from morn to night full.
And befide their neighbour wizen
For rogues I fee a palace rifen,
And for poverty a prifon !
12 Recollections of
Bricks and mortar ! bricks and mortar !
Give green fields a little quarter ;
As fworn foes to nature's beauty
You've already done your duty !"
"Merrie Iflington" was endeared to Charles Lamb
by many tender recollections. Its rural walks, having
been the fcenes of his early and tranfient courtfhip,
ftill retained for him an inexpreffible charm, and he
never recalled to memory thofe golden days of pure
and perfect love without a paffionate emotion, a
fympathetic thrill deepening into defpondency. It
is better filently to endure a forrow which nobody
feels but yourfelf; hence he feldom, and then re-
luctantly, alluded to the fubject. He flrove indeed
to forget it.* Yet great as had been his facrifice,
great alfo had been his reward ; fince it had enabled
him to devote a life of unceafing watchfulnefs and
care to a filler who, but for his gentle and refined
affection, would have been without a guardian and a
comforter. f I have had many opportunities of
friendly converfe with this gifted woman when her
intellect was unclouded, and I have beheld her when
that intellect was a ruin and memory was alive only
to the horrors of the paft. I know but one parallel
* " Life," faid Honore de Balzac, " would be impoflible Jans
de grands oublis ? "
-f- More hearts pine away in fecret anguifh for the want of
kindnefs from thofe who mould be their comforter than from
any other calamity in life.
Charles Lamb. 13
cafe to this beautiful and affecting one — Pope's filial
devotion to his mother — yes, one more — that of
Cleobis and Bito who, as a reward for their filial
piety, lay down in the temple, and fell afleep and
died. Lamb, referring to his many domeftic trials,
once remarked to me, "What a hard heart muft
mine be thatthefe blows cannot break it!" Yet he
might have remembered that when the darknefs is
deepeft (midnight), the light is near.
Unlike Coleridge, who had no fympathy with
local affociations (the little fmoky parlour of the
" Salutation and Cat," near Smithfield, where he,
Jem White — the author of " FalftafFs Letters" — and
Elia, in early life, had fpent fo many intellectual
hours, he did not, in after years, care to be reminded
of), Lamb venerated and vifited places known to
traditionary fame. In the Autumn of 1823, after
dining at Colebrooke Cottage with him and Robert
Bloomfield, I accompanied the two poets to the cele-
brated "Queen Elizabeth's Walk" at Stoke New-
ington, which had become Lamb's favourite prome-
nade in fummer, for its wild flowers, upon which he
could never tread with indifference ; for its feclufion
and its made. He would watch the fetting fun from
the top of old Canonbury Tower, and fit contemplat-
ing the ftarry heavens, (for he was a difciple of Plato,
the great Apoftle of the Beautiful !) until the cold
night air warned him to retire. He was hand and
glove with Goodman Symes, the then tenant of this
venerable Tower and a brother antiquary in a fmall
14 Recollections of
way, who took pleafure in entertaining him in the
oak-panelled chamber where Goldfmith wrote his
" Traveller," and fupped on butter-milk ; pointing
at the fame time to a frnall coloured portrait of
Shakefpeare in a curiouily carved gilt frame, which
Lamb would look at lovingly, and which, through
the kindnefs of a late friend,* has fince become mine.
He was never weary of toiling up and down the
fteep, winding, narrow Hairs of this fuburban pile,
and peeping into its fly corners and cupboards, as if
he expected to difcover there fome hitherto hidden
clue to its myfterious origin ! The ancient hoflelries
of Iflington and its vicinity he alfo vifited. At the
Old Queen's Head he puffed his pipe, and quaffed
his ale out of the huge tankard prefented by a cer-
tain feftivous Mailer Cranch, of a Bonifacial afpect
and hue, to a former hoft, in the Old Oak Parlour
where, according to tradition, Sir Walter Raleigh
received full fouce in his face the humming contents
of a jolly Black Jack from an affrighted clown who,
feeing clouds of tobacco fmoke curling from the
Knight's noflrils and mouth, thought he was all on
fire ! It was here that he chanced to fall in with
that obefe and burly figure of fun Theodore Hook,
who came to take a laft look at this hiflorical relic
before it was pulled down. Hookf accompanied
* Richard Percival, Efq., banker, of Lombard Street, and
Highbury.
+ We fcorn the grey head we mould revere when crowned
with the cap and bells. What fays Shakefpeare ?
" How ill white hairs become a fool and jefter."
Charles Lamb. 15
him to Colebrooke Cottage which was hard by.
During the evening Lamb (lightfome and liflbm) pro-
pofed a race round the garden ; but Hook (a cochon
a VangraiJJ'e, purfy and puffy, with a nofe as radi-
ant as the red-hot poker in a pantomime, and
whofe gait was like the hobblings of a fat goofe at-
tempting to fly) declined theconteft, remarking that
he could outrun nobody but l< the conftable." * In.
the Sir Hugh Myddleton's Head " Etta " would
often introduce his own, for there he would be fure
to find, from its proximity to Sadler's Wells, fome
play-going old crony with whom he could exchange
a convivial " crack," and hear the celebrated Joe
Grimaldi call for his "namefake" (a tumbler!) of
"fweet and pretty" (rum punch!); challenging
Boniface to bring it to a "rummer!" Many a
gleeful hour has he fpent in this once rural hoftelrie
(fince razed and rebuilt) in fumigation and fun.
Though now a retired " country gentleman," luxu-
riating in the Perfian's Paradife, " fomething to fee,
and nothing to do," he occafionally enjoyed the
amufements of the town. He had always been a
great fight-feer (as early as 1802 he piloted the
Wordfworths through Bartlemy Fair), and the
But the jefter not unfrequently meets with his match, and
thereby becomes difconcerted. For the buffoon can no more
endure to be out-fooled, than Nero to be out-fiddled.
* "Thy credit wary keep ; 'tis quickly gone $
Being got by many aclions $ loft by one."
Randolph.
1 6 Recollections of
ruling paflion ftill followed him to his Iflingtonian
Tufculum. " One who patronifes," faid he, " as I
do, St. Bartlemv, muft have a kindred inkling for my
Lord Mayor's Show. They both poiTefs the charm
of antiquity." Profanely fpeaking, I fear he rather
preferred the Smithfield Saturnalia; not that he
loved the curule chair and its Mayor, the men in
armour, the city coach, the broad banners and broad
faces, the turtle and venifon,* of London's corpora-
tion lefs, but that he loved dwarfs, giants, penny-
trumpets, poflure-mafters, and learned pigs more;
to fay nothing of thofe favoury and fable attractions,
the fried faufages (notambrofial fare!) and the little
fweeps ! He had a quick ear, and a quick ftep for
Punch and Judy, preluded by the eternal Pandean
pipes and drum ; and it was not until Punch, with
commendable ferocity, had perpetrated all his tradi-
tional extravagances, and was left crowing and cac-
chinating folus on the fcene, that he was to be coerced
or coaxed away. Many a penny he has paid for a
peep into a puppet-ihow, and after his final retire-
ment to Edmonton in the Spring of 1833, he, in
my company, revifited its fair in the September fol-
lowing, and renewed old acquaintanceihip with the
clowns and conjurers.
This happy change of life and fcene, this moral
funfhine — (he had vanquished evil by refilling it) —
* The world of the Hindoos was founded, they fay, on a
turtle. Qy. Is not a city alderman's too?
Charles Lamb. 17
produced the beft effects upon his conftitution
(fickly frames are the homes of fickly fancies)
and mind. Thofe fpedtre-haunted day and night
dreams, (ghaftly and grotefque !) that he fo fearfully
defcribes, no longer diffracted him, and he loft that
nervous irritability and reftleffnefs which at one
time threatened to become a permanent difeafe.
His eyes recovered their luftre, his ftep its firmnefs,
his pulfe its regularity, and his appetite its tone.
" I have the ftomach," faid he, " of a Heliogabalus
and the gorge of a garreteer ! " He had not become
a " fadder" — for he was as full of felicitous abfur-
dities as ever — but a " wifer" man. All rejoiced at
his rejuvenefcence. To his taciturn friend George
Dyer, who had broken the fall and long Lent of
his tongue and afked for eggs at the breakfafl-table,
he excufed himfelf for not producing them, by
gravely afferting there had been a "ftrike" amongfl
the fowls, and that no more eggs would be laid for
the prefent ; which that "good natured heathen"*
as potently believed, as he did the fame romancer's
confidentially-whifpered intelligence that the " Great
Unknown" of the Waverley Novels was Lord
* Elia took mifchievous pleafure in playing upon the credu-
lity of George. He once difturbed his digeftion of a plentiful
fupper of plump natives by infinuating that he might, unwit-
tingly, have been guilty of cannibalifm, by fwallowing a two-
legged idler or two ; feeing that the Scotch philofopher Lord
Kaimes (his oracle and prophet) faid that men, by ina&ion,
degenerate into oyfters !
C
i8 Recollections of
Caftlereagh ! As our friendfhip increafed (we had
now become nearer neighbours) our difcourfe grew
more confidential, and I learnt to my gratification,
not to fay, furprife — for in the wild Tallies of his
mirth many an unguarded expreffion hardly confident
with the Pharifee's fuperficial fobriety had efcaped
from him — that he was deeply impreffed with the
fublime truths of religion; with the health, beauty,
and joyoufnefs of the Chriftian faith ; and that in-
tellectual piety added another charm to his character.
I fay intellectual piety, becaufe much controverfy
has been waited on its obvious meaning ; as if piety
belonged only to the unlearned, and was not the
refult both of reafon and revelation. That " pearl
of days," the Sabbath, he kept holy. He loved the
Temple where the Word of God was fpoken and
His Praife was fung. He pronounced the Liturgy
of the Church of England the moll: devout, com-
prehenfive and glorious of heavenly inspirations ;
often quoting the faying of George Herbert, " Give
me the prayers of my Mother, the Church— there
are none like hers." The gorgeous chant and pfalm,
" the ornament of God's fervice, and a help to de-
votion,"* and the exquifite Evening Hymn which
he had lifped at his mother's feet in childhood,
melted him to tears. The Hallelujah Chorus and
its ftupendous "Amen!" — the Dead March in
Saul, that marvellous infpiration ! — the great organ
* Hooker.
Charles Lamb. 19
roaring and pealing with a mighty utterance of
found, the filver-clear young trebles ringing out, and
the deep bafe refponding mournfully, were almoft
too overpowering, in their incomparable cumula-
tive grandeur and pathos, for his painfully fenfitive
nerves. The beatific vifions that fuch mufic in-
fpires can hardly be lefs fublime and thrilling than
thofe which infpired it ! * He never ufed an oath,
or profaned the Holy NAME.f He had no itereo-
typed fanclimonious " God willings." The Divine
permiffion was a well-underitood provifo in every
engagement and promife that he made. With him
" A witty iinner was the worft of fools ;"
a fkull grinning at its own ghaftlinefs ! charnel-
houfe joviality !
Singularly charitable in judging of others, he was
not for fending to Dr. Fault's great patron all who
differed from him in religious belief.J He fcorned
* Our forefathers were fond of pfalmody. Bifhop Jewel,
in a letter written in the reign of Elizabeth, fays, " There will
be 6000 people all ringing together at Powle's Crofs."
■j- Other fins feem to afford pleafure or profit. " Were I an
epicure," fays Herbert, " I could hate fwearing."
J This he fometimes carried to excefs. He affected to be
very angry with a friend for thus characterizing one of his
(Elia's) quondam acquaintances. Not, he confeffed, for his want
of truth, but of charity.
"... the fycophant and fchemer,
the democrat and dreamer,
. the impudent blafphemer
Of his God and his Redeemer."
20 Recollections of
the economical caution of penny-wife philanthropy
(hard cafli is ever deaf to pauper eloquence !) that
fhuts its heart againft the flreet -beggar.* " Vive
les gueuxf" If in mid-winter (poverty's mod
pinching time) he buttoned up his furtout, he un-
buttoned his pockets. " It is an accepted maxim,"
he would fay, " that twenty rogues had better efcape
punifhment, rather than that one innocent man
mould fufFer. I therefore hold that to be duped
by a fcore of begging impoftors out of a few paltry
pence is not half fo bad as denying one deferving
applicant." He had a deep reverence for the
grandeur of old age, and never refufed grey hairs.
To the halt and the blind he was equally com-
paffionate, and he pointed to a fine engraving of
Belifarius (" Date obolum Belifario''''') that adorned
his dining-room as his excufe. He lamented the
cold, callous utilitarian tendencies of the day, and
the grim cant of political economifts (" one-eyed
men," as Dr. Arnold calls them), which he pro-
nounced " all Malthus and Betty Martin, O ! "
{Martineau). He denied their title to philofophers;
for philanthropy and philofophy were never in-
tended to be difunited, but to work together for the
common good.f
* " Who beg a mean fupport from door to door,
And bear the worft of fcandals— to be poor,"
t The gigantic frauds (humorous eccentricities!) that have
of late years been perpetrated — a " Bank " too often meaning
a " Bubble,'' and a u Company'''' a " Confpiracy" — would almoft
Charles Lamb. 21
His judgment was ever open to correction and
his heart to tendernefs. Sorrow had tempered and
given mildnefs to his character; while time, initead
of contracting, had enlarged his exuberant bene-
volence. His candour and generofity knew no
juftify the punifhment (hanging) which, with grim humour,
Ella propofed to inflict upon defaulters. " A man," he re-
marked, " may be what in common parlance is called ( an
honeft tradefman,' yet, morally fpeaking, a great rafcal, and
4 much a liar.' " In a par-boiled ftate between virtue and
vice. And feeing how continually the "right" is facrificed
to- the " expedient," he readily endorfed the faying of Auto-
licus, " Faith is a fool, and honefty, his fworn brother, a veiy
Ample gentleman."
" There's fo much roguery running through
All that Commercials fay and do,
And Gammon and Mammon, by Jupiter Ammon,
We can't tell whether the rogues lie in leather,
(Tho' I guefs at the bottom of leather we've got 'em !)
In Spelter, Felt, or Indigo Blue —
Or where the deuce a fcrew is loofe,
Or Who's Who in the Bill-rigging crew."
With a myftical fhrug and a mortified mug
Croaks Broadbrim the Quaker to Slyboots the Jew,
As he counts the coft of lucre loft
In Bills overdue that (Kite-flyers two !)
I-iviJh-you-may-get-it on Do-' em- Brown drew,
And Aldgate-Pump (one of the Rump !) endoifed in a lump —
Orator Mum, doggedly dumb!
Touched his nofe with his finger and thumb —
Which Hebraic Hieroglyphic
(Cautious, cute, and cunning Jew !)
Terfely meant — retort terrific!
** Brother Broadbrim, more fool you !"
^uo, Benjamin Brosky.
22 Recollections of
bounds, in confeffing an error and in repairing an
injury. His refentments were quick and brief, and,
the impulfe part, were fincerely repented of. Of
fuch a character was his unhappy difference with
Southey ; and the ready forgivenefs and unfailing
affection of that faft and incomparable friend he
never alluded to without a tremor and a tear. But
there was a trinity of idiofyncrafies that he could
never conquer. His hatred of injuftice, his con-
tempt for purfe-pride, (the mounted mendicant!),
and his impatience of fools.
He was fcrupuloufly polite and delicate in his
attentions to women whom, when intellectual and
amiable, he regarded with chivalric devotion. His
tafte inclined to penfive lovelinefs, rather than to
ftately, luxuriant beauty. Luftrous eyes, to him,
looked fweeteft in the foft and quiet made of a tran-
quil brow. He avoided, with a gentle fhudder, the
" Strong-minded Woman," [Hie Mulier!) and that
twin-ogrefs Bonnel Thornton's voluminous "Mighty
good fort of a Woman " with their lavifh expendi-
ture of language ; regarding them as anything but
" Angels in the houfe," and only fit to be yoked to
a Yankee,* or a Yahoo prepared to undergo a mar-
* A Dealer in "notions" and wooden nutmegs at Nafli-
villej the Boniface of a liquor ftore at Cincinnati; a petty-
fogging provincial Attorney who, living by fetting people by
the ears, deferves to lofe his own ; a Rail-fplitter at New
York ; or a Federal Shepherd who tells his black fheep to
fight the Confederates till " hell freezes, and then to fight
Charles Lamb. 23
tyrdom of marrowbones. At weddings, birth-days
and chriflenings he was a focial charm. In a mixed
company he was often difappointing; being taciturn
when the talk took a founding braffy turn. But
among chofen friends, — then his heart began to
lighten ! then his thoughts began to brighten ! His
youthful livelinefs returned, and his graceful fcholar-
ihip, and wit, mellowed by wifdom, had their full
play.
" I can eafier teach twenty what were good to
be done, than be one of the twenty to follow my
own teaching," fays Portia in the " Merchant of
Venice ;" which faying Elia would apply reproach-
fully to himfelf after lecturing fome bibulous friend.
What valuable leffons of commercial prudence did
Sir Walter Scott wafte upon Terry touching accom-
modation bills,* while he fufFered ' Aldiborantipbof-
cophornioy and ' Rigdum Funnidos* to fly kites upon
him in 'fheaves!' But Sir Walter, being in-
capable of evil-doing himfelf, fufpetted it not in
others. He was an honeft man who needed no
other bond but his word, no other witnefs but his
God.
them on the ice ! " {qualifying for the Prefidency !) praifing ma-
trimony, as men do good muftard, with tears in their eyes!
" Semper habet lites, alterna jurgia le&us,
In qua nupta jicet : minimum dormitur in ilia."
Juvenal.
* " There be two chief clafles of fools in the world,"
wrote the Roman philoibpher, " thofe, namely, who give
advice, and thofe who refufe it."
24 Recollections of
The tedious retailer of truifms— " Ex nihilo nihil
fit" — would often fmart under the tartnefs of his
raillery. I once heard him filence a phlegmatic
matter-of-facl: man who was aping " Sir Oracle" as
ridiculoufly as Chriltopher Sly playing the Lord, or
Abon HafTan the Caliph, with the following ex-
temporaneous efFufion : —
" 'Tis true, quite true,
That twice one 's two,
That old 's not new,
That black 's not blue,
That grog 's not glue,
That Sal 's not Sue,
That you 're not me, and I 'm not you."
Nor do I think the dunderpate (a weazened Panta-
loon who never looked beyond his pipe) had the
wit to be difconcerted. His mock Life of Lifton
(" of all the lies I ever put off," he fays, " I value
this the moil") and his letter to his friend Manning
at Canton, giving a fabulous account of the deaths
and burials of all their old co-mates ; of the mifhap
to the Monument, the tumbling down of St. Paul's,
and the exit of King Charles from Charing Crofs,
may be cited as fair examples of Touchftone's "lie
circumftantial." He had no tafte for " fenfation"
poetry, crabbed crambo, "cackling fuftian;" the
popularity of which was to him a Handing marvel.
" I ficken," faid he, " on the modern rhodomon-
Charles Lamb. 25
tade* and By romf/m." And in a letter to the
Ouaker-Bard, Bernard Barton, he remarks, " I can
no more underftand Shelley than you. His poetry
is i thin Town with profit or delight/ " This very
fenfible judgment is confirmed by Hazlitt, who aiTerts
with truth, " Nobody was ever wifer or better for
reading Shelley." He hated " fcrofulous French
novels " varnilhing and gilding over vice, and
would willingly have feen their authors indebted
to the tar-brufh for their fuit of fables and to the
feather-bed for their penal plumes. The heroes
of the white cap and halter, the Dick Turpins and
Company were his averfion, whether they figured
away in a tranfpontine drama in the flamboyant
flyle, or a drawing-room romance confecrated to
the glorification of the highwayman and the burglar.
Of Cowper he was an enthufiaftic admirer. " I
would forgive a man," he fays, " for not enjoying
Milton, but I would not call that man my friend
who fhould be offended with the divine chitchat of
Cowper." And he adds, "I do fo love him!"
Sir Walter Scott was a great favourite with him, and
he applauded the late Lord Ellefmere for declaring
that he would gladly change his title and fortune
to be the author of Waverley ; for which Croker
{Tadpole!) called his lordfhip " a romantic fool!"
* "What fignifies me hear if me no underftand?" fays
Mungo in the " Padlock." Icarus, by flying too high,
melted his waxen wings and fell into the fea.
26 Recollections of
To the gangrened envy of contemporary critics *
who, like a people mentioned by Rabelais, hear with
their eyes and understand with their elbows, he owed
fmall thanks. What was it to them, penny para-
graph-mongers — two fteps above a fool, and a great
many below a wife man — that in a book they were
unjuftly abufing might lie the hopes, the heart and
the fortune of its author? GifFord,f renowned for
his editorial amenities, J and whofe iron foul was
ironv, could find no better name for him than
" Atheift," and " Maniac," and the garreteers of
Grub Street, with vulturine nofes for fcenting car-
rion, followed their leader in full cry. " Dulnefs,"
in vituperating the "Album Verfes," (the bee con-
* As foon will flies forego their love of honey, or fharks
decline their prey as thefe anonymous fhadows conquer their
craving appetite for fcandal. Their philofophical coolnefs
under correction is worthy of the libelling luminary of the
Neiv York Herald, who, whenever he was fcourged for his
abufe, took no further notice of the flagellation beyond pla-
carding his office with this notice, " Third Edition. Coivhided
again !
\ " Giffbrd," fays Wafhington Irving, " is a fmall, fhri-
velled, deformed man of about 60, with fomething of a
humped back, eyes that diverge, and a very large mouth.
He is generally reclining on one of the fofas (in Murray's
drawing-room), and fupporting himfelf by the cufhions, being
very much debilitated. He is mild and courteous in his man-
ners, without any of the petulance that you would be apt to ex-
pect, and is quite Ample, unaffected and unafl'uming."
X " Taije%-"vous, taifez-vous, petite!'''' faid Majendie, to a
tortured hound that howled beneath his fcalpel in the vivi-
fedlion hall.
Charles Lamb. 27
verts to honey, the fpider to poifon) fent him an
aflailant, which provoked the indignation of the
ever-generous Southey, who came to the refcue of
his old friend, and fpared not the "childifh treble"
of the offender. Admired and beloved by a large
circle of friends for his original genius, for his up-
right, cordial, and fincere nature, he could well afford
to forgive ; but I queflion if his forgivenefs extended
to GifFord for mutilating his Review of Wordf-
worth's " Excurfion," compofed in his happieft
vein, and then palming the fpurious article, as a
genuine one, on the " Quarterly.'' That he could
be merry even under his own mifhap, we know —
for when he found the malcontents perverfely bent
on hhTing his farce of " Mr. H." off the ftage, he
(unlike the mifer of Horace, who ufed to confole him-
felf for the hiffes of the people by applauding himfelf
at home) good humouredly joined in the hiffing too!
Spring and Autumn were his favourite months.
The geniality and beauty of the one brought with
them verdure, hope, and joy ; the falling leaves,
fading flowers, and hollow whittling winds of the
other, were exquifite refponfes to his conftitutional
melancholy. In thefe feafons I was often his com-
panion in walks to Hornfey's ivy-mantled church,
and vale ; fome times recreating ourfelves at the
" CompaJJes" the pifcatory rendezvous of certain
Waltonians who made that river-fide and rural
hoftelrie their congenial houfe of call. Or, con-
tinuing our ramble through healthy villages over-
28 Recollections of
looking glorious landfcapes, and piclurefque cottages
furrounded by garden ground, mounting ftiles and
threading thickets, we would make the " Bald-faced
Stag 1 * at Finchley (where good cheer and mode-
rate charges invited the wayfarer) our halting-place
for the day's refedlion. There a right favoury din-
ner of pork chops (" Socrates," he faid, " loved
wild boar, Sophocles truffles, and why mould not
pig's meat be my gaftronomical vanity?"), and a
temperate libation crowned our " Shoemaker's Holi-
day? and the moon and liars lighted us to our
homes. In the Spring of 1827 thefe cheerful days
(which may be truly faid to have been among the
happieft of his life), thefe pleafant wanderings, came
to an end.
Considerations for his lifter's declining health in-
duced him, not without regret, to quit his favourite
Colebrooke Cottage, and retire to " the fnuggeft,
moll comfortable houfe" at Enfield, Chafe-Side.
Here he anticipated " comfort." After giving the
monotonous experiment a fair trial, and finding it
completely fail, he relinquiihed houfekeeping (his
domeftic goods and chattels having all " faded
away under the auctioneer's hammer") and quietly
"fettled down" (himfelf and lifter) " as poor board-
ers and lodgers" with a refpeclable couple, next
door; "the Baucis and Baucida of dull Enfield!"
But the " fine old fea fongs," and the " one anec-
dote" of his feptuagenarian hoft — with the occalional
vifits of his friends, but ill repaid him for what
Charles Lamb. 29
he had foregone. He became a prey to the maladie
de langeur. The companionlefs fummer days were
too long for him, as were the folitary winter nights.
London,* " fhirtlefs ! bootlefs!" was the home he
fighed for. In the Spring of 1833 ne finally re_
moved from Enfield to Church Street, Edmonton,
the very drearieft and dulleft of all his domiciles,
where he died in December, 1834.
His melancholy accident and its fatal refult were
unknown to me, until one dark and chilly day in
December, when, anticipating (alas ! for the uncer-
tainties of poor human nature) his wonted warm
welcome, I reached his lodgings. The window-
fhutters were clofed ! I flood hefitating ; afraid to
knock at the door. The difmal, heart-breaking
death-bell tolled heavily. Could its knell be for
lifter Mary? A not unlikely furmife, for (he was
ailing, and fome years his fenior. I croffed over to
* This love of London had not prevented him from taking
holiday trips to Cambridge, Haftings, and " Lutetia the Great,"
and vifiting Coleridge at Stowey and Kefwick. He had feen
the fetting fun gilding the creft of the majertic Skiddaw :
(his friend Leigh Hunt called a mountain " a huge im-
poftor!") and the moon filvering the tranflucent waters of
Windermere, with a vivid fenfe of their grandeur and beauty.
But as in journeying he carried Fleet Street and the Strand
with him as regularly as his portmanteau ; their gay mops,
and exhibitions, like Mr. Simkin's " gripe and hickup," in
the New. Bath Guide, were his companions, though much
more pleafant ones, " wherever he went."
" From Lands new found, new luxuries are whirl'd,
And London is the Autumn of the world."
30 Recollections of
the churchyard, and Hood befide an open and
very deep grave. It was for Elia ! . . . Many
furprifes and fhocks I have fuffered in my life ; but
none fo fudden and fo fad as this.
In a tedious licknefs and a lingering death, one
noble faculty of mind and body pafles away after
another, until the final extinction of both, and the
long-delayed melancholy wreck is complete. "E/za"
was mercifully fpared this flow agony ; for, without
that awful fuddennefs which warns us to " die daily,"
his paffage through the dark valley was unprotradled
and almoft painlefs. Such is the fleeting remem-
brance of man.
Have I wearied you? — To this queftion filence
was my reply. Uncle Timothy fympathized with
my emotion, and concluded with the following
tribute to the memory of his friend : —
" He fell afleep. He fank to reft
Serenely on his Saviour's breaft;
His Mailer's work, like David's, done ;
His crown, like David's, nobly won!
He fell afleep. To death refign'd,
No anxious wifti he left behind,
But that his friends fome happy day
Might pafs, like him, in peace away.
He fell afleep. He finds repofe
In that green, filent fpot he chofe,*
* " This fpot, about a fortnight before his death, he had
Charles Lamb. 31
And many a penfive pilgrim there,
In fond remembrance, breathes a prayer."
I now accompanied Uncle Timothy in fome few-
turns round his flower garden ; after which we
retired to his library, where we fpent the remainder
of the day. The theme on which he dwelt moll
was the inexhauftible bounty of the Almighty.
" How fublime," he faid, "is the idea" (pointing
to the fun that was fetting upon what feemed a
luftrous pillow of ruby and amethyft, fringed with
burnifhed gold, and changing every inflant, but
only to become more varied and intenfe), " that
yon glorious orb, in its myilerious beauty, is the
Gate of Heaven where the bleft fpirits of dear de-
parted friends are waiting to welcome us. The
immortal foul yearns for fome rock whereon to
build its hope, and this is mine." ... In this high
and happy mood I left him to enjoy that
Eternal funfhine of the fpotlefs mind,
Each prayer accepted, and each wifh refign'd."
pointed out to his fifter, on an afternoon wintry walk, as the
place where he wifhed to be buried." — Talfourd.
a
SAMUEL JOHNSON.
N the volume juft ifTued (1857) of a
new edition of the " Encyclopaedia
Britannica," appears a Memoir of Dr.
Johnfon, written by Mr. Macaulay,
in fuch an elaborate fpirit of depreciation, and with
fuch grofs caricature, that I am induced to refcue his
memory from this injuftice.
If the world would behold a lofty intellect in a
low eftate ; independence of chara&er and integrity
of principle that no temptation could compromife,
no neceffiry overcome; felf-refpect proudly repelling
fcorn, and endurance too haughty to complain; a
heart that never conceived an untruth, and a tongue
that never told one ; deep love and devotion to God,
and great benevolence to man ; — if the world would
behold a picture fo illuftrious, let it turn to the
honourable and honoured life of Samuel Johnfon.
With his noble features feamed and fcarred, and
his herculean frame convulfed and fhaken by an
hereditary and a cruel difeafe ; with a constitutional
morbid melancholy that ever kept him trembling on
Samuel Johnson. 33
the verge of infanity ; with a defective fight, an
awkward addrefs, and miferably poor ; in thofe evil
days when
a
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail,"
were the fcholar's patrimony and the poet's reward,
was Samuel Johnfon, at two-and-twenty, call upon
this harfh world.
As ufher of a grammar fchool, humble dependant
in the houfe of a country gentleman, fchoolmafter of
three fcholars, and bookfeller's hack (hunger is a
low door through which how many a noble fpirit
has been compelled to creep !), he pafTed the firft
feven years of his literary life. It was not until 1738
that he became favourably known to the public as
an author. The May of that aufpicious year for
his future fame faw the publication of his " Lon-
don." The fuccefs of this noble poem was inftan-
taneous and complete. Pope warmly praifed it, and
generoufly did his belt to ferve the obfcure author,
but failed in the attempt.
Still doomed to tafk. his over-wrought brain to
keep the bailiffs from his perfon and the wolf from
his door ; meanly lodged, poorly fed, and coarfely
clad ; confcious of his great powers, and brooding
over their niggardly reward, Johnfon paffed five
more years of ill-requited mental toil.
The death of the unhappy, felf-willed Richard
Savage once more awakened him. They had been
34 Samuel Johnson.
companions in mifery ; they had walked together
the dark, deferted ftreets —
" Misfortunes, like the owl, avoid the light,
The fons of care are always fons of night,"
— hungry, houfelefs, and pennilefs; vowing, in their
pauper-patriotifm, to "Hand by their country!"
Though Savage was a profligate, and Johnfon the
reverfe, the brilliant wit, engaging manners, and un-
merited misfortunes of Savage had made Johnfon his
friend. No wonder, then, that he mould remem-
ber him with affection and regret.
His "Life of Savage," though occafionally touch-
ing with a too tender hand vices that deferve con-
demnation, gloffing over others, and magnifying into
virtues fmalladls of impulfive benevolence, is on the
whole a ftriking picture of the man in whom right
and wrong, good and evil, were fo fingularly com-
bined.
Jn 1749 he publifhed " The Vanity of Human
Wifhes." In fonorous and {lately verfe the fatirifl
fhows that nothing man can acquire here is worth
his coveting ; fo fleeting is earthly happinefs, fo
ephemeral is human fame ! Yet he leaves him not
in defpair. His prophetic pen points heavenward,
where " celeflial wifdom," her peace here and her
reward hereafter, are only to be found. Sir Walter
Scott declared that he never rofe from the perufal of
thofe two grand poems, "London" and "The
Samuel Johnson. 35
Vanity of Human Wifhes," without feeling his
mind refrefhed and invigorated.
The reprefentation of Irene at Drury Lane Thea-
tre, under the management of his old pupil, David
Garrick, foon followed. Its juft fentiments, beauti-
ful imagery, and vigorous language, did not atone for
its want of dramatic intereft and ftage effecl. It
was written on too claflical a model to pleafe the
million : —
" Cold approbation gave the lingering bays ;
For thofe who durft not cenfure, fcarce could
praife."
It was played nine nights to frigid audiences, and
then withdrawn. It is the only work of Johnfon
that ever brought him more money than fame. It
produced him three hundred pounds.
"The Rambler" was his next publication. By
the judicious few its eloquent and heart-itirring
lemons of virtue and wifdom, and its occafional
flames of wit and humour, were greatly admired.
In fimplicity, elegance, variety, and in that excjuifite
faculty of portrait-painting, fo peculiar to Addifon, it
falls fhort of " The Spedator." But in grandeur
of expreffion, depth of thought, and fublimity,
(always excepting the " Vifion of Mirza,") it far
excels that celebrated work. In a letter from Eliza-
beth Carter to Mifs Highmore, dated April 23, 1 752,
in my poffemon, that moil learned and excellent
36 Samuel Johnson.
lady fays : — " I extremely honour the juft indignation
you exprefs at the cold reception which has been
given by a flupid, trifling, ungrateful world to ' The
Rambler.' You may conclude, by my calling names
in this courageous manner, that I am as zealous in
the caufe of this excellent paper as yourfelf. But
we may both comfort ourfelves that an author who
has employed the nobleft powers of genius and learn-
ing, the ftrongeft force of understanding, the moll
beautiful ornaments of eloquence in the fervice of
virtue and religion, can never fink into oblivion,
however he may be at prefent too little regarded."
How glorioufly has this noble prophecy been ful-
filled !
Johnfon, thanks to the unpatronized exertion of
his powers, had eftablifhed a lafting reputation. His
writings had given "ardour to virtue and confidence
to truth." However highly public expectation had
been raifed by his long-promifed Dictionary, it was
more than realized when that marvel of refearch,
learning, and induftry was given to the world. He
was by univerfal acclamation placed at the head of
lexicographers and critics. Lord Chefterfield might
have been honoured with the dedication had he in
the firft inftance condefcended to lend a helping hand
to a man of genius ftruggling hard with adverfity.
But this mock Maecenas neglected the golden oppor-
tunity, and was indignantly fpurned when, pufF in
hand, at the eleventh hour, he ftooped to propitiate
the poor poet. Difappointed and difconcertcd, the
Samuel Johnson. 37
fupercilious, profligate peer returned to his vanities,
his pimp, his parafite, and his player.*
" The Idler" appeared in 1758, and then "Raf-
felas." A facred duty (he had loll his mother at
the age of ninety, and had to pay the expenfe of
her funeral) impelled him to write the latter. Never
did the poet's function aflame a more fublime afpecl:,
nor a holier purpofe awake his infpiration. What a
paradife of good lpirits was his chamber! of minif-
tering angels afliiting, encouraging, and crowning his
labours ! Where was the imputed meannefs of po-
verty at that auguft hour ? With fuch celeftial vilit-
ants it was an ennobling privilege to be poor! Non
omnis moriar ! Poverty had wrung from him " Lon-
don," " The Vanity of Human Wifhes," and " The
Rambler," and another bright emanation was about
to appear, infpired by a nobler motive, filial piety ;
and grief pure, chaflened and refined. Non omnis
moriar ! Beyond the gates of death are the portals
of immortality.
* The following lines are written in the nrft volume of a
copy of the Earl of Chelteriieid ? s Letters to his Son: —
" Vile Stanhope — demons blufh to tell,
In twice two hundred places,
Has mown his fon the road to hell,
Efcorted by the Graces !
But little did th' ungenerous lad
Concern himfelf about them,
For bafe, degenerate, meanly bad,
He ineak'd to hell without them."
38 Samuel Johnson.
Johnfon had now all but reached the fummit
tC where fame's proud temple fhines afar.'' He had
been honoured by his fovereign with an unexpected
interview, and had received from him a compli-
ment as graceful as it was juft. The Univerfity of
Oxford prefented him with a Doctor's degree. The
Royal Academy conferred upon him a ProfefTorfhip,
and with the public he was the obferved of all ob-
fervers ; not, as his caricaturifts fay, for the eccen-
tricity of his perfonal appearance and manners, but
for the fplendour of his talents and the dignity of
his character. He, too, was the leading luminary
of a literary club, that reckoned among its members
Burke, Wyndham, Langton, Reynolds, Sir William
Jones, Gibbon, Beauclerk, Goldfmith, and Garrick;
where the " talk" might have rivalled thofe " wars
of wit" that have made the " Mermaid,'' the " Fal-
con," and the "Devil" (O, that Apollo room where
Ben Jonfon prefided !) the taverns for all time;
where, as Shakerly Marmion faid —
" The boon Delphic god
Drinks fack, and keeps his Bacchanalia,
And has his incenfe, and his altars fmoking,
And fpeaks m fparkling prophecies y"
and in intellectual gladiatorfhip have compared with
thofe "combats of the tongue" that have immortal-
ized Will's and Button's. Such an ailociation of
intellect:, where worldly diftinctions are unknown,
where rank lays down its ftate, and genius forgets
Samuel Johnson. 39
the inequalities of fortune, is a degree of human
happinefs not often attained.
Literature, that found Johnfon poor, had kept him
fo. What owed he to the world that owed fo much
to him? For "London," ten guineas; for "The
Vanity of Human Wifhes," fifteen ; for the " Dic-
tionary," fifteen hundred guineas; for "Irene," three
hundred pounds ; for " Raffelas," one hundred
pounds ; fome " large (?) fubfcriptions " for his pro-
mifed edition of Shakefpeare ; a few pounds for the
" Life of Savage ;" and for the "Rambler " as many
(hillings as the publifher could afford him out of not
quite one thoufand weekly twopences for two un-
thankful years ; — fums that had but barely provided
for the day that was palling! In the year 1762, his
invaluable contributions to literature were tardily re-
warded with a royal penfion of three hundred a-year.
His long-delayed edition of Shakefpeare at length
appeared, provoked, as it is good-naturedly faid, by
the farcaftic queftion of Churchill —
" He for fubfcribers baits his hook,
And takes their cafh — but where* s the book?'' 1
It certainly "added nothing to the fame of his abili-
ties and learning." The preface, however, is ample
and luminous. It fays nearly all that can be faid
of Shakefpeare. It is the rich mine whence fuc-
ceeding editors have extracted their critical gold,
and is one of the fineft fpecimens of profe writing in
any language.
40 Samuel Johnson.
A ftill brighter day was now dawning upon him.
In 1765 began that celebrated friendfhip between
the Thrales and Johnfon which continued uninter-
rupted for a period of about fixteen years. This
friendfhip opened to him an entirely new fcene, that
fweeteft of focial amenities, an elegant, a hofpitable,
and happy home. A liberal table, a handfome
equipage, a well-felecled library, pure air, and the
choiceft fociety, were now at his command. The
advantages were reciprocal. The houfehold at Streat-
ham acquired a literary celebrity by the prefence
of Johnfon, and entertained a fucceffion of illuftrious
guefts, drawn thither by the charms of his conver-
fation, fuch as it had never feen before, and fuch as
England is not likely foon to fee again. In the
company of his kind friends, whofe chief ftudy was
to anticipate his wants and wifhes, he made feveral
pleafant provincial tours, and once he paid with
them a vifit to Paris.
It was during this green and funny interval of
Johnfon's drudging, dreary life, that he produced his
crowning work, the " Lives of the Poets." The
curious anecdotes that he had treafured up in his
memory, his extenfive and multifarious reading, the
biographical and analytical turn of his mind, his love
of comparative criticifm, and his profound know-
ledge of human character, well qualified him for the
arduous tafk. He undertook it readily, and per-
formed it con amore. His time was his own. He
had no pecuniary or domeftic anxieties. He was
Samuel Johnson. 41
neither hurried nor harafled. " Eafy writing," faid
Sheridan, " is deuced hard reading." Upon this
work Johnfon bellowed his beft pains. He felecled
every word (and always the right one) with critical
care, and elaborated every fentence into force and
clearnefs. I have good evidence of this, for the
printer's proof-meets of the majority of the Lives,
with many hundred corrections and additions in
Johnfon's autograph (precious relics!), are now be-
fore me. Among " flowers of all hues," it is diffi-
cult to felect one of more grace and beauty than
another. The ingenious and original analylis of
Cowley, and the fine comparifon between Dryden
and Pope, are among the very choiceft in the garland.
The death of Thrale threw Johnfon back again
on his folitude and refources. The wealthy, weak-
minded widow began to look coldly upon him, and
when he gently remonftrated, {he was petulant and
perverfe. His rulty fuit of fober brown, black
worfted or cotton ltockings, unbuttoned veit, ungar-
tered hofe, unbuckled fhoes, and uncombed Gorgon
wig (which me was in continual fear he would fet
lire to when he lighted himfelf to bed), fuddenly
became intolerable in her altered view of the philo-
fopher. She had fallen in love with one Piozzi, her
daughter's Italian mufic-mafter. This is the delicate
dame whofe olfactory nerves fickened at the favoury
aroma of roaft goofe (how feelingly did Johnfon
rebuke her fine ladyfhip's affectation !) becaule it
fcented the whole houfe ! and could yet endure the
42 Samuel Johnson.
fulfome breath of a foreign fiddler, puffing into her
too willing ear his amorous palaver ! " It fhakes the
fides of fplenetic difdain" to fee the Fanfaron fup-
planting the Philofopber. A chapter read from the
Greek Teftament, and a valedictory prayer, during
the delivery of which his great heart had well-nigh
burft with emotion, folemnized his final leave-taking
of the library, and he quitted his once happy home
for ever.
The miferably deluded woman married her mufi-
cian, and fled from univerfal reproach to a more
congenial clime, where fuch an act
" That blurs the grace and blufh of modefty;
Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rofe
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,''
would pafs unreproved.
Johnfon's journey to the Weftern Iflands of Scot-
land, in the autumn of 1773, with Bofwell, pro-
duced his book upon that fubjedr.. He defcribed
accurately and vividly what he faw. Naked craggy
rocks, watery waftes, black moors, boiling torrents
pouring down the fleep fides of lofty hills, bogs,
mifts, wild fcenery, and a people as wild ! He
beheld beauty and refinement, partook of elegant
hofpitality, joined in pleafant talk, and was wel-
comed with national dances, mufic, and fongs,
amidft mountain folitudes, beating billows, and the
howling ftorm. He explored venerable abbeys that
time had gently touched with a fublimer beauty ;
Samuel Johnson. 43
flood reflective and fad before facred ruins charred
and blackened by the fiery torch of the deftroyer ;
vifited the lonely cemeteries of the ancient Scottifh
kings; and mourned over the defecrated monu-
ments of faints and warriors, marble altars ignomi-
noufly thrown down, and chapels converted into
cowhoufes ! He flept in a fine bed beneath which
purled a miry puddle. He entered a cottage where
a witch-like cauldron hung over a blazing peat
fire, thick fmoke from which wreathed through a
hole in the roof, and faw a Highland ogrefs, black
as Lungs in The Alchemijl making ether, ftirring up
the boiling broth ! He counted but few chimneys,
and ftill fewer trees.* He defcribed not, as fertile,
a patch of land where an ear of corn never 'ripened
and a blade of grafs never grew ; he miftook not
illiberal fe&arianifm and fhallow pedantry for re-
ligion and learning ; nor an air profufely impreg-
nated with phyfical abominations for the fragrance
of orange groves. He approved not, for civility's
fake, the murder of an archbifhop, nor the fale of a
king ; nor did he palliate a bribe blackened by the
fmoke of treafon.
* There was a great natural foreft of pine trees on Speyfide,
in the county of Elgin, which Aaron Hill (the dramatift)
defcribes as the Golden Groves of Abernethy. This foreft
was in 1728 leafed to an Engliih Company of which Hill was
a director, with the intention of applying- the timber to the
ufe of the navy. The Company fet to work vigoroufly,
floated great crafts down the Spey to the fea, and managed to
get 7000/. worth of timber out of poor, treelefs Scotland !
44 Samuel Johnson.
" I mould have died for fhame,
To fee my king before his fubjects ftand,
And at the bar hold up his royal hand."
The travelling drefs of Johnfon during this jour-
ney was a large, loofe horfeman's coat, with huge
buttons ; high top boots, with long ftraps ; quickfet-
hedge bufhy wig, that comb and brum had feldom
difturbed, but now carefully dreffed and curled ; a
low-crowned hat, with its broad fides turned up,
and a club worthy of Caliban !
For writing this book he was abundantly abufed
by a clique of dunces, in whofe intenfely national
noftrils their " energetic and unfragrant city," as
Sydney Smith calls " Modern Athens," fmelt like
a bed of violets, '* ftealing and giving odour."
Among the enlightened many who greatly ad-
mired it was Lord Mansfield.
As a pamphleteer Johnfon ranks comparatively
low. His affluent and capacious mind Hooped with
an awkward grace to vulgar politics. In its foul
waters he inconfiderately took a plunge ; but
" He bears no tokens of the fabler ftreams,
And mounts far off among the fwans of Thames."
He did not, like Burke,
" To party give up what was meant for mankind."
His fermons — cold, moral manuals, as the cant
of pietifm would call them — may be read with
Samuel Johnson. 45
inftruclion. He never hurled anathemas, he never
blurted jefts at the Romifh Church. His own re-
ligion whifpered its warning againft intolerance, and
his heart taught him Chriftian charity. His trans-
lations and fmaller poems are lively and elegant,
and his prologues excellent. That celebrated one,
fpoken by Garrick at the opening of Drury-lane
Theatre, 1747, is, after Pope's fublime one to Cato,
the fined in our language.
" Haud imitatores jervum pecus /" Johnfon has
a hofl of imitators, but none of them has caught
even the manner, much lefs reached the matter of
the mafter. Dinarbas, a fo-called continuation of
RafTe]as(! !), is, perhaps, the moft refpe£table failure.
It has the nodofities of the oak without its ftrength,
the contortions of the fibyl without her infpiration.
We may not penetrate the private chamber, and
exhibit Johnfon in the folemn duty of adoration and
prayer. His piety was paffionate and profound.
His were the devout, humble breathings of a bro-
ken and a contrite heart, alternately cheered by
divine hope, and clouded and depreffed by the
doubts and fears of a morbid melancholy. His
prayer, on receiving the Holy Sacrament for the
lafi time, which, in his own autograph, I am now
looking upon with an emotion " too deep for tears,"
is tremuloufly written, and mows that his departure
was nigh.
His life had been a " long difeafe." Afthma and
dropfy had greatly reduced him ; when, in June,
46 Samuel Johnson,
1783, a paralytic ftroke mattered his faft-Jinking
frame, but left uninjured his mind. We know what
Addifon faid of Swift's loft intellect; would not
Johnfon's have been as melancholy a fpectacle !
A fouthern climate was recommended ; but how
was the expenfe of travel to be provided for ? Lord
Thurlow generoufly interfered to procure an addi-
tion to his penfion ; and if that boon fhould be
denied, he offered to fupply what might be wanted
from his own purfe. The monarch and his minifters
were not to be moved. The Penfion Lift groaned
under the enormous weight of German pauperifm.
His alarming fymptoms having fomewhat fubfided,
Johnfon grew more compofed. He wrote an af-
fecting and eloquent letter to Lord Thurlow, full
of thanks, gratitude, and refignation.
The time was now faft approaching when this
great and good man was to pafs away from earth
to heaven. His legs were too weak to fupport his
weight, he breathed with difficulty, and his cough
was incelfant. From a conftitutional malady, but
more from a devout fenfe of his own unworthi-
nefs, he had always contemplated death with terror.
Even the Pfalmift could fay, " The fear of death is
fallen upon me." It was, however, not the mercy
of God that he doubted, but his own imperfect faith
and works. Yet, when the long-dreaded hour at
laft drew nigh, he addreffed his mind devoutly and
fervently to the momentous queftion, how the fling
of death could be blunted, and victorv fnatched from
Samuel Johnson. 47
the grave. In the great doclrine of the Atonement
he found a full deliverance from the terrors of mor-
tality ; and he, who had grafped the wide circle
of human knowledge with a giant's ftrength, and
founded the depths and mallows of the human in-
telledt, bowed reverently to the propitiatory facri-
fice, as the rock of his falvation. His fetting fun,
which clouds had obfcured,now fhone as the day-ftar;
the Great Spirit benignantly fuftained him; and his
death was as calm and as grand as that of Socrates,
brightened with a higher hope. " Fear not : for I
am thy God.'' Laudanum had been offered him to
foothe his bodily pain, but he refufed it, defiring, as
he faid, " to meet his Maker with his mind un-
clouded." On the 13th of December, 1784, hav-
ing completed his feventy-hTth year, he paffed to a
happier world in a tranquil fleep. " "Jam tnori-
turus" were the lall folemn words that faltered from
his dying lips.
He was followed to the grave by the choicer!: of
his furviving friends. He fleeps among the illus-
trious dead in Weftminfter Abbey. His majeftic
ftatue keeps its ftate in the Cathedral of Saint Paul.
Thus lived and thus died Samuel Johnfon. His
death was felt to be a public calamity. Poetry
contributed her elegies, learning the claffic epitaph,
and biography memorials of his life. The fhock
which vibrated throughout the diftinguifhed circle
in which he fo long had moved was fevere indeed.
"He has made a chafm," fays Burke, "which not
48 Samuel Johnson.
only nothing can fill up, but which nothing has a
tendency to fill up. Johnfon is dead. Let us go to
the next beft ; there is nobody — no man can be faid
to put you in mind of Johnfon." His was a life of
intellectual, moral, and religious ftrength and beauty.
It (lands like a coloffal column the bafe of which is
hard rock — folitary, marly, and imperifhable.
But for Bofwell we mould know little about John-
fon's perfonal appearance, manners, and converfation.
Thanks to that faithful limner who portrayed his
hero with fuch wondrous verifimilitude, and re-
corded by the midnight lamp his eloquence during
the paft day, for a portrait fo life-like and fpeaking.
We fee Johnfon in his higheft mood and (" good old
Homer fometimes nods ") in his loweil ; in his
happieft and in his faddeft hours. We behold him
haughty, dogmatical, contemptuous, and overbear-
ing; but the true and bright fide of his character
foon mines full upon us, and we love him for his
focial virtues, convivial humour (lemon in hand,
"Who's for Pooncb ?"), gracious condefcenfion, and
melting charity. Subjected to the provoking intru-
fion of purfe-proud ignorance and vulgar curiofity,
can we wonder that he mould repulfe them with
impatience, and fet them down without ceremony ?
Even the painter himfelf (" impertinent mixture of
bufy and idle !'') often meets with a rough rebuff.
The fly that buzzed round Uncle Toby's nofe was
not a more ingenious tormentor than Bozzy, when
the fufly, fumy, officious, interrogatorial, and fid-
Samuel Johnson. 49
getty fie came over him. Then would Johnfon
brum him off, fometimes with a rod of birch, and
fometimes with one of feathers. For twenty years
he contributed, by his lively converfation and agree-
able manners, to fmooth the rugged, downward path
of the philoibpher's painful pilgrimage. He incurred
the difpleafure of a morofe father for "going over
Scotland with a brute"" (Johnfon!) and forfeited
forenfic fame, fees, and connubial quietude —
" To lofe no drop of that immortal man :"
a faying of Garrick, in allufion to his own intenfe
admiration of Shakefpeare.
Johnfon held friendfhip facred. Savage, Collins,
Goldfmith, Garrick, and the good Gilbert Walmef-
ley, were dear to him ; and, in affectionate remem-
brance, he has thrown garlands upon their tombs.
And when his own laft hour came, Wyndham
fmoothed his dying pillow, and cheered his depart-
ing fpirit with the holieft confolations, while the
mingled tears of Burke and Reynolds told how truly
they loved him.
When his old friend Davies, " the gentleman who
dealt in books " (a term applied to him for his
knowledge and good breeding), became bankrupt,
the fympathy of Johnfon was awakened in his be-
half. " We mull do fomething for poor Tom
Davies," he urged upon thofe of his acquaintance
who had known that worthy man in his profpe-
rous days. And the appeal was readily refponded
50 Samuel Johnson.
to. The open-hearted Sheridan gave "poor Tom
Davies" a free benefit at Drury Lane, and others
were not behind in their benevolence. It was no
fmall merit to have Johnfon for a friend.
Nor lefs facred was his humanity. Suffering had
taught him to heal fuffering. His houfe afforded a
home, and his frugal table furnifhed a meal for the
afflidted, the friendlefs, and the poor. His unoften-
tatious charity gathered round him a motley group
of dependants, male and female, whom he lodged
and fed, — his negro fervant, Frank, the blind virago
Mrs. Williams, who in her frequent fits of paffion
would drive him from her prefence, " Polly," Mrs.
Defmoulins, and her daughter (fmall bits of gentility
" tumbled into decay !"), and the aduft little Dodtor
Levet. Levet, Mr. Macaulay, was no quack. He
poffeffed " the power of art without the fhow."
His humble practice was amongft the pooreft of the
poor : —
" In mifery's darkeft caverns known,
His ufeful care was ever nigh,
Where hopelefs anguifh pour'd his groan,
And lonely want retired to die."
Shall he then be pilloried in your page becaufe he
" bled and dofed coal-heavers and hackney coach-
men !" On one fad morning his accuftomed chair
at the breakfaft-table was vacant. Johnfon inquired
the caufe, and when told that the unaffuming and
aged man had during the night paffed away in peace,
Samuel Johnson. 51
he melted into tears ! Elegiac poetry can hardly
furnifh, for fimple, homely pathos, a finer fpeci-
men than Johnfon's Lament for his old and attached
friend.
His readinefs to affift misfortune is well known.
He appealed to the fympathy of one Britifh audience
in behalf of Milton's grand-daughter, then old and
poor : and he propitiated another to reverfe an un-
juft fentence on a play (The Word to the Wife),
" Which public rage,
Or right or wrong, once hooted from the ftage,"
that the author's widow might benefit thereby. He
undertook the painful tafk of writing Dr. Dodd's
petition to the King, and Mrs. Dodd's to the Queen
for pardon ; and he compofed the fermon that the
unhappy culprit preached to his fellow prifoners
fhortly before his execution.
As a perfect mafter of colloquial eloquence John-
fon Hands unrivalled. Whatever the topic of dif-
courfe, he treated it with fuch originality of thought,
acutenefs, and felicity of illuftration, anticipating
almoil every argument, and anfwering almoft every
objection, that he left little to be added pro or con.
When the facred truths of religion were the fubject,
he was grave and reverent ; when philofophy and
morals, he was luminous and profound. Cumber-
land fays —
" The pun that Burke encouraged, Johnfon
fpurn'd."
52 Samuel Johnson.
This is not true. We could point out more than
one occafion when Johnfon perpetrated pun after
pun to a party of ladies, among whom were two
precife fpecimens of blue-ftockingfhip, Elizabeth
Carter and Hannah More. His wit and humour,
his vaft fund of anecdote, and extenfive knowledge
of men and manners, made him highly entertaining.
Sir John Hawkins fays, " He was a great contri-
butor to the mirth of converfation, by the many
witty fayings he uttered, and the many excellent (lo-
ries which his memory had treafured up." Murphy
adds his teftimony, " That with all his great powers
of mind, wit and humour were his molt mining
qualities;" and Mrs. Piozzi declared that "his vein
of humour was rich and apparently inexhauftible."
We have read of his retort courteous to " water-
man's wit," and how he dumbfounded and filenced
a fhrewim fifh-wife by faying, " Madam, you are a
Ton D'apomeibomenos /" — the unknown character
of the imputation not being in the vocabulary of
Billingfgate. He would, but that rarely, even de-
fend a fallacy, in order to fhow his powers of argu-
mentation ; and when he preluded his reply with
an " As to that, Sir," or fome fuch equivocal phrafe,
Garrick, who was ever wickedly on the watch to
catch his old mafter tripping, would laughingly ex-
claim, " Now he is confidering which fide he fhall
take !" It was no ordinary charm that, night after
night, and year after year, attracted and detained,
unwearied, the glorious galaxy of intellect that hung
Samuel Johnson. » 53
upon his eloquence. Where was his imputed " fero-
city," when rank, accomplishments, and feminine
beauty fondly prefled round him to hear and trea-
fure up in their memory every word of wit and
wifdom that fell from his lips? They might, under
the enchanter's fpell, have admired the fage ; but
would they, could they, but for fome more endearing
quality than eloquence, have loved, reverenced, and
(as did the excellent Fanny Burney) mourned him
as a father ?
Johnfon's wife has been unmercifully caricatured
by Mr. Macaulay. Garrick, who in his fchool-boy
days had often taken a fly peep through the key-hole
of her chamber door, was wont, in after years, to en-
tertain {fub rofa) his laughing friends with ludicrous
imitations of the "tumultuous and awkward fond-
nefs" of the Doctor for his Dulcinea. But Percy,
an unimpeachable authority, warns us that Garrick's
account fhould be read with great abatement. Might
not the " little mimic" (thefe are not our words, but
Mr. Macaulay 's, for we love dearly dainty Davy !)
who had grown rich " by repeating with grimaces
and gesticulations what wifer men had written," —
might not the " monkey-like impertinence of the
pupil" (Macaulay again !) have exaggerated, for ftage
efFefl, the picture ? Vain and plain as fhe was, with
her face " painted half an inch thick" — with all her
"provincial airs and graces" — this " filly, affected
old woman," this " tawdry, painted grandmother,"
dreffed " in gaudy colours " (how gallantly Mr.
54 Samuel Johnson.
Macaulay bethumps the poor old lady with hard
names !) was his only folace through many long
years of toil, ficknefs, and forrow. He fubmitted
to her opinion, and was ever gratified with her
praife. " After a few numbers of • The Rambler '
were publifhed, Dr. Johnfon mowed feveral of them
to his wife, in whofe talle and judgment he had
great confidence. ' I thought very well of you be-
fore,' faid fhe, ' but I did not imagine you could
have written anything equal to this." "Diftant
praife," continues Bofwell, " from whatever quarter,
is not fo delightful as that of a wife whom a man
loves and efteems ; her approbation may be faid to
come home to his bofom, and being fo near, its
effect is moft feniible and permanent." If every
dell in her cheek was to the Doctor a dimple — if in
his opaque virion fhe was beautiful "as the Gun-
nings, and witty as Lady Mary," what need of all
this fcandal and fcurrility ? Her death deeply dif-
treffed him ; for many years he remembered her in
his prayers, and to the laft he never mentioned her
name without a figh. How mealy-mouthed is Mr.
Macaulay, when fpeaking of Addifon's wife, that
haughty, heartlefs fhrew ! {/be was a lady of qua-
lity !) How merciful to Queen Mary (" Curfed is
Ihe that fetteth light by her father and mother"),
" a fecond Tullia," as Madame de Sevigne juftly
calls her, " who would boldly have driven over the
body of her father;" and how complimentary to the
Samuel Johnson. 55
demirep Elizabeth Villiers. But then one was the
wife, and the other the miftrefs of his idol William
of Naflau !
With the fame charitable pleafantry Mr. Macaulay
expatiates upon Johnfon's infirmities. His cough-
ings, gruntings, gefticulations, grimaces, blinkings,
twitchings, mutterings, puffings, rollings, and invo-
luntary ejaculations, are facetioufly fet forth ; and
his violence of temper, frequent rudenefs, and occa-
lional ferocity, flrange ftarts and ftrange growls, are
chronicled with great gnfto and glee. He defcribes
him as dreffing like a fcarecrow, and eating like a
cormorant ; as tearing his meat like a tiger, and
{wallowing his tea in oceans ; as gorging with fuch
violence that his veins fwelled, and the moifture
broke out on his forehead — adding that, " even to
the laft end of his life, and even at the tables of the
great, the light of food affected him as it affedls wild
beafts and birds of prey." " His fchool-room re-
fembled an ogre's den." Then the many hard fhifts
that pinching poverty impofed upon his proud fpirit
are pi&urefquely paraded. The dens in which he
had generally lodged ; his pawning his beff. coat to
enable him to dine on tripe at a cookfhop under
ground, where he could wipe his hands, after the
greafy meal, on the back of a Newfoundland dog —
his love of a ftale hare and a meat pie made with
rancid butter — his lixpenny worth of meat and a
pennyworth of bread, at an alehoufe in Drury-lane
56 Samuel Johnson.
— and his coarfe refections in fubterraneous beef-
fhops, come trippingly off the tongue.*
* The caricaturift himfelf was very far from being an Adonis.
An impartial poetical friend defcribes him as
" Little graced,
With aught of manly beauty — fhort, obefe,
Rough-featured, coarfe complexion, with lank hair,
And fmall gray eyes .... his voice abrupt,
Unmufical."
Take his likenefs by an American limner; "a little man of
fmall voice, affected utterance, and hifling like a ferpent."
Tickler's portrait of "Tom" (fee the Nobles Ambrofiaruz) in
reply to Chrijiopher North's queftion, "Is he like the papa?'
is ftill more graphical. — " So I have heard. But I never faw
the fenior, of whom fome poetical planter has fo unjuftifiably
fung : —
' How fmooth, perfuafive, plaufible, and glib,
From holy lips has dropped the precious fib.'
The fon is an ugly, crofs-made, fplay-footed, fhapelefs little
dumpling of a fellow, with a featurelefs face, too — except,
indeed, a good expanfive forehead — fleek, puritanical, fandy
hair, large glimmering eyes, and a mouth from ear to ear. He
has a lifp and a burr, moreover, and fpeaks thickly and hufkily
for feveral minutes before he gets into the fwing of his dif-
courfe — what he fays is fubftantially, of courfe, mere fluff and
nonfenfe ; but it is fo well-worded and fo volubly and forcibly
delivered that you might hear a pin drop in the houfe.'' — Of
the caricaturift's article on Byron in the Edinburgh, Chriftopher
North fays, " In fact, it reads very like a paper in one of their
early numbers ; much the fame fort of excellences; the fmart,
rapid, popgun impertinence ; the brifk, airy, new-fet truifms,
mingled with cold, Jl:alloiv, heartlejs Jophijlries ; the conceited
phlegm, the affected abruptnefs, the unconfcious audacity of
impudence, &c. &c."
Samuel Johnson. 57
Johnfon, confeffedly, was fond of creature-com-
forts. His appetite was great, but not grofs. He
loved favoury tid-bits, and knew what fort of dimes
mould compofe a dinner " to be afked to/' quite as
well as the moll polite diner-out of the filver-fork
fchool. Wilkes (with whom he all but refufed to
lit down at Dilly the bookfeller's dinner-table)
praclifed fo fuccefsfully upon this befetting fin, by
affiduoufly helping him to every dainty, that he
mollified and won over the philofopher. To the
" fwelling veins," and the forehead " all glittering
with ungodly dew," Johnfon, alas ! mull plead guilty.
But the legend of the " tiger" and the " wild beails
and birds of prey," &c. are mere phantafies pro-
ceeding from the " heat-oppreffed brain" of Mr.
T. Babington Macaulay.
Johnfon (according to the fame candid biographer)
had occasionally recourfe to blows. We know his
extreme fenfitivenefs under infult. As early as 1738
he had proclaimed it to the world : —
" Of all the griefs that harafs the diilrefs'd,
Sure the moll bitter is a fcornful jell ;
Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart,
Than when a blockhead's infult points the dart."
He felled with a huge folio the recreant Ofborne ;
he gave a friendly hint to Sam Foote that a found
drubbing awaited him if the faid Sam mould per-
form his promife to the public by caricaturing him
on the ftage; and he inverted a milling in the pur-
58 Samuel Johnson.
chafe of a flout cudgel for the broad ihoulders of
Macpherfon, fhould that impudent impoflor proceed
(as he threatened) to perfonal violence. Garrick
faid of Johnfon, when he produced his Dictionary
(alluding to the French Academicians, who had
produced theirs), —
He has beat forty French, and he'll beat forty
more,
ft
which, I prefume, is Mr. Macaulay's fole autho-
rity for Johnfon's pugnacity.
In criticifing the works of Johnfon, Mr. Macau-
lay is ready with his cenfure and relu&ant with his
praife. The Doftor was a " wretched etymologift."
The "Life of Savage" "is deficient in eafe and
variety. " The fall of Wolfey, in " The Vanity of
Human Wifhes," " is feeble " when compared to
that of Sejanus in Juvenal ; and in the concluding
paiTage " the Chriftian moralift has fallen decidedly
fhort of the fublimity of his Pagan model." He
had not " the flighteft notion of what blank verfe
mould be ; " hence his Irene is " five ads of mono-
tonous declamation." "An allufion to his ' Ram-
bler' or his * Idler* is not readily appreciated in
literary circles. " The plan of " Raffelas" " might
feem to invite fevere criticifm." It is full of ana-
chronifms, and its fame " has grown fomewhat
dim." Than his " Shakefpeare" " it would be dif-
ficult to name a more flovenly or more worthlefs
edition of any great clafTic." The preface " is not
Samuel Johnson. 59
in his beft manner." In fpeaking of Johnfon's criti-
cifms in the " Lives of the Poets," " the brilliant
eflayift" and the "great hiftorian,"* accidentally
Humbles on a truth. Johnfon's " very woril judg-
ments," he fays, " mean fomething, a praife to
which much of what is called criticifm in our time
has no pretentions."
How fuch a grotefque vifitor as Johnfon would
have been received at Holland Houfe in its palmy
days is a queftion. The " moft admired diforder"
of his wig would have exhibited a ludicrous con-
trail to the well-curled Brutus of the Bard of
Hope, and his broad brown Hurts, black ftockings,
and canoes of flioes, would have made the fmart
coat, filk hofe, and polifhed patent pumps of Tom
Little's dapper little editor "Hick fiery off indeed !"
The fweet finger of " Memory" would have cor-
dially welcomed him, wig and all ; for in his early
days he had knocked at the door of the fage in
order to get a fight of him, but ran away, lacking
courage to face the " bear in his den." Mine
* A French hiftorian once wrote an elaborate treatife to
prove that Ireland was colonifed by the Phoenicians. On the
eve of publication fome "good-natured friend " haftened to
inform him that facts had been recently difcovered which
entirely overturned his Phoenician theory. Monfieur, with a
fhrug, cooly remarked, u The hiftory is written, fo much the
worfe for the fadls." The " great hiftorian " had evidently
taken a leaf out of the Frenchman's book in the cafe of
William Penn, &c. &c. &c.
60 Samuel Johnson.
hoftefs might have juft endured him, and mine
hoft good-naturedly invited him to ftay all night.
In which cafe, having perhaps occafion to write
to " Polly," he might have dated his epiftle from
" Holland Houfe," as Mr. Macaulay (when he
dined and flept at the palace of his Sovereign)
addreifed an electioneering miffive to his Scotch
conftituents from " Windfor Caftle!"*
With Mr. Macaulay " the lines have fallen in
pleafant places." Patronage and party-politics
(" Party -fpirit," fays Johnfon, "never left a man
honeft, however it might find him") have filled his
pockets to repletion. Liberality has been lavifhed
upon the " Liberal." " Let thofe laugh that win" —
Mr. Macaulay may therefore anticipate a whole life-
time of laughter. He did not, like Johnfon, come
up to London with only " threepence halfpenny" in
his pocket. He was not quizzed at college "for the
holes in his fhoes," or laughed at for his tattered
gown and dirty linen. He never figned " Impran-
fus," "gorged in alamode beef fhops," or "pufFed and
blowed over a tripe dinner, greedily gobbled up."
He was never carried to fponging-houfes, and never
had his plate of meat brought to him behind a
fcreen, becaufe his clothes were too fhabby to en-
title him to fit at the fame table with a purfe-proud
* For a fevere comment on this piece of parvenu preemp-
tion and impertinence, read " The Times,'"'' and other newfpapers
of the day.
Samuel Johnson. 6i
publifher and his prouder patron. Too much prof-
peri ty has, I fear, "been the fpoil" of Mr. Macau-
lay. It would feem to have deadened his fympathies,
I hope it has not hardened his heart. Having held
upjohnfon and his infirmities to the gaze of fools,
and tried his works by the ftandard of hypercriti-
cifm, he concludes his Orange memoir by pro-
nouncing him (how provokingly patronizing!)
" both a great and a good man."
Could the truculent Kenrick, the (Mr. Macaulay's
own phrafe) " Pole-cat Williams," the atheiftical
Soame Jenyngs, whom Johnfon fo feverely lafhed
for his prelumptuous and ftupid " Inquiry into the
Origin and Nature of Evil,' 1 the profane Peter Pin-
dar, and the '* malevolent" Parfon Tooke (all his
libellers), have produced anything more unfeeling
and ofFenfive than Mr. Macaulay's unfeemly, and
loofe-tongued levity ?
Pictured on our walls and preferved in our port-
folios, the familiar "true effigie" of Johnfon Hill
fondly lives among us. His works are the ftaple
of every well-fele£ted library, and bring inftruclion
and delight to our thoughtful hours. Every fcrap
of paper with his autograph, every book from his
«' garret," are treafured up as valued relics in public
mufeums and in private cabinets. The very hair
purloined by the " broom gentleman" from his old
hearth-broom becomes a prize ! The walks that he
frequented and the houfes in which he dwelt are flill
pointed out to the curious inquirer. The old Lime
62 Samuel Johnson.
Tree (« Dr. Jobnfon's Tree") in New-ftreet, Shoe-
lane (recently expofed to public view by the pulling
down of the houfe where he ufed to vifit Mr. Stra-
chan), has been an attraction to thoufands even in
the prefent day ; for under its once pleafant (hade,
in the garden of his friend, the fage fat and thought.
In every home enlightened by literature, dignified
by virtue, and fandtified by religion, his name is
cherifhed as a houfehold word. St. John's venerable
gate fhall endure when its laft crumbling Hone lies
level with the ground, and Sylvanus Urban, who
for more than a century has entirely lived upon his
fame, fhall, embalmed by his memory, never die.
Johnfon was deeply impreffed with this important
truth, that where much has been given much will
be required. Of the Eternal nothing is independent.
Genius is but a divine emanation benignantly vouch-
fafed to man, for the proper ufe of which he is
awfully refponfible. At that retributive tribunal,
before which the loftieft and the lowliefl intellect
muft one day appear, the refults even of Johnfon's
genius may be found to have fallen fhort of the
divine requirement. From this high argument we
retreat with humility. Johnfon has written enough
for the inftrudtion of mankind, and if mankind re-
main unimproved, it is not becaufe the mafter has
failed to employ his " talent," but that the foil in
which dropped its immortal feed was thanklefs and
barren.
OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS.
HAT a world would this be of dreary
famenefs, and vacuous ennui if the
utilitarian and the mammonite had
it all their own way ! No enter-
taining diverfity of character, no public rejoicings,
no cordial gatherings of kin and friends, no pan-
cakes, no hot-crofs-buns, no twelfth-cakes, no
Chriftmas holidays, no Chriftmas-boxes, no fnap-
dragon, no fack-pofTet, no goofeberry-fool ! Where
would be the Lady Bountiful at whofe table the
rich tailed of her hofpitality, and at whofe gate
the poor of her charity ? As yet fuch foes to good-
fellowfhip are not lords paramount, and if man-
kind value their own happinefs, they never will
be. Long may they be left to the barren luxury of
carping, fullen difcontent, and leave charity and
gratitude to meet together and make hands. Abou
Ben Adham prayed to be remembered as one who
had loved his fellow men, and who, for that caufe
alone, was regiftered by his Angel-vifitant as the
firft among thofe who had loved their God.
64 Old Father Christmas.
Chriftmas has for many centuries been kept as a
national feftival in Merrie England. Pomp and
pageantry, fong, dance, minftrelfy, and high feafting
hailed and crowned its advent ! All hearts were
touched at this facred feafon, —
" That to the Cottage, as the Crown,
Brought tidings of Salvation down."
In the palace of Queen Elizabeth, Chriftmas was
kept right royally. Plays were a&ed by the " Chil-
dren of Her Majefty's Chapel," and magnificent
mafques performed by high-born ladies and lords
of the court (the Queen herfelf not unfrequently
taking a part in them) in honour of the feafon.
Her fucceffor King James was no lefs partial to
thefe ftately entertainments ; employing Ben Jonfon
and Thomas Dekker to furnifh the libretto, and
Inigo Jones the fplendid dreffes and decorations.
The martyred Charles — whom the Scotch fold to
the Englifh as the Praetorian Guards fold the Roman
Empire to the Senator Didius, for fo much hard
cafh — inherited the fame intellectual and elegant
taftes, improved by his exquilite appreciation of
literature and the fine arts. He too kept merry
Chriftmas, until treafon (rebellious liberty, and
democratical tyranny!) found him fterner work to
do. In the caftle of the feudal Baron the Lord of
Mifrule, the Friar (the jollieft of Capellani !), and
the Fool, with Maid Marian, and Robin Hood, led
the brawl; the hobby-horfe frifking, curvetting,
Old Father Christmas. 65
and figuring in. The head of the *' briftled boar,"
with a pippin between his tufks, garnifhed with
fweet rofemary, and repofing on a filver charger,
was borne with due folemnity to its place of honour
in the College Hall, followed by the capacious waf-
fail bowl decked with gay ribbons. The bearer of
this porcine pericranium (a perfonage of gigantic
proportions) was dreffed in a fcarf of Lincoln green,
while an empty fcabbard (the naked fword belonging
to which, red with the gore of the boar, was flou-
rifhed by a huntfman) dangled at his fide. An
avant courier carrying a fpear, and two pages in
"tafatye farcenet," each with "a mefs of muftard,"
completed the mufter-roll. A carol then welcomed
the company to their banquet, canakins clinked,
and beards wagged all merrily.
In the hofpitable manfion of the country gentle-
man Chriftmas was a joyous feftival. What barrels
of ftrong beer were broached, and imbibed ! What
hecatombs of beef, larded capons, geefe, turkies,
chine, minced-pies, yule-doughs, and hackins (the
ancient apology for plum-pudding), were piled upon
the board ! What black-jacks of neclarian juice, hot
with fpice and hiffing with a roafted crab, went
round! At thefe flefh-pot victories the cook was
" fole Monarch of the Marrow-bones, Duke of the
Dripping-pan, Marquis of the Mutton, Lord High
Regent of the Spit and Kettle, Baron of the Grid-
iron, and Commander of the Frying-pan ! " At the
dawn of day alms were diftributed at the Squire's
F
66 Old Father Christmas.
gate to the poor ; * his tenants and neighbours en-
tered the great hall, adorned with the fpoils of the
chafe, and hung round with the arbutus, the holly,
and the miflletoe ; while a long fucceffion of an-
ceflral Nimrods looked down approvingly from their
quaintly-carved oak frames upon the hilarious fcene.
The chance wayfarer, and the homelefs vagrant par-
took of the plentiful cheer on that jubilant day.
In the country dance and junketing jig mailer and
maid, miflrefs and man (merry contrails to our
modern Terpfichorean automatons and their monkey
divertifements !) mingled with hearty good -will,
exchanging bland and fimple courtefies. The pri-
vileged gleeman flruck his wild harp and tuned his
flexible voice to legendary lays of war and chivalry,
and fongs of love, and the nightingales of obfcure
hollelries, to whom the ftocks and the whipping-
poll were not unfamiliar, intoned their doggrel to
the excruciating fqueak of a cracked fiddle with
impunity in this joyous feafon of a general amnefly.
The robin-red breafl, tamed by the aufterity of win-
ter, fought the abode of man. Perched on the
window-fill, it looked out with its keen eye for
* " Before the Reformation," writes John Aubrey, in the
curious Common-place Book preferved at Oxford, " there
were no poor rates, for the charitable doles given at religious
houfes, and church-ale in every parifh did the bufinefs. In
every parifli there was a church-houfe to which belonged fpits
crocks, Sec. for dreffing provifion. Here the houfekeepers
met and were merry, and after dinner gave their charity."
Old Father Christmas. 67
fome fweet token (a plum, or an almond) of kind
remembrance, and chirped its thanks ! Even the
criminal in his folitary cell was reminded of Chrift-
mas, by receiving fome gracious memento in miti-
gation of his mifery.
With general fociety Chriftmas was a patriarchal
inftitution — a feafon of re-unions. Relations, widely
difperfed during the year, met again at the family
table. Old friendships were ftrengthened, new
ones formed, and congratulation and fympathy were
the order of the day. Had coldnefs, or neglect,
caprice, or paffion, jarring interefts, or falfe pride
loofened, or fevered the facred ties of duty and
affection ? At this glad feafon rivalries and enmities
were forgotten and forgiven.
Chriftmas was efpecially the peafant's jubilee.
From the rich man's plentiful larder his own fpare
board was liberally fupplied, and the loving cup
was brimmed by the bounty of his benefactor. The
glowing embers, hiffing and crackling, made merry
mufic in the ingle ; the rofy cheeks of his buxom
and bonny wife, and of his chubby children bright-
ening in the blaze. In the gratitude of his joyful
heart he forgot his low eftate ; for poverty when
cheerful ceafes to be poverty. What cared he for the
cold and barrennefs without, when all was warm,
abundant, and infpiriting within ? The loud blaft
of the " bluftering railer" was drowned in the ftill
louder laugh provoked by fome tale, or jeft tradi-
tion, and the "Widow Toye" (courteous dame!)
68 Old Father Christmas.
had handed down, or a "doleful dittie full of plea-
fant mirth and paftime" from the printing-prefs of
Pynfon and the pedlar's pack of Autolicus ! How
did thefe " trol-my-dames" make the rafters of his
cottage rattle and ring again ! If the fair flowers
that adorned his little garden in fummer flept in their
caufes until the return of that lovely feafon fhould
awaken them to frefh bloom ; the holly, with its
bright red berries, and the miftletoe with every
graceful pendant and pearly drop bearing a love-
charm, feftooned his walls; flourifhing beft, like
charity, when all is cold and comfortlefs without.
In the remote villages of England it was the
cuftom at Chriftmas, "when the men and maids
had ended their gambols, and bed-time was coming,"
for the goflips to afiemble round about the coal fire,
and tell ftrange {lories of hobgoblins and witches.
How the candles burned blue, the chairs danced
round the room, and a fheeted ghoft, with a lighted
taper in one hand, and a blood-red dagger in the
other, (talked in, and rolling his faucer-eyes, and
clanking his heavy chains, cried vengeance ! The
horrors of Lord Bateman's fupernatural ballad, and
Dr.Glanvil's terrifying tomes were frightfully realized
by thefe fuperftitious crones. Fairies alfo were a
favourite Chriftmas difh, and few were the grand-
mothers who had not feen thefe " little, little crea-
tures no bigger than one's thumb," dancing in rings
" where mufhrooms grow," and under the moon's
pale difc having a friik to fweet mufic from the
Old Father Christmas. 69
gnat, the grasfhopper, or the fly ! And when the
moon was down, and the dance was done, the fame
indubitable authorities had beheld the tiny Terpfi-
chores lighted to bed by the glowworm !
Waits and carols at Chriilmas are almofl coeval
with Chriilianity, and doubtlefs owe their origin to
that beautiful tradition mentioned in Hamlet : —
" Some fay, that ever 'gainft that feafon comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning fingeth all night long;
So hallow'd and fo gracious is the time."
The earliefl Carol known is the celebrated Oxford
one, printed by Wy nkyn de Worde, in 1 5 2 1 , and fung
by the Tabarder and the members in the refectory
of Queen's College, at Chriilmas. It is an apo-
theofis to the Boar's Head, and highly bacchanalian.
" Chriftmas Carolles ; newly imprinted at London in
the Powltry, by Richard Kele, dwellyng at the longe
Jhop under faynt Myldredes church;" a duodecimo
volume of twenty-four leaves, rarijjtmus / was in
the library of Sir Francis Freeling. Its contents
are of a motley character — feilive, fcriptural, free,
and not unfrequently bordering on the profane.
In a " Dialogue between Cuftom and Veritie, con-
cerning the ufe and abufe of Dauncing and Minjlrel-
jie" a Poem by Thomas Lovell, " imprynted at the
long Jhop adjoining unto Saint Mildred's Church in
the Pultrie, by John Aide" no date ;— " Cuflom "
defends Minllrelfy and Dancing at all feafons, and
70 Old Father Christmas.
thinks it very hard that " Veritie" forbids them at
Chriftmas ; obferving, —
" Chriftmas is a merry time
Good mirth therefore to make,
Young men and maids together may
Their legs in daunces make.
We fee, it with fome gentlemen
A cuftom ufed to be
At that time to provide to have
Some pleafant minftrelfie."
In " An Halfe-pennyworth of Wit on a Penny
worth of Paper, &c." by Humphrey King, 1613,
is the following curious notice of Robin Hood, May-
games, Milkmaids, and Tarleton the Jefter, &c : —
"Let us talk of Robin Hoode
And Little John in merry Shirwood.
Of Poet Skelton with his pen,
And many other Merry Men.
■■ Of May-game Lords and Sommer Queenes
With Milke-Maides dancing o're the Greenes,
Of merry Tarlton in our time,
Whofe conceite was very fine,
Whom death hath wounded with his dart,
That lov'd a May-pole with all his heart."
Herrick, in his " Hefperides" lamented the de-
cline of old Englifh hofpitality. In 1678, Poor
Robin (fee his " Hue and Cry after Good Houfe-
Old Father Christmas. 71
keeping") puts in a plea for Chriftmas ; the negledl
of which he imputes to the prevailing pride of drefs !
" Your tradefmen in the Exchange, the mercer, filk-
weaver, tailor, perriwig-maker, and feather-maker,
having fuperfeded the butcher, cook, poulterer, filh-
wife, and butler, " good cheer is grown out of fafhion,
and Chriftmas is only to be found by " red letters in
Almanacks.'' In the palmy days of the venerable
Father, " the fquire wore no other fhirts but of the
flax that grew on his own ground, and of his wife's,
daughters', or fervants' fpinning ; and his ftockings,
hofe, and jerkin were of the wool fheared from his
own fheep." No wonder then that this primitive
fquire could maintain a fcore or two of farm fer-
vants, relieve twice that number of poor people at
his gate, and when Chriftmas came, invite his friends
to a plentiful dinner. Then fine clothes were only
for "Kings and Courtiers ;'* but now it would make
" a horfe break his crupper with laughing to fee
Joan Fiddle Faddle, whofe portion amounts to two
groats and two pence, decked up with ribbons and
flowers as fine as a Bartholomew Baby !" Twenty
or thirty proper ferving men were epitomifed to a
butterfly-page and a trotting footman ; the cook was
out of commiflion, and the lean hind's lenten dinner
was " two fprats and a half." Cards and dice had
much to do with all this. The geefe that ufed to
be fattened for honeft neighbours have been fent to
London for fale, and their quills cut into pens to
convey away the landlord's eftate. His fheep, too,
72 Old Father Christmas.
had found a buyer, and their fkins had been con-
verted into parchment for deeds and indentures!
What fays Cowper on this fubjccT: ?
"We facrifice to drefs, till houfehold joys
And comforts ceafe. Drefs drains our cellars dry
And keeps our larders lean."
The year 1678 was appointed for "The Trial of
Old Father Chriilmas " by the worfhipful Juflice
Love-peace, affiftcd by twelve jurymen, of whom
Brother Starve-moufe was the foreman. Objection
having been taken to the jury ; the Jultice (remark-
ing that this was not " Jojbuas day") ordered a
more impartial one to be impanneled. The charges
againft Chriltmas were — fuperflition, idolatry, over-
feafting, and other high crimes and mifdemeanors.
Here Sir Charity, a gallant Knight, Hepped for-
ward and put the many good qualities of the calumni-
ated Father in fo fair a light that he was honourably
acquitted ; the Judge (on whofe feftivous phyfiog-
nomy high jinks, and cakes and ale, were rofily
rubricated) admonifhing him with a roguifh twinkle
to be a " little" more circumfpecl for the future.
" And Chriftmas ftraight was courted far and
near,
To each good houfe to tafte their plenteous
cheer."
Clothed in rich furs, his eyes fparkling with
gaiety, his lips fmiling a hearty welcome, and every
Old Father Christmas. 73
hair of his bufhy wig briftling with fun, Old Father
Chriitmas is come again ! May he come to the
reader without his too frequent, forrowful draw-
back — the vacant chair, mute monitor! recalling to
many bereaved hearts reminifcences of happy days
never to return ! Upon fuch bruifed, but not broken
reeds, let the confoling Words of "The Master"
whofe Divine Advent we are now about to cele-
brate, " Blefled are they that mourn, for they fliall
be comforted," drop like celeftial dew. And here
we take leave of Chriitmas, with Uncle Timothy's
paraphrafe of this heavenly promife : —
<c
BlefTed are they — tbey that mourn,
And the Crofs have meekly borne,
For the Comforter is nigh
To wipe the tears from every eye,
Tears from bleeding hearts diltill'd
That fliall foon with joy be fill'd,
Joy angelic in a fphere
Where never yet was dropp'd a tear.
>>
THE LOVING CUP, AND
HORACE WALPOLE.
HE Loving Cup is one of the many
popular and cordial cuftoms that, an-'
tiquity has bequeathed to us. The
Romans infcribed it with the feftive
legend " Ex Hoc Amici bibunt," and realized that
legend to the letter ; and the health-drinking Saxons
tranfmitted it, with all its traditionary honours, to
the middle ages. On grand occafions it circulated
freely at the Abbot's table in the refectory, as the
"Poculum charitatis," covering a multitude of prieftly
peccadillos. At colleges it contributed to academi-
cal hilarity, under the title of the "Grace Cup ,•"
but thofe kings of good feeding and good fellowship,
the right jovial citizens of London, chriftened it the
"Loving Cup" its proper and approved name, and
at the gaftronomical gatherings of their guilds inau-
gurated it with due folemnity. The Mailer, or
Prime Warden, rifing from his chair of ftate, and
bowing, pledges the company, and wifhes them good
Horace Walpole. 75
cheer. He then pafTes the cup to his next neigh-
bour, who performs the fame courtefy to his, and fo
on, until open hearts and mining faces teftify that
all have imbibed a tafte of the neclar. In the olden
time the Loving Cup,* like the Apoftle Spoon, was
a houfehold god in private families. Weddings,
birthdays, and chriftenings, were the occafions on
which it was given as a memorial. The cup in
Uncle Timothy's cabinet is one of thefe beautiful
relics of the paft. Standing on its brim, it prefents
the face and figure of Queen Elizabeth, as a milk-
* Heywood, in his " Philocothonifta " (London, 1635),
fays: — "Of drinking-cups divers and fundry forts we have;
fome of elme, fome of box, fome of maple, fome of holly,
&c. Mazers, broad-mouth difhes, noggins, whifkins, piggins,
crinzes, ale-bowles, waffell-bowles, court- dimes, tankards,
kannes, from a pottle to a pint, from a pint to a gill. Other
bottles we have of leather, but they were molt ufed among
the fhepheards, and harveft-people of the countrey ; fmall
jacks we have in many alehoufes of the citie and fuburbs,
tip't with filver, befides the great black jacks and bombards
at the Court, which, when the Frenchmen firft faw, they
reported, at their returne into their countrey, that the Eng-
lifhmen ufed to drinke out of their bootes ; we have, befides,
cups made of homes of beafts, of cockernuts, of goords, of
the eggs of oftriches, others made of the fhells of divers fifhes
brought from the Indies and other places, and mining like
mother-of-pearle. Come to plate, every taverne can afford
you flat bowles, French bowles, prounet cups, beare-bowles,
beakers ; and private houfeholders in the citie, when they
make a feaft to entertaine their friends, can furnifh their
cupboards with flagons, tankards, beare-cups, and wine-bowles,
fome white, fome percell guilt, fome guilt all over, fome
with covers, others without, of fundry fhapes and qualities."
j6 The Loving Cup and
maid, holding a pail above her head. Upfide down,
it is a cup, the cavity to contain the liquor being
her Majefty's richly embroidered hoop petticoat.
It was not intended to be fet down until drained of
its contents, and though of more modeft dimenfions
than the capacious Loving Cups, clerical and lay, of
colleges and halls, it would afford a copious fip of
fugared fack and fweet cordials to a wedding or a
chriftening party. The Cup is of fine filver, ele-
gantly defigned, beautifully chafed all round, and is
in perfect condition.
And now for its former pofTeifor, Horace Wal-
pole, author, politician, and virtuofo. He com-
menced his literary career under falfe colours ; de-
clining to face openly the arrows of criticifm ; for
the experiment had yet to be tried how the public
would receive that ftartling novelty — an Englifh
romance founded on fupernatural agency. The
"Cattle of Otranto," though it puzzled profeffional
critics, foon became popular. The " Myfterious
Mother" was a flill bolder experiment. The
revolting ftory was a true one. Walpole ftates
that one of the party confulted Archbifhop Til-
lotfon on the affair ; but Bifhop Hall mentions
it in his Cafes of Confcience, printed in 1650.
Confummate art and elegant poetry overcame that
great flumbling- block, the unnatural horrors of
the fcene, and won the day. The " Catalogue of
Royal and Noble Authors" is written in a truly
ariftocratical fpirit. Nothing mediocre can by any
Horace Walpole. 77
poffibility proceed from a prince or a peer ! The
"Anecdotes of Painting" difplay more of the fmat-
terer who has picked up a variety of fuperficial
ideas, and technical terms, than of the tafteful con-
noifleur, who has made that grand art his ftudy, and
who is enthufiaftically alive to its beauties. It is to
the charm of his letters that Walpole chiefly owes
his fame as an author. For brilliant wit, lively
anecdote, and an eafy, elegant flyle, he may rank
with the Marquife de Sevigne ; but of fublime and
picturefque defcription, delicate fatire, and generous
fentiment, fuch as breathe through the letters of
Gray, Cowper, and (occafionally) of Burns, he has
little or none. The ante-chamber of the palace, the
clofet of the courtier, and the penetralia of fome
garrulous beauty, whofe charity had gone the way of
her charms, were the atmofphere in which he lived.
He waits not to examine fads before he pronounces
on them. He is unrivalled in telling an unctuous
tale of fcandal. He had a mercilefs memory for a
back-flairs intrigue; and a fafhionable _/##.*• pas loft
nothing in his telling. His inveterate love of cari-
cature led him into exaggerated defcriptions of per-
fons and events, which, however entertaining, mull
be taken with liberal deductions. He ilurs by an
inuendo, and lampoons in a line. His fly humour
and fluent fopperies are irrefiftible, and infect with
their wanton wickednefs. The gall-dipped reed of
Ariftophanes had not more gangrene in it than his
grey goofe-quiil. He always writes for effect, and
78 The Loving Cup and
never fails to produce it. His weapon is not the
club of Caliban, but the knife that flayed St. Bartho-
lomew. Sometimes he would drefs it, as Harmodius
drefled his dagger, in myrtle. Johnfon's impatient
fifh-wife, who curfed the writhing eel for not lying
ftill while fhe was ikinning it alive, was, compared
to him, a filler of mercy. He fat in his eafy-chair
(a monaftic relic) in his toy-mop at Twickenham,
mocking at patriotifm and political honefty, neither
of which quackeries he (like his father "Robin")
believed in. Even of human virtues, thofe flowers
of Paradife ! we fear, he had his doubts. He was
the patriarch of three reigns, and the Methufelah of
his family ; a Hate penfioner, pafling his long life in
luxurious bachelorfhip and lettered eafe. He knew
Pope his poetical neighbour ; was intimate with
Colley Cibber (whofe life-like painted bull laughed
in his face from a bracket at Strawberry Hill), and
had " touched a card " with the termagant Kitty
Clive. He affedled to difcountenance Garrick be-
caufe he was too much of an aclor off the ftage ;
whereas the faid Horace wore the cap and maik,
aye, and often the bells, from manhood's firft fcene
to its laft. He had "Chloe's" one great fault — he
wanted a " heart ;" witnefs his early eftrangement
from Gray, and his unkind treatment of
" The wondrous Boy who perifh'd in his pride."
He never loved much, nor was he ever much loved.
He was too artificial to fed, or to infpire fympathy.
Horace Walpole. 79
He had his followers and flatterers — blue-ftockings,
tea-drinking dowagers, and impecunious fpinfters,
fharp-fighted antiquaries, and oddity-hunters, who
fipped his bohea out of Lilliputian china cups (walhed
by his own gouty hands, fo dearly did he prize
them !), admired his gimcracks, laughed at his anec-
dotes, and praifed his poetry. He had been a dis-
ciple of Ochlocracy, a rabid Whig. He hung up
in his ftudy a copy of the Death Warrant of King
Charles the Firft, which he ^//-called " Magna
Charta!" Yet when the Revolution broke out in
France ; when the Goddefs of Reafon in the perfon
of a crowned harlot was paraded through flreets
crimfoned with human blood, and "liberty" and
" a la lanterne " became the order of the day, this
rofe-water republican, who defpifed the gabble of
the illuftrious rabble,* and, with inflinclive vul-
garity, regarded a thread-bare coat as a badge of
degradation, dreading that the levelling contagion
might infect England, and fubject her peaceful citi-
zens to the like explofions of ferocity, fhut himfelf
up in his crazy caftle, and quaked at every bufh as a
throat-cuttingy^zj- culotte ! The apprehended hur-
ricane happily blew over, but liberty loft cafte with
this newly-converted optimift for ever, and " Magna
Charta," torn from its place of honour, was igno-
* An Ariltocrat in love with ''Equality" would feem as
unlikely as a tailor favouring Jans cuiotteifm, or a hatter pa-
tronizing the guillotine !
80 Horace Walpole.
minioufly configned to fome dark corner in the
lumber room to tell to the fpiders and rats its tale
of regicide ! An adage for that mad age !
For many years Strawberry Hill was a public
attradion. Such a rare colle&ion of relics, literary,
hiftorical, artiftic, and antiquarian, was perhaps never
brought together by the recondite refearch, refined
tafte, and untiring induftry of one man. He was
learned in the claffical languages ; in the exquifite
Doric in which Pindar wrote. Italian was, how-
ever, his favourite fludy ; from Giufti the wit, to
Dante the fublime; and he was familiar with every
dialect of the " dolce favella" from the fqueak of
Naples, to the growl of Milan. The elegance and
urbanity of his manners, the faultlefs propriety of
his drefs (the curled Alcibiades was not a more
accomplifhed beau), and his abitinence from the
grofler vices, gave to his order — which in his early
days much needed it — a tone of fobriety and refine-
ment that it has never loft. For thefe, and many
other diftinguifhed merits, Horace Walpole deferves
well of the world.
NEW YEAR'S EVE.
NE of my moft agreeable New Year's
Eves," faid Uncle Timothy, who, like
Socrates, knew the value of mirth and
thought, with the learned Selden, that
there never was a merry world " fince the fairies
left off dancing, and the parfon left conjuring," was
fpent at Charles Lamb's Colebrooke Cottage, when
Hood and Talfourd were of the party. A loqua-
cious windbag (one of his "knock-eternal" vifitors)
Lamb funk Hill deeper in abfurdity ; telling him
that Junius Brutus wrote the Letters of Junius ;
that Pope's mother was Pope Joan ; and that
Hood's broken-winded Rofinante (a hybrid, not
high-bred animal!) had died that day of a horfe-
ification of the heart ! Our talk however foon took
a more rational turn to joufts, miracle plays, the
Field of the Cloth of Gold, the banquet of the
boy-bifhop, the minnefingers, and the glee-maidens ;
and then was Elia in full fong.
New Year's Eve was celebrated by Uncle Timothy
with a humorous fadnefs. " If," faid he, " the
G
82 New Year's Eve.
old year has ufed me well, why mould I, ungrate-
fully, ring it out with merry bells ? If ill, where
is my Chriftian charity for an expiring foe ? Has
it done its belt to me ; muffled drums, not triple
bob-majors, fhould found its requiem ; its worft ;
in pity's name let it depart in peace. But may not
the old year turn its tables upon me ? May it not
afk whether the opportunities of felf-improvement
that it afforded me have, or have not been thrown
away ? Whether I have not ' mifufed ' it, as Fal-
ftaff did the < King's Prefs ? ' < Think of that, Mailer
Brook ! '
" I have no objection to the ringing in of the
New Year. I would give the Stranger, as Hamlet
gave the Ghoft (' as a ilranger') welcome. The
New Year brings heavy refponfibilities and onerous
duties that may well temper rejoicing, and induce
anxious thought. How many that, on its advent,
are at dinner mall, at its clofe, be at fupper, ( not
where they eat, but, (with Polonius,) where they
are eaten ?' "
Manners and cuftoms had much changed fince
the early days of Uncle Timothy. He lamented,
with John Barker, the Elizabethan Ballad-monger,
" how neybourhood, love, and trew dealyng is
gone." " Of ingenuous youth," he would fay,
" difcipline is no longer the monitor and guide.
A royal road, by the fait train, to knowledge has
been difcovered. The ear is crammed, but the
mind is left empty. Sounds, not fenfe ; words,
New Year's Eve. 83
not ideas ; are the refuk of this teaching. What
an advantage would it be to fome mailers if they
would Heal an hour or two in the day from their
pupils to give their own mallow brains the benefit
of the petty larceny ! ' When was Rome built?'
inquired a modern pedagogue of his precocious
pupil. * In the night, Sir! becaufe as how grand-
mother faid Rome warn't built in a day !' 'And
pray, Solomon, who was Jefle ?' ' The Flower of
Dumblane!' fnuffled Solomon. I fhould like to
know how looked the queerer! at this queereft of all
replies ! The learned Doclor Keate when a prodigy
of fcholarfhip conflrued ' Scipio Africanus* an Afri-
can walking Hick, roared out, ' Sit down, Sir, you
are too great a fool to be flogged ! ' "
We had the pleafure of Uncle Timothy's com-
pany on the New Year's Eve of 18 6-. He felt
allured that at the quiet home of a friend whole
taft.es and purfuits were identical with his own he
might fpend a few focial and intellectual hours.
With the younger branches of our houfehold he
was alternately grave and gay. Giving them fuch
advice as bell fuited their refpeclive conditions, and
provoking their fmiles with lively anecdote, apt
fimilitudes, and quaint remarks, with which his
marvellous memory was fo richly flored.* While
thofe whofe brows were as furrowed and whofe
hairs were as white as his own, he addrefled in the
* It is recorded of Cyrus that he could repeat the name of
every foldier in his great army.
84 New Year's Eve.
words of Pliny when fpeaking of the death of Fan-
nius, ' Let us, my friends, while we yet live, exert
all our endeavours, that death, whenever it fhall
arrive, may find as little as poffible to deftroy.' "
He defcribed a dinner party given many years ago
by the late Thomas Hurft, the eminent bookfeller,
at his Highgate manfion, at which he was prefent.
"There," faid he, "was Scott {'Watty!' as the
Ettrick Shepherd, when {kin-full of whifky toddy,
was wont familiarly to call him), tall and ftalwart,
frank and hilarious ; difcourfing fluently upon border
feuds and forays, wizards and belted knights ; and
tranfporting us to the roaring cataract, the blafted
heath, the mountain glen, the deep moan of the
fullen wave, and all the wonderful alchemy of the
univerfe. There was Campbell, nervous and irrit-
able, with his fharp Scotch accent, and voice — not
like one of Dante's ghofts ' hoarfe with long filence,'
but ringing and jfhrill, prefTing upon the company
his converfation which was hardly worthy of his
fine poetical genius. There was Rogers, cautious,
and cold as an icicle, watching his opportunity,
and with a fmile worthy of Mephiftopheles edging
in a farcafm duly prepared for the occafion, and
illuftrating the aphorifm, * Life is a comedy to thofe
who think, and a tragedy to thofe who feel.' There,
too, was Moore, the Puck of the party ! joyous and
fparkling, launching his lampoons, perfonal and
poetical, and giving full fcope to his Anacreontic
and Bacchanalian propenfities. Crabbe (honeft
New Year's Eve. 85
Parfon Adams !), with fatherly face, primitive man-
mers and fuit of fables of an ultra-clerical cut,
though at firft retiring and taciturn, would gra-
dually warm into wifdom and wit ; Wordfworth
(Holofernes and Sir Oracle !), with a vein of pure
gold (a thin one!) running through his difcourfe,
made its chief fubjecl: the eternal * Ego ' and his
writings ; Coleridge, dictatorial and dreamy, an
indifferent debater, but in a fet fpeech, ' the old
man eloquent,' fcattered about his opinions and
criticifms, which, though acute and fanciful, fmelt
too much of the opium bottle and the lecture room;
while Southey, with his various learning, urbane hu-
mour, and beautiful literature caft funfhine upon all
around him. John Kemble — the beau ideal of an
accomplifhed gentleman, and whom I never faw
and converfed with without being reminded of Don
Quixote and Sir Roger de Coverley, and Mifs Baillie
(Sir Walter Scott's ' Sifter Joanna !'), a choice fpeci-
men of a well-bred literary lady of the old fchool,
were alfo prefent. The dandies of the party were
the two Toms, Campbell and Moore. Campbell's
pea-green dove-tailed drefs-coat with embofTed brafs
buttons, and velvet collar prepofteroufly high, was
(like the Irifhman's blanket) too fhort at the bottom
and too long at the top — and Moore's (coffee-
coloured, with bright fteel buttons, and ample
fkirts out of all proportion for a Druid fo diminu-
tive, covering, as Scott flyly whifpered, ' too much
of the Ca/f. n ) the very reverfe. Kemble recited
86 New Year's Eve.
fome fine paffages from ' The Pleafures of Hope,'
' M arm ion/ and ' De Montfort;' and Moore,
whofe voice was melodious and plaintive, fang with
exquifite pathos and delicacy fome of his beautiful
fongs, accompanying himfelf on the pianoforte.
I remember a commercial joke that Rogers perpe-
trated. One of the party fpcaking of fome difre-
putable a£t of a certain bibliopoliit, added, ' it was
when he was unfortunate,' (viz. bankrupt.) ' You
mean,' faid Rogers, ' when his creditors were ! '
The two hardefl heads of the company relied on
the broad moulders of the Northern Wizard and
the Tragedian ; and the quantity of ' C /ay -ret,' as
Scott accentuated it, that they imbibed was ' Pro-
di-gi-ous !'
" Alas ! for the inconftancy of fortune ! Our
liberal hoft, in the evening of his days, took refuge
in the Charter Houfe. In that time-honoured
alms-houfe of noble poverty I often vifited him.
There I met Major the bookfeller (alfo a ' poor
Brother;') Haflewood (a rough diamond!) the
editor of ' Drunken Barnaby,' &c. &c. ; Dr. Philip
Blifs, of Oxford ; and dear William Pickering the
learned publifhcr of the Aldine Edition of the
Poets, a man whom to know was to refpecl, and
whom to lofe was to mourn — all, like Hurft, de-
voted lovers of the ' Angle.' Hurft bore his fad
reverfe of fortune with refignation ; forgiving all,
and hoping to be forgiven.
" It was an ancient cuftom," continued Uncle
New Year's Eve. 87
Timothy, who now rofe to take his leave, " for
relations and friends to exchange New Year's Gifts.
Beggar that I am, even in thanks ! what gift have
I to offer ? Only this (putting into my hand a
paper). Lay it to thy heart, and farewell ! " And
Uncle Timothy's New Year's Gift was —
THE NEW YEAR.
" By the God of Mercy's pleafure
I am ftill a Pilgrim here
(Loving-kindnefs without meafurt !)
To behold the new-born year.
With the balmy breath of morning
Comes a voice that feems to fay,
Heaven vouchfafes another warning,
See thou cafh it not away.
Happy thou that doft not flumber
(They had too their warnings here)
With the unconverted number
Gone with the departed year !
O ! if ever fin enthrall'd thee,
Let it not enthral again ;
O ! if ever wifdom call'd thee,
Let her no more call in vain.
Keep thy pafTions in fubje&ion,
Banifh every thought impure,
Yield thyfelf to God's direction,
Hold thy faith unihaken, fure.
88 New Year's Eve.
Should He in the furnace try thee,
Pray for patience, ilrength to bear ;
Knowing He is ever nigh thee,
Prompt to hear and anfwer pray'r.
Are the lines in pleafant places ?
Has His bounty hope outran?
Let mine forth thy Chriftian graces
In benevolence to man.
Ever to that holy mountain
Where thy Prophet, Prieft, and King
Freely open'd mercy's fountain
Let thy faith her offering bring.
She can bring no other token
That thou would'ft the paft retrieve,
But a contrite heart, and broken,
Which thy Saviour will receive.
For the promife of falvation,
For compaffion fo divine,
Let thy foul, in adoration,
All the world for Him refign."
The bells, with merry peals, rang out the old year.
The clock flruck twelve. Again they chimed fu-
rioufly ; and, ringing in the new year, went mufic-
mad for joy ! Yet difcordant was their found, with
the fubdued tones of Uncle Timothy ilill vibrating
in our ears.
THE PRESUMED DISINTERMENT
OF MILTON.
EW, perhaps, of the prefent generation
are aware that on Wednefday, the 4th
of Auguft, 1790, a coffin, prefumed to
be Milton's, was difinterred in the pa-
rifh church of St. Giles, Cripplegate ; a " Narrative"
of which, written by Mr. Philip Neve, of FurnivaPs
Inn, was publifhed by T. and J. Egerton, White-
hall, on the 14th of the fame month. A fecond
edition appeared on the 8th of September following.
A copy of the latter (which is only the firft, "new
vamped, &c, with the addition of a poftfcript/')
from the libraries of Bindley and Heber, is in my
pofleffion. It has the autograph of George Steevens
on the title-page, and is interleaved throughout, in
order to introduce a variety of minute and curious
notes in his handwriting, pointing out the impofture.
Thefe notes, which have never been printed, are,
for the rare importance of the fubjecl, literary relics
well worth preferving.
90 The Presumed Disinterment
The "Narrative" Hates that, it being in contem-
plation of fome perfons to beftow a confiderable fum
of money in erecting a monument in the parifh
church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, to the memory of
Milton ("Credat Judceus Apella? fays Steevens,
" parifh meetings have other objects in view, other
topics of converfation. Many ftories concerning
this monument have been circulated, but moil of
them have proved without foundation. Such a me-
morial, however, is begun by Bacon, the ftatuary,
and, as it is fuppofed, by order of Mr. Whitbread,
the opulent brewer,") certain of the parifhioners de-
termined that his coffin mould be dug for, that the
exact fpot of his grave might be afcertained before
the faid monument was erected. The entry, among
the burials, in the regifter-book, 12th of November,
1674, is, "John Milton, Gentleman, confumpcon,
chancell." (Steevens fays, "Melton — but altered,
in frefher ink than that with which the regifter was
written.") The tradition had always been that Mil-
ton was buried in the old chancel, under the former
clerk's defk ; (" It was never heard of," replies
Steevens, "till ftated on the prefent occafion;")
and William Afcough, parifh clerk, of Cripplegate,
whofe father and grandfather had filled the fame
offices for ninety years pail, and John Poole, watch-
fpring maker, of Jacob's-paffage (a feer of feventy),
who had often heard his father talk of Milton's
perfon, as defcribed by the venerable and veritable
authorities that had actually feen him, confirmed the
of Milton. 91
ftatement. It was therefore thought a good oppor-
tunity (the church being under repair) to make the
propofed fearch. Accordingly, Mr. John Cole, of
Barbican, filverfmith, churchwarden; and Mr. Tho-
mas Strong, folicitor, and veftry-clerk, ordered their
workmen to dig from the prefent chancel, north-
wards, towards the pillar againft which the former
pulpit and defk had Hood, and over which the Com-
mon Councilmen's pew now Hands. The refult
was, that on Tuefday afternoon, Auguft 3rd, a coffin
was difcovered, and Meffieurs Strong and Cole,
by the light of a candle, defcended into the vault,
where it lay diredHy over a wooden coffin, fuppofed
to be that of Milton's father; tradition having re-
ported that Milton was buried next (Steevens fays
"near") to his father. "When I inquired," fays
Steevens (who was prefent at the fecond difinter-
ment), " about this circumftance, it appeared to want
confirmation. The people prefent at the firfl: faid
that the coffin was depofited in a ftrong cement.
This particular is denied by Mr. Strong ; nor could
I perceive any traces of a fubilance refembling ce-
ment among the rubbifh thrown out on the 17th of
Auguft." The "Narrative" ftates that in digging
through the whole fpace, from the prefent chancel,
where the ground was opened, to the fituation of
the former clerk's defk, there was not found any
other coffin which could raife a doubt of this being
Milton's. To this Steevens replies, " The remains
of feveral others were found there. I faw the
92 The Presumed Disinterment
handles, &c. of them, as well as two fkulls, many
bones, &c. Some others had been removed to the
bone-houfe." Meffieurs Strong and Cole then or-
dered water and a brufh, and began fcrubbing the
coffin in fearch of an infcription, but none was
found. The coffin is defcribed as being much cor-
roded, five feet ten inches long, and at the broadeft
part, over the moulders, one foot four inches wide.
<f It was not much corroded," fays Steevens, " though
there was one aperture in it, probably occafioned by
the ftroke of a fpade. When the brick piers, on
which the prefent pews are fupported, were built,
many of the dead muft have been difturbed. But
this laft circumftance was wholly fupprefled by the
parifhioners, or perhaps was unknown to them.
Bold aflertion, not curious inveiligation, diftinguifhes
the antiquaries of St. Giles, Cripplegate !" Mef-
fieurs Cole and Strong once thought that by remov-
ing the leaden coffin fome plate or infcription might
probably be found on the wooden one underneath ;
but they forebore to difturb it ; and, having fatisfied
their curiofity and afcertained the fact — (" How was
it fatisfied ?" afks Steevens. "They did not, how-
ever, eafily mifs what they defired to find J") — they
ordered the ground to be finally clofed.
A merry-meeting (" Merry-meetings," fays Stee-
vens, " are believed to be fo conducive to archaeo-
logical knowledge, that even the Society of Anti-
quaries have, once a year, a merry-meeting of their
own ! ") took place on the evening of that day at
of Milton. 93
the houfe of Fountain, a publican, in Beech-ftreet,
Barbican ; at which, among others, were prefent
Churchwarden Cole; Laming, a pawnbroker ; Tay-
lor, a country furgeon, a friend of Laming ; and one
Holmes, journeyman to Afcough, the parifh clerk
and coffin-maker. The difcourfe having turned
upon Milton's coffin, feveral of the company ex-
prefled a defire to fee it. Under the influence of
pipes, perfuafion, and purl, the virtue of the church-
warden gave way, and he promifed that if the
ground was not already clofed their curiofity fhould
be fatisfied. Accordingly, between eight and nine
o'clock on the following morning, Laming and
Fountain (the two overfeers), and Taylor went to
the houfe of Afcough, which leads into the church-
yard (" They avoided," fays Steevens, " telling
Afcough the object of their vifit,") and afked for
Holmes. The gaunt demi-giant appeared, led them
into the church, and, affiiled by his myrmidons,
pulled the coffin, which lay deep in the ground,
("about four feet," fays Steevens, " when I favv it,")
to the edge of the excavation. The overfeers afked
Holmes if he could open it. Holmes, with his
mallet and chifel, cut open the top of the coffin
flantwife from the head, as low as the breaft, fo
that the top being doubled backward they could fee
the corpfe. He then ripped it up at the foot. The
body appeared in a perfect Hate, and was enveloped
in a fhroud of many folds, the ribs ftanding up
regularly. When they diflurbed the fhroud the
94 The Presumed Disinterment
ribs fell. Here Steevens remarks, " Rather the
winding-meet. Had not this involucrum been torn
to pieces by Laming, Fountain, &c. fome mark at a
corner of it might have exhibited the initial letters
of the Chriftian and furname of the deceafed, or
fome of their family. People were formerly buried
in a fheet belonging to their bed, and confequently
marked at one of its angles with thread or filk."
The publican pulled hard at the teeth, which were
" remarkably fhort below the gum, and very found
and white." They refilled until fome one hit them
with a ftone, when they fell out ! There were but
five in the upper jaw. Thefe were purloined by
the publican, who prefented one to the pawnbroker.
The latter took one from the lower jaw, and the
furgeon took two. The pawnbroker had once
thought of bringing away the whole under jaw,
teeth, and all! but tofled it back again. Somebody,
however, muft have had a fancy for it ; for Stee-
vens fays, " the whole under-jaw was taken away."
He then raifed the head, and down fell a quantity
of hair, which lay iiraight and even behind the
head. It was wet; fome of the water with which
the coffin had been warned the day before having
run into it. Steevens here afks, " Why did they
bring away only fuch hair as accorded with the
defcription of Milton's ? Of the lighter kind there
was fcarce any ; of the dark a very confiderable
quantity. But this circumftance would have been
concealed, had not a fecond examination of the
of Milton. 95
coffin taken place." The pawnbroker " poked his
ftick againft the head," and brought fome of the
hair over the forehead, which the furgeon carried
away. He then took out one of the leg bones, but
(as he had ferved the under-jaw) threw it back
again. " The water," fays the " Narrative," " had
made a fludge at the bottom of the coffin, which
emitted a naufeous fmell." " Had this," remarks
Steevens, " been the coffin of a perfon buried 116
years in fuch a dry place, there could have been no
fmell at all. But query if there really was any ?
The contents of the coffin had been abfolutely de-
luged." The pawnbroker and the leech having
pocketed their facrilegious plunder, left the church,
and the coffin, according to the " Narrative,'' "was
reltored to its original ftation." " How is this
afcertained ? " afks Steevens. "Not expecting the
coffin would be a fecond time removed, they put it
into an opening they had made, without any exadl
regard to its original fituation." But the defecration
of the corpfe was not yet complete. Elizabeth Grant,
the grave-digger, kept a tinder-box in the excava-
tion, and when any vifitors came, fhe (truck a light,
and exhibited it, firfh for fixpence, afterwards for
threepence, and then for twopence, each perfon !
The workmen alfo demanded a pot of porter for
mowing to all comers the prefumed hallowed re-
mains of the author of " Paradife Loft ! "
The parifh officers, according to Steevens, dif-
miffed this ogrefs " from any future fervices." The
g6 The Presumed Disinterment
only punifhment that they received was univerfal
execration and contempt.
The author of the " Narrative" flates that on
Monday the 9th of Auguft he went to Laming's
houfe to requeft a lock of the hair, when Taylor
gave him a portion of what he had relerved for
himfelf. Hearing that one Ellis, a performer at the
Royalty Theatre, who had given Elizabeth Grant
fixpence for feeing the body, had procured fome of
the hair, a rib-bone, a fragment of the fhroud, and
a piece of the fkin of the fkull (which adhered to
the hair) of about the fize of a milling, he paid him
a vifit of infpeclion at No. 9, Lamb's-chapel. The
rib-bone appeared to be one of the upper ribs ; the
piece of fhroud was of coarfe linen, and the hair
(that portion which he had warned) was of a light
colour, though taken from under the fkull. To
this Steevens replies, " The fhroud is again con-
founded with the winding-fheet. A fmall piece of
the fhroud I faw. It was crimped at the edge,
like fuch as are at prefent in ufe. This fuppofed
bit of fkin is only a bit of paper which had dropped
into the coffin while it was open. The wire-marks
are vifible. All the hair under the fkull was very
dark. Such as was exhibited, &c. by Mr. Laming
was of a light colour." The player had tried to
reach down as low as the hands of the corpfe, but
without fuccefs. (" The right arm and hand had
been taken away before the 17th of Auguit," fays
Steevens). Being " a very ingenious worker in
of Milton. 97
hair," and anticipating a merry market for Milton's,
he loll no time in returning to the church for a
frelh fupply, but was refufed admittance. " By
this time," fays Steevens, " the overfeers, &c. began
to reflect a little feriouily on their own condu6l ;
for one of them afked Mr. Neve, with feeming
apprehenfion, if any defcendants of Milton were
alive ?" The author of the " Narrative" was pro-
fufe in his purchafes; for, in addition to his for-
mer acquifitions, he gave Hawkefworth (another of
Afcough's men) two millings for a tooth and a bit
of the leaden coffin ; and the fame fum to one Haf-
lib, a Jewin-ilreet undertaker, for one of the fmall
bones. All the teeth were now gone, though the
overfeers would have made the public believe that
fome of them mull have fallen among the bones, as
they very readily came out after the firfl were drawn.
" Not a word of truth in this fuppofition," fays
Steevens. " Do we ufually call the knocking out
teeth with a Hone, drawing them ? Thefe overfeers
were but rough dentifls."
The author of the "Narrative'' lays particular
flrefs on the parifh traditions — the age of the coffin,
none other being difcovered in the ground which
can at all contefl with it, or render it fufpicious —
(" the remains," fays Steevens, " of feveral wooden
coffins were found near it, and one leaden one,")
Poole's tradition is that Milton was thin, with long
hair, and the entry in the regiiler-book is that he
died of a confumption. "He died," remarks Stee-
H
98 The Presumed Disinterment
vens, " confumed by the co-operation of age and
gout. The entry was probably made by the under-
taker, who knew nothing more than that he was
dead." Immediately over the common council-
men's pew is an ancient monument to the family of
Smith, under which four of them are buried. The
author of the " Narrative " fuppofes it to have been
put there, becaufe the flat pillar, after the pulpit
was removed, offered a convenient fituation for it,
and " near this place " to be open (as it is in almoft
every cafe where it appears) to a very liberal inter-
pretation. " We are certain,'' fays Steevens, " that
the monument was there before the pulpit was re-
moved in the repair of the church in 1682. They
projected different ways from the top of the fame
pillar, without the flightefl interference with each
other.'' If, argues the narrator, the coffin in queftion
belong to a Smith, all the coffins of that family mould
appear, but not one of them is found. " Some of
thefe coffins," replies Steevens, " had been wooden
ones, nor was half the circuit round the pillar on
which the monument flands examined. Upon a
further fearch the remains of many of them were
found. Had our great poet been interred near the
fepulchre of the Smiths, Richard Smith (who is fo
circumftantial in his account of family burials) would
not have failed to record fo particular an event.
The proximity of his dead relatives to the corpfe of
Milton was a circumftance on which an antiquary
of congenial politics would have expatiated."
of Milton. 99
Holmes affirms that a leaden coffin, when the
inner wooden cafe is perifhed, mult, from prefTure
and its own weight, fhrink in breadth. But Stee-
vens declares " that the fides and ends of the wooden
coffin were ftill in their places, though the top had
been forced in. No contraction of the lead, there-
fore, could have happened. This Holmes," he
continues, " though no reputed conjurer, is a
very convenient evidence. He is ignorant of no-
thing which others wifh to know. But all this was
urged to apologife for the feeming narrownefs of the
coffin and the corpfe over the moulders. Will any-
one believe that the breadth of Milton's body, in its
broadeft part, was only 13 or 14 inches?" "There
is evidence," fays the " Narrative," " that the coffin
was incurvated both on the top and at the fides at
the time it was difcovered." " It was not incurv-
ated on the fides when I faw it on the 1 7thof Auguft,"
replies Steevens, "or very little indeed."
The " Narrative " refers to Faithorne's beautiful
print of Milton, taken ad vivum in 1670. " Ob-
ferve," it fays, " the fhort locks growing towards the
forehead, and the long ones flowing from the fame
place down the fides of the face. The hair which
Mr. Taylor took was from the forehead, and all
taken at one grafp. One lock meafured fix inches
and a half, and another only two inches and a half."
" All the hair," remarks Steevens, " except fuch as
had grown after the corpfe was buried, was of the
deepeit brown — the very reverfe of Milton's." And
ioo The Presumed Disinterment
as to the length, he adds, " Much of Milton's hair
mufl have been fixteen and twenty inches long.
See his portrait, drawn but a few years before his
death, and re-engraved by Vertue in his fet of Poets.
Wood fays Milton had light brown hair. How
does this accord with the colour of that which was
found in the coffin ?'' " In the age of Charles II,"
fays the " Narrative,'' " how kw, befides Milton,
wore their own hair." " Many thoufands," replies
Steevens, " who could not afford wigs. Nor were
they then univerfally worn by fuch as could afford
them. Dryden, Quarles, Withers, &c. wore their
own hair."
In order to account for no infcription-plate being
found on the coffin, Holmes depofes to this extra-
ordinary fact, that at the time Milton was buried,
infcription-plates were not in ufe ; that the practice
then was to paint the infcription on the outfide of
the wooden coffin, which in this cafe was entirely
perifhed. " No fuch cuftom ever prevailed," fays
Steevens, " not even in the cafe of the poor who
are buried by the parifh, and confequently in a fingle
coffin. There never has been any outward coffin,
except the leaden one. Three coffins were not then
in ufe."
" Of the teeth," fays Steevens, " more than one
hundred are faid to have been fold. For a week
after the corpfe was difcovered, they rattled in the
pocket of many a ftaunch antiquary. I have not
the fmalleft doubt but all the bones, &c. that were
of Milton. ioi
miffing when I faw the contents of the coffin, had
been converted into merchandife, and will at fome
future period be refold as the genuine fpoils of
Milton." And of the hair he adds, "The quantity
taken by Laming and Ellis, by all accounts, amounted
to about as much as would have fcantily filled a
couple of lockets, or half a dozen rings."
A report having gone abroad (originating, it is
fufpecled, with the parifh officers, who were defir-
ous of hufhing up their difgraceful doings) that the
corpfe, after all, was that of a woman, a fecond ex-
amination, under the direction of Mr. Strong, took
place on Tuefday, the 17th of Auguft, and a neigh-
bouring furgeon (Mr. Dyfon, of Fore-ftreet) was
called in to give his opinion. The corpfe was found
fhamefully mutilated. " All the ribs, I think," fays
Steevens, "and the right hand, as well as the lower
jaw, were gone ; the only lock of light hair that re-
mained on the forehead was not thicker than a pack-
thread (it is in my pofTeffion), and the hair on the
back of the head was of dark brown, nearly ap-
proaching to black, as was proved by Mr. Reed,
Mr. Steevens, Mr. Cole, Mrs. Hoppey (Sexton), and
half a dozen other people who were on the fpot,
and who received a part of it. It was, however, a
very mortifying acquifition to thofe who had re-
ceived the lighter hair for that of Milton." Mr.
Dyfon, " being crofs-examined," fays Steevens,
" refufed to pronounce abfolutely on the fex of the
deceafed ; he allowed that there was no fpecific
102 The Presumed Disinterment
difference between a male and a female fkull, except
occafionally, in refpecl to fize and denfity, and that
the condition of the pelvis was fuch as would not
authorize any decifive opinion. He thought, in
fhort, it was the corpfe of a man ; but admitted it
might be that of a woman. In reference to the
fhape of the head, his words were : ' Take notice,
Sir, that what there is of forehead, is prominent.'
He was willing to have taken away the fkull, but
was diffuaded from it. He carried off two of the
finger-bones. His opinions on the 17th of Auguft
were delivered with great modefty, diffidence, and
candour."
" A man alfo," fays the " Narrative," " who has
for many years acted as grave-digger in that parifh
(" quite a young man, a confummate blackguard, and
only an occafional afliftant," replies Steevens), who
was prefent on the 17th, decided that the fkull was
that of a male ; and with as little hefitation he pro-
nounced another which had been thrown up to be
that of a woman." " No fuch opinion," rejoins
Steevens, " was delivered by him. If it had, I muft
have heard it. No woman's fkull was pointed out
as fuch by any perfon prefent. Two others had
been thrown out : each of them almoft twice as
large as that of the pretended Milton. They were
repeatedly compared with it."
*' I am perfectly convinced," fays Steevens, " that
thefe worthies, among themfelves, ftill fuppofe the
corpfe they diflurbed to be that of the author of
of Milton. 103
< Paradife Loft.' ' Ah, Sir ' (faid Mr. Cole to me,
with a figh), ' though you came laft, you are pof-
feffed of the bell lock of the light hair.' And this
happened after they had affecled to difbelieve it was
the hair of Milton. And after the black hair had
difcompofed his original hypothecs, he very gravely
allured me that a fkilful hair-merchant had told him
thefe locks were not the produce of the human head,
but were abfolute mohair. On my replying that
true mohair was white, he had no more to fay, than
that Milton, * being an odd man, might have or-
dered his funeral pillow to be Huffed with fome fort
of hair or other.' "
After this fecond examination had taken place,
the coffin was carefully foldered up, and rellored to
its former grave.
It is a confolation to have the authority of Stee-
vens, who feems to have gone into the quellion
con amore, that this mutilated corpfe was not Mil-
ton's. " The hair, the teeth, the bones, &c,"
he fays, " afford a fufficient prefumption that this
was not the Ikeleton of a man. The corpfe was
never fuppofed to be that of Elizabeth Smith, but
of one of her daughters who was buried in the fame
fpot. For fome account of the Smith family, fee
Peck's * Defiderata Curiofa,' Stowe, &c. I avow
that the ftatement of Mr. Dyfon's evidence, in the
( Narrative,' is partial in the extreme. Mr. Neve
was repeatedly informed of the refult of his crofs-
examination, and yet has forborne the High tell men-
tion of it. His pamphlet is wholly founded on
104 Presumed Disinterment of Milton.
hearfay evidence. He was not witnefs to any one
of the facls which he has related."
It Teems that the Narrator had Tome compunctious
vifitings ; for he fays, " I have procured thofe relics
which I poffefs only in the hope of bearing part in
a pious and an honourable reftitution of all that has
been taken." " This," replies Steevens, " was an
afterthought. In Mr. Neve's firft draught of the
pamphlet he has made himfelf particeps criminis.
Mr. Malone fuggefted this very neceflary fupple-
ment." It has not tranfpired whether this " pious
and honourable reftitution" was ever carried into
effect.
Let us hope that the remains of Milton ftill fleep
in their fepulchre, unprofaned by morbid curiofity
and brutal violence. It is mocking to fee even the
common dead rudely torn from their laft refting-
places ; but that a corpfe fo fupremely precious, fo
intenfely facred as Milton's, mould fuffer indignity,
would be a national reproach and a difgrace — an
infult offered to that high intelligence which tranf-
figures human nature, and makes man " in action,
how like an angel ! in apprehenfion, how like a god !
the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals!"
Shakefpeare has pronounced an awful, an undying
curfe upon the violator of his tomb, and invoked a
bleffing upon him who fpares it. This may have
alarmed the fuperftitious fears, and arretted the facri-
legious hands of many parifh officials, who, as Bacon
laid of corporations, have " no fouls." Tranfeat in
exemplum.
MOORFIEDS IN THE
OLDEN TIME.
HOUGH not quite a Methufelah,
(laid Uncle Timothy, when lamenting
the rapid deftru&ion of every veftige of
ancient London,) I remember fome of
its pleafant fuburban fpots that improvement, a reck-
lefs annihilator ! has disfigured, or fwept away ;
covering greenfward and flower-garden with archi-
tectural monftrofities, from the parcel-palatial, down
to the penitential, the mercantile, the middling, and
the mean ! The inhabitants of Old London had only
to pafs outfide of the grim-looking gates of their
walled city, and the open country — fields and wood-
lands, winding rivers and fteepled plains, green mea-
dows and opening glades, fpread far and wide before
them ; the lark, (the poor man's chorifter !) making
merry mufic. They purfued their healthful fports
— archery and foot-ball — fhot fnipes and woodcocks,
and angled in the clear and funny Lea within a few
furlongs of their own doors. Pleafant hoitelries,
planted at convenient diilances, invited them in fum-
106 MoORFIELDS IN THE
mer time to a cool tankard of "jolly good ale and old;"
to puff their pipes beneath curioufly-carved ruftic
porches of grotefque fafhion ; or in fhady arbours of
trellis-work entwined with rofes and honey-fuckles.
Chalybeate fprings, and wells of cryflal wateY named
after fome tutelar faint, abounded; and the red brick,
rubricated manfions of London's merchant princes,
at the gates of which lions rampant and eagles with
outflretched wings flood fentry in ftone, lifted aloft
their high, broad gables ; fubftantial and fpeaking
emblems of old Englifh hofpitality ! In the very
heart of the city were houfes with gardens — witnefs
many a fpe&re — like tall elm ftill mooting forth, as
in mockery, a few lickly leaves from its withering
branches ; with here and there an unfruitful fig-tree
clinging to its primitive, fmoke-blackened wall for
old acquaintance fake ! Milton lived in a garden-
houfe in Bunhill Fields, and though to his fightlefs
orbs —
(" Total eclipfe ! no fun, no moon ;
All dark amid the blaze of noon ! ")
its beauties were invifible, he could ftill enjoy the
healthful exercife it afforded him and breathe its fra-
grance. Strange reminifcences of thefe bygone
"plaifaunces" are to be met with in Baldwin's Gar-
dens, Bozvling-Green Lane, Mount P leaf ant, Love 's
Grove, Vineyard Walk, and Green Arbour Court ;
fqualid fcenes of al frefco depravity, but ftill bearing
thofe inappropriate names. Now and then we may
Olden Time. 107
ftumble upon fome murky night cellar from the foul
depths of which once rofe a medicinal fpring dedi-
cated to thofe celebrities of the healing art, St. Chad,
St. Agnes, and St. Clair ! Many a peftilential purlieu
and population (Holywell Street in the Strand, and
certain rookeries in Hoxton) cover conduits of pure
water raifed by the piety of fome worthy citizen
when water was a luxury to the poor. What has
become of " The New Conduit in Holborne "
founded by the "Right worfhipful Maifter William
Lambe, Efq., who deceafed the one and twentieth of
April, and lies entombed in S. Faith's Church under
Powles the fixt of May, Anno 1580," and to whofe
memory Abraham Fleming a ballad-monger of the
day " devifed " an epitaph ? There were promenades
for the people within a Hone's throw of London's
Roman Wall, where the ariftocracy of Cornhill and
Cheap took the air with the commonalty. The
full-blown City Madam in her huge velvet cuftard
or three-cornered bonnet, her flaunting fine feathers
and rich ruftling brocade trod the greenfward with
the economically dreffed wife of the pooreft artifan.
Of thefe public walks, Moorfields, Pimlico-path,
and the Exchange were, in the days of Queen Eliza-
beth and James I. the moft frequented and fafhion-
able. According to tradition, two ladies of Finfbury
gave Moorfields to the city for " the maidens to dry
their clothes." The elder of the two built a " holy
crofs at Bedlam Gate adjoining to Moorfield," and
the younger "framed a pleafant well where wives and
108 MOORFIELDS IN THE
maidens come daily to wafh." Its " melancholy
Moor-ditch " was an objetft of notoriety in Shake-
fpeare's time. Like Lincoln's Inn Fields and Lei-
cefter Fields (of which the " Mohocks " long held
poffefTion, to the terror of the peaceable fubjects of
Queen Anne, and George I), Moorfields, two cen-
turies ago, was dangerous to pafs through after night-
fall. Cut-purfes and foot-pads, bilboes, fwafh-buck-
lers, and " brothers of the blade," who by " bullet or
gullet, lance or paunch, fword or furfeit, or by fome
fuch difafter of the halter" paid the penalty of their
offences, plied their profeffion in its quarters. It
was the nocturnal rendezvous of difbandered difor-
derlies from the Low Countries and elfe where. " Hot-
Spurres of the Times," who indulged in Bobadil's
brag and Pillol's bombaft, from the bowling alleys
and gaming houfes, that " lived all day upon rook;.-
on Bankfide, and that played at nine-pins or pigeon-
holes in Lincoln's Inn Fields." There would the
" highway lawyer, or padman " lay in wait for the
rich country gull, (the " calf or cockaloach, the effen-
tial clowne and fimplicity in abftradt !") who came up
to London to " learne to take tobacco, and fee new
notions and puppet-plays in Bartholomew Fayre."
Him would this rogue entice to the " Mouth Taverne,"
hard by, make drunk over a quart of canary, and
having picked his pocket, leave to pay the reckoning
with his empty purfe !
Booths and fcaffolds with flags flying aloft, in-
vited fight-leers to dramatic drolls and tricks of
Olden Time. 109
legerdemain. Grinning matches upon a ftage near
the Windmill Tavern oppofite Old Bedlam (where
candidates for St. Gregories Plumb-Tree, alias the
triple one ! fhook hands and renewed old acquaint-
ance) brought together, in auricular emulation, the
muckle-mouths of the metropolis to a friendly trial
of flrill. The field-preacher (I refer not to thofe
faithful fervants of God, John Wefley and George
Whitfield who preached in Moorfields) extemporiled
from his tub, while the Merry Andrew performed
his buffooneries, and the Clerk of St. Nicholas,
within whofe reach King Arthur would have hefi-
tated to hang his golden bracelets, made purfes ex-
change pockets. " Old Harry," with his tinkling
bell tempted the city prentices to take a peep into
his "gallant raree-fhow," " Poor Will Ellis," fitting
upon the railings, told, in woeful doggrel, how
" Bedlam became his fad lot for the love of dear
Betty," and the " Auctioneer of Moorfields," a
Quaker-looking caricature, with a lank vifage and
a fpectacled long nofe, fold the curious library of the
" late famous Unborn Doctor" in the centre of a
motley mob of organ-grinders, fiddlers, ballad-fingers,
quacks (with their anti-bilious globules and bolufes
for all nations !), tumblers, dancing-dogs, poflure-
mafters, puritans, and learned pigs.
Moorfields had its " cunning man." Trotter,
the noted wizard and aflrologer, lived next door to
the " Flying Horfe," where he told fortunes, inter-
preted dreams, caft nativities, and difcovered itolen
110 MOORFIELDS IN THE
goods. Titus Trophonius, in a letter to the " Spec-
tator" (No. 505), fpeaks of his having lodged in
Moorfields in a houfe that for thefe fifty years has
always been tenanted by a conjurer. Sir William
Davenant tells how the lean attorney and the aged
proctor met in Finfbury fields (Moorfields),
" With hats pinn'd up, and bow in hand,"
like the " ghofts of Adam Bell, and Chymme," and
quaint portraitures of quacks Handing in Moorfields
by Old Bedlam are given in the " Rake's Progrefs,"
by Hogarth.
It was at the Tabernacle in Moorfields that the
canny Scot, Sir Pertinax Macfycophant, won the
llarched maiden ("heavy with the filler"), as old
as Methufelah and as ugly as Megsera; and that
Mr. Mawworm received his " call," and wanted to
go a " preaching !"
Moorfields had its printing-prefs. John Lever,
at Little Moorgate, ifTued "The Exploits of Robin-
fon Crufoe, with proper cuts;" "Laugh and be
Fat," "Joe Miller's Jells," &c, which rare fpeci-
mens are only to be found in the libraries of the
curious. .
The broker of Moorfields was a remarkable cha-
racter. An eternal walker and talker frifking to
and fro before his fhop front ; vociferating "What '11
you buy?" enfconcing his victim, with gentle vio-
lence, into a labyrinth of chairs and tables, and
Olden Time. hi
there imprifoning him until he had made him a
purchafer !
The two fine figures, Raving and Melancholy
Madnefs, by Gabriel Cibber, which Hood over the
gate of Old Bedlam, were confpicuous objects of
admiration in Moorfields. Gay alludes to Old Bed-
lam in the following lines : —
" Through famed Moorfields extends a fpacious
feat,
Where mortals of exalted wit retreat,
Where, wrapp'd in contemplation, and in ftraw,
The wifer few from the mad world withdraw.'*
To the fhame of humanity Old Bedlam was once
a public mow! In that dark dungeon of ruined
intellect we beheld madnefs in all it moods — mif-
chievous, idiotical, grotefque, raving with the eternal
fire that burned within, melancholy, and laughing
wild ! In after years, when it was untenanted and
about to be pulled down, I paid it a farewell vifit,
and faw frightful phantafies pictured on the black-
ened walls of its cells with that myflerious and mar-
vellous power and effect peculiar to infanity ! On
the eaftern fide of Bedlam ran the wall of Roman
London, and mooting forth from the chinks and
crannies of its crumbling ruins were clutters of
beautiful blood-red wall-flowers that, time out of
mind, had bid defiance to fmoke, foot, and foul air.
Moorfields, with its green turf, gravelled walks
and ftately trees, though fadly fhorn of its former
112 MOORFIELDS IN THE OLDEN TlME.
attra&ions, continued for feveral years after the be-
ginning of the prefent century to be a favourite pro-
menade with the humbler clafs of citizens after the
toil and buftle of the day. But that fell foe to
fertility and fragrance, the builder, drove them back
to their dark and difmal domiciles — to the rank,
dank, confumptive vegetation that a few garden-pots
exhibited at their windows, to as much frefh air as
could penetrate their broken panes, to as much pure
water as could purl from the parifh pump, and to
as much blue Iky as might cover half-a-crown.
DREAMS.
NCLE Timothy was no blind believer
or difbeliever in dreams. Strange in-
timations he had himfelf received
through their myfterious channel. He
could not therefore difmifs them as the —
" Children of an idle brain
Begot of nothing but vain fantafy."
Profpero fays finely : —
" We are fuch fluff
As dreams are made on ; and our little life
Is rounded with a fleep."
And the meditative and melancholy Hamlet, re-
folving death into a fleep, exclaims with folemn
emphafis, not unmixed with dread —
" Perchance to dream."
Queen Mab, the fovereign of dreams, " drawn by
a team of little atomies athwart men's nofes as they
lie afleep," gallops through the brains of the lover,
o'er the knees of the courtier, the fingers of the law-
yer, the lips of the ladies, the neck of the foldier,
i
ii4 Dreams.
and the tythe pig's tail-tickled nofe of the parfon,
playing ftrange pranks ! The abbot (rotund and
rofy) dreams of (a monajiic!) heaven — capons,
claret, and clouted cream ! In bygone days charms
were laid under the pillow to induce pleafant dreams.
Dreams are generally more retrofpe£Uve than pro-
phetic ; dealing with the paft, rather than with the
future. The long-forgotten events of early years
will, in a dream, reappear in all their primeval frefh-
nefs ; and features and forms, voices and tongues,
that we ihould find it impoffible to recall to memory
in our waking moments, revifit us in their perfect
identity in a dream. In Scripture we find a warrant
for dreams. " For God fpeaketh once, yea twice,
yet man perceiveth it not. In a dream, in a virion
of the night, when deep fleep falleth upon men, in
{lumberings upon the bed." * The following,
Uncle Timothy allured me, is what it really pre-
tends to be (the incident of the " Bird" is a fact),
viz. —
A MIDSUMMER MORNING'S DREAM.
Contented, grateful, and refign'd,
As o'er the paft my memory ran,
Upon my pillow I reclined,
At peace, I hoped, with God and man,
When with the morning's earlieft beam
Came o'er me a celeftial Dream.
* Job xxxiii. 14, 15.
Dreams. 115
Methought the icy hand of death
Unbarr'd my earthly prifon door,
And far from fin's defiling breath,
My free and happy foul did foar
To realize her promifed reft
Among the fpirits of the bleft.
That tuneful harps of many firings,
And voices jubilant aloud
Gave Glory to the King of Kings,
And faints and white-robed feraphs bow'd
In adoration at the feet
Of Him who fill'd the Mercy-feat.
That thofe whom earth had never prized,
The contrite-hearted, the cafl down,
The poor, the humble, the defpifed,
And they who wore the martyr's crown,
The royal courts of Zion trod,
And flood at the right hand of God.
That in the highefl Heaven of Heaven
Salvation's fymbol fhone unveil'd ;
That myriads then of fouls forgiven
Its brightnefs with hofannas hail'd !
And, at the brazen trumpet's blafl,
Their golden crowns before it cafl !
That fo entrancing, fo intenfe
The glories of this vifion grew,
I feem'd to lofe both fight and fenfe,
'Twas then it faded from my view ;
u6 Dreams.
The voice of melody was ftill,
And darknefs fell on Zion's hill,
And filent were the harp and lute,
When, in the mill, methought I heard,
Sweeter than the fweeteft flute,
An unfeen, folitary bird
Piping a note that feem'd to fay,
" Ah ! let me to the woods away.
" The robin red-breaft, and the thrufh,
The blackbird, linnet, and the lark,
From every bloomy brake and bufh
Invite me home again, and hark !
I hear a fweeter voice than all,
My lonely mate's endearing call."
And now, alas ! diiTolved the dream
That had to heaven my fpirit borne,
And I beheld Aurora's beam
Refulgent, lighting up the morn ;
And faw in all its plumy pride
My ferenader by my fide !
What brought thee, tuneful ftranger, here ?
Art thou the harbinger of blifs ?
The herald from fome happier fphere
To tell me (joyful tidings !) this?
" The day's at hand when heaven to thee
Shall not a tranfient vifion be!"
Poor little captive ! ill at eafe !
It fluttering to the window flew,
Dreams. ii
Which when I open'd to the breeze,
It clapp'd its wings, and chirp'd adieu !
And vanifh'd in the azure bright,
Singing and foaring with delight.
I thought upon my morning dream ;
And how I panted to return
Again to that celeftial beam
Where angels ling and feraphs burn;
And, like the throttle to its neft,
Soar to my everlafting reft.
RECOLLECTIONS OF
SIDDONS AND JOHN KEMBLE.
PEN air, pleafant walks, and the de-
licious calm of a country folitude were
the delight of Uncle Timothy. The
rofy ftreaks of morn brightening the
dappled eaft, the fun fhedding a folemn purple on
the trees full-leafed and deeply tinted, the fpark-
ling dew-drops on the petals of flowers, the diitant
hills deepening in the grey twilight, the moon filver-
white and cryflal-clear, the heavens thick and ra-
diant with afcending ftars, the roaring elements, the
florm-king, and the dark lurid clouds dipping into
the waves, were objects that he loved to contemplate
alone. Hence he would often difappear from his
accuftomed haunts, book auctions, curiofity fhops,
and picture galleries, to ramble in the fields, to read
leflbns of mortality in a country churchyard, to fpin
a yarn with an ancient mariner, or to pick up {hells
on the feafhore.
The light, cool breeze of an autumnal evening
SlDDONS AND JOHN KeMBLE. I 19
having tempted me abroad, I wandered to a fe-
cluded fpot endeared to me by my earlieft recol-
lections, Paddington Churchyard. To my furprife
and gratification I found my friend at his old pailime,
reading the infcriptions on the tombftones. " How
many," faid he, " of thofe whom I loved fleep here !
There lie my two preceptors, Dr. Alexander Geddes
and Thomas Hogg, men of mark in their time.
The Doctor's principal work, ' A Tranflation of
the Hiftorical Books of the Old Teftament,' met
with ungenerous treatment from the felf-opinionated
and petulant author of ' The Purfuits of Literature,'
who, while, with his narrow and miferable theology,
defending Chriflianity, forgot that he was a Chrif-
tian! My other mailer was an accomplifhed fcholar,
a man of thought and of folitude. A floricultural
enthufiaft, his garden was the delight of his leifure
hours. He reared fome of the moll beautiful,
varied, and perfecl fpecimens of the carnation, pink,
auricula, polianthus, tulip, ranunculus, rofe, and
purple heartfeafe that ever have been feen in this
country; and his treatife on the growth of thefe
exquifite flowers is a labour of love. His latter
years (embittered by bad health and domeilic forrow)
would have pafTed away under the deep fhadow of
unbroken gloom, but for his garden, which, by
relieving his melancholy, well repaid his culture and
care.
•* In my boyhood, on a half-holiday, I was the
frequent bearer of his prefents of the Viola amcena,
120 Recollections of
or purple heartfeafe, to Mrs. Siddons, at her cottage
on the Harrow Road. Her conitant call for this
lovely flower every fpring to keep the purple bor-
dering of her garden complete, induced the florifls
in the neighbourhood to give the name of c Mifs
Heartfeafe' to her managing handmaid. Little
dreamt I in thofe days of the ' All hail hereafter /'
when the enchantrefs would make my lip quiver
and my heart tremble ! With a few kind words of
welcome and of thanks my * honoured hoftefs' would
prefent me with cakes, conferves, and a glafs of de-
licious currant wine. She would then recite to a
young gentleman, of pleafing exterior and graceful
manners, certain paflages that I had read in my
fchool books, with fuch furprifing force and beauty,
that I became all eyes and ears. The young gentle-
man was her favourite nephew, Horace Twils ; the
recitations were private rehearfals of thofe glorious
imperfonations that unlocked the fprings of paffion.
Her garden was a remarkable one. It was a garden
of evergreens, which, together with a few deciduous
fhrubs, were of the moil fombre defcription. It
abounded in leafy avenues which ferved as aviaries
for the blackbird and the nightingale. John Kem-
ble, in his retirement at Laufanne, was alfo a culti-
vator of flowers. ' You would laugh,' faid he, in a
letter of his that I poffefs, ' to fee me gardening ! '
" We are within a few fteps of the grave of Sid-
dons. You have feen in yonder church the modeft
mural monument erected to her memory, proceed
SlDDONS AND JOHN KeMBLE. 121
we now to the fpot where reft her remains." Uncle
Timothy read the infcription on her tombilone,
'* Bleffed are the dead which die in the Lord."
" I contemplated," he continued, " her genius
in its meridian, and I beheld it majeftically fet in
all its priftine glory.
" Long after Siddons had retired from the ftage
I heard her read to a feledt party the Dagger, and
the Witches' fcenes in Macbeth. Her awful tran-
quillity, her articulation and tones were terribly real.
The heterogeneous and even ludicrous charms that
compofe the ' hell-broth' of the witches' cauldron
were fo fpiritualized by her wonderful art, that
I beheld ' pollers of the fea and land,' * bubbles of
the earth,' that could realize all the fupernatural
miracles they had promifed to Macbeth. I had
been accuftomed to hear thefe incantations greeted
with rude laughter by the. * groundlings' becaufe
they had been buffooned by drolls. Well might
Lord Byron refolve never to fee Mifs O'Neil, left
fhe fhould difturb his recolleftion of Siddons.
" My vifit to Dulwich College, in company with
Siddons and John Kemble in June, 1817, when,
during our pleafant ride, we difcourfed of Shake-
fpeare and his * Fellows,' muft not be forgotten.
Of all John Kemble's performances, Lear, in the
eftimation of Siddons, was the fineft. f As my
brother,' fhe faid, ' played the diftracled and dif-
crowned old King, I could imagine no tears, but a
heart weeping blood.'
122 Recollections of
"Arrived at the Gallery we flood with fixed admi-
ration before one of the great mafterpieces of Sir
Jofhua Reynolds — Siddons in the character of the
Tragic Mufe. The painter had been content to
infcribe his own illuftrious name in one of the many
graceful folds of her flowing garment.
' 'Tis wondrous like,
But that art cannot imitate what nature
Could make but once.'
" I gazed at the glorious copy,* and then at the
more glorious original, and it was interefting to mark
how time had reverently fpared thofe perfedl fea-
tures, and that majeftic form, and touched them
with his tenderer!: and moft penflve grace.
"It was at the houfe of Siddons that I heard John
Kemble read the character of FalftafF, in the Firft
Part of King Henry IV. He had intended to take
leave of the ftage in ' my old lad of the caftle,' and
at the foot of fome of the play bills that preceded
his benefit he was advertifed to ' attempt,' for the
firft time, the character of the fat Knight ; an an-
nouncement that created no fmall ftir and curioflty
among playgoers. ' His conception of this comic
world in one,' faid Siddons, ' favoured of the fen-
tentious and farcaftic humour of Quin, whom I have
* None but Apelles was permitted to paint Alexander, and
none but Sir Jofliua was worthy to portray the grandeur, the
grace, and the exprefiion of Siddons.
SlDDONS AND JOHN KEMBLE. 123
feen Garrick imitate in this fweet creature of bom-
baft, mingled, moft artiftically, with the rich, ripe,
unctuous, and overflowing hilarity of Henderfon.'
But the making up of 'Lean Jack' appalled him.
The balket-work and bagging required to fwell him
to the breadth and bulk of this Mountain of Mirth
would, he feared, bring on an inconvenient fit of his
old enemy the gout; he, therefore, not without re-
gret, refigned ' Barebones,' and made his laft bow
in the noble Coriolanus, which, like many other
characters of a high and grand caft, has been loft to
the ftage lince that memorable Farewell.
" And can I forget the fplendid public banquet
given to this ' nobleft Roman of them all ' on his
retirement from the fcene of his hiftrionic triumphs ?
when an elegant filver vafe, defigned by the claffical
Flaxman, was prefented to him, and a brilliant com-
pany diftinguifhed in literature, art, and fcience
(native and foreign) ; with many of England's no-
bility, aflembled to bid him ' Farewell !' And how
cordially did his i Fellows' rally round him to ex-
prefs their admiration of his genius, their refpect for
his character, and their affectionate regret at parting!
Incledon's ' Storm,' volunteered for the occafion,
was lefs a fong than an infpiration. Campbell's
1 Ode' recited by Young, brought down fympathetic
applaufe. Fawcett dubbed him his ' General,' and
the inimitable Matthews (having juft convulfed the
company with his ' Nightingale Club '), enthufiafti-
cally crowned him his ' Dramatic Sovereign.'
124 Recollections.
Talma, the French Tragedian (next to whom I fat)
bore generous teftimony to the genius of his ' Friend
Kembky and when Kemble himfelf rofe to return
thanks for the 'blufhing honours ' fo liberally poured
upon him, he paid a reverent and an affecling tribute
to the Poet for 'all time.' I keep my admiffion
ticket and filver medal as valued memorials of the
day.
" There (pointing to an upright tombftone with
an appropriate infcription) lies one of Nature's trueft
artifls, Collins, the painter of that charming picture
in the Vernon Gallery, ' Happy as a King ! ' and
there, ' after life's fitful feafon,' ileeps well an unfor-
tunate genius, a 'perturbed fpirit,' who was ill
qualified to do unequal battle with the world.
Read that mournful record how Haydon died in
penury of a broken heart!
" And now, my friend (continued Uncle Ti-
mothy), the Queen of Night and her Maids of
Honour the Stars, warn us to depart. Life is but
a feries of 6 Farewells ;' therefore, with every good
wifh until we meet again, I bid you mine."
^T&cM*?*
WHAT IS HAPPINESS?
^ jK T^
OU afk me, Eugenio," faid Uncle Ti-
mothy, " what is happinefs ? In ' vir-
tue,' lings Pope ; in ' celeftial virtue,'
repeats Dr. Johnfon. But what, alas!
becomes of virtue, after the dying exclamation of
Brutus? — ' O, virtue! I fought thee as a fubftance,
but I find thee an empty name.' The amiable and
melancholy Cowper, looking defpondingly on the
dark fide of human nature, bids, in gloomy, but
glorioufly painted colours, happinefs, ' unattainable
treafure ! adieu.' Love and friendfhip, being divine
gifts, are happinefs. Yet has not love been called
'an empty found,' and friendfhip 'but a name?'
The poet's dream is happinefs ; but how difturbed
and tranfient ! diflblving in an untimely death, to be
buried in a pauper's grave ! The mifcalled happi-
nefs of the million — (ambition, avarice, fenfuality,
-and ignorance) — is as ftridtly perfonal as the pulfe
that throbs and the heart that beats in token of
their ignoble exigence. I fear, therefore, we mud
come to the common conclufion that ' happinefs is
126 What is Happiness ?
happinefs.' To illuftrate more particularly my
meaning, take the following early paffage (the whif-
perings of his meditations) from the life of your
monitor : " —
" I gave the world a trial fair,
Refolved to thrive as fome had thriven ;
I gave it all my time and care,
And talents, fuch as God had given.
I hurried to the bufy Bourfe,
With men of all religions traded,
For nothing better, nothing worfe,
Than juft to win and laugh as they did.
That man is born to buy and fell,
Soon I learnt was very certain,
And over-reach his neighbour well
Till upon him drops death's curtain ;
Yet ftill his race with credit run,
If Plutus has his pockets lined —
Since this rare merit is the one
To which the world is never blind.
I wihYd my fchoolboy's lefTons burnt,
Probity (the pedant !) preaching —
And that I had others learnt,
Very different tactics teaching!
What is Happiness ? 127
Now wifhes, I have heard are prayers;
Ah ! then how ftole upon my praying,
Like a grim goblin! unawares,
The ghoft of fome dead faw, or faying ;
It held my hands, it clofed my lips,
(A bargain, plague upon it ! fpoiling;)
But kept my tongue from fundry flips,
And faved my hands from many a foiling.
Charity would make a call ;
Love, perchance ; and friendfhip too —
Mammon, tell intruders all,
I'm at home to none but you !
Sabbath-bells would ring a peal —
What day could I devote to heaven,
The jealous God to whom I kneel
Demanding flernly all the feven?
Had Eden bloom'd my fight was dim
To floral beauty ; deaf my ear
To the rapt Seraph's holieft hymn,
Had its high notes defcended here —
And fairy -fiction, fancy truth,
Let your neglected pages tell,
Companions of my happy youth!
How I had bid you all farewell.
128 What is Happiness?
Unholy fervice ! to abforb
The foul, and quench the living flame
That lights the intellectual orb
Of God's own glorious image — fhame!
The fleeplefs night has heard my cry,
' Would that again the morn were here ! '
The cheerlefs morn my fecret figh,
* When will the moon and ftars appear?*
I felt, with care, the filver cord
Was flowly, but too furely, breaking ;
I felt, if peace were not reftored,
My heart would foon have done with aching.
I now defpair'd of keeping pace
With rivals, by fuccefs made bold,
In an ignominious race
Of which the only prize was gold !
To fall in fuch a fordid ftrife,
When I might frill with honour fly,
Was calling back to heaven a life,
And the eternal death to die !
Reafon's battle fought and won,
No longer yoked to Mammon's car,
Joy meets me with the morning fun,
And quiet, with the evening liar,
What is Happiness? 129
And happy thoughts, and holy themes,
And cheerful converfe, as of old,
And peaceful flumbers, pleafant dreams —
And here my lateft dream is told.
The Vifion was a Spirit bright,
The laurel wreathed her golden hair,
Her fmile was fad, but full of light,
Her voice was foft, her form was fair.
' A nobler caufe, a higher aim,
Your new ambition fhall infpire' —
(With this kind promife Clio came,
And bade me take her trembling lyre.)
' For mourners 'tis a prefent meet,
And therefore to a mourner given ;
It brings to forrow folace fweet,
In fongs for earth, and fongs for heaven.'
Thrice happy change ! no more in vain
The fweetly-folemn mufic fwells
(To call, Good Shepherd ! home again
A wandering fheep) of Sabbath Bells."
UNCLE TIMOTHY AT HOME.
AST New Year's Eve Uncle Timothy
was our gueft ; on the prefent anniver-
fary we and a few friends were the
guefts of Uncle Timothy. His port-
folios of rare prints, his well-felecl:ed library, and
his cabinets of curiofities, were open for our infpec-
tion. For our palates the Penates of the pantry had
been duly honoured, and had a Lucullus, a Mecaenas,
or an Apicius been our Amphitryon, and a country-
man of Anacreon {magijler coquina!} our cook, we
could not have been more toothfomely entertained.
Who was the Dame Chatelaine, this deponent fayeth
not ; but the " fecond hunger," fo fharply fatirifed
by Juvenal, might have been pardoned by our plead-
ing the fcientifically drefTed dainties of this patrician
feafl, that would have given a vegetarian the night-
mare. Toalts and fentiments gave to choice wine an
additional zeft ; and as fancy takes flight on no wing
like the bee's, fancy was in full feather. Catches and
madrigals went merrily round, and fimple ballads,
Uncle Timothy at Home. 131
chanted in the olden time to the harp and the virgi-
nals, were now fung as fweetly to the pianoforte and
the guitar. Twelfth Night was anticipated; and its
cake, white and glittering as driven mow, and
crowned with the figure of Shakefpeare and a felec~t
group of his characters modelled and painted to the
life " in little," was ferenaded with " Sweet Willy,
O ! " by the company in full chorus ! With the
tapeftried curtains drawn in graceful folds, the wax
lights mining brilliantly in Venetian glafs luftres, the
blazing yule-log crackling on parcel-gilt dogs of
quaint defign, at which Queen Elizabeth might have
warmed her royal nofe and toes, and the fragrant
fluid fparkling from Sevres cofFee-cups — with thefe
focial appliances enlivened by pleafant difcourfe, the
fweet of the evening came in.
" I venerate," faid Uncle Timothy, " the ancient
cuftom, fo beautifully fymbolical, that crowns Apollo
with bays, Anacreon with vine-leaves, and Chrift-
mas with miilletoe and holly. Let the hero have
his palm, the bard his laurel, and every feafon its
fong. I would garland the virgin-bier with violets ;
wreathe the chalte urn of the ' role diftill'd' with
the narciflus and the lily tenderly entwined ; give in-
fancy its fnowdrop, manhood its fruitful olive-tree,
and old age its withered pine, bare, creaking, and
bending to the winter blaft ! And have you, my
young friends (addremng the gentlemen liiteners who
had drawn their Twelfth Night's characters) no
offering for the New Year? There (prefen ting each
132 Uncle Timothy at Home.
of them with a paper) is a time-humoured faw that
I propofe as an exercife for your poetical brevity.
Retire to my ftudy, knock at wit's door, and I'll
warrant you will find the chartered libertine at
home." The juniors, taken by furprife, looked a
little blank, but an affuringnod from Uncle Timothy
gave them courage, and they marched off bravely to
do his bidding.
Uncle Timothy was by nature intenfely retro-
fpedlive. He lived in the pall. From politics he
kept aloof. " Nihil hoc ad edittum" The wifti of
Achilles, when he looked out upon the battle of the
mips, and defired that the Greeks and Trojans might
deftroy one another, and leave the field open for
better men, he would playfully apply to Whig and
Tory ; and he was half inclined to agree with the
old dramatift Webfter, that " a politicion is the
Devil's quilted anvil." Religious controverfy he
avoided. In fome of the companions of his youth,
who had drank deep in the arid fprings of fcepticifm,
he had beheld the thorn in the early bud, the with-
ering principle in the full blofibm, and meafurelefs
remorfe in the fere and yellow leaf; hence Faith,
Devotion, and Truth were his abiding Trinity, and
their calm, unfathomable power and beauty affured
him of that heavenly beatitude, that eternal fpring,
which mall follow the dying year, when the afpiring
fpirit fhall afcend before the Infinite, and find her-
felf, atoned for and redeemed, in the Prefence of the
Omnipotent. It was his paffionate prayer that in
Uncle Timothy at Home. 133
life he might be " zealoufly affected always in a good
thing," and in death, which " openeth the gate of
fame and extinguifheth envy," he might realife his
beft hope, in the peace and beauty of a tranquil
funfet.
Uncle Timothy now recalled fome cherifhed
memories. " In the Midfummer holidays," faid
he, "of 1 799, being on a vifit to an old and opulent
family of the name of Deverell, in Dereham, Norfolk,
I was taken to the houfe of an ancient lady (a mem-
ber of that family) to pay my refpecls to her, and to
drink tea. Two vifitors were expelled. They foon
arrived. The firit was a pleafant looking, lively
young gentleman, very talkative and entertaining;
his companion was above the middle height, broadly
made, but not flout, and advanced in years. His
countenance had a charm that I could not refill.
It alternately exhibited a deep fadnefs, a thoughtful
repofe, a fitful and an intellectual fire that furprifed
and held me captive. His manner was embarrafled
and referved. He fpoke but little. Yet once he was
roufed to animation, and then his voice was full and
clear. I have a faint recollection that I faw his face
lighted up with a momentary fmile. His hoftefs
welcomed him as ' Mr. Cooper.' After tea we
walked for a while in the garden. I kept clofe to
his fide, when (patting me on the head) he kindly
addreffed me as * My little mafler ! ' I returned to
fchool, but that expreffive and interesting countenance
I did not forget. In after years, Handing, as was
134 Uncle Timothy at Home.
my wont, before the fhop windows of the London
bookfellers, reading the titles of tomes that I longed,
but lacked the money to buy, I recognized, at a fhop
in St. Paul's Churchyard, that well remembered face
prefixed to a volume of poems ' written by William
Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Efq.' The cap (for
when I faw ' Mr. Cooper J he wore a wig) was the
only thing that puzzled me. To make afTurance
doubly fure I haitened to the houfe of a relation hard
by, and I foon learnt that * Mr. Cooper' was
William Cowper. The gift of a few millings put
me in poffeiTion of the volumes, which I read and
re-read ; and the man whom, in my boyhood, I had
fo myfterioufly reverenced, in my youth I ardently
admired and loved ! Many years have fince pafTed
away ;. but that reverence, that admiration, and that
love have fufFered neither diminution nor change.
" ' It was fomething,' faid Wafhington Irving, ' to
have feen even the dull of Shakefpeare.' It is fome-
thing, too, to have been touched by the hand, to
have beheld the face, and to have heard the voice of
Cowper !
" I remember," continued Uncle Timothy,
" Robert Bloomfield trimming and watering his little
flower garden fronting his cottage in the City Road.*
Who that has a heart for pathos, an eye for beauty,
and an ear for poetry will not be charmed with
* A row of mean tenements now ufurp and defecrate the
Poet's Corner.
Uncle Timothy at Home. 135
' The Farmer's Boy ' ; with the fine opening in-
vocation, * O, come bleft Spirit ! ' the lovely night-
fcene of * a flock at reft ; ' and the farmer bidding
his fhepherd (fitting in fecurity by the cottage ingle)
contrail his happier fate with that of the ftorm-rocked
fhip-boy clinging to the high and giddy mail ? It was
in my fummer-houfe, at the clofe of an autumnal day,
when the leaves, having put on their gayell liveries as
funeral garments ere they fell, glowed and gliftened
with the richefl colours, that I bade Robert Bloom-
field my laft forrowful adieu, before he retired into
the country to die. Ill-health had mattered his
conftitution ; care and difappointment had diflurbed
and deprefled his mind. He had paid the fad penalty
of having once been popular, by the world's fubfe-
quent coldnefs and neglecl. He longed to return to
Nature ; to feek her bofom, and afk repofe. On
that mournful occafion he prefented me with his
miniature by Edridge, R.A., a fine likenefs, and en-
graved for his works. Not long after this his family
informed me of his death. The withered tree, and
the blighted flower!" The chord was ftruck, and
Uncle Timothy's own harp founded a requiem !
" Another Star has left its fphere,
In happier, holier realms to rife ;
Dark clouds eclipfed its brightnefs here,
Its luflre hid from human eyes.
Yet were that rifen radiant fta r
(A ranfomed Spirit !) but in fight,
136 Uncle Timothy at Home.
'Twould be a lamp exceeding far
All that we here have feen of light.
Its heavenly mufic now is heard,
(That mufic hufhed, alas ! fo long)
Its firings of harmony are ftirred,
The Saviour's Sacrifice its fong !
He died ; then broke death's prifon bars ;
He rofe again from earth and time ;
That fouls redeem'd might mine as Stars
Before His Father's Throne fublime."
The return of the young Tyros with their tafks
difpelled the fadnefs that overfhadowed the cheerful
brow of Uncle Timothy.
" What news from ParnafTus, my merry mailers ?
What (opening the firft paper that was handed to
him)*fings Autolicus?
" e Let thofe laugh that win ,' is a faying in vogue
Very glib (like a fib !) with the profperous
rogue.
" c Let thofe laugh that win,' cries the ' Shop,'
with a grin,
When it has taken a cuftomer in !
"' Let thofe laugh that win, in a rifible fit,
Is Mammon's falute to a capital hit.
"' Let thofe laugh that win, " is the jubilant cry
Of Good-luck and Company's fortunate fry,
Uncle Timothy at Home. 137
Poor Honeily only, through thick and through
thin,
Has never yet chuckled ' Let tbofe laugh that
win.''
" Soft words, but hard arguments ! What fays
Touch ft one ?
'" De mortuis nil niji bonum ' —
Spare dead rafcals, let alone 'em !
Memories fo rank and rotten
Should be by Charity forgotten.
"' De mortuis nil nift' Verum !
Gibbet knaves ; that knaves may fear 'em !
And from their example learn
They mall be gibbetted in turn !
"' Bonum ? ' ' Verum ! ' Never, never
Truth, from dead or living, fever.
" Mif chief in miniature ! who takes a turn at the
churn, or a fwig at the home-brewed with equal
gulto — Now for thy * filver penny.'
"'Forget and Forgive? — If I can do the one,
Without further doing, the other is done !
Put but f Forgive' in the place of its brother,
My heart mail try one, while my brain tries the
other.
But this will I promife (for injuries live)
What my brain can't * Forget,' why my heart
mall < Forgive.'"
138 Uncle Timothy at Home.
Here Uncle Timothy peeped over his fpedlacles at
Puck ; paufed, and then called upon Othello.
" ' Two blacks don't make a white?
Very right, Sir ; very right.
You than mod men being meaner,
Makes me not a bit the cleaner.
.Differing only in degree,
A pretty pair of rogues are we !
" Curt and pert ! Now for Sir John Faljlaff.
" ' Tell the truth and Jhame the fire
Of every lie, and every liar."
Telling truth would Pelion level
Quite as foon as ' Jhame the Devil.'
Tell the truth, and fibbers rather
Make afhamed of fuch a father !
" Starved Apothecary /
* Make hay while the fun (bines? So I would
have done,
If on my poor pafture had e'er ihone the fun.
" Shylock.
Son, thy yearly ' groat' to win,
Pick up Mammon's daily ' pin /'
And when up the pin thou pickeft
(Where the mud is blacken 1 , thickeft),
Think what life is ; what a boon
To money-grubs beneath the moon !
Ending juft as it begins,
In picking up, and hoarding f pins?
Uncle Timothy at Home. 139
*' Trinculo.
' The end Jhall ' juftify the means.''
' True ! ' fays Satan, behind the fcene?.
But if from evil good's to come,
Leave the old fin ner to work his fum !
" Timon.
Where's ' Charity ' all winter been ?
At home !
She abroad was never feen
To roam.
Againft the cold and cutting blaft
She barr'd her doors and windows faft.
But now the weather's bright, and warm,
And clear,
She will let her tender form
Appear ;
And for long abfence make amends
By going out to fee her friends.
<<
Goodman Dogberry,
Gomp ! goffip ! he zdv'i-fed,
* A ft ill tongue doth make a wife head*
Rather fay, Sir, rather fay,
It don't that empty head betray ;
So of gravity the vifor
Makes a fool look all the wifer.
" Orlando.
' Money makes the mare to go. 1
Very quick, or very flow !
140 Uncle Timothy at Home.
If your purfe be pretty hot,
She will ftart into a trot ;
If from hot, it hotter grow,
She, full gallop, off will go !
If its firings be tightened all,
How the jade will creep and crawl !
But if finally at fault,
Rofinante makes a halt !
" A clofer, and a pofer ! Had I known, Meffieurs
Autolicus and Company, that you were fo cunning
at conceits, and fo ready at rhymes, I might have
paufed ere I put my head into your epigrammatical
hornet's neft. For thefe New Year's offerings I
thank you heartily. My offering is to the Old Year,
now in its laft hour.
" Ere the parting year expire,
Ere is toll'd its folemn knell,
Let me of myfelf inquire,
Have I fpent it ill, or well ?
Was it to my Maker given ?
Or to Mammon fold a flave I
Am I one ftep nearer heaven,
As I'm many to the grave ?
Have I let Religion's light
Shine upon the path I trod,
That man, her beauty feeing, might
Glorify the Living God ?
Uncle Timothy at Home. 141
From the burning have I flriven
Other brands for Him to fave?
Am I one ftep nearer heaven
As I'm many to the grave ? "
Thefe were the Queftions. — What were the
Replies ?
TOM D'URFEY.
HAT martyr to hypochondriacs has
not confulted Thomas {z'ulgo Tom!)
D'Urfey ? whofe " Pills to purge Me-
lancholy " relaxed the rigid, frigid
mufcles of faturnine King William, and caft out the
Blue Devils from her querulous Majefty Queen
Anne. Who has not enjoyed the Saxon humour
of Tory Tom, on whofe moulder the merry monarch
leaned familiarly, humming an opera tune? Of
whom it was faid that many an ambitious parvenu
got credit for pretending to have been in his com-
pany, and of whom it was fung (in reference to his
intimacy with the Duke of Albemarle, fon of Ge-
neral Monk, and his own poverty-ftricken fortune)
that —
" He prates like a parrot ;
He fups with a Duke,
And he lies in a garret.''
His ready wit, lyrical talents, mufical voice, high
animal fpirits, and feilive turn, made Tom D'Urfey
Tom D'Urfey. 143
capital company. At Knowle, the princely feat of the
Duke of Dorfet, he was a welcome gueft, and his peri-
wigged portrait fmiles cordially upon us in its famous
picture gallery. A rare print, entitled, " A Sketch of
a Topeing Meeting between a Parfon, a Burgher-
mailer's Steward, and a Poet," reprefents the Poet
(Tom) doing the honours of a convivial party in a
fnuggery at Knowle ; and another print, ftill rarer,
exhibits him as Randolph Ruby-face, A.M., Chaplain
in ordinary to the Bacchanalian Society of Wine-
Bibbers, with " tub ecclefiaitic," cufhion, bottle,
glafs, and book before him, holding forth on the
virtues of wine. It is to be regretted that this
votary of Apollo and the jolly god, who wrote
" more odes than Horace, and about twice as many
comedies as Terence," mould, in his old age, have
become poor. But for the interpofition of the ever
kind and accomplifhed Addifon, this veteran finging-
bird might have literally died in a cage. Againit
the wall on the fouth-wefl angle of St. James's
Church, Piccadilly, may be feen a ftone bearing this
curt infcription,— " Tom D'Urfey, died Feb. 26,
1723."
This brief notice of fo celebrated a wit is to
introduce a piece not printed in his works. Its
title is " The Englijb Stage Italianifed, l$c. Written
by Tbofnas Durfey, Poet Laureat de Jure"*
* The only copy known of this book produced in the fale-
room of MefTrs. Sotheby and Co., in 1832, tivo pounds, ten
Jhiltings ! Its published price wasjixpence.
144 Tom D'Urfey.
This literary curiofity is a free, facetious fatire
on the popular rage for Italian fing-fong, that the
"Beggar's Opera" " fcotched," but did not kill.
It points out, in a ludicrous vein, the neceffity of
banifhing thofe " formal fellows," Shakefpeare, Ben
Jonfon, Otway, and Congreve ; and of turning adrift
the abettors and interpreters of their dulnefs, Wilks,
Booth, Colley Cibber, and Oldfield ; and of filling
up their places with falhionable fiddling, finging,
and dancing Signors and Signoras ! who, by the
"hurly-burly of coaches, the conflagration of torches,
the circle of belles, the crowd of beaus, and the
ample fubfcription," prove that the town is entirely
their very humble fervant !
Now for the argument. ^Eneas, the itinerant
Prince of Troy, and his father Anchifes, are
feafted at the Court of Carthage by Queen Dido.
To enliven the banquet, ./Eneas relates his adven-
tures to Her Majefty; during which, Harlequin
purloins fome tidbits from the Prince's plate, and
for this petty theft is fentenced to be hanged. The
Prince, however, procures his pardon. The good
looks of JEneas having " transfixed the foul" of
Queen Dido, fhe falls into love fits, and makes
Columbine her confidante.
^Bneas, inftead of returning the tender paffion
of the Queen, propofes to Columbine. Harle-
quin refpe&fully informs his Highnefs that the fair
figurante is pre-engaged ; whereupon the Prince in-
finuates into his hand a purfe of gold, and then
Tom D'Urfey. 145
does Harlequin promife, "upon his honour,"(!) to
pimp for him.
The flighted Dido, dagger in hand, refolves to
cry quittance with Columbine. A Cabinet Council
is held, Harlequin fitting as Prime Minifter, " the
Doctor" as War Secretary, and Scaramouch of-
ficiating as clerk. It is determined to purfue the
fugitive lovers, who have eloped to the fea-coaft.
Harlequin (fub roja) informs them of their danger;
pockets, for the information, another purfe ; ftes
them on fhipboard, and wiflies them bon voyage!
The Queen, on horfeback, harangues her brave
troops. Harlequin, as Generalitfimo, makes a loyal
reply, Pantaloon promifes to conquer, or perifh, and
"the Doctor" engages to furnifh from the Privy
Purfe the finews of war. The Generaliffimo, " the
Doctor," and Pantaloon (the latter had threatened
to peach if not permitted to fhare in the plunder !)
cheat the foldiers out of every penny of their pay.
A fcout announces the fudden approach of an
enemy. The Carthaginian heroes take to their
heels, and panic-ftricken Pantaloon takes to his !
A fecond fcout informs Her Majefty that the
invading fleet is wind-bound, and that the alarm
was a falfe one.. Whereupon fhe "rides about the
camp like a fury," and makes Harlequin Lord High
Admiral.
Dido, drefled as a fhepherdefs, runs ftark mad,
and her maids of honour run ftark mad too, " bleat-
ing like young lambkins!" Her next frolic is to
L
146 Tom D'Urfey.
make Harlequin her hobby-horfe. " The Doctor"
is now confulted; he preicribes ; and the Queen is
fane again ; but, alas ! only to hear the fad news
that Harlequin, who had nourished a fecret paffion
for his Sovereign, has, in a fit of defpondency, fuf-
pended himfelf from the back-flairs' banifter ! Her
Majefty commands that his body (hall be brought
into the Prefence Chamber; which done, fhe cries
over it fo pitifully, that " the Doctor," compafTion-
ating her diftrefs, by a pharmaceutical procefs not
necefTary to be named, brings him to life again ;
and the Queen, to crown the catafhrophe and to
fpite the falfe Prince, gives Harlequin her hand, and
proclaims him, to the found of martial mufic, King
of Carthage.
OLD BALLADS.
r\\ 5^*^
™ i
F any portion of Englifh Literature be
more generally interefting than another,
it is ancient ballad-lore. Battles have
been fought and heroes immortalized in
its infpiring {trains. It has made us familiar with the
manly virtues, fympathies, fports, paftimes, traditions,
the very language of our forefathers, gen tie and fimple.
We follow them to the tented field, the tournament,
the border foray, the cottage ingle, and the public
hofielrie. We glow with their martial fpirit, and
join in their rude feftivities. Narrative and fenti-
ment, reality and romance, the nobleil patriotifm
and the tendereft love, the wildeit mirth and the
deepelt melancholy, inform, delight, and fubdue us
by turns. The impulfes of the heart, thofe gems
of truth ! were the infpirations of the mufe. Hence
thoughts of rare pathos and beauty, and felicity of
expreffion that no ftudy could produce, no artcouM
polifh, find a refponfe in every bofom. In peace,
148 Old Ballads.
the ballad might be the "woeful" one made to a
" miftrefs's eyebrow;" in war, it was the trumpet
founding " to arms!" or the muffled drum rolling
forth the warrior's requiem.
The merit of our old Englifh Border Ballads was
long ago acknowledged far beyond Britain's fea-girt
land. Jofeph Scaliger, when he vifited England in
1566, among many minute obfervations recorded
in his entertaining Table Talk, particularly notices
the excellence of our Border Ballads, the beauty of
Mary Stuart, and our burning coal inftead of wood
in the north.
The tunes to which thefe ballads were fung are
centuries older than the ballads themfelves. Many
of them are loft in antiquity. " The Bride s good
morrow," " The fyrjl Apelles" " Damon and Pi-
thias" " A new lufy gallant ," " The nine Mufes"
" Pepper is blacked " Lightie Love" " Black Al-
maine y upon Scijfilia" " Labandalajhotte" " Brag-
andary" " The Wanton Wife" " In Somertime"
and " Pleafe one and pleafe all" were among the
molt popular. Many ballads quoted by Shakefpeare,
Beaumont and Fletcher, and Samuel Rowlands
(" Crew of Kind GoJJips") extend not beyond a
fingle verfe, or even a fingle line ; yet how fuggeltive
are they ! It was fuch penny broadfides that com-
pofed the " bunch" of the military mafon, Captain
Cox, of Coventry, and that itocked the pedlar's
pack of Autolicus; and their power of fafcination
may be learnt from the varlet's own words, when he
Old Ballads. 149
laughingly brags how nimbly he lightened the gaping
villagers of their purfes while chanting to them his
merry trol-my-dames !
We delight in a Fiddler's Fling, full of mirth and
paftime ! We revel in the exhilarating perfume of
thofe odoriferous chaplets gathered on funfhiny holi-
days and ftar-twinkling nights, bewailing how beau-
tiful maidens meet with faithlefs wooers, and how
fond fhepherds are cruelly jilted by deceitful damfels;
how defpairing Corydons hang, and how defpond-
ing Phillifes drown themfelves for love ; how
difappointed lads go to fea, and how forlorn lafTes
follow them in jackets and troufers ! Sir George
Etheridge, in his comedy of " Love in a Tub," fays,
" Expect at night to fee an old man with his paper
lantern and crack'd fpectacles, finging you woeful
tragedies to kitchen-maids and cobblers' apprentices."
Aubrey mentions that his nurfe could repeat the hif-
tory of England, from the Conqueft to the time of
Charles I, in ballads. And Aubrey, himfelf a book-
learned man, delighted in after years to recall them
to his remembrance. In Walton's "Angler," Pifcator
having caught a chub, conducts Venator to an
" honeft ale-houfe, where they would find a cleanly
room, lavender in the windows, and twenty ballads
ftuck about the wall." " When I travelled," fays
the Spectator, " I took a particular delight in hear-
ing the fongs and fables that are come from father to
fon, and are moll in vogue among the common people
of the countries through which I pafled." The
150 Old Ballads.
heart-mufic of the peafant was his native minftrelfy,
his blkhefome carol in the cottage and in the field.
" Liften to mee my lovely Shepherd's joye,
And thou (halt heare with mirth and muckle
glee,
Some pretie tales which, when I was a boye,
My toothlefle grandame oft hath told to mee."
We would not part with thofe mirth-moving merri-
ments, " Goody Two-Shoes" " Mother Bunch"
" The Cruel Uncle" " The Little Glafs Slipper?
" The Comical Cheats of Swalpo," and " Nine
Penny-worth of Wit for a Penny" for all the felf-
complacency of platform-pietifm, the pragmatical
pedantry of focial fcience, the bitter rivalries of
religious feels, and the hard, dry, hufky efTays on
political economy; toys with which "infants, but
of larger growth," amufe themfelves in the prefent
day! Long may thefe " pretie tales" be the gran-
dame's theme, the charm of liitening childhood in
every village home !
In the " very proper ditties," and " pleafant
pofies" of Queen Elizabeth's time, the ballad-
monger's barometer was the public pulfe. Hence
the Ladye-love was extolled, the Popiih priefl lam-
pooned, the Rebel reviled, the Sovereign deified, the
Shrew mown up, the hen-pecked Hufband pilloried,
and the moll rare Monfter on two legs or on four,
moraliied as a judgment upon the nation, and a
Old Ballads. 151
warning to the wicked ! Winding up with a prayer
for the Queen ! Even Tyburn's noofe had its mufe.
The Britons, from an early period, were a ballad-
finging people. The ancient Englifh minftrels who
fucceeded the Troubadours fang fongs of their own
compofing to the found of the harp. Thefe were,
in part, if not wholly, French or Provencal.
Richard I, who was himfelf a minftrel, wrote verfes
in that tongue, fome of which are extant. For
many ages "trumpeters, luters, harpers, fingers, &c."
contributed to the national amufement. They were
the hiftorians and the poets of deeds of daring and
danger, of chivalry and love, before the invention of
printing. No ftate ceremony, or religious feftival ;
no marriage, or chrirlening ; no caltle, or tavern was
complete without them. Printing was a heavy blow
to extemporaneous lyrics chanted to hum-drum tunes
by wandering glee-men. Such carelefs, traditionary,
unwritten* compofitions, though they might fatisfy
the ear, would not bear the critical ordeal of the
prefs ; and a better fort of ballad-mongers and ballad-
lingers fuperfeded thefe droning itinerants. " The
Downfall of Thomas Lord Cromwell" in 1 540, is
quoted by Ritfon as the oldeft printed ballad known.
* In ancient times the art of writing was an accomplifhment
that even Royalty was found to difpenfe with. Charlemagne,
who could not write, figned his Coronation Oath with the
finger of his glove dipped in ink $ and William the Conqueror,
to make u footh " the title-deed of an eftate granted to one of
his Norman Barons, bit the white wax with one of his teeth.
15 2 Old Ballads.
It has been reprinted by Dr. Percy, and we believe
is now in the library of the Society of Antiquaries.
Itinerant vocalifm fuffered its pains and penalties.
In 1537 one John Hogon was arretted for finging
publickly a political ballad contrary to the proclama-
tion of 1533 for the fupprefhon of " fond books,
ballads, rhymes, &c." And ten years afterwards,
owing to their increafing circulation, the legislature
paifed an ac~t againft " printed ballads, plays, rhimes,
and other fantafies." The more liberal government
of Edward VI. was tolerant to this popular litera-
ture; but the crofs-grained and bigoted Queen
Mary, a month after her acceffion to the throne, re-
opened the penal fire, and " printers, and itation-
ers" with " an evil zeal for lucre, and covetous of
vile gain," were commanded by royal edidt to aban-
don their unlawful trade. We can well imagine
with what gulto the poor gleemen chanted " Te
Deum" when this anti-focial reign came to a clofe,
and how heartily the commonalty participated in
the rejoicings of this neft of nightingales !
Propitious to the Smithfield Mufe was the popular
reign of Elizabeth. Ballad-finging was in all its
glory.* Then flourifhed Tarleton, Antony Mun-
* " If I let parte the un-accountab!e rabble of rhyming ballet-
mongers, and compylers of fundry ibnets (who be moft bufy to
ft lift" every ftall full of grofle devifes and unlearned pamplets)
I truft I fhall be with the beft fort held excufed. For though
many fuch can have an ale-houfe long of five or fix fcore
verfes hobbling upon fome tune of ' Northern JuggcJ or ' Ro-
byn Hode^ or ' La LulbaJ &c. &c. and perhapps obferve juft
Old Ballads. 153
day, Johnfon, Delony,* and Elderton.f The latter
Jyrift was wont to " arm himfelf with his ale when
he ballated," and upon whom was written the fol-
lowing epitaph, which would apply quite as well to
brother Delony, who was alfo a famous ale-bibber : —
number of fillables, eight in one line, and fixe in another, and
therewithall an ' a ' to make a joke in the end : yet if thefe
might be accounted poets (as it is fayde fome of them make
meanes to be promoted to the laurell) furely we fhall fhortly
have whole iwarmes of poets ; and many are that can frame
booke in ryme, though for want of matter, it be but in com-
mendations of coffee-rooms or bottle ale, wyll catch at the gar-
lande due to poets whofe pollitical (poetical I fhould fay) heades
I would wyfhe, at their worfhip-full commencement, be glori-
oufly garnifhed with faire greene barley in token of their good
affection for our Englifhe malt A Difcourfe of Eng-
lifli Poetrie, 1586, by William Webbe."
* Of Delony, Nafhe fays, " He hath rhyme enough for all
miracles, and wit to make a Garland of Good Will, Sec. ; but
whereas his mule from the firfr. peeping- forth, hath Hood at
livery at an ale-houfe wiip, never exceeding a penny a quart,
day or night — and this dear year, together with the filencing
of his looms, fcarce that — he is constrained to betake himfelf
to carded ale (/'. e. ale mixed with fmall beer), whence it pro-
ceedeth that fince Candlemas, or his Jigg of John for the King,
not one merry ditty will come from him ; nothing but Thun-
derbolt again fi Swearers ,• Repent, England, repent ; and the
Strange Judgements of God.''''
+ " Will Elderton's red nofe is famous everywhere,
And many a ballet knows it coft him very deare,
For ale, and toaft, and fpice, he fpent good ftore of coin,
You need not afk him twice to take a cup of wine.
Yet though his nofe was red, his hand' was very white,
In work it never fpe.l, nor took in it delight;
No marvel therefore 'tis that white fhould be his hand ;
That ballets writ a fcore as you may well understand. 1 '
MS.
154 Old Ballads.
" Hie fitus eft fitiens atque ebrius Eldertonus,
Quid dico, hie fitus eft ! hie potius fitis eft."
Which is thus tranflated by Oldys : —
" Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie ;
Dead as he is, he ftill is dry :
So of him it may well be faid,
Here he, but not his thirft, is laid."
Skelton, at an earlier period, had kept the prefs
alive with his merry ballads and merry tales, but
thefe fweet fingers abfolutely inundated it. So pro-
fitable was their calling, that Henry Chettle, in his
" Kind-Hart's Dreame," circa 1592, fays, "There
is many a tradefman of a worfhipfull trade, yet no
ftationer, who after a little bringing uppe appren-
tices to finging brokerie, takes into his fhoppe fome
frefhmen, and truftes his olde fervantes of a two
months' Handing with a dofTen of ballads. In
which, if they prove thriftie, he makes them prety
chapmen, able to fpeed more pamphlets by the ftate
forbidden, than all the bookfellers in London."
Nicholas Breton (" PafquiPs Night-Cap" 1600)
advifes profe-men to take up the more thriving trade
of writing penny ballads. Every London ftreet had
its vocalilt, and EfTex (where Dick and Wat Wim-
bars, two celebrated trebles, are faid to have got
twenty millings a-day by finging at Braintree fair,)
and the adjoining counties would feem to have libe-
rally patronized this " upitart generation of ballad-
Old Ballads. 155
fingers." Peripatetic harmony, however, had its
jarring notes of difcord. Philip Stubbes, the puri-
tan, in his " Anatomy of Abufes," denounces " fongs,
filthy ballads, and fcurvy rhymes." Bifhop Hall,
(fee " Virgedemiarum" 1597), lames the " drunken
rimer'' (probably the peerlefs Elderton !) who
" Sees his handfelle have fuch faire fucceife,
Sung to the wheele, and fung unto the payle."
Chettle gives no quarter to certain licentious bal-
lads, viz. " Wat kins' Ale" " The Carman's Whif-
tle" " Chopping Knives J' and " Friar Fox-taile ,•"
and Shakefpeare has his fatiiical hit at " metre
ballad-mongers."
The Carmen of ancient times made the " welkin
dance," and " roufed the night owl" with their up-
roarious catches, which Jujiice Shallow, ever in the
" rear-ward of the fafhion,'' palmed upon the " over-
fcutcht hufwives," as his own " fancies," or " good
nights."
" The fpinfters and the knitters in the fun,"
and the milkmaids, were chantreffes of ancient bal-
lads. In Deloney's Hiftory of Jack of Newberry, the
Weaver's Song is thus introduced. " Then came
his highnefs (Henry VIII, who was on a vifit to
Jack,) where he faw a hundred looms Handing in
one room, and two men working in every one, who
pleafantly /#/?§• in this fort." Nor has ballad-finging
among the craft fallen into defuetude ; the pigeon-
r ancying filk-weavers of Spitalfields ftill make their
156 Old Ballads.
garrets harmonious. Whether the carmen of the
prefent day are as mufical as their brethren of the
pail, we know not: but this we know, that the fong
of the fpinfler, the knitter,
(" Pillow and bobbins all her little ftore,")
and the milkmaid is flill to be heard in fcattered
hamlets and in rural villages not yet disfigured by
unfightly cotton mills, and in "daily-dappled" fields
that for a brief feafon are refpited from a brick-and-
mortary end !
" Knights and dames, and goblins hairy,
Giants rude, and gentle fairy,'*
were as plentiful and as popular as ever. James I.
was an encourager of pleafant mirth and paitime for
his court and people. He thought that men were
none the worfe for being merry. Pedant he might
be, but happily he was no puritan. In procefs of
time the old ballad-mongers palled away, and when
Charles I. afcended the throne a new race fucceeded
to their titles, though they maintained very indif-
ferently their honours. The moll prolific and the
moll diflinguilhed of them was Martin Parker, who,
to " fonde Elderton,'' was a Swan of Helicon !
His " Robin Conference ,'' " The King and the poor
Northern man,"* " When the King enjoys his own
* He alfo wrote a popular fong beginning —
" Although I am a country lafs,
A lofty mind 1 bear — a,
Old Ballads. 157
again," and many others of ilill greater merit, place
him in the firft line of old ballad-writers. In his
wake followed a far inferior fry (Price, Wade, Clim-
fel, and Guy), to whom the much-abufed Elderton
was a Triton of the Minnows. In fecundity they
kept pace with their predeceflbrs, pouring forth merry
medicines for melancholy, and not forgetting parti-
cular grievances ; fince in Charles II. 's reign ballads
were fung in the fhreets of Norwich flaring that if
poor weavers had their "rights" they would be
paid a milling a day as in the good old times !
During the ufurpation, the people who had been
arbitrarily deprived of their amufements, their paf-
times in times pail, found refuge in the penny bal-
lad, in which the difhonelly and cant of their op-
preflbrs were feverely fatirifed. And while the
" well-trod flage," that Shakefpeare had made a
fchool of eloquence, was ilernly prohibited ; and the
"well-graced aclor" was pining in poverty, while
the flowery May-pole lay proftrate ; while mufic
was hufhed and minftrelfy mute, and the once
cheerful domeflic hearth was cold and comfort-
lefs ; the dark narrow flreets and by-lanes, the low-
roofed and dingy houfes and hoftelries of ancient
London rang, under the rofe ! with thefe forbidden
madrigals.
I think myfelf as good as thofe
That gay apparel wear — a."
This fong was fung to the tune that Carey adopted tor his
" Sally in our Alley."
158 Old Ballads.
The Reftoration diffufed its refrefhing influence
around, and England, breathing freely again, joyfully
refumed her flatus quo ante be Hum, her time-honoured
title of " Merrie."* The national mirth, rifing
from its enforced and troubled fleep, broke out into
excefTes political f and bacchanalian. Bells chimed,
bonfires blazed, rumps were roafled, fiddles fqueak-
ed,J and the conduits ran with wine. The pike
gave place to the pen, long faces to fhort graces, and
narrow fanaticifm to broad fun. Songs of a fuperior
clafs, fparkling with cauftic wit and drollery, brought
out in bold relief Jack Prefbyter; and Sir Robert
Howard made that tipfy roifterer, in the character
of Obadiab, cut a very ridiculous figure on the itage.
The lazzaroni of Grub-ftreet were let loofe again.
But they mifufed their liberty by leavening their
lyrics with the licentious and the profane. Precife
* " Shall we, who would not fuffer the Lion to reign over
us, tamely ftand to be devoured by the Wolf? " broke Crom-
well's peace, and made him wear a fhirt of mail under his
velvet doublet till the day of his death !
■f The " Hearth-money," a tax collected by (as he was
nicknamed) the " Chimney-man," was very unpopular with
the lubjecls of Charles II, and about which a large bunch of
Broadfide Ballads are preferved in the Britiih Mufeum.
$ Fiddlers were not confined to low taverns rampant with
tap-life and reeking with public-houfe odour. A Band of
twenty-four violins (^including tenors and bafi'es) accompanied
the meals of Charles II, and enlivened his devotions in the
Chapel Royal. Hence the comic fong, " Four-and-Tiventy
Fiddlers all of a roto" The Leader of' this fiddling * 4 Twenty-
four" was one John Banifter.
Old Ballads. 159
Jack, who u ate exceedingly and prophefied," and
his prim Madam — and Zeal-o'-the-Land Bufy, the
drawling difciple of Ludovic Muggleton, the tippling
Methodift tailor, and, in his fuddled hallucinations, a
great teltifier againft the roaft pig and puppet fhows in
Bartholomew Fair — could not take a turn in Pimlico-
path and Moorfields without fome cruel chorifter
intoning in their ears a mock canticle or burlefque
ballad * attuned to the nafal twang after the fafhion
of the " Brethren," f which the unregenerate rabble
would echo back in full chorus, grinning, after the
fafhion of our modern negro melodifts, with all the
dental abandon peculiar to that race. King William
the Calvinift, to whofe tender mercies the Englifh
army owes the firft introduction of the lafh, and his
miftrefs Lady Orkney, were a bountiful boon to
" ballad-brokery ;" as were his bull-necked, big-
breeched Dutch body-guards, that put John Bull into
fuch a pitiful panic ! While Bentick and Keppel,
* Or faluting them, con fpirito, with the following ftrophe,
" My wife fhe's a Prefbyterian,
She won't fwear, but fhe will lie ;
She to the ale-houfe, I to the tavern ;
She gets fou as well as I."
\ The Pilgrim Puritan Fathers of MalTachufetts, who hung,
burned alive, and tortured their fellow-emigrants the Quakers,
made dancing a ftatutable offence, and drinking of healths a
mifdemeanour ; and decreed that fmoking a pipe on the Sab-
bath fhould be punifhable by the pillory, and that fweethearts
who kifled one another at parting fhould be whipped! What
wonder then that the people fhould adopt Sir Andrew Ague-
cheek's reafon for hating — " Becauie he is a Puritan V
160 Old Ballads.
(court parafites, between whom he divided an ex-
tent of country larger than Hertfordfhire,) were
ferenaded at all corners with fatirical fongs.*
The old-fafhioned minftrelfy of the million (alas!
for its decadence and decline) had feen its beft days.
Diverfions more attractive put ftreet ballad-ringing
in abeyance. Old fongs were now gathered into
Garlands, and reprinted as Chap Books adorned
with " new and proper fculptures," and in this more
permanent form were fortunately preferved to pos-
terity. The Pepyfian and Bodleian libraries are
rich in thefe tiny tomes, and in that of the writer
there are many fcarce and curious fpecimens. St.
Bartholomew and Froft Fairs ; Party Politics ; the
tender Paffion ; and Tyburn Tree, ftill found con-
genial occupation for a hofh of fonneters. " Duck
Lane" and its " kindred cobwebs," " The Ring*'* in
Little Britain,f " The Three Bibles? " The Bind
* " Three very rogues in our big brogues,
Three very rogues are we ;
Brother, Ben you are the worft of us two,
And Hookey' $ the worft of us three ! "
This " fcurvy rhyme," fuppofed to be chanted by Keppel,
"Hookey" and his Queen " GonerW'' muft have often heard
under their palace windows ; accompanied by a Dutch Concert
("Kicks and Thumps /"),• meet mulic for fuch callous, jaded
hearts, that regarded a falfe oath as
" a breach
Of nothing but a form of fpeech."
T In former days there were " Offices for licences to eat
freih meat" on prohibited days, in Little Britain, and at Paul's
Chain.
Old Ballads. 161
Boy" on London Bridge, and " The Golden Ball"
in Pye Corner, were the Heliconian Founts which
poured forth their infpirations that made old Lon-
don vocal — the mural literature that
CI
Befringed the walls of Bedlam and Soho."*
The accomplifhments of the bygone ballad-
fingerf are thus defcribed by Brathwaite in his
" Wbimfies" " Now he counterfeits a natural bafe,
then a perpetual treble, and ends with a counter-
tenure. You mall heare him fayne an artfull ftraine
through the nofe, purpofely to infinuate into the at-
tention of the purer brotherhood." And in a rare
* Among the moft popular of thefe was a nurfery fong,
" What have you got for fupper, for fupper, Goody Bond ?
The ducks in the garden, and the geefe in the pond.'*
And
" One a-penny, two a-penny, hot crofs-buns !
If your daughters do not like 'em, you can give 'em to your
fons }
But if your fons too like 'em not, the crofs-grain'd little elves !
Why then, my merry Miftreffes, juft eat 'em up your-
felves ! "
•j- Richard Sheale, a ballad writer and finger, who died in
1574, defcribes, in a " Chant," his lofs of" threefcore pounds
at a clap " by riding alone over Dunfmore Heath. Sheal's wife
(fo he fings) was a " filk-woman," and drove a profitable trade
at country fairs, in " fhirts, fmocks, partlets, head-clothes, filk
thread, edgings, fkirts, beads, and firings at Litchfield Market,
Atherfton, and Tamworth ;" at which latter place he dwelt.
M
162 Old Ballads.
tract, " Nimble and Quick, Pick and Cbu/e where
you will" without date, we have a quaint fpecimen
of his phrafeology. " I love ftrong beer twice in the
year, that is, fummer and winter. Ballad-fingers
have the moll honeft trade in the world for money,
it is alfo an ancient and honorable calling, for Homer
was alfo one." Ben Jonfon, in his " Bartholomew
Fair" introduces Nightingale, a ballad-finger, who
afks Cokes whether he fhall fing his ballad to the
tune of " Paggington's (Packington's) Pound."
In " Beware of M. Jewell," by John Raflell,
1566, in the Addrefs " To the Indifferent Reader,"
" The Third Booke," the ballad-fingers are fpoken
of in the following laudatory terms. " They fpeake
fo eloquently that a man would fwere upon a Booke
for them, that they thinke as they fpeake, and fpeake
no more than they will do. Whatfoever thing they
fel, as ' Newes out of India, or * The Original of
the Turkijh Empire? or * Mery Tales," or ' Songes
and Ballets? or a ' Powder to Kil Wortnes? Sec,
they do it with fuch grace, with fuch a conftancie,
with fuch a copie of wordes, with fuch moving of
affections, that it is wonderful."
Sir John Hawkins fays, fpeaking of mufical enter-
tainments given in public-houfes, and by performers
hired by the landlords, " Here half a dozen of fid-
dlers would fcrape ' Sellenger s Round? or * John,
come kifs me? or * Old Sir Simon the King? with
divifions, till themfelves and their audience were
tired ; after which as many players on the hautboy
Old Ballads. 163
would in the moll harfh and difcordant tones, grate
forth ' Green Sleeves, 1 ' Yellow Stockings] * Gil-
lian of Croydon] or fome fuch common dance tune,
and the people thought it fair mufick."
The fimple fongs that touched the gentle hearts
of the " Cuddies] 1 and the " Colin Clouts" the
" Mop/as " and the " Marians " of Merrie England
in the Olden Time, are not likely to be endured in
the prefent refined age, when thofe faultlefs monfters
of its lyric mufe, " Pop goes the JVeazle] 1 " Villi-
kins and his Dinah] 1 " Sally, come up] 1 and " The
Rat-catchers Daughter] 1 &c, have mounted from
the flreets to the drawing-room. As to our modern
itinerant ballad-fingers (the fcreech-owls, with their
gin-and-fog voices and riff-raff rhymes !) they cer-
tainly are no improvement upon their predeceffors.
Than old ballad-lore nothing in literature is more
rare. Ritfon bears teftimony to its uncommon fear-
city. "Very few ballads," he remarks, " ex ill of
an earlier date than the reigns of James, or even
Charles I. Being printed only on fmgle meets,
which would fall chiefly into the hands of the
vulgar, who had no better method of preferv-
ing their favourite compofitions than by palling
them on the wall, their dellruction is eafily accounted
for." Is it too romantic to believe that the fpirit of
Captain Cox might have hovered over the very few
(printed before 1600) that are extant, and faved
them from the unconfeious Cook, who would have
pinned them to the Michaelmas Goofe to keep it
164 Old Ballads.
from fingeing, or from the fimple Sempftrefs who
would have torn them into thread-papers?
The five volumes of old ballads bequeathed by
Samuel Pepys to the Univerfity of Cambridge are
chiefly of the reigns of Charles I. and Charles II.
They treat of" Hunting" of" Love pie af ant" and
of " Love unfortunate," &c. &c. A few are ancient,
and were put forth by Richard Lant, and the Widow
Toye. The Roxburghe Collection, in the Britifh
Mufeum, contain fome ballads printed before 1600 ;
but the far greater number are of a more recent
date. Mr. Bindley's old ballads and broadfides,*
printed between 1640 and 1688, were collected by
Narciffus Luttrell. The Rawlinfon "Bunch" is
in the famous Bodleian Library. Mr. Heber pof-
feiTed the largeft number of Elizabethan ballads f
ever fold by auction. They are enflirined in the
magnificent library of the late Mr. Miller, M.P.
which, we hear, is deftined one day to become the
property of fome public institution.
The " Elizabethan Garland," in the pofTefiion
of the writer, confUte of Seventy Ballads, printed be-
tween the years 1559 and 1597, all of which editions
are prefumed to be unique. But very few of them have
been reprinted, and thefe with important interpola-
tions and omiffions ; confequently they are as rare
* This large and interesting colle&ion (in four lots) was fold
by public auction in the year 1820, for feven hundred and
eighty-one pounds !
f Sold December 9, 1834.
Old Ballads. 165
as manufcript. Some are hiftorical, others fatirical,
a few monftrous, not a few amorous, many moral,
and more merry.
Among the moft characteristic and curious of
them will be found "The Wonders of England ;"*
"A New Ballad (with mufic) of a Lover Extollinge
his Ladye ;" " The Daunce and Song of Death ;"
" A New Ballade entytuled, Good Fellowes mud
go learne to daunce ;"f " A very proper Dittie, to
the tune of Lightlie love ; " J " The Pope in his fury
doth anfwer returne, In a letter ye which to Rome
is late come; "|| "The 25, Order of Fooles;"
" Ane new ballet fet out by ane Fugitive Scottis-
man that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther;"§
* Printed in 1559. Alluding to the death of Edward VI.
The accelfion of Queen Mary to the throne. The reftoration
of the Roman Catholic religion in England. Its fall. And
the acceflion of Queen Elizabeth.
■f Printed in 1569. With a woodcut of " good fellows"
drinking and dancing.
\ This ballad is twice mentioned by Shakefpeare. (" Two
Gentlemen of Verona," Act 1. Sc. 2, and "Much Ado About
Nothing," Aft 3, Sc. 4.)
I In which the Pope is made thus to admoniih the ballad-
monger :
" Fond Elderton, call in thy foolifh rhime,
Thy fcurrill balates are too bad to fell :
Let good men reft, and mende thyfelf in time :
Confefs in profe, thou haft not metred well :
Or if thy folly cannot choofe but fayne,
Write ale-houfe toys, blafpheme not in thy vein."
§ M Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpriuik, Anno
Do. 1572."
166 Old Ballads.
(The mafTacre of St. Bartholomew ;) " Ane Com-
plaint upon Fortoun;"* "A famous dittie of the
Joyful receaving of the Queen's mode excellent
majeftie, by the worthie Citizens of London, the
12 th day of November, 1584, at her graces coming
to Saint James;" "The firft parte of the faire
widow of Watling Street and her 3 daughters;"
" The fecond part of the Widdow of Watling-ftreete
and her three Daughters;"! The firft and fecond
parts of " The Marchants Daughter of Briftow ;"J
" A Ballad, Loe here the pearle," &c.||
" A Dittv delightful of mother Watkins ale
A warning well wayed, though counted a tale."
" As pleafant a dittie as your hart can wifh,
Showing what unkindnefs befel by a Kifre."§
And a ballad written by Richard Tarleton the
* " Imprintit at Edinburgh be Robert Leprewicke, dwelling
at the Netherbow."
f The play of the fame title (afcribed to Shakefpeare) is
taken from thefe two ballads.
X Mentioned in Fletcher's " Monfieur Thomas," Acl 3,
Sc. 3, by the name of "Maudlin the Merchant's Daughter."
|| With a coloured portrait of Queen Elizabeth. Gifford
fays, " If it was a ballad of pure love,' or of' good life' which
afforded no fcope for the graphic talents of the Grub Street
Apelles, the portrait of ' good Queen Elizabeth,' magnificently
adorned, with globe, and fceptre, formed no unwelcome fub-
ftitute for her loving fubjecls."
§ Ben Jonfon alludes to this ballad in his verfes to Tom
Coriat.
Old Ballads. 167
player and jefter, and quoted by Malvolio in Twelfth
Night, viz. —
" A prettie new Ballad, intytuled,
The Crowe fits upon the wall,
Pleafe one and pleafe all."
In fummer days, " when leaves were green,"
Francis Douce the celebrated antiquary would often
take a fuburban trip to ftudy thefe remarkable relics;
two of which, " The Daunce and Song of Death"
(of this he makes particular mention in his laft
edition of the "Dance of Death,") and " The true
difcription of a marvellous ftraunge Fijhe" that
formed one of the multifarious items in the pack
of Autolicus, were his efpecial favorites. To the
writer, this "Garland" is a " pleafant pofie."*
Ancient ballad-lore was his early and delightful
ftudy. And now
Age cannot wither it, nor cuftom ftale
Its infinite variety.'"
* The ballads that compofe this "Garland" were obtained
from a private fource ; and never publicly fold.
a
THE BIRTHDAY.
N a family dear to Uncle Timothy the
cuftom of keeping particular days was
duly obferved. Chriftmas Day and
New Year's Day, when an overflowing
heart and a thankful fpirit induce good cheer, were
welcomed with all the honours. The Wedding
Day was kept with tranquil joy, the guefts being
limited to a felect few who had known the married
pair in their prime, and who could bear witnefs that
the only matrimonial conteft between them had been
which mould love Deft. But the birthdays of their
children were high days and holidays, leave being
given them to invite their young friends to an enter-
tainment never oftentatious, after the fafhion of the
vulgar rich, but bountiful and elegant. None of
the viiitors came empty-handed. Each brought a
prefent fuited to the fex and age of the recipient.
Judicious God-fathers and God-mothers, and fedate
Uncles and Aunts, were the bearers of pretty pic-
The Birthday. 169
ture-books in pretty bindings, which, by awakening
thought and flimulating inquiry, expanded the grow-
ing intellect, and made the road to knowledge a pro-
greffive and a pleafant one. So numerous had been
the birthdays, and To various had been the prefents
in this happy houfehold, that its nurfery refembled a
toyfhop ; but fo even had been the race between
acquifition and demolition, that I mull in truth add,
a toyfhop in ruins. An incurable curiofity (infan-
tine idiofyncrafy !) to find out what toys are made
of, and to fcrutinife them in detail, had pulled the
baby-houfes all to pieces ; wrecked the Noah's Arks,
and fcattered their paffengers ; pryed into the con-
cavity of every drum to difcover whence came the
found ; and tranfmogrified every doll, waxen and
wooden, into a Torfo ! Emmeline, the eldefl,
quieteft, and moll Queen-like of four of as pretty
little quivers as ever graced the conjugal bow, had
completed her thirteenth year on this her birthday.
She was the centre of a circle of happy faces and inno-
cent hearts invited to wifh her joy ; and fhe did the
honours very becomingly. Emmeline loved reading;
a book therefore had been thought the moil appro-
priate gift on the prefent occafion, and every book
had been judicioufly chofen, not only for the inftruc-
tion that it afforded, but alfo for the delight. Em-
meline was fweet-tempered, affectionate, and very
fufceptible. A little kindnefs dimmed her eye and
won her heart, and her gentle heart was well worth
the winning. The Gofpel had taught her the value
170 The Birthday.
of peace ; hence fhe was called " the little peace-
maker." The lark at " heaven's gate" never fang
more joyoufly than Emmeline on a bright fummer
morning, making the filver dew-drops from her
flowers ; nor the nightingale, in the dark woodland,
more plaintively than Emmeline giving glory to her
Creator in the Evening Hymn ! If abroad fhe was
courted and loved, how deep was the affection and
how high were the hopes that fhe infpired at home !
But one long-expecled vifitor had yet to come;
and an anxious whifper ran round the family circle —
" Where can be Uncle Timothy ?"
The queltion was foon anfwered by his arrival.
After a birthday congratulation to Emmeline, and a
few fond wifhes to her parents in her behalf, he
produced his prefent. " What I have hitherto
brought you, my young friend," faid he, placing his
hand gently upon her head, " were toys for your
infancy ; primers for your childhood ; then riddles,
ftory-books, and fairy tales ; and latterly, leffons of
ferious import, both facred and moral. It has been
truly faid that without books God would be filent.
I now prefent you with the Book of Books. Pa-
rental and pious love has already inftru<fted you in
fuch of its Divine truths and doctrines as your ten-
der age could bear. — But its holy infpirations, its
deep and awful myfteries and miracles, before which
the highefl of human intelligences have humbly and
reverently bowed, remain for the devout ftudy and
meditation of your riper years. Receive then the
The Birthday. 171
Bible ; and let me hope that, in turning over its
facred leaves, you will fometimes, in your prayers,
remember the giver."
On a fly-leaf facing the title Uncle Timothy had
infcribed the following lines, which Emmeline, at
Mamma's requeft, read to the company : —
Book of Life ! Salvation's charter !
Where, with hallow'd lips of fire,
Spake Apoftle, Prophet, Martyr,
As the Spirit did infpire.
Guide the holieft, fafeft, fureft,
To loft man, in mercy, given
To lead him in that path the pureft,
The Pilgrim's path from earth to heaven.
From thee I learn how rofe the fun,
And world on world from chaos rude;
How, when His wondrous work was done,
Jehovah's Self pronounced it "Good."
How beauty, order, grandeur, grace,
All centred in Creation's plan ;
With Eden for the dwelling-place
Of that exalted Being — Man!
How from his high and happy ftate,
Alas ! he fell ; and by his fall
Brought Sin and Death, the woes that wait
On Disobedience, upon all.
How pity touch'd the Father's heart,
And fent from His celeftial throne
172 The Birthday.
His only Son to bear our fmart,
For man's tranfgreffion to atone.
How earth was darken'd, mountains heaved,
And lightning flafh'd, and thunder peal'd,
And trembling infidels believed,
As His great bond the Saviour feal'd.
And how fupreme He reigns above,
With Glory's Diadem to crown
The Chofen of His dying love,
For whom He brought Redemption down.
Book of Life ! I learn from Thee
All that is meet for man to know,
That God is mercy, pardon free
To thofe who leek it here below.
It was now time for the young vifltors to return
home ; and with many graceful curtfies and bows
they took leave. A few of the fenior guefls remained
to talk about old tomes and old times, to them more
precious than the honey of Hybla ! and among
them, we may be fure, was Uncle Timothy.
ROBERT CRUIKSHANK.
N eminent artift, a facetious companion,
and a kindly man has juft pafled away,
Robert Cruikfhank, brother of the
more celebrated George.* As an
old acquaintance whom I efteemed, I pay him this
brief tribute of admiration and regret.
A portion of his early life was fpent at lea, and
he was wont to recall thofe happy days, when he
proudly walked the quarter-deck in the uniform of
his fovereign ; eager, in his exuberant pugnacity, to
fight the battles of his country. But he was born
to be an artift. His father was one of confiderable
reputation, and his brother was fteadily earning the
fame that he has fince fo meritorioufly won. For
many years he illuftrated the comic publications,
good and bad, of his day. He was well verfed in
the Lexicon Balatronicum. " Life in London,"
and fuch like gallimaufries of buffoonery owe their
* He died, after a fliort illnefs, of bronchitis, on the 13th
of March, 1856, in the 66th year of his age.
174 Robert Cruikshank.
attractions to his eccentric genius. Thefe low hu-
mours of the boozing-cribs he farcaftically and for-
rowfully called his " pot-boilers," to provide for the
day that was pafTing. His pencil-drawings on wood
for " Cumberland's Britifh and Minor Theatre,"
though fometimes marred in the cutting, are ex-
ceedingly characteriftic and graceful. For this em-
ployment he was well qualified, from his familiarity
with the llage before and behind the curtain. It
is, however, in his water-colour drawings that he
made for private patrons, that his genius is advan-
tageoufly feen. He was apt to conceive, and prompt
to execute. He had a quick eye and a ready hand
for abfurdities and burlefque. His humour was
after the Tarn O'Shanter fafhion, unearthly, riotous,
and rollicking. It is lucky for art that he died not
prematurely, like Zeuxis, of a laughing fit provoked
by his phantafmagoria of odd faces, which was
equal to Joe Munden's, that mafter-mimic of the
grotefque ! He is a pictorial alchemift, extracting
from the moll unlikely elements matter for merri-
ment. The very Hones in the ftreet look up and
laugh at you. With all his extravagant drollery,
his drawing is anatomically correct, his details are
minute, expreffive, and of careful finifh, and his
colouring is bright and delicate. The beft efforts
of Gilray and Rowlandfon may hardly compare
with them. Of thefe choice fpecimens there are,
unhappily, but few. He could afford neither time
nor ftudy to produce them unlefs a patron came
Robert Cruikshank. 175
forth, and then their production was his efpecial
delight. He had his viciffitudes of fortune. His
lights and fhadows. He was not what dulnefs
would call " a regular man." " I never," faid Sir
Walter Scott to Leflie the painter, " knew a man
of genius, and I have known many, who could be
regular in all his habits, but I have known many a
blockhead who could." But this will I fay of
Robert Cruikfhank, that whether too powerfully
refrefhed after exhilirating a convivial party with
his harmlefs pleafantries ; whether the hofpitable
Amphytrion of an expenfive houfehold, or the
poverty-pinched tenant of an humble lodging, he
never for one moment forgot that he belonged to
a profeffion that required he mould be a gentleman.
He was tolerably well read, and agreeably commu-
nicative. Somewhat in the "Cambyfes" vein,
when (in Stock-Exchange parlance) "three-quarters,
/even-eights" in whifky toddy. Among the amufe-
ments of his limited leifure was archery. He was
an expert toxopholite, and might have drawn a bow
with Robin Hood.
His brother George he always mentioned with
affectionate admiration. Though a fluent talker,
he was a taciturn correfpondent. He communi-
cated his wifhes in quaint hieroglyphics which fpoke
as plainly as round-hand. His fun would ooze
from the infide to the outfide of his letter, in the
fhape of a comical device fuggefted by his whimfical
fancy; to the no fmall amufement of the penny-
176 Robert Cruikshank.
poftman, who accompanied its delivery with his
broadeft grin !
A few months ago he paid me one of his accuf-
tomed vifits. He was then in good health and
fpirits. After a look at the odd contents of his
travelling portfolio, and fome pleafant talk, we
parted, as we had always done, in cordiality and
good humour. . . . Vale !
MAY-DAY.
HE merry month of May, with its open
and bright horizon, was looked for-
ward to with peculiar pleafure by
Uncle Timothy. The celebration of
its advent he regarded as one of the poetical infti-
tutions of his country, and he was up and ready on
a Firit of May fine morning to welcome its white
hedge-flowers, to gather the fparkling May-dew, to
Men (in imagination !) to the milkmaid's fong, and
to dance round the (vifionary !) May-pole, gaily gar-
landed, with Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, and Maid
Marian ! He would recite from Lovibond's beau-
tiful " Tears of Old May-Day," her lament that a
younger rival, April,
tc
The fickly daughter of the unripen'd year,"
had claimed her choral dances, her victorious games,
and her triumphal fongs, and revel in the wizard
rhyme of Spencer, Milton, Browne, and Herrick in
honour of May.
N
178 May-Day.
A recent May-Day with Uncle Timothy once
more introduced us to the " clergy-imps, whofe
pulpits are the chimney-tops!" with their grotefque
jigs, rough mufic, and gilt- paper cocked hats ! "The
town is arid and hot," faid he. " I kd the op-
preffive folitude of this bufy Babylon, and long to
exchange its fcorching, hard pavement for the cool,
foft greenfward ; and its creaking mufic (from the
cranes above !) for the blackbird's fong. It is no
place wherein to welcome the return of flowery
May."
A pleafant ride brought us to a primrofe bank,
at the edge of which rippled a clear ltream fhaded
by weeping willows, and clofe to that fpot where,
in the olden time, Piscator fo fweetly moralized.
" Study to be Quiet" was the chofen theme of
Uncle Timothy, and the moments imperceptibly
glided away as he illuftrated that wife precept in
all its charming varieties; while Truth, immutable
as the fixed itars, fealed every fentence.
A grand and beautiful funfet, fuffufing the whole
region of the empyrean with tints graduated from
the molt exquifitely-ihaded hues of rofe, violet, and
pearly grey, to the vivid and poiitive colours of the
prifm, fhed its glories on the lovely landfcape ; and
the nightingale called to mind the impafTioned words
of our pifcatorial apoftle, Izaac Walton, " Lord !
what mufic haft Thou provided for Thy faints in
heaven, when Thou afFordeft bad men fuch mufic
upon earth?" Nor was Milton's
May-Day. 179
" Sweet bird that fhunn'ft the noife of folly,"
nor Shaw's pathetic " Evening Addrefs," forgotten.
" All is filence," faid Uncle Timothy ; " for the
nightingale has made a paufe. Let then the ' words
of Mercury' fill up this unmufical interval — An
infpiration that came with this morning's fun."
And he repeated his
MAY-DAY OFFERING.
When, by Religion's facred light
Creation opens to my fight,
Methinks, furveying all around,
I tread upon enchanted ground.
For, view'd by her celeftial beam,
The heavens more grand and glorious feem ;
And, borrowing beauty from above,
Earth looks more fair, and full of love.
The feather'd fongfters, as they rife,
More joyfully falute the ikies ;
The woodland-flream's meandering flow
With fweeter mufic murmurs low.
A holier calm pervades the deep,
Its rippling waves in funfhine fleep;
And in the diftance fea and fky
In blended beauty melt and die.
Refponfive to fome inward voice,
All Nature feems to cry, " Rejoice!"
180 May-Day.
And fome divinity to bring
New life to every living thing !
The everlafting mountains more
Majeftically feem to foar, —
The rugged rocks, fublimely ftern,
With haughtier brow the waves to fpurn.
And now upon the landfcape fall
Night's fable fhadows, like a pall ;
And moon and liars new awe infpire
Lit by that flame of heavenly fire !
Frail man ! for whom thefe wonders are ;
(Thyfelfmore wondrous! fallen ftar!)
What canft thou do ? — Nor lefs, nor more,
In duft and afhes, but adore.
Many a happy day I have fpent with Uncle
Timothy, but never a happier one than this.
A BOOK OF FOOLS.
HE recent fale of a curious library col-
lected during the reign of King James I.
had enabled Uncle Timothy to enrich
his book-cabinet with an unique quarto
bearing the following title : —
" Foole Upon Foole, or Sixe Sortes of Sottes.
A flat Foole, and a fatt Foole ; a leane Foole,
and a cleane Foole ; a merry Foole, and a verrie
Foole. Shewing their lives, humours, and be-
haviour, with their want of witte in the fhew
of wifdome. Not fo ftrange as true.
Omnia funt f ex.
Clonnico del mondo SnufFe.
London. Printed for William Ferbrand, dwelling
in Pope's-head-allie, neare the Royall Exchange.
1605."
" And now, my friends," faid Uncle Timothy
to a felecl party of bibliomaniacs who had afTembled
in his fanttum Janftorum to hear him give a brief
1 82 A Book of Fools.
defcription of its contents, " let me firft propofe
bumpers round to the memory of Robert Armin,*
its undoubted author; his ' Nefi of Ninnies ,' pub-
lifhed a few years after, and the prefent work, being
all but identical." The memory having been ho-
noured in prime port not quite fo old as the curi-
ofity in queftion, Uncle Timothy proceeded with
his tafk.
" This very fingular and rare Jell Book fhews
' How J ache Oates, the flat Foole (the retainer of
one Sir William Hollis of Bofton, Lincolnfhire) hit
a noble-man a boxe on the eare,' and ' How a
Minftrell became a Foole artificiall, and had Jacke
Oates for his labour.'
" This was at Chriftmas-tide, ' when great logs
furnifh the Hall fire, when Brawne is in feafon,
and indeede all Revellinge is regarded — when Beefe,
Beere, and Bread was no niggard, when all pleafures
prefided with a noyfe of Minftrelles, and a Lincoln-
fhire Bagpipe was prepared. The Mynftrelles for
the great chamber, the Bagpipe for the Hall. The
* Robert Armin was originally an apprentice to a goldfmith
in Lorn bard- ftreet. How he became a player is recorded in
" Tarletoti's Jefts" printed in 1611. He performed in the
" Alchemift" in 1610 ; and was living in 1611. From the
verfes addreffed to him by John Davies of Hereford, it would
appear that he occafionally played the part of the Clown. He
wrote the comedy of the " Hiflory of the tivo Maids of More-
clake" (in the printed copy of which his portrait is on the title-
page drefled as "John of the HojpitaP^, " The Italian Taylor
and his Boy," and " A Nefi of Ninnies."
A Book of Fools. 183
Mynftrelles to ferve up the Knights meate, and the
Bagpipe for the common dauncing.'
" ' How Jacke Oates eate up a Quince Pye, being
of choyce provided for Sir William.' Jacke could
' never abide the Cooke, by reafon that he would
fcald him out of the kitchen.'
" Of Jemy Camber, the Caledonian Adonis, and
the ' Fat Foole Naturall,' we have the following
defcription. Born and brought up at Stirling, ' Two
yards and a Nayle in compaffe; forty yeares old;
fmall head ; long hayre ; one eare far bigger than
the other ; forehead full ; his eyes mined like a
flame; his nofe flat; his beard fmall and fquare ;
his lips but little, and his wit leffe, But wide of
mouth, few teeth, I muft confefle.'
" ' His middle thicke, as I have faid before,
Indifferent thighes and knees, but very fhorte :
His legges be fquare, a foot long, and no more,
Whofe very prefence made the King much fport —
And a pearle Spoone he {till wore in his cap,
To eate his meate he lov'd, and got by hap '
" ' How Jemy Camber, this Fat Foole gave his
chayne of Gold from his necke to warrant his life' —
and how he gave ' a fine Frenche Crowne for a
Sallet (falad), of an atchifon price, which in our
money (Scotch) was three farthings.'
" How he ' fwet almofl: to death, and never
knew the reafon.' This merry jeft occurred * Be-
tweene Edenborough Abbey the King's place and
184 A Book of Fools.
Leith, on an even plaine greene Meddowe, in which
the King ufed moft of his fports.' His Majefty en-
joying the frolic. And how he ran with the King's
belt Foot-man for a wager ( from the Abbey by the
hill to Cannegate, and being fwift of foote, won it.'
" How he was flung with nettles, and how after,
* unknowne to himfelfe, he helped to make his own
grave.'
" This jeft (his final one) was carried on between
the daughter of the Town-Laundrefs, and Jemy
Camber. ' Our fat Foole fills a leane grave, upon
which the King caufed a ftone of marble to be put
up, on which the Poets did write thefe lines in re-
membrance of him to this day.
" ' He that gard all men till jeare,
Jemy a Camber he ligges here ;
Pray for his Soule, for he is gaene,
And here a ligges beneath this fteane.'
"We next come to Leonard, the ( leane Fool,'
(' the pet of a kinde Gentleman in the merry forefl
of Sherwood ' — A huge gormandifer who, ever eating,
yet ftill hungry, devoured * his Maimer's Hawke,
and was almoft choked with the fethers.') — To
Jack Miller the £ cleane Foole,' (renowned for
chanting his popular fong of * Derries /aire? and
for out-frolicking ' Grumball the clowne ;') — To
Will Summers, the ' merry Foole,' (whofe quick
faying?, antics, and grimaces fhook the fat flitches
of bluff King Harry with laughter.) — And laftly to
A Book of Fools. 185
John of the Hofpital, the ■ verrie Foole,' who was
a leader of the blind, a * foftred fatherlefs child' in
Chrift's Hofpital, a peripatetic preacher and a finger
of pfalms ! In ' The Hiflory of the two Maids of
More-clake, 1609,' John is introduced as the clown,
for the fole purpofe, after the fafhion of thofe days,
to make mirth for the groundlings.
" Of the ancient Court Fools, Will Summers, Dick
Tarleton, and Archee Armjlrong were by far the
moil famous. Kings and Cardinals ; Bifhops and
Courtiers, efcaped not their fatirical quips. It is
true that in fome cafes Fools have been whipped
for their waggeries. But thefe were unprivileged
drolls, bafe counterfeits, and ribalds, who haunted
the cellars and hung about the butteries of the
nobility and gentry, and whofe toleration depended
on their good behaviour. A hole in their manners
was foon mended by the fcourge.
" The following is a curious and chara&eriflic
portrait of the ' Uncle' of Will Summers whom
that highly favoured Court Jeiter introduced to his
Mailer, King Henry VIII. in order to procure him
a penfion of * twentie pound a yere.' — * A plaine olde
man of three fcore yeres, with a buttoned cap, a
buckram falling band, coarfe, but cleane ; a ruffet
coat, a white belt of horfe-hide, a clofe round of ruf-
fett fheep's wool with a long llocke of white kerfev, a
high fhoe with yellow buckles all white with dull.'
" Stultorum plena funt omnis. There is Solo-
mon's Fool, who defpifes wifdom — St. Gregory's
186 A Book of Fools.
bufy Fool, who meddles with other men's matters,
and neglects his own — Seneca's Fool, who always
is, even in old age, beginning to live — the rich Fool
of Socrates, a 'golden flave !' — the fervile Fool of
Dionyfms, haughty to the poor, and humble to the
proud — the Fool of Pachimerus, who turns ferious
things into jeft, and is folemn over trifles and toys
— and the Fool of Crates, who, in profperity is
drunk, and in adverfity mad. There is the Fool
who afFecls to defpife what he wants the wit to
appreciate — the Fool who fancies that he knows
everything, and yet knows nothing — Dean Swift's
love-fick 'couple of Fools: ('Two or three balls
and two or three treats!') — Fortune's Fool — and,
though laft, not leaf!:, the Fool before you who has
given Twenty-jive pounds, ten jb Mings fterling for
this bizarre brochure, and verified the old proverb,
' a Fool and his money are foon parted.''
" This laft lift of Fools belongs to Fools ' natural,'
whofe heads are to be let ' unfurnifhed.' The
Court Fool is the Fool ' artificial,' who wears not
Motley in his brains — a ' material' Fool of' infinite
jeft,' with a dafh of the quaint humour of Touch-
fione, and the arch knavery of Autolicus."
With this chapter of Fools, paft and prefent,
clofed an agreeable evening.
TRUTH AND ERROR.
AN EPISTLE TO EUGENIC
HERE is no time for preparing for
heaven like the time of youth. I re-
joice therefore, Eugenio, that your long
and dangerous ficknefs has induced the
folemn refle&ion,
" Sure, 'tis a ferious thing, my foul, to die."
For it had better come in the morning of life, when
the heart, open and ingenuous, receives its tendered
and molt lafting impreffions, than at a later feafon,
when fedu£tive temptations and fordid cares, thofe
" vultures of the mind, cry aloof to the monitor;
or in apathetic old age, abforbed in felfifhnefs, and
clinging tremblingly to its hoarded treafure and to
time." " The days of human life," fays the excel-
lent Mrs. Montague, " that are palled without for-
row and without fin are neither to be lamented
when paffing, nor regretted when palled." Yet
their too fwift flight mingles many a pang with
188 Truth and Error.
their enjoyment, and, in after years, when the hard
lineaments of life are fternly developed, we never
remember them without a figh. In the glofs of
youth, unaffailed by adverfity, unembittered by dis-
appointment, without waiting for the difenchanting
effects of fad experience, or the deep folemnities of
a death-bed to teach you the vanity and nothing-
nefs of this fin-flricken and forrowful world, you
have wifely made your choice. You have turned
from its fhadowy Chrifhianity, external and me-
chanical ! its delufive dreams of happinefs, its vifion-
ary joys, its low defires, its modern logic of ex-
pediency, and its evanefcent applaufe, to realize
fubflantial good. From its dangerous fpeculations,
its duplex worfhip of God and Mammon, and its
bafelefs theories, to learn leffons from regions be-
yond the ftars. Two Books of Divine Know-
ledge lie open for your ftudy : — the Book of God,
to be the infpirer of your faith, the light of your
path, the fountain of your hope, and the rock of
your falvation ; — the Book of Nature, to charm,
elevate, and fandlify your folitude. We can arrive
at Chriftianity by all roads, becaufe Chriflianity is
the centre of all truth. A fuperficial philofophy (the
dreadful tranquillity of the fceptic !) may feduce a
man from religion, but a profound one lhall lead
him back to it. Reafon, God's precious gift ! can-
not dethrone its Maker. Unlike Socrates, who,
with all his wifdom, confined himfelf to a city, and
Truth and Error. 189
boafted that he found no inftruclion in ftones and in
trees (the Sophifts only he held worthy of his ftudy),
you will retire to the flower-garden, the mountain-
ftream, and the fweet, mute lonelinefs of the wood-
land, with the 19th and the 107th Pfalms, which
particularly relate to the beauty of the natural
world, for your meditation. The cedar, the fir, and
the myrtle are fcripturally fymbolical. What facred
aflbciations belong to the vine, the olive, the liiy,
and the rofe ! " The Rock of Ages," " The Foun-
tain of Living Waters," the " Sun of Righteoufnefs,"
the " Holy Hill of Zion," and the " Valley of the
Shadow of Death" derive their beautiful illuftrations
from beautiful nature ! The innocence of the lamb
and the gentlenefs of the dove have been divinely
typified. The clear and winding river (" purior
elefiro /'') will lead you to reflect on the courfe of
time ; and the vaft ocean into which it flows, calm,
filent, and magnificent ! on the deep and hidden
myfteries of eternity. In the folemn flillnefs of a
fummer's twilight you will be reminded of the fab-
bath of the tomb. In the fetting fun you will be-
hold an emblem of the immortal fpirit pafiing away
to its reft in fublime and tranquil beauty, and in the
rifing, of its glorious afcent to heaven on the morn-
ing of the refurrection. As you advance in years,
you will (as far as man's imperfect power of infight
may permit) advance in knowledge, in the fpirit of
wifdom and in the fpirit of love ; realizing the
190 Truth and Error.
remark of the Grecian fage,* " the older I grow,
the more I learn." To be " To far from eminency
as to be a little above contempt," will be no dis-
couragement in your early intellectual path. " The
moil generous wines," fays Fuller, " are the moft
muddy before they are fine." Ariftotle fixed the
49th year of man's life as the acme of the human
faculties. The talifman of knowledge, the treafure-
houfe of fcience muft be won — not by youth's
" fowing its wild oats," that fterile agriculture ! —
but by fcorning "delights;" and living "laborious
days."
The Immortality of the Soul was a myftery to
the ancient people of Greece and Rome.f For
though Plato (who only needed to be a Chriftian,
to be an Apoftle), Ariftotle, Cicero, and their
white-robed difputants were vouchfafed fome par-
tial glimpfes of that fublime truth ; the air-drawn
logic of the fchools (" Carpe diem") was Epicurifm —
pleafure, not pain ; felf-enjoyment, not felf-denial —
and thofe were held to be the greater!: philofophers
who had learned to believe the leaft. Religion was
the prurient fables of pagan mythology, and its rites
* Solon.
f That the " facred chickens would not eat," was reafon
enough with a Roman Augur to command the putting off of
a naval battle; and when the Conful flung them, coop and all,
into the fea, bidding them " drink then!" his difafters were
attributed to his Shocking impiety.
Truth and Error. 191
and ceremonies were the pompous puerilities of the
Pantheon. The chief ambition of man was, as a
good citizen, to ferve the itate efficiently ; or, as a
valiant foldier, to die in the battle-field for his
country. Hence thofe conquerors to whom an
ovation was decreed when living, or a ftatue when
dead, may be juftly denounced as the denroyers of
the human race. On that dark day of heathen
fuperitition firft dawned Chriltianity, and forth came
that auguft and Divine utterance, " Glory to God in
the Higher!, and on earth peace and good-will to-
wards men." Great was the glory of Mofes' dif-
penfation, far greater was that of the Gofpel. Fore-
told by ancient prophecy, attefted by a cloud of
witnefTes, confirmed by miracles, confummated by
dread convulfions that fhook earth and heaven, and
crowned with its intenfe mercy, it commanded the
ready belief and the grateful acceptance of man.
As a code of morals, it was grand and comprehen-
five. With Chriitian doclrine it blended Holihefs
of life, and Faith with Works. (Let no man there-
fore dare to difTociate what God has joined !) There
was no duty that it did not llriclly enforce, no virtue
that it did not folemnly approve, no fin that it did
not fiernly condemn. Its law was that of grace,
and obedience unto righteoufnefs. It required only
reasonable fervice. It aiked no ceremonies but
thankfgiving and prayer ; no facrifice but a broken
and a contrite heart. But this plain and fimple fy(-
192 Truth and Error.
tern of theology and ethics* found no favour with
he fophitt ; for it more particularly addreffed itfelf
to the ignorant, to the " poor and heavy-laden,'*
whom he, in his learned pride and intellectual fupe-
riority, defpifed and fhunned. Yet its fublimity,
pathos, and poetic beauty ; its nobility of fentiment,
its pure and holy thoughts, and its grand and jubi-
lant victory over death and the grave, utterly con-
founded him ; as they left nothing for his cafuiftry
to myftify, his criticifm to carp at, or his eloquence
to adorn. The felf-complacent, gilded Sybarite was
ftartled at an alarum that roufed his benumbed foul
from its fuperincumbent materialifm, its luxurious
day-dream ; and thofe lame and limited natures
(the hogs of Epicurus !), the idolatrous, giddy mul-
titude, paffionately devoted to their Ifthmian and
Olympic games and gladiatorial difplays, mocked
and rebelled againft a warning voice that denounced,
their falfe gods, and proclaimed the only true one.
But that warning voice which had refounded in the
fynagogues of Galilee, in the Temple at Jerufalem, in
the highways, and in the wildernefs, was not to be
filenced. It Hill whifpered the " glad tidings" in
the porch, the market-place, and the grove ; and
though fierce and unrelenting was the perfecution
that fell upon the firft Chriftians ; their courage and
* " The Gofpel contains Co perfect a body of ethics, that
reafon may be excufed from the inquiry, fince fhe may find
man's duty clearer and eafier in revelation than in herfelf." —
Locke.
Truth and Error. 193
conftancy under the moft refined tortures, and their
triumphant Hallelujahs when, in the ihadow of the
Saviour's Crofs they beheld the Martyr's Crown,
appalled unbelief, and brought many difciples to
follow in their footfteps, to endure their fufferings,
and to hope for their reward. Had frigid philo-
fophy been the theme of St. Paul, inftead of the
Refurreclion and a Judgement to come, would Felix
have trembled ? What fmote the proud heart of
King Agrippa, and half converted him to Chrif-
tianity, but the Heavenly Voice and Vifion that
arrefted the Apoftle in his perfecution of the Moft
High ? It was fome grander infpiration than human
learning, though adorned with magnificent and lofty
imagery and language, that made the " moft noble
Feftus" pronounce him mad. Phyfically weak and
conftitutionally timid, his fufficiency was of God.
In the Promifes of His Word, and in the Confo-
lations of His Spirit. The inward affurance was
the echo of the outward revelation. His belief rofe
into admiration, and culminated in love. He had
the figns of the Divine Spirit with the counterpart
of the Divine Image.
How affecting and folemn is the Saviour's inter-
view with His Apoftles immediately before His
Agony in the Garden of Gethfemane. That Agony,
if poflible, a greater trial than the Crofs ! Confcious
of His approaching fufferings, He ordained that
Holy Communion which unites regenerate man to
his reconciled God. He confoled them for the
194 Truth and Error.
lofs they were about to fuftain, with the Promife
that the end for which He came into this world
was on the eve of its accompliihment ; and that,
after fulfilling every prophecy which had been made
concerning Him, He would, in His own incompre-
henfible eflence, in His unfeen Pavilion, enthroned
in cloud, and encircled with fire, appear on the
right hand of the Majefty of Heaven, and receive
them in His Bofom ! And how touching is the
Evangelift's defcription of Peter's compunctious for-
row when, rifing from the grave of his apoflacy, he
" called to mind the Word that Jefus faid unto him."
u Thy rebuke hath broken his heart," was the bitter
and filent language of his every tear ! The moll
illuflrious examples in Sacred Writ of the Penitent's
return to God, is that of David, in the Old Tefta-
ment ; and that of Peter in the New.
Modern fceptics, though they do not, like the
Sadducees, openly deny the Refurreclion ; or, like
King Jehoiakim, cut to pieces and burn the facred
Roll of God's Word, neverthelefs, with more than
fubtle Ifcariotifm, pervert and difhonour it, by
railing irreverent quefhions, and originating profane
doubts as to the hiftorical veracity, the recorded
miracles,* and the plenary infpiration of its eternal
* Grotius fays of thofe unbelievers in the Miracles of Chrif-
tianity, that to fuppofe its long continuance and wide-fpread
accomplished by other means, is to fuppofe a greater miracle
than all. And Sophocles opens a Chorus in one of his dramas
with, " Nothing in Nature is more wonderful than Man."
Truth and Error. 195
pages. Cold, calculating fceptics, who would put
God Almighty's World in order, whofe hiftorical
knowledge is on a par with their logic, and whofe
learning lies in as little room as their honefty, they
attempt to difprove facts by argument, and oppofe
the authority of unenlightened reafon to Chriftian
doctrine. The pure fruits of a pure faith they, like
the Judaizers banded againft St. Paul, kek to deftroy;
and what do they fubftitute ? Abfurd myths and
foolifh fables ; perplexing the understanding, not
enlightening it. They uproot the Rofe of Sharon
from the Garden of the Lord, and plant in its ftead
the poifonous Upas, and the deadly Nightfhade. To
moll men daylight is fufficient evidence that the fun
is rifing, or rifen. But thefe Ideological mifinter-
preters of Scripture, who adopt Peter's apoftacy, but
not his repentance, would have further proof even
if the rays were vertical. Upon how many fools'
errands does vanity fend its votaries feeking to be
wife " beyond that which is written," and to for-
mulate into knowledge that which we do not know.
It was the feeble endeavour of La Place and his
fellow- worfhippers* of that Pagan Idol, Fate,f to
* " Mad, bad, and dangerous to know." Lady Caroline
Lamb's entry in her Diary after her firft interview with Lord
Byron.
T "A fpecial Providence I fee
My being ever rul'd, and rules —
Chance, Fortune, Fate, how fa lie are ye !
The trufted Trinity of fools."
Uncle Timothy.
196 Truth and Error.
account for crime by the immutable law of averages.
Socrates might well fay that philofphers are but a
fober fort of madmen. Could not He who eftab-
lifhed the laws of Nature, fufpend them as it feemed
good to Him ? Who ordained future events, fore-
tell them by His prophets? And could not the
Giver of all intellectual powers have endowed His
fervants with the extraordinary infpiration of Divine
knowledge to be the exponent of His Revelation
to mankind ? The ftory of the confemon of the
ADoftle Thomas fets thefe doubts at reft.
That hypocrites have profeffed the Chriftian doc-
trine is no argument againft Chriftianity. Has not
virtue its bafe counterfeit in vice ? The Beauty
of Holinefs, though feldom, in its fpiritual fenfe,
appreciated by the world, is, in its vifible form,
admired and emulated. Hence Chriftianity has its
fimulars, who thus pay it involuntary homage.
" In the Battle of Life how feldom is victory on
the fide of virtue ! If the diftribution of good and
evil had been left to blind chance, it could hardly
have committed graver errors than the fpecial Pro-
vidence, upon which you Believers fo religioufly
rely." This is one of the many arguments in
which the fceptic entrenches himfelf when he aims
his envenomed but pointlefs darts at the Omni-
potent. It requires the ftrongeft efforts of faith,
and the firmeft reliance on a wifdom far above our
own, to reconcile thefe difpenfations of Providence
with Chriftian belief. But are they not intended to
Truth and Error. 197
teach us the vanity of felf-reliance ; to fhow us how
we may turn neceffity into virtue, and put evil to
good ufe, and to bear witnefs to the efficacy of trial
and of trull, of patience and of prayer ? Saul finking
in the mire, and finging on the rock, and David
meeting the early morn downcaft and difpirited,
wearing out the weary day in bitternefs and felf-
reproach, yet prolonging his jubilant fongs far into
the watches of the night, fhall anfwer thefe queflions.
In the midft of her abandonment and forrow, the
innocent victim of fufpicion and fhame, the homelefs
Mother of the Redeemer hymned forth her glorious
Magnificat, " My foul doth magnify the Lord, and
my fpirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour."
" We meafure the goodnefs of God," fays Selden,
" from ourfelves ; we meafure His goodnefs, His
juftice, His wifdom by fomething we call juft, good,
or wife ourfelves." And the acute and lively Fon-
tenelle remarks, that if God made man in His own
Image, Man, in return, has made God in his.
" Who," fays Sir Thomas Browne, " would not
fooner be faved without a name, than loft with
one?" What a fine remark is that of Dr, Arbuth-
not, as to God's contempt for riches, by His be-
llowing them on the mofl unworthy of His crea-
tures. That the fpirit of all Holinefs and Wifdom
is continually prefent to guide, counfel, and guard
the believer in every difficulty and in every danger
is one among the many great myfleries of Chriflianity
which to realize, is only to have a fettled conviction
198 Truth and Error.
of its truth. " But if ye be without chaftifement,
whereof all are partakers, then are ye baftards and
not fons." This may well lead the mourner from
the probationary prefent to the hopeful future,
foftened and comforted, " linging unto Zion."
" But man," fays philofophical neceffity, " is the
mere creature of circum fiances. The flave of his
paflions, be they good or evil." To thofe who
believe in the modern French dodtrine, " La Pro-
priete c eft le vol /' who, like Cowper's bed-fide
robber, find it "inconvenient to be poor;" and
who, with favage felfifhnefs, never leave a defire,
lawful or otherwife, ungratified ; this doubtlefs is a
comfortable creed. Without religion, man, in fome
degree, may be the creature of circumftances. But
religion is above circum fiances. It frees us from
the llavery of fin, the hardeft of all tafk-maflers.
" How comes it that Divine juflice mould give
impunity to the wicked?" whifpers the Tempter.
"That the 'hanging wall' mould more frequently
fall on the innocent head than on the guilty one?
Did the murderers of the Holy Martyrs ; the per-
fecutors of Phocion, Socrates, Cicero, and Boethius
pay the penalty of their crimes ? How fared it
with the flayers of Sir Thomas More and the gallant
Raleigh?* Did they not live long lives of luxury,
* " A Declaration of the Demeanor and Carriage of Sir
Walter Raleigh, Knight, as well in his voyage, as in, and
fithence his return." 4to. Lond. 16 18. A lame apology
written by, or under the efpecial direction of King James I.
for putting Raleigh to death.
Truth and Error. 199
and die right royally on beds of down?" Thefe
queftions — the random impertinence of a rotten
philofophy — will be anfwered in a better world,
when faith fhall receive her confummation and her
crown.
To humble the pride of human wifdom and con-
found the arrogance of the Scribes and Pharifees,
the Saviour chofe His Apoftles from unlearned men.
St. Matthew was a Publican, and St. Peter, St.
James, and St. John were Fifhermen. But thefe
Apoftles were only fimple followers of Chrift.
They were neither teachers nor preachers. It
was not until their Divine Matter had afcended
into heaven, and after the Great Day of Pentecoft,
when the Holy Spirit had been poured upon them,
that they were enabled, by the gift of tongues, to
preach the Gofpel in all lands and to all nations,
and, by a miraculous influence imparted to them,
to evangelize the world. This choice is the ftaple
argument of drolling and illiterate teachers who pre-
tend, by the like election and infpiration, to be the
earthen vefTels in which the treafure of Gofpel
Truth is depoiited ; but who are proofs pofitive
that the Author of Chriftianity has not, in their
perfons, repeated the experiment. The vulgar jar-
gon and gymnaftic attitudes of thefe pretenders are
triumphs to the infidel, who rejoices to find Scrip-
ture traveftied to be the fecret of their popularity,
and the pulpit preferred to the playhoufe, and the
Seventh day to the other fix, for a laugh. Though
200 Truth and Error.
the time is happily pall " when religion," as Jeremy-
Taylor fays, "was painted upon banners, and carted
about as a fhow." Though, on the authority of the
learned and pious Chief Juitice Hale, " it is part of
the Common Law of England," the " lex non
fcripta ; " it would feem (fo elaftic has become
that part of the law) that its doctrines may be
perverted and its language profaned with impunity
by Low Church and by No Church. The pro-
found learning and high attainments of St. Paul were
no bar to his humility, but the fpell of a lingular
enchantment, giving force and luminous clearnefs
to his arguments, precifion and grace to his lan-
guage, aptnefs to his fimilitudes, and fpirit to his
prophecy. Compare his 15th Chapter of the I ft
Book of Corinthians — that earner! of the heaven to
which we hope one day to be called — with his
confeffion, ** For the good that I would I do not ;
but the evil which I would not that I do;" and
fay which is the moft wonderful — The intellectual
grandeur of the God-infpired Apoftle, or the felf-
condemnation of the weak and irrefolute finner ?
What defcription of hearers would he have had in
the prefent day among the patrons of religious im-
pofture ? Such as crowded the Hill of Mars,
the Market-place at Athens, and the Theatre at
Ephefus !
Nature has formed you for ftudious leifure and
the peaceful made. Your defire has been hot to be
rich, but to be happy. Not to facrifice one precious
Truth and Error. 201
half of your life for the queftionable enjoyment of
the other. Yet you mult not turn reclufe, giving
way to romantic and fantaftic indolence ; for though
occafional folitude (a hallowed melancholy!) is as
necefTary to the mind, as "gentle fleep, nature's foft
nurfe ! " is to the body, to enable us to run " our
great career of juftice" with renewed fpirit and
activity ; fociety is a fafeguard againit many tempta-
tions. The Evil Spirit, too mighty and too merci-
lefs to be trifled with, is never more bufy and potent
than when he finds us moody, difcontented,* liftlefs,
and alone. If his afpect as the cunning ferpent,
than as the roaring lion, be lefs terrible ; it is not
the lefs dangerous. " A fig for your bill of fare !
Show me your bill of company 1" faid Swift to the
Earl of Oxford. It is however too much to require
that the company fhould at all times be intellectual;
for though "talking is not always to converfe;"
even mere talking, provided there be no offence in
it, is better than unfocial taciturnity. Society rubs
off many rough angles, repulfive to others, and awk-
ward to ourfelves, that might be taken for eccen-
tricity; and eccentricity I pray you avoid. Cato
walking to the Capitol in his clouted fhoes, and
Socrates in his blanket defcending from his garret
to dip his bald head in the town trough, are their
leaft attractive charac~t.eriit.ics. Of all unlovely cha-
* The Sophift Poffidonius denied that life was an evil at
the very time he was enduring all the torments of the gout.
202 Truth and Error.
rafters emulate not the negative one. That lazy
lotus-eater ! that incarnation of felfifhnefs and indif-
ference ! without a purpofe, or a fympathy. Neither
let falfe pride that cannot ftoop to be fubordinate,
nor overflrained humility that would be the <f grave
of its deferving," keep you aloof from the calm,
pure light of honeft fame. Man's work is never
over till he dies. It may be heavier in the meri-
dian of life ; but, though lefs toilfome, it will be
fweetly ufeful in the decline. There may be many
reafons why we cannot be great ; but there are
none why we cannot be good. Noble without
nobility. Obfcurity and a narrow fortune are no bar
to philanthropy. The "lantern on the pole"* to
be feen of all men will not eclipfe the modeft light
which mines where the darknefs is deepefl. That
light will not be without a witnefs. To penetrate
the fubterraneous windings and yawning gulfs of igno-
rance; to break the black chain that binds fail to
crime the young Arabs of the flreets and the young
Pariahs of the fields ; and humanize their dark and
vacant minds ; to clothe with decency and make
vocal with prayer the abodes of blafphemous ribald-
ry; to reform hardened natures feemingly dead to re-
morfef — wholly condemned to defpair — or doggedly
reconciled to difgrace, (the laft, worft ftate of the
• A Chinefe proverb for oftentatious charity.
•f Juftice has been defcribed by the Latin Poet as " limping
after the run-away mifcreant." Providence has fet up racks
and gibbets in the confciences of tranfgreffors.
Truth and Error. 203
lot!) and form a new life from the ruins of the
paft, is furely no mean victory. Who that has
once with a heart purified by penitence returned to
virtue, would abandon her a fecond time?* For
this fpiritual warfare what are the weapons re-
quired ? The practical example of a Chriftian life,
earneft remonftrance, paffionate entreaty, hopeful
promifes, patience, and brotherly love. The voice
of heaven being heard in the monitor ! and making
the upward path to virtue as ealy as its fteepnefs
will permit. St. Auftin fays that he who repents is
almoft innocent.
A liberal education, excellent natural abilities, a
moderate competence, and a noble fincerity are hap-
pily yours. What, then, are the honours, Eugenio,
to which you may not afpire ? With light and help
from above, you may become a public benefactor,
the charm of intellectual fociety, and the exemplar
of a Chriftian gentleman f whofe life, in oppofing
wrong and in refilling fin, has been a well-fpent
and a pleafant pilgrimage. To you the " Serious
Thing," the mighty arch of death which fpans all
human exiftence will be no difquieting, no unwel-
come thought, for with it will be affociated the glo-
* " Virtue," fays Roufieau, " continues for fome time to
torment thofe who abandon her."
•f- " Quare fi in operibus tuis fudabimus facies nos vifiones
tuae et Sabbati tui participes." The great philofopher's final
prayer, which may be thus tranflated : — " The vifion of perfect
knowledge, and the Sabbath of labour not in vain."
204 Truth and Error.
ries awaiting the refurreclion of the body arrayed in
the refplendent robes of immortality. The funfet
of life will be in harmony with its dawn and its
meridian. Ennobled by age, you will have learnt
lefTons of experience in the eloquence of quiet wif-
dom, and have realized all the happinefs that can be
derived from Gofpel truth, philofophical beauty, and
Chriftian repofe.* " Blefled is the youth," fays the
ancient fage, " who can look forward to the days
of old age without fear, and bleffed is the old man
who can look back on the days of his youth without
regret."
Thefe defultory thoughts arofe while fitting in
that vine-trellifed arbour where you and I have fo
often contemplated the " fpangled heavens;" rapt
with the celeftial mufic of Addifon's glorious hymn !
Receive them as materials for thinking (to no higher
objefl do they pretend), and receive alfo the fol-
lowing that clofed my evening's meditation.
I know in whom I have believed,
To whom my faith was given ;
Who finner never yet deceived
That put his trull in heaven.
He fhed upon my infant day
The beauteous dawn of truth,
* " There are three crowns," fays the Talmud, " the crown
of the law, the crown of the priefthood, and the crown of roy-
alty j but the crown of a good name is fuperior to them all."
Truth and Error. 205
Illumined with a brighter ray
The advent of my youth.
And when in manhood's path I trod,
In full meridian fhone
The Word of Truth— the Word of God,
To light me to His throne !
With many winters on my brow,
That living Lamp Divine
Did never brighter fhine than now
Within this heart of mine.
Lamp ! to the laft thy temple keep,
Let nothing dim thy ray,
Till I in Jefus fall afleep,
To meet the Judgment Day.
Uncle Timothy.
FAREWELL!
O word that I can remember is more
intenfely touching, more permanently
impreffive, or more dearly cherifhed
than " Farewell !" whether it be fal-
tered by a friend leaving his happy Englifh home
for a far-diftant foreign land, and whom we hardly
dare hope ever to fee again, or faintly whifpered by
pale and trembling lips upon which death is about
to fet his cold feal for ever. The warfare of the
world cannot banifh the fond remembrance, nor its
harm din hum the mournful mufic of" Farewell!"
It is however in folitude, a fchool few care to learn
in, though none inftru&s better, when paffionate
regret is chaftened and mellowed into fweet refig-
nation and pious hope, that it vibrates in our ear
with more irrefiflible tendernefs, and enables us
vividly to recall the forrowful fcene that it hal-
lowed and clofed.* To fuperficial obfervers many
* " The greateft of all woes is to remember our happy days
in mifery." — Dante.
Farewell ! 207
years of intelle&ual and focial enjoyment Teemed
in ftore for Uncle Timothy. Life's autumn, and
winter. Fruition, and repofe. But to me — for
I had not only regarded him with thoughtful re-
verence, but watched him with painful folicitude,
and knew the rare refinement and delicacy of his
intellectual and phyfical organization — premonitory
fymptoms too furely indicated that his ftrength was
rapidly declining, and that the heart-tremors to
which he had become fubject might fuddenly dif-
mifs him to that darknefs behind the veil to which,
by his own confeffion, he was not unwilling to
retreat. What fecret forrow weighed upon him ?
Had his ideal picturings of life been doomed to
difappointment ? would be the anxious inquiry of
many who, judging from his wit and cheerfulnefs,
had pronounced him one of the happieft of men.
But Mirth and Melancholy are kin. Not Melan-
choly
" Of Cerberus and blackeft midnight born,"
but " fage and holy ; " that makes folitude her
cloifter. The heart's reftorative that braces while
it melts it.
Though aware of his danger, his temperate enjoy-
ment of fociety (the true appreciation of the dijjl-
pere in loco) fuffered no diminution. For his fpirit
was caft in an heroic mould, and fear, that lowell
inftinft of life, he knew not. His heart was as
firm as the rock, and as foft as the mofs that covers
208 Farewell !
it. But every frefh attack left him flill weaker than
before, and as, after a recent and very fevere one, he
exprefTed a defire to fee me, I haftened to him ac-
cordingly.
The paroxyfm had fubfided, and he was walking
in his garden,* which a tranfparent firmament, de-
licious rain, and genial funfhine, had made bright,
frefh, and fragrant. On a table in his fummer-houfe
lay the New Teftament, open at Chrifl's Sermon on
the Mount. After a few turns among his flower-
beds, we retired to his library. " I have fent for
you," he faid, with an emotion that enforced a mo-
mentary paufe, " to communicate a wifh that I
doubt not your friendship for me will fulfil. In
yonder cabinet will one day be found a document
difpofmg of my moderate worldly poflemons, and in
its brief contents my friends will find that I have
not forgotten them. But in this calket burns the
flickering flame of an expiring lamp that has lighted
my probationary path through life's long pilgrimage.
Much of our early fenfibility may be extinguished by
time ; but the foul which was once capable of that
fenfibility remains." He then took from the cafket
a manufcript which he entrufted to my care, the
contents of which appear in the prefent volume.
His mind feemed to have been relieved of an
anxiety, and, as the day advanced, he rallied fur-
* " God Almighty firft planted a garden, and 'tis the pureft
of all human pleafures." — Lord Bacon.
Farewell ! 209
prifingly. My firft forrowful forebodings began to
give way. I remembered his poetical admonition ;
and gladly yielded to returning Hope.
Hope to the laft ! — Though Hope delay,
Do we lofe by hoping ? Nay,
Rather we a refpite gain
From anxiety and pain.
One of that celestial Three,
Of whom the chief is Charity,
Let me to the very laft,
Hope eternal ! hold thee fall.
If, as Ariftotle fays, one of the characterises of
old age is that of being lefs inclined to hope than
to fear, it was not fo with Uncle Timothy. The
Athenians trufted Pericles through every dark re-
verfe of fortune with unfhaken devotion ; and my
friend as firmly, under every trial, put confidence
in hope.
Thus encouraged, I took the opportunity of lead-
ing him into fome of his favourite fubjccts, which
called forth the various knowledge, the fervid elo-
quence, and the fweet virions of fancy of his golden
days ; deepened by a pathos mournfully prophetic
of the great change through which, a prefentiment
— that immortal inftinct ! forefhadovved ere long he
would have to pafs. After fome interefting Heli-
conian bygones, Friendship was his theme. The
friendlhip, in Sacred Writ, of David and Jonathan;
in Homer, of Achilles and Patroclus ; in Virgil, of
p
210 Farewell!
Myfus and Euryales; in Cicero, of Pylades and
Greftes ; in Fenelon, of Mentor and Telemachus ;
in Arrian, of Alexander^ and Epheftion. Death
had recently made doubly defolate the home of a
friend. And the following elegiac lines on this
mournful event he recited to me : —
Sleep in thy Father's clay-cold arms and breaft
Till the Laft Trumpet wake thee from thy reft.
Life's little day
Of innocence and joy hath paffed away.
To thee was known one parent — only one —
Ere thy brief race began thy lire's was run —
In manhood's prime
His miffion calmly clofed with earth and time.
Sin never fullied thee — without a ftain
Thy fpirit to thy God returns again.
What higher blifs
Hath Heaven in ftore for thofe it loves than this ?
To another friend, in the wild and troubled fea
of life's warfare, who was too prone to mare the
doubts that perplexed Parnell's Hermit;* he, in
reply to a few melancholy lines, f had jufl imparted
this timely confolation : —
* " That vice fhould triumph, virtue vice obey j
This fprang fome doubts of Providence's fway."
•j- " Would it were over, would it were paft,
And life's heavy load I had laid down at laft !
Farewell! 211
Why, alas ! of life fo weary ?
So difpirited, caft down ?
Is thy path perplex'd and dreary ?
Does upon thee fortune frown ?
Or thy love look cold, and fhun thee ?
Or ingratitude's fharp fang
From the friend who has undone thee
Add to poverty its pang ?
One above there is to blefs thee,
(Think what forrows here He bore !)
Who the more that wrongs opprefs thee,
Only loves thee more and more.
C(
I mall difmifs you early," faid Uncle Timothy.
M In the morning, like Socrates, I love to converfe
with the dead, at noon with the living, and in the
evening with myfelf. Befides, I need fleep, ' the
death of each day's life,' to calm the pleafant excite-
ment of this vifit, and to recruit me for your pro-
mifed one to-morrow. Farewell ! " But to him
that " morrow " never came. The fleep, like an
enchanted one, that he flept fo fweetly, was his laft,
and he awoke only to an Eternal Morning, to the
My perifhing duft fleeping under the fod,
My purified foul in the bofom of God !
For I am as weary as weary can be ;
Bound and imprifon'd, I long to be free ;
I pray for the day that fhall bring my releafe
From fin and from forrow, to pardon and peace.
212 Farewell!
White Robe of Zion, the Chorus of the Angelic
Hoft, and the Song of the Seraphim !
In a country churchyard, blooming with many a
bright wild flower — may the Angel of the Sepulchre
guard his laft refting-place, and the fongs of the
fweet birds be his requiem ! — fleeps Uncle Timothy.
It opens into a profpecl: of almoft unearthly beauty,
and its grafs-grown mounds, fhaded here and there
by a wide-fpreading yew-tree, were his favourite
haunt. At the charmingly pidturefque old church
to which it leads, he was a conftant attendant, and I
recall to memory the hymn that he compofed during
our laft walk together one Sabbath morning when
the fields were gay with Spring's frefh garniture of
living green, and the buds were fwelling in the
hedge rofes and hawthorns, to worfhip within its
facred walls.
How I love the gates of Zion
Morn and eve to enter in,
With the Gofpel to rely on
As a pardon for my fin.
How I lean on every fentence,
As it falls upon my ear,
Promifing of true repentance
Pitying Heaven my vows will hear.
See, in filent adoration
Rich and poor together kneel,
Hark ! what hymns of jubilation
From the full-toned organ peal.
Farewell! 213
Every voice the chorus fwelling !
Every eye uplifted, fired !
Every tongue of mercies telling !
Every bofom rapt, infpired !
Well may ye exalt your voices,
Heirs of glory ! chofen fons !
Every ranfomed faint rejoices
As his Chriftian courfe he runs.
Pain and forrow cannot move him,
Preffing on to his reward ;
Death's dark terrors only prove him
Looking, longing for his Lord.
His homeward difcourfe was in harmony with the
morning's meditations, and (it is here that nature
feconds religion) with the fparkling landfcape around.
One fentence of it I record. " O, that fin and for-
row mould have entered fo beautiful a world!"
The refumption of this difcourfe in the evening in-
fpired him with a fong that foothed and fanclified
the clofe of this facred day : —
The Morning of the Intellect ! as firft in Adam
feen
In all its priftine purity, ah! what muft it have
been ?
A Temple of the Living God ! refulgent and re-
fined ;
An emanation glorious of the Eternal Mind !
214 Farewell!
The Morning of the Intellect ! Ere horrid fin
and death
Its innocence and beauty marr'd with their defiling
breath ;
Or time made it a mournful wreck, a ruin, juft to
tell
How low it has defcended, and from what a height
it fell !
The Morning of the Intellect! In thefe our
latter days
If fomething noble ftill remain for wonder and for
praife,
What is it but a relic rare of that Celeftial Fane
To be reftored when man (hall his Loft Paradife
regain ?
The adjoining Parfonage, where quaint, antique
architecture without grotefquely contrafted with
modern and limple elegance within, received him
as a welcome gueft. Graceful hofpitality being the
law ; and love, with beautiful confiftency, the in-
fpiration of the houiehold. And whenever a fermon
was to be preached in aid of the Parifh Schools, his
ready Mufe was put in requifition by the good
Vicar for a hymn to be fung by the charity chil-
dren ; and the following one was his laft :—
Lord ! to praife Thee we appear
In Thy Holy Temple here,
That Thou didft (the children's friend)
Thefe our kind protectors fend.
Farewell! 215
But for them (infpired by Thee)
We mould helplefs outcafts be,
To the world an eafy prey,
Scatter'd, tempted, caft away !
By their bounty clothed and fed,
By their counfel taught and led,
With Thy help we hope to fleer
From the path of error clear.
Make us diligent and good,
Fill our hearts with gratitude,
Let our knowledge be to know
All we have to Thee we owe.
Ever in our infant fight
Be Thy Son a pattern bright !
When, with fo Divine a mien,
Was fuch early wifdom feen ?
Him to follow, Thee to praife
Humbly, truly, all our days,
To what fervice, holier, higher,
Lord, than this can we afpire ?
He greatly admired Paul Eber's '* Hymn for the
Dying;"* and his own hymn, which he dedicated
to the memory of that good Vicar who paffed
* When Hugo Grotius was dying of fatigue and exhauftion
at Roftock. he afked John Quiftorpius, Paftor of the Lutheran
Church, to read this beautiful Hymn to him, and during the
reading he expired.
216 Farewell!
through the dark valley but a few months before
him, proves how well qualified he was to follow in
the fame path.
Not until Thy work was done,
Faithful fervant of the Lord !
And thy Crown of Glory won,
(Self-devotion's fure reward !)
Didil thou at the Mailer's feet
Lay thy crook, fo meekly borne,
And (thy fleep of death how fweet !)
Wake to an Eternal Morn.
Now the bleffed of thy fold
Thou haft heard with rapt furprife,
(Robed in white,) with harps of gold
Hail thy advent to the Ikies ;
As before the Throne of Light
They beheld thee proftrate fall —
Faith and Hope confirm'd by fight,
And Chrifl the Saviour All in All!
Though in forrow we abide,
(Be the parting tear forgiven !)
We're not left without a guide
In our homeward path to Heaven.
Thy example handed down
Is the ftar by which to fleer,
If, like thee, to glory's crown
We would prove our title clear.
Farewell! 217
On the firft Sunday after his funeral the newly-
appointed Vicar (the father of Eugenio),* taking for
his text the dying words of Simeon, " Lord, now
letteil Thou Thy fervant depart in peace, according
to Thy word. For mine eyes have feen Thy falva-
tion," preached an eloquent fermon to a fympa-
thiilng congregation, in which he alluded to their
loft friend in terms fo tender and true, that it melted
every heart and moiftened every eye ; while many
a forrowful look was bent on that vacant feat in the
chancel which would know him no more. The
neighbouring cottages had fent forth their mourners
clad in fuch decent garments of woe as poverty
could beft afford. For his benevolence and kind-
nefs of manner (he thought virtue not lefs honour-
able becaufe it was poor) had won the love of them
all. It was a gracious fcene, that the Angels in
Heaven might have looked down upon with com-
placency. A Hymn, contributed by the author of
this imperfe<fl record, and fung by the charity chil-
dren, concluded the affedling and folemn fervice.
Who has not in its fplendour mild
A golden funfet feen ?
Or look'd upon a fleeping child,
And mark'd its brow ferene ?
* Not a latitudinarian, wearing his gown loofely, and, hold-
ing Chrift to be "the mere perfonifkation of an idea j" but an
humble believer, whofe religion was the Bible, and whofe life
was an illuftration of its Divine precepts.
218 Farewell!
Or watch'd upon a fummer's eve
(By tempefts lafiYd no more)
A rippling wave the billows leave,
To die upon the more ?
And who has not the Chriftian view'd,
When life draws near its clofe,
His doubts and fears by faith fubdued,
His fpirit in repofe ?
As fleeping childhood, funfet bright,
And the retiring wave,
So fweetly calm, with Heaven in fight,
He paffes to the grave.
A mural monument over againft his pew has been
erected to his memory ; and any mourner whom
affe&ion may lead thither to adorn it with a chaplet,
will fee thefe lines infcribed upon it, which were
found among his manufcripts.
Swift from earth (too glad to leave it !)
My enraptured fpirit flies ;
In Thy Bofom, Lord ! receive it,
With a welcome to the ikies.
There to live with faints for ever
Under Thy celeftial reign,
Where temptation, forrow, never
Shall difturb its peace again.
While taking a retrofpe£l of the life, and contem-
plating the countenance in death (which, according
Farewell! 219
to Pliny's accepted theory,* had been painlefs, per-
haps even pleafurable, for it had left a laft fmile
there) of this faithful fervant of humanity, as I wept
over him my adieu until the morning of Refurrec-
tion, I thought how defpairing would be my anguifh
in lofing fuch an ineftimable friend were it not for
the Divine promife of an indifToluble union in a
heavenly hereafter that commands us " not to be
forry, as men without hope." Life's great lefTon
is to teach us not only how to live, but how to die.
As the Poems that clofe this volume teach both
leiTons, I commend them to the reader, and bid him
FAREWELL!
* " Ipfe difceflus animi plerumque fit fine dolore, non nun-
quam etiam cum ipsa voluptate."
" NON OMNIS MORIAR!"
" On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,
Some pious drops the clofing eye requires ;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our ames live their wonted fires."
Gray.
^f^^
«NON OMNIS MORIAR!"
HE Man of Sorrows!" — Mournful
name !
To foften hearts the beft appeal,
To kindle faith's undying flame,
And love's Divineft, warmeft zeal.
No name by which the Lord is known
Can a more tender charm impart ;
Or draw me nearer to His throne ;
Or bind Him clofer to my heart.
The defert-cave, the lonely dell,
The wild ravine's dark, folemn made,
The mountain-fummit too can tell
How there He wander'd, watch'd, and pray'd.
For thofe deep folitudes fublime
His pillow and His altar were ;
In every feafon, every clime,
His place of reft, His houfe of pray'r.
224 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
(Such fcenes of grandeur and of awe
The penfive Hermit-prophet trod
When he on Horeb heard and faw
His guardian Angel fent by God.)
The purple robe, the mocking crown,
To anger ne'er His fpirit moved ;
No traitor Judas met His frown,
No faithlefs Peter Hood reproved.
From Him was never heard complaint
In all His bitter trials here ;
No bonds could make His courage faint,
No fcourge could draw one human tear !
When dawn'd Mount Calvary's dreadful day
(His Cup of Mifery running o'er)
Though weak and weary on the way,
His heavy Crofs He meekly bore ;
Then while deep darknefs veil'd the fun,
And earth was rent and rocks were riven,
Home to the High and Holy One
The Man of Sorrows rofe to Heaven !
" New Omnis Moriar !"
225
HEN all is dark beneath the fkies,
To heaven, O Pilgrim! lift thine eyes,
And foon the cloud fhall melt away
In faith and hope's celeftial ray.
To Calvary's Mount thy fpirit borne,
Shall meekly, without murmuring, mourn,
And fay, with God's devoted Son,
" My Father's will, not mine, be done."
Art thou to cave and defert driven?
Haft thou no refuge under heaven ?
No faithful friend to foothe or fhare
Thy body's pain, thy heart's defpair ?
In folitude the Saviour's head
Was pillow'd in the meaneft fried,
And oft amid the howling blaft
His nights of prayer and watching pafs'd.
Doft thou for charity implore ?
Do men againft thee fhut the door ?
And is thy poverty purfued
By mockery and reproaches rude ?
Cold, hunger, perfecution, fcorn,
For Him referved their fharpeft thorn ;
Difown'd, difhonour'd, and denied
The Man of Sorrows lived and died.
Q
226 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Is love difTembling and untrue ?
Has friendfhip turn'd a traitor too ?
Were His betrayals lefs fevere —
The kifs of Judas, Peter's tear?
Or has the grave for ever clofed
On one in whom thy heart repofed ?
Say was not His a heavier doom
When weeping o'er the leper's tomb ?
Has the arch- tempter forely tried
To lure thee from thy heavenly guide ?
Remember how from Him recoil'd
That foul, falfe fiend, defied and foil'd !
Is there a foe with whom has ftriven
Thy angry fpirit, unforgiven ?
To pity let thy heart incline,
And be thy Lord's example thine.
Has death afide thy curtain drawn ?
Are fenle and motion all but gone ?
Does feebly play thy pulfe its part ?
And faintly beat thy fluttering heart?
Celeftial hope and perfect peace
Shall crown thy happy's foul's releafe,
And Faith proclaim to mourners by
How fweetly her difciples die.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
227
1
ESUS wept ! " Did ever grief.
In fo bright a form appear ?
Ever find its fweet relief
In fo exquifite a tear?
Ah ! what forrow did it fpeak,
Rolling down the Saviour's cheek !
" Jefus wept !" From age to age
This holieft of all holy tears
Has flow'd through infpiration's page,
And Hill fhall flow for endlefs years,
Till dawns that everlafting day
When tears fhall all be wiped away.
OCK of ages ! firm and fure,
Of the Godhead EfTence pure !
Sun of Righteoufnefs ! to Thee
I, adoring, bend my knee.
Man of Sorrows ! mock'd and flain ;
Holy Martyr ! rifen again ;
Lamb of God ! to Thee I raife
My imperfect fong of praife.
228 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Elder Brother ! Friend Divine !
(For Thy Heavenly Father 's mine,)
But for Thy redeeming grace
I ne'er mould fee that Father's face.
Prince of Peace ! whofe reign began
With bringing mercy down to man ;
Mighty Conqueror of the grave !
Hear Thy fervant, hear ! and fave.
When early funbeams gild the ikies
To Thy glory let me rife ;
And the day in pafling through
Ever keep Thy crofs in view.
Let me, with devotion fill'd,
On Thee for my falvation build ;
Not, felf-righteous, vainly truft
In works which are but drofs and duft.
Me, good Shepherd ! kindly lead,
With Thy little flock to feed,
That, in their communion fweet,
I may worfhip at Thy feet.
When from my uplifted eyes
The day in funfet's glory dies
Let my evening hymn to Thee
Pardon'd and accepted be.
" Non Omnis Moriar !" 229
When the ftarry lamps of night
Fill the heavens with fparkling light,
Of fome happy, holy dream
Let Thy mercy be the theme.
If of my ungrateful heart
I have given Thee only part,
Pour within it love Divine,
And make it ever, wholly Thine.
ARKER and darker grew the veil
That night was fpreading all around ;
Louder and louder blew the gale
That tofs'd upon the deep profound
A fhip which feem'd both wind and wave
By fome myflerious power to brave.
How willfully that gallant bark
Did Jefus look upon ! for there
Were His difciples, (facred ark !)
As on a mountain He, in pray'r,
Pleaded before His Father's throne
For every forrow but His own.
Alas ! for that imperill'd crew. —
Is there no celeflial charm
The foaming furges to fubdue,
The windy tempeft to difarm ?
230 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
See from the mountain, prompt to fave,
A Deliverer walks the wave !
" It is a fpirit /" was their cry
Of fupernatural awe and dread,
When they beheld, as from on high,
A radiant Form the billows tread,
Which, parting, rofe their God to greet,
Then broke in filence at His feet.
" 'Tis I, be not afraid?' The deep
Was calm, no more the veflel heaved,
But feem'd upon the waves to fleep
As fhe the Heavenly Gueft received,
Salvation's Herald from afar
Lighted by the evening flar !
Then every breeze the ftorm had ftirr'd,
And every billow He had trod,
And every rock and mountain heard
" In truth Thou art the Son of God!"
That o'er the trembling waters peal'd
From lips by wonder now unfeal'd.
To us, as unto them of old,
This gracious miracle is given—
By faith we Hill His form behold,
And hear His gentle voice from heaven-
By faith, like His difciples, too
We fmile at all the ilorm can do.
" Non Omnis Moriar
>>
23 1
[S fheep well know their Shepherd's voice
As on the ear it fweetly falls ;
O how the little flock rejoice
Refponhve to its facred calls !
And well His fheep the Shepherd knows,
For they His watchful love and care
From early morn, to evening's clofe,
And during night's dark feafon, fhare.
But there, alas ! are wandering fheep
Who never the Good Shepherd knew ;
Them does He in remembrance keep,
And to His flock will gather too.
And there fhall be one heavenly fold,
One heavenly Shepherd, Lord ! in Thee ;
And they who this by faith behold,
By fight, in happier worlds, fhall fee.
EADY to halt!"— For fhame ! for
fhame !
Unfaithful pilgrim, is it fo ?
In duty's path through flood and
flame
When Heaven's command is, " Forward go!"
232 " Non Omnis Moriar !
?>
The fun and moon, they never halt,
The liars purfue their courie fublime,
The feafons never are at fault,
And onward fwiftly travels Time.
No paufe make ocean's ebb and flow,
Nor ltreams that woodland banks embow'r ;
Nor changeful winds that, high or low,
Lafli the loud wave, or fan the flow'r.
Nor refts the fovereign hand that keeps
Creation's wondrous balance right,
The Eye all-feeing never fleeps
That watches o'er it, day or night.
Not till redemption's work was done,
And all fulfill'd the promife given,
The Father faw His Only Son,
As Prince of Peace, return to heaven.
" Ready to halt /" Thofe words recall,
And " Forward!" let thy motto be;
And take for Him, the Lord of all !
The rugged path He took for thee.
" Non Omnis Moriar ! " 233
OLY Spirit ! to my heart
Thy fupernal peace impart,
Sorrow's comforter and balm !
Doubt difpel, difquiet calm.
Of this darknefs deep and drear
My beclouded vifion clear,
And upon it light Divine,
Holy Spirit ! caufe to mine.
Dove celeftial ! on Thy wing
Thefe good gifts benignly bring,
And let their myflerious pow'r
Sanctify this folemn hour.
Let my faltering tongue's petition,
Let my broken heart's contrition
(If they not unworthy prove,)
Thy Divine compaffion move.
A funfet fmile illumes the deep,
The waves are {till, the woodlands deep,
The fky with richeft crimfon glows,
And heaven and earth are in repofe.
A fweet ferenity I feel
O'er my fpirit foftly fteal ;
A facred joy, of which no part
This weary world hath, warm my heart.
234 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
And beaming in the diftance far
I fee a bright and glorious ftar,
That clouds and darknefs cannot hide,
My path to light, my Heps to guide.
A feraph-voice the iilence breaks,
A harp unfeen fweet mufic wakes,
And every breath and every firing
This gracious promife feems to bring :
" The heart with pure devotion fired,
The Holy Spirit (love-infpired !)
To doubt, difquiet, never leaves ;
Since he who afks in faith, receives."
it
HEN the Jews did mock and try Him,
With revilings raife the rod,
Crucify Him ! Crucify Him ! "
Cried the people — (Voice of God ?)
Vox populi — that cry fatanic !
Vox populi — that direful doom ! —
Vox Dei — trembling Nature's panic !
Darknefs, tempeft, opening tomb !
" Non Omniss* Moriar !" 235
IVES there in heaven a Son of Light,
An Angel more iupremely bright,
A Spirit form'd of purer fire,
Holier than the reft and higher,
Neareft to the throne above,
Deepeft in the Saviour's love ?
That Angel is the chofen one
By whom the Father to his Son
Sent words of comfort from on high,
When Calvary's day and hour drew nigh.
Though now before the Lord of all
Angelic hofts in worfhip fall,
And golden harps and tuneful choirs
His name with facred fong infpires,
The anguifh of that piercing cry,
The look of that uplifted eye,
And thofe fweet words of grace Divine
(Entrufted to no lips but thine,)
That gave the Saviour strength in pray'r
The Mount to climb, the Crofs to bear,
Good Spirit ! fhall remember'd be
Through all eternity by thee.
236 " Non Om$is Moriar ! "
HEN they fcourged, and mock'd, and
bound Him,
And the blood upon His brow
Flow'd from every thorn that crown'd
Him,
Chrift His head did lowly bow ;
And this dying prayer to Heaven,
Love from His companion drew —
" Let them, Father, be forgiven,
For they know not what they do."
When with wrath my fpirit burning,
I would wrong with wrong repay ;
Lord ! to thy example turning,
My refentment dies away.
Ere for pardon I implore Thee,
Mull my foe forgiven be ;
Or (hall I in vain before Thee
Breathe my prayer and bend my knee.
T is Jinijhed! " Nature darken'd,
And the fun was in eclipfe,
As to these laft words they hearken'd
From the dying Saviour's lips.
" Non Omnis Moriar ! "
237
Death beheld his bondage broken,
Satan his o'er fallen man,
When the Son of God had fpoken,
And His reign of peace began.
" It is finijbed!" No exemption,
Fellow-finner, yours and mine
Is the myftery of redemption,
Promifed by thofe lips Divine !
They who feek it mall not lofe it,
If in faith fincerely fought ;
Woe to them who dare refufe it !
Such a prize fo dearly bought.
O the Father and the Son,
And the Holy Ghoft, be given
(The Eternal Three in One !
The High Myftery of heaven !)
All the glory, all the praife
That hearts can feel, and voices raife.
To the Father — for He gave
Life, and all that makes it dear ;
And His only fon, to fave
Man from Satan's bondage here.
To the Son— for He obey'd
What the Father had ordain'd ;
238 "Non Omnis Moriar!"
With His blood the ranfom paid,
And our Paradife regain'd.
To the Holy Ghoft — the Balm,
The Comforter, to whom we owe
That confoling, facred calm
That breathes upon us in our woe !
To the Father and the Son,
And the Holy Ghoft, be given
(The Eternal Three in One !
The High Myftery of heaven !)
All the glory, all the praife
That hearts can feel, and voices raife.
[jIM I'll truft although He flay me,
Firm my faith fhall ftill remain;
Unbelief that would betray me,
But affaults my soul in vain.
Clouds and darknefs me furrounding,
Sorely tempted, troubled, tried,
Father ! in thy love abounding,
In Thy goondefs, I confide.
Though from me Thy face be hidden,
(Soon, ah, foon ! its light reftore ;)
In Thy mercy Thou haft chidden—
Let me fuffer and adore.
"Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Thee I afk not to exempt me
From the forrows fin muft mare,
Knowing well Thou wilt not tempt me
More, my God ! than I can bear.
239
HEN the wild waterg o'er my head,
Their loud and angry billows roll,
Till faith and hope, in doubt and dread,
Seem all but fhipwreck'd, with my
foul ;
Satan, no more thy fervice prefs ;
Stand not between my God and me ;
From this dark ocean of diftrefs
One, only One can fet me free.
How often haft thou to enfnare
The finking, ftruggling finner ftriven ?
When on the rock of deep defpair
His little bark, like mine, was driven.
And tempted, as thou tempt'ft me now,
The Lord of mercy to deny,
And with thy feal upon his brow,
The death of unbeliever die.
Though the wild waters, tempeft-tofs'd,
Redouble their mad rage and roar,
240 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
I will not give up all for loft,
But only truft in Heaven the more.
The Power that hurPd thee from on high,
For thy rebellion, fallen flave !
From thefe dark depths will hear my cry,
And raife me, ranfom'd, from the wave.
ATHER ! thus I ftill addrefs Thee,
When I kneel in pray'rand praife;
By that name I learn'd to blefs Thee
In my childhood's happy days.
And my Teacher was no other,
When I faid " Thy will be done,"
Than my Lord, Redeemer, Brother,
And Thy everlafting Son.
Let me think (the paft recalling)
What a Father Thou haft been ;
How my feet were kept from falling,
As I paft from fcene to fcene —
Youth's temptations, bright, alluring !
Manhood's trials, fharp and ftern !
Teaching leflbns, by enduring,
Well to know, but fad to learn !
" Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Life's rough path defcending flowly,
More than ever I have need
Of Thy prefence pure and holy
Down that path my Heps to lead.
One beyond, in darknefs fhrouded,
Still remains, and only one ;
Father! let Thy lamp unclouded
Safely through it light Thy fon.
241
AINTS in adoration bending
At the footfteps of Thy Throne ;
Seraph-voices fweetly blending,
With the harp's deep, folemn tone.
The chain'd prophet from his prifon ;
The pale martyr from his fire ;
Faith's true foldier, conqueror rifen,
Swelling the harmonious choir!
Such a glorious hoft afTembling,
Great Jehovah ! in Thy praife ;
Pardon if, with fear and trembling,
I prefume my voice to raife.
Yet if reverence, awe, awake it,
Have I not Thy promifed word,
They, with love, fhall ever make it
In Thy holy temple heard.
242 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Never may unfeemly boldnefs
Prompt me in Thy prefence, Sire ;
Nor formality and coldnefs
Quench my fpirit's facred fire.
Freely with my foul's petition
Let me feek the Mercy-feat,
And with dutiful fubmiffion
Lay it, Father, at Thy feet.
ORD ! before I turn'd to Thee,
I was bound, but now I'm free ;
I was blind, but now I fee.
Full of forrow, full of care,
Wandering I knew not where,
Deep and dark was my defpair.
Walking now with Thee in fight,
Pleafant is my path and bright,
And my fpirit, O, how light !
Nature's beauties, ever new,
In another glafs I view :
Now I know their Maker too.
Since my foul on Thee relied, ,
Self-fufficiency and pride
In one happy moment died.
" Non Omnis Moriar ! " 243
Open is my heart and free,
Now (what Thou haft taught) I fee,
Love to man is love to Thee.
HRONED in majefty and might,
In the florin thou com'fl to-night,
God omnipotent ! moll high !
J Filling nature with affright,
Making tremble earth and fky !
Peals of thunder, flood, and fire,
Herald Thee, Eternal Sire !
Moon and ftars grow dim and pale,
As in darknefs they retire,
At Thy voice, within the veil.
'Tis well the terrors of Thy word,
In the load tempeft mould be heard,
To flartle conference and appal ;
That flubborn fcorners might be flirr'd,
And know Thou reigneft Lord of all !
While with awe we kneel before Thee,
(We who live but to adore Thee !)
Fill our hearts with holy things,
And Thy mercy, we implore Thee,
O, vouchfafe us, King of kings !
244 " N° N Omnis Moriar ! "
EVER look'd companion fweeter
(Too intenfe, alas ! to chide),
Than when Jefus turn'd to Peter,
As he thrice his Lord denied —
Peace and love
From heaven above
That expreffive look implied.
False Apoftle! Spirit broken !
Well mayft thou retire to weep —
He accepts thy tender token,
Flowing from repentance deep —
Every tear
(A treafure dear !)
Chriit will in remembrance keep.
Thy hot zeal, and thy denial,
Prove how weak the wifeft are,
To pafs through a fiery trial
Without mortal wound or fear —
Their ftrength, in need,
A broken reed,
And vain felf-trufl their ruling ftar.
Mufing o'er thy mournful ftory,
Shall we not our faces hide,
When, like thee, the Lord of Glory
We fo often have denied ;
" Non Omnis Moriar ! " 245
Counting nought
The truths He taught —
And fpurning gifts for which He died ?
ATHER of the fatherlefs !
Hufband of the widow ! we,
In this dark day of our diftrefs,
For confolation come to Thee.
Yet, while we fay, " Thy will be done,"
Forgive the fond, the filial tear
We, broken-hearted, fhed for one
Whofe lofs has made us mourners here»
To wipe the tear, to heal the fmart
In mercy dealt, is Thy employ ;
To bind the orphan's broken heart,
And make the widow's fing for joy.
OUNTAIN of every earthly good,
Whofe providential care
Has long my path with bleffings ftrew'd,
With mercies rich and rare,
246 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
If what I feel my faltering tongue
Could only truly fpeak,
Thy praife mould not be feebly fung ;
But, ah ! my words are weak.
They fink beneath the facred theme,
They poorly play their part,
And but the fainteft echoes feem
Of what infpires my heart.
ORD ! for Thy refrefhing rain
Pour'd upon the growing grain,
For Thy fun's warm, ripening rays,
Hear a grateful people's praife !
Fruitful harvefts through the land
Wait the joyful reaper's hand;
Golden crops to Him who gave
As in worfhip, feem to wave !
With the plenty Thou haft fpread
None in vain mall afk for bread ;
At Thy table, God of grace!
Rich and poor mail find a place.
With the bread Thy bounty Ihow'rs,
O, let that of Life be ours !
Food celeitial, Father ! give,
That our fouls may feed and live.
" Non Omnis Moriar !" 247
OOK down, in mercy, O! look down,
Jehovah ! from Thy throne in heaven.
I cannot live beneath Thy frown,
I dare not die if unforgiven.
Now with faith, with doubt abiding,
By contending pafhons crofs'd,
Hope and fear my thoughts dividing,
I, by turns, am faved and loft.
Vouchfafe fome token of Thy grace,
Some precious fign, and let me fee
My Heavenly Father's fmiling face
Reflecl its glorious light on me.
HRISTIAN brother ! filent, fad,
Pinch'd with hunger, poorly clad,
Heavy laden, weary, worn,
(Faith's hard trials meekly borne !)
Let my willing arm, I pray,
Bear your burden for to-day,
My ftaff fupport your feeble form,
My cloak protect it from the ftorm.
248 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
Chriftian brother ! I can fpare
Much of this my frugal fare ;
Freely of it, for His fake,
Whom we ferve and feek, partake.
Chriftian brother ! the fame road
Leads to my and your abode ;
The fame Heavenly Father, too,
Waits to welcome me and you.
Chriftian brother! to our reft
Forward be the journey prefs'd ;
All the troubles we endure
Only make that reft more fure.
Chriftian brother ! never tire ;
As we toil through thorn and briar
Let our hearts, ferenely gay,
Difcourfe fweet mufic by the way.
HRISTIAN pilgrim ! Hill purfue
Thy upward path, with heaven in view ;
Linger not, but travel ftraight
On to the celeftial gate.
Chriftian pilgrim ! on the Iky
Full and firmly fix thine eye,
For fee already, crown'd with light,
The holy city is in fight !
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
249
Chriftian pilgrim ! nearer ftill
Rifes Zion's heavenly hill ;
Hark ! Hofannas ! one ftep more —
Now is life's rough journey o'er.
Chriftian Pilgrim ! joy and reft
Are thy portion with the bleft,
Who, unto falvation wife,
Of their high calling gain'd the prize.
HRISTIAN foldier ! to the field ;
Light thy armour, truth thy fhield,
Wage a holy war with fin,
And immortal honours win.
Chriftian foldier ! Satan's horde,
Make them feel the Spirit's fword,
Deeper wounds than carnal fteel
Doth that heavenly weapon deal.
Chriftian foldier ! Unbelief
(Of thy foes the firft and chief)
Let it at thy feet expire
By that fword of living fire !
Chriftian foldier ! conqueror ! rife, %
Thine's the triumph ! thine the prize !
Of fin and death no more the flave,
Thy laft victory's o'er the grave.
250 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
HRISTIAN martyr ! from thy cell,
Bound in chains and guarded well,
They have brought thee to expire
For thy holy faith by fire.
Chrifti an martyr ! fiendifh cries
Greet the flames that round thee rife,
Every hand a faggot throws,
And the furnace fiercer glows !
Chriftian martyr ! from the blaze
Sweetly founds thy fong of praife;
Well become thofe folemn pray'rs
Thy calm brow and filvery hairs.
Chriftian martyr ! raifed by thee
That " unworthy hand" I fee
By thy fentence meet its doom,
Scorch, and blacken, and confume !
Chriftian martyr ! to the iky
Doll thou lift a longing eye ?
Soon above yon ftarry pole
Jefus mall receive thy foul !
Chriftian martyr ! dying faint !
Faltering grows thy voice and faint,
And thy reverend form for aye
In fmoke and darknefs fades away.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
251
N that dreadful day of doom
When the trumpet, from the tomb
Shall the buried nations all
To the Redeemer's prefence call,
That their fentence they may know,
Everlafting joy, or woe !
Shall I be prepared to meet
Jefus on His judgment feat?
Angels round the King of kings
Veil their faces with their wings,
As the Book of Life He takes
And the deep, folemn filence breaks";
Bidding fit upon His right
With the bleffed fons of light
Thofe who fought upon His fide,
And for His glory lived and died.
Hark ! 'tis the Judge's awful frown,
That calls the rolling thunder down,
And fee the wicked Hand aghaft,
To hear their final fentence pafs'd ;
While hollow groans of deep defpair,
Echoing from the caverns where
Hope comes never ! tell the pains
Of darknefs, guilt, and fiery chains.
252
" Non Omnis Moriar
»>
LESSED are the dead that die
In the Lord, for ever bleft ;
From their labours they on high
Soar to everlafting reft.
Paft are all their fufFerings here,
Sleeplefs nights and toilfome days ;
Wiped away is every tear,
Sighs are turn'd to fongs of praife.
Can we wifh them to return
From their bright abode above,
Here again to toil and mourn ?
No ! for that would not be love.
T is too /ate/" Thefe words of woe,
Of condemnation and defpair,
Has guilty confcience whifper'd low
To the firmer haftening — Where ?
While mourners from the dying bed,
Returning to abforbing cares,
Forget how foon that whifper dread,
That awful whifper, may be theirs !
" Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Time was when penitential tears
Had open'd freely mercy's gate ;
But now the voice of carelefs years
Tells them, in turn, " // is too late /''
While memory, haunted by the part,
(The part, that nothing can repair !)
In a dim death-dream fades at laft,
And darknefs clofes on defpair.
" It is too late /" Come pain fevere,
Come the world's heaviefl trials all,
Rather than on my ftartled ear
Thefe words of woe mould flernly fall
253
EE the {lately veffel fleering,
Hear her parting mufic, hear !
As the crew on deck appearing,
Give, refponfive, cheer for cheer !
To a far, benighted nation,
Stranger to the GofpePs found,
With glad tidings of falvation,
Bark of mercy ! fhe is bound.
Ah! what noble hearts within her
Home and friends have left behind
To convert the heathen finner,
To pour light upon the blind.
254 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
Cheerfully their holy miffion
They purfue acrofs the wave,
To deftroy dark fuperftition,
Or to find a martyr's grave !
Vaft, majeftic, mighty ocean !
Spare that gallant veffel, fpare !
And thofe hearts of true devotion
Safely on thy billows bear !
They have borne in ample meafure
Guilt, oppreffion, duft, and drofs,
Now they bear earth's richeft treafure,
Pearl above all price ! — the Crofs.
Symbol of the Man of Sorrow !
Far beyond the boundlefs fea
Thou on fome aufpicious morrow
Shalt in triumph planted be !
Idol-gods (hall fall before thee,
Superftition fly the earth,
Every nation lhall adore thee,
In her new, celeitial birth.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
255
HILD of heaven ! though poor, neg-
lected,
Let not forrow caft thee down ;
Was not Chrift defpifed, rejected ?
Were not thorns His earthly crown ?
Doft thou mourn that of affli&ion
Thine has proved fo large a fhare ?
Think upon His crucifixion,
Humbly bow, and learn to bear.
Did He not for thy falvation
Suffer all without complaint ?
And wilt thou, in pain, privation,
His difciple ! falter, faint ?
Soon from this thy earthly prifon,
Child of heaven ! to weep no more,
Thou (halt rife, as He has rifen,
If thou bear the crofs He bore.
ARK! the war-infpiring drum,
See ! the armed fquadrons come
Hurrying to the battle-field,
Brother againfl brother (leel'd,
Burning to begin the ftrife,
Blood for blood, and life for life !
256 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
God of battles ! let Thy Word
At the cannon's mouth be heard.
Prince of Peace ! proclaim Thy rule,
Bid the wrath of nations cool;
Foes mail then in friendfhip meet,
And tyrants tremble and retreat!
Fruitful fields with harvefts crown'd,
Floral beauty fmiling round,
Bufy hamlet, filent glen,
Bleft abodes of peaceful men !
Homes fo happy, hearts fo brave
Save from the defpoiler, fave !
But if from fome Divine decree,
Unknown to all, great God ! but Thee,
New deeds of death mull now be done,
And future battles fought and won,
Let juflice make a fpeedy paufe,
And vidory crown the righteous caufe.
WILL love the Lord of light,
I will ferve Him day and night,
All that gratitude can give
I will render while I live.
On a bed of licknefs laid
I implored His healing aid,
And returning health declares
How He hearken'd to my pray'rs.
" Non Omnis Moriar !" 257
I was troubled, and my figh,
In my forrow, was to die ;
But the Holy Spirit's breath
Saved me from defpair and death.
What, for good fo freely given,
Shall I offer up to Heaven ?
O, for Jubal's hallow'd lyre !
O, for David's lips of fire !
OME, great Phyfician ! from above,
Come, with Thy healing powers,
In pity, tendernefs, and love,
To this fad home of ours.
And let Thy heavenly voice and hand
A fufFerer foothe and fave,
And Thy reftoring angel ftand
Between her and the grave.
Thou Who didfl raife the widow's fon,
O, hear our fervent prayer,
This dearly-loved, this valued one
Spare, in Thy goodnefs, fpare !
Ah ! think not that thefe fighs and tears
Reproach Thy holy will ;
Though ftrong our too-foreboding fears,
Our faith is ftronger ftill.
258
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
HEN, for fome great mercy mown,
I approach my Father's throne,
In the fulnefs of my heart,
Only tears, to thank Him, Hart.
May I hope that tears will find
Favour in the Heavenly Mind ?
" Tears from penitence that flow,
From grateful joy, from facred woe,
Well the want of words fupply
When the mood 's too rapt, too high."
Thus a voice my fpirit cheers
When my thanks are only tears.
OULD they who bear the crofs but know
The blifs for them in ftore,
How foon their tears would ceafe to flo w ,
And they would figh no more ;
Their burden would be bravely borne,
With this aflurance bleft,
That comfort comes to thofe that mourn,
And to the weary reu\
" Non Omnis Moriar ! "
259
WAY from the world I have wander'd
afar,
My lamp and my pilot was Bethle-
hem's Star,
It lighted my path, and it pointed the road,
And led me at laft to my Saviour's abode.
His Word and His Promife Pve read and believed,
His Grace and His Mercy I've afk'd and received,
I've fought Him and found Him, I've knock'd, and
I wait
In faith and in love, till He open the gate.
Lord ! help me to call off my burden of fin,
Or ne'er at Thy portal may I enter in ;
Since none but the holy, the pure, and the bleft
Shall ever find place where the weary have reft.
HE Sabbath-day, to man by Heaven
For reft and meditation given,
Again (O, privilege Divine !)
The Lord hath made in mercy mine.
God of goodnefs ! God of grace !
Receive me in Thy dwelling-place ;
Be Thou, Eternal Spirit ! there ;
Accept my praife and hear my prayer.
260 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
O be my thoughts from earth as far
As is from earth the morning ftar ;
Transfigured, and from bondage free,
"My Father ! let them rife to Thee.
ITH a grateful fong of praife
Sweetly doth the evening clofe
Of another Sabbath-day's
Sacred worfhip and repofe.
Day of reft from toil and care,
Labour hath no claim on thee ;
Six are its appointed fhare,
Thou, the holy feventh ! art free.
Though the fordid and profane
Think thee made for them alone,
Their affaults fhall prove in vain,
For the Lord will keep His own.
For His fervice He defign'd
Man mould have one day in feven ;
Leaving time and world behind
For eternity and Heaven.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
261
ET us now, with one accord,
For His goodnefs praife the Lord,
For His loving-kind nefs raife
Our united hymn of praife.
Praife Him for the peaceful night,
Praife Him for the morning light :
For flrength by gentle fleep reftored,
And focial bleffings, praife the Lord !
Praife Him that with hearts fincere
We meet again in worfhip here,
Imploring, for His mercy's fake,
A bleffing on the bread we break.
Praife Him that we live to fay,
" Be with us through this bufy day,
And, O, vouchfafe us, Lord, the while,
The light of Thy approving fmile."
Praife Him for the vaft amount
Of bleffings that we cannot count ;
Give to God, of good the Giver,
Prefent praife, and praife for ever!
262
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
■ ■ I
Y harp is on the willows hung,
Untuned and hufh'd is every firing ;
The fong of joy I might have Tung,
A ftranger here, I may not fing.
A brighter, better world than this
Its mufic only can infpire ;
Then, till arrive that promifed blifs,
Shall fadnefs filence every wire.
— " And is there nought beneath the Ikies,
To wake thy harp ? See, pilgrim, fee,
(An inward monitor replies,)
This vaft creation made for thee —
" The fmiling morn, the noonday beam,
And twilight's peaceful, penfive hour;
The frefhening breeze, the murmuring ftream,
And every fruit and every flower.
" And are not focial bleffings thine,
(The broken fpirit's furefl balm ;)
Endearing ties that fondly twine
Around thy heart, to foothe and calm ?
" And faith, the foul's immortal prize !
That death's dark fepulchre unbars ?
And hope, fair daughter of the ikies !
That lifts her head above the ftars ?
" Non Omnis Mortar ! " 263
" Then let thy harp once more be ftrung,
Its {trains to gratitude be given ;
Thy fong of jubilation fung,
That thou fhalt nng with faints in heaven."
OURNER ! when thy heart is bleeding,
Think on this, and reft refign'd ;
Saints in heaven are interceding
For the friends they left behind.
Guardian fpirits never fleeping,
Miniftering angels bright,
Have thee in their holy keeping
('Tis their miffion) day and night.
Does a hand unfeen protect thee ?
'Tis a father's that defends ;
A myfterious voice direct thee?
'Tis a dear departed friend's.
Does the evil tempter try thee,
To thy foul's eternal lofs ?
There 's a tender mother nigh thee,
Whifpering, " Jefus and His crofs /"
Struggling with the foaming billow,
Wounded on the battle-plain,
Art thou looking for a pillow
With the fhipwreck'd, or the flain ?
264 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
On the wings of duty flying,
They the Matter's will perform
To the living and the dying,
In the calm and in the ftorm.
HE Lord His word has always kept,
And will it always keep ;
His providence has never flept,
Nor will it ever fleep.
The gracious promifes of old
He to our fathers will'd ;
From age to age their fons behold
To them alike fulfill'd.
Creation's univerfal voice
Attefts the Maker's truth,
As fun and moon and ftars rejoice
In their primaeval youth.
They their appointed courfes take
In the celeftial round,
Nor once the beauteous order break
In which they all are bound.
In every feafon God is feen,
His miniflers they are
Of bounty, and have ever been
Since fang the Morning Star ;
" Non Omnis Moriar ! " 265
True to the purpofe of their birth,
They realize His plan,
Adorn and fertilize the earth
His goodnefs made for man.
HE Prodigal his portion took,
(His folly was to roam,)
And parents, kindred, friends forfook,
And his too happy home ;
To a far land away he went,
With none his path to blefs,
And recklefsly his riches fpent
In riot and excefs.
There came a dearth — gaunt famine fpake !
And in that feafon dire,
Not having daily bread to break,
He took a fervant's hire.
Sharp hunger pinch'd, till he was fain
With fwine their hulks to fhare ;
Ah ! then he thought of home again,
And loving kindred there.
Thus bow'd and humbled to the duft,
And full of deep remorfe,
He put in Providence his truft,
And homeward bent his courfe.
266 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
The fhelter of the meaneft fhed,
The hind's fevereft tafk,
A morfel of the coarfeft bread,
He'll only dare to afk.
But ere the broken-hearted man
Could his repentance fpeak,
His father faw him, and he ran
In hafte to kifs his cheek !
To greet the dead to life reftored,
The wanderer's fteps to flay,
And welcome to his feftive board
The contrite caftaway.
He bade his ready fervants bring,
For garments fo unmeet,
A robe of honour, and a ring,
And fandals for his feet.
And then the fatted calf was kill'd,
The fong and dance went round,
And every heart, with gladnefs fill'd,
Did hail the loll one found.
And joy there fhall be feen in heaven,
Upon falvation's morn,
O'er fome poor penitent forgiven,
Some finner newly born.
" Non Omnis Moriar ! m
267
H, how pafling fweet is prayer !
The breath of Paradife is there !
When, for what he daily needs,
Man to his Creator pleads.
When earth no longer hope can give,
It bids him look to Heaven, and live ;
For an abundant entrance there
Was never yet denied to prayer.
HEN I afk fome earthly bleffing
Of the gracious God of heaven,
Am I fure 'tis worth pofleffing ?
Am I fure it will be given ?
But when daily I implore Him
For a promifed gift Divine,
As, in faith, I kneel before Him,
He, I know, will make it mine.
Gifts of fenfe, as I might ufe them,
God will grant me or deny ;
Merciful, if He refufe them ;
Bountiful, if He comply.
What I afk in erring blindnefs
Only His companion moves :
Gently, and with loving-kindnefs,
By withholding, He reproves.
268 " Non Omnis Moriar !
>>
HE feufy day has feen its clofe,
With evening comes the heart's repofe,
For then my thoughts, fo apt to roam,
Return for reft and quiet home.
With every fordid care difpell'd,
With every evil paffion quell'd,
They charm away my faddeft mood,
Remembering only what is good.
They bring from amaranthine bowers
Garlands of Fancy's faireft flowers,
And chaplets where in beauty blows,
Befide the lily, Sharon's rofe !
From fairy-land comes Ficlion drefs'd
In many a parti-colour'd veft,
And Truth, from heaven, a veftal bright !
In pure and radiant robes of light!
They lead me to fome claffic ftream
Where bards of old were wont to dream,
And bear me to the waters ftill
That flow from Zion's heavenly hill.
For fuffering virtue's forrows here,
They draw my tributary tear,
But when the crofs I Hand before,
For human woe I weep no more !
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
With this laft folemn fcene imprefs'd,
My thoughts in peace retire to reft,
Too happy if a morning dream
Reflect them back, the facred theme.
269
OT only when in concert fweet
The hymn of praife is heard,
And Chriftians on the Sabbath meet,
Be my devotion ftirr'd ;
But let me through the bufy day
When tempted moll and tried,
Walk with my God, and humbly pray
That He will be my guide.
His holy prefence is no bar
To honeft, right purfuits,
But a Divine directing ftar
To induftry's fair fruits.
For fraud, oppreffion, greed, and guile,
He has a withering frown;
But for integrity a fmile
That brings a bleffing down.
The ready hand, the willing heart,
In duty's path be mine ;
And if I act the better part,
The glory, Lord, be Thine.
270
" Non Omnis Moriar!"
APPY the man whofe path is laid
Among the gentle, wife, and good ;
Whofe virtues, nourinYd in the (hade,
Make a heaven of folitude.
Whom neither Fortune's frown or fmile
Unduly can deprefs or raife ;
To whom a confcience void of guile,
Approving, whifpers honeft praife.
OE to man, unfparing foe !
Iniidious fource of all his woe,
Ever watching fouls to win,
Satan's fleeplefs fervant, Sin,
Take whatever form thou wilt,
Well I know thee, guile and guilt !
When plays ingratitude its part,
How hideous looks thy naked heart !
In a difhoneft thirft for gold,
Thee, wicked tempter ! I behold.
When fcornful pride inflicts a pang,
The venom 's thine, for thine 's the fang !
In falfehood's tale thy voice I hear ;
Thy fmile is in the fceptic's fneer ;
"Non Omnis Moriar!" 271
When fiercely burns impure defire,
'Tis thy foul breath that fans the fire ;
And I, in difobedience, fee
Thy firft, worft form to man and me.
ITH the bread of life eternal
Feed my flock when I am gone ;
By clear flreams, through paftures
vernal
To fair Zion lead them on.
They are in a land of ftrangers,
Sorely tempted and opprefs'd ;
In their path lie many dangers :
This is not their place of reft.
Be their Shepherd ; watch them kindly ;
Guide the young ; fupport the old ;
Bring the wanderer back who blindly,
Led by folly, leaves the fold ;
Left the wolf, in ambufh lying
For fome loft one gone aftray,
Weary, faint, deferted, dying,
Seize the unrefifting prey.
Take my crook — for them I bore it —
And in no wife lay it down,
'Till I call thee to reftore it,
And receive thy heavenly crown.
272
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
WEET is praife when heart and voice
In the King of Heaven rejoice,
When their hallelujahs rife
To His temple in the ikies.
With melody the ftars of morn
Hail'd creation newly born,
And foftly fang the feraphim
The infant Saviour's advent hymn.
The Pfalmift tuned his lyre and lays
To the great God of Jacob's praife,
And Jubal's harp's harmonious firings
Gave glory to the King of kings !
In prifon walls, on every cell
Thankfgiving's facred mufic fell,
As, by the Holy Spirit fired
Sang Paul and Silas, praife-infpired.
And did not, with His crofs in view,
The Saviour and His faithful few,
To their Heavenly Father raife
An everlafling fong of praife ?
When grateful hearts with praife o'erflow,
'Tis all but perfect blifs below ;
For what is perfect blifs above
But endlefs praife and boundlefs love ?
" Non Omnis Moriar ! "
273
HAT is man, that from His throne
God mould His frail creature own ?
And in mercy condefcend
Still to be His Heavenly Friend ?
Him in Paradife He placed,
Undefiled and undefaced ;
Set upon his noble brow
Godhead's feal ! — What is he now ?
By defpair's wild waters tofs'd ;
But for the Rock of Ages, loft ;
Which fhall his only refuge be
From the dark depths of that dread fea !
If he fink, no more to rife,
By his own free will he dies —
Then grafp that Rock, look out for more,
And, finner, rife to fink no more.
Ml *2^ji\
F works alone can fave the foul,
And make it fit for heaven,
What Pharifee fhall reach the goal,
Self-juitified, forgiven ?
T
274 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Yet ftill a holy life and pure
The God of heaven commands ;
His fight will nothing lefs endure
Than what His law demands—
But, with obedience, we muft bring
(To reach the throne above)
Its felf-denial, and its fpring,
Humility and love.
OVE illumes the path of duty,
Making all before it bright ;
As the fun's meridian beauty
Gives to nature warmth and light
To obey the Lord and fear Him
Duty prompts ; yet holier ftill
Is the love that draws me near Him,
Heart and foul, to do His will.
Duty, like a faithful fervant,
Leads me to the Mailer's throne ;
Love, confiding, filial, fervent,
Makes the Father all my own !
May, united, love and duty
In my bofom be enfhrined,
And reflect each other's beauty
In the mirror of my mind.
" Non Omnis Moriar !
>>
275
Guard me through diftrefs and danger,
Make the earthly race I ran,
(A poor pilgrim and a flranger !)
True to God and juft to man.
HERE is ftill a higher glory
Than belongs to martial flory :
Soldiers are not heroes all,
Though in battle-field they fall.
There's a gallant battle fought
In warring with a wicked thought;
And a glorious victory gain'd
In a befetting fin reftrain'd.
His fhall be the conqueror's crown
Who nothing cares for fortune's frown ;
Who nobly fcorns to be her wooer,
And has the courage to be poor !
Behold that humble Chriftian there,
Shall he no crown of glory wear ?
Yes ! one for him remains in ftore
Brighter than warrior ever wore !
276 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
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ILGRIM ! to celeftial bowers
Does thy longing heart incline ?
Weary Heps and watchful hours,
Pain and forrow, (hall be thine.
Holy martyrs (mournful days !)
Suffer'd famine, fword, and fire,
Ere triumphantly, in praife,
They pofTefs'd their foul's delire.
Wouldft thou gather Sharon's Rofe ?
Thee its beauty fhall reward
If thou feek'ft it where it grows,
In the garden of the Lord.
Caft the finful world afide,
Give no evil paffion room ;
Ne'er impurity and pride
Breathed its fragrance, faw its bloom.
Lively faith and perfect love
(Lamps of an etherial fire,
Sent to light thee from above !)
Never falter, never tire. —
They fhall keep thy courage up,
Through this dark and dreary wafle,
And make fvveet the bitter cup
Every pilgrim's born to tafte.
a Non Omnis Moriar !"
277
And (thy guardian angels ftill)
They (hall with thy fpirit foar
To its reft on Zion's hill,
To wander, watch, and weep no more.
HE day 's far fpent, the night *s at hand,
And by the evening beam
I fee, beyond Time's narrow llrand,
Eternity's wide ftream.
Soon launch'd on its myfterious wave
My fragile bark will be ;
Ah ! what mail it from finking fave
In crofting that dread fea ?
One bright and folitary Star
Shoots forth its glorious ray,
And, like a pilot, from afar
Would feem to guide my way.
That Star upon falvation's morn
Firft in the heavens appear'd,
And never bark fank, tempeft-torn,
That by its light was fteer'd.
278
" Non Omnis Moriar !"■
HE Hall of Memory ! 'Tis a hall
That Death has trod with folemn
pace,
And hung with many a funeral pall,
And many a fond familiar face ;
And in its echoes I can hear
(For Fancy haunts this loved retreat),
Of kindred, and of friendfhip dear
The well-known found of voices fweet.
One, early loft, is whifpering low,
" I thought it fad fo foon to part ;
Yet longer life had been but woe,
A blighted hope, a broken heart !
" And never more the parting tear
Would forrow, for the dying fried,
If they and I who flumber here
Might tell what blifs awaits the dead."
Then breathes another gentle one !
" Let me, ah ! let me fpeak for all ;
Thy happieft day beneath the fun
Shall wrap thee in thy funeral pall."
" Non Omnis Moriar ! "
279
HINK not, mourner, pain and forrow
Solely fent as fin's reward ;
But fweet confolation borrow
From thefe chaftenings of the Lord.
Look upon affliction rather
As a trial from above,
Sent thee, by thy Heavenly Father,
Not in anger, but in love.
O ! for that entire devotion
To fee His wifdom in His ways ;
O ! for that Divine emotion
To pour forth heart and foul in praife.
For fpiritual ftrength, in weaknefs ;
For purity, from fin to fly ;
For patience, to endure with meeknefs ;
For hope, to cheer us when we die.
F carelefs, unreflecting man,
Trembling upon the narrow brink
Of vaft eternity, a fpan !
Would with his heart commune, and
think
280
:t Non Omnis Moriar !"
How imperceptibly retreats
His fleeting life with every breath,
And how each fluttering pulfe that beats
Is but the muffled drum of death ;
Then would he learn to count the coft
(Sad reckoning !) with a mifer's care,
Of precious moments idly loft,
And find he has not one to fpare ;
And, left a moonlefs night fhould fall
Upon his duties left undone,
Arife, though late, at Wifdom's call,
While yet 'tis day, and fhines the fun.
ATAN ! with dark doubts and fears
You've aflaiPd my foul for years,
Not one art to fin allied
Have you, Tempter I left untried.
You againft what truth had taught
Unbelief's artillery brought;
Pour'd by you, its fhot and fhell
[ On my faith's weak fortrefs fell.
When you afk'd why much, by Heaven,
Is to the unworthy given ?
And why fhould fall to virtue fair
Of fortune's,, gifts fo poor a ihare ?
" Non Omnis Moriar !" 281
Could you not the truth have told,
That virtue is not paid in gold ;
Adding to it one truth more,
That Heaven has better things in flore ?
When you afk'd the queftion, why
Man was only born to die ?
Why the anfwer fail to give ?
Born to die that he might live !
You with rafh, rebellious pride
The great God of heaven defied,
And 'twill your torment ever be
The Chriilian's reft that heaven to fee !
OMPENSATION'S work is doing
In the made and in the fun ;
Juftice is her courfe purfuing,
Trying all and fparing none.
Never varying, never veering,
Shining forth with fteady ray,
Truth, the liar by which (he's fleering,
Lights her fteps and leads the way !
Juftice is her courfe purfuing,
And mail reign beneath the flcy
Till, to finifh what is doing,
She and Mercy meet on high.
282
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
OT too anxious for to-morrow,
Not too carelefs of to-day,
Temperate in joy and forrow,
Not fo often grave, as gay ;
By no evil paffions driven ;
Envy, malice, bearing none ;
On unkindnefs unforgiven
Never letting fet the fun ;
Grateful for whatever bleffing,
In its bounty Heaven has fent ;
Ever happy in poffeffing
Quiet, competence, content ;
Not, for pride, profufely giving;
Not to Mammon meanly fold ;
Lefs for felf, than others, living ;
Prizing friend fhip more than gold ;
Let me pafs through life's probation —
And then let me, when I die,
Full of hope and refignation,
Give to earth my long, laft figh.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
283
HILE the blood is fall retreating
Homeward to its trembling feat ;
While the laft low pulfe is beating,
Ere it, Father ! ceafe to beat,
On the pillow of the dying
Pour one bright and heavenly ray,
Then, upon Thy grace relying,
Shall the fpirit pafs away.
Peace be with us ! — Hoping, fearing,
Watching, weeping, are no more —
In his gentleft form appearing
Death proclaims the conflict o'er.
Grave ! in Jefus fweetly fleeping,
Frail mortality is thine ;
Father ! to Thy holy keeping
Soars the ranfom'd fpark Divine !
OOR and proud! — Can fancy, rldtion,
Show a greater contradiction ? —
Cloth of gold and linfey-woolfey
Did we on fome motley fool fee,
The ridiculous alliance
Would bid gravity defiance.
284 " Non Omnis Moriar !"
"You furely are yourfelf befide
To wear my robe," fays mocking Pride.
Now what is Poverty's reply
To Pride's farcaftic tongue and eye ?
" Moll haughty Don, your taunts reflrain,
Up with your quizzing-glafs again !
Survey your robe, fo ftiff and fine,
And then this modeft cloak of mine,
And own, upon a fecond view,
It is for me to lecture you !
The robe in which you vainly flrut
Is of a very common cut ;
It was not only made for you,
But every brother upftart too !
Its buckram will not let you bend
To recognize an humble friend.
In fpite of all the airs you ape
Out from it peeps the vulgar fhape
That marks you for the mufhroom breed
Of mounted beggars run to feed !
My cloak, of quite another fafhion,
Keeps me from your cold compaffion,
'Tis proof againft the lharpeft thorn
Of patronizing, pitying fcorn !
From it recoil on fortune's fool
His venom'd darts of ridicule,
While frigid homage now and then
It will enforce from better men.
This cloak, in which I walk erect,
Is not of pride, but felf-refpedt.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
285
n
O NET'S the root of evil," fays
The proverb of our fchool-boy days.
But Money thus, in felf-defence,
From ancient faw appeals to fenfe.
" Of evil, tell me, why the root ?
I bear both fweet and bitter fruit.
As is the foil, behold in me
The Olive, or the Upas tree.
Imprifon'd in the mifer's hoard,
His golden god to be ador'd !
Or flying from the fpendthrift's purfe,
What wonder if I prove a curfe ?
By fraud or folly won or loft ;
The tool of him to whom I'm tofs'd ;
Without a choice, without a will,
A paffive flave for good, or ill,
As he in his pocket fhakes me,
I am only what he makes me.'
»
HOU haft performed thy million
Like an obedient fon ;
Having no condition
Of Mammon left undone.
286 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Where'er was laid his golden fnare,
To thee, upon the prowl,
The path feem'd flraight, and light, and fair,
Though crooked, dark, and foul !
Never holy anchorite
Prefs'd to his lips the crofs
With more devotional delight
Than thou didft hug thy drofs.
Remorfe did ne'er upbraid thee,
Confcience held her breath,
Nothing ever ftay'd thee
In thy courfe, but death I
Thou, to the very letter,
Haft Mammon's law obey'd ;
None ever ferved him better,
None will be better paid.
f
HE never was her father's friend,
She never kindly interpofed
His caufe, in duty, to defend,
But fat with lips in filence clofed.
She faw his cheek with flumes fpeak
The anguifh of a wounded heart;
She coldly heard the wrongful word,
But never took the rightful part.
" Non Omnis Moriar !"
The {harped thorn that can be borne
She might have gently turn'd afide ;
And foften'd down the angry frown ;
But this her lukewarm love denied.
287
ROM Reafon's proud prefuming page,
And fophiftry's falfe creed,
I turn, with holy feer and fage,
Creation's book to read.
And while my dazzled eyes grow dim
As they admiring gaze,
God's works I worfhip not, but Him,
And join with them in praife.
The heavens declare His glory. Thev,
And all beneath the fun,
Earth and ocean, night and day
No duty leave undone.
The winds attentive filence keep,
And not a wave is ftirr'd ;
The thunder and the lightning fleep
Till He has given the word.
Obedient to His high beheft
Fall Spring's refreshing mowers ;
And Summer comes by Flora drefs'd,
All fragrance and all flowers ;
288 " Non Omnis Moriar ! "
Rich Autumn yields its golden grain,
And barren Winter throws
Its icy robe o'er earth again,
And binds her in repofe.
The nightingale at evening lings
Her fong, to fadnefs given ;
The lark foars high on joyful wings
With morning hymns to heaven.
Of vaft Creation every part
Obeys its Maker's will, —
Man ! thou alone a rebel art ;
Wilt be a rebel Hill?
TO THE COMET OF JULY, 1861.
iC
MINOUS, myfterious ftranger !
Flaming fiercely from the ikies,
Art thou come to herald danger
With a terrible furprife ?
Is thy million one of ire ?
Jehovah's judgments, flood, or fire V*
Such would have been in ages part,
(Bound in Superftition's chain,)
The cry of multitudes, aghaft,
Had they, from yonder ftarry plain,
Beheld thee thus intenfely glow
On this our world of fin and woe.
To us, in thefe enlightened days,
Thou no herald art of danger;
Still we behold thee with amaze,
Unexpected, heavenly ftranger !
Through illimitable fpace
Running thy eccentric race.
For eternity thy hiftory
May afford a theme fublime —
As thou cam'ft, depart, a myftery,
Never to be folved by time ;
Yet in thy coming we once more
See caufe to wonder and adore.
u
THE SILENT HARP.
Part I.
H, for a gentle fleep ! a pleafant dream
To bear me to the manlions of the
bleft!
O, but to balk one moment in the
beam
That circles the Saint's Everlalting Reft !
Was my laft prayer to heaven, when I my pillow
prefs'd.
And prefently came over me a calm,
A fweet forgetfulnefs of earthly things,
As if I had imbibed fome foothing balm,
Some balm celeflial fuch as angel brings,
The MefTenger of Peace with healing on his wings.
And I beheld a folitary ftar
In the cerulean firmament, that led
The Magi, from their orient hills afar,
To Bethlehem's thrice hallow'd, humble fhed,
Ac the Memah's feet their royal gifts to fpread.
The Silent Harp. 291
Methought, diffolved in this delightful dream,
The fragrant breath of Sharon's Rofe I drew;
That, water'd by fair Zion's cryftal flream,
Of Paleftine the golden Lily's hue
The Garden of the Lord unfolded to my view.
Nor heat nor cold were there, nor fun nor moon,
Nor morning ftar nor evening, day or night;
But in the blaze of an eternal noon
Walk'd forth in majefty the Sons of Light,
Their crowns of glittering gold, their robes of pureft
white.
And then I liften'd to the thunder's roar,
And faw the mountains fhake, and, opening wide,
The graves their pale, affrighted dead reftore ;
The blood-red fun Cimmerian darknefs hide,
And the veil rent in twain when the Redeemer died!
No tongue can tell the agony I felt,
The awe fublime that o'er my fpirit came
As I before Salvation's Symbol knelt,
And filently adored His Holy Name —
For reverence feal'd my lips, and tremors fhook my
frame.
Encircled by a rainbow rofe a feat
On which fat One before whom myriads bow'd;
Lamps of bright incenfe burning at His feet,
While joyful hallelujahs peal'd aloud
From the angelic hofts, of witneifes a cloud.
292 The Silent Harp.
So glorious was the vifion, fo auguft ;
So thrilling its folemnity and found ;
Could I look on and live ? Poor finful dull !
My fenfes all were paralyfed, and drown'd
In a bewildering trance, dark, death-like, and pro-
found.
" O, for a gentle fleep! a pleafant dream
To bear me to the manfions of the bleft ! "
A fpirit whifper'd, " Was your willi fupreme,
Your fervent prayer when you retired to reft —
You've feen a glimpfe of heaven, a fhadowy glimpfe
at beft.
?■ But ere the birds awake you with their fongs,
And the bright morning ftar begins to pale,
Another vifion which to earth belongs,
To fin reproved and pardon'd, woe and wail,
Shall meet your ftartled gaze. — Behold! I lift the
veil."
Part II.
A new enchantment wakes my wonder now !
I fee, as in a magic mirror clear,
A pictured Image with its heavenly brow,
A tuneful harp, to memory ever dear,
My cherifh'd houfehold gods for many a happy
year.
The Silent Harp. 293
Mournful remembrances of trials pall !
What would ye ? The dark, defolating day
Of anguifh that I look'd upon ye lad
Has left me not a figh or tear to pay.
My homelefs heart is dead, or only lives to pray !
What fupernatural, myfterious power
Gives life and motion to that Image there ?
Like a vex'd fpirit at the midnight hour
From yonder tapeftried wall it treads the air,
Its hands devoutly crofs'd, its pale lips whifpering
prayer.
Slowly and folemnly it fteals along
To touch thofe filent harp-ilrings. Will they
fpeak
In fome fad melody, fome facred fong ?
Hark ! their refponfe is an unearthly fhriek,
Which makes more deadly wan that pallid, fpedlral
cheek !
And now I hear a hollow, ftifled groan
Burft through the hot and fufFocating air,
Such as belongs to broken hearts alone,
And fee the tears of paffionate defpair
Flow from the ftreaming eyes of that frail Image
fair.
Such bitter fobs ne'er fell on mortal ears
Since Mary knelt in penitence and prayer,
And wafh'd the feet of Jefus with her tears,
294 T HE Silent Harp.
And kifs'd, and wiped them with her golden hair — •
Jefus, who came in peace to pity and to fpare !
When fuddenly a light ethereal fhone,
And their high Sanclus Seraphim did fing,
" Glory to Him who fits upon the throne?"
And fee, transfigured, with an angel's wing
That Image robed in white, a pure, a holy thing !
" I KNOW THAT MY REDEEMER LIVETH ! Yes !
And that His Crofs I have not borne in vain."
This was her fong of triumph — nothing lefs
Awoke her filent harp, and voice again —
The glorious Lamb of God for poor loft finners
- flainl
And now the mufic ceafed, the vifion clofed ;
And village bells to hail the Sabbath peal'd —
I left my pillow with a mind compofed,
Afiured my dream fome facred truth conceal'd,
Before the Throne of Light one day to be reveal'd.
THE EXILE.
HE Exile, from his rock, looks o'er
With willful eye the boundlefs deep,
Which parts him from that diflant
more,
His early home — and looks to weep !
O ! but to fee that home once more,
And in its bofom die, and Deep.
The weary Pilgrim who has ftriven
With perils on the land and fea,
Sighs for the harbour (tempeft-driven)
That mall his reft and refuge be —
Then let me, Father ! be forgiven,
For longing after Heaven and Thee.
FINIS.
CMISWICK PRESS: PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND WU.KJN6,
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
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