THE 
 
 LITERARY REMAINS 
 
 OF THE LATH 
 
 WILLIAM B. 0. PEABODY, D.D. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 EVERETT PEABODY 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PUBLISHED BY BENJAMIN H. GREENE, 
 
 124, WASHINGTON-STREET. 
 
 NEW YOKK: CHAS. B. NORTON. c. s. FRANCIS AND co. 
 
 LONDON : JOHN CHAPMAN. 
 1850. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 
 
 B. H. GREENE, 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 B O S T O N : 
 
 P K I N T ED BY JOHN \V I I, S O X, 
 IVo. 21, School-street. 
 
"Pas" 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IT was intimated in the volume containing the Memoir 
 and Sermons of Dr. PEABODY, that a collection of his Mis 
 cellaneous Writings would be published. Accordingly, 
 the present selection has been prepared from his numer 
 ous contributions to the " North American Review." 
 These were written at different periods from 1830 to 1846. 
 They embrace a number of favorite subjects, and illustrate 
 the extensive research, the enthusiastic love of nature, the 
 delicate perception of moral beauty, and the lofty and 
 uncompromising standard of right, which, blended toge 
 ther by his quiet humor, always characterized him. In 
 selecting the articles for publication, the object has been 
 to give those which have been marked out as best by 
 public opinion, and those which seemed to give the most 
 faithful picture of his mind and heart. Omissions have 
 been made only when dictated by the necessity of reduc 
 ing the article within proper limits, and then such parts 
 have been omitted as were not necessary to the connec 
 tion or value of the article. 
 
 It has been thought by some of Dr. PEABODY S friends, 
 that a volume of his Miscellanies would be incomplete 
 without a selection from his Poetical Writings. At their 
 suggestion, those which seemed most worthy to be pre 
 served have been brought together, and are placed at the 
 end of the volume. 
 
 M61B938 
 
C N T E N T S. 
 
 REVIEWS. 
 
 Page 
 
 STUDIES ix POF/TKY 1 
 
 B\ RON . . . . ..30 
 
 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES 62 
 
 HABITS OF INSECTS . . . . . . . .99 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS 137 
 
 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. . . .199 
 
 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. . . * . . 249 
 
 ADDISON 29o 
 
 MARGARET 379 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 To THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY 413 
 
 THE DEPARTURE 41T> 
 
 LINES ON DYING 419 
 
 THE LAND OF THE BLEST 423 
 
 THE KISING MOON 424 
 
 AUTUMN EVENING ........ 425 
 
 LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS 426 
 
 To A YOUNG LADY, ON RECEIVING A PRESENT OF FLOWERS . 429 
 
 MONADNOCK 432 
 
 Ox SEEING A DECEASED INFANT 434 
 
 " AND THE WATERS WERE ABATED " 436 
 
 " MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AXD WHERE IS HE ? " . . 438 
 
 PERICLES 440 
 
 LINES TO 44o 
 
R E V T E W S . 
 
STUDIES IN TOETRY. 
 
 Studies in Poetry ; embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings 
 of the best Poets in the English Language, a copious Selec 
 tion of Elegant Extracts, a short Analysis of Hebrew Poetry, 
 and Translations from the Sacred Poets ; designed to illustrate 
 the Principles of Rhetoric, and teach their Application to Poe 
 try. By GEORGE B. CHEEVER. Boston, 1830. 
 
 IF we may form a judgment of the estimate in which 
 poetry is at this time held, from the general practice 
 of the professors of the art, we shall certainly be led 
 to believe, that its voice is as little regarded as that 
 of wisdom. All the great living masters of the lyre 
 appear to have laid it by, in order to labor in a lower, 
 though perhaps a more productive field. It is now 
 about fifteen years since Scott, finding his poetical 
 popularity on the wane, and doubtless a little dis 
 mayed by the portentous brilliancy of another 
 ascending star, gave up all his powers to a different 
 department of literature, with a vigor and success 
 that leave us little reason to murmur at the change. 
 Campbell had forsaken the field much earlier, to 
 employ himself in celebrating the merits of those 
 whom the world had reasonably expected him to 
 rival. The fine genius of Coleridge is bewildered in 
 the dim twilight of his strange metaphysics ; Southey, 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 with untiring diligence, has explored almost every 
 practicable path of prose, as he had previously left 
 scarcely any thing unattempted in rhyme ; and Moore 
 appears to have devoted himself to the task of erect 
 ing monuments to departed genius. This general 
 abandonment of poetry, on the part of those who 
 have cultivated it with the greatest success, is rather 
 singular ; and seems naturally to imply, that it enjoys 
 less of the public favor now than has been accorded 
 to it in former times. Such, in fact, is the opinion 
 of many, who believe that the world is growing too 
 busy and consequential to attend to such light mat 
 ters ; that the active spirit of the age demands excite 
 ment of a different and superior character ; and that 
 men would now hardly stop to listen to the notes of 
 inspiration, even were they uttered by an angel s 
 voice. In part, this opinion is probably well founded ; 
 but it should not be forgotten, that we are very liable 
 to error in forming judgments which result from a 
 comparison of the tastes and dispositions of men 
 at this day with those of generations which are past. 
 The present is before us, while the past is at best but 
 very dimly seen ; and a disposition to complain of the 
 prevailing taste is by no means peculiar to our own 
 times. Goldsmith remarked, with ludicrous bitter 
 ness, that the world made a point of neglecting his 
 productions ; and Akenside declared, that his opinion 
 of the public taste would be regulated by the recep 
 tion of Dyer s " Fleece ; " but the one was in error 
 as to the fact, while the other may be said to have 
 been mistaken in the law. Even if the justness of 
 these complaints be admitted, they would only prove, 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. O 
 
 that the most delightful music is at all times heard 
 with difficulty amidst the din and crash of the enginery 
 of practical life. The spirit of poetry is still present 
 with him who meditates at eventide ; with the wor 
 shipper of nature in her solitary places ; with the 
 contemplative in their high and lonely tower ; with 
 him who is rapt and inspired by devotion ; and, even 
 if it be driven from the haunts of crowded life, it still 
 speaks to the soul in tones as thrilling and divine as 
 ever. 
 
 While we admit that what is called the spirit of 
 the age, though the phrase is too often used without 
 any very distinct perception of its meaning, is nol 
 very favorable to the cultivation of poetry, we must 
 at the same time make due allowance for the opera 
 tion of another cause, the influence of perverted 
 taste. What else could induce men to welcome the 
 inferior classes of romances, tales, and novels, which 
 are hourly poured forth from the press in multitudes 
 which no man can number ? To what other cause 
 can we attribute the reception of stories of fashiona 
 ble life, written by those who are as little conversant 
 with its recesses as with the court of the Celestial 
 Empire; and which, if the representation were per 
 fect, could present no picture on which the moral 
 eye would delight to dwell ? What but perverted 
 taste could tolerate the audacious depravity of novels 
 which would fain teach us to look for the beatitudes 
 in the person of the assassin and highway-robber, 
 in which we are taught, that what men, in their 
 strange ignorance, have deemed the road to the gib 
 bet, is only the sure and beaten pathway to honor 
 
4 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 and happiness and successful love ? A dark omen 
 it will indeed be, if productions like these, on which 
 the moral sentiment of the community ought to frown 
 with deep, unequivocal, and stem indignation, shall 
 permanently usurp the place of those which minister 
 to the desires of our nobler nature. 
 
 Upon looking back for a moment at the history of 
 English poetry, we do not find many proofs, at any 
 period, of a very just estimate of its object and excel 
 lences. To trace it beyond the reign of Edward III. 
 is as hopeless as the attempt to ascertain the source 
 of the Niger ; and, whatever may have been the cha 
 racter of the earlier chronicles and romances, there 
 is no reason to believe that it was at all propitious to 
 the influence and diffusion of correct taste. The 
 genius of Chaucer, like that of his great contem 
 porary Wickliffe, instead of being nurtured by the 
 age, burst forth in defiance of it ; but the hour was 
 not yet come ; and the poet s song was followed by 
 silence, as deep and lasting as that which succeeded 
 to the trumpet-call of the stern reformer. During 
 the fierce civil wars, and until the reign of Henry 
 VIII. there was no such thing as English literature. 
 This was the period of the Reformation, and the 
 revival of letters ; yet it presents us with few names 
 which the lover of poetry is solicitous to remember. 
 Love and chivalry have indeed given an interest to 
 the melancholy genius of Surry, which is height 
 ened by the recollection that his unusual accomplish 
 ments were the only cause of his untimely and 
 treacherous murder : but the poets of that time were 
 little more than mere translators of the Italian ; and 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney, while defending poetry in general, 
 is compelled to acknowledge the inferiority of that of 
 his own country during the two preceding centuries. 
 But the age of Elizabeth may well be considered as 
 the era of its revival. This was certainly a period of 
 high excitement, and distinguished for a bold and 
 animated spirit of intellectual activity. Sir James 
 Mackintosh has called it the opening scene in the 
 political drama of modern Europe : it may, with al 
 most equal justice, be denominated the opening scene 
 of English literature. The splendid genius of Greece 
 was just restored to the world ; the " earthquake- 
 voice" of the Reformation had sounded through 
 the vast of heaven ; and the mind had indignantly 
 burst the chains of protracted and ignoble bondage. 
 Every thing seemed propitious for the exhibition of 
 freedom and vigor in every department of intellect ; 
 and, in almost all, these qualities were signally dis 
 played ; but, with the exception of one venerable 
 name, we find scarcely a single example of great 
 excellence in any but dramatic poetry ; in which a 
 degree of superiority was attained which has thrown 
 the efforts of succeeding ages completely into shade. 
 It is true, that powers of a very exalted order are 
 required for success in the higher class of dramatic 
 compositions ; but we can hardly consider that period 
 as very remarkable for poetical excellence in general, 
 which affords scarcely an example of any other. 
 This direction appears to have been given to poetical 
 talent by the taste of the court, the influence of which 
 upon literature was subsequently very great. In the 
 present instance, that influence, so far as it went, was 
 
6 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 highly favorable : the only cause of regret is, that it 
 failed to extend to other departments of poetry, which 
 were then struggling into existence. 
 
 At this time the influence of the Puritans began to 
 be felt. They were a class who are hardly to be 
 judged by the same rules which would be applied 
 to the characters of other men in ordinary times ; 
 and of whom it is somewhat difficult to speak in 
 proper terms, either of praise or censure. We are 
 not ashamed to say, that we look with admiration, 
 and almost with awe, upon these stern patriots and 
 martyrs ; ambitious, but to gain no earthly crown ; 
 burning with enthusiasm, yet severe and immovable, 
 as if inaccessible to human passion ; inflexible and 
 haughty to man, because reverence was due only to 
 the Most High ; despising all accomplishments and 
 all learning, because they counted them as nothing 
 in comparison with religion and the word of God. 
 But the state of feeling and opinion which it was 
 their great purpose to maintain was in some re 
 spects false and unnatural. While they labored to 
 elevate the mind, the tendency of some of their 
 efforts could be only to degrade it. They saw lite 
 rature prostituted sometimes to unworthy purposes, 
 and they straightway denounced it all as an abomina 
 tion. One might almost forgive this prejudice, if it 
 had been founded on the writings of those who have 
 been strangely denominated metaphysical, as if meta 
 physics were only another name for every species of 
 extravagance, These Malvolios of English litera 
 ture, of whom Donne was the common father, and 
 Cowley the anointed king, contented themselves 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 9 
 
 with corrupting what the Puritans were anxious to 
 destroy. Their writings appear to us to be a vivid 
 delineation of the intellectual character and taste of 
 King James, who, by a cruel insult to the wise king 
 of Israel, has been sometimes called the English 
 Solomon. They found the age pedantic, and they 
 labored with eminent success to render it still more 
 so. Never did poetry revel in such wanton extra 
 vagance and absurdity. With them, sighs were 
 breathed in tempests ; tears were poured forth like 
 the universal deluge ; love was nothing short of a 
 coup de soleil beneath the tropics ; pride was the tem 
 perature of the arctic circle, and a lover s heart a 
 handgrenade. It is sufficiently obvious, that the 
 taste for this extravagance was not created by those 
 who thus employed it; for the prose writings of 
 some of them of Cowley, for example are full 
 of simplicity, grace, and beauty. Indeed, the mere 
 existence of the metaphysical style is a sufficient 
 proof, that, if the readers of poetry at this time were 
 not indifferent to it, they were at least not very scru 
 pulous in their selections. The most exalted eulogies 
 were lavished upon Cowley ; and even Milton did 
 not refuse to praise what he disdained to imitate. 
 Signs of a more correct taste began to be visible in 
 the languid smoothness of Waller, and the correct 
 mediocrity of Denham ; but with what surpassing 
 glory does the venerable form of Milton appear in the 
 midst of an age like this ! His grand and melancholy 
 genius was almost as far removed from that of his 
 contemporaries as his immortal subject was elevated 
 above all earthly things. So far from being indebted 
 
8 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 to his age, he was beyond it and above it ; and it is 
 hardly too much to say, that he would have been 
 beyond and above any other in the history of man. 
 It is no reproach to his own, that men heard his voice, 
 and comprehended it not ; for what standard was 
 there, among the poets of the time, by which they 
 could hope to measure such elevation as his ? 
 
 The stem rigor of the Puritans was at length 
 followed by its natural re-action ; and the literature of 
 the age of Charles II. was a faithful transcript of the 
 character of that degraded sensualist, and still more 
 degraded king. It is easy to conceive what the 
 worshippers must have been in the temple of vice 
 and folly, in which Sedley and Etherege and Buck 
 ingham and Rochester were chief- priests. " The 
 fools of David s age," says Sir William Temple, 
 " those who have said in their hearts, there is no 
 God, have become the wits of ours." The personal 
 character of a king is never without its influence, 
 and in this instance it was all-powerful ; but it was 
 only for the purposes of evil. In the school of severe 
 adversity, where the milder virtues are commonly 
 taught, he had learned nothing but vice, disguised 
 under the name of pleasure. Ridicule was the 
 fashion of the day ; and the subjects of that ridicule 
 were all things that are venerable and holy. De 
 pravity lost nothing of its evil, because it lost nothing 
 of its grossness : it was tolerated in all its grossness, 
 and adored in all its deformity. It was not surpris 
 ing that the want of just moral sentiment should be 
 accompanied by the debasement of literary taste. 
 Their tastes, as well as their fashions, were alike bor- 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 9 
 
 rowed from the French, who returned the obligation 
 by regarding England as a nation of barbarians. 
 St. Evremond passed twenty years in England with 
 out acquiring the slightest knowledge of the lan 
 guage ; while ignorance of the French language 
 was regarded by the English as a greater crime than 
 the violation of every precept of the decalogue. The 
 worst defects of French literature were copied and 
 exaggerated. Settle became a greater poet than 
 Dryden, until the latter stooped from his mountain- 
 height and the mid-day sun, to grovel in the dark 
 recesses of a polluted theatre. The influence of a 
 licentious court was visible also upon other minds ; 
 degrading powers which should have been devoted 
 to high purposes, and repressing every display of 
 natural feeling by a general chorus of ridicule and 
 scorn. 
 
 In passing from this period to the beginning of 
 the next century, we seem to be coming forth from the 
 suffocation and gloom of the charnel-house to the 
 fresh air and clear light of heaven. We shall have 
 occasion presently to make a few remarks upon the 
 characters of some of the most distinguished poets 
 of that time ; and we will only observe here, that we 
 have no knowledge of any period in English history, 
 in which poetry was the object of more general re 
 gard than it was from the beginning until the middle 
 of that century. The circumstances to which we 
 have alluded furnish sufficient evidence that the po 
 pular taste has been often perverted ; but they give 
 no evidence of indifference in regard to poetry, like 
 that which is believed to prevail at this day. We 
 
10 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 call the present an age of great intellectual excite 
 ment, of keen and restless enterprise, and of deeper 
 insight into hidden mysteries than any of which the 
 record has yet come down. Why, then, should the 
 purest and not the least elevated department of intel 
 lect be regarded with coldness and neglect ? The 
 true object of poetry is to subject the senses to the 
 soul, to raise the mind above all low and sordid 
 purposes, and to fix its desires upon things which are 
 honorable and high. If we receive it with indiffer 
 ence and scorn, if we refuse to listen to its voice, the 
 loss is ours ; we are casting away the surest means 
 to lift our thoughts from the dust, the noblest instru 
 ment to elevate and purify the heart. 
 
 The moral tendencies of English poetry are such, 
 on the whole, as the friend of virtue has much reason 
 to approve. There have certainly been ominous ex 
 amples of the degradation and perversion of exalted 
 powers ; but the waters of oblivion have already 
 closed over some, and will, sooner or later, overwhelm 
 the rest. It is idle at this day to say any thing of the 
 moral influence of Chaucer : we might as well enlarge 
 upon the absurdity of the Koran. Spenser, however, 
 continues to be read, though not, we apprehend, by a 
 large class of readers. There is abundant reason to 
 regret, that the tediousncss of the allegory, which 
 constitutes the story of the " Fairy Queen," should 
 have withdrawn from it the public favor ; for it is 
 the production of a mind overflowing with rich and 
 powerful thought, and a fancy full of all delightful 
 creations ; the beautiful ideal of chivalry, when chiv 
 alry was only another name for a combination of all 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 11 
 
 the virtues. The poet appears to have forsaken this 
 lower sphere to hold communion with superior be 
 ings ; and how could it be expected, that the friend 
 of Sidney and Raleigh those brightest spirits of an 
 age not wanting in generous and lofty ones should 
 be insensible to the influence of their romantic senti 
 ment, as it was illustrated and personified in the 
 moral beauty of their lives ? It was their influence 
 by which he was led to devote himself, not to the 
 study and description of man as he is, but as ro 
 mance and chivalry would make him. It was this 
 which induced him, instead of producing a grand 
 historical picture, to which his powers were more 
 than adequate, to execute fancy-pieces only, glow 
 ing, indeed, with richness and beauty, bat deficient 
 in the interest and life which such talent, employed 
 upon more propitious subjects, could not fail to be 
 stow. He chose a department in which many have 
 failed, and in which scarcely any one but John Bun- 
 yan has succeeded ; and how much of his power is 
 to be attributed to the awful realities of his subject ! 
 Still it is the praise of Spenser, that he consecrated 
 his delightful harmony, his beautiful and not unfre- 
 quently sublime description, and all the creations of 
 an imagination of unrivalled splendor, and of inven 
 tion almost boundless, wholly to the cause of virtue. 
 Would that the same praise were equally due to his 
 far greater contemporary ! But Shakspeare wrote 
 apparently without any moral purpose : he took the 
 tales which ancient chronicles afforded him, or chance 
 threw in his way ; and, by his inspiration, he created 
 a living soul under these ribs of death. If they gave 
 
12 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 him a moral, it was well. Now we hear strains 
 which seem to flow from a seraph s lyre ; presently, 
 those which the depths of vulgarity could hardly 
 essay to rival. Moral dignity and disgusting coarse 
 ness, the loftiest sublimity and the lowest grossness, 
 are occasionally blended together, like the hovels 
 and palaces of a Russian city. Ingratitude is de 
 nounced and how denounced ! in the heart 
 rending agony of Lear ; the dreadful penalty of 
 guilty ambition, and the keen anguish of late re 
 morse, are displayed with terrific power in Macbeth ; 
 while in Hamlet we see only a spirit crushed and 
 broken beneath a burden which it cannot bear, faith 
 ful to duty, but overmastered by the consciousness 
 that fate has imposed upon it a duty beyond its 
 ability to do. But who can point us to the moral 
 purpose of " Romeo and Juliet," or the " Merchant 
 of Venice," or of" Cymbeline " ? The heart, with all 
 its high aspirings, its guilty depths, its passions, its 
 affections, and its powers, was laid full and open to 
 Shakspeare s view ; all the elements of incomparable 
 genius, and every divine gift, were imparted to him 
 with a liberality hardly ever vouchsafed by Provi 
 dence to man before : but he looked upon man and 
 nature, without looking beyond them to the God of 
 all ; and thus the mind which was formed for all 
 succeeding ages, and compounded of all imaginable 
 glories, astonished, instructed, overawed, and de 
 lighted men, without making them better. It is pre 
 sumptuous to say what Shakspeare might have been, 
 when human eloquence can hardly adequately tell 
 what Shakspeare was ; but we believe that he was too 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 13 
 
 often induced by a fancied necessity to sacrifice his 
 own superior thoughts to the influences of an age 
 which "thought no scorn" of grossness, such as 
 would sicken the purer, though not fastidious, taste 
 of ours. The descent was not wholly nor always 
 voluntary ; though the gratification of minds as far 
 below his own as the sparrow s is lower than the 
 eagle s flight, can hardly excuse the aberrations of 
 an intellect like his. 
 
 The moral influence of the drama has not in gen 
 eral been of the most exalted kind. The reason of 
 this is not that it is incapable of being rendered full 
 of instruction, or that it is in its nature at all inferior 
 in this respect to any other description of poetry. 
 On the contrary, there is perhaps no form of com 
 position in which the most elevated lessons can be 
 brought more directly home to the heart, none in 
 which those sentiments, by which our minds are said 
 to be purified, can be more impressively or forcibly 
 displayed. It may thunder forth its warnings and 
 threatenings with the awful energy of inspiration ; it 
 may utter the burning accents of intense and over 
 whelming passion ; it may allure or terrify us with 
 the solemn persuasion of real and living example. 
 In these respects, it occasionally goes beyond other 
 poetry, as far as the quivering muscles, the distorted 
 features, and the convulsive agony of the victim of 
 actual torture may be supposed to afford a more 
 vivid idea of suffering than the marble Laocoon. 
 The evil is, that, in holding the mirror up to life, it 
 reflects all the images towards which its surface may 
 chance to be directed. In the sister, but inferior, 
 
14 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 arts of painting and sculpture, the human form is 
 represented, not with its blemishes, not in its deform 
 ity, but with something of the purity of ideal perfec 
 tion ; and thus the representations of poetry, so far 
 as respects their effect, should be adapted to the 
 desires of the mind : they should present us, not with 
 that which may sometimes be, for that would excuse 
 all possible grossness ; but, in humble imitation of the 
 obvious system of Providence, they should labor to 
 exhibit virtue in all its loveliness and beauty, without 
 throwing an unnatural gloss and attraction over sen 
 suality and vice. How often have men forgotten, 
 that the only true object, and all the real dignity, of 
 literature are lost sight of, when it is designed to 
 charm only, and not to elevate ! It may be said that 
 the purpose of the dramatic writer is to please, and 
 his productions must therefore be adapted to the 
 taste of his judges; but the cause of any fault can 
 hardly be pleaded as its apology. 
 
 Passing over the dramatic writers, we come again 
 to Milton. He stood apart from all earthly things. 
 He may be likened to that interpreter of the mysteri 
 ous things of Providence who sits in the bright circle 
 of the sun ; while Shakspeare resembles rather the 
 spirit created by his own matchless imagination, 
 which wanders over earth and sea, with power to 
 subdue all minds and hearts by the influence of his 
 magic spell. The poetry of Milton is accordingly 
 .solemn and dignified, as well becomes the moral 
 sublimity of his character, and the sacredness of his 
 awful theme. His mind appears to have been ele 
 vated by the glories revealed to his holy contempla- 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 15 
 
 tion ; and his inspiration is as much loftier than that 
 of other poets, as his subject was superior to theirs. 
 It is superfluous to say, that his moral influence is 
 always pure ; for how could it be otherwise with 
 such a mind, always conversant with divine things, 
 and filled with the sublimest thoughts ? Yet it has 
 been sometimes said, that the qualities with which 
 he has endued that most wonderful of all poetical 
 creations, the leader of the fallen angels, are too 
 fearfully sublime to be regarded with the horror and 
 aversion which they ought naturally to inspire. He 
 is indeed invested with many sublime attributes, the 
 fierce energy, unbroken by despair ; the unconquera 
 ble will, which not even the thunders of the Almighty 
 can bend : but these qualities, though they may fill 
 us with wonder and awe, are not attractive. His 
 tenderness is only the bitterness of remorse, without 
 end and hopeless ; his self-devotion is only the result 
 of wild ambition ; and a dreadful retribution at 
 length falls upon him, " according to his doom." In 
 this exhibition of character, there is undoubtedly 
 vast intellectual power ; but there is nothing redeem 
 ing, nothing which can win the soul to love. We 
 dread the effect of those delineations in which crime, 
 from which nature recoils, is allied to qualities with 
 which we involuntarily sympathize : such portraits 
 are of evil tendency, because, though unnatural, 
 they are still attractive ; but great crime frequently 
 supposes the existence of imposing traits of character, 
 which may excite admiration without engaging sym 
 pathy. We are interested in Conrad, because his 
 fierce arid gloomy spirit is mastered by the passion 
 
16 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 which masters all, because in him it is deep and 
 overwhelming, yet refined and pure, like the token 
 which restored the repenting peri to Eden, the 
 redeeming and expiatory virtue, which shows that 
 the light of the soul, however darkened, is not extin 
 guished altogether ; and we do not ask how purity 
 and love can find their refuge in a pirate s bosom, 
 \ve do not remember, that they could as hardly dwell 
 there as Abdiel among the rebel host. Not so the 
 ruined archangel. In him all may be grand and 
 imposing ; but all is dark, stern, and relentless. If 
 there be aught to admire, there is at least nothing to 
 imitate. Through all the writings of Milton, there 
 reign a loftiness and grandeur which seem to raise 
 the soul to the standard of his own elevation. The 
 finest minds have resorted to them for the rich trea 
 sures of eloquence and wisdom ; and they might also 
 find in them the more enduring treasures of piety 
 and virtue. 
 
 We have already found occasion to offer some 
 remarks upon the literature of the age of Charles II. 
 It is a subject on which we have little inclination to 
 dwell; but it is with sorrow and shame that we see 
 the influence of such an age exhibited upon a mind 
 like that of Dryden. They drove him to devote 
 powers intended for nobler purposes to gratify the 
 polluted tastes of a shameless court ; and, by a just 
 retribution, his dramatic compositions can hardly be 
 said to have survived him : not one of them is at this 
 day acted, or generally read. We see him, first, 
 embalming the blessed memory of the Lord Protector ; 
 then, exulting in his Sacred Majesty s most happy 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 17 
 
 restoration; next, fabricating rhyming tragedies to 
 gratify the French prejudices of a king who was not 
 ashamed to become the pensioner of France, or las 
 civious comedies to minister to the grovelling inclina 
 tions of the Defender of the Faith ; presently, descend 
 ing, like one of Homer s deities, to the field of 
 political and religious controversy. Thus the intellect 
 which was formed to illuminate the world was 
 quenched in the obscurity of low or temporary sub 
 jects ; thus, with power to become a great reformer, 
 he chose to follow in the track of vulgar prejudices; 
 instead of asserting his just rank as a sovereign, he 
 made himself a slave ; and the result is before us in 
 the fact, that his reputation is now almost wholly 
 traditional, and would hardly be known otherwise, 
 but for the noble " Ode for St. Cecilia s day." We 
 are not insensible to the unsurpassed excellence of 
 his versification, or the blasting power of his satire ; 
 but the traces of elevated moral sentiment, and of 
 admiration, or even perception, of the grand and 
 beautiful in nature and in character, are rarely to be 
 discovered in his writings. Perhaps he was cautious 
 of displaying what must have excited the immea 
 surable contempt of the wits by whom he was sur 
 rounded. 
 
 The beginning of the last century was distin 
 guished by the genius of Pope ; of whom nothing 
 can now be said that has not frequently been said 
 before. There are still many who persist in denying 
 his title to the honors of the poetical character, with 
 a zeal which nothing but the ancient penalties of 
 heresy will be able to subdue. If, however, he has 
 
 2* 
 
18 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 been assailed by Bowles, he has found no vulgar 
 champions in Byron and Campbell ; and if he were 
 living now, it would doubtless, in the language of 
 Burke, " kindle in his heart a very vivid satisfaction 
 to be so attacked and so commended." It is not 
 easy to believe him to have been the least among the 
 poets, who could shoot with such unequalled bril 
 liancy into the upper sky, while Addison was still in 
 the ascendant, and when the star of Dryden had 
 hardly yet gone down. Nature was not, perhaps, 
 always regarded by him with a poet s eye ; for it 
 seemed then as if she was to be abandoned to pas 
 torals ; as if one might scarcely venture to go forth 
 into the country, without arming himself with a shep 
 herd s crook. But he was the poet of manners 
 and of social life ; and it is not the smallest of his 
 merits, that he made poetry familiar to thousands who 
 had never felt its influence before. The tendency 
 of his writings is precisely what might be expected 
 from a knowledge of his character ; a character of 
 which Johnson, whose praise issues forth like a con 
 fession extorted by the rack, is compelled to speak, 
 in general, with commendation. Early and unre 
 lieved infirmity rendered him irritable, while the 
 unbounded admiration which was so profusely lav 
 ished upon him made him vain ; and both these 
 qualities are abundantly exhibited in some of his writ 
 ings, where the sins of his enemies are visited upon 
 those who had never offended him, and character is 
 wantonly invaded, apparently with the sole design of 
 displaying his extraordinary power. In some in 
 stances, he aims to rival the unapproachable vulgar- 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 19 
 
 ity of Swift ; but the wit is a poor atonement for the 
 grossness. 
 
 The " Rape of the Lock" was denounced by the 
 frantic criticism of Dennis, as deficient in a moral ; 
 while Johnson, with his usual politeness, thought no 
 moral more laudable than the exposure of mischiefs 
 arising from the freaks and vanity of women. It is 
 obvious enough, however, that Pope, except in the 
 " Essay on Man," and perhaps in his " Epistles and 
 Satires," had rarely any moral purpose in his view ; 
 but it would be difficult to defend the morality of the 
 verses " To the memory of an Unfortunate Lady," 
 or of some of his imitations of Chaucer. We are 
 often told, that satire is a powerful auxiliary of truth ; 
 and there is no doubt, that, even while indulging in 
 the gratification of personal resentment, or any other 
 equally ignoble passion, the satirist may promote that 
 cause by his denunciations of vice and folly ; though 
 the effect will certainly be diminished by the mean 
 ness of the motive. But he is too apt to grow so 
 warm in the cause as totally to overlook the higher 
 object, in his zeal to overwhelm an adversary, or to 
 take vengeance upon the world for the fancied ne 
 glect or injury of a single individual. In addition to 
 this, he is often seduced by the popularity which is 
 sure to attend invective against some fashionable vice 
 or folly, of which the succeeding age retains no 
 traces ; so that the fashion and the reproof soon 
 perish together. His object may be a laudable one, 
 though it will be far less important, and far less last 
 ing in its effect, than it would be if he should expose 
 vice and imperfection as they exist universally, and 
 
20 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 at all times. The satires of Donne are now forgotten, 
 notwithstanding the rich drapery which Pope thought 
 fit piously to throw over his old-fashioned and some 
 what ragged habiliments. Those of Dryden, as we 
 have already intimated, were founded upon subjects 
 of local or temporary interest. His u Absalom and 
 Achitophel" was levelled at a faction, which soon 
 experienced the fate of all other factions ; his 
 " Medal" was written upon the occasion of Shaftes- 
 bury s escape from the fangs of a grand jury ; and 
 his " MacFlecknoe," for the laudable end of extermi 
 nating his successor in the Laureate s chair. Young 
 is less liable to this objection than any other English 
 satirist ; but, great as was his popularity in his own 
 day, his " Universal Passion" has sunk into obscu 
 rity. The " Vanity of Human Wishes " and " Lon 
 don" are the effusions of a nervous and powerful 
 mind, more strongly tinctured with misanthropy and 
 indignation than with sound philosophy. In our own 
 times, we have seen Gifford marching forth with the 
 port and bearing of Goliath, against a host of butter 
 flies, who naturally enough took wing at the din and 
 fury of his onset ; and we have seen Byron also, 
 visiting the coarse malignity of a single reviewer 
 upon all his literary brethren, with a wantonness and 
 injustice which he was himself the first to regret. 
 We may thus perceive, that, if satire be the instru 
 ment of virtue, it is so often borrowed for other pur 
 poses, that virtue is not always able to employ it for 
 her own ; and, when those other purposes have been 
 accomplished, the benefit, if there be any, is not per 
 manent. The artillery may remain, but the foe has 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 21 
 
 vanished. Some of Pope s satires are of universal 
 and lasting application ; but the " Dunciad" is little 
 better than a monument of wrath, erected in memory 
 of departed and forgotten dunces. 
 
 The English poetry of the last century was, upon 
 the whole, more elevated in its moral tone, than that 
 of any former period. It may be considered as a 
 cause as well as an evidence of this superiority, that 
 some of the most eminent writers at its commence 
 ment, who exerted a powerful influence over public 
 taste and sentiment, were men of pure and unques 
 tionable character. Addison was then at the meri 
 dian of his stainless fame. He had taught the world 
 a lesson which it was too slow to learn, that the 
 attractions of wit and eloquence may gracefully be 
 thrown around truth and virtue ; and that, in order 
 to become a good and popular writer, it is not indis 
 pensably necessary to be an atheist and blasphemer. 
 If he is deficient in the vigor and power of some of 
 those who went before him, it should be remembered, 
 that the character of his works was not in general 
 such as essentially to require or to afford very full 
 opportunity for the display of either. His main 
 intention was to describe life and manners ; to apply 
 the force of ridicule to the foibles and follies, as well 
 as to the faults and vices, of social life ; to present 
 truth and morality in alluring colors to those who 
 had been previously disgusted at its stern and repul 
 sive aspect ; and it cannot be doubted, that, as far 
 as the influence of a single mind could go, this object 
 was successfully accomplished. The same praise is 
 equally due to Richardson, w T hose name seems now 
 
22 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 to be better known and more respected in other 
 countries than in his own. One who is led by curio 
 sity to read his novels, though he cannot fail to read 
 them with interest, and to admire the purity of the 
 sentiment and the vivid delineations of passion, can 
 yet hardly form a conception of their popularity when 
 they first appeared. Addison taught the intellect 
 and fancy, and Richardson the passions, to move at 
 the command of virtue ; the influence of both was 
 great and extensive over the sentiments and taste of 
 others ; and we cannot but think, that much of the 
 superiority of the period immediately succeeding 
 that in which they lived to that which preceded, in 
 refinement and delicacy at least, if not in morality, 
 is to be attributed to the example which they gave. 
 It is true that the essentially coarse and vulgar minds 
 of Fielding and Smollett, abounding as they did in 
 humor and vivid powers of describing life and cha 
 racter, did much to weaken the impression which 
 Richardson had made ; nor was it owing to any want 
 of effort that they failed to corrupt moral sentiment 
 completely. But they were not successful ; and any 
 one who will turn to Southey s " Specimens of the 
 later English Poets " (we cannot find it in our hearts 
 to ask a fellow-creature to read them through) will 
 be surprised to find in how few instances morals and 
 decency were disregarded or outraged by the poets, 
 small and great, of any part of the last century. It 
 is impossible to speak of any considerable portion of 
 them at length, nor is it necessary. We will barely 
 advert for a moment to three of them, whose writings 
 are at this time more generally read than those of 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 23 
 
 any of the rest. It may here be observed, however, 
 that this period embraces very many names, particu 
 larly in the earlier part of it, of which England will 
 long continue to be proud. With all its variety of 
 excellence, there is little that savours of copy ism or 
 of affectation. What can be more unlike than the 
 mild sweetness of Goldsmith, and the gloomy mag 
 nificence of Young ; the gentle pathos of Collins, and 
 the homely strength of Johnson ; the classical ele 
 gance of Gray, and the native simplicity of Burns ? 
 
 There are few who do not love to contemplate the 
 two great masters of descriptive English poetry, 
 Thomson and Cowper ; with whom we seem to 
 converse with the intimacy of familiar friends, and 
 almost to forget our veneration for the poets, in our 
 love and admiration of the virtues of the men. Both 
 had minds and hearts which were touched with a 
 feeling of the beauty, and fitted to enjoy the influ 
 ences, of nature ; and the poetry of both was ele 
 vated, if not inspired, by religious veneration of the 
 great Author of the grand and beautiful. The view 
 of Thomson was bold and wide ; it comprehended 
 the whole landscape ; he delighted to wander by the 
 mountain-torrent, and in the winter s storm ; and it 
 seemed as if the volume of nature was open and 
 present before him. It is not so with Cowper. His 
 lowly spirit did not disdain the humblest thing that 
 bore the impress of his Maker s hand ; he looked 
 with as keen an eye of curiosity and admiration upon 
 the meanest flower of the valley, as upon the wide 
 expanse, glittering in the pure brilliancy of Avinter s 
 evening, or bright with the dazzling glory of the 
 
24 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 summer noon. He made the voice of instruction 
 issue from the most familiar things, and invested 
 them with beauty, hourly seen, but never felt before ; 
 and he painted them all with the pure and delightful 
 coloring of simplicity and truth. Who is there but 
 must wish, that Burns had held communion with 
 such minds, and resorted to the fountain of their 
 inspiration ? We know not that he was inferior to 
 either in quickness to feel, or power to describe, all 
 that is bright and alluring in nature or in the heart : 
 but there is something startling in the dark and fierce 
 passions which overshadowed his better nature ; in 
 the wild and reckless blasphemy by which he insulted 
 man, and defied his God ; in the stunning notes of 
 that frantic debauchery by which he was at length 
 mastered, and brought down to the dust. The feel 
 ing of devotion steals upon him, like the recollections 
 of earlier and happier years ; love, pure and disinte 
 rested love, subdues sometimes the fury of his soul 
 to gentleness and peace ; his proud and manly spirit 
 appears sometimes to burst its fetters, and restore the 
 wanderer to virtue : but the effort is over, and it is 
 vain. He sinks into the grave, friendless and broken 
 hearted ; and his example remains, like a light upon 
 a wintry shore, whose rays invite us, whither it would 
 be death to follow. 
 
 We are unwilling to enumerate Rogers and Camp 
 bell among the poets of the last century, though the 
 great works of both were published before its close, 
 and though the latter part of it is so far inferior to 
 the first, in the number of its illustrious poetical 
 names, as to require some such addition to the list. 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 25 
 
 The sweet music of both is associated with our most 
 pleasing recollections. The lyre of Rogers resem 
 bles an instrument of soft and plaintive tone, which 
 harmonizes well with the memory of our early days ; 
 that of Campbell is no less sweet, but deeper and 
 more powerful, and struck with a bolder hand. Both 
 are in strict and constant unison with virtue. Indeed, 
 with one or two ominous exceptions, it is delightful 
 to perceive the moral beauty of the poetry of this 
 age in general. Moore, it is true, is an old offender. 
 He appears to have composed the lascivious pretti- 
 nesses of his youth much in the same manner as the 
 unfledged votaries of fashion affect the reputation of 
 grace and gallantry ; and we occasionally find symp 
 toms of love-making in his verses now, which it is high 
 time for a person of his years and discretion to have 
 done with. It is the recollection of these which goes 
 far to diminish the pleasure with which we should 
 otherwise welcome his sacred and lyric song. But 
 what shall we say of Byron, riven and blasted by the 
 lightning of his own relentless passions ; hurried on 
 ward, often against the persuasion of his better feel 
 ings, as the sailor s bark in the Arabian tale is dashed 
 by some mighty and mysterious impulse upon the 
 fatal rock ? The light that was in him became dark 
 ness ; and how great was that darkness ! His exam 
 ple, we trust, is destined rather to dazzle than to 
 blind ; to warn, but not to allure. We do not now 
 remember any other high examples of this moral 
 delinquency. In Wordsworth we see a gentle lover 
 of nature, always simple and pure, and sometimes 
 sublime, when he does not labor to give dignity to 
 
26 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 objects which were never meant to be poetical. 
 Southey s " gorgons and hydras and chimeras dire " 
 are well-trained ; and the minstrelsy of Scott is of 
 a higher strain than that of the times of which he 
 sung. 
 
 Literature, in reference to its moral tendency, is 
 of three kinds ; one of which is decidedly pernicious ; 
 another, indifferent in its character, being neither 
 very hostile nor very favorable to correct sentiment ; 
 and a third, decidedly pure and happy in its influ 
 ence. By far the greater part of English poetry 
 appears to us to belong to the last of these classes ; 
 but there are portions, and considerable portions too, 
 which belong to both of the others. We seem hardly 
 to have a right to claim, that it should always be 
 actually moral ; and yet the writer who forgets this 
 object forgets one of the great purposes for which his 
 talent was bestowed. There is another error for 
 which poetry is responsible, that of presenting 
 false views of life. Most young poets are as des 
 perately weary of the world, as if they had traversed 
 it, and found it all vanity. We learn from a high 
 authority, that misery is the parent of poetry ; but 
 we should be led to believe, from the tone of many 
 of our bards, that poetry is the parent of misery. 
 Young proposed to draw a correct picture in his 
 " True Estimate of Human Life." He published that 
 part which represented it in eclipse ; but the bright 
 side was unhappily torn in pieces by some lady s 
 misanthropic monkey. In his " Night Thoughts," 
 life is painted in no very alluring colors ; but the 
 sunbeam breaks through the dark masses of the cloud. 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 27 
 
 We do not complain of the satirists for this ; for such 
 is the very end of their vocation. The views of life 
 which every writer presents will be colored in some 
 degree by his own circumstances, and state of feel 
 ing ; but we suspect, that the most melancholy poets 
 have not in general been the least inclined to enjoy 
 the world in their capacity of men, and that they 
 have often drawn more largely from imagination 
 than experience. This fault, however, is not a very 
 common one among English poets of the highest 
 order. All their faults, indeed, are few and small in 
 comparison with their great and varied excellences. 
 We regard it as an extraordinary fact, that so little 
 attention has been paid to English literature in gene 
 ral by those who must be considered most competent 
 to understand its value. Our systems of education 
 make our youth familiar with that of early ages, and 
 of other nations : an acquaintance with it is consid 
 ered indispensably necessary for every gentleman and 
 scholar ; while little, comparatively very little, has 
 been done to acquaint us with that which we may 
 call our own, at the period of life when the heart 
 would most deeply feel the beauty, and the ear be 
 most sensible to the music, of the " Lowland tongue." 
 Until recently, no provision whatever has been made 
 in our literary institutions, either to turn the attention 
 of the student towards it, or to guide him in his vol 
 untary inquiries. In our schools, English poetry has 
 been employed as an exercise for teaching boys to 
 read, from time immemorial ; but nothing has been 
 said or done to induce the pupil to believe, that the 
 poetry was originally written for any other purpose. 
 
28 STUDIES IN POETRY. 
 
 Now, without undervaluing the literature of other 
 countries or of antiquity, we believe that the business 
 of education is only half accomplished, so long as our 
 own literature is neglected. Within a few years, a 
 better spirit has been visible ; but we are not yet 
 acquainted with any treatise upon the subject of 
 English literature, any critical examination of its 
 merits. The field is a broad one ; and we trust it 
 will not long be justly said, that its treasures are 
 within our reach, but that we have neither solicitude 
 nor even inclination to gather them. 
 
 We are pleased with this volume, both because it 
 offers an indication of a growing interest in the sub 
 ject, and because the tendency of such works will be 
 to excite attention towards it. Mr. Cheever s selec 
 tions in general afford evidence of correct judgment 
 and cultivated taste. We should hardly, however, 
 have extracted the poetry contained in the Waverley 
 novels, in order to give the most exalted idea of 
 Scott s poetical genius ; or have given the " Soldier s 
 Dream," as one of the best of Campbell s smaller 
 productions ; and we think, that, in his selections 
 from Southey and Moore, the compiler might have 
 drawn more largely from the earlier writings of the 
 one, and the " Irish Melodies " of the other. Nor 
 can we readily admit the equity of the rule which 
 allows to Graham and Bloomfield twice the space 
 which is allotted to Pope. But these are small blem 
 ishes ; and, after all, it is by no means certain that 
 readers in general will not approve his taste at the 
 expense of ours. The selections from most of 
 the poets are accompanied by well- written and dis- 
 
STUDIES IN POETRY. 29 
 
 criminating sketches of the characteristics of their 
 style. On the whole, though the compilation is stated 
 to have been made for the use of the young, it is one 
 which persons of mature age may read with pleasure 
 and advantage. 
 
 3* 
 
30 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 Letters and Journals of Lord Byron. With Notices of his Life. 
 By THOMAS MOORE. Vol. I. 
 
 WHEN Dr. Clarke, the traveller, was entering the wa 
 ters of Egypt, he saw the corpse of one who had fallen 
 in the battle of the Nile rise from its grave in the ocean, 
 and move slowly past the vessels of the fleet. It was 
 with somewhat similar misgivings that we saw the 
 resurrection of Lord Byron from the waves of time, 
 which soon close over the noblest wreck, and leave 
 no trace of the spot where it went down. Unless 
 there were something new to be said in his favor, it 
 seemed needless to bring him again before the public 
 eye. The world was as well acquainted with his frail 
 ties as with his transcendent powers ; the sentence 
 of the general voice, which is not often reversed, had 
 been pronounced, though with much hesitation ; he 
 was declared entitled to a place among the great ; 
 but, though he had the elements of a noble nature, 
 no one, so far as w r e know, claimed for him a place 
 among the good. We regretted, therefore, to have 
 his name and character brought up again for judg 
 ment, unless for the purpose of vindication. Such 
 is not the effect, whatever may have been the design, 
 
BYRON. 
 
 31 
 
 of the volume before us. Mr. Moore, though he 
 loved and honored Byron, has, in thus gratifying the 
 public curiosity, rendered no service to the memory 
 of his friend. 
 
 We are disposed to rank high among the better 
 feelings of our nature the one which leads us to spare 
 and respect the dead, and makes us indignant at 
 every attempt to draw their frailties to the light, 
 which cannot plead necessity in its justification. 
 We feel grateful to those who have delighted us, 
 even when they have done so with their enchant 
 ments ; we are beholden to them for whiling away 
 some of the drearier hours of existence ; and when 
 they are gone, where our gratitude or censure can 
 no longer reach them, we feel as if their memory 
 were left in our charge, to be guarded from wanton 
 condemnation. We could see their forms under the 
 dissecting-knife at Surgeons Hall with more patience 
 than we can see their reputation made the sport and 
 gain of mercenary writers. We know that the " Life 
 of Johnson " is a standing excuse for authors of this 
 description, though we see not why ; for Boswell 
 would sooner have cut off his hand, than have wil 
 fully disparaged his " illustrious friend ; " and throwgh 
 all his defects of judgment and style his great subject 
 towers, like Westminster Abbey, whose melancholy 
 grandeur is not destroyed by the meanness of the 
 objects round it. In his work, there is no violation 
 of that sacred law of human feeling, which, like the 
 gentle process of nature, seals up the grave, and 
 covers it with verdure and flowers. But this law 
 has been sadly broken in the case of Byron ; a man 
 
32 BYRON. 
 
 who, with all his faults, and we have no disposition 
 to deny them, was never Avanting in generosity to 
 his friends. Some of them have preyed on his 
 memory like vultures ; from the religious Mr. Dallas, 
 who was dissatisfied wilh the gift of several rich 
 copy-rights, down to Leigh Hunt, who intimated his 
 independence of the commonplace opinion, which 
 insists on gratitude for golden favors. Others, also, 
 of the strange companions among whom the chances 
 of his life and the waywardness of his temper threw 
 him, retailed his most unguarded words and actions, 
 subjecting him to a scrutiny which few men s lives 
 and language will bear. But the public feeling, 
 which is not apt to be permanently misled, had set 
 tled down into the conviction, that Byron, with all 
 his failings, was to be admired and pitied as well as 
 censured ; that he was an unfortunate man of genius, 
 made up originally of strong powers and passions ; 
 obliged to pass through the double trial of prosperity 
 and misfortune, both perhaps equally severe ; and, 
 by these disturbing forces, drawn aside from the 
 orbit, in which, with a happier destiny, he might still 
 have been shining as brilliantly as any great light of 
 the world. 
 
 Mr. Moore does not attempt to give any regular 
 examination of Byron s character, aware perhaps 
 that the thing was impossible ; for, if by character 
 be meant the decided leaning of the habits and 
 feelings towards good or evil, it would be no more 
 correct to speak of his character than of the bearing 
 of a vessel drifting on the sea ; or. if we mean by 
 character the general impression received by one 
 
BYRON. 33 
 
 who reads his history, it is evident that such an one 
 could gather no single impression. Every change in 
 Byron s life was a new experiment or adventure 
 suggested by the moment s whims ; each new deed 
 contradicted the report of the one that went before it ; 
 like the mercury in the weather-glass, he varied with 
 the changes of the air. Sometimes he rose to a 
 noble height of virtue ; then sunk low in degrada 
 tion : sometimes he breathed out noble sentiment in 
 inspired language ; then profaned his lips with the 
 dialect of hell : sometimes he practised a hermit s 
 self-denial ; then gave himself up to appetite and 
 passion. The very climate of the country where he 
 happened to be, seemed to spread its influence over 
 him. All his manliness melted away into effemi 
 nacy under an Italian sun ; all the strength of his 
 mind and heart seemed to revive among the living 
 shores and mountains of Greece ; and this, while it 
 shows that he had great and active energies within, 
 proves also, that, like others who want principles of 
 action, he needed something external to excite them. 
 In him, these principles, and the unconquerable will, 
 were entirely wanting : the rough hands of others 
 struck out the fire from his soul. His inconsistencies, 
 arising from this cause, are equally perplexing to his 
 enemies and admirers ; each falter in making up 
 their judgment ; the former hesitate in the midst of 
 their sternest condemnation, conscious that all was 
 not evil, and doubtful whether they are not more 
 just to his vices than his virtues ; while his admirers, 
 in the moments of their warmest enthusiasm, find 
 recollections stealing over their minds which fill them 
 
34 BYRON. 
 
 with indignant shame. They, too, doubt sometimes 
 whether they are not misled by their reverence for 
 genius, and hardly know whether they feel most 
 sorrow for its perversion or wonder at its power. 
 
 The literary fate of Byron is a remarkable exam 
 ple of the indulgence shown to men of genius. The 
 world is apt to be rigid enough in its exactions from 
 others ; but it offers them a perpetual absolution for 
 all offences, even for their waste of those powers by 
 which it wishes and hopes to be delighted ; it receives 
 these spendthrifts of talent with unwearied forgive 
 ness, however far they may have wandered ; it per 
 mits them, like conquerors, to trample on all rights 
 and laws ; it finds something beautiful in their very 
 scorn ; nations worship them in the blaze of their fame, 
 and weep with mournful sensibility over their fall. 
 We rejoice to see that the world can transfer its 
 enthusiasm, in any degree, from military to intellec 
 tual greatness, and only desire that it may be careful 
 in selecting its objects of adoration. In the un 
 guarded moments of rapture, it may place its honors 
 on unworthy brows, and thus hold out an encourage 
 ment to all kinds of perversion. Intellectual men 
 should read their duty, as well as triumph, in a 
 nation s eyes ; and whenever, in their writings, they 
 pass the limits of decency and moral restraint, instead 
 of doing it with the confidence that great errors will 
 be pardoned to great genius, should feel themselves 
 driven back by a lightning-glance of indignation. 
 When the power of the mind is growing so fast, it is 
 of immense importance to make the feeling of literary 
 obligation firm and strong, and to enforce it with an 
 
BYRON. 
 
 35 
 
 authority which will neither be defied nor resisted ; 
 and this can be done without difficulty, because men 
 of taste, and poets more than others, have their intel 
 lectual being in the world s good opinion. The poel, 
 more than all, needs this restraint of general opinion. 
 The historian makes a slow and patient impression 
 on others ; the force of the orator, except in subjects 
 of unusual interest, is felt in a space hardly broader 
 than the thunder-cloud of the storm ; but the works 
 of Byron, like those of Scott, not confined to the 
 bounds of their language, have been read, we have 
 no doubt, by the northern light at Tornea, and by 
 the pine-torch under the Rocky Mountains; and, in 
 all the various regions between, made the wayfaring 
 forget their weariness, and the lonely their solitude, 
 bearing enjoyment to a million of hearts at once, as 
 if by supernatural power. No human power can 
 rival that of the great poet of the day ; and, should it 
 become wild and lawless, no despotism under which 
 the earth suffers and mourns is half so fatal to the 
 interests of men. 
 
 Perhaps there never was one to whom the right 
 direction which the world thus has it in its power to 
 give was more important than to Byron ; for, as may 
 appear in what we shall say of him, he was remarka 
 bly deficient in self-dependence, except when wrought 
 up with passion : his irresolute judgment was strongly 
 contrasted with his genius. Powerful, indeed, he 
 was ; he came not at a time when the field of suc 
 cess was open ; perhaps there has not been a period 
 when a greater number of bright stars were met in 
 the heavens. Campbell was shining in the pure bril- 
 
36 BYROX. 
 
 liancy of his stainless fame ; Southey was pouring 
 out his wild and beautiful epics with a happy disre 
 gard of party censure ; Wordsworth was pleading, 
 as he believed, for neglected nature, with a gentle 
 and unregarded voice ; Moore was reposing, like an 
 eastern sovereign in his sultry halls ; at this moment, 
 apparently most inauspicious for his rising, did this 
 new and eccentric orb shoot from the horizon to the 
 upper sky, and in every step of his ascension held 
 men breathless with admiration, till his brightness 
 " was changed into blood." But he seemed to take 
 a perverse delight in trifling with his own power, and 
 showing that he valued an imagination as splendid 
 as ever was lighted in the soul, no more than a 
 camera lucida or magic lantern ; and the world 
 still deafened him with applause, even when he 
 poured out strains of sensuality in music worthy of 
 an angel s tongue. Nothing would convince men 
 of his dishonor : they still believed in his integrity, 
 as they insisted on regarding Napoleon as a friend of 
 freedom, long after he had worn the crown. Let it 
 not be thought, strange, that we associate these two 
 names ; for, great as Napoleon was, Byron was abso 
 lute and undisputed sovereign of the heart, a region 
 in which the other had no power. Byron could send 
 to millions the highest enjoyment with a few rapid 
 touches of his celestial pen ; and, while the throne of 
 the oppressor is broken, he still exerts a mastery 
 which grows and widens as the brass and marble 
 decay. They were not wholly unlike in their des 
 tinies : deluded by the reverence of men, each 
 became a suicide of his own welfare ; and, remem- 
 
BYRON. 37 
 
 bering that they are great examples to all future 
 ambition, we regret the less that they perished as they 
 did ; though each might have left a glorious name, 
 the one as the bravest warrior that ever fought the 
 battles of freedom, the other as the greatest poet of 
 his age. 
 
 Any observer of human nature may be interested 
 in the fact, that men are always most zealous in their 
 enthusiasm for characters which are somewhat doubt 
 ful, as well as great. The admirers of a man like 
 Washington criticize him with freedom, knowing that 
 he can only gain by discussion ; but the partisans of 
 eminent characters like those I have mentioned, as if 
 conscious that any opening for inquiry would over 
 throw their favorite passion, meet every suggestion 
 of the kind with an outcry precisely resembling that 
 with which the worm-eaten governments of Europe 
 welcome every proposal of reform. This fervor is 
 not so flattering to such men as is generally imagined : 
 it implies that their admirers are far from being per 
 suaded of their real excellence, though they are 
 resolute in maintaining their own opinion. This is 
 illustrated by the passion for Byron. When he first 
 became generally known, which was not till after 
 his first cantos of " Childe Harold " appeared, his 
 name was surrounded with a colored cloud of 
 romantic associations ; and, perceiving the charm to 
 be derived from the slight mystery then resting on 
 his condition and character, he kept up the illusion 
 by all the means in his power ; new portraits of him 
 self, in striking attitudes and drapery, were perpet 
 ually held before the public eye ; and by these means 
 4 
 
38 BYRON. 
 
 he inspired a deep feeling, not precisely of respect or 
 regard, but of something more tenacious than either ; 
 so that now his admirers hold fast their early opinions 
 of him, as a lover clings to his first impressions ; deter 
 mined to maintain them, right or wrong, and resent 
 ing as a personal affront every attempt to exhibit his 
 character in its true light. This book will give an 
 unpleasant shock to their imaginations ; but, at the 
 same time, they have seen his character in a glass so 
 darkly, there is so little distinctness in their concep 
 tions of him, that, like the spirits in Milton s battle, 
 his existence cannot be endangered by any mortal 
 blow ; he is a vision of fancy in their minds, too 
 unsubstantial to be measured ; their opinion of him 
 is not a judgment, but a feeling, which neither argu 
 ment nor evidence can overthrow. 
 
 But there are others who never have thought it 
 necessary to give up their hearts to the great poet of 
 the day ; who have neither taken part with Byron 
 nor against him. To them this book will wear a very 
 different aspect : they Avill receive it as the deliberate 
 testimony of a friend, of course as partial as truth 
 and justice will allow, and will see with some sur 
 prise that the strongest feelings awakened by it are 
 those of sorrow and shame. It is painful to see this 
 disproportion between the moral and intellectual 
 characters of distinguished men ; and, though history 
 might prepare them for such disappointment, they 
 are always dismayed to find those to whom Heaven 
 has been most liberal of its gifts, unfaithful in the 
 use of them. Their kind feeling will be severely 
 tried by this Life of Byron; they will say of his 
 
BYRON. 39 
 
 mind, as he did of Greece, that it is strange, that, 
 when nature has formed it as if for the residence of 
 the gods, man should take a mad delight in making 
 a wilderness and a ruin. For, without overstating 
 his defects, it is true that they will look in vain through 
 this work for any traces of a sense of duty, either in 
 the use of his social privileges or his intellectual 
 powers ; they will see too much levity and profane- 
 ness, without Avit or humor to cover its grossness ; 
 they will see something offensive at times in the style 
 of the biographer s apologies for him, Avhen they are 
 made, not as if necessary, but in deference to com 
 mon opinion ; they will find, that he went through 
 the world at the wind s pleasure, and that his path, 
 though occasionally lighted up with flashes of good 
 feeling, was not such as his friends love to remem 
 ber. In the natural regret for this waste of life and 
 talent, they may chance to visit his memory with 
 even more severity than it deserves ; and therefore 
 we take the opportunity of referring them to one or 
 two circumstances, without which his merits cannot 
 be understood, and which will show, that, with all 
 his apparent felicity of birth and fortune, he Avas 
 more to be pitied than condemned. 
 
 The chief misfortune of Byron was his want of 
 early kindness and instruction. The mind resembles 
 a garden, in Avhich floAvers and fruit must be culti 
 vated, or weeds Avill groAv ; and few could be found, 
 even among vagrants and outcasts, more unfortunate 
 than Byron in the guardians of his tender years. 
 His father Avas a Avorthless libertine, Avho, after the 
 death of his first victim, married Miss Gordon, the 
 
40 BYRON. 
 
 poet s mother, with a view to her property, which 
 was large, but soon wasted. His great uncle, from 
 whom he inherited his title, was a man of savage 
 and unsocial character, who was believed to have 
 murdered a gentleman in a quarrel. With him, 
 however, he had no intercourse, nor even with his 
 father, who was soon separated from his wife ; so 
 that he was wholly abandoned to his mother s care, 
 and a more injudicious guide of a youth so wild and 
 passionate could not have been anywhere found. 
 It has been generally thought that she was fondly 
 indulgent ; but the present work effectually clears 
 her memory from any such imputation. She was a 
 woman of violent temper, and rendered still more irri 
 table by her husband s treatment, though she seems 
 to have loved him affectionately after all her wrongs. 
 If to leave her child ungoverned was indulgence, 
 she was guilty ; but it could not be expected, that, 
 having no rule over her own spirit, she should be 
 equal to the harder duty of governing her son. Ne 
 glect, however, was not the worst offence for which 
 she is answerable : she w r as the author of that bitter 
 ness of spirit which made him, though at some times 
 mild and affectionate, at others so sullen and fero 
 cious ; for it seems that she forgot herself so far as 
 to taunt him with that slight lameness which caused 
 him so much misery in his after-years. Little do 
 they know of human nature who wonder at his feel 
 ing. The truth is, that, in almost any young person, 
 such vulgar allusions to a personal defect, hoAvever 
 trifling, will awaken an excessive sensibility amount 
 ing to horror : all the self-torturing energy of the 
 
BYRON. 41 
 
 soul will be concentrated on that single point ; and, 
 if the wound ever heals in the coldness of manhood 
 or age, it leaves a quick and burning scar. Thi^ 
 disease of the affections extended throughout his 
 mind and heart ; and to this we are bound to attrib 
 ute that jealousy which occasionally seemed like 
 madness, and that unsparing resentment of injury 
 which sometimes raged like a flame of fire. Know 
 ing this, we cannot wonder that he regarded his 
 mother without affection, alone as they were in the 
 world. At the same time, he discovers in his letters 
 a respect and attention which clear him from all 
 reproach on this subject : she could expect nothing 
 more of him ; for love is the price of love. Neither 
 were the defects of his domestic education repaired 
 by schools. His mother s poverty prevented her 
 doing him justice in this respect ; and he was passed 
 from hand to hand, with a view to save expense, 
 rather than give instruction. None of his various 
 masters had time to become acquainted with his 
 mind ; and, without such an acquaintance with the 
 tastes and powers of the young, teachers are often 
 like unskilful gardeners, who destroy, by watering 
 in the sunshine, those blossoms whose habit is to 
 close in preparation for a shower. None of them 
 retained their charge long enough to gain an influ 
 ence over him. Altogether he had none to lean 
 upon, and no worthy object for his affections to cling 
 to, which is one of the greatest wants of the young 
 and tender heart. This sufficiently accounts for 
 many of his faults ; it explains where his careless 
 desolation began ; it shows why he placed so little 
 
42 BYRON. 
 
 confidence in the merit and affection of others, why 
 he was so unbelieving in their virtue, and afterwards 
 so indifferent to his own. It accounts for that mis 
 anthropy which some suppose was affected, but 
 which there is every reason to suppose was sincere ; 
 for, much as he depended on others, ardently as he 
 thirsted for their applause, still, like all others who 
 have no faith in human virtue, he held them in light 
 esteem. Those who cannot live without the world s 
 flattery sometimes despise the incense-bearers ; and 
 the person who depends least upon others is not the 
 misanthrope, but he who takes a manly and gener 
 ous interest in all around him. Thus melancholy 
 and disheartening was his childhood. Instead of 
 being the gallant bark that Gray describes, standing 
 bravely out to the summer sea, it was the one " built 
 in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark," whose 
 destiny was foreseen by the thoughtful before it left 
 the shore. 
 
 It may be said, that he might have done like many 
 others whose parents have been unfaithful, and who, 
 by this misfortune, have been driven to that self- 
 education which Gibbon considers more important 
 than any other. But Lord Byron was most unfavor 
 ably situated : this self-discipline is seldom enforced 
 \vith vigor or success without the pressure of circum 
 stances, or the strong leaning of ambition combining 
 with a sense of duty. But Byron was above the 
 reach of that necessity which drives so many to great 
 and fortunate exertions. Though poor in childhood, 
 when his wants were feAv, he had before him what 
 seemed a prospect of unbounded wealth ; and the 
 
BYRON. -io 
 
 same expectation of rank and honor made him in 
 sensible to the call of intellectual glory. He knew 
 that his title would secure him respect, and in this 
 confidence was unambitious of any thing higher : it 
 seemed to be the brightest point in all his visions of 
 future greatness. Those who, born in humble life, 
 feel the stirrings of ambition, and have no path to 
 eminence open but such as they clear with their own 
 hands, enter upon the work with a vigor which at 
 once gives and strengthens character, and ensures 
 success. Byron, on the contrary, believed from his 
 childhood, that he should be respected for his rank 
 alone : it was not till he had reached this great ob 
 ject of desire, and found how barren it was, that he 
 seemed to wish or hope for any other distinction. 
 
 The effect of this want of education in mind and 
 character may be seen in almost every part of his 
 life, even in those illuminated pages which display 
 the triumphs of his genius. He never seems to have 
 had the least confidence in his own taste or judg 
 ment, with respect to his own productions or those 
 of others. We find him, on his return from his first 
 voyage, talking Avith delight of an imitation of Hor 
 ace, which his biographer is too conscientious to 
 praise ; and, at the same time, hardly prevailed upon, 
 by the most earnest entreaty, to publish " Childe Har 
 old," the work on which his fame is built. A taste of 
 this kind is as much formed by society as by reading 
 and meditation ; but he had acquired a bashful re 
 serve in his childhood, which prevented his reading 
 the eyes or minds of others ; and yet, as the public 
 opinion is the tribunal to which all must bow, he 
 
44 BY RON. 
 
 never felt confidence in his opinions, till they were 
 confirmed by the general voice. In his judgment of 
 others, he seemed governed by the partiality of the 
 moment. We find him speaking with delight of 
 Coleridge s " Christabel," or praising Leigh Hunt s 
 affectations, which he was the first to ridicule shortly 
 after. The same Avavering appears in his judgment 
 of the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," 
 a work which he afterwards recanted, for no other 
 reason than that his humor had altered. The entire 
 history of this work of wholesale vengeance illustrates 
 the indecision of his mind. In his first indignation 
 at an attack which was certainly enough to irritate a 
 meeker spirit, he forthwith drew his sword, and com 
 menced an indiscriminate slaughter of all about him ; 
 but, as soon as the moment s madness had passed 
 away, he began to bind up their wounds, at the same 
 time exulting that he had made them feel his power. 
 But the want of every thing like discipline was more 
 plainly manifested in his character ; it was left to 
 itself; so far as he ever had a character, it was 
 formed by the natural and wild growth of his feel 
 ings and passions. These feelings and passions were 
 suffered to grow and take their own direction, with 
 out the least care or control from any hand. What 
 affectionate instruction might have done, we do not 
 know ; the experiment Avas never tried : he Avas left 
 to his own guidance ; and, by feeding on extrava 
 gant hopes, he prepared himself to be hurt and dis 
 appointed by the ordinary changes of life. Never 
 having been taught what to expect and what he 
 might reasonably demand from others, he receiA ed 
 
BYRON. 4 5 
 
 every slight neglect as an injury, put the worst con 
 struction on every word and deed, and required of 
 the world what it never gave to any mortal man. In 
 Scotland, his fancy was excited with tales and ex 
 amples of high ancestral pride. Rank became, in 
 his eyes, something sacred and commanding ; and 
 there was enough in the history of the Byrons to 
 encourage his loftiness of feeling. But he was morti 
 fied, as he came forward into life, to find that the 
 respect paid to it was hollow and unmeaning. He 
 was received into the House of Lords with as little 
 ceremony as at Eton or Harrow ; and this, though 
 probably a thing of course, was resented by him as 
 an unexampled wrong, for which he insulted the 
 Lord Chancellor at the time, and afterwards impaled 
 Lord Carlisle in various satirical lines ; though the 
 only crime of the former was, that he did not dis 
 pense with legal forms in his favor, and Lord Car 
 lisle s transgression, that he did not come at a call, 
 He was still more painfully taught how little could 
 be claimed on the score of rank, by the attack of the 
 " Edinburgh RevieAv." He could not plead privi 
 lege before that bar ; a republican from the United 
 States could not have been treated with less cere 
 mony than the English baron ; and it appeared in 
 evidence, that, with a regard for principle, of which 
 that work has given more than one example, it 
 abused the poetry for the sake of the man, though 
 his rank was all the provocation. He was also con 
 stantly wounded in another tender point, his friend 
 ship. With him friendship was a passion, cherished 
 for reasons which he would have found it hard to 
 
46 BYRON. 
 
 assign ; in its objects, there was no particular merit, 
 save what Avas generously given them by his active 
 imagination. His little foot-page and his Athenian 
 protege Avere of this description ; yet he expected of 
 these and others, selected with even less discretion, 
 all the delicacy and ardor of attachment which might 
 belong to superior natures. He was, of course, dis 
 appointed ; and, by a process of abstraction, found 
 sufficient reasons to libel and detest mankind. Thus 
 in almost every year some favorite charm was 
 broken, some vision dispelled ; he came forward into 
 life, like one seeing from afar the family mansion of 
 his race, with its Avindows kindled by the setting 
 sun, and Avho, as he approached it, looking for life 
 and hospitality Avithin, found Avith dismay, as he 
 entered the gate, that all A\ 7 as dark, cold, and de 
 serted. 
 
 Byron s melancholy seems to have been OAving to 
 these peculiar circumstances of his life. Bright hopes 
 and painful disappointments folloAved each other in 
 rapid succession ; the disappointment being that which 
 attends the gratified desire, of all others the most 
 difficult to bear. He \vas his OAVII master, and had 
 all that men commonly wish for ; he Avas thus in a 
 condition Avhere, so far as resources of happiness 
 Avere concerned, he had nothing more to hope from 
 the world, and that state in Avhich any change must 
 be for the worse is found by experience to be more 
 intolerable than that in which any change must be 
 for the better. How far his depression was owing 
 to any thing constitutional, we cannot attempt to 
 say, being less acquainted with the nerves of poets 
 
BYRON. 47 
 
 than with those of reviewers ; but we believe that 
 there are few cases in which the evil spirit may not 
 be successfully resisted by a resolute will. Unfor 
 tunately, those unused to trouble, real or imaginary, 
 become desperate at once, and are ready to make 
 trial of any remedy to drive the moment s uneasi 
 ness away. By dissipation and violent excitement, 
 they remove its pressure for a time ; but, as often as 
 it is lifted, it returns with heavier weight ; and, at 
 last, like the cottager who burns the thatch and 
 rafters of his cabin to relieve the cold of a winter 
 day, they are left without the least chance of shelter. 
 To supply the vacancy of hope, they consume the 
 materials of happiness at once, and then travel from 
 desolation to desolation, having no resource left, but 
 to become miserable self-destroyers of their own 
 peace, character, and not unfrequently lives. 
 
 We regret to find the vulgar impression, that this 
 melancholy was owing to his poetical talent, counte 
 nanced by such authority as Mr. Moore s : though 
 he does not openly declare that such is his opinion, 
 he intimates that faults and sorrows both were owing 
 to " the restless fire of genius." This Ave believe to 
 be one of the worst heresies in public opinion : 
 beside being dangerous and misleading, it is unjust 
 to the noblest of all arts. Were there no other 
 young men of rank and fortune equally dissipated 
 with Lord Byron, or did all the companions of his 
 vice and folly share his exalted power ? Why need 
 we assign more refined causes for his corruption 
 than for theirs ? And, more than all, why offer this 
 immunity to those who waste the talent which was 
 
48 BYRON. 
 
 given to bless the world, which we deny to the infe 
 rior prodigals of wealth and time ? It is unquestion 
 ably true, that a quick imagination gives a sharper 
 edge to sorrow, by multiplying, changing, and color 
 ing its images ; but it has equal power over images 
 of joy, if the poet can be made to look upon the 
 bright side ; and, as this depends on his own choice, 
 we cannot sympathize with him very deeply if he 
 insist on being unhappy ; we will not throw the 
 blame, which belongs to himself, either on poetry or 
 nature. It is time that justice in this respect were 
 done to poetry. It is a full fountain of consolation. 
 So far from being a Marah in the wilderness of life, 
 there is healing in its waters. The greatest masters 
 of the lyre have found delight in the calm and ma 
 jestic exertion of all their powers; and, while poetry 
 doubles their happiness by its inspirations, it has been 
 found effectual, from the days of Saul till the present, 
 to drive dark thoughts from the soul. No man was 
 ever more indebted to poetry than Lord Byron ; 
 we say nothing of his reputation, though, without 
 poetry, he would have left no more name than a 
 thousand other lords ; but we consider him indebted 
 to poetry for all the bright hours that silvered his 
 path of life. That he was a miserable man, no one 
 can doubt, who knows any thing of the effect of dis 
 tempered fancy and ungovernable passions : but, 
 while he was wildly sacrificing, one after another, the 
 resources for happiness which surrounded him, and 
 seemed to take an insane pleasure in seeing those 
 treasures melted down in the fires of passion ; while 
 he was surrounded by associates who were enough 
 
BYRON. 49 
 
 to put to flight all those better feelings which could 
 not quite forsake him, even when he seemed most 
 resolute to let them go ; while, in self-inflicted ban 
 ishment, his face was always turned toward his 
 country, although he spoke of it with hatred and 
 scorn ; while his wild, fierce, and riotous mirth only 
 manifested the self-condemnation and torture within, 
 he was indebted to poetry for fanning the embers 
 of his better nature, for kindling up those flashes of 
 manly and generous emotion, which, transient and 
 wavering though they were, have been enough to 
 secure for him the admiring compassion of the 
 world. Nothing can extinguish this sacred light of 
 the soul ; it is an immortal element, which floods 
 cannot drown ; it often revealed to him the true 
 character of his companions, and his own conduct, 
 making him heart-sick of the scenes in which his life 
 was wasted, and the associates among whom he was 
 thrown ; it led him to all the excellence which he ever 
 knew ; and when, weary of degradation, he made 
 one last effort, with his foot on the native soil of 
 inspiration, to rise to his proper place among the 
 sons of light, it was evidently owing to poetry that 
 any thing worthy to redeem was yet existing in his 
 soul. 
 
 Equal injustice is done to poetry, by saying, as is 
 often said in the case of Byron, that misery is the 
 parent of its inspirations. Poetry is the work, not 
 of circumstances, but of mind, of disciplined and 
 powerful mind ; which, so far from being the sport 
 of circumstances, makes them bend to its power. 
 There is neither romance nor elegance in real dis- 
 
50 BYRON. 
 
 Iress ; it is too real, oppressive, and disheartening ; 
 the mind, so far from dwelling upon it, turns away 
 with disgust and aversion. The person, in suffering 
 of body or mind, no more thinks of the fine emotions 
 his situation awakens, than the soldier, bleeding on 
 the plain, who would exchange the fame of Caesar 
 for a drop of water to cool his burning tongue. It 
 is true, that such a person often expresses himself in 
 poetical, that is, in strong language ; but this is not 
 poetry, which expresses a vivid imagination of the 
 sorrow, rather than the reality, and implies a steady 
 scrutiny of feelings, and a measuring of the depth 
 and power of language, to which real suffering is a 
 stranger. The whole advantage which a poet de 
 rives from acquaintance with grief is the same he 
 might borrow from being present in a storm at sea : 
 he could no more describe his emotions at the mo 
 ment when every nerve is strained and wrung with 
 grief, than he could sit down to paint the sublimity 
 of the tempest when the vessel lets in water at every 
 seam. Afterwards he may remember the circum 
 stances, and recall the feelings ; and, if he do it with 
 judgment and selection, may affect the minds of his 
 readers with impressions similar to his own. But 
 he cannot do this till the fear and anguish are gone, 
 or, at least, till he finds a consolation in the exercise 
 of his mind, which makes him forget his sorrows. 
 No stronger confirmation of this can be given than 
 the lines addressed to Thyrza, which exceed all 
 lyrical poetry in the language for the deep feeling 
 which they express. They were addressed to an im 
 aginary person ; and the emotions, if he ever had 
 
BYRON. 51 
 
 felt them, were, at the moment of writing, dictated by 
 the fancy rather than the heart. While, therefore, 
 we believe that Byron was melancholy in his tem 
 perament, we do not believe that poetry was either 
 the cause or the effect of his depression. His sadness 
 was owing to the circumstances of his life ; but, whe 
 ther natural or accidental, it must be admitted in 
 extenuation of his faults, because, even if accidental, 
 it was formed at an early period by events over which 
 he had but little control. 
 
 Lord Byron never appeared in so interesting a 
 light as at the time when " Childe Harold " had made 
 him the gaze of every eye. This was the happiest 
 and most brilliant portion of his life ; indeed, the only 
 portion to which those words can properly be applied. 
 Beside his literary pretensions, he had begun to as 
 pire to the fame of an orator, and had already spoken 
 once or twice with promising success. But all other 
 hopes were dimmed by his poetical triumph, and 
 seldom has there broken on the eye of man a scene 
 of equal glory. He had not anticipated this ; he 
 had reproached himself with relying so far on the 
 opinion of his friends as to give his poem to the 
 press ; his success, therefore, was made more wel 
 come by surprise ; and when we remember, that, 
 in addition to this, he had the charms of high birth, 
 renowned ancestry, and uncommon beauty of per 
 son, it is not strange that the public, with its English 
 enthusiasm, should have been transported with admi 
 ration. Wherever he went, he was received with 
 rapture ; nobility, fashion, even royalty itself, united 
 in the general acclamation ; his natural shyness 
 
52 BYRON*. 
 
 passed for the absence of genius ; his constraint in 
 formal society was taken for the coldness of sorrow ; 
 his brow was supposed to be overcast by a melan 
 choly imagination ; his faults, so far as known, gave 
 an air of romantic wildness to his character, though 
 they were generally veiled by the clouds of incense 
 that rose from every side, and gathered round him. 
 Those who had suffered from his sarcasm laid their 
 resentment by, and came manfully forward to offer 
 at once their forgiveness and applause. Sensitive as 
 he was on the subject of self, he had every thing to 
 keep him in a state of perpetual excitement, delight 
 ful no doubt for a time, but calculated, when its first 
 freshness was over, to bring more uneasiness than 
 gratification ; and a poor preparation for that hour 
 when the sounds of applause were to die away, and 
 nothing to be heard but the murmur of condemna 
 tion, that reached him even across the deep. 
 
 As we have said, he appears more amiable at this 
 period of his life than at any other : for a time, he is 
 at peace with himself and all around him. The ap 
 pearance of the " Giaour," and the compliments paid 
 him by Jeffrey on that occasion, completed his exal 
 tation. But, while it is pleasant to witness the rejoi 
 cing of success, Byron s friends, had they known his 
 nature, would have trusted but little to the promise 
 of that hour. We cannot judge of a dwelling by 
 its appearance when illuminated for a victory, nor of 
 any character by the happiness produced by circum 
 stances, for such happiness cannot last ; and, when 
 it goes, it leaves the heart more desolate than it was 
 before. If the world s favor did not change, it was 
 
BYRON. 53 
 
 almost certain that he himself would alter ; after living 
 on this exciting element for a while, it would naturally 
 lose its power ; the fountain, having been drained in 
 the beginning, could not be filled anew; and, as 
 nothing less luxurious would satisfy his desires, he 
 must of course return to his old state of depression, 
 sinking low in proportion to the height from which 
 he fell. Such was the result. We soon find him 
 making arrangements for another voyage ; he seem 
 ed to anticipate the time when the popular interest 
 should fail him, and therefore kept himself as much 
 apart as possible ; still the change was to come in 
 the order of nature, and it came first in him ; he 
 grew weary of receiving, sooner than the world of 
 giving, its praise. He says of Sheridan, " What a 
 wreck is that man ! and all from bad pilotage ; far 
 no one had ever better gales." The same might be 
 said of himself at this time ; but the truth is, that no 
 winds are favorable to those who are not made in a 
 measure independent of circumstances by something 
 firm within. When energy at heart is wanting, it 
 requires a miraculous combination of circumstances 
 to keep one good, prosperous, or happy. 
 
 This brings us to Lord Byron s marriage and sepa 
 ration ; a piece of history which has long been pub 
 licly discussed, and with a freedom unusual in such 
 cases. It was investigated perhaps with the more 
 earnestness from its being carefully hidden ; but now 
 the slight mystery that hung over it is removed by 
 Mr. Moore s publication, and a statement from Lady 
 Byron, which has followed it, and which reveals all 
 the circumstances that the public are likely ever to 
 
 5* 
 
54 BYRON. 
 
 know. This is the first time she has ever appealed 
 to the public against the charm of her husband s 
 poetical insinuations ; silence was certainly the more 
 dignified course, and no explanation from her was 
 called for ; the public feeling in the circle round them 
 was all on her side ; and Lord Byron was visited 
 with a sentence of outlawry, which made him an 
 exile ever after. There was a stern cry of indigna 
 tion against him, which indicated either that the 
 English fashionable world had been suddenly con 
 verted to rigid morality, or that his popularity was 
 on the wane ; and enemies of all descriptions, literary 
 and political, took advantage of the moment to give 
 him a fatal blow. The history of the separation, as 
 given in this work, leaves a charge of duplicity on 
 Lady Byron, which she did wisely to repel. He says, 
 that shortly after the birth of her daughter she went 
 to visit her parents ; they parted in the utmost kind 
 ness ; she wrote him a letter on the way, full of play 
 fulness and affection ; and, as soon as she arrived at 
 Kirkby Mallory, her father wrote to inform Lord 
 Byron that she w r ould never return. This was at a 
 time when his pecuniary embarrassments had become 
 intolerably pressing ; executions had been repeatedly 
 in his house ; and for a wife to choose this time and 
 manner to leave her husband would inspire a natural 
 prejudice against her, unless there were grave rea 
 sons to justify her apparent want of sincerity and 
 good feeling. 
 
 Lady Byron explains her conduct, in a letter writ 
 ten to justify her parents from the charge of interfer 
 ing on this occasion. She states that she believed 
 
BVRON. 55 
 
 her husband insane, and acted upon that impression, 
 both in leaving him and in writing her letter, choos 
 ing the tone and manner least likely to irritate his 
 passions. She states, that, had she not considered 
 him insane, she could not have borne with him so 
 long. She endeavored to obtain a separation ; but 
 the circumstances were not thought sufficient to 
 make out the case of insanity. We are not sur 
 prised that such was her impression. Mr. Moore 
 mentions, that Byron was in the habit of keeping 
 fire-arms in his carriage and near his bed. Such 
 extravagance was enough to excite her suspicion of 
 his soundness of mind ; and there was nothing to 
 quiet her apprehensions in his temper, which was 
 grown irresistible by long indulgence of self-will : he 
 was wholly untaught to submit to those mutual con 
 cessions which domestic happiness and harmony 
 require. When we remember that his passions, 
 which he himself describes as occasionally savage, 
 were incensed by seeing his house repeatedly in pos 
 session of officers of the law, no wonder that all 
 should have seemed like madness to her even spirit 
 and uniform feelings. 
 
 We do not know how any one acquainted with 
 the history of their attachment could have antici 
 pated any other result. The first mention of Lady 
 Byron is found in the " Journal : " 
 
 " A very pretty letter from Armabella, which. I answered. 
 What an odd situation and friendship is ours ! without one spark 
 of love on either side, and produced by circumstances which in 
 general lead to coldness on one side, and aversion on the other. 
 She is a very superior woman, and very little spoiled, which is 
 
56 BYRON. 
 
 strange in an heiress, a girl of twenty, a peeress that is to be in 
 her own right, an only child, and a savante, who has always had 
 her own way. She is a poetess, mathematician, metaphysician, 
 and yet very kind, generous, and gentle, with very little pre 
 tension." p. 331. 
 
 Here, it seems, there was no love on either side. 
 He says, in another place, " A wife would be the 
 salvation of me ; " and this Mr. Moore explains by 
 his conviction, that " it was prudent to take refuge 
 in marriage from those perplexities which form the 
 sequel of all less regular ties." These are ominous 
 words. He offered himself at that time to Miss Mil- 
 banke, and was rejected : " on neither side was love 
 either felt or professed." " In the meantime, new 
 entanglements, in which his heart was the willing 
 dupe of his fancy and vanity, came to engross the 
 young poet ; and still, as the usual penalties of such 
 pursuits followed, he found himself sighing for the 
 sober yoke of wedlock, as some security against their 
 recurrence." Such is his friend s account of the 
 reasons of this connection. Some time after this, a 
 friend advised him to marry ; to which he assented, 
 " after much discussion." He himself was for an 
 other application to Miss Milbanke ; but his friend 
 dissuaded him, on the ground that she was learned, 
 and had then no fortune. He at last agreed that his 
 friend should write a proposal to another lady : it 
 was rejected. " You see," said Lord Byron, " that 
 Miss Milbanke is to be the person." He immediately 
 wrote to her ; and his friend, reading what he had 
 written, said, " This is really a very pretty letter : it 
 is a pity it should not go." " Then it shall go," said 
 
BYRON. 57 
 
 Lord Byron. It went ; and the offer was accepted. 
 In this way, the most important action of his life was 
 done. He said, " I must of course reform ;" and, 
 with this shadow of a resolution, he went through 
 the ceremony in a kind of thoughtless heaviness, 
 which he was at no pains to conceal. What induced 
 Lady Byron to risk her happiness in such an adven 
 ture, we cannot tell, unless she was ambitious of the 
 glory of reforming such a man. If so, she did her 
 part, by his own acknowledgment. 
 
 " I do not believe, and I must say it, in the dress of this bitter 
 business, that there ever was a better, or even a brighter, kinder, 
 more agreeable, or more amiable being than Lady B. I never had, 
 nor can have, any reproach to make her while with me." 
 
 Such hopes are invariably disappointed : their only 
 chance of success consists in a strong hold upon the 
 affections, which she never had on his. Such a mar 
 riage-contract, like the book of some ancient prophet, 
 was written, within and without, with lamentation, 
 mourning, and woe. 
 
 Mr. Moore is inclined to attribute all this to the 
 incapacity of men of genius to enjoy domestic peace. 
 He forgets that, in defending his friend, he does 
 injustice to talent, as well as to Him who gave it. 
 Examples may be found among poets of such unfor 
 tunate marriages ; but there is no connection of cause 
 and effect between their genius and their guilt or 
 calamity, which ever it may be. We do not believe 
 a single word of his refined speculation on this sub 
 ject. We cannot believe that poetical inspiration, 
 that glorious gift of God, can ever be a curse to its 
 innocent possessor. Like every thing else, it may 
 be abused ; and then the greater the power, the wider 
 
90 BYRON. 
 
 will be the destruction. But there is no tendency to 
 abuse in its nature. There is no need of giving the 
 reins to imagination. Where this power is strong, 
 the judgment, if encouraged, will be strong in full 
 proportion, and, if taught to do its office, will keep 
 the fancy from excesses as well as the passions. So 
 far from giving even a distaste for reality, it will give 
 a charm to reality, by surrounding it w r ith elevating 
 associations ; it will raise its possessor above the com 
 mon level of life, not too high to see all things dis 
 tinctly, and yet so high that he can look over and 
 beyond them. Man is made lord of all his passions, 
 invested with power over all the elements of his 
 nature. He may keep or he may resign it ; he may 
 cast the crown from his head ; he may make himself 
 the slave of those affections which he is bound to go 
 vern.; but let him not libel his nature, for he makes 
 himself weak when Heaven meant him to be strong ; 
 he sinks himself into degradation and sorrow where 
 Providence would never have placed him. The fault 
 is all in his own infirmity of purpose and will. 
 
 We shall not probably have another opportunity 
 of speaking of Lord Byron ; and we cannot leave 
 the subject without saying a word of his writings. 
 His name has now become historical, and his works 
 are registered in the treasures of English poetry. 
 Now, if ever, they can be fairly judged. The enthu 
 siasm in favor of the writer has nearly died away; 
 and, as usual in cases of re-action, begins to be suc 
 ceeded by an indifference which is more fatal than 
 any other infliction to a poet s fame. His works are 
 not so much read at present as they will be some 
 years hence, when what is obscure and prosaic about 
 
BYRON. 59 
 
 them will be passed by, the grosser parts dismissed 
 to oblivion, and that which is great and excellent be 
 read with an unmingled pleasure, which his readers 
 cannot now enjoy. 
 
 " Childe Harold" is his most important work, and 
 on this and his lyrical poems his fame must ultimately 
 depend. It was a secret outpouring of his soul, 
 deeply colored by his peculiar genius arid feeling. 
 It bears no marks of that constraint and adaptation 
 produced by a consciousness that the public eye was 
 upon him. The Childe is a character sufficiently 
 natural ; and the feelings embodied in it by the poet, 
 allowing for a little overstatement, nearly resembled 
 his own. It was a happy imagination to represent 
 only the more striking scenes, such as would be 
 likely to fix the attention of an uninterested wanderer. 
 It affords an excuse for passing over what is unsuited 
 to poetical description, and for giving bold relief to 
 such as could kindle the vacant pilgrim s heart and 
 eye. All about the poern, even its abruptness and 
 disorder, is brought into keeping, so that irregularity 
 becomes a beauty. 
 
 But the character of the Childe was so successful, 
 and he was so much flattered by its being taken for 
 a likeness of his own, that, instead of imagining new, 
 he was tempted to draw it again. In the " Giaour," 
 " Corsair," and other poems, he multiplies copies of 
 this original ; but, in attempting to give them ad 
 ditional effect, he has gone beyond the bounds of 
 truth and nature. We can imagine some good feel 
 ings lingering in the ruins of a libertine s character, 
 and reviving when his heart is moved to tenderness ; 
 
GO BYRON. 
 
 but to transfer the same affections to pirates and 
 murderers is so shocking to probability, that none 
 but very young readers can be interested. It is sur 
 prising that he should not have felt, that to ascribe 
 habitual good feeling to such a character is quite as 
 unnatural as to imagine good men living in the 
 practice of robbery arid murder. Still these works 
 abound in traits of great loveliness and power ; and, 
 though they did not injure his fame, could not pre 
 vent its natural decline, a decline which must 
 come unless every new effort of a poet transcend the 
 last. It was an indifference which he could not well 
 bear. Though he constantly declared his weariness 
 of the world and the men of it, he could not endure 
 that the world should grow weary of him. 
 
 We must say that we consider some of his lyrical 
 poems as the finest in the language. The deep feel 
 ing which he delighted to express was better suited 
 to short pieces than to long poems. For, though in 
 a poem such passages occur at times with startling 
 effect, they give the humble aspect of prose to all 
 that comes between. But many of them are out of 
 the reach of criticism or of praise. The allusions 
 to lost friends which close the two first cantos of 
 " Childe Harold " never will be read without emo 
 tion. His " Night before Waterloo " will make 
 hearts thrill longer than the victory, and his " Thun 
 der-storm in the Alps " will be remembered as long 
 as thunders roll. 
 
 We are bound to say of this work, that the moral 
 tone is not what it should have been. Not that the 
 writer endeavors to conceal Lord Byron s faults 
 
BYRON. 61 
 
 he tells them without reserve ; nor that he flatters 
 the moral character of his subject. So far as he had 
 any clear conceptions of a character so unformed, 
 he gives them with great impartiality. But he speaks 
 of vices at times with a light and careless air, as if 
 they were harmless if not discovered. Still the mo^ 
 ral effect of his work will not be so unfavorable as 
 might be feared ; for, beside that it is not likely to 
 be popular, envy is the very last feeling which his 
 account of Lord Byron would inspire. Never was 
 there a more striking picture of a man splendidly 
 unhappy ; weak in character, though mighty in his 
 powers ; solitary as a hermit, though born to rank 
 and fortune ; wandering without pleasure, and repos 
 ing without rest ; admired by millions, and loved by 
 very few ; able to move the spirit of nations, and 
 himself like the great ocean lifted and broken by 
 gales that would not have agitated humbler waters. 
 We freely confess, that we read his history with 
 compassion ; feeling as if one who was never directed 
 in the right way could hardly be said to have wan 
 dered. But no such feelings can deceive us into an 
 approbation of his character : we hold him up as 
 a warning, not as an example. We might have 
 waited for the conclusion of this " Life," but for 
 various reasons thought it better to notice the first 
 volume. There can be nothing to make us regret, 
 that we have done so in the registry yet to come. 
 His hopeless fall began after his separation from his 
 wife, and his retreat from England. We have fol 
 lowed him to the edge of the cataract, and have no 
 disposition to see him dash below. 
 6 
 
62 
 
 AMERICAN FOKEST-TKEES. 
 
 Sylva Americana. By D. J. BROWNE. Boston, 1831. 
 
 THE word Sylva can never be pronounced without 
 recalling the memory of Evelyn, who, retired and un 
 ambitious as he was, has long been numbered among 
 the benefactors of mankind. It was no small ser 
 vice to recommend the cultivation of ornamental 
 trees, as a happy and elevating employment for men 
 of leisure and fortune. Many a desolate village has 
 been covered with beauty, and many a fiery street 
 of the city shaded, in consequence of the enthusiasm 
 inspired by his memory and example. Much, too, 
 has been added to the glory of the visible world and 
 the sources of philosophical contemplation, by taking 
 these lords of the forest from their retirement, and 
 placing them before the eye ; for what nobler object 
 can there be than a tree which has battled with the 
 storms of ages, and still calmly waves from it the 
 assault of the mightiest gales, standing in lofty inde 
 pendence, and throwing wide its protecting arms, as 
 if it were offering shelter and shade to generations 
 yet to come ? It is true, there are many to whom 
 they would have little value, if regarded merely as 
 materials and suggestions of thought ; but there are 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 63 
 
 none to whom their usefulness does not make them 
 important. Man must resort to them to build and 
 furnish his dwelling, and then solicit their friendly 
 shield to defend him from the summer sun. In 
 winter he must resort to them again ; and they are 
 ready to cast away their verdure " to let in the sun, 
 and to light up his dwelling with their cheerful fires," 
 like feudal vassals, willing either to live or die in the 
 service of their chief. Even nations also are com 
 pelled to lean their mighty arms for support upon 
 the neglected trees of the wood. The oaks which 
 Evelyn planted aided to bear the thunder of Eng 
 land in the bright chain of victories which ended at 
 Trafalgar. It is consoling to think how much can 
 be done by men in private stations for the benefit of 
 their country and mankind. They are apt to feel as 
 if their power was too limited to carry any responsi 
 bility with it ; as if their voice died away upon the 
 air when they spoke, and they could give no impulse 
 beyond the reach of their arm ; and yet here is an 
 example of a man of private station and moderate 
 fortune, who lived two centuries ago, and who is 
 still successfully exhorting men to make themselves 
 useful and happy in the way which he recommends, 
 so that his advice and example are still forming 
 characters, inspiring labors, and securing services to 
 mankind which would otherwise be wholly lost. "We 
 should be glad to know the name of the statesman of 
 that age, of any party, Cromwell or Clarendon, 
 whose influence is thus felt at the present day, either 
 in the world at large, in his own country, or in any 
 human breast. 
 
64 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 In this country, the example of Evelyn is likely to 
 do more in future than in his own, unless some great 
 change takes place in the internal condition of Eng 
 land. We are told, that, ten years ago, there were but 
 twenty thousand landholders in England, setting aside 
 the clergy and corporations. The mere tenants at will 
 have no interest or ambition to plant trees, without 
 the hope that their descendants will sit under the 
 shade ; or, rather, the reflection that they have no spot 
 of ground which they can call their own prevents 
 their taking an interest in any kind of improvement. 
 In this country the state of society is as different as 
 possible : there are hardly twenty thousand in any 
 territory of equal extent with England, who are not 
 proprietors of land, or freeholders. There, the nobil 
 ity and gentry, if they chance to be men of taste, 
 are too much engrossed with politics or the pleasures 
 of the capital, to find much gratification in pursuits 
 of this kind : there are some who set a worthy ex 
 ample, but there cannot be many to follow it. The 
 success of Sir Henry Stuart, in Scotland, who con 
 verted a barren heath into a noble forest, might 
 strike the imagination of thousands ; but the great 
 proportion of those who would be most desirous to 
 imitate him would probably be those who were not 
 proprietors of land sufficient for a grave. Owing to 
 our different circumstances, we are confident that 
 such writers will do more for this country than their 
 own. Our climate is more favorable to this kind of 
 vegetation ; we need it to generate and preserve mois 
 ture, and to shelter us from our summer suns, which 
 burn with fiercer heat ; we have more room to allow 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 65 
 
 them, and our forests are so crowded that there is 
 less temptation to hew it down for the fires. But all 
 such considerations are less effectual than the pride 
 which every man feels in his own paternal acre. 
 Even if he have but one, he desires to have it such 
 as to attract the passing stranger s eye, and to bear a 
 comparison with the estate of his richer neighbor in 
 taste and beauty. 
 
 We speak of the natural tendency to improve 
 ment : we do not mean to say that this taste is by 
 any means universal, even in this portion of our 
 land. The suggestion of Cicero, that every man 
 thinks he can live a year, is true here as well as 
 elsewhere. He is therefore willing to plant his field 
 or garden, from which he can reap the fruit, while 
 he feels less inducement to plant trees which he may 
 never live to enjoy. We have inherited little taste 
 of this kind from our fathers. Besides that their 
 whole life was a warfare with the forest, and that 
 land was not considered cleared till it was bare as 
 the sea-shore, it was evidently no particular object 
 for them to cultivate trees near their mansions, as a 
 convenient stalking-horse for the Indian marksman. 
 Their children, as a matter of course, followed their 
 example, though the necessity for it no longer ex 
 isted. Even now, the pioneer of civilization begins 
 his improvements, as he calls them, by cutting down 
 every tree within gun-shot of his dwelling ; and 
 when, at length, overpowered by the solicitations of 
 his wife or daughter, he reluctantly proceeds to plant, 
 the result of his labors appears in a few long leaf 
 less poles, standing in solemn uprightness waiting 
 
 6* 
 
66 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 for the miracle of Aaron s rod. But it is sufficiently 
 evident that a better taste is growing among us, 
 owing partly to the exertions of individuals, and 
 partly to the natural tendency of growing prosperity 
 and ambition. Our forests offer us treasures, such 
 as few lands can rival, and none possibly exceed. 
 We are told that in the United States there are one 
 hundred and forty species of forest-trees of the larger 
 size ; while in France there are but thirty of the 
 same description, of which eighteen enter into the 
 composition of the forests, and seven only are em 
 ployed in building. The wild splendor of our woods 
 in autumn, their green lights and shadows in spring, 
 the heavy grandeur of their evergreen masses with 
 the snow above them in winter, or the fine outline 
 of their naked arms against the sky, never fail to 
 strike the most careless observer of nature. Interest 
 follows the first emotions of surprise ; that interest 
 deepens as he becomes acquainted with the won 
 drous revelations which science opens in every plant 
 that the earth bears, and his natural impulse is to 
 surround himself with these noble works of heaven. 
 And this is easily accomplished; for though, as Eve 
 lyn says, " the aspen takes it ill to have his head cut 
 off," this is not the case with most other trees, which 
 submit to the operation with perfect indifference, and, 
 even after being mangled in root, branch, leaf, and 
 flower, will flourish and reward the hand that trans 
 plants them. Or, if his native trees are too common 
 to be beautiful in his eyes, he has only to send to 
 foreign countries; and, as there are few trees like 
 the home-sick palm-tree, which " will not quit its 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 67 
 
 place of birth," they will come, regardless of the 
 voyage, and grow contentedly in a climate very dif 
 ferent from their own. This interest, so easily satis 
 fied, when once awakened is not likely to decline ; 
 and this labor is suited to prevail extensively, be 
 cause, like virtue, it is its own direct, immediate, and 
 sufficient reward. 
 
 But, apart from the interest which an employment 
 of this kind easily and naturally awakens, these 
 objects acquire a strong hold on the affections : man 
 learns to love his contemporary trees. We have 
 often thought that the mysterious feeling awakened 
 in the Swiss soldiers by hearing the Ranz des 
 Vaches was owing to the distinctness with which 
 the strong features of their native scenery were 
 impressed upon their minds : the frowning rock, the 
 dashing river, the cloudy ridge, were clear and visible 
 forms in their memory ; and the breath of a song was 
 sufficient to touch the delicate spring, and make the 
 whole vision start up into their souls. In the same 
 way, the memory of the absent fastens itself to the 
 tree which shaded his father s door, which still retains 
 all its greenness in his imagination ; though the chil 
 dren who once played in careless happiness beneath 
 it have long since been separated, both in place and 
 heart, and the aged man who sat in his arm-chair, 
 looking thoughtfully upon them, has long ago rested 
 in the grave. We may anywhere observe, that 
 natives of places which have any remarkable objects 
 of this kind feel a stronger local attachment, more 
 pleasure and pride in their home, and far more inter 
 est in public improvement, than those who have no 
 
68 
 
 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 such landmarks for the memory : for example, the 
 elm on the common of our city, which is said to have 
 been carried there on a man s shoulders in 1721, is 
 now not more deeply covered with foliage than with 
 venerable and pleasing associations. 
 
 The fact is, that these must be the monuments of 
 our country. Mrs. Trollope, disappointed at not 
 meeting with Parisian manners in our western steam 
 boats, looked out for baronial castles upon the Alle- 
 ghany mountains, and was indignant to find that no 
 such vestiges of civilization appeared. Doubtless we 
 should rejoice to have them ; but, since the privilege 
 is denied us, we do as well as we can without them. 
 But this defect, great and serious as we confess it is, 
 cannot reasonably be charged upon popular institu 
 tions ; and the pious thankfulness which she expresses 
 at being delivered from republicanism is like that of 
 a soldier in our late war, who, when shot through 
 his high military cap, remarked that he was devoutly 
 grateful that he had not a low-crowned hat on, as in 
 that case the ball would have gone directly through 
 his head. These things are evidently chargeable to 
 circumstances over which we have no control. And 
 yet, had we such ornaments on every height, we 
 fear that too many Avho regard comfort more than 
 taste would remark, like her countryman at Eome, 
 that " the ruins were much in need of repair." But 
 we must endeavor to prepare ourselves against the 
 coming of all future Trollopes, by providing such 
 monuments as our forlorn condition admits, not such 
 as the elements of nature waste, but such as they 
 strengthen and restore. Almost all other monuments 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 69 
 
 leave us in doubt whether to regard them as memo 
 rials of glory or of shame. The Chinese wall is a 
 monument of the cowardice and weakness of those 
 who raised it : they built walls, because they wanted 
 hearts, to defend their country. The Pyramids of 
 Egypt are monuments certainly of the ignorance, 
 and most probably of the superstition, of their build 
 ers ; the cathedrals are monuments of a corrupt reli 
 gion ; and the same baronial castles, the want of 
 which we never deplored till now, are monuments 
 of a state of society in which every thing was bar 
 barous, and are witnesses, by their still existing, that 
 the art of war, the only science thought worth regard 
 ing, was but wretchedly understood. To us it seems 
 that Chaucer s oak and Shakspeare s mulberry-tree, 
 the oak of Alfred at Oxford, and the one in Torwood 
 Forest, under which Wallace first gathered his fol 
 lowers in arms, are as worthy and enduring memo 
 rials of great names and deeds as any that can 
 be hewn from the rock, and built by the hands of 
 men. The tower, as soon as it is completed, begins 
 to decay ; the tree, from the moment when it is 
 planted, grows firmer and stronger for many an age 
 to come. 
 
 We are the more earnest to recommend this cul 
 tivation to our readers, because in this country it can 
 seldom be more than an incidental employment : 
 there are few so situated as to be able to make it the 
 great business of their lives. We are often told that 
 this was the employment of man in paradise : it was 
 so ; but those who say it should remember, that the 
 air of paradise did not prove favorable to moral 
 
70 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 energy and virtue : it was made clear, in the case of 
 our first parents, that a state of peaceful enjoyment 
 and unmixed prosperity will never answer for man. 
 He must have labor of body and mind ; he must 
 have duties and trials ; he must associate with his fel 
 lows, in the race with the swift, and the battle with 
 the strong ; he must have his powers unfolded in the 
 broad sunshine of social life, and his feelings discip 
 lined by those disappointments and sorrows which 
 abound in the places where man contends with man, 
 before he can ever become that useful, happy, and 
 glorious being which our religion tends to form. We 
 do not recommend this cultivation, therefore, as an 
 epicurean indulgence, but rather as the employment 
 of hours which would be otherwise lost. When 
 Dumbiedikes charged his son " to be aye sticking in 
 a tree when ye have naething else to do," he proba 
 bly, considering the habits of his son and heir, thought 
 it equivalent to a charge to make it the business of 
 his life. We would give the same advice to our 
 readers ; understanding, however, that they have 
 other employments, like Evelyn, who, though in a 
 private station, was one of the most active and use 
 ful men of his day. 
 
 We would not say, that this cultivation is more 
 important than that of fruit-trees; but they carry 
 their own recommendation Avilh them : the most 
 unrelenting destroyers of forest-trees spare the others, 
 because they can be of service only when living, and 
 are of no value in the market when dead. The vir 
 tues of the trees of the forest are not felt by all, 
 though they are open to every eye. The cultivation 
 
AMERICAN F.OREST-TREES. 71 
 
 of fruit-trees is left to the care of men, because they 
 have an inducement to engage in it which can be 
 universally understood. Their seeds are generally 
 such as the peach-stone or the apple-seed, which can 
 not spread without human care ; they are meant to 
 be gathered, and not to vegetate beneath the tree on 
 which they grew ; while the trees of the forest, which 
 would be less likely to find friendly hands to render 
 them this service, are provided for by the parental 
 care of nature ; their seeds are light, easily dislodged 
 from the tree, in some instances provided with wings 
 to bear them away on the winds of heaven, where 
 they can be arrested in their flight, borne doAvn to 
 the earth, and beaten into the ground by the sum 
 mer shower. The difference in their forms is also 
 well worth observing. The trees which offer their 
 fruits to men are generally low and easily climbed ; 
 they grow with less towering height and less gigantic 
 proportions ; while the trees of the forest, which 
 stoop to no burdens, rise and spread, as if glorying 
 in their independence of man. It may generally be 
 observed, also, that the law of compensation prevails 
 in this and all other departments of nature. The 
 flowers of the field are more beautiful than the vege 
 tables of the garden ; and, in like manner, the dif 
 ference between the trees of the forest and those of 
 the garden is that of sovereigns and slaves. As much 
 interest as could be expected or desired is now taken 
 in the cultivation of fruit-trees, and it will soon be 
 well rewarded. Evelyn expressed a wish, that 
 every man might be compelled by law to set out 
 fruit-trees on the borders of the public roads, for the 
 
72 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 benefit of the wayfarers ; but there is much reason 
 to doubt whether this class of worthies would confine 
 themselves within the limits indicated by the law of 
 Moses, reasonable as it is : " When thou comest unto 
 thy neighbor s vineyard, thou mayest eat grapes thy 
 fill at pleasure, but thou shall not put any in thy ves 
 sel ; " or, rather, they might be too much taken up 
 with obeying the first of these provisions to pay 
 much attention to the last. We shall be content, 
 therefore, to see the highways fringed with trees 
 which will not lead them into temptation, and will 
 offer a still more abundant shade. 
 
 We are glad to see works offered to the public, 
 which call their attention to the subject ; and since 
 the great point is to excite a general interest in it, the 
 author judges well, who calls attention to the whole 
 subject, to the physiology as well as cultivation of 
 trees. To study botany according to the common 
 practice is an inversion of the order of nature ; some 
 knowledge of the organization of plants is absolutely 
 necessary to prepare the student to pursue the study 
 with interest and success ; and it is well known to 
 those who have paid any attention to the subject, 
 that all the improvements in the practical depart 
 ment, in successful planting and cultivation, have 
 been made by men who were most intimately ac 
 quainted with vegetable physiology, who knew the 
 use and importance of the various parts and organs, 
 the nature and effects of soil, climate, and season, 
 and various other circumstances which require to 
 be taken into view, but are in general unknown or 
 disregarded. Nothing can be more grotesque and 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 73 
 
 inhuman than the common process of a husbandman 
 in transplanting a tree. His first step is to behead it, 
 which, however intended, is an act of kindness to put 
 it out of its pain ; he then deprives it of the organs of 
 respiration, both buds and leaves ; and, last of all, 
 buries the root with as much haste and carelessness 
 as if it were one of the cholera victims. So wonder 
 ful an exploit was it considered to preserve the spark 
 of life in a transplanted tree, that, as some of our 
 readers may remember, a worthy in this region many 
 years ago became celebrated for his powers, being 
 supposed to have some gift of nature, like Sullivan 
 for horsebreaking, or Prince Hohenlohe for healing. 
 Every tree was supposed to gain life and vigor from 
 his touch ; and such was the fame of his success, that 
 he was summoned to all parts of the State to practise 
 in these desperate cases. In the wane of life, when 
 the season of profit was over, he revealed his secret 
 to a friend ; and it appeared that his miraculous 
 power, in saving trees from death, consisted in rescu 
 ing them from the hands of their murderers. He did 
 not suffer the tree to be deprived of its head, so im 
 portant a part of the system of all living things ; he 
 gave a decent burial to the roots, and secured the 
 stem by a stake from being shaken by the winds ; 
 but, more than all the rest, he was careful never to 
 undertake the important trust except when the wind 
 was west and the moon was new. We do not con 
 sider the astronomical and meteorological part of his 
 prescriptions quite so essential as he did, but we 
 would recommend an acquaintance with vegetable 
 physiology as essential to success. How little this is 
 7 
 
74 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 generally understood, any one may ascertain by a 
 few inquiries of those whose business makes them 
 familiar with the woods. We remember once request 
 ing an individual who had passed his life among trees, 
 to take a basket and gather some of the seeds of the 
 elm, for the purpose of forming a small plantation. 
 He seemed doubtful for some time whether the 
 request was made in jest or earnest, and at last con 
 fessed that he had passed thirty years of his life with 
 out knowing till that moment that the elm had any 
 seed. 
 
 Beside the importance of this study just alluded 
 to, it is a delightful one even for those who have no 
 practical acquaintance with trees : it contains some 
 of the most wonderful marks of design and prepara 
 tion, of divine, creative skill, and seemingly intelligent 
 action, where there is no mind within to direct it, 
 which can be found in any part of nature, eloquent 
 and ample as it is in its testimony to Him who made 
 it. We shall not enter into the comparison between 
 the properties of plants and the instinct of animals, 
 our knowledge of both being quite too imperfect ; 
 but to us, whether from accidental prejudice or not 
 we cannot say, none of the contrivances of the ani 
 mal world seem so surprising as the manner in which 
 vegetables, confined as they are to a single spot, are 
 able to gather food for their subsistence, to protect 
 and restore themselves from injury, to prepare for 
 all the changes of season and climate, and, at the 
 same time to exert a constant action for the benefit 
 of man, and, in fact, of all nature. The root, for 
 example, nothing can be more surprising than the 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES, 75 
 
 manner in which it forms itself and spreads, so as to 
 give the tree precisely the support and subsistence 
 which it requires. If the soil or season be dry, it in 
 creases its nourishment by throwing out more fibres. 
 The fibres themselves turn and move in the direction 
 where moisture is most readily found ; so that, in the 
 well-known instance of the plane-tree mentioned by 
 Lord Kaimes, the roots actually descended the wall 
 from a considerable height, in order to find sub 
 sistence in the ground below, The fibres continual 
 ly suck from the soil, with their spongy mouths, 
 water impregnated with whatever substances the 
 tree requires ; and, even after the stem is dead, they 
 continue this action for a time, that the gathered 
 moisture of the roots may accelerate their decay. 
 The manner in which the stem rises and hardens 
 itself to resist the elements is equally striking. The 
 new wood of the sapling is compressed by the new 
 layer which covers it in each succeeding year, being 
 thus compelled to shoot upwards, and at the same 
 time to grow firm and strong. While the wood is 
 thus formed by accessions from without, the bark 
 increases by layers from within, which swell till it 
 bursts, and becomes the rough, external garment of 
 the tree. The new layers of wood contain the chan 
 nels through which sap is conveyed to the leaves, 
 like blood to the lungs of man. The leaves, formed 
 of the fibres of the stem spread out and connected by 
 a delicate net- work of green, are filled with veins and 
 arteries, through which the life-blood flows. They 
 are formed in the summer, to expand in the follow 
 ing year ; packed up in their buds with wonderful 
 
76 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 neatness and precision, covered with brown scales to 
 preserve them from the frosts of winter, and, if need 
 be, coated with varnish, which excludes the air and 
 moisture through the season of danger, and melts in 
 the warm sun of the next year s spring, allowing the 
 verdure to break forth at once and cover the tree. 
 The early sap steals up the moment the sweet 
 influences of Pleiades loose the bands of nature. 
 When this has opened the buds, and nourished the 
 young leaves, the maturer sap rises, holding the food 
 of the tree in solution, and passes directly to the 
 leaves. These retain what they want, and dismiss 
 the rest by evaporation, which, like the insensible 
 perspiration of man, is necessary to the health of the 
 tree, but cannot take place without the friendly 
 action of the sun. In the leaves, the sap is prepared 
 to form part of the substance of the tree, and is then 
 distributed by vessels passing principally through the 
 bark and partly through the latest formation of wood. 
 It is from this returning sap that the various gums 
 and similar substances drawn from trees are secreted, 
 as tears and saliva in the human system are secreted 
 from the blood. The manner and effect of respira 
 tion through the leaves is not the least singular part 
 of these operations. They absorb oxygen from the 
 atmosphere during the night, to combine with 
 the carbon in the sap, and convert it into carbonic 
 acid ; the action of the light decomposes the acid ; 
 and, while the carbon is deposited in the returning 
 sap, the oxygen is exhaled in the air. This is only 
 returning what the leaves had borrowed from the 
 air : it, however, would be sufficient to prevent inju- 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 77 
 
 dons effects from vegetation, similar to those which 
 animals suffer from the air which they have breathed 
 in a confined room for any length of time ; and it 
 shows that the presence of plants, though injurious 
 an the hours of darkness, is perfectly harmless through 
 out the day. 
 
 So far from being deleterious in its effects, the 
 respiration of plants, of the million trees, herbs, and 
 flowers, is actually beneficial to the air : they are 
 constantly purifying the atmosphere, tainted as it is 
 with the breath of animals, and the presence of 
 decay. For the oxygen they give to the air is not 
 merely what they borrowed: they repay the debt 
 with interest. The oxygen which was drawn from 
 the soil in the sap is exhaled at the same time with the 
 other. It is matter of wonder to notice the effects 
 produced both by its presence and departure. When 
 it is exhaled in the sunshine, the carbon, deposited 
 in the leaf, and combining its dark blue with the yel 
 low tissue, produces green, from the first pale tinge 
 of spring to the rich, deep summer shade ; and when, 
 as in the closing year, the leaves absorb oxygen by 
 night, and lose the power of exhaling it by day, it 
 destroys the green, and produces the wild and fanci 
 ful wreaths by which autumn veils for a season the 
 sad reality of its decay ; a splendid confusion of tints, 
 which is seen to more advantage in our country than 
 in any other, and is not the least part of the beauty 
 by which trees recommend themselves to man. 
 
 It is interesting to observe the manner in which 
 trees, as the year declines, prepare themselves to 
 resist the cold and to battle with the winter storms. 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 They seem like vessels closing their ports, tightening 
 their cordage, and taking in their sails, when only 
 the veteran seaman would know that a tempest is 
 on the way. They drop their leaves, bind close their 
 trunks, and suspend their vital movements, as soon 
 as they hear the first whispers of the gale. The 
 substance of the tree retains an even temperature 
 throughout the year : it draws the sap from a depth, 
 where it is colder in summer and warmer in winter 
 than the external soil. The bark, too, a slow con 
 ductor of heat, serves to retain its warmth ; and the 
 tree seems to make this preparation, as if it knew 
 that, should the cold penetrate and burst its vessels, 
 it will surely die. It gets rid of its superfluous 
 moisture as soon as possible, the danger of frost 
 being increased in proportion to the water which it 
 contains ; for, as our cultivators know from the sad 
 experience of the last winter, a sudden cold after a 
 wet season is very apt to be fatal ; but, except in 
 extraordinary times, they contrive to secure them 
 selves so effectually, that the severest winter cannot 
 destroy them. Meantime, the fallen leaves, unlike 
 all other vegetable decay, seem to aid in purifying 
 the air. Any one who has walked through a forest, 
 after the fall of the leaf, must have observed the 
 sharp, peculiar smell of its decay. In short, every 
 thing about these lords of the wood is striking to a 
 thoughtful mind. Their graceful and majestic forms 
 are pleasing to the eye ; their construction and 
 internal action excite the curiosity, and worthily em 
 ploy the mind ; they breathe health and fragrance 
 upon the air, and in many, probably many yet un- 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 79 
 
 discovered ways, declare themselves the friends of 
 man. 
 
 We will not dwell further on particulars of this 
 kind, which many of our readers already know, 
 though they well deserve attention ; but we can 
 urge men to do something for themselves more suc 
 cessfully, perhaps, if we show what is done for them 
 by the liberal care of nature. And this appears in 
 the manner in which the seeds of trees preserve their 
 living principle, and resist decay. They may be 
 transported to any distance, and preserved for almost 
 any length of time. This, however, is not peculiar 
 to the seeds of trees : those of frailer plants are 
 equally suited in this respect to the convenience of 
 man. If buried too deep in the ground for the heat 
 to act upon them, they do not vegetate ; but if, years 
 after, accident brings them nearer the surface, they 
 are ready to spring and grow. This is often seen in 
 gardens, where long-lost plants are recovered in this 
 way ; and fields, where grain has not been sown for 
 nearly half a century, have been covered with it, in 
 consequence of being ploughed deeper than usual. 
 We are told that wheat, taken from an Egyptian 
 mummy, has vegetated and is now growing ; and 
 even a bulbous root, which more resembles a bud 
 than a seed, has grown readily, after having been 
 preserved in a similar way for not less than two 
 thousand years. It is in this way, undoubtedly, that 
 we must account for the fact which has been thought 
 so difficult to explain, that, when a forest is cleared 
 away in the summary manner so common among us, 
 it is succeeded by an entirely different growth. The 
 
80 AMERICAN FOREST TREES. 
 
 seeds must have remained treasured under the soil, 
 a benevolent provision of nature to cover the place 
 with verdure, as fast as man makes it a desolation. 
 And the same kindness appears in the provision 
 made for the geographical distribution of trees. We 
 have already alluded to the winged seeds, which any 
 one may observe in the plane-tree, or, in fact, in most 
 of the trees of the wood. Elevated as they are, the 
 wind acts freely upon them, and bears them in every 
 direction. Birds also are the means of distributing 
 many which could not be dispersed in the air : they 
 swallow the berries, and restore the seeds uninjured. 
 So wide and rapid is their flight, that young grapes 
 are sometimes found in the crops of pigeons, caught 
 here at a season when our vines are hardly in leaf. 
 The trees, often seen growing where no human hand 
 could have planted them, are generally such as have 
 been sown by birds. Tavernier remarks, that birds 
 from distant islands swallow the ripe nutmeg, and 
 throw it up undigested ; so that a tree springs from 
 it more luxuriant than such as are planted by human 
 hands. All animals bear a part in this great work 
 of nature. The Indians believed that the squirrel 
 employed his leisure hours in planting nuts for the 
 benefit of man. Mice are equally philanthropic and 
 unwearied in their exertions. It would be a shame 
 to men, if they should do nothing for themselves, 
 when all nature, living or inanimate, is thus engaged 
 in their service. Trees, transplanted from one soil 
 and climate to another, require care undoubtedly; 
 but they will do much to naturalize themselves. Men, 
 certainly, have done something ; and, wherever they 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 81 
 
 have exerted themselves, have been rewarded with 
 perfect success. Though Providence has given to 
 every region the vegetation most essential to its 
 wants, a great proportion has been added to every 
 civilized country by human care. Csesar is said to 
 have brought the chestnut from Sardis into Europe, 
 an act by which he rendered more service to man 
 kind than by all his battles and victories. Many of 
 the finest of our ornamental trees were originally 
 imported ; as, for example, the Chinese Ailanthus, 
 which endures our severest winters without protec 
 tion. But, so long as the treasures of our own 
 forests are neglected, we would not recommend to 
 our readers to go abroad for that variety which they 
 can easily find at home. They can follow the ex 
 ample of the old British planters, and search out the 
 virtues of what they already possess. " The lop 
 pings and leaves of the elm," says one of them, 
 " when dried in the sun, are preferred to oats by 
 cattle." " Beech leaves, gathered about the fall, 
 before they are much frost-bitten, afford the best and 
 easiest mattresses in the world." " The keys of the 
 ash, when young and tender, make a delicate pickle ; 
 its bark is the best for tanning nets, its wood for 
 drying herrings and for burning in a lady s chamber." 
 There are many discoveries yet to be made, by 
 which attention may be rewarded. 
 
 The manner in which the wants of men are pro 
 vided for is finely illustrated in this department of 
 nature. Every thing appears when and where it is 
 wanted. Sharon Turner has pointed out a pleasing 
 instance of this in the " Sacred History of the World." 
 
82 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 Seeds, as is well known to cultivators, vegetate best 
 in darkness ; and, till this change is commenced, are 
 injured, if not destroyed, by the presence of the sun. 
 Accordingly, in the history of creation, we find what 
 would generally be thought an inversion of the order 
 of nature : the vegetation is said to have begun before 
 the sun made its first appearance in the sky ; that 
 luminary was not created till its action Avas needed 
 to develop the leaves and flowers. Similar exam 
 ples of prospective care may be found in our coun 
 try, where great changes are crowded into narrow 
 spaces of time. When civilized man first came to 
 these regions, the forests were ready to feed his 
 gigantic fires ; and the same process which was ne 
 cessary to clear the land for cultivation supplied him 
 with comfort for his miserable dwelling, which could 
 hardly be warmed by any thing less than a confla 
 gration. Before the field could be subdued, the 
 forests abounded with game, and the rivers with 
 fish. But, the moment these resources were no 
 longer needed for food, the beasts began to retire 
 from the forests and the fish from the streams, as a 
 sort of intimation to man, that they supported him 
 only so long as he could not live by his own ex 
 ertions. And now, in the populous parts of our 
 country, where the hands of all can be profitably 
 employed, and such resources would be no better 
 than temptations, there is nothing left to invite or 
 reward any sportsman, save only the forlorn and 
 desperate fisherman, who wanders, like a ghost on 
 the banks of the fabled river below, exulting in a 
 nibble, and beside himself with joy at the capture of 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 83 
 
 a minnow. But civilization diminishes the wood; 
 and then those who spend fortunes in the discovery 
 of expedients for cheap fuel, who, as was said of 
 Count Rumford, " will not be content till they can 
 cook their dinner with the smoke of their neighbor s 
 chimney," though they do not often benefit them 
 selves, certainly aid to prevent ravages and waste 
 of the woods. Meantime the treasures of coal begin 
 to come to light, not perhaps in every part of the 
 country, but where they are within the reach of all ; 
 for the free communication which all public im 
 provement requires between all parts of the land 
 demands its railroads and canals, and does not cease 
 till the boat or the car can lay down its burden 
 almost at every man s door. 
 
 It would seem, from the accounts of geologists, 
 that we are indebted to vegetation for a great pro 
 portion of the materials which are now generally 
 used for fires. Jn the peat-bogs of Scotland and 
 Ireland, the remains of large trees are very abun 
 dant : they must have originally fallen with age, and, 
 by damming streams, made the soil unfit to support 
 vegetation ; so that whole forests fell, and were 
 buried under gradual accumulations of vegetable 
 matter. When the levels of Hatfield Chase were 
 drained, vast numbers of trees of all kinds were found 
 buried under the soil, which were overthrown proba 
 bly by the Romans, in order to drive out the natives 
 who had taken shelter in them. In the peat-mosses 
 of Scotland, the pines which have been buried for 
 ages, embalmed in their turpentine, retain their fresh 
 ness : similar remains are found in various parts of 
 
84 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 England. In many of these bogs are seen the marks 
 of successive formations : the oak is found in the 
 lowest stratum ; and in some parts of Scotland, where 
 at the present day oaks are dwarfish if they grow at 
 all, they are found of very large dimensions. This 
 stratum of peat is said to be very little inferior to 
 coal. In the second stratum, there is a much greater 
 variety of wood ; but birch and hazel are the prevail 
 ing kinds. Where there is a third stratum, the prin 
 cipal portion of the wood is alder. Though the peat 
 is but little valued in this country where other fuel 
 still abounds, there are regions in which it is very 
 important ; and we find, according to the suggestion 
 we have made, that, in countries where woods have 
 been wasted so that now they are almost gone, and 
 where the transportation of coal would be expensive, 
 if possible, these remains of ancient forests have been 
 kept by the arrangement of Providence, as a buried 
 treasure, within the reach of man s wants, but safe 
 from his devastations. 
 
 Many of our readers know, that coal, with the 
 exception of anthracite, is supposed also to be of 
 vegetable origin. Geologists are not agreed upon 
 this subject; but in some formations there are evi 
 dent remains of vegetable matter, and some believe 
 they can trace the successive changes from bitumi- 
 nated wood to coal. De Luc believes that the coal- 
 formations are the peat-bogs of the ancient world, 
 which had become inundated with sea- water. The 
 fossil peat, he says, differs from coal only in not 
 having been mineralized, and not having ferruginous 
 masses in the strata above it. It is believed that the 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 85 
 
 same action of water which changed vegetable mat 
 ter into peat can, after considerable time, produce 
 the further change to bitumen, and that the whole 
 process can be traced from the vegetable to peat, 
 peat to lignite, and lignite to coal. Thus it appears, 
 that a great proportion of men are now making use 
 of the remains of an earlier vegetation, which has 
 been preserved for their benefit by the unmerited 
 liberality of nature. 
 
 We say the unmerited liberality of nature, because 
 men are strangely wanting to themselves in these 
 respects. It is natural enough, that the first settlers 
 of a forest-region should take summary measures to 
 clear the soil for cultivation ; but to keep up a wild 
 waste, both with axe and fire, long after the soil is 
 subdued, is not so natural for those who have com 
 mon sense to govern their actions. The western 
 hunters, who would kill the buffalo for his tongue, 
 are not more merciless than the " lumberers" of 
 Canada. A party engaged in a lumbering expedi 
 tion provide themselves with axes, provisions, and 
 cattle, and proceed to the spot chosen for their winter 
 encampment, which, of course, is established where 
 the pine-timber most abounds. Here they build 
 their log-hut in the usual extemporaneous manner, 
 with a hole in the roof for a chimney, and pine- 
 branches for beds, on which they sleep with their 
 feet towards the fire. The person employed as cook 
 provides the breakfast before daylight, if that name 
 can be given to the meal, which they never partake 
 till they have paid their morning devotions to the 
 bottle. After breakfast, they separate into gangs, 
 
00 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 
 
 one of which cuts down the trees, another hews 
 them, and the third conveys them to the water. 
 Thus they are employed till the streams are swelled 
 by the melted snow in the spring, when they make 
 the logs into rafts, and are compelled to be so much 
 in the water that they contract a determined hostility 
 to that element, which lasts as long as they live. 
 This, however, is not very long ; for their employ 
 ment is almost as fatal to themselves as to the trees 
 they hew. Parties of this kind are fast destroying 
 the best vegetation of the northern forests ; but, care 
 less as they are, they are not half so destructive as 
 the clearing fires. Kindled without regard to any 
 thing beyond the immediate purpose of clearing a 
 few acres, it does not occur to the engineer, that it 
 may possibly spread beyond them : he takes it for 
 granted, that the fire, like the other agents he em 
 ploys, will be likely to do less rather than more than 
 he requires. Thus it often spreads into a conflagra 
 tion which the floods cannot drown, and the growth 
 of centuries sinks in a day, a scorched and black 
 ened ruin. 
 
 This process is conducted on a smaller scale, as 
 the country advances; not because men grow more 
 thoughtful in regard to future wants, but simply be 
 cause less is left to destroy. Even now, whoever 
 visits the northern parts of New England at certain 
 seasons is almost sure to see flames climbing the 
 hill-sides, and long red lines of fire reflected in the 
 waters by night. Beside the vast tracts of forest, 
 which are thus perhaps necessarily sacrificed ; beside 
 the immense quantities of wood, annually built up 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 87 
 
 in houses and vessels and consumed in fires, ouv 
 steamboats are every year increasing in numbers, 
 and making vast demands upon the forests of the 
 country. And yet, though the remark is frequently 
 made that all this must have an end, no one ever 
 seems to feel that our forests are not inexhaustible. 
 In the reign of Edward I. the nobility of England, 
 whose delicate senses were offended by the use of 
 coal, procured an order from the king, that nothing 
 but wood should be used. Perhaps, at that day, 
 such an order might be obeyed ; but there has not 
 been a period since, when the comfort, prosperity, 
 and even existence of England have not rested upon 
 her mineral treasures. The time must come when 
 our drafts upon the forests of our country must be 
 dishonored, unless some attention is paid to this 
 neglected subject. Wood must be used for various 
 purposes, which anthracite coal has not yet been 
 found to answer. If many tracts, which are noAv 
 given to unprofitable cultivation, were allowed to 
 cover themselves with this vegetation again, the hus 
 bandman might labor to more advantage in narrower 
 bounds, and the country would not be obliged to 
 give up an article, the want of which it would be 
 extremely difficult to supply. 
 
 Some other countries, which have begun to feel 
 the inconveniences of this privation, have bestowed 
 a degree of attention upon this subject which would 
 seem incomprehensible to many of our countrymen. 
 The Germans have established forest schools, in 
 which are taught all things relating to this kind of 
 vegetation, and the culture and management of forest- 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 trees. This system it would be impossible to intro 
 duce among us at present, at least upon a similar 
 scale ; for the Germans, thorough in every thing, 
 include a considerable range of sciences in the for 
 ester s education, embracing not only what are indis 
 pensable, but all that can aid him in his pursuits ; 
 whereas among us an acquaintance with the art of 
 wood-chopping would be the only qualification re 
 quired by public opinion. In France, where the 
 forests supply nearly all their fuel in the form of 
 wood or charcoal, a very rigid system of economy is 
 enforced by law. In England, during the existence 
 of the Republic, the forests were hewn down without 
 mercy, and sold by men in power for their own 
 advantage ; in France, on the contrary, during the 
 Revolution, the public forests escaped the fury of 
 the storm. In consequence of their enactments, 
 and the strictness with which they are observed, it is 
 calculated that the supply will always equal the 
 demand. In England this matter is left to individ 
 uals, with the single exception of securing the largest 
 timber for the navy ; and, in this country also, the 
 only way to produce a change in this respect is to 
 impress the necessity of such attention upon the peo 
 ple at large. Our government has lately shown 
 some little regard to the preservation of timber. It is 
 said that every ship of the line requires all the good 
 wood which can be found on fifty acres of woodland. 
 As the ships decay long before the forest can grow 
 again, and our navy must be constantly increasing, 
 it is certainly time that something efficient should be 
 done. Our government, however, is a mere expres- 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 89 
 
 sion of the popular sentiment ; and, unless some con 
 viction of the necessity of care should generally pre 
 vail, it is in vain to expect our rulers to regard such 
 matters. Even if they should, they have no power 
 to compel : the individual must be wrought upon by 
 a regard to the public good ; a principle which acts 
 but seldom and sparingly, unless connected with 
 some small hope of personal advantage. There are 
 many who show, though they do not avow, the feel 
 ing of him who said, that he should think it time to 
 do something for posterity, when posterity had done 
 something for him. 
 
 The business of cultivating trees, and supplying 
 their places as they are cut away, is not one that can 
 be wholly left to nature ; for, liberal as she is, she 
 seems sometimes to grow weary of offering her boun 
 ties where there are none to regard them, or none 
 who will regard them. Forest-trees, hardy as they 
 are when they have reached a considerable height, 
 are tender in their infancy, and require considerable 
 care. If such care is given, they reward it liberally ; 
 but, if it is not given, there are cases in which whole 
 forests have perished, and left a wilderness where 
 they stood. The earth needs them to shelter it from 
 the extremes of cold and heat, to maintain and trea 
 sure the moisture, and to produce certain changes in 
 the air; and, wherever they perish, the earth suffers 
 not only their loss, but the loss of all the advantages 
 which they afford to vegetation of all other kinds, to 
 say nothing of the loss to man. The bogs of Ireland, 
 desolate as they are now, were once covered with 
 wood ; and the same change has taken place in Lap- 
 
 8* 
 
90 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 land and the northern islands. In America, many 
 vast tracts at the north, which are now desolate, 
 were, according to Indian traditions, which there is 
 no reason to doubt, once covered with gigantic trees. 
 Scotland, in modern times, has been noted for its de 
 ficiency in this kind of verdure. When Dr. Johnson 
 lost his walking-stick, and was assured by way of 
 consolation that it would be found again, he refused 
 to be comforted, thinking that no doubt it would be 
 found, but that it was equally certain he should not 
 find it ; for how could it be expected that any one 
 who had possessed himself of such a stick of timber 
 in Scotland could restore it ? It would imply super 
 natural virtue ; and yet, in these very regions, not 
 only the trunks and roots of trees are found in the 
 bogs, but the roots of large oaks, and even moulder 
 ing trunks, are found on the surface, where they are 
 unacquainted with the living tree. It is believed, 
 that not only the soil, but the climate, has suffered a 
 serious change by reason of this loss. It probably 
 was owing to neglect, which produces the same 
 effects with wanton violence upon the face of nature ; 
 and we know not why other countries may not suffer 
 in the same way, if they do not pay some regard to 
 these blessings, which, if divinely planted, still need 
 the care of man. 
 
 The great proportion of those who pay attention 
 to the business of planting in this country seem to do 
 it mechanically, with the single object of collecting 
 trees in sufficient numbers, and without regard to the 
 circumstances just mentioned, or in fact to any prin 
 ciples of taste. If the enclosure be small, it is bor- 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 91 
 
 dered by trees in regular file and at equal distances, 
 arranged with military precision ; or, if the improve 
 ments are made in a wider field of action, the trees 
 are gathered by a press-gang and left to themselves, 
 as if they could choose positions best suited to their 
 habits and natures. Those who can embrace forests 
 in their plans are few in number ; and, where any 
 conduct their improvements on this extended scale, 
 the woods are still so extensive in our country that 
 they are seldom obliged to resort to the slow process 
 of transplanting. A forest is a grand and imposing 
 object, whether rising on the hill-side, like the galle 
 ries of an amphitheatre, or resting on the smooth and 
 even plain ; and reminds us of the ocean, not only 
 by the hollow sound that sweeps through its caverns, 
 but by the bays and indentures that vary the line of 
 its borders. But in this country we need groves 
 more than forests, and clumps and thickets more 
 than groves ; and the manner of arranging these so 
 as to lose the stiffness and formality of art, to secure 
 the favorable points of prospect, and to shut out 
 whatever might offend the eye, and to bring together 
 in their best proportions the variety of colors and 
 forms in nature, are refinements which at present 
 have excited but very little attention, though there is 
 hardly an estate of the least pretension, in which 
 they are not called for. Scarcely any one ever thinks 
 of what is called the composition of the scene. 
 
 As this branch of the subject does not come within 
 the design of the work before us, we shall not dwell 
 upon it here. If a man desire to improve the ap 
 pearance of his estate, he naturally wishes to enjoy 
 
92 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 the result of his labors as early as possible ; and, if 
 his object be to improve the village-road and burial- 
 place, or the streets and squares of the city, he will 
 not have patience to plant the seed, nor will any trees, 
 except such as have gained considerable strength and 
 size, be able to endure the rough treatment to which 
 they are necessarily exposed in public places. But 
 the business of transplanting trees already groAvn is 
 so laborious, expensive, and slow, so much care 
 is required, and so little given, without the constant 
 presence of a superintending eye ; so many trees 
 wither and die at once, and so many linger on in a 
 sickly and discouraging state, holding places which 
 might be better filled, and, after all the care that has 
 been given them, disappointing the planter s hopes 
 at last, that those who commence the undertaking 
 with enthusiasm are apt to give it. over in despair. 
 It is therefore very important to establish and make 
 known some rules upon the subject, which shall pre 
 vent such waste of labor, money, and time ; and, if 
 this could be done, it would secure to the public the 
 benefit of many such improvements ; for there are 
 those who would have spirit enough to make them, 
 if they could do it with a reasonable assurance that 
 their exertions would not be thrown away. We 
 believe that there is much more public spirit existing 
 everywhere than we see displayed in this or any 
 other way; for no man attempts an enterprise with 
 vigor unless he is confident of success, and so many 
 endeavors of this kind have failed, that few have any 
 very inspiring hope of raising arches of shade which 
 shall make those who come after him approve his 
 taste and bless his friendly hand. 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES, 93 
 
 The art of transplanting is old enough to be better 
 understood than it is. It is one of those things, 
 which, because it is easily done, is seldom well done. 
 It is well known that the Greeks and Romans 
 were in the constant habit of removing trees and 
 even plantations of considerable size, without observ 
 ing any other rule than that which is now in common 
 use among our planters, who trim the branches in 
 proportion to what the roots have suffered in the op 
 eration. Count Maurice, of Nassau, when governor 
 of Brazil, chose a naked island for his residence ; 
 and, by removing trees in great numbers, some of 
 them fifty years old and more, soon covered it with 
 verdure and beauty. Similar attempts were made 
 in Europe, some of them of a still bolder character ; 
 the trees being transplanted in mid-summer. Evelyn 
 observes, that huge oaks had been removed in France 
 before his day. Louis XIV. was a great transplanter 
 both of trees and men ; but unfortunately he re 
 moved the trees with as little regard to principle as 
 he manifested in removing the men. In these at 
 tempts, a ball of earth was carried with the tree, 
 which added considerably to the weight, particularly 
 when the earth was frozen. All these improvements 
 required great expense and labor, and were ways in 
 which the wealthy showed their power, rather than 
 suggestions of taste and a love of nature. 
 
 The well-known experiment of Sir Henry Stuart 
 was the first attempt at decided improvement, and, 
 like most other valuable discoveries, was not owing 
 to accident, but was the result of scientific inquiry 
 into the subject. It seemed as unnatural to him to 
 
94 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 mangle and he\v the tree before its removal, as to 
 amputate the limbs of an emigrant before he leaves 
 his country. It is true, there must be sufficient root 
 to convey support to the stem and leaves ; but, if the 
 root be preserved unmutilatecl, so may the stem and 
 branches; and it may be so preserved, either by 
 taking up the whole, or by cutting off the ends of 
 the larger roots in the preceding spring. They soon 
 throw out fibres, and convey the same nourishment 
 as before, though they spread in a narrower circle. 
 Being thus contracted into a small space, it requires 
 less time to dig round and raise them ; and, as the 
 place to receive the tree is previously made ready, 
 the whole operation is finished with but small ex 
 pense of labor or time. This suggestion, simple and 
 natural as it seems, was entirely new ; and the suc 
 cess with which it has been followed by himself and 
 others will inspire many to follow his example. On 
 his own estate he supplied, by his own energy, both 
 the woods and waters. It was originally destitute of 
 both, but now affords the varieties of grove and forest, 
 promontory and island, lake and river, produced, not 
 by resisting, but by following, the dictates of nature, 
 whose unceasing endeavor it is to remove barrenness, 
 to extend and strengthen vegetation, and who spreads 
 her bright green wreaths even over the ruins made 
 by the desolating hands of man. 
 
 But, in the face of these successful experiments, 
 we must confess, that we agree with the author of 
 this work that the best way of raising trees is from 
 the seed. When sown in a favorable soil, they grow 
 so rapidly that they will almost overtake those which 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 95 
 
 have been transplanted, which, though they live and 
 flourish, do not always recover their vigor. Any one 
 may observe how soon the tree which springs from the 
 chance-sown seed rises and throws its shadow over 
 his garden ; and he may be sure that it will not grow 
 less rapidly when the seed is sown with care. We 
 have seen those who have raised their shade about 
 them in this way ; and their patience has been well 
 rewarded in a space of time which seemed surpris 
 ingly short even to themselves. Doubtless, if it were 
 possible to procure young trees raised for the pur 
 pose, a few years might be saved ; but our nurseries 
 will not afford them ; and to take trees from the 
 forest, for the purpose, is like forcing owls into 
 the sun. We would recommend it, therefore, to the 
 planter to arm himself with that patience which is 
 said to belong to the husbandman ; to sow the seed 
 with both hands ; and to take encouragement from 
 the thought, that, if he does not enjoy the results of 
 his labors, others will. But these should be generous 
 labors : they belong to liberal spirits, they imply a cer 
 tain degree of refinement ; such refinement as makes 
 men willing to exert themselves without money and 
 without price. 
 
 We take the liberty to recommend to every man 
 who has an inch of ground, to fill it up with a tree. 
 There are many who will do nothing of the kind, 
 because their territories are small. We can assure 
 them that they will find the truth of what Hesiod 
 said to agriculturists thousands of years ago, that 
 half an estate is more than the whole. Within these 
 limits, however small, they produce effects which 
 
96 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 
 
 will fill even themselves with surprise. If their enclo 
 sure be within the city, where the object is to make 
 the most of their possessions, they should remember, 
 that, if they cannot have verdure on the soil, they can 
 have it in the air ; and, if in the country, that nothing 
 gives a more unfavorable, and at the same time cor 
 rect, impression of the character of a landholder, than 
 the aspect of an estate which presents no trees along 
 its borders, to shelter the traveller from the sun. 
 Every cottage should have its elm, extending its 
 mighty protecting arms above it. The associations 
 and partialities of children will twine themselves like 
 wild vines around it ; and, if any one doubt that he 
 Avill be better and happier for such, he little knows 
 the feeling with which the wayfarer in life returns 
 from the wilderness of men to the shadow, 
 
 " Where once his careless childhood strayed, 
 A stranger yet to pain." 
 
 We wish it were in our power to do something to 
 call the general attention to the subject of respect 
 to the dead. It gives a painful feeling to pass 
 through a city or village in our country, and to see 
 the shameful desolation and neglect of the burial- 
 place, which, if no longer consecrated by religious 
 acts, should certainly be held sacred by the heart. 
 And yet, were it not for the monuments which here 
 and there appear above the golden-rod and the aster, 
 we should not know these from any other barren 
 fields. A vile enclosure of unpainted wood is all 
 that protects them from violation ; and, if any tree 
 cast a friendly shadow over it, we may be sure it is 
 
AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 97 
 
 one planted by the hand of nature, not of man. We 
 have seen places of this kind in the country, which 
 the fathers of the hamlet seemed to have chosen with 
 a taste seldom found among the early inhabitants of 
 any region, on the banks of rivers, or the borders of 
 deep forests, where every thing around favored the 
 contemplation to which the mind in such places is 
 and ought to be led, and have found evidence there 
 of the degeneracy, not the improvement, of their 
 children, who had disappointed their designs, and 
 suffered all to run to waste and barrenness, whether 
 from want of refinement or from avarice we did not 
 know. It is perfectly surprising that none should 
 be found to take away this reproach. Some of the 
 most uncivilized nations are ages before us in their 
 regard for these delicate and sacred feelings. They 
 would not permit the young and beautiful, the aged 
 and honorable, to be cast into a place so neglected, 
 when even a dog who had been faithful would 
 deserve a more honored grave. Our own evergreen 
 cypress is as suitable as the Oriental to surround the 
 place of death ; and, were it not so, we have many 
 other trees whose character of form and foliage is 
 well suited to the sad and thoughtful expression, 
 which the common feeling requires such places to 
 bear. 
 
 There is no need of urging the claims of this kind 
 of improvement upon the inhabitants of our cities. 
 They are in general sufficiently attentive to their 
 public grounds ; but one thing is a little remarkable 
 in their proceedings ; they confine themselves to a 
 single tree. Can any mortal inform us why a spot 
 
93 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES, 
 
 Jike the common of our city, for example, where 
 thousands of trees might stand without interfering 
 with the public or each other, should not afford 
 specimens of other trees beside the elm ? It is a 
 noble tree, perhaps the finest that could be chosen ; 
 but the polished foliage of the oak, the light green of 
 the plane-tree and willow, the various forms and 
 shades of the maples, larches, and pines, would break 
 the uniformity of the scene, and relieve the eye. 
 Moreover, groups of trees might be scattered here 
 and there to advantage, without injury to the public ; 
 for, if they should occasionally break the ranks of 
 the train-bands, we apprehend that no serious conse 
 quences would endanger the defence of our country. 
 Places for which nature has done much, require the 
 more of man, because they offer him a vantage- 
 ground to begin his improvements, and constantly 
 upbraid him if he neglects them. 
 
99 
 
 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 Insect Architecture. Insect Transformations. Insect Miscellanies. 
 London, 1831. 
 
 WE never have had the honor of an intimacy with 
 our fellow-creatures of the insect race ; and have 
 occasionally found their personal attentions so trou 
 blesome, that we should have been willing to drop 
 their acquaintance altogether. Since this may not 
 be, and AVC must tolerate them, whether we like their 
 company or not, we feel grateful to those who, by 
 their patient and searching investigations, discover 
 the habits and characters of these creatures, which, 
 though they have much to reward attention, have 
 but few attractions to invite it. We can understand 
 the passion which leads such men as Audubon and 
 Nuttall to encounter the evils of solitude, hardship, 
 and privation, and to feel well rewarded by the 
 discovery of a new bird or flower, better than the 
 self-devotion of such men as Reaumur to the study 
 of the insect race, the greater proportion of which 
 seem like an unlovely rabble, having few claims 
 upon the gratitude or affection of man. But our 
 hasty impressions on this subject, as well as most 
 others, would mislead us ; for these philosophers 
 
100 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 have opened golden mines of discovery in this un 
 promising soil, and unfolded some of the most strik 
 ing evidences of divine wisdom ever presented to 
 man, in this part of the creation, on which many will 
 not dare or deign to look. They have not labored, 
 however, wholly without reward ; for the curious 
 facts, made known by Huber and many others, have 
 awakened a general interest in the subject ; it is 
 now embraced within the demands of education ; it 
 is used also by friends to human improvement, to 
 inspire a general thirst for knowledge, which, once 
 inspired, easily directs itself to the channels in which 
 it can move to most advantage. It is important to 
 take care, that the popular demand for information 
 shall be well supplied. There is some cause to 
 apprehend, that popular works shall be manufactured 
 for the booksellers, which, like the broth sometimes 
 provided for the poor in cities in seasons of famine, 
 shall answer the double purpose of satisfying their 
 hunger for the present, and removing all temptation 
 they might have to apply again. 
 
 These works, however, are not of a description to 
 strengthen these fears. They appear to have been 
 prepared for the " Library of Entertaining Know 
 ledge" by the English naturalist, Mr. Rennie, whose 
 reputation is generally known. His favorite maxim 
 is, that Natural History must be studied, not in 
 human abridgments and compilations, but in the 
 great book of Nature. This plan of field-study 
 requires, to be sure, more earnestness and diligence 
 than every one possesses : it is not every one, either, 
 who has leisure or advantages of situation for pursu- 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 101 
 
 ing it. Still he is doubtless right in saying, that the 
 study of books is apt to be a study of words, and not 
 of things; and that a few facts, learned from personal 
 observation, will inspire more interest and enthu 
 siasm than the study of books for years. His re 
 marks probably are meant to point out the proper 
 education for a naturalist, for one who is to enter 
 deeply into the subject ; but the great majority of 
 readers, while they do not wish to be wholly unin 
 formed, must, from the necessity of the case, take 
 the observations of others upon trust. They will 
 easily persuade themselves to submit to this necessity, 
 if all the authorities upon which they are compelled 
 to rely are as entertaining and instructive as the 
 author of the works before us. 
 
 We observe that Mr. Rennie, like other entomolo 
 gists, Linnaeus among the rest, has thought it neces 
 sary to maintain the dignity of the study. There is 
 no great necessity for filing this protest against the 
 common feeling, which arises from "ignorance, and 
 disappears as fast as the means of making themselves 
 acquainted with this subject have been offered to the 
 world. There is something sufficiently comic in 
 seeing a man holding forth, with the eloquence of 
 Cicero, upon the wonders and beauties of an insect s 
 wing. We are struck with the physical dispropor 
 tion between the investigator and his subject ; but 
 we do not doubt, all the while, that he has found 
 something fully worthy the attention of an enlight 
 ened mind. There are smiles which are perfectly 
 consistent with respect, and playful satire with which 
 no one needs feel insulted. There is no great malice 
 
 9* 
 
102 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 in such ridicule as this ; and it is rather forbearing 
 than otherwise, when it is considered what language 
 the enthusiasts in the science have sometimes used. 
 One of the most distinguished among them was so 
 lost iii rapture at contemplating the evolutions of a 
 party of insects upon the wing, that they reminded 
 him of nothing less than seraphs and sons of light, 
 shining in the glories of their heavenly state ; a com 
 parison quite too lofty for the occasion, and one 
 Avhich the most ambitious insect would confess was 
 quite beyond his pretensions. Apart from the dis 
 position which men have to exalt their favorite pur 
 suit, it is well known that the spirit of philosophical 
 investigation, whether it directs itself to beast, bird, 
 or flower, or, as is generally the case, includes them 
 all, is one which is seldom found, except in enlight 
 ened and active minds. It affords to such minds a 
 pursuit, in its lower stages harmless and happy, and 
 in its higher efforts requiring intellectual exertion 
 sufficient to recommend it to great men, as a field 
 in which their powers may be worthily and religious 
 ly employed. 
 
 The advantage of supplying means of happiness 
 to men is not generally understood ; and yet, in ordi 
 nary circumstances, whatever makes men happier 
 makes them better ; a fact which has hitherto been 
 strangely overlooked by moralists, but now begins 
 to be regarded as one of the most important princi 
 ples of moral reform by those who would root out 
 prevailing vices, and supply men with those induce 
 ments and encouragements, without which they will 
 do nothing even for their own welfare. Most men 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 103 
 
 are driven to lawless pleasure by vacancy of rnind, 
 by the torture of a mind preying upon itself for want 
 of foreign materials to act upon ; and, as learning 
 has been regarded as quite beyond the common 
 reach, none but minds highly cultivated, or very 
 energetic by nature, have been able to find a suffi 
 cient number of worthy objects to engage them. 
 Action is as important to the mind as it was to elo 
 quence, in the opinion of the great master of the art : 
 action the mind must have, right or wrong. It is 
 well if it can find ways in which its activity may be 
 exerted, without running to waste, or bringing injury 
 to itself or others ; and whoever points out such 
 ways, not to the enlightened few only, but makes 
 them so plain that all the world can see them, de 
 serves to be regarded as the greatest reformer of 
 popular vices, because he destroys the root of the 
 evil, while others have been laboring without success 
 upon the branches, which spring again with new 
 vigor as fast as they are hewn away. Even when 
 the mind is most inactive, an action, though not vol 
 untary, is going on in it, which tends fast to its injury 
 and corruption ; its calm, like that of the waters, 
 if it endure for any length of time, becomes stag 
 nation ; and this is a danger to which men are the 
 more exposed, because the mind never seems so rapt, 
 so absorbed in meditation, as when it is thinking of 
 nothing at all. Cowper has well described the sol 
 emn aspect of the dreamer, gazing upon the evening 
 fire, looking as if he were deliberating upon the fate 
 of nations, while nothing that deserves to be honored 
 with the name of a thought passes through his mind 
 
104 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 for hours together. So, too, in a solitary walk, which 
 is generally supposed to be so favorable to thought, 
 the mind gives itself up to reverie, without exerting 
 itself to any good purpose. Now, if the naturalist 
 can make men attentive and observant ; if he can 
 make them note the construction and contrivances of 
 insects, in which instinct seems sometimes to surpass 
 intelligence in the skill and success of its operations ; 
 if he can make them regard the beauty of the deli 
 cate flower, which they used to crush beneath their 
 feet, or induce them to listen to the song and observe 
 the plumage of the bird, which formerly, if not a 
 " good shot," was nothing to them, he will afford to 
 them a never-failing source of enjoyment, and secure 
 to his favorite sciences the benefit of many useful 
 facts and observations. 
 
 Insects are now a formidable body, and were 
 much more so in former times, when their habits arid 
 persons were less familiarly known. Men had not 
 begun to ask whence they came, nor whither they 
 were going ; but they found them when they least 
 desired their company, and there was a sort of mys 
 tery in their movements, which, more than any thing 
 else, tends to inspire the feeling of dread. It was on 
 this account that they were first distinguished by the 
 name of bug, which, however it may have degener 
 ated into a watchword of contempt at the present 
 day, was formerly synonymous with ghost or spec 
 tre, and equally alarming. The passage of Scripture 
 from the Psalms, " Thou shall not nede to be afraide 
 of any bug by night," as it stood in Matthews s old 
 English Bible, is probably known to our readers. 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS, 105 
 
 Later translators have judiciously substituted a more 
 general word in its stead. But even now, consider 
 ing their power to destroy our peace, there is some 
 reason to fear them ; and, were there nothing else 
 formidable about them, their numbers are sufficiently 
 alarming. When we hear their concert on a summer 
 
 O 
 
 evening, it sounds as if every leaf and every blade 
 of grass had found a voice, though, in fact, there is 
 no voice in the matter : they deal wholly in instru 
 mental music. Some have heard a voice-like sound 
 proceeding from a moth occasionally ; but their con 
 cert great nature s hum is produced by rubbing 
 the hard shells of the wings against the trunk, or to 
 gether, which makes a sharp and shrill sound that 
 can be heard at a considerable distance. The hum 
 of insects on the wing can be heard when the per 
 former is invisible. We remember, that, once stand 
 ing in a summer day on the top of a high hill, we 
 heard a sound as of a million bees directly over our 
 head, when not an insect, which could be held re 
 sponsible for any noise, was within our view. Such 
 cases are not uncommon ; and the only explanation 
 is, that the authors of the sound are distant, and its 
 loudness deceives us into the impression that it is 
 nigh. 
 
 We will suggest some advantages of an acquaint 
 ance with this subject ; we mean a general acquaint 
 ance, such as popular works are calculated to give. 
 For example, the insect called the death-watch was 
 formerly thought to sound an alarm of death to 
 some inmate of the mansion where it was heard, 
 though it would have required a perpetual cholera 
 
106 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 to have fulfilled half the number of his predictions. 
 Now, it is known to proceed from a little wood-bor 
 ing insect, whose skull is somewhat hard, and who 
 uses it for the purpose of a signal to others. Stand 
 ing on its hind legs, it beats regularly on a board a 
 number of times, a process, which, comparing its 
 force with the size of the insect, one would think 
 more likely to be fatal to itself than to those who 
 hear it. The bug, so well known in connection with 
 " rosy dreams arid slumbers light," Avhen it was first 
 imported into England, occasioned equal dismay, 
 an alarm not wholly superstitious and unreasonable, 
 when we remember how often it has " murdered the 
 sleep " of the innocent as well as the guilty. If we 
 may believe David Deans, the Scotch bewail its intro 
 duction among them as one of the evils of the Union, 
 and for that reason distinguish it by the name of the 
 English bug. The history of the Hessian fly, which 
 made its appearance at the close of the American 
 war, and which certain aged people, believing it to 
 be a consequence of our separation from the British 
 Government, named the Revolution fly, shows how 
 much alarm and trouble ignorance of the character 
 of a little insect may occasion. They first appeared 
 in Staten Island, and spread rapidly, destroying the 
 wheat upon their way. They passed the Delaware 
 in clouds, and swarmed like the flies of Egypt in 
 every place where their presence was unwelcome. 
 The British, naturally disliking every thing that sa 
 vored of revolution, were in great fear lest they 
 should reach their island, and resolved to prevent it, 
 if necessary, with all the power of their fleet. The 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 107 
 
 privy council sat day after day ; despatches were 
 sent to all the foreign ministers ; expresses were sent 
 to the custom-houses to close the ports ; Sir Joseph 
 Banks, who held such matters in special charge, 
 as Swift said Mr. Flamstead was once appointed by 
 Government to look after the stars, Avas called 
 upon to exert himself, with such importunity, that, 
 if such a thing were possible, he grew almost pro 
 fane upon the occasion. He shouted across the 
 ocean to Dr. Mitchell, while the doctor stood wring 
 ing his hands upon the western shore. When he 
 had collected all the information which could be 
 furnished by scientific and practical men concerning 
 the bug in question, amounting to more than two 
 hundred octavo pages, he enlightened the Govern 
 ment with the information, that he did not know 
 what the creature was ; a report satisfactory as far 
 as it went, no doubt, but which might, for aught that 
 appears, have been reduced to somewhat smaller 
 dimensions. If any one could have furnished a 
 scientific description of the insect, it might have been 
 probably arrested in its depredations ; and, if not, 
 there would have been some consolation to men, 
 could they have pointed it out to the indignation and 
 scorn of the world. 
 
 Our cultivators can furnish illustrations enough of 
 the evils of ignorance on this subject. The common 
 locust, robinia pseudacacia, whose velvet leaf ex 
 ceeds other foliage in beauty as much as its wood 
 exceeds that of other trees in value, is almost ruined 
 in New England by the larva of a moth, which is 
 known to naturalists, but which no means have yet 
 
103 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 been able to destroy. We know, that, in plantations 
 lately made, the ravages of the insect have been con 
 fined to their sunny borders; but we greatly fear, 
 that, in a year or two, they will carry their inroads 
 into the heart of the groves. Certainly, the fine trees 
 of this description which fringe the highways and 
 surround the cottages must be given up to this little 
 pest, which, so far as we know at present, will only 
 cease from its labors on condition of being cut in two. 
 The cankerworm, too, is waging a war of extermina 
 tion upon our fruit-trees. After passing the winter 
 in the ground, would that it were its grave ! the 
 insect makes over the tree to its heirs, which can 
 only, with our present knowledge, be checked by 
 means that, like curing the headache by amputation, 
 are too effectual for the end proposed. Pear-orchards 
 resemble the gardens of the French nobleman, men 
 tioned by Madame de Stael, which were planted with 
 dead trees in order to inspire contemplation : not 
 knowing enough of the borer to be able to bring him 
 to justice, the cultivator can only sigh over his more 
 than lost labors. But for Dr. Franklin, it would 
 have been more common than it is now, and the 
 practice is by no means obsolete, for every family to 
 supply itself with moschettoes by keeping large, open 
 vessels of water near their houses, as if for the special 
 benefit of this insect, whose bark and bite are equally 
 undesirable. The moschetto lays its eggs upon the 
 water, where they are hatched into grubs, which 
 float with their heads downward : when the time for 
 their change is come, they break through their outer 
 covering, and draw themselves out standing upright, 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 109 
 
 so that they appear like a vessel, the corslet being 
 the boat, and the body officiating as mast and sail. 
 Their former sea-change is now reversed ; for, should 
 their naval establishment overset, they are inevitably 
 lost rnoschettoes. As soon as their wings are dried, 
 they fly away to their work of blood. As six or 
 seven generations are born in a summer, and each 
 mother can furnish two hundred and fifty eggs, it is 
 evident that a vessel of water, properly neglected, 
 will people the air of a whole neighborhood. But 
 there is no end to the list of evils arising from igno 
 rance on this subject. One of the choicest speci 
 mens of it we have ever heard is that of gardeners 
 in Germany, who collect and bury grubs in order to 
 destroy them ; a mode of destruction quite as fatal 
 as that of throwing fish into the water to drown 
 them. 
 
 It would be easy to give some striking illustrations 
 of the advantages of knowledge on this subject. The 
 manner in which peach-trees are secured from the 
 depredations of the insect which every year destroys 
 many is familiarly known. The insect deposits its 
 eggs in the bark of a tree, as nearly as possible 
 to the surface of the ground. When it is obliged to 
 resort to the branches, besides that it is more easily 
 discovered by the gum which flows from the wound, 
 the grub would generally be arrested by the cold 
 before it could make its way to the root, where it 
 retreats in winter. By ascertaining the time when 
 these eggs are laid, and tying straw or matting round 
 the trunk of the tree, its injuries are easily prevented. 
 We are persuaded that the ravages of the clothes- 
 10 
 
110 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 moth, the creature to whom food and raiment are 
 one, might be prevented by exposing clothes to the 
 light at the time of oviposition. When the timber 
 was found to be perishing in the dock-yards of Swe 
 den, the king applied to Linnaeus to discover a 
 remedy ; thus acknowledging the dependence of 
 commerce, national defence, and royal power, upon 
 humble scientific researches. He ascertained the 
 time when the insect deposited its eggs ; and, by 
 sinking the timber in water at that period, the evil 
 was effectually prevented. 
 
 We certainly receive many serious injuries at the 
 hands of the insect race. But they are not wholly 
 unprovoked ; nor can it be denied, that, if they tor 
 ment us, we also torment them. It is to be hoped 
 that the time will come when we shall be able to deal 
 with them as with larger animals, exterminating those 
 which cannot be employed in the service of man. 
 At present, however, their ingenuity, their perseve 
 rance, and their numbers, render it hopeless for man 
 to make any general crusade against them. But we 
 have little to complain of, compared with the inhabi 
 tants of warmer climates. Dr. Clarke tells us, that 
 in-the Crimea he found the moschettoes so venomous, 
 that, in spite of gloves and every other defence, he 
 was one entire wound. In a sultry night he sought 
 shelter in his carriage ; they followed him there ; and 
 when he attempted to light a candle, they extinguished 
 it by their numbers. In South America there are 
 countless varieties ; some pursue their labors by day, 
 and others by night ; they form different strata in the 
 air ; and new detachments relieve guard as fast as 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. Ill 
 
 the former are exhausted. Humboldt tells us, that 
 near Rio Unare, the wretched inhabitants bury them 
 selves in the sand, all excepting the head, in order to 
 sleep : we should think that, in such a condition, they 
 would be sorely tempted to make no exception. 
 Even this is riot so great an evil as the destruction 
 made by the white ants among papers of all descrip 
 tions. The same authority mentions, that there are 
 no documents of any antiquity spared by this de 
 stroyer : it invades the tenure of property, the dura 
 tion of literature, the record of history, and all the 
 means of existence and improvement, by which civil 
 society is held together. It is melancholy enough to 
 see gardens, fields, and forests, sinking into dust ; 
 but we must confess that this last calamity quite ex 
 ceeds all others. 
 
 Millions of insects infest our gardens. The plant- 
 lice cover the leaves and draw out their juices, so 
 that they wither and fall. The ants compel these 
 aphides to give up to them what they have plundered 
 from the tree. These insects, the aphides, are so 
 small, that they would seem to have no great power 
 to do harm : still, as there are twenty generations in 
 a year, " the son can finish what his short-lived sire 
 begun." Our ornamental plants thus lose all their 
 beauty ; tortrices roll up their leaves ; leaf-cutter 
 bees shear out their patterns; and the mysterious 
 rose-bugs pour in numbers faster than man can de 
 stroy them, in the proportion of ten to one. The 
 honey-dew, which formerly occasioned so much 
 speculation, concerning which Pliny could not say 
 positively whether it was the sweat of heaven or the 
 
112 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 saliva of the stars, is now known to be the secretion 
 of an insect, instead of falling from the skies. If man 
 had sense enough to prevent the destruction of birds, 
 there might be less reason to complain that the labors 
 of the garden are so often rewarded with no more 
 substantial result than vanity and vexation. 
 
 The animals in our service suffer even more from 
 insects than ourselves, and nothing effectual can be 
 done to prevent it. After the horse has been irritated 
 almost to madness by the fly, the tabanus (horse-fly) 
 comes to bleed him, as if to prevent the effects of his 
 passion. This service is rendered the horse sorely 
 against his will ; but he fears nothing so much as the 
 horse-bee : the animal is violently agitated when one 
 of these is near him ; if he be in the pasture, he gal 
 lops away to the water, where his persecutor dares 
 not follow him. Every rider knows what a desperate 
 enemy he has in the forest-fly, a creature difficult to 
 kill, though it holds life in so light esteem, that it 
 prefers death to quilting its hold. An insect similar 
 to the horse-bee takes the ox under his special keep 
 ing, piercing him with an anger of very curious con 
 struction. But it is needless to mention particulars 
 of this kind. It is enough to say, that there is no 
 domestic beast or fowl which is not tormented by 
 some kind of insect, and generally more than one. 
 The abodes of pigeons are always haunted by that 
 ominous bug, which is such an enemy to the rest of 
 man. But among these various injuries offered to 
 man and the animals under his protection, to whom 
 his protection in this instance does but little good, 
 there are some examples of forbearance on the part 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 113 
 
 of insects which deserve to be mentioned, as equally 
 gratifying and unexpected. The insect which lays 
 its eggs in peas deposits them, so that the grub may 
 feed upon the pea after it ripens: the grub feeds 
 accordingly, but shows such discretion in its opera 
 tions as not to injure the germ, even when it eats the 
 pea to a shell. The caterpillars, also, which eat 
 the leaves of the tree, spare the bud, so that its growth 
 is not seriously injured. It may be well to mention, 
 with respect to the former insect, that its presence is 
 not always seen in the peas which it inhabits ; so that 
 those who eat dried peas, which are not split, may 
 be gratified to learn, that they secure a large propor 
 tion of animal where they paid only for vegetable 
 food. 
 
 It is not necessary to go out of the house to learn 
 the injuries which insects inflict on man ; who, if he 
 be the lord of creation, has some refractory sub 
 jects, and some which utterly defy his power. A 
 great proportion of these domestic inmates have no 
 Christian names : whoever speaks of them is obliged 
 to resort to the learned nomenclature. Flour and 
 meal are eaten by the grub of tenebrio molitor ; he 
 will not give us the trouble of making it into bread 
 for him ; though it is very acceptable to him after it 
 has passed through the process of baking. The aca- 
 rmfarince, more moderate in his demands, is content 
 to feed on old or damaged flour. The dermestes pa- 
 niceus leads a seafaring life, solely for the luxury of 
 feeding upon sea-biscuit : the more hearty grubs 
 of dermestes and tenebrio lardarius can live upon no 
 lighter food than dried meats and bacon. Fresh 
 
 10* 
 
114 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 meat, however, is always in demand, not only by 
 the flesh-fly, but the wasp and hornet ; and all these 
 have a sweet tooth, and make a practice of eating 
 large quantities of sugar. Butter and lard are eaten 
 by crambus pinguinalis ; the cheese maggot, so 
 renowned for his unexampled powers of still- 
 vaulting, lives upon new cheese ; but the more epi 
 curean acarus siro will not touch it till it is mouldy. 
 The musca cellaris drinks our vinegar ; while the 
 oinopota cellaris, strong in the cause of temper 
 ance, rejects ardent spirits, and drinks nothing but 
 wine. 
 
 There are some valetudinarian bugs which con 
 sume large quantities of drugs and medicines ; 
 though, so far as we can learn, their custom is little 
 in request by the apothecaries. The sinodendrum 
 pusillum takes rhubarb ; there is a kind of beetle 
 which eats musk ; and the white ants are well known 
 to be in the habit of chewing opium. Some are fond 
 of dress. The clothes-moth is so retired in its habits 
 that we know little concerning it, except that it eats 
 our clothes in summer. The tapetzella feeds on the 
 lining of carriages ; the pellionella chooses furs, and 
 shaves them clean ; the melonella eats wax, and, in 
 seasons of scarcity, submits to eat leather or paper. 
 There are hundreds which live on wood ; one of 
 which, a cerambyx, after eating through the wooden 
 roof, forces his way through the lead. Some have a 
 literary turn. The crambus pinguinalis, like some 
 literary gentlemen, regards books only with an eye 
 to the binding. Another, called the learned mite, 
 acarus eruditus, eats the paste that fastens the paper 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 115 
 
 over the edges of the binding. Another, whose 
 name we have never learned, gets between the 
 leaves, and devours them ; while the anobium, an 
 industrious little beetle, determined to make himself 
 thoroughly acquainted with the contents of the work, 
 goes quietly from the beginning to the end. We are 
 told that one of them, in a public library in France, 
 went through twenty-seven volumes in a straight line, 
 so that, on passing a cord through, the whole were 
 lifted at once. The beetle deserves credit for this 
 remarkable exploit, being probably the only living 
 creature who had ever gone through the book. 
 
 To those who resent these injuries, it may be con 
 soling to know, that the means of ample vengeance 
 are within their reach ; and, if they choose to follow 
 the example of those who kill and eat insects, the 
 insects will certainly have the worst of the war. 
 The Arabs, as is well known, eat locusts with great 
 relish, though, for reasons not certainly founded 
 upon the disparity of outward favor, they look with 
 abhorrence upon crabs and lobsters. The Hotten 
 tots also delight to have locusts make their appear 
 ance, though they eat every green thing ; calculating, 
 with some foresight, that, as they shall eat the lo 
 custs, they shall not be losers in the long-run. This 
 people, who are far from fastidious in any of their 
 habits, also eat ants boiled, raw, or roasted after the 
 manner of coffee ; and those who can overcome 
 the force of prejudice, so far as to try the experi 
 ment, confess that they are extremely good eating. 
 Kirby, the English naturalist, bears testimony to 
 this effect. Smeathman says, " I have eaten them 
 
116 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 dressed in this way, and think them delicate, nour 
 ishing, and wholesome. They are something sweeter, 
 though not so cloying, as the maggot of the palm- 
 tree snout-beetle, which is served up at the tables of 
 the West Indian epicures, particularly the French, 
 as one of the greatest luxuries of the country." * 
 In parts of Europe, the grubs of some of the beetles 
 are highly esteemed ; the cemmbyx is the delight of 
 the blacks in the Islands ; the inhabitants of New 
 Caledonia are partial to spiders. Equidem non in- 
 video, miror magis. It is highly probable, that a 
 large proportion of insects were intended by Provi 
 dence for food ; and, if we will not eat them, it is 
 unreasonable to complain of their numbers. 
 
 Having said so much of the injuries occasioned by 
 insects, lest we should excite too strong a prejudice 
 against them, a prejudice which they have no 
 personal attractions to balance or remove, it be 
 comes a duty to mention some benefits, for which 
 we are indebted to them. The list of these benefits 
 is large already ; and scientific research, aided by 
 popular curiosity, will before many years extend it 
 much beyond its present bounds. It will be a happy 
 day for the insects, when their good qualities are 
 known. The bee that sails with so much airy inde 
 pendence through our gardens, perfectly satisfied 
 
 * A learned foreigner, with whom we lately conversed upon the subject, 
 gave us the following account of his method of treating these insects. When 
 ever in his walks he meets with an ant-hill, he immediately approaches it with 
 the end of his walking-stick. The ants come out in great numbers, some to 
 reconnoitre, and some for the mere pleasure of the excursion. When the stick 
 is pretty well covered with them, he draws it through his lips, and secures thenl^ 
 all. He describes the taste as cool and sourish, not unlike that of the plant 
 aorrel. 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 117 
 
 that they were planted for its benefit alone, would 
 find little protection in its familiar manners and 
 brilliant dress, were it not able to lay man under 
 obligations. The silk-worm, which is now cherished 
 with so much care, would be rejected with disgust, 
 like other caterpillars of the garden, were it not able 
 to pay for protection by its labor. Those that de 
 pend upon the charity of man find but little quarter. 
 It is in vain that Shakspeare assures us, that the pain 
 of the trampled insect equals that of the suffering 
 giant; in vain that Cowper implores us not need 
 lessly to crush a worm : unless they can make it for 
 man s interest to protect them, they have little for 
 bearance to hope for. The man of science, there 
 fore, who discovers and points out their uses, is 
 certainly a friend to the bugs. 
 
 Generally speaking, insects do the duty of scav 
 engers. In our climate, they are useful in this 
 capacity ; but their labors here are nothing, com 
 pared with their exploits in warmer countries, which, 
 if they are uncomfortable with them, would be un 
 inhabitable without them. Whenever a carcase falls 
 in our climate, the insects move to it in air-lines : 
 beetles of all descriptions, wasps, hornets, and flies, 
 lay aside all minor differences, and engage in the 
 work of removing it. The flesh-fly deposits in it its 
 grub, already hatched, that it may lose no time ; 
 and as this last-named insect has a promising family, 
 a single parent producing more than twenty thou 
 sand young, which eat so plentifully as to add two 
 hundred fold to their weight in twenty-four hours, 
 the nuisance is soon abated. In warmer countries, 
 
118 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 this operation is carried on with miraculous expedi 
 tion : before the air can be tainted by the savor of 
 corruption, the flesh is removed, and nothing remains 
 but the bones whitening in the sun. They do a still 
 greater service to men in removing dead vegetable 
 matter. They generally prefer animal food ; but, as 
 they are not able to procure it oftener than an Irish 
 peasant, they all, moschettoes among the rest, con 
 tent themselves with vegetable substances. Great 
 numbers of the flesh-fly are imposed upon by plants 
 similar to the skunk cabbage. Supposing, from their 
 peculiar fragrance, that they are flesh in that particu 
 lar state of decay, which epicures delight in, the 
 insects deposit their eggs upon them ; and, when 
 the young are hatched, they discover the mistake, 
 quite too late to repair it. Reaumur thinks that we 
 are indebted to this fly for making it a point of con 
 science not to eat the flesh of living animals : he tried 
 the experiment, and found that they unanimously 
 refused to touch the flesh of a living pigeon. It is a 
 pity that naturalists should not learn humanity from 
 so excellent an example. 
 
 It is not necessary to explain to our readers, that 
 we are indebted to insects for silk and honey ; the 
 latter having been used from the earliest ages, and 
 the former promising to be used as extensively in 
 our country before many years. It is fully ascer 
 tained, that our climate is favorable to the silk-Avorm, 
 and to the plant on which it lives ; and it is not the 
 habit of our countrymen to neglect any opportunity 
 of securing comfort or gain. On the contrary, they 
 are more in need of learning from the insects their 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 119 
 
 judicious habit of dividing labor ; for, the moment a 
 channel of adventure is opened, they rush into it 
 with a force which sometimes carries them far be 
 yond the end proposed. Here is a constant disposi 
 tion to bite the chains of nature ; and as he who 
 ascends a staircase in the dark, if when he has reached 
 the top he attempts to go higher, meets with a pain 
 ful sensation of disappointment, so do many of our 
 countrymen injure themselves by attempting to draw 
 from their chosen pursuit more than nature ever 
 intended it to give. There is no question, that the 
 manufacture of silk Avill be greatly and rapidly ex 
 tended ; and the result will be not to increase luxury, 
 but to change what is now a luxury into a necessary 
 of life. Time was when stockings were a luxury : 
 now they are worn by the beggars of our country. 
 It is upon record, that a king borrowed a pair of 
 silk stockings for a public occasion : here they may 
 be found in the possession of those who, unlike the 
 lilies of the field, both toil and spin. 
 
 We are indebted to insects for the ink-powder, an 
 article important in all professions, but indispensable 
 in ours. It is formed by a cynips on the quercus 
 infectoria, a sort of shrub-oak which grows in Asia 
 and Africa, whence the galls are constantly exported. 
 The insect bores the bark, and deposits an egg. It 
 is generally thought to insert some corrosive fluid 
 with it, which, as the sap flows out from the wound, 
 gives its color and properties to the gall, that grows 
 and swells round the egg for the young insect s 
 future home. There is some difference of opinion 
 as to this process. Mr. Rennie suggests, that the 
 
120 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 egg may be protected or coated with gluten, which 
 prevents the escape of the sap : the sap, thus con 
 fined, pushes out the pellicle of gluten that covers it, 
 till the opening is closed by being hardened in the 
 air. This will account for the uniform size of these 
 productions. The galls of the rose and willow are 
 well known ; the gall of commerce is as large as a 
 marble. This furnishes a comfortable dwelling for 
 the young insect, and a dye for those streams of ink 
 \vhich are perpetually flowing in the civilized world 
 for libel or literature, for evil or good. They are 
 also used in dying : those which contain the insect 
 being called blue gall-nuts ; those which it has aban 
 doned, white. An insect inhabitant of the oak, coc 
 cus ilicis, was formerly used in dying red. In modern 
 times, cochineal, coccus cacti, is generally used. The 
 Spaniards found it employed by the Americans, w r hen 
 they came over to this country. It was supposed to 
 be a vegetable production ; and it was not, till a 
 period comparatively late, discovered to be a living 
 thing. It feeds on the nopal, a kind of fig-tree com 
 mon in New Spain and some parts of India. The 
 inhabitants preserve them in their houses through the 
 rainy season, and, when it is over, place them upon 
 the tree, which they soon cover. They are after a 
 time brushed from the tree with the tail of a squirrel ; 
 and, being killed either by artificial heat or exposure 
 to the sun, the inside is found filled with the red dust 
 which forms this splendid color. So important is 
 this article in commerce, that the East India Com 
 pany offered a reward of six thousand pounds to any 
 one who should succeed in naturalizing it in their 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. t 121 
 
 territories. Another insect of this description carries 
 on a manufacture of unexampled extent and variety, 
 being actually employed in supplying the demands 
 of the world for shell-lac, beads, sealing-wax, lake, 
 lacquer, and grindstones. The insect covers trees of 
 the fig-kind, in Hindostan, in such a manner that 
 their upper branches look as if they had been dipped 
 in blood. The substance in its natural state, before 
 it is separated from the twig, is called stick-lac, from 
 which all the others are made. After being separated, 
 pounded, and having the color extracted by water, 
 it is called seed-lac ; when melted into cakes, it is 
 called lump-lac ; when purified and transparent, it 
 is the shell-lac, which is so extensively used. It is 
 used by the natives to make rings, necklaces, and 
 bracelets ; mixed with cinnabar, it is formed into 
 sealing-wax ; heated, and mingled with a black pow 
 der, it forms a lacquer, or japan ; and the coloring 
 substance extracted from the stick-lac is the lake of 
 our painters. Last, but not least, of its uses, it is 
 mixed up with river-sand, and moulded into grind 
 stones. Truly, it is no easy matter to name the crea 
 ture which answers such a variety of purposes as 
 this. 
 
 Reaumur undertook the benevolent enterprise of 
 civilizing spiders, by way of turning them into opera 
 tives, and thereby bringing them into better odor 
 with man ; but his good purpose was disappointed ; 
 for, though they fully proved that they were able to 
 work, they had an unfortunate propensity for eating 
 each other, which proved to be inconsistent with the 
 virtues and charities of industrious and social life. 
 11 
 
122 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 Their powers as artisans were very respectable ; but 
 no inducement could be brought to bear upon them : 
 as for working for a living, it was the last thing they 
 thought of; for some of them lived a year without 
 tasting food, or seeming in the least exhausted by 
 fasting. This indifference to common wants is one 
 of the most remarkable things in the character of the 
 race : they never seem to repine under any degree 
 of pain or privation. They are probably mortal ; 
 but it seems almost impossible to kill them. Bees 
 will live many hours under water : caterpillars are 
 frozen up through the winter, and bear it with the 
 utmost composure. Dr. Dwight tells us of a beetle 
 which was planed out of a table where he had re 
 sided, if we remember rightly, eighty years without 
 a dinner. Dr. Arnold once had an insect, which, 
 after the tender-hearted manner of collectors, was 
 pinned down to a table : some other insects happen 
 ing to be within reach, it proceeded to eat them with 
 as good an appetite as ever it had in its life. Some 
 beetles have been soaked in boiling water, without 
 being oppressed by the heat. Many insects have a 
 way of pretending to be dead, as a sort of hint to 
 man, that if, as usual, he is disposed to kill them, he 
 may spare himself the trouble. If any one is disposed 
 to ascertain whether their death is counterfeited or 
 not, they will not flinch, even when torn asunder, 
 or thrown on burning coals. Some, even when cut 
 in two, retain the easy indifference which they mani 
 fest on most other occasions. Many of our readers 
 have probably seen ants cut from a hollow tree in 
 spring, and, though they must have passed many 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 months without food, regain their cheerfulness in the 
 sun. The ant, however, is torpid through the colder 
 parts of the winter. Our ants, though, like those of 
 Scripture, they are models of industry, have not the 
 forethought to provide for the winter. But it may 
 be, that in warmer climates they have this prudent 
 habit, for which they have been so long held out as 
 an example. 
 
 It is fair to say, that, in cases where insects are 
 troublesome, they are sometimes less injurious than 
 is supposed, and the blame does not invariably fall 
 on the one that deserves it. It is thought that the 
 irritating insects, particularly those that draw blood 
 from domestic animals in summer, are necessary to 
 their health, to save them from the diseases which 
 would be otherwise occasioned by heat and repletion. 
 In the household, too, it is no misfortune that they 
 enforce the duty of perpetual cleanliness ; and it is 
 well known, that, as in the case of moschettoes, a 
 little attention may reduce the number and incon 
 venience of their visitations. We are told, and it 
 may be well to mention it in this connection, that 
 the house-fly does not, as is commonly supposed, 
 abuse the familiarity which man allows him. He is 
 harmless and friendly in his disposition, and more 
 over cannot bite if he would. His proboscis is soft 
 and sponge-like, altogether unable to inflict a wound. 
 This is the musca domestica ; but there is another 
 kind which exactly resembles him in person, except 
 in having a sharp proboscis, with which he bites pretty 
 seriously ; he is known by the name of stomoxys 
 calcitrans. This is not the only case in which pub- 
 
124 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 lie resentment confounds the innocent with the 
 guilty. 
 
 Our respect, if not our regard, for insects will be 
 materially increased, if we consider some evidences 
 and examples of their power. Happily, they have 
 not often a common interest sufficiently strong to 
 organize them into parties or coalitions, and, there 
 fore, do not generally combine their forces to much 
 effect ; but there have been cases in which they have 
 made man tremble. We are told, that in ancient 
 times, when Sapor, king of Persia, was besieging 
 Nisibis, the light artillery of an army of moschettoes 
 fell upon him with so much fury, that he raised the 
 siege, and retreated with all possible expedition. But 
 anciently they had so much faith in these things, that 
 now we have very little. Still, we have seen a man 
 fly from the wrath of a bee ; and we can conceive, 
 that, in this case, it is possible that the larger size of 
 man may have been overborne by the numbers and 
 valor of the moschettoes, and thus the battle have 
 gone against the strong. But there are facts, modern 
 and undoubted, which show how formidable insects 
 can be. A small beetle has appeared regularly in 
 the German forests : in 1783, there were more than 
 a million and a half of trees destroyed by them, and 
 more than eighty thousand were counted in a single 
 tree. We are told by aged men, that, many years 
 ago, an insect made such ravages in the oaks of New 
 England, that their case seemed as hopeless as that 
 of the locusts is now. On the third year of their 
 appearance, a heavy frost in May, which was very 
 destructive to vegetation, put a period to the ravages 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 125 
 
 of the insect ; and it has not made its appearance in 
 any force again. Wilson, the ornithologist, as quoted 
 by Mr. Rennie, gives an account of the devastation 
 made at the South by a small insect, which had 
 hardly spared ten trees in a hundred on a tract of 
 two thousand acres. " Would it be believed," he 
 says, " that the larvae of an insect no bigger than a 
 grain of rice should silently, and in one season, des 
 troy some thousand acres of pine-trees, many of them 
 from two to three feet in diameter, and a hundred 
 and fifty feet high ? In some places, the whole 
 woods, as far as you can see around you, are dead, 
 stripped of the bark, their wintry-looking arms and 
 bare trunks bleaching in the sun, and tumbling in 
 ruins before every blast." In the last century, an 
 insect, formica saccharivora^ attacked the sugar-cane 
 plantations in the island of Granada, so fatally as to 
 put an entire stop to cultivation. They covered the 
 roads and fields ; they killed rats and mice by thou 
 sands ; when large fires were made to consume them, 
 they crowded on till they extinguished them by their 
 numbers. The whole crop was burnt, and the ground 
 dug up, but all to no purpose : human power could 
 do nothing. A reward of twenty thousand pounds 
 was offered to any one who would discover a 
 remedy ; but they were not even checked, till, in 
 1780, they were destroyed by torrents of rain. Dob- 
 rizhoffer gives a curious account of the ants in Para 
 guay. He says, that they make burrows in the earth 
 with infinite labor, under houses and larger build 
 ings, forming large winding galleries in the ground. 
 On the approach of rain, as if knowing what to 
 
126 
 
 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 expect, the ants take wing and fly away. The wa 
 ter rushes into their caverns ; and, undermining the 
 building, it falls in total ruin. He mentions, that 
 the ground on which his church and house were 
 built was full of those caverns. For many days, in 
 rainy weather, the altar was rendered useless ; for 
 the ants flew out, and fell upon the priests and every 
 thing around. Ten outlets by which they escaped 
 from the ground were closed ; but the next day it 
 was found, that they had opened twice as many more. 
 One evening there came a severe thunder-storm, in 
 the midst of which the Indian who had the care of the 
 church came to warn them that its walls were begin 
 ning to crack and lean : he snatched a lamp and ran 
 to the place, but sunk up to the shoulders in a pit 
 like a cellar, which, as soon as he was drawn out of 
 it, he found was the house of the ants. As fast as 
 the Indians shovelled earth into it, they dug it out. 
 These are their greater exploits. Their ordinary 
 employment is to go in an endless procession to the 
 place where grain is deposited, and to carry off 
 bushels in a day or a moonlight night. They strip 
 trees of their leaves, and reap fields as clean as the 
 sickle. They will even attack men when sleeping, 
 and, unless they escape at once, cover them with 
 their painful stings ; and the only way of expelling 
 them is by throwing lighted sheets of paper upon 
 the swarm. This Jesuit was no naturalist : he once, 
 as he tells us, pursued a skunk, and succeeded in 
 getting more explicit information from the animal 
 itself concerning its own value and properties than he 
 could have wished, " horrendo odore" He does not 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 enlighten us as to the kind of ant, but says that 
 they are the kings of Paraguay ; and we doubt whe 
 ther Dr. Francia has been able to subdue them. 
 
 The account of the white ants, or termites, was 
 given to the world by Smeathman fifty years ago, 
 and subsequent writers have added little to his infor 
 mation : the account, however, is sufficiently curious 
 to bear repetition, since it affords the most remark 
 able example that can anywhere be found of ad 
 mirable instinct, perseverance, and power. Between 
 the tropics they are the most formidable enemy man 
 has to encounter, destroying papers, provisions, fur 
 niture, and every thing, even to house and home. 
 Metal, glass, and stone, they do not eat ; why, does 
 not appear, except it be from a principle of forbear 
 ance equally touching and unexpected. They have 
 been known to go up through one leg of a table, and 
 return down the other, in the course of a single 
 night. An engineer, in the same space of time, had 
 his clothes, papers, and the lead of pencils, which 
 were all, as he thought, secured in a trunk, eaten by 
 these destroyers. When they attack a house, they 
 eat away the heart of the timber, leaving only the 
 outer shell ; but, being well aware that this process 
 would soon bring the house about their ears, they 
 fill the cavities as they advance with clay, which 
 soon becomes hard as stone. Mr. Forbes remarks, 
 that, in his house at Tobago, he observed one day 
 that the glasses of some pictures were dull and the 
 frames dusty. On attempting to wipe them, he 
 found that the frames were plastered firmly to the 
 wall by this sort of mortar, the ants having eaten the 
 
128 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 frames, back-boards, and most of the paper, leaving 
 nothing but the prints and the gilding ; thinking per 
 haps, that, as the latter might be of some use to him, 
 and could be of none to them, it was but just to 
 spare them. They are as adroit in constructing their 
 own habitations as in destroying those of man. They 
 raise hills ten or twelve feet high, a work almost in 
 credible for a creature not more than a quarter of an 
 inch long. The royal chamber is in the centre, and 
 other cells and galleries are gradually multiplied 
 around it. The whole fabric is so well constructed 
 that the wild bulls sometimes make use of them for 
 the purpose of observatories, and find them strong 
 enough to bear their weight. If any one attack their 
 habitation, they are at once ready to do battle. 
 Smith gives us his opinion of their warlike power. 
 He says, that he one day attempted to knock off the 
 top of one of the hills. The insects within, hearing 
 the noise, came out to see what was the matter ; upon 
 which, he took to his heels, and ran away as fast as 
 he could. They have been known to attack an Eng 
 lish ship of the line, and capture it by boarding. It 
 is said, that the palace of the English governor- 
 general in Calcutta is perishing under their opera 
 tions. The insects, perhaps, like some other people, 
 have never been able to see distinctly the right by 
 which he governs in their country : in superstitious 
 times, this would be thought prophetic of the fate 
 which awaits the British empire in India in some 
 future day. 
 
 There are some ants who have great aversion to 
 labor ; and, in order to avoid the necessity of sup- 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 129 
 
 porting themselves, they compel others to support 
 them. This, however, it should be remarked, is not 
 in this country, but in Europe : here, all know, that 
 ants, as well as men, are born free and equal. The 
 ant that carries on this trade, which is regarded as 
 piracy by all civilized insects, is called the legionary, 
 a name descriptive of its military habits ; the race 
 which it reduces to bondage is a sort of negro. The 
 legionaries march against a settlement of the black 
 ants, take it by storm, and carry away their prisoners. 
 The old ants they do not touch ; they prefer the 
 young, whom they carry to their own home, and then 
 train them to menial services of all descriptions. 
 The natural consequence follows. They become 
 too indolent and proud to work, and would starve 
 were it not for their slaves ; thus creating the ne 
 cessity by which probably they would justify the 
 practice. They do not lord it over their negroes ; 
 on the contrary, they treat them with great kindness, 
 and even respect ; the slaves are on the same footing 
 as our slaves were formerly in New England, where 
 they used to sit at table with the farmers, give their 
 advice like oracles, and henpeck their owners in such 
 a manner that it was a relief to have them set free. 
 We trust that no one will use these accounts, now 
 so unquestionably proved to be true, to show that 
 the relation of slavery is not unnatural : the argument 
 is no stronger than that in favor of royal government 
 drawn from the practice of the bees, and employed 
 by those who overlook the fact, that a state of civil 
 society may do well enough for bees, without being 
 adequate to the wants and improvement of man. 
 
130 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 There are other respects in which these insects may 
 well be quoted as an example. Thus, we are told 
 by Huber, that the female ants, when they become 
 mothers of a family, cut off their wings and throw 
 them away ; thinking, doubtless, that domestic cares 
 and duties will leave them no time to fly round as 
 in former days. 
 
 The motions of insects are very curious, and some 
 of them have occasioned much controversy and 
 speculation. Apodous larvse have no occasion to 
 take long journeys : their business confines them at 
 home. They therefore make their way slowly, by 
 gliding, jumping, or swimming, ways sufficiently 
 rapid for their purpose. The motion of serpents, in 
 old time, was accounted very mysterious ; no one 
 could tell how they moved so rapidly, without any 
 visible means of walking ; and this was among the 
 reasons which gained for them so much reverence in 
 ancient times. Sir Everard Home at last discovered, 
 that the points of their ribs were curiously con 
 structed for the purpose ; and in the same way it is 
 probable that many things of the kind, which are 
 now incomprehensible, will appear to be very simple. 
 Some move by contracting the segments of their 
 bodies ; others, like the larvae of flies, drag them 
 selves by hooks in the head, an operation as incon 
 venient as if a man should drag himself on the 
 ground by his chin. Cheese-maggots fix their man 
 dibles in places on the table, and let them go with 
 a jerk which sends them to a marvellous distance. 
 Caterpillars climb very readily, but, for security, 
 carry a ladder of ropes as they go ; sticking it to 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 131 
 
 glass or any substance, however hard and smooth, 
 on which they happen to be ascending. They often 
 have occasion to descend from branch to branch ; 
 sometimes they are shaken by the wind or thrown 
 with violence to the ground, in which case they take 
 their rope with them, and by means of it re-ascend 
 the tree. So, when they travel round the tree, they 
 need a clue to conduct them back to the nest. When 
 they move, they reach forward their necks as far as 
 possible, fasten the thread, then bring up their body 
 and take another step, a movement which may be 
 seen in the canker-worm of our orchards. When 
 they descend, they have power to contract the orifice 
 through which they send out their thread, so as to 
 let themselves gradually down. In climbing on the 
 line, the caterpillar catches the thread as high as it 
 can reach, pulls up its body, grasps the thread with 
 its hindmost legs, and thus regains the tree from 
 which it had fallen. When it has thus ascended, it 
 is found to have a little ball of thread. 
 
 The motion of flies was long a subject of debate 
 and wonder. Some thought that they must have 
 claws ; others, that they had glutinous sponges, an 
 appendage which would not allow of rapid motion. 
 Hooke was the first to observe that some curious 
 mechanism must be employed ; but what it was he 
 could not discover. He thought it might be some 
 thing resembling card-teeth, set opposite to each 
 other, by which they could grapple some projecting 
 places, such as they might find on the smoothest sur 
 faces. Durham thought it not unlikely that they 
 stuck, as boys lift a lap-stone by a piece of wet 
 
132 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 leather attached to the top ; an explanation which 
 amounted to nothing more than a confession of igno 
 rance ; since, though it might show how a fly could 
 stick to a wall, the object was to show how they 
 move on the wall. Sir Everard Home at last dis 
 covered, that it was done by producing a vacuum 
 between the surface on which they walk and parts 
 of the foot constructed for that purpose. There are 
 two suckers connected with the last joint of the 
 tarsus, and a narrow neck which moves in all direc 
 tions, under the root of each claw. These suckers 
 consist of a contractile membrane, which adapts 
 itself to any surface. Had it been possible for the 
 fly to communicate with men, the air-pump of Gue- 
 ricke, and possibly our countryman Dr. Prince s im 
 provement upon it, might have been known to the 
 world much sooner after it was created. There is a 
 water-spider, also, which invented the diving-bell, 
 and has used it to more purpose than men. It spins 
 a shell of closely woven white silk, in the form of 
 half a pigeon s egg, which forms the diving-bell. 
 This is sometimes under, sometimes partly above, 
 the surface of the water, and is lashed by threads to 
 whatever happens to be near. It is closed all round, 
 except an opening below. By this contrivance the 
 spider carries air with it down to its submarine nest. 
 To complete the catalogue of mathematical instru 
 ments, it is well known, that the gossamer spider 
 ascends high into the air with its light thread, on the 
 principle of the balloon. 
 
 The movement of spiders in the air has always 
 been regarded as a difficult matter to explain. Dr. 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 133 
 
 Lister, the celebrated English naturalist, whose re 
 searches into the habits of spiders discovered almost 
 all that is now known, believed that they had the 
 power of shooting out threads in the direction in 
 which they wished to go. Kirby also used the same 
 language, speaking of the spider " shooting out his 
 threads," not from carelessness of expression, but 
 evidently meaning to be literally understood. White, 
 of Selborne, gives the same account of the spider. 
 This certainly is a great weight of authority in favor 
 of this power in the spider ; but it is so unlike every 
 thing with which we are acquainted, that we are na 
 turally suspicious of some mistake ; and we are glad 
 to see that Mr. Rennie will not allow that the spider 
 has a gift so much beyond the usual order of nature. 
 There are those of no small pretensions as naturalists, 
 who believe that the floating of the spider s thread is 
 electrical, and maintain that it can dart its thread in 
 the wind s eye. Whoever hastily observes them will 
 be of the same opinion, with respect to the gossamer 
 spider and some others. Within a few days, stand 
 ing in a shed, we saw a line of very small spiders 
 coming down perpendicularly from the wall, each 
 being apparently attached to a large thread by a 
 smaller thread of its own. There were perhaps 
 a hundred in the string. After having descended 
 about eight or ten feet, the lowest came opposite to 
 a door, where a light air was blowing in, and turned 
 off in a direction almost horizontal towards the door. 
 On looking very closely, we could discover no line 
 beyond the leading spider ; but, on striking the hand 
 between him and the wall, he immediately fell into 
 
 12 
 
134 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 the perpendicular again. It is difficult to believe, 
 that spiders have sufficient projectile force to dart 
 out a thread of such a material to any considerable 
 distance ; and the general opinion now is, that they 
 depend wholly upon the lightness of their thread and 
 the agitation of the air. 
 
 In the " Insect Miscellanies," Mr. Rennie discusses 
 some curious subjects connected with insects, which 
 were not embraced in the design of his former 
 works. One is the manner in which insects are 
 guided in their flight, not so much by their sight, as 
 by the delicate nerves of their wings ; in this power 
 resembling bats, which, as is proved by some humane 
 experiments, can find their way as well without eyes 
 as with them. Another is the sensibility of insects 
 to changes of temperature. Mr. Rennie does not 
 seem to think very highly of their observations of the 
 weather. We had supposed that they equalled the 
 most nervous invalid in their sensibility. Ants are 
 known to secure their eggs against the rain ; and 
 there seems to be no reason why spiders should not 
 be equally accurate observers. There are flowers 
 which foretell such changes ; and, if such presages 
 are necessary to the existence of the insect, doubtless 
 their instinct supplies them. They probably are not 
 much acquainted with causes and effects ; but in 
 stinct is the direct agency of a power which is not 
 limited in its capacities. It is no acquaintance with 
 the principles which govern the ordnance department, 
 which induces the insect called the bombardier to 
 discharge its artillery upon any insect which pursues 
 it : it is frequently chased by other insects, and, 
 
HABITS OF INSECTS. 135 
 
 instead of retreating, it waits till they come within 
 point-blank shot, and then discharges its field-piece 
 with a noise and smoke which to insects are truly 
 alarming. In this way it will fire as many as twenty 
 rounds; and, when its ammunition is exhausted, if 
 the pursuer is not repelled, the gunner will retreat to 
 a shelter ; retiring, not with alarm, but with a very 
 imposing front, like the Americans at Bunker Hill. 
 
 Mr. Rennie adds to the curious particulars already 
 known, concerning the manner in which grasshoppers 
 produce and increase their sound : they apply the 
 hind shank to the thigh, rubbing it smartly against 
 the wing-case, and alternately the right and left legs. 
 This fiddling, however, would not be heard at any 
 great distance, were it not for a sort of drum at their 
 side, which is formed with membranes suited to in 
 crease and echo the sound. The instrument upon 
 which the male cricket plays for, unlike the usual 
 order of nature, the female is silent is a pair of 
 rough strings in the wing-cases, which they rub 
 against each other. White, of Selborne, endeavored 
 to naturalize field-crickets near his house, and Mr. 
 Rennie to introduce house-crickets to his hearth : 
 both were unsuccessful, the insects probably having 
 doubts whether their first welcome would ripen into 
 lasting hospitality. 
 
 These are certainly very interesting works, and do 
 credit to the " Library of Entertaining Knowledge," 
 of which they form a part, as well as to the ability of 
 Mr. Rennie as a naturalist and a Avriter. We do 
 not expect sudden nor striking effects from thus mul 
 tiplying works of popular instruction ; but, when they 
 
136 HABITS OF INSECTS. 
 
 are sown broad-cast, as they are in the present day, 
 some will take root, and produce harvests which the 
 Avorld does not know. To supply means of happi 
 ness ; to inspire a taste and talent for observation ; 
 to teach men to pass through the world, not as stran 
 gers, but as interested to know every thing about 
 them, though it may not be so splendid a service as 
 many other scientific exertions, is certainly the one 
 which will give the philosopher his most enviable and 
 enduring fame. 
 
137 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 Ornithological Biography, or an Account of the Habits of the 
 Birds of America; accompanied by Descriptions of the Objects 
 represented in the Work entitled the Birds of America, inter 
 spersed with Delineations of American Scenery and Manners. 
 By JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, F.R.SS. L. and E. &c. Philadel 
 phia, 1831. 
 
 MANY years ago, the first wit of his day, representing 
 the character and habits of John Bull, stated that, 
 although he was peaceable in his disposition, and 
 fully convinced of the fact that whosoever goeth to 
 war must do it at his own charges, he did never 
 theless, if he heard the sound of a fray, however 
 distant, rise from his warm bed at night, put on such 
 clothing as came to hand, grasp his cudgel, and go 
 forth to the scene of action, where he generally re 
 ceived a battering which would have cracked a 
 crown less substantial. When this ceremony was 
 over, the parties repaired to a tavern, where John, 
 in consideration of receiving many praises for his 
 valor, closed the concern by paying the bill, and 
 departed extremely well satisfied with his own ex 
 ploits. This account, though meant for an individ 
 ual, describes to the life almost every war in which 
 any country has been engaged for the last two cen- 
 
 12* 
 
138 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 turies ; and nations are growing so well persuaded of 
 this, that the great body of the human race, who 
 were formerly too happy to be permitted to die for 
 the glory of one or two, now testify a strong reluct 
 ance to making themselves food for powder, without 
 strong reasons for such a proceeding. This grand 
 discovery on the part of the multitude, however 
 auspicious to themselves, is exceedingly inconve 
 nient to those who are ambitious of fame. Happily 
 other paths to distinction are still open, which are 
 trodden with a zeal and spirit as resolute, and some 
 what more rational than ever was found in the 
 bloodshod march of glory. Some esteem it a privi 
 lege to be frozen up during three quarters of the 
 year, in the dead night-calm of a polar sea ; others 
 spring forward to seize the fortunate chance of leav 
 ing their bones whitening on the sands, beneath the 
 red heat of an African sun. Some are enchanted 
 with the idea of tracing the course of rivers, which, 
 according to the best authorities, have neither begin 
 ning nor end ; others can die contented when they 
 have scaled the tops of mountains, where they stand 
 petrified with cold, several inches higher than man 
 ever stood before. Now, all this restless energy, 
 withdrawn from the fields of war, is like the electric 
 tluid, harmless and useful when diffused among the 
 elements of nature, though so disastrous when con 
 centrated in the thunder-cloud. 
 
 There are many men in the world sufficiently intel 
 lectual in their tastes, but too active in their habits to 
 submit to quiet, literary labor. There are some 
 whose minds can never exert themselves, except 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 139 
 
 when their frame is in action ; and, doubtless, that 
 employment is best suited to our nature, which 
 engages at the same time the physical and intellec 
 tual powers. The pursuit in which the author of the 
 work before us is of late so honorably distinguished 
 is of this description : it combines within itself many 
 circumstances which give it attraction ; it requires 
 the self-complacent skill of a sportsman, and the wild 
 romance of an adventurer ; it opens a field for the 
 beautiful powers of an artist, and the fine discrimina 
 tion of a man of taste ; it adds the dignity of science 
 to the exciting consciousness of danger. We do not 
 wonder in the least, that the heart of such a man is 
 bound up in it, nor that he should be willing to sac 
 rifice the ordinary comforts of life in his devotion to 
 a pursuit which must be a happy one, because it 
 requires the full and constant exertion of all his 
 powers ; and in which, if he need any thing more 
 than his own feeling to sustain him under his various 
 difficulties and disappointments, he is sure to be fol 
 lowed, sooner or later, by the general applause of 
 the world. But, in truth, he needs nothing more than 
 the glowing inspiration within; though many wise 
 persons too would be as sorely puzzled to under 
 stand this self-supporting principle, as the Mississippi 
 boatmen were to comprehend the miracle of Wilson s 
 supporting life without whiskey. 
 
 In the original constitution of things, it is wisely 
 ordered, that happiness shall be found everywhere 
 about us. We do not need to have a rock smitten, 
 to supply this thirst of the soul. It is not a distant 
 good ; it exists in every thing above, around us, and 
 
140 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 beneath our feet ; and all we want is an eye to dis 
 cern, and a heart to feel it. Let any one fix his 
 attention on a moral truth, and it spreads out and 
 enlarges its dimensions beneath his view, till what 
 seemed at first as barren a proposition as words could 
 express appears like an interesting and glorious truth, 
 momentous in its bearing on the destinies of men. 
 And so it is with every material thing : let the mind 
 be intently fixed upon it, and hold it in the light of 
 science, and it gradually unfolds new wonders. The 
 flower grows even more beautiful than when it first 
 opened its golden urn, and breathed its incense on 
 the morning air : the tree, which was before thought 
 of only as a thing to be cut down and cast into the 
 fire, becomes majestic, as it holds its broad shield 
 before the summer sun, or when it stands like a ship, 
 with its sails furled and all made fast about it, in 
 preparation for the winter storm. All things in 
 nature inspire in us a new feeling ; and we begin to 
 consider their fate and fortunes, their birth and decay, 
 as resembling those of man. The truth is, that igno 
 rance and indifference are almost the same ; and we 
 are sure to grow interested as fast as our knowledge 
 extends, in any subject whatever. This explains 
 how men of great ability are so engaged in what 
 are often ignorantly regarded as little things ; how 
 they can watch, with the gaze of a lover, to catch 
 the glance of the small bird s wing, or listen to its 
 song, as if it were the breath of a soul ; how the 
 world and every thing in it looks so spiritually bright 
 to them, when to others the bird is but a flying ani 
 mal, and the flower only the covering of a clod. It 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 141 
 
 explains many things which are perfect mysteries to 
 vulgar minds. For example, Wilson tells a friend, 
 in one of his letters, that he sat down one evening to 
 draw a mouse, and all the while the pantings of its 
 little heart showed it to be in an agony of fear. He 
 had intended to kill it ; but, happening to spill a few 
 drops of water where it was tied, it lapped them up 
 eagerly, and looked up in his face with such an 
 expression of supplicating terror, that it overcame 
 his resolution, and he let it go. Here, we think, we 
 hear some voice exclaiming, " The man was a fool ; " 
 but we recommend to the speaker to wait awhile, 
 seeing there may be different opinions respecting the 
 party to which that generic name belongs. 
 
 A devoted attachment, like this, to the works of 
 nature is an evidence of delicacy and refinement ; 
 and we have cited this incident to show that the 
 common prejudice which regards it as inconsistent 
 with energy of thought and action is entirely un 
 founded ; for, assuredly, the radiant files of war can 
 show no spirits more resolute than those of the men 
 who leave the abodes of civilized life, launch their 
 canoes on unbroken waters, depend on their rifle for 
 subsistence, keep on their solitary march till the bird 
 has sung his evening hymn, and have no society 
 at night but the beating sound of their fire. Nei 
 ther is it inconsistent with a strict regard to all the 
 duties of life : on the contrary, it is the part of duty 
 to draw happiness from these sources, which, in all 
 the changes and misfortunes of life, will never cease 
 to flow. The poet Gray, one of the most intellec 
 tual and fastidious of men, says, " Happy they who 
 
142 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 can create a rose-tree, or erect a honey-suckle; 
 who can watch the brood of a hen, or a fleet of their 
 own ducklings as they sail upon the water." The 
 Avords are true as inspiration ; and we recommend 
 them to our readers, of whom a due proportion, 
 no doubt, are miserable. They will learn from 
 them what is of great importance to know in such 
 calculations, that their unhappiness is owing, not 
 to the want of pleasures, but to their not understand 
 ing how to select and enjoy those which they pos 
 sess, or, we may say, those which all possess, since 
 they are given freely and impartially to all, so that 
 no avarice can monopolize them, and no oppression 
 take them away. This being the case, those who 
 point out to us the extent and variety of such re 
 sources, and show by their own example how full, 
 rich, and inspiring they are, deserve to be recorded 
 among the benefactors of mankind. No greater 
 treasures can be offered to human desire than enjoy 
 ments like these, which at once exercise the mind 
 and improve the heart, repel the influence of sordid 
 passions, and encourage the suggestions of humanity, 
 virtue, and religion. Men do well to secure them, 
 even if, in order to do it, they must sacrifice some 
 other objects of ambition ; for their drafts upon the 
 applause of future ages may be dishonored, and dis 
 appoint them of renown. The gold which they have 
 collected, perhaps by such means that they had bet 
 ter drunk it melted from the crucible, may fall from 
 their grasp as the fires consume and the floods drown : 
 but these pleasures are always within their reach ; 
 they do not lose their charm in the hours of anxiety 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 143 
 
 and Borrow ; and those who possess them have the 
 satisfaction of knowing, that they will last as long as 
 the soul. 
 
 But we have little hope of convincing men of the 
 truth of these things : it is less hopeless to undertake 
 to show them what is for the interest of others than 
 what is for their own. We can therefore state with 
 confidence to the rich, that it would be much for the 
 interest of their children, of the society in which they 
 live, and of science and literature in general, if they 
 would buy this work with its magnificent illustra 
 tions. We are not so visionary as to expect that 
 they will all read it themselves : wealth and taste do 
 not invariably go together. We recommend it as a 
 favor to others, and at the same time would suggest, 
 that such acts of munificence come with much more 
 grace from the living hand than from the last will ; 
 for men are seldom grateful to those who do not 
 give till they can keep no longer. They ascribe 
 whatever they receive in this way to the charity of 
 death, and not of the dead. When a man has given 
 
 > O 
 
 up other employments and other prospects, to devote 
 himself to a pursuit like this ; when he has spent days 
 of toil and nights of danger to accomplish a purpose 
 which he feels entitles him to encouragement and 
 applause, it is not refreshing to be told, that he may 
 spread out his treasures on the pages of a magazine, 
 for the recompense of a dollar an acre ; or that he 
 may have the privilege of publishing, if he will ad 
 vance a few thousands. He has no resource in such 
 a case, except to give up the favorite wish and long 
 devotion of his heart and life, or to range through 
 
144 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 the United States, as Wilson did, to find two hun 
 dred subscribers among ten million people ; an em 
 ployment hopeless and humiliating enough to break 
 a tin pedlar s heart. The great work of Mr. Audu- 
 bon is such an one as could not probably, under any 
 circumstances, have been published in this country ; 
 and we rejoice that he was so kindly encouraged and 
 welcomed in the home of our fathers. But, since 
 much talent is likely to be turned in this direction, 
 of which the benefits may be lost for want of just 
 rewards, we wish it were possible to hold out induce 
 ments large enough to satisfy reasonable expectations, 
 and to reflect honor on our great and growing coun 
 try. We regret to see, that Mr. Nuttall, in his val 
 uable work on the birds of the United States, which 
 will demand a more extended notice when it is 
 completed, was compelled to restrict himself in the 
 number of his illustrations by the expense of obtain 
 ing them, fearing lest an increased price of the work 
 would interfere with its circulation. We hope that 
 no apprehension of this kind will prevent his giving 
 colored illustrations of every subject he describes, in 
 the larger work which he proposes to publish at a 
 future time. Without being very costly or elegant, 
 they may be exact enough to answer the purpose 
 of the reader, if not to satisfy the delicate taste of 
 the connoisseur. Not one in a hundred of those 
 who are really interested in these subjects know a 
 bird, an insect, or a flower, by its scientific distinc 
 tions ; and a work of the kind must be suited to 
 all who have any taste for the study, as well as 
 those who aim at a thorough knowledge of it, or 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 145 
 
 it can have no great circulation in a country like 
 ours. 
 
 It is surprising to see how few of all the birds 
 which annually visit us are known by name, and 
 how little their habits are understood. Most natives 
 of New England are acquainted with the bluejay, 
 one of the earliest of our visitors, who comes sound 
 ing his penny trumpet as a herald of the spring, and 
 either amuses himself by playing pranks upon other 
 more serious birds, or entertains them by acting, to 
 the life, the part of an angry Frenchman. Every 
 miller and vagrant fisherman knows the belted king 
 fisher, who sits for hours upon his favorite dead 
 branch, looking with his calm, bright eye to the 
 lowest depth of the waters. The robin also makes 
 himself welcome, not only by the tradition of the 
 kindness shown by his European relation to the chil 
 dren in the wood, but by his hearty whistle, lifted 
 up as if he knew that all would be thankful to hear 
 that the winter is over and gone, and his familiarity 
 with man, whereby he shows his belief, that they 
 who least deserve confidence are sometimes made 
 better by being trusted. The solemn crow, who is 
 willing to repose the same confidence in man, taking 
 only the additional precaution of keeping out of his 
 reach ; the quizzical bobolink, or ricebunting, who 
 tells man, in so many words, that he cares nothing 
 about him, not he ; the swallow, that takes his 
 quarters in our barns, or the one that passes up and 
 down our chimneys with a noise like thunder ; the 
 purple martin, that offers to pay his house-rent by 
 keeping insects from our gardens ; the snow-bird, 
 13 
 
146 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 that comes riding from the arctic circle upon the win 
 ter storm ; and the baltimore, or golden-robin, that 
 glances like a flame of fire through the green caverns 
 of foliage, will almost complete the list of those 
 which are familiarly known to man. 
 
 We say familiarly known, because there are many 
 which people in general think they know, and which 
 are yet sadly misrepresented. The farmer, for ex 
 ample, accuses the woodpecker of boring his trees, 
 when he only enlarges with his bill the hole which 
 the grub had made, and, darting in his long arrowy 
 tongue, puts a stop to its mining for ever. Many a 
 poor bird, in like manner, after having slain his thou 
 sands of insects which were laying waste the orchard 
 and the garden, is sentenced to death as guilty of 
 the very offences which he has been laboriously pre 
 venting. There are few scenes in which justice is 
 so completely reversed as when we see some idle 
 young knave permitted to go forth with a fowling- 
 piece to murder creatures, of which it is not too 
 much to say, that they have done more good in the 
 world (it is a bold speech, w r e confess) than ever he 
 will do evil, and applauded for his exploits by his 
 old father, who, in rejoicing ignorance, congratulates 
 himself on having a son so efficient and useful. We 
 hear complaints annually from all parts of the United 
 States, that some insect or another is destroying the 
 fruit, and proposing to offer a large reward to any 
 one who will discover a remedy. Lest we should 
 be anticipated in our design, we would say that we 
 mean to contend for that prize, and to secure the 
 orchards and gardens by protecting the birds, and 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 147 
 
 offering a handsome bounty for the ears of those 
 who shoot them. Kami tells us, that the planters in 
 Virginia succeeded at last, by legislative enactment, 
 in exterminating the little crow, and exulted much 
 on the occasion. But it was not long before their 
 triumph was changed to mourning. They found 
 that the acts had been passed for the benefit of 
 insects, not their own ; and they would gladly have 
 offered a larger bounty to bring back the persecuted 
 birds. We shall not plead for the crow, who is fully 
 able to take care of himself ; but we must file a pro 
 test against the practice of destroying the birds of 
 the garden ; for, besides depriving us of the beauty 
 of their appearance and the music of their song, it 
 lets in a flood of insects, whose numbers the birds 
 were commissioned to keep down ; and w r hen we 
 find this evil growing year by year, as most assu 
 redly it will, there will be little consolation in reflect 
 ing that we have brought it upon ourselves. 
 
 The song of birds is not much better known than 
 their habits and persons. We have been assured by 
 several individuals, that they have heard the mocking 
 bird in Massachusetts ; and, in some instances, we 
 thought it probable from their description that they 
 Avere correct, though this bird is seldom found in so 
 high a latitude ; but, in other cases, we were con 
 vinced that they had been listening to the perform 
 ance of the cat-bird. Most persons would as soon 
 expect to hear the cat herself uplifting her voice in 
 melody ; but the powers of this bird are by no means 
 confined to the mew and squeal. Though sadly 
 afraid of man, and with sufficient reason, he is a 
 
148 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 fine singer, a great wag, and in mimicry is not far 
 inferior to the mocking-bird ; but he has so little 
 peace of mind that he seldom dares to let us know 
 where he is by his note, till after the fall of even 
 ing or before the dawn. We venture to predict, 
 that, in the month of May, strangers will hear from 
 the windows of the Tremont House a delicious note 
 that seems to proceed from some singing leaf of 
 the topmost tree in that mall which bore the once- 
 distinguished name of Paddock, a hero who has 
 almost perished from the traditions of narrative old 
 age. He will hear it rising high above the hack- 
 man s whistle and the rattling wheel. Few will be 
 able to tell him more than that the sound proceeds 
 from a bird ; while the warbler, and his brother of 
 the red eye, will sing on, in happy indifference both 
 to the attention and neglect of man. But their favors 
 will not be confined to the city : they Avill be heard 
 in the country from the broad arm of the elm that 
 overhangs the cottage door, singing on at morning, 
 noon, and night, with a taste and science that fill 
 other listening birds with admiration and despair. 
 There is another bird, well known by the name of 
 the brown thrasher, whose musical talent is but little 
 understood. It is said that he is called the French 
 mocking-bird at the South ; and we have heard that 
 name given to him here, not on account of his imita 
 tions, but the extent and variety of his powers. He 
 has no ambition to display himself to the sight of 
 man ; but he excites the astonishment of all who hear 
 him, by the luxurious fulness of his song. How 
 many have ever seen the crimson linnet, as he sits 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 149 
 
 playing the flute on the very summit of the loftiest 
 tree, sometimes sinking his strain almost to silence, 
 then pouring it out in bursts of rapture ? It is com 
 mon to say, that beauty of plumage and sweetness 
 of song are not found together. It may be true, 
 that they are seldom united in the highest perfection ; 
 but every child knows, that the clear piping of the 
 baltimore, and the varied whistle of the goldfinch, 
 are as pleasant to the ear as their fine colors are to 
 the eye ; and the brilliant red bird, which sometimes 
 visits New England, is not. more distinguished for 
 the bright scarlet of his dress than for the sweet and 
 bold expression of his song. 
 
 There is so much that inspires curiosity about the 
 various tribes of birds, that it is difficult to account 
 for this contented ignorance of their ways, in which 
 so many spend their lives. When the snows retreat 
 to the mountains, the friendly voice of the robin, 
 telling us that he is glad to see us all again, has a 
 magical effect upon every one : it calls the heart and 
 memory into action, and reminds us of all we love 
 to remember. Here he is again ; but he cannot tell 
 us where he has been, what regions he has traversed, 
 nor what invisible hand pointed out his path in the 
 sky. If this inquiry interest us, we begin to look 
 about us in the closing year : we see, that, when the 
 leaf grows red, the birds are disappearing ; some 
 assembling in solemn deliberation, to make arrange 
 ments for the purpose ; others taking French leave, 
 as it is unfitly called, without ceremony or fare 
 well. Some, like the great white owl, delight in the 
 prospect of moonlight gleaming on the snowy plains 
 
 13* 
 
1-50 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 of the north, where all is still as death ; others, like 
 the snowbunting, rejoice to accompany the storm as 
 it rushes down from the frozen lakes and oceans. 
 But most birds secure a mild climate and perpetual 
 verdure, by retreating from the wintry tempests with 
 a fleetness greater than its own. Some, like the saga 
 cious crow and the light swallow, which was formerly 
 thought to drown itself by way of escaping the win 
 ter, fly only by day ; while others, like travellers in 
 the desert, rest by day, and go on their way by night. 
 It is curious to observe the order in which some 
 arrange themselves. The wild geese, for example, 
 whose word of command we so often hear above us 
 in the stillness of night, form two files, which meet in 
 a sharp angle at the head, where the leader cleaves 
 the air and guides the course of the procession ; 
 giving up his place, when he is weary, to the next in 
 order. All similar caravans move on with a regu 
 larity and precision that do them infinite honor. If 
 they can secure a favorable wind, they consider it an 
 advantage ; but, if not, they beat and tack, so as to 
 overcome its resistance as well as they can. They 
 make every thing subordinate to the great business 
 of migration. The swallow snatches the insect, and 
 the kingfisher his fish, without suspending their flight ; 
 and, if they are late in their journey, they allow 
 themselves no rest till they reach their destination. 
 Hard times these for birds of large size and little 
 wings ! On they must go ; and partly by trudging, 
 and partly by swimming, they relieve the hardship of 
 flying, and contrive to reach a place of safety and 
 rest. It seems at first like a prodigious undertaking 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 151 
 
 for a bird to pass from Hudson s Bay to Mexico or 
 South America ; but, as some of them can fly at the 
 rate of sixty miles an hour, and more with a favor 
 able wind, the journey is soon over, and the shelter 
 they gain well worth the toil of reaching it. We 
 wonder not that they should go : we are rather 
 tempted to say to some poor goldfinch, which we 
 occasionally see pale and starving in the dead of 
 winter, as Dr. Johnson did to the crow in Scotland, 
 " What ! have wings, and stay here ! " We know 
 not that birds have much imagination themselves, 
 but they certainly inspire it in others : witness the 
 wish which Logan sang, and a thousand hearts have 
 echoed, to travel and return with the bird in the 
 heavens, which knoweth its appointed time, a perpet 
 ual companion of the spring. 
 
 It is well worth while, also, to observe the provi 
 sion which birds make for their own wants, and to 
 see how, when reason sometimes falters, instinct 
 always operates with the same certainty and suc 
 cess. We have already mentioned the woodpecker, 
 who grasps the trunk of a tree with his claws, and 
 stands upon his tail, drawing out insects from their 
 burrows in the wood. It is said, that he goes to 
 an ant s nest, and lies down pretending to be dead, 
 with his tongue out, drawing it in, however, as often 
 as it is covered with the ants, which are a favorite 
 article of his food. The nut-hatch opens nuts or 
 the stories of fruits by repeated blows of his sharp, 
 horny bill. The butcher-bird, which lives on insects 
 and smaller birds, is said to attract the latter by 
 imitating their call, and has also a habit of impaling 
 
152 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 upon thorns such insects as he does not need at the 
 moment. Some have thought this a trap set for 
 other birds ; but this is improbable, because un 
 necessary. It seems more likely that this trick of 
 gathering what he does not want, and keeping it till 
 it is of no use to him, is one which he has learned in 
 his intercourse with man. The whippoorwill sits 
 upon the fence or the step of a door, singing mourn 
 fully, as if he had lost all his friends ; but woe to the 
 moth who believes in the mourner s having lost his 
 appetite also ! the bird seizes and swallows him, with 
 out any suspension of his song, The raven and the 
 gull, who are fond of shell-fish, but are not provided 
 with instruments to open them, carry them high into 
 the air, and let them fall on rocks in order to break 
 the shell. In this way it is said that a philosopher s 
 head was broken in ancient times, being accidentally 
 taken for a stone. Whether this be true or not, we 
 cannot say : the heads of sages are harder now. 
 The bald eagle, proud and disdainful as he seems, 
 gets a great part of his living in a manner that does 
 more credit to his ingenuity and strength than to his 
 morals. He sits in gigantic repose, calmly watching 
 the play of the fishing-birds over the blue reach of 
 waters, with his wings loosely raised, as if keeping 
 time with the heaving sea. Soon he sees the fish- 
 hawk dive heavily in the ocean, and re-appear with 
 a scream of triumph, bearing the sluggish fish. Then 
 the gaze of the eagle grows fiery and intense ; his 
 wings are spread wide, and he gives chase to the 
 hawk, till he compels him to let fall his prize ; but it 
 is not lost, for the eagle wheels in a broad circle, 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 153 
 
 sweeps down upon the edge of the wave, and se 
 cures it before it touches the water. Nothing can be 
 more majestic than the flight of this noble bird : 
 he seems to move by an effort of will alone, without 
 the waving of his wings. Pity it is that he should 
 dishonor himself by such unworthy robbery as this ! 
 though it by no means destroys the resemblance 
 between the king of birds and the kings of men. 
 
 The art which birds display in their nests deserves 
 admiration. We are in the habit of speaking of the 
 nest as the home of the bird ; but it is nothing more 
 than the cradle of the young. Birds of mature years 
 are exposed to all the elements, but are provided 
 with oil to spread upon their plumage, which enables 
 it to shed the rain. This supply ceases in a measure, 
 when birds are sheltered by the care of man : while 
 the small bird is dry and active through all the heavi 
 est showers, the wet human being does not look more 
 sorrowful than the drowned and draggling hen. The 
 nest of the humming-bird, that little creature so beau 
 tiful, and, like most other beauties, so deficient in 
 temper, is the choicest piece of work that can be 
 imagined ; being formed and covered with moss, in 
 such a manner as to resemble exactly a knot of the 
 limb on which it is built. But this is exceeded by 
 the little tailor-bird of India, which, living in a climate 
 where the young are exposed to all manner of foes, 
 constructs its nest by sewing together two large 
 leaves of a tree, at the very extremity of the limb, 
 where neither ape, serpent, nor monkey, would ven 
 ture for all beneath the moon. It uses its bill for an 
 awl, and fibres for threads, and thus unites them in 
 
1 ; 54 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 a workmanlike manner, placing its nest between, 
 lined with gossamer, feathers, and down. We can 
 see something resembling this in the nest of the balti- 
 more-oriole, which is so common in our gardens in 
 summer. It is formed by tying together some forked 
 twigs at the extremity of a limb, with strings either 
 stripped from vegetables, or, if more convenient, 
 stolen from a graft or a window. These twigs form 
 a frame- work, round which they weave a coarse 
 covering to enclose the nest, composed of thread, 
 wool, or tow. The inner nest is at the bottom of 
 this external pocket, where it swings securely in the 
 highest wind, and is sheltered by the arbor of leaves 
 above it, both from the rain and sun. This intelli 
 gent bird was not slow to discover, that much trouble 
 might be saved by employing strings which have 
 been already prepared by the hands of man ; and, if 
 skeins of thread or any thing of the kind come in his 
 way, he makes use of them without asking to whom 
 they belong. This is the most remarkable structure 
 of the kind in our country ; but, if we may believe 
 the accounts of others, a bird in India makes a simi 
 lar nest, with several apartments, which it lights up 
 with fire-flies by night. 
 
 There are birds which construct their nests with 
 less delicacy, but more hard labor ; the woodpecker, 
 for example, which chisels out its gallery in the 
 trunks or limbs of trees, and thus prepares a lodging, 
 not only for itself, but for the nut-hatch, black capt 
 titmouse, and other birds, which take advantage of 
 the woodpecker s deserted mansions. The king 
 fisher chooses a bank near the scene of his labors ; 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 155 
 
 and here, with his mate, works with his bill and 
 claws rather ineffective tools for the purpose till 
 he has scooped out a tunnel of the depth of several 
 feet horizontally. The extreme part is spacious and 
 ovenlike ; but the entrance is only large enough for 
 one. This bird does not waste its labor, like many 
 others, but makes the same cavern answer its pur 
 pose for a number of years. The little sandmartin 
 follows the kingfisher s example. The purple mar 
 tin, and the republican swallow, which is now emi 
 grating to us from the West, defend their habitations 
 with a mud wall. The golden-crowned thrush 
 makes its nest in the ground, diffusing it so as to 
 resemble the turf around it. But some birds show 
 great indifference to this subject, from whom it 
 would least be expected ; as the hen, which merely 
 scratches a place for its nest, though it is afterwards 
 so attentive to its young. The sea-birds, in general 
 rough and hardy in their habits, leave their eggs 
 lying loosely on the sand. The duck, however, the 
 eider particularly, which is one of our northern visit 
 ors, is so motherly in its habits as to strip the down 
 from its own breast to line the nest for its young. In 
 the northern regions, where they breed, the natives 
 plunder the nest ; the bird again lines its habitation, 
 and again it is plundered. Many an individual in 
 civilized countries feathers his nest at the expense of 
 the poor eider, who is thus a martyr to her maternal 
 affection. 
 
 Most birds make their nests in an honest and 
 industrious way ; but there is a knavish crew, which, 
 for reasons which we cannot fathom, are permitted 
 
136 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 to save themselves the trouble, both of providing 
 lodging and education for their young, by imposing 
 the burden upon others. In foreign countries, the 
 cuckoo is guilty of this unnatural proceeding, which 
 combines the sins of desertion and imposture. The 
 reproach is, of course, transferred to our American 
 bird of that name ; but our yellow-billed cuckoo is 
 very motherly in its habits and feelings. It is true 
 that its eggs have been found in the nests of other 
 birds ; but a distinguished naturalist conjectures, that 
 its intention was to steal the nest, and not to leave its 
 young to the care of others. The worst thing known 
 of our cuckoo is, that it feeds upon the eggs of other 
 birds. The unnatural parent in this country is the 
 well-known low blackbird, the pest of almost all 
 the feathered race. She lays her egg in the nests of 
 various other birds, without much concern in the 
 selection, and seems fully conscious that she is acting 
 a disgraceful part. If the owner of the nest have 
 any eggs of her own, she takes care of the strange 
 one, rather than desert them ; if not, she generally 
 gives up the work she has finished with the sweat of 
 her brow. Sometimes the birds throw out the egg 
 that has no business there ; sometimes they lay a new 
 floor to the nest ; but, in many cases, affection for 
 their own induces them to submit with a good grace 
 to the imposition. When the young foundling is 
 hatched, the quarters are so small for him, that he 
 often stifles the other young birds, merely from want 
 of room. He retreats the moment he is able to fly, as 
 if conscious that he has no right to his home. This 
 reproach should be given to the real sinner, and not 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 157 
 
 to the cuckoo ; for the latter bird does actually patch 
 up something, which, considering that it is honestly 
 made, may be dignified with the name of nest. 
 
 Birds, like men, are apt to regard each other as 
 lawful prey ; which renders various provisions of 
 nature necessary to secure the weak against the 
 strong. The structure of the eye gives an advantage 
 to the cannibal, as well as to his victim. It is suited 
 in a wonderful manner to the wants of the animal, 
 and to the element in which it lives. It has an 
 apparatus by which the bird can push it out and 
 draw it in, thus extending or lessening the sphere of 
 vision at pleasure ; the nictitating membrane covers 
 it with a partially opaque curtain, when it would 
 reduce the light without closing the lid ; the nerve is 
 quick in its sensibility to every impression ; and birds 
 are thus enabled either to pick up insects close before 
 them, or to look abroad over miles of earth and sea. 
 The fish-hawk sees the fish at an immense distance 
 beneath it ; and others of the same race discern their 
 prey on the ground or flying, when an object so 
 small would be wholly invisible to the human eye. 
 Under these circumstances, the smaller birds some 
 times borrow resolution from despair. The graceful 
 little kingbird, whose military habits are signified by 
 the red plume which he sometimes displays, will at 
 tack the largest tyrant of the air ; and not only crows, 
 but hawks and eagles, retreat from him with an expe 
 dition which signifies that they have gained neither 
 profit nor honor in the encounter. When the smaller 
 birds think it unwise to do battle, they retire under 
 hedges and brushwood ; and the hawk looks after 
 
 14 
 
158 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 them, as British frigates did after the little Greek 
 pirate-boats, sorely puzzled to tell whether they had 
 passed into the earth or air, while they were quietly 
 sunk along the shore, ready to float again as soon as 
 the danger was past. When this cannot be conve 
 niently done, they sometimes rush out to meet the 
 bird of prey in great numbers ; and, by flying about 
 him in all directions, attempting to get above him, 
 and setting up a general outcry, they bewilder his 
 brain never very bright in such a manner that 
 he is compelled to retreat, in order to collect his scat 
 tered wits. When they have no other resort, they 
 sometimes put themselves under the protection of 
 man ; but they consider this a choice of evils, and to 
 be done only in desperate cases. Nature has provi 
 ded for the security of some which have not ingenuity 
 to defend themselves. Some are made to resemble 
 the tree so closely as to escape unpleasant obser 
 vation ; some find the same security in their likeness 
 to earth and stones. Many of our readers have doubt 
 less met the quail, with her thriving family of children, 
 in their rambles through the woods. If they are so 
 well aware of the artifices of the mother as not to 
 regard her pretence of lameness, they may attempt 
 to secure the young ; but fortunate and sharp-sighted 
 must they be to discover them, such is their resem 
 blance to the dried leaves in which they nestle. The 
 young of the whippoorwill, also, seem aware of this 
 advantage, and retain great composure in danger, 
 trusting that they shall not be distinguished from the 
 ground. It is this fear, so necessary to their defence, 
 which makes birds so reserved in their intercourse 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 159 
 
 with men, that their characters are but little under 
 stood. The crow, for example, never acts himself 
 till he is tamed and made familiar with man. In his 
 wild state, he is eminently suspicious : let him see 
 but a string near the corn-field, and he imagines it 
 a snare ; let any one attempt to approach him with a 
 gun, and he keeps at a respectful distance, while he 
 manifests no fear of an unarmed man. When do 
 mesticated, the grave and jealous wiseacre lays aside 
 his solemnity, and becomes mischievous as a mon 
 key, showing in his tricks astonishing sagacity, in 
 selecting both subject and occasion. Most birds can 
 be tamed ; but man has not a good reputation among 
 them in general ; and it is not easy to quiet their fears, 
 lest he shall abuse his power. 
 
 The voice is the power for which birds are most 
 remarkable ; and this depends very much upon the 
 quickness of their hearing, in which they excel most 
 other animals. The lungs bear a very large pro 
 portion to the frame, which is so constructed as to 
 receive great admissions of air, which aids the en 
 ergy of sound. The distance at which the soaring 
 birds can be heard is almost incredible. The cry of 
 the eagle will reach us from his most towering height, 
 and the wild scream of the sea-bird rises above the 
 thunder of the beach. The variety of their tones is 
 not less surprising. The common barn-door fowl 
 is an example : its tones are ludicrously human, run 
 ning through all changes expressive of passion, but 
 most eloquent in discontent, anxiety, sorrow, and 
 despair. But the smaller birds are those which fill 
 the garden and the wood with their spirit-like song. 
 
160 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 Their strains are poured forth to swell that stream of 
 blended melodies which form the voice of spring ; a 
 voice full of pleasing and tender associations, which 
 comes upon the ear, reminding us of all most dear 
 to remembrance, and often fills the soul with hap 
 piness, and the eyes with tears. No country can 
 exceed our own in this music of nature. The 
 European nightingale has been long regarded as 
 unrivalled ; but now it is conceded, that its strain 
 owes something of its charm to the hour when 
 it is heard, when the sounds of the day are over, 
 and all around is listening, breathless and still. But 
 our mocking-bird, so unworthily named, since he 
 introduces snatches of songs of other birds into 
 his voluntary, not from poverty of invention, but in 
 wantonness, and to show how his own surpasses 
 them all, is rather an enthusiast than an imitator ; 
 as any one may know who has seen him at his 
 matins, with every nerve in motion, trembling with 
 delight, and resembling St. Ignatius, who, as Maflfei 
 tells us, was often lifted several feet from the ground 
 by the intenseness and spirituality of his devotions. 
 These fine powers of song, however, are not con 
 fined to one or two birds : where the mocking-bird 
 is never heard, there are strains, not so various and 
 striking perhaps, but equally plaintive, original, and 
 sweet. 
 
 Every one hears the voice of the bird with interest 
 and pleasure ; and any explanation of the habits 
 and history of the wild and retiring musician will be 
 generally welcome. For reasons which will easily 
 suggest themselves to the reader, no general atten- 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 161 
 
 tion has been hitherto given to the subject. The 
 heavy works in which information can be found have 
 been treasured in expensive libraries only, where 
 they are out of the reach of the great proportion of 
 those who are most interested in these things. But 
 a few such men as Audubon will soon place the 
 results of their adventurous travels where men shall 
 see and know them ; a taste for their favorite sci 
 ences will gradually be created, and they will be sure 
 of the general applause. But we hope that the mel 
 ancholy line, " Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves ! " 
 will not apply to them as truly as it does to many of 
 their favorite race. Those who have labored and 
 suffered in the cause of science are entitled to some 
 thing more substantial than golden opinions ; for, if 
 fame be a reward, it is one for which they are in 
 debted to themselves, and not to others. 
 
 The most celebrated adventurer in this charming 
 pursuit was Alexander Wilson ; a name not suffici 
 ently known when fame would have been of use to 
 him, but now surrounded with many interesting as 
 sociations. He was, till the eighteenth year of his 
 age, apprentice to a weaver ; but he never seemed 
 to regard his trade as an employment at all seden 
 tary ; and he was in the constant habit of making 
 pilgrimages through his native land, Scotland, in the 
 capacity of a pedler, displaying at the same time an 
 indifference to profit, and a passion for poetry, not 
 often found in that estimable race. This latter pro 
 pensity was encouraged by the success of Burns, 
 with whom he was personally acquainted. But Wil 
 son, when he attempted to publish his inspirations, 
 u* 
 
162 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 met with no good fortune, except once, when com 
 pelled to burn with his own hands, at the town-cross, 
 a satire which he had written upon some individual 
 by whom he thought the weavers had been oppress 
 ed ; upon which occasion he was cheered by the 
 multitude as a patriot and a martyr. We can hardly 
 account for his entire failure in his poetical attempts. 
 One would have supposed, that, with a glowing im 
 agination, a quick and delicate sensibility, a melan 
 choly and sometimes majestic tone of thought, and a 
 perseverance untiring as an eagle s wing, he must 
 have become distinguished in an art where many 
 have secured eminence without half his powers. But 
 so it was, that he might as well have attempted to 
 weave the visions of his fancy in the tapestry of a 
 Paisley loom, as express them in such numbers as 
 those which he gave triumphantly to the world, and 
 which the world, fortunately for science, rejected. 
 
 Wilson came to this country in 1794, so forlorn in 
 circumstances that he slept upon deck through the 
 whole voyage, and, when he arrived, had no property 
 but a fowling-piece. He landed at Newcastle, and, 
 as he was walking to Philadelphia, shot a red-headed 
 woodpecker. It is said that he often mentioned after 
 wards what delight the sight of this beautiful bird 
 gave him ; and, as this was a time when he was 
 naturally full of excitement, the incident probably 
 had much effect in determining his mind to that pur 
 suit, which resulted in his becoming the historian of 
 the feathered race. After a few years of depression, 
 variegated by an occasional change from the employ 
 ment of a schoolmaster to that of pedler, he found a 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 163 
 
 resting-place on the banks of the Schuylkill ; the 
 same region which afterwards inspired Audubon 
 with taste and enthusiasm similar to his own. Here 
 he was fortunate enough to find friends, who, though 
 they dared not encourage him in a pursuit where the 
 sacrifices were likely to be great, and the substantial 
 rewards very few, seem, nevertheless, to have sym 
 pathized with him, and to have believed as he did, 
 that the volume of nature deserved to be read, as 
 well as the day-book and ledger. This was precisely 
 the encouragement which his energetic spirit wanted ; 
 his plans were already rough-hewn in his own ima 
 gination ; and, once assured that his object was 
 properly estimated by others whose judgment he 
 valued, he knew how to make minor difficulties give 
 way before him. He applied himself earnestly to 
 the study of natural history in the intervals of his 
 labor as a teacher, and made various attempts at 
 delineating birds, but so unsuccessfully that for a 
 long time the sight of them filled him with indignation 
 
 O o O 
 
 and despair. Still he persevered, wisely resolving to 
 make that preparation for his rambles, without which 
 his labor would be thrown away. He went on foot to 
 Niagara in 1805 ; and on his return we find him with 
 a spirit undaunted, but a fortune considerably less 
 than a dollar, expressing a manly confidence that 
 he had the resources which his enterprise required ; 
 a constitution which hardship only strengthened ; a 
 heart unchained by domestic affections ; a disposition 
 equally satisfied with a comfortable bed, or an Indian 
 fire in the heart of the woods ; and, above all, a reso 
 lution which no failure could depress, and no obstacle 
 
164 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 withstand. He made engagements with a bookseller 
 in Philadelphia, who was to advance the funds re 
 quired for an edition of two hundred copies, while 
 Wilson was to furnish the drawings and descriptions, 
 receiving meantime a small sum for coloring the 
 plates, which formed his only support. He thought 
 it necessary to make a commencement of his work, 
 in order that he might use it to gain subscribers, 
 while wandering through the country to collect ma 
 terials for his future numbers. 
 
 In 1808, he went forth, directing his steps east 
 ward, and arranged his outposts and spies in such a 
 manner, that he expressed his confidence that not 
 a wren could travel from York to Canada without 
 his receiving immediate information. But subscribers 
 did not abound, and the whole number he was able 
 to collect amounted only to forty-one ; while the 
 drudgery of making his proposals again and again, 
 only to hear them rejected, was extremely grating to a 
 spirit like his, melancholy and somewhat proud. So 
 little was his object appreciated, that in Haverhill, 
 New Hampshire, he was apprehended as a spy ; the 
 inhabitants supposing that some foreign power had 
 fallen in love with their paradise, and was preparing 
 plans for an invasion. When he returned from the 
 East, after resting but a day or two. he made a tour 
 through the Southern States, and succeeded in adding 
 one hundred and twenty-five to his subscription-list, 
 beside gaining subjects for his pencil from the cypress 
 swamps and pine savannas. All his remarks upon 
 men and manners are those of a sharp, thoughtful, and 
 rather sad observer ; but, in a third tour, where his 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 165 
 
 route led him through the vast Western regions of our 
 country, which he visited before the steam-boat 
 had supplanted the ark and the bush-whacker upon 
 the rivers, thus removing solitude and extending civ 
 ilization, by crowding the work of a hundred years 
 into ten, he seems to travel with a lighter step 
 and heart, as if he had learned distrust from those 
 subjects of his art that spread their wings and fly 
 from the presence of man. But he did not escape 
 mortifications even there. A certain judge told him, 
 that his book, being out of the reach of the com 
 monalty, was anti-republican, and ought not to be 
 encouraged. Wilson asked him what he thought 
 of his own handsome three-story house ; whether such 
 buildings were within the reach of the commonalty, 
 as he called them ; a question, to which it is not 
 stated, that the bench made any satisfactory reply. 
 He evidently felt such coarse remarks much more 
 than the serious difficulties and hardships of his way. 
 In fact, he held those labors very light ; and there is, 
 to our apprehension, something grand and striking 
 in the thought of a man going forth alone, in the 
 strength of his own heart, with none to share his 
 trials, or even understand his feelings ; seeing what 
 others could not see, hearing what others could not 
 hear ; bearing gallantly onward, like a light vessel 
 over the unsounded seas ; while all who crowd the 
 shore, as it departs, prophesy that it was " built in 
 the eclipse," and they never shall see it again. 
 
 Lest we be taken for enthusiasts, which would be 
 fatal to our reputation as reviewers, we would say, 
 that it is not every great naturalist who makes a sub- 
 
166 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 lime and affecting impression : witness Mr. A-udu- 
 bon s picturesque account of his visit from M. de 
 
 T , a blank which some readers will probably be 
 
 able to fill. One day, when walking by the river, 
 he saw an individual land from a boat with a bunch 
 of hay upon his back, who seemed to occasion some 
 speculation among the boatmen. The stranger in 
 quired for Mr. Audubon, and, learning that he was 
 the person, gave him a letter of introduction from a 
 friend, which began, " I send you an odd fish, which 
 I hope you will describe." Mr. Audubon read the 
 letter aloud, and asked him where it was. The stran 
 ger, rubbing his hands with much glee, replied, " I 
 am the odd fish, I presume, sir." After such an 
 apology as was forthcoming, Mr. Audubon olfered to 
 send for his baggage, but was saved the trouble by 
 
 M. de T s informing him, that he had none, save 
 
 the cargo of weeds upon his back. When introduced 
 to the ladies, he thought it necessary to improve 
 his appearance, and accordingly, pulling off his 
 shoes, began to draw down his stockings to hide the 
 holes about the heels, remarking that his dress had 
 suffered a little in his journey. It consisted of a 
 long, loose coat of yellow nankeen, which had been 
 stained into a resemblance to that of Joseph s, by the 
 juice of various plants and flowers; a waistcoat of 
 the same, with unfathomable pockets, and buttoned 
 up to the chin, covering a large portion of his tight 
 pantaloons, the whole raiment surmounted by long 
 hair and a beard, which were left to the care of na 
 ture. The spectre conversed in a very intelligent 
 and agreeable manner, but was impatient to see Mr. 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 167 
 
 Audubon s drawings of birds and flowers. On look 
 ing at one of the latter, he shook his head, and de 
 clared that there was no such plant. Mr. Audubon 
 at once silenced his doubts by taking him to the spot 
 where it grew ; upon seeing which, he danced and 
 shouted in ecstasy, declaring that he had found, not 
 only a new species, but a new genus, and appearing 
 as if he could have died happy. At midnight, a great 
 uproar was heard in the naturalist s apartment ; and 
 Mr. Audubon, running thither in alarm, found him 
 racing round the room with the handle of a violin in 
 his hand, having already demolished the body of 
 it in attempts to beat down some bats, nothing 
 regarding his own want of drapery, nor the de 
 struction he was making. Having secured one of 
 the intruders for his collection, he retired to bed 
 with singular satisfaction. After remaining an in 
 mate in the family for three weeks, he suddenly dis 
 appeared ; and they could only account for his 
 absence by supposing that he had himself been taken 
 and secured as a specimen, till a letter of thanks 
 from him came to hand some time after. Mr. Audu 
 bon seems to have taken vengeance on the naturalist 
 for the destruction of his fiddle, and the various 
 other inconveniences he had occasioned, by showing 
 him the interior of a cane-brake, where they encount 
 ered a bear who was upon the same expedition, and 
 were overtaken by a thunder-storm, which made the 
 man of science for once forget his enthusiasm in his 
 fears. We can forgive this, inasmuch as the jest 
 was in the way of their profession ; but we feel 
 bound to declare our entire disapprobation of his 
 
168 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 proceeding, in exposing a fellow-traveller to the 
 wrath of a pole-cat. This gentleman, struck with 
 the beauty of the animal, dismounted in order to 
 secure it ; but was soon convinced, that, because the 
 creature was pleasing to one sense, it did not follow 
 that he should be equally acceptable to another. We 
 should as soon have thought of exposing a human 
 being to the attacks of a party newspaper on the eve 
 of a presidential election. How far this unsavory 
 jest was carried, we are not precisely informed ; but, 
 though reviewers by profession, we can see no sport 
 in the suffering of our fellow-creatures ; and we 
 undertake to assure Mr. Audubon, that the least play 
 of such humor is extremely offensive. 
 
 But to return to Wilson. When Mr. Audubon 
 resided in Louisville, Wilson came into his counting- 
 room one morning, with the two numbers of his 
 work then published, and offered his proposals. Mr. 
 Audubon describes his appearance as rendered strik 
 ing by the keenness of his eyes, and the prominence 
 of his cheekbones ; and his peculiarities of look were 
 probably heightened by an expression of surprise at 
 finding another person engaged at the moment in a 
 pursuit similar to his own. As Mr. Audubon was 
 about to write his name as a subscriber, his partner 
 advised him rather abruptly to forbear, assuring him 
 in French that his own drawings were superior to 
 those of Wilson, and that his acquaintance with the 
 habits of birds could not be less. This advice pre 
 vailed, and he declined subscribing. Mr. Audubon 
 observes, that Wilson did not appear pleased, either 
 because he understood the language in which the 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 169 
 
 remark was made, or because he was disappointed 
 in the hope of adding to his list. He probably did 
 not understand French ; but the language of manner 
 is the same all the world over. It requires but little 
 study to discover the meaning of expressions of light 
 esteem ; and, beside this, a man who has given his 
 life and heart to the accomplishment of an object, 
 believing that he has no rival, must be somewhat 
 more than human, if he be delighted to find that 
 another is engaged in the same purpose, with equal 
 energy, and advantages far greater than his own. 
 They, however, compared notes in a friendly man 
 ner, and ranged the woods together. Mr. Audubon 
 introduced him to nis family, and did all in his power 
 to make his visit pleasant ; but he seemed oppressed 
 by constant melancholy, which was only relieved by 
 the Scotch airs which he played sweetly on his flute, 
 social enjoyments having for him no charm nor 
 attraction. Mr. Audubon offered him his own draw 
 ings for the " American Ornithology," only stipulat 
 ing that they should bear his own name ; but Wilson 
 did not accept the proposal. Mr. Audubon after 
 wards waited upon him in Philadelphia, and was 
 kindly received ; but nothing was said of the subject 
 which was nearest to their hearts. When the ninth 
 number of the " Ornithology " was published, Mr. 
 Audubon was surprised, and not particularly de 
 lighted, to find a note from Wilson s journal, dated 
 March 23, 1810, in which he remarks that in Louis 
 ville he received no attention, and gained neither 
 new subscriber nor new bird. " Science and litera 
 ture," said he, " have not one friend in the place." 
 16 
 
170 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 Mr. Audubon relates these circumstances with a 
 tone which does him honor ; without making com 
 plaints of Wilson, who certainly appears at dis 
 advantage, and without losing his respect for the 
 talent and enterprise of a very remarkable man. 
 He had a right to justify himself, and this is all he 
 attempts in his explanation. The note was probably 
 written in a moment of disappointment and depres 
 sion, and was an exact description of the writer s 
 feelings. We can do more justice to both, if we 
 remember that neither party was then known to the 
 world. If we think of Wilson at the time as one 
 whose acquaintance was thought an honor, or whose 
 genius was respected as it now is, we shall widely 
 mistake his condition. He was a man of plain 
 appearance, of manners not prepossessing to stran 
 gers, engaged in a pursuit which not one in ten 
 thousand knew how to appreciate, and which indeed 
 owes its fame in our country principally to his exer 
 tions. His features were rather coarse, and his dress 
 better suited to the forest than the drawing-room : 
 moreover he carried with him a subscription-list, and 
 was thus connected with a class of visitors which no 
 man welcomes to his house with rapture. Under 
 these circumstances, though we have no doubt that 
 Mr. Audubon treated him with kind attention, and 
 felt respect for his enthusiasm, still it required a 
 prophet s eye to discover his full claims, and to as 
 sign him that high place which, as a man of genius, 
 he felt he had a right to demand. All who knew 
 Wilson unanimously testify, that, although irritable, 
 and unable to endure the least disrespect, his dispo- 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 171 
 
 sition was remarkably kind, liberal, and just. In all 
 his dealings with others, he was the very soul of 
 honor ; so that he was doubtless misled by feelings 
 of despondency, which often attach unpleasant asso 
 ciations, in an unjust and unaccountable manner, to 
 places and persons which by no means deserve them. 
 We observe that the " American Quarterly Review," 
 in noticing the work before us, justifies Philadelphia 
 from an implied censure cast upon it by Mr. Audu- 
 bon. He says that Liverpool freely accorded to him 
 honors, which, on application made by his friends, 
 Philadelphia had refused him. We do not profess 
 to understand the allusion. That city is the last to 
 deserve a charge of want of hospitality, and Mr. Au- 
 dubon is evidently not the man to make unreasonable 
 complaints or demands. We think it probable, that 
 he wrote thus from having accidentally connected 
 depressing associations with a place where he had 
 hoped to publish his work, and where he found him 
 self disappointed ; and that it never occurred either 
 to him or to Wilson, that, in expressing their feel 
 ings, they were bringing grave charges against any 
 place or people. 
 
 It does not seem probable to us, that, if Wilson 
 and Audubon had been acquainted with each other 
 more intimately and under more favorable circum 
 stances, they would have been very well suited to 
 each other. Those who agree in being devoted to a 
 similar object are generally said to have similarity 
 of taste ; but this does not follow ; and, where they 
 are unlike in feeling, their pursuit of the same object 
 is more likely to make them rivals than friends. 
 
172 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 Wilson was a man whose powers were concentrated 
 upon a single purpose : he pursued it, not as an 
 amusement, nor even an employment, but as the 
 great object of his life, and with a deep and deter 
 mined spirit, which few could understand. The 
 subjects of his art and inquiry were not playthings 
 to him, they were intimate and familiar friends ; 
 their voice was not music, but language ; instead of 
 dying away upon the ear, it went down into his soul. 
 To him the notes with which they heralded the 
 spring were full of glory ; and, when in the autumn 
 they heard far off the trumpet of the storm, and sang 
 their farewell to the woods, it was solemn and affect 
 ing, as if it were breathed from a living and beating 
 heart. To others this interest seemed senseless and 
 excessive ; but he was one of those who never smile 
 at the depth and earnestness of their own emotions. 
 When he described the birds, he spoke of their habits 
 and manners as if they were intelligent things ; and 
 thus has given a life and charm to his descriptions, 
 which will make his work the chief attraction of the 
 science, in our country, for many years to come. 
 But, as might be supposed, this very enthusiasm, 
 which was so strong that he kept it as much as pos 
 sible to himself, thinking it would find no sympathy 
 with those who never had felt it, has led him into 
 many errors. He trusted too much to his imagina 
 tion : from what he saw he inferred much that he 
 did not see, and therefore his successors have been 
 constantly employed in correcting the mistakes of 
 their master. Audubon entered upon the pursuit 
 with an enthusiasm equally resolute, but much more 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 173 
 
 light-hearted. It began in childhood ; and, as it 
 grew with his growth and strengthened with his 
 strength, it was more judicious and discriminating 
 than if he had, late in life, turned the whole current 
 of his feeling in this new direction. Beside this 
 material difference, he was more fortunate than Wil 
 son, in having a family who sympathized with him, 
 when other friends discouraged him, and complained 
 of the waste of his time and exertions. Being more 
 a man of the world than Wilson, though without 
 losing the simplicity of his mind, we feel that he is 
 less likely to be led away by his fancy, and there 
 fore trust him as a safer guide, though not a more 
 fascinating companion. But, if he is less poetical 
 than Wilson, he has much of the spirit of his prede 
 cessor. The very name which he has given to his 
 Avork " Biography " shows that he feels as if 
 he were describing intelligent and spiritual things, 
 and thus inspires a sort of Pythagorean interest, such 
 as natural history is seldom fortunate enough to 
 awaken. When he introduces a bird to our ac 
 quaintance, he is evidently solicitous to place its 
 virtues and attractions in the most flattering light, as 
 if he were speaking in favor of a friend. We need 
 hardly say that his work is very engaging. The sin 
 gleness of heart which is always found connected with 
 an enthusiastic love of nature speaks volumes in favor 
 of such men ; and, if it were not so, their various and 
 amusing adventures, the wild aspects of the country 
 which they describe, their escapes and dangers, their 
 hardships and pleasures, all alike unknown to ordi 
 nary life, give to their writings a romantic charm. 
 
 15* 
 
174 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 Mr. Audubon was born in America, but was de 
 scended from a French family, and was sent early 
 in life, to receive his education in France. This 
 would be sufficiently evident from the peculiar style 
 of his writings, which are fluent and eloquent, but 
 carry evidence with them that they never proceeded 
 from an English pen. It would seem, that the direc 
 tion in which he has been so successful Avas given to 
 his taste in early childhood. It must have been 
 partly inherited ; for the passion rose at a period 
 earlier than he can remember, and he tells us that 
 his father encouraged it, pointing out to him the 
 graceful movement and beautiful forms of birds. 
 There was no need, however, of fanning the flame ; 
 for, from the first, he was never happy when removed 
 from the forests and fields, and his chief enjoyment 
 was to find out the homes of the small birds in the 
 green masses of foliage, or to follow the curlew and 
 cormorant to the retreats where they sought shelter 
 from the fury of the storm. To look upon their eggs in 
 the downy nest or on the burning sands, and to trace 
 their history from the shell through all their migrations 
 and changes, was then, as it is now, the favorite desire 
 of his heart. It might seem a dangerous thing in a 
 parent to encourage a taste which was already so 
 strong, and which, if it became engrossing, threatened 
 to interfere so much with the more practical pursuits 
 of life. He probably was willing that his son should 
 make this the business of his life, and appears to have 
 taken judicious care to impress upon his child, that all 
 the admiration and love which nature inspires should 
 remind us of Him who made it. 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 175 
 
 He was desirous of keeping these subjects of study 
 always before him ; but he found no satisfaction in 
 looking upon the stuffed birds of collections, which, 
 like the Egyptian mummies, retain but a small por 
 tion of their living attractions. These would not 
 answer ; and the beauties of their plumage seemed 
 to him as perishable as sunset clouds, till his father, 
 at the proper time, set before him a book of illustra 
 tions. This awakened a new ambition ; and he 
 determined to rival, and if possible excel, what 
 he saw. But he was obliged to go through the usual 
 discipline ; his first efforts seemed like caricatures ; 
 and every new advance he made rendered him dis 
 contented with what he had done before. It is a 
 grievous thing to man to be compelled to laugh at 
 his own productions, because he feels that another 
 year s improvement may render his present efforts as 
 ludicrous to himself as the former. But this is one 
 of the evidences of real taste and talent. It shows 
 that the standard of excellence in the artist s mind is 
 set high ; and this is an advantage both in youth and 
 manhood ; for the moment one begins to be satisfied 
 with his own productions, he shows that he has lost 
 his enthusiastic desire to improve, a desire which 
 forms the inspiration of genius, and without which no 
 one ever was great. 
 
 While receiving his education in France, from 
 which country he returned at the age of seventeen, 
 Mr. Audubon took lessons in drawing from David ; 
 which, though the subjects were not such as he would 
 have chosen for himself, doubtless gave him an ease 
 and freedom with the hand and eye, which he found 
 
176 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 of great advantage. He immediately commenced 
 the great undertaking which is now well known to the 
 world. His father gave him an estate on the Schuyl- 
 kill, a residence well suited to his purpose ; and here, 
 he says, it was his constant practice to commence his 
 rambles at daybreak, it being his happiness and tri 
 umph to return wet with dew, with the bird which 
 was to ornament his page. Those who are ac 
 quainted with birds know how much they are in the 
 habit of following the course of rivers, in their period 
 ical journeys, and that a diligent observer near one of 
 our larger streams will be likely to see nearly all the 
 inland birds. But it was not enough for him to know 
 their forms : he wished to learn their history in every 
 particular; and, to gain this information, he under 
 took long and hazardous expeditions, being some 
 times absent from his family for years, engaged in 
 exploring prairies, mountains, lakes, and seas. We 
 said, that he was from the beginning engaged in this 
 undertaking; but we must not give the impression, 
 that he had in view the publication before us : on the 
 contrary, he assures us, that he was led onward solely 
 by the love of the pursuit, from which he derived 
 constant gratification. His friends were as earnest 
 as those of Job to convince him that he was much 
 to blame, and he confesses that any one who saw 
 his habits might have supposed him negligent of every 
 domestic duty ; but his wife and children, who were 
 certainly most interested in his movements, did not 
 join in the censure. They will now be rewarded for 
 their forbearance, by enjoying the reflection of his 
 fame. 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 177 
 
 How much he was in earnest in his rambles ap 
 pears from his account of a visit to Niagara, in which 
 he has given a picture of himself, as life-like as any 
 of his colored illustrations. He had been wandering 
 near the lakes for months, and was returning with 
 his drawings of plants and birds. The last vestige 
 of his linen had long ago been devoted to the pur 
 pose of cleaning his gun ; he was dressed like one of 
 the poorest Indians ; his beard covered his neck, and 
 his hair flowed down his back ; his leathern raiment 
 was crying loudly for repair ; a large knife hung at 
 his side ; and a worn-out blanket, containing his tin 
 box of drawings, was buckled to his shoulders. In 
 this guise, he walked into the public house, and de 
 manded breakfast ; all present being amazed to hear 
 from such a figure any thing that denoted a resem 
 blance to civilized man. The landlord seemed 
 anxious to secure him as a lion ; and he had, in fact, 
 come for the sake of sketching the fall ; but he made 
 a discovery which may well be published for the 
 benefit of painters, viz. that, in a miniature picture of 
 such a scene, no very impressive idea can be given 
 of the extent or the sound. It would save many 
 a painting, in which the falling ocean dwindles to a 
 mill-dam. 
 
 The idea of making a collection for publication 
 never suggested itself to Mr. Audubon till he visited 
 Philadelphia in 1824, on his way to the eastward 
 through the Atlantic States. He was then a stranger 
 to all but Dr. Mease, who introduced him to the 
 well-known Charles Bonaparte, whose name, we 
 observe, is sometimes decorated with a title ; though, 
 
178 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 we doubt not, he looks to science for his most honor 
 able distinctions. From Philadelphia he proceeded 
 to New York, where he was received with flattering 
 attention, and, after ascending the Hudson, traversed 
 the great western lakes, making probably the tour 
 to which we have just alluded. The thought of 
 publishing to the world the results of his labors sup 
 plied him with a new inspiration and a more definite 
 object : the thought of a solitary individual like him 
 self gaining a name in the old world, by his laborious 
 pilgrimages through the desert regions of the new, 
 came in aid of his attachment to nature. He thought 
 of it by day, and dreamed of it by night ; and, by 
 constantly endeavoring to bring his designs to perfec 
 tion, succeeded at last to his own satisfaction, and 
 the surprise of others : we say to their surprise, 
 because we are not in the habit of seeing one man 
 make himself familiar with every subject of a science, 
 and inquire into all its particulars, in any other way 
 than by studying at home, and depending in part on 
 the authority of others. 
 
 Whoever reads Mr. Audubon s account of his 
 various tours will see that he had a mind which, in 
 the midst of its devotion to a single object, found 
 time to meditate upon all that was before him. When 
 he embarked on the Ohio, in his own boat, with his 
 wife and his infant son, he is very eloquent in his 
 description of the beauty of the river. It was in Oc 
 tober, in the season called in this country the Indian 
 summer, when the early frosts are over, and winter, 
 after having given a gentle warning of his coming, 
 suspends his step, as if unwilling to destroy the glory 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 179 
 
 of the year. The trees had put on their rich and 
 glowing colors, which, with the wild garlands of the 
 vine that covered them, were darkly reflected in 
 the waters. The haze that covered the landscape 
 softened its lines and shadows, melting down the 
 brightness of the sun, and changing the pale waning 
 moon into a golden semicircle, seen as distinctly in 
 the stream as in the sky. The ripple of their boat 
 was the only sound which broke the silence, except 
 when some large fish sprang upwards in pursuit of a 
 shoal that darted out like silvery arrows, and fell in 
 a little shower of light. At evening they heard the 
 distant tinkling, as the cattle were returning to their 
 homes, and saw the shadows mysteriously darken the 
 shores. As the night fell, they caught the sound of 
 the boatman s horn, as it came softened almost into 
 music by the distance, and at times heard the solemn 
 hooting of the great owl, or the muffled noise of its 
 wings, as it sailed gently across the stream. We give 
 the substance of this description, in order to show 
 our readers in what scenes his fancy was kindled 
 and his taste formed. He had here the charm of 
 solitude, together with the society which, for the 
 time, he was anxious to secure of that race which 
 had excited in him, from his earliest years, an interest 
 deeper than man is often fortunate enough to inspire 
 in man. 
 
 But Mr. Audubon affords us the contrast to this 
 picture of solitude without desolation. Our readers 
 have doubtless seen extracted in many of our papers 
 an account of his adventure in a cabin, on his return 
 from the upper Mississippi. He was crossing a prai- 
 
180 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 rie ; and, in taking shelter in this hut for the night, 
 he happened to display his watch to the landlady, 
 who immediately devised measures to secure it for 
 herself, by removing him to a world where measures 
 of time are not wanted. She was prevented by the 
 seasonable arrival of two travellers, armed as usual 
 in such journeys, who aided to secure her with her 
 two sons. These, however well disposed to aid her, 
 seem to have been at that time in no state to profit 
 by her maternal instructions. For this design to 
 murder, the wayfarers burned down the cabin, gave 
 the furniture to an Indian who had warned Mr. Au- 
 dubon of his danger, and justified the delinquents 
 after the manner of the Regulators, a kind of extem- 
 poral police established by volunteers to supply the 
 defective shortness of the arm of the law. When 
 an individual is discovered to have committed an 
 offence of this or any other dangerous description, a 
 court of rather a popular character assembles, and 
 takes the case into serious consideration ; the accused 
 is arrested and brought before them, his character 
 and proceedings sharply investigated ; and, if the 
 verdict of his peers pronounce him guilty, he is 
 advised as a friend to seek out some other climate 
 more favorable to his constitution. As there may be 
 some little want of formality in the movements of 
 the court, and the evidence may be at times deficient 
 in precision, they judiciously lean to the side of 
 mercy. In such cases, it is thought better for the 
 suspected person to take the hint, and transport him 
 self beyond the bounds of their jurisdiction ; but, if 
 he choose to remain, and is found repeating his 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 181 
 
 transgressions, at the next term of the court he is 
 put on trial, and severely punished if guilty. In 
 many cases, the punishment is inflicted by castigation 
 of the person, and destroying his house by fire, as in 
 the instance of the lady above mentioned. Some 
 times it is thought necessary to resort to the punish 
 ment of death, in which case the head is affixed to 
 a pole, as a terror to evil-doers. All these punish 
 ments are found effectual, particularly the last. This 
 kind of legal process is fast disappearing from the 
 West. As we have said, Mr. Audubon affords us 
 the contrast to his pictures. On the spot where the 
 soul of the ornithologist had so nearly taken flight, 
 are found taverns, those outposts of civilization, and 
 roads and cultivated fields, all redeemed from the 
 wilderness in the short space of fifteen years. Now 
 the axe is heard ringing from the banks of the rivers, 
 and the fire by night clears out a path through the 
 oceans of wood ; the elks, deer, and buffaloes are 
 passing to other regions ; our Government is aiding 
 the cause in its own way, by grinding the Indians to 
 powder, preaching all the while of mercy, justice, 
 and protection ; words which make those who un 
 derstand our language decamp with all possible 
 expedition. But we will not dwell on those surpris 
 ing changes, which Mr. Flint has made familiar in 
 one of the most interesting works ever published 
 in this country. Suffice it to say, that as men, not 
 birds, are likely to be gainers by this miraculous 
 transformation of a vast region, it is well that Mr. 
 Audubon began his pilgrimage twenty years ago. 
 We know not where the lover of a wilderness will 
 16 
 
182 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 go twenty years hence to find the solitude he desires. 
 Long before that time, we shall hear from travellers 
 who have dammed up with their hands the parent- 
 fountains of the great western rivers, and shared 
 with the eagle his perch on the highest turret of the 
 Rocky Mountains. 
 
 Mr. Audubon gives us a pleasing picture of the 
 hospitality which prevails in the western country, a 
 virtue which by no means gains in the progress of 
 civilization, but is apt, on the contrary, to retreat 
 when the sign of the tavern is displayed ; being, un 
 like many other things in this world, most abundant 
 when and where it is most wanted. Once, when 
 journeying with his son, he chartered a wagon for 
 a portion of his journey ; and the wagoner, en 
 gaging to take him by a " short cut," he had the 
 satisfaction to find himself exposed to a storm of 
 thunder, in a night so dark that they could not have 
 proceeded, even if they had known the way, every 
 trace of which was lost. While sitting disconsolate, 
 and dripping like Naiads, they determined to try, 
 since the sagacity of man had brought them into 
 difficulty, whether the sagacity of the horses would 
 lake them out. They left the animals to arrange 
 matters at their discretion ; and they set forward, 
 soon changing their course, and bringing them to a 
 place where they heard the barking of dogs, and 
 saw a light through the trees. They were soon re 
 ceived into the cabin of a young couple, who were 
 delighted with the opportunity of giving them a 
 welcome. The negro-boys were waked from their 
 slumbers ; and, while some repaired the fire, others 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 183 
 
 went forth to the hen-roost, whence proceeded notes 
 which indicated that the poultry were bearing their 
 part, though reluctantly, in the duties of hospitality. 
 The table was soon spread, but the whiskey was 
 wanting ; and the master of the house, afflicted at 
 this destitution, mounted his horse, rode through the 
 storm to his father-in-law three miles off, and re 
 turned with a keg of cider. Mr. Audubon says, 
 that his son, who was about fourteen years old, 
 drew near to him, and remarked " how pleasant it 
 was to have met with such good people." The cabin 
 afforded but one bed ; and, in spite of all remon 
 strances, the host and his wife insisted upon making 
 a division of its component parts, which was done 
 accordingly, and they were soon put into a sound 
 sleep by a long story of the wagoner, showing how 
 mysterious it was that he should have lost his way. 
 This temple of hospitality was constructed of logs, 
 and the floor formed of coarse slabs of tulip-tree. 
 A spinning-wheel was standing in one corner ; the 
 wardrobe of the host was suspended from the wall 
 on one side, and that of his wife from the other ; a 
 small cupboard contained a few dishes, cups, and 
 tin pans. Every thing was as neat as possible ; but 
 nothing indicated a condition above poverty, ex 
 cept an ornamented rifle. Nothing would induce 
 the inmates to accept present or compensation : they 
 detained the travellers as long as possible, and gave 
 them up with regret. Truly, we should be inclined 
 to call such a householder the most remarkable rara 
 avis of Mr. Audubon s collection ; but there is reason 
 to believe, that such liberal kindness to the stranger 
 
184 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 is by no means uncommon in any part of our west 
 ern country. 
 
 Our traveller appears to be one of those who can 
 make himself easy under any circumstances, and 
 therefore is not quite so dependent on such atten 
 tions as many others in the world. When he was 
 patrolling the shores of Upper Canada, he says that 
 some person stole his money, supposing that a na 
 turalist could do very well without it. We would 
 not defend the knavery, but the event showed that 
 the thief was not mistaken in his calculation. " To 
 have repined, when the thing could not be helped, 
 would not have been acting manfully," says Mr. 
 Audubon. It is a manly sentiment ; but, when 
 things can be helped, there is no particular call for 
 repining. He and his companion were left with 
 seven dollars and a half, at the distance of fifteen 
 hundred miles from home. At this time they were 
 upon the water: when they landed, they procured a 
 conveyance for five dollars to the town of Mead- 
 ville, and took lodgings at a tavern upon the way. 
 At night, they were shown into a room in which 
 there were several beds. Some time after they had 
 retired, three young girls came into the chamber, 
 and, having put out the light, placed themselves in a 
 bed most distant from theirs. We beg our English 
 readers, if such there be, to take notice that this was 
 not in New York nor Boston ; and, in order to re 
 lieve as far as possible the fears of the worthy trav 
 ellers of that nation, we think we can safely assure 
 them, that, if they venture into the United States, 
 judging of those who follow from those who have 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 185 
 
 gone before, neither man, woman, nor child will 
 have the least disposition to force themselves into 
 their society, either by night or day. This custom is 
 peculiar to the backwoods ; and there seems to be 
 some little excuse for it in the necessity of the case, 
 where the whole house affords but one chamber. 
 Mr. Audubon had thrown out a hint concerning 
 portrait-painting ; and the damsels, supposing the 
 travellers asleep, descanted concerning the taking of 
 portraits, explaining to each other how delightful it 
 would be to see their own. In the morning he com 
 menced the sketches, and, beside paying for his lodg 
 ing, had the satisfaction of making some young hearts 
 happy. When they arrived at Meadville, he took his 
 portfolio under his arm, and, after walking the streets 
 awhile, begged permission to rest in a shop : it was 
 granted, and, as a matter of course, the contents of 
 the portfolio shown to the trader, who not only con 
 tracted for a portrait of himself, but offered to find 
 him as many sitters as were wanted. He procured 
 a painting-room ornamented with hogsheads of oats, 
 rolls of sole-leather, a drum and bassoon in the cor 
 ner, fur caps along the wall, and a clerk s bed, 
 swinging like a hammock, near the centre. Here 
 he closed the windows with blankets to secure a 
 painter s light, and sketched his sitters much to their 
 satisfaction. The result was, that his pockets grew 
 heavy and his heart light. At the ordinary of the 
 public house, Mr. Audubon, being taken for a mis 
 sionary, on account of his flowing hair, was asked 
 to say grace, which he says he did with a fervent 
 spirit. His pursuits seem to have had the right 
 
 16* 
 
186 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 and natural effect upon his feeling ; for he tells us, 
 that he never has despaired of divine protection, while 
 engaged in studying the grand and beautiful works 
 of^God. 
 
 Among the entertaining incidents of his narrative, 
 we find an account of his meeting with Daniel Boon, 
 the celebrated patriarch of Kentucky. He happened 
 to pass a night under the same roof with this remark 
 able man. Every thing about him, Mr. Audubon 
 remarks, was striking. His stature approached the 
 gigantic ; his form indicated great personal strength ; 
 and his countenance bore an expression of thought- 
 fulness and resolution. At night, when Mr. Audu 
 bon undressed as usual, he merely took off his 
 hunting-shirt, and spread a blanket on the floor, 
 which, he said, he preferred to the softest bed. He 
 told Mr. Audubon, that, many years before, he was 
 taken prisoner by a party of Indians; bound, and 
 carried to their camp, where he was frankly assured, 
 by signs sufficiently expressive, that the next day 
 would put an end to his mortal cares. The ladies of 
 the party searched his dress, and, much to their satis 
 faction, laid their hands on a flask of monongaliela, 
 now a historical name, but then the designation of 
 very strong whiskey. They drank freely of its con 
 tents, till the distant sound of a gun roused them ; 
 and the warriors immediately went to ascertain the 
 cause, leaving his fair guardians to their vigils and 
 their whiskey. Fortunately for him, they showed a 
 decided preference for the latter, to which they paid 
 such unceasing attention that they were soon asleep. 
 He then rolled himself to their fire, where he burned 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 187 
 
 off his cords, and seized his rifle. He was strongly 
 tempted to return evil for good to his snoring body 
 guard ; but he resisted, and, after striking two or 
 three chips with a tomahawk from an ash-tree, in 
 order to mark the spot, he departed in peace. 
 
 Thirty years after this, when Col. Boon had re 
 treated before the approaching deluge of population, 
 a person removed into Kentucky, where he laid 
 claim to a large tract of land, one of the corners of 
 which was marked, as the deed ran, " by an 
 ash, which was notched by three blows from the 
 tomahawk of a white man." The object was to 
 find this tree, in order to ascertain the boundary of 
 the land. But the tree had grown, and the wood 
 had covered the scars : no trace of it could be found. 
 Under these circumstances, the owner, who had heard 
 of Col. Boon s adventure, sent to him to come, and 
 ascertain, if possible, the situation of the tree. Hav 
 ing no particular professional business nor domestic 
 cares to detain him at home, the veteran came as 
 desired. Every thing was changed in the country; 
 but, having formed a party, and waited for the moon 
 to rise, he endeavored to find the spot where the 
 Indians had encamped ; and having, as he thought, 
 succeeded, they remained there till the break of day. 
 When it was light, he examined the spot, and declared 
 that an ash, then in sight, was the one. Proper wit 
 nesses being brought, he struck the bark : no signs 
 were seen ; he then cut deep into the tree, and at 
 last found the distinct marks of the three notches, 
 covered with thirty years growth of wood. He was, 
 when Mr. Audubon saw him, on his return to his 
 
188 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 favorite solitudes. This was a surprising effort of 
 memory, when we consider what a near resemblance 
 one such spot bears to another, and what a difference 
 the hand of man soon makes in them all. Mr. Au- 
 dubon saw the old hunter perform the favorite Ken 
 tucky feat of barking- off a squirrel. He pointed to 
 a squirrel on a tree at the distance of fifty paces, 
 raised his piece slowly ; and, at the moment of the 
 sharp, whip-like report, the bark immediately under 
 the animal flew off in splinters, and the squirrel was 
 whirled into the air, from which it fell dead. The 
 dress of this "stoic of the woods" was a homespun 
 hunting-shirt ; his feet were defended with moccasons, 
 and his legs bare. It is difficult to explain the fas 
 cination of savage life ; but there are more examples 
 than one, which prove that it is much more difficult 
 to tame the wild than to make a savage of the civil 
 ized man. It cannot be ascribed to an aversion to 
 restraint ; for such men as this are in general self- 
 denying in every respect. There must be some 
 delight in the excitement of solitude, independence, 
 and adventure, which strangers to them cannot under 
 stand. When the gates of the West were first thrown 
 open, they were thronged with many such adven 
 turers, who pushed their way through the deep forests, 
 guided by the sun by day, and sleeping at night by 
 their fires. Their furniture, and in fact all their wealth, 
 consisted of an axe and the all-important rifle : these, 
 with their horses, were all their preparation, except 
 we take into account, Avhat was worth all the rest, a 
 bold and resolute heart. Their way was beset with 
 the Indians, who seem to have had prophetic misgiv- 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 189 
 
 ings, that all these movements boded no good to 
 them, and who had the advantage of matchless cun 
 ning, and perfect familiarity with the country. Others, 
 who carried more baggage with them, built arks on 
 the rivers, which, like that of Noah, were filled with 
 all manner of living things, but not equally secure of 
 divine protection ; for the heavy-laden vessel floated 
 lazily down the stream, in silence by day, and with 
 out light or fire by night, lest they should be dis 
 covered by the enemy on the shores. When the 
 voyage or the journey was over, a shelter was to be 
 provided, the soil to be subdued, and the enemy 
 repelled. It is not strange that many became at 
 tached for life to adventure, when for years there 
 was not a moment in which they could lay aside their 
 arms. Wherever a settlement has been made in the 
 deserts of our country, it has been, both at the East 
 and West, established in the face of many dangers, 
 threatened by the wild inhabitants ; but there are 
 some indications in our history of late, which show 
 that it was easier to gain than it is now to refrain 
 from abusing our power. 
 
 Beside the opportunity of becoming acquainted 
 with man under wild and peculiar circumstances, 
 Mr. Audubon has had the advantage, which as a 
 naturalist he doubtless appreciates, of witnessing 
 several convulsions of nature. He does not men 
 tion the years ; but we remember, that, about twenty 
 years ago, earthquakes became unpleasantly abun 
 dant in the South and West. It vras probably at 
 that time that he was one day, when riding, sur 
 prised by a darkness in the heavens. Being as much 
 
190 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 accustomed to thunderstorms as the birds themselves, 
 he took but little notice of it further than to urge his 
 horse forward ; but the animal paid no regard to 
 his recommendation, and, instead of advancing, 
 planted his feet deliberately and firmly upon the 
 ground. The rider was upon the point of dismount 
 ing to lead him, when the horse began to groan, 
 hung down his head, and spread out his limbs as 
 widely as possible. He was entirely at a loss to 
 know what all this might mean, and could only sup 
 pose that the animal was suddenly seized with mor 
 tal agony ; when the earth began to roll, the shrubs 
 and trees rocked and waved before him, and the 
 convulsive shuddering of the whole frame of nature 
 made it evident that an earthquake was passing by. 
 Shocks succeeded each other for several weeks ; and 
 as most of the houses were by no means towering 
 structures, he became familiar with the prospect of 
 being buried under their ruins. One night, after 
 attending a wedding, he slept in the house of a phy 
 sician, which was constructed of logs, and large 
 enough to receive a considerable number of persons. 
 At night, the earthquake lifted up its voice in such a 
 manner that all started from their slumbers, and 
 rushed out, without waiting for the ceremony of the 
 toilet, or even taking care to secure any drapery at 
 all. The clouds were floating wildly past the full 
 moon, the trees waving like grass in the breeze, 
 when the doctor, his prudence getting the better of 
 his fears, ran to save his gallipots, which were dan 
 cing on their shelves in an awful manner, and about 
 to leap to the floor ; but arrived too late to prevent a 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 191 
 
 general wreck. The moment the danger was past, 
 and the promiscuous assembly began to consider 
 their defect of raiment, a consternation of a different 
 sort succeeded, and drove them back to bed with 
 equal expedition. 
 
 Mr. Audubon was also fortunate enough to witness 
 a hurricane. We say fortunate, since it crossed 
 his path without injury to him. He describes it 
 admirably, and we wish we had room to give his 
 own full picture of the scene. He saw in the south 
 west a yellowish oval spot, and felt a sharp breeze 
 passing, which increased rapidly, tearing away twigs 
 and smaller branches from the trees, till the whole 
 forest was in dizzy motion. The largest trunks of 
 the wood were bent, and at last broken. The stormy 
 whirlpool carried thick-rolling masses of foliage and 
 boughs, together with a cloud of dust ; and the 
 gigantic trees were seen writhing and. groaning, as 
 if in agony, for a moment, when they fell in shape 
 less heaps of ruin. This great work of destruction 
 was over soon ; but a shower of small branches 
 followed in its wake, as if drawn onward by some 
 mysterious power ; the sky had a lurid, greenish hue, 
 and the atmosphere was filled with a sulphury smell. 
 The path of this tornado extended many hundred 
 miles. Mr. Audubon was on horseback this time, 
 as well as before ; but the animal betrayed no alarm. 
 The reason, doubtless, of his perceiving the earth 
 quake so much earlier than his master, was that his 
 feet were on the ground, and his rider s were not ; 
 and, had they been in the same circumstances, the 
 biped would probably have been less affected than 
 
192 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 the animal, who was shaken at four points instead 
 of two. 
 
 We have given this general account of the work 
 before us, to show the variety of entertaining sub 
 jects which the writer has introduced ; and we com 
 mend his judgment in so doing. It takes from the 
 scientific air of the work, and offers an attraction to 
 a greater number of readers. It also serves to show 
 through how many and various scenes he has passed 
 in his wanderings, and thereby gives a livelier im 
 pression of the enthusiasm and resolution which such 
 an enterprise requires. On one occasion, his forti 
 tude was severely tried. Having secured two hun 
 dred of his original drawings in a wooden box, he 
 left them in the care of a friend, during his absence 
 on a journey. When he returned, he re-claimed his 
 treasure, and found that a couple of Norway rats, 
 acting doubtless on the principle that " a living dog 
 is better than a dead lion," had gnawed his papers 
 to pieces, and feathered their nest with one thousand 
 painted inhabitants of the air. This was a severe 
 blow ; and many men under it would have forsworn 
 the pursuit for ever. But Mr. Audubon thought, as 
 Bottom did, that " what could not be endured must 
 be cured ; " and, after a short period of suffering, 
 took his gun, note-book and pencils, and went forth 
 into the woods again. Nothing daunted him, where 
 he could revive his strength by communion with 
 nature ; but, when he was on the way to England, 
 and when first walking the streets of Liverpool, 
 he says that his heart almost failed him, and that he 
 longed to retreat into the woods. But this desolate 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 193 
 
 feeling only made the kindness of enlightened men 
 in that city, which was freely given to him, more 
 animating and delightful. After receiving the most 
 encouraging attentions there, he proceeded to Edin 
 burgh, where his reception was equally flattering; 
 and there he commenced the publication of his 
 " Illustrations. " It would have been continued 
 there, had not his engraver advised him to seek an 
 artist in London. 
 
 Mr. Audubon, we observe, addresses a word to 
 critics ; but these are works with which critics have 
 not much to do, or with respect to which they can 
 only discharge that part of their duty which is gen 
 erally thought to give them least pleasure, we 
 mean, praise. No one can see these splendid draw 
 ings, and compare them with the ordinary illustra 
 tions of natural history, in which animals appear 
 as spiritless as if they had been sitting for their 
 portraits, without admiring his taste and skill. 
 Instead of a solitary individual, we have here groups 
 of each kind, in all the attitudes of life ; and, as the 
 plumage of birds is often entirely changed in passing 
 from youth to maturity, as the female also generally 
 differs very much iu color from the male, a single 
 representation would be of little value. We might, 
 easily criticize the drawing and coloring in some 
 small respects, and say that it differs from our limited 
 observation ; but the obvious reply is, that he has 
 seen hundreds where we have seen one. The his 
 tory of the birds of our country is still imperfect ; 
 and whoever undertakes to reduce it to a system 
 will find every new explorer correcting some of his 
 17 
 
194 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 errors. What he describes as the constant habits of 
 a class may appear to be only accidental peculiarities 
 of individuals ; and, as birds are affected by climate, 
 food, and various other circumstances, the result of 
 many observations will be exceedingly apt to over 
 turn the theories and systems built upon a few. We 
 do not, therefore, complain of the want of systematic 
 order in the arrangement of the subjects of this work : 
 at present, there would be no advantage in such an 
 undertaking. But, when this great work is com 
 pleted, we think Mr. Audubon will do well to follow 
 his own suggestion, and to give a systematic view of 
 the American birds, and his own contributions to the 
 known number. It is well that the world should 
 know the exact value of his labors, before he gives 
 the work over to other hands. 
 
 The science of ornithology is indebted to Mr. 
 Audubon for the discovery and description of an 
 eagle, to which he has appropriately given the name 
 of Washington. It is the largest and most powerful 
 of all the race of birds. Mr. Nuttall suspects that it 
 may exist in Europe, and be the same with the great 
 sea-eagle described by Brisson, which, in size and 
 plumage, resembles this species more than any other. 
 Mr. Audubon first met with it, when engaged in a 
 trading voyage on the upper Mississippi. An intel 
 ligent Canadian, on seeing this bird floating above 
 them, remarked that it was the great eagle, and the 
 only one he had seen since he left the lakes. He 
 described it as a bird which built its nest in shelves 
 of rocks, and lived by fishing, like the fishing-hawk, 
 sometimes following the hunters to secure the ani- 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 195 
 
 mals they slew. Mr. Audubon was convinced from 
 this account that the bird was undescribed, and says 
 that the feelings of Herschel, when he discovered 
 his planet, must have been less rapturous than his 
 own. 
 
 But several years passed before he encountered it. 
 again. He was one day engaged in collecting cray 
 fish, near Green river, in Kentucky, where a range 
 of high cliffs approaches the stream, when he found 
 traces of an eagle, which his companion said was 
 the bald eagle in its immature state. Mr. Audubon, 
 knowing that this species builds in trees, and not on 
 the rocks, was persuaded that this was an error : 
 his companion maintained the contrary, and assured 
 him that he had seen the old eagle dive, and catch a 
 fish. This also was unlike the bald eagle, which, as 
 all know, gets his living in a less honest way. Not 
 being able to decide the point, they agreed to wait 
 till the old birds came to feed their young. Two 
 hours passed heavily away, when the coming of 
 the parent was announced by the loud hissing of the 
 two young ones, which crawled to the edge of 
 the rock to receive a fish which was brought them. 
 The observers kept a profound silence ; but, when 
 the mother returned shortly after, also bearing a fish, 
 her quicker eye detected the spies, and she set up a 
 loud scream, when both birds hovered over them 
 with a growling cry till they left the spot. When 
 they returned a day or two after, intending to scale 
 the cliff* and storm the nest, they found that the 
 birds had anticipated their design, and that the 
 whole family had retreated. It was not till two 
 
196 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 years afterward that, he saw this bird again. He 
 was near the village of Henderson, with his double- 
 barrelled gun, when he saw it rising from an enclosure 
 where some animals had been slaughtered, and alight 
 upon a low tree. Thence the eagle looked at him 
 calmly and fearlessly, till he fired, and it fell dead. 
 The bird which he describes is an adult male, and 
 measures in length three feet seven inches, in extent 
 ten feet and two inches. This is a prodigious size ; 
 but, among all birds of prey, the female is larger than 
 the male. If this rule hold good here, and there is 
 no reason to doubt it, we may account for its not 
 building on trees, as a French writer explains the 
 reason of the condor s laying its eggs on the naked 
 rock, " because the excessive sweep of its wings 
 makes it impossible for it to enter the woods." Mr. 
 Audubon compares this bird minutely with the sea- 
 eagle, and shows wherein they differ : in the bird of 
 Washington the tail is considerably longer than the 
 closed wings ; in the sea-eagle the length is equal. 
 The sea-eagle resembles it in most points, but cannot 
 be the same, being merely the young of the white- 
 tailed eagle. Mr. Nuttall suggests, that a larger 
 species may be confounded with this young bird by 
 European naturalists, a thing which has often hap 
 pened in other similar cases. 
 
 Beside adding to the list of our birds, Mr. Audu 
 bon has increased our stock of information concerning 
 those already known, by relating anecdotes of his 
 own intercourse with them, and facts in their history 
 which had escaped all other observers. The mock 
 ing-bird appears in his description like a new crea- 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 197 
 
 lion of fancy. You see him flying in graceful circles 
 round his mate, with his eyes gleaming with wild 
 delight ; then alighting near her, and bowing with 
 his wings lightly opened, you hear him pouring out 
 a concert of all sweet sounds, as if his heart were 
 bursting with rapture. When they have made their 
 nest, if the eggs are displaced or removed during the 
 short absences of the mother, they breathe a low, 
 mournful note, as if in sympathy with each other. 
 They do not fear the presence of man, for they 
 know that they have enemies more dangerous than 
 he : they come familiarly to the gardens and planta 
 tions, sometimes perching on roofs and chimney- 
 tops, and enchanting all who hear them with their 
 unrivalled song. One thing in their history is very 
 remarkable. Tt is known that some of them visit the 
 Eastern States, being seen occasionally in the vicinity 
 of Boston. When these wanderers return, they are 
 instantly known by the others, who attack them, as 
 if to punish them for wishing to be wiser than their 
 neighbors ; and, instead of listening to the story of 
 their travels, force them to keep apart, at least till 
 thev have ascertained that their manners are not, as 
 is sometimes the case, altered for the worse by mak 
 ing the grand tour. We knew that these sectional 
 jealousies were tolerably strong in men, and why 
 wonder that they are found in birds ? Really, the 
 creature that lacks discourse of reason might most 
 naturally be expected to indulge such feelings and 
 passions. 
 
 We have endeavored to give such an account of 
 the contents of this work as would induce our readers 
 17* 
 
198 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 
 
 to make themselves acquainted with it, and have not 
 said a word respecting the doctrine of types, affinities , 
 analogies, progress, development, or quinary circles. 
 If Mr. Audubon had contented himself with Linnean 
 descriptions, he would have had the honor of dis 
 covering more birds than readers. Such books as 
 Dr. Lasham s " General History of Birds," though 
 convenient works of reference for those who are 
 acquainted with the subject, are not particularly fas 
 cinating to those who desire to learn. We are not 
 so much troubled in mind, however, as Mr. Rennie, 
 well known as the author of " Insect Architecture" 
 and " Architecture of Birds," who is for cutting up 
 all system, and casting it away : on the contrary, we 
 think his own entertaining writings would be im 
 proved by a little more attention to arrangement ; 
 for, though a work which is nothing but index is 
 dry reading, a work without index is at times exqui 
 sitely provoking, as, in reading the history of France, 
 Mezerai is less agreeable than Henault. Classifica 
 tion we take to be mere matter of convenience ; 
 and, in a collection of specimens, we certainly would 
 rather have the birds without the labels, than the 
 labels without the birds. The way to become inter 
 ested in this study, and to pursue it with success, is to 
 learn it in the book of nature ; its pages are full of 
 inspiration ; and, while the hundred volumes of sci 
 entific ornithologists create no general interest in 
 their favorite pursuits, whoever will go into the 
 fields and forests, and look about him with an atten 
 tive eye, will study the science most successfully, 
 learning it not by memory, but by heart. 
 
199 
 
 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ART. I. 
 
 Lives of Men of Letters and Science, who nourished in the Time 
 of George the Third. By HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM. Phila 
 delphia: Carey and Hart, 1845 ; 12mo, pp. 295. 
 
 THERE can be no doubt that Lord Brougham, how 
 ever he may be estimated in future times as a states 
 man, will figure as one of the most remarkable men 
 of the age in which he lives. He is chiefly distin 
 guished for his restless, impatient, feverish activity 
 of mind ; a trait not common among the sons of 
 men, few of whom have any quick spring of action 
 within to drive them to incessant exertion, but gen 
 erally require external inducements of interest or pas 
 sion to bring forth all their powers. As an orator, 
 he has appeared pre-eminent among the great, exert 
 ing a mighty influence in favor of some essential 
 reforms in the government of his country, which, 
 mainly because they were so necessary, were fiercely 
 and bitterly resisted. As a lawyer, he has been pop 
 ular and successful ; though generally allowed to be 
 unsuited to the high judicial station for which he was 
 thought the very man, till he had reached it. As a 
 lover of his race, he is ever ready to exert himself in 
 
200 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 the cause of humanity, and not more savage, perhaps, 
 than is common with the philanthropists of the day. 
 As a man, giving no single impression of his own 
 character, but hurrying on through perpetual changes, 
 where neither praise nor censure can steadily follow, 
 he has been a willing slave to impulses of any kind, 
 and particularly sensitive to slights and irritations ; 
 jealous of his own standing, and needlessly overbear 
 ing in defence of it ; so insolent and vindictive in 
 his usual tone, that self seems always to enter into 
 his assertion of the right, or condemnation of the 
 wrong. It is only by an average of merits and fail 
 ings that one can arrive at any consistent and satis 
 factory idea of this great and active, but not amiable 
 man ; who will hereafter be remembered with won 
 der certainly, but, if his latter days shall be cast in 
 resemblance of the former, never with admiration or 
 love. 
 
 It is well that he has thus put ashore from the 
 troubled sea of politics, to walk on the quiet sands, 
 and gather a few pearls from the beach. For it is 
 clear that he does not require the stimulus of external 
 excitement to bring his mental energies into efficient 
 action. By a necessity of his nature, he must work 
 in one way or another ; and, indolence and stagnation 
 being thus out of the question, he might have done 
 as much for the cause of reform and humanity by 
 passionless literary labors, as by those fierce declama 
 tions in parliament, in which he seems full as intent 
 on scalping his enemies as on defending the great 
 rights of man. No one has a broader discernment 
 of the merits of moral and intellectual questions ; no 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 201 
 
 one is more fearless in battling prejudice, or correct 
 ing established errors. In these biographical sketches, 
 he states his opinions in a tone more respectful and 
 conciliatory than ever before ; and the reader feels, 
 what indeed is everywhere true, that kindness of 
 manner is an essential grace to open the path to con 
 viction. But how far he might be able to lay per 
 manently aside his former tastes and habits of thought 
 and feeling ; how successfully, after riding the whirl 
 wind, and being himself the storm, he might subside 
 into the repose of an autumn day ; how the fierce 
 leader of the opposition would reconcile himself to the 
 patient investigation, unexciting interest, and calm 
 expression which beseem the literary life, it is not 
 easy to foretell. Little was indicated by his " Lives 
 of Statesmen," which were nothing more than the 
 history of his battles, with reminiscences of his com 
 rades and foes. Neither are the present sketches 
 sufficiently labored and extended to be the test of 
 success. Proceeding from such a hand, they must, 
 of course, bear marks of great ability ; but they do 
 not show that any great expense of time or thought 
 has been given to the subject, nor do they enable us 
 to determine what sort of literary man the Chancel 
 lor would have made. 
 
 One is not a little surprised, on first entering his 
 gallery of portraits, to encounter the sharp and sar 
 castic visage of Voltaire, with Rousseau at his side. 
 It is not easy to see the association which connects 
 him with George the Third, either in the way of lit 
 erature or religion, save that the king was the patron 
 of the Quaker gun with which Dr. Beattie cannon- 
 
202 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 aded the sceptics, venerating it as a miraculous piece 
 of ordnance, though it was difficult to discover what 
 execution it had ever done. To say the truth, this 
 collection savors of the taste exhibited in Dryburgh 
 Abbey, where the Earl of Buchan embellished the 
 ruin with busts of Socrates, Sir Isaac Newton, and 
 Paul Jones. At the same lime, it is certain that Vol 
 taire did live in the time of George the Third, and, 
 though not among the ornaments of his court or his 
 
 o O 
 
 reign, comes as near as Macedon to Monmoulh ; and 
 no man can gainsay the right of the noble lord to 
 paint what portraits he pleases. On the whole, it is 
 as well that he did not begin with Johnson, the more 
 natural and prominent figure of the two, and consid 
 erably more English than the other ; for it is quite 
 clear, from his occasional allusions to the moralist, 
 that he has not that sympathy with " brave old Sam 
 uel" which would give him power to understand 
 him. He expresses great contempt for the sage s 
 want of manners ; a deficiency, however, not con 
 fined to that diseased and sorrowful man ; since, if 
 report speak true, it is not quite supplied in some 
 high places in England, even to the present day. 
 
 Lord Brougham is above the affectation of para 
 dox, in dealing with Voltaire. He does not, accord 
 ing to the taste which so great a genius as Carlyle 
 has the merit of introducing, call upon us to do reve 
 rence to him as a Christian, saint, and martyr. But 
 he takes an ingenious view of the subject, contending 
 that whoever does not believe in a God cannot be 
 guilty of blasphemy against him, however he may 
 shock the religious sentiments of men. But Voltaire 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 203 
 
 was no atheist ; and, in bis defence, the Chancellor 
 maintains, that, not believing in the divine mission, 
 perhaps not in the existence, of the Saviour, he can 
 not be chargeable with impiety on account of his 
 ridicule of Christ and his religion, while, at the same 
 time, he may be guilty of insult and irreverence to 
 wards men, by his profane abuse of those subjects 
 which they hold most sacred and nearest to their 
 hearts. Perhaps there is some confusion of thought 
 generally prevailing in relation to this matter : but 
 the feeling is sufficiently well defined, and it is in sub 
 stance this ; that, whether a man believes in the Chris 
 tian religion or not, there are principles and affections 
 which have claim to the deepest respect from every 
 good heart. Of these the author of Christianity 
 was, as none deny, the best presentment and illustra 
 tion. Whoever can find it in himself to treat this 
 person with contempt can have no sympathy with 
 these principles and affections ; and it is on this 
 account, not because he was not convinced by the 
 arguments in favor of the divine origin of the religion, 
 that Voltaire has been regarded with so much aver 
 sion in the Christian world. 
 
 At the same time, we must remember the circum 
 stances under which his impressions of Christianity 
 were formed. It was probably identified in his mind 
 with a worldly and licentious priesthood, who, though 
 notorious infidels themselves, were believed to have 
 the power of pardoning the transgressions of others, 
 while their own lives were passed in the lowest depths 
 of sin. Surrounded, as religion was in his view, with 
 doctrines the most offensive to reason, and connected 
 
204 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 with practices the most revolting, it must have been 
 a clear mind and heart which could look through the 
 thousand folds of corruption that bound it, and dis 
 cern the basis of substantial truth and excellence 
 which was then, and is now, the foundation of its 
 strength, and the hiding-place of its power. Sharp- 
 sighted as Voltaire was, he was not the man, in his 
 calmest estate, to take the broadest and most philo 
 sophical view of moral subjects. His eye was more 
 quick to discern faults and vices than to discover 
 and do justice to merits and virtues ; so that, suppos 
 ing his life had passed in quiet, he would not have 
 been likely to see the form and expression of Chris 
 tianity through the disguise which it wore. But, when 
 we remember that his life, or rather his earlier life, 
 was passed in storm and tempest ; that he was pain 
 fully sensitive to every thing like insult and irritation ; 
 that he had the winning ways which are sure to bring 
 a perfect shower of these blessings on his head ; and 
 that, so far from pretending to be insensible, he 
 invited new pelting by making it manifest that every 
 missile told, it is not very surprising that he did 
 not distinguish carefully between Christianity and 
 Christians, nor that he should have ascribed to the 
 influence of their religion that venomous spirit of his 
 enemies, who professed to be resenting the wrongs 
 of their faith, while they were in fact avenging their 
 own. 
 
 We do not greatly admire the manner which Chris 
 tians have adopted in their treatment of unbelievers, 
 nor can we wonder that the converts made by it are 
 so few. It very much resembles the tone of the Ven- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 205 
 
 erable in Tucker s " Vision : " " I am suspicious 
 that my boy does not fully comprehend you. No ? 
 said he : he must be a blockhead, a numbskull, 
 not to say a beetle, a blunderbuss, if he does not. 
 Oh ! yes, said I, the doctor has made the matter 
 clear as the sun. This manner of clearing up 
 difficulties has been the one generally resorted to ; 
 but, efficient and decided as it seems, it is far more 
 satisfactory to those who employ it than to the sin 
 ners whom it is meant to enlighten ; and we cannot 
 perceive that the tendency to infidelity is materially 
 diminished, vigorously as it has been applied in the 
 Christian world. Strange though it seem, we may 
 rage and fret against infidels, without giving them 
 any vivid idea of the beauty of holiness ; and the 
 more we rate them for their stupid insensibility, the 
 less value do they seern to set on Christian gentle 
 ness and love. Moreover, the world has become so 
 accustomed to this manner of dealing with them, 
 that, whenever the Christian advocate opens his lips, 
 they take it for granted that such is his tone. Sym 
 pathy, which has thus been sent over to the wrong 
 side, feels for them before they suffer wrong. If the 
 believer simply says that his opinions differ from 
 theirs, it is taken for grievous persecution ; so that, 
 perhaps from experience of the uselessness, not to 
 say the injurious effect, of their former course, the 
 defenders of the faith may perhaps at last remember 
 the advice of Gamaliel, to which they have paid 
 every compliment except that of minding it, " Re 
 frain from these men, and let them alone." 
 
 Lord Brougham takes ground upon the subject of 
 
 18 
 
206 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 punishing blasphemy and infidel assaults upon reli 
 gion ; contending, and he is confirmed by all ex 
 perience in his position, that all such revenge, for 
 it is little better, always does more harm than good ; 
 a fact sufficiently attested by the state of things in 
 his own land, where such writings have been kept 
 in demand by their being thus outlawed ; while in 
 this country, where they are neglected by the law, 
 they die of themselves with marvellous expedition. 
 Every attempt to sustain religion in the same way on 
 this side the sea has invariably resulted in giving 
 notoriety and a degree of sympathy to those who 
 would have been long enough in obtaining it by any 
 means of their own. We are here informed, that 
 Wilberforce was opposed to all prosecutions for 
 offences of this kind ; rightly judging, that the Rock 
 of Ages could stand of itself, and it was but dis 
 honored when it had the appearance of receiving 
 support from the arm of power. It is rather strange, 
 that, when the best and wisest friends of Christianity 
 have so long been of this opinion, their influence 
 should not have had more effect ; for it is not a new 
 impression. Jeremy Taylor says, that force thus 
 applied can only make a hypocrite, and every time 
 this is done, instead of erecting a trophy to God 
 and true religion, we build a monument to the 
 devil," a piece of sepulchral architecture as un 
 necessary as it is undeserved ; since, if it be true 
 that having one s own way is favorable to long life, 
 and these means of sustaining religion are certainly 
 such as that potentate most enjoys, there is no pros 
 pect of his requiring these obituary honors for some 
 time yet to come. 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 207 
 
 But all that can be said of the folly of persecuting 
 those who reject Christianity will not excuse Voltaire. 
 His character is not cleared by pointing out the sins 
 of his opposers ; and there is doubtless an impression 
 made and sustained by his life and writings, that, 
 while he had sagacity enough to see what Chris 
 tianity really was through all the cloud of its corrup 
 tions, his heart was not in harmony with its spirit. 
 There was nothing within him which answered to its 
 voice ; and it was not so much ignorance of its true 
 character, as a want of sympathy with it, which 
 made him so willing to undermine its foundations in 
 the minds and hearts of men. In the " Pucelle 
 d Orleans," which is commonly regarded as the most 
 spirited and able of his works, bringing out in full 
 energy those peculiar talents in which no one ever 
 exceeded him, there is a taste for indecency so evi 
 dently hearty and inbred, so ostentatiously paraded 
 in every part, with such a perfect indifference to 
 the detestable doctrines he was teaching, that all the 
 manly spirit and generous feeling which appeared in 
 other passages of his life seem like irregular and 
 transient impulses, and we are persuaded that we 
 have here the true presentment of his soul. And 
 sensual, selfish, and detestable assuredly it is ; full of 
 savage sneers at every thing high and holy ; revel 
 ling with disgusting satisfaction in those subjects on 
 which few can bear to look, and exerting all the 
 might of a powerful but depraved imagination to 
 efface the lines of separation between vice and vir 
 tue, glory and shame. It is true, there are other 
 works of his which would give a different impres- 
 
208 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. T. 
 
 sion ; but he was several years in writing this, and 
 it is evidently the free and natural outpouring of his 
 heart. Is any injustice done to Byron by looking to 
 Don Juan as a true portrait of the man ? Is not Rous 
 seau to be seen in his " Confessions," through the 
 fancy dress which he endeavors to wear ? These, 
 like the " Pucelle," were the most hearty efforts of the 
 writers. If they give wrong impressions of the seve 
 ral sources whence they originated, the authors have 
 none but themselves to blame ; and surely none 
 would expect a pure religion to find a warm wel 
 come in such spirits as theirs. It is true, there are 
 certain authorities who would persuade us that a 
 delight in filth is a thing of the outside merely, and 
 should be no disparagement to a poet s claim to be 
 accounted great and good. But they only succeed 
 in giving an unsavory impression of themselves ; for 
 luckily there are such things as common sense and 
 common decency ; and, while this is the case, the 
 world will never believe them. 
 
 It seems ridiculous enough to pretend that Voltaire 
 was a self-forgetful friend of humanity ; for, though 
 he made vigorous resistance to oppression, it so hap 
 pened that all the while he was fighting his own 
 battles, and avenging his own personal wrongs. In 
 his time, the gilt and pasteboard figure-head of roy 
 alty was in the front of the vessel of state ; and men 
 were under the amazing delusion, that the image 
 directed its motion, and gave it most of its power. 
 Nothing could exceed the subserviency with which 
 intellectual men bowed down before it. A great 
 poet, after the representation of one of his own 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 209 
 
 plays, ventured to ask, as the king was passing, " Is 
 Trajan satisfied ? " and when Trajan, whose opinion 
 was worthless, even if he had activity of mind enough 
 to form one, thought proper to hide his stolidity under 
 the form of displeasure, and refused to notice the 
 question, the poet thought proper to die of a broken 
 heart. 
 
 Voltaire was a man of stronger spirit; and, truly, 
 he had enough to provoke a more patient man, in 
 the poor and vexatious injuries which the court was 
 constantly inflicting upon him. After the death of 
 Louis the Fourteenth, he was imprisoned, without 
 trial, for some libel on the memory of that prince, 
 which he was falsely charged with writing. After 
 having been beaten by a poor creature of a courtier, 
 or rather by his servants, Voltaire ventured to send 
 him a challenge ; and, for this breach of the privi 
 lege of men of rank to be base and cowardly, he 
 was obliged to fly to England to escape the Bastile. 
 As to his quarrels with individuals, which were num 
 berless, he could not complain of the hot water in 
 which he lived, since it was he himself who heated 
 it ; but in his intercourse with his superiors, as they 
 are so absurdly called, he appears to have thought it 
 a proper concession to their rank that they should 
 have most of the blame to themselves. This was 
 particularly true in regard to Frederic of Prussia, 
 one of those pests of mankind who are complimented 
 with the name of Great ; a man of great talents 
 certainly, but, in private life, a mixture of the mon 
 key and savage, and, like one of Fielding s charac 
 ters, carrying a bit of flint about with him by way of 
 18* 
 
210 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. T. 
 
 heart. His treatment of the poet was a compound 
 of flattery and jealous dislike : he had sense enough 
 to know Voltaire s immense superiority to himself in 
 all intellectual pretension, and meanness enough to 
 hate him for it. He appeared to think as if, by pull 
 ing down Voltaire, he could elevate himself; as if, 
 by causing the hangman to throw the poet s writ 
 ings into the fire, he could throw some fire into his 
 own. 
 
 It is inconceivable, that, with the spirit which Vol 
 taire manifested on other occasions, he could have 
 submitted to all manner of abuse and impertinence 
 from Frederic, as he did, not in silence, but with 
 degrading humility, so long as he was within the 
 reach of the wild beast s claws. On the whole, he 
 received but wretched treatment from those who 
 were above him in the social scale : had he resented 
 it with a thousand times more spirit, he would have 
 been not only forgiven, but worthy of praise. As it 
 was, he did more than any one else, not so much by 
 direct effort as by the brilliancy of his talents, to 
 remove the bar of separation between rank and tal 
 ent ; a triumph of genius, certainly, though it may 
 be doubted whether either party gains much by being 
 brought nearer to the other. 
 
 There were occasions when Voltaire, forgetting 
 himself, and having no personal interest in the sub 
 ject, went forward in the cause of justice and hu 
 manity with intrepidity and power. The case of 
 Galas is an example, an old Calvinist, whose son, 
 shortly after becoming a Catholic, committed suicide 
 by hanging himself. A fanatical magistrate threw 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 211 
 
 the whole family into prison, accusing the father, a 
 feeble old man, of the murder of his son, though he 
 had treated with great liberality another son who had 
 become a Catholic, and there was not a shadow of 
 proof to show that he was in any way connected 
 with the deed. The stupid populace took up the 
 prejudice, and raged against the innocent family; 
 while the court, before which the accused was 
 brought, condemned the old man to be broken alive 
 on the wheel, and the parliament of Toulouse con 
 firmed the proceedings. After this judicial murder, 
 the family applied to Voltaire for aid and protection, 
 which he readily gave them ; and for several years 
 he labored to procure a reversal of the villanous 
 sentence, setting himself against popular prejudice 
 and civil and ecclesiastical power with a courage and 
 ability which gave the Protestants a sense of security 
 which they had not before. He succeeded so far as 
 to save the rest of the family, and to bring them 
 pecuniary compensation for their wrongs. The sen 
 tence was reversed ; but the parliament unhappily 
 was not forced to acknowledge the justice of the 
 reversal : whether they had acted like fools or knaves, 
 they were permitted to sustain their reputation, though 
 such deeds could not be repeated. 
 
 But we give him all praise for his efforts on this 
 occasion ; for it was obviously one in which self was 
 not concerned. The infusion of that element was so 
 overflowing and excessive, that, wherever it came, it 
 seemed to destroy his moral feeling, rendering him 
 incapable of any sustained elevation of character, and 
 showing that, however sincere his good feeling might 
 
212 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 be, there was no basis of principle under it, and there 
 fore its duration was not to be trusted. The Abbe 
 des Fontaines had been indebted to him for his 
 escape from a disgraceful charge : he was a person 
 of scandalous character, and little deserved such 
 friendly interposition. Afterwards, the miserable 
 creature, probably for the sake of gain, wrote a libel 
 on his benefactor, as indeed he did on all who were 
 high enough to be so complimented ; upon which, 
 Voltaire, though he fully believed the man s inno 
 cence, like all others who knew any thing about the 
 matter, reproduced the false charge, not only in his 
 letters, but in one of his poems ; thus endeavoring to 
 seek revenge by repeating an accusation which he 
 himself had shown to be untrue. As to this virtue 
 of truth, he was in the habit of treating it with very 
 distant respect, and without the least approach to fa 
 miliarity. When his " Letters on England " brought 
 him into trouble, he publicly denied their authorship, 
 and ascribed them to the Abbe Chauliere, who was 
 no longer living to contradict him. Whenever he 
 brought himself into a scrape by his epigrams and 
 lampoons, he made no scruple of disowning them. 
 Though he could not be blind to the injustice of the 
 partition of Poland, still, in his correspondence with 
 Frederic and Catherine at the time, so far from 
 speaking what he thought, he rather complimented 
 those unscrupulous picaroons. Indeed, he went so 
 far as to call the empress s share in it " noble, use 
 ful, and just ; " terms as nearly as possible the exact 
 reverse of the truth, and which no man with a ves 
 tige of a conscience, one would suppose, could ever 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 213 
 
 have thought of employing. With facts like these 
 before us, it must be a very resolute and determined 
 enthusiasm which can admire the character of Vol 
 taire, though no one can deny that his great and 
 various powers have rendered good service, in many 
 respects, to the cause of man. 
 
 It appears to us, that Lord Brougham, probably 
 from a sense of the injustice which has been done to 
 Voltaire, and a desire to break through the unpleas 
 ant associations which his name so generally awa 
 kens, has suffered himself to be carried to excess on 
 the opposite side, when he says that there is no one 
 since Luther to whom the human mind is more in 
 debted for release from the bondage of spiritual 
 power. Voltaire s sarcasm and wit were marvel 
 lous ; his principles, generally invisible to the naked 
 eye ; his argument, sufficiently sparing. There are 
 no instances given of bold defiance of authority, of 
 dangers braved for the sake of conscience, or of ear 
 nest eloquence inspired by the truth alone. It was 
 the unselfish intrepidity of the brave Reformer, his 
 doing and daring for defence of the truth, and 
 his lofty disregard of all personal dangers, which 
 make mankind forget his faults, which were many, 
 and exalt him to a place in history glorious, kingly, 
 and commanding. If any things similar to these 
 can be found in Voltaire s career, they have escaped 
 our observation. His talents, to the full extent of 
 his claims, no one wishes to deny ; but in the moral 
 elements of greatness he Avas desperately poor ; and 
 his biographer should not suffer himself or others to 
 forget, that character, even with inferior powers, is 
 
214 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 more likely than the highest ability, without principle, 
 to insure a great and lasting place in the reverence 
 of men. 
 
 The next personage drawn by the Chancellor is 
 introduced as a bitter enemy of Voltaire. Among 
 authors, this is a very easy and natural association ; 
 for, while the friendships of the irritable race recorded 
 in literary history are few and small, their quarrels, 
 numberless and eternal, are the burden of almost 
 every page. In this conflict between the man of 
 sarcasm and the man of sentiment, the former was 
 most to blame ; since Rousseau, who was a score 
 of years younger, felt and expressed, at first, great 
 respect for Voltaire, which the latter, who enjoyed 
 such homage, was not slow in returning. But 
 Rousseau took exception at some of his opinions ; 
 and Voltaire, though he declined all argument on 
 the subject, was not pleased to have his judgment 
 called in question, particularly by one who seemed 
 likely to carry a heavier gun in controversy than 
 himself. In sober reasoning neither party excelled ; 
 but Rousseau showed that earnestness and seeming 
 conviction, before which wit can maintain only a 
 light skirmish, and is sure to be driven from the 
 ground. Meantime, Rousseau had taken arms 
 against the theatre, and was supposed by Voltaire 
 to have excited the Genevans against him, partly 
 on that account, and also because of his infidelity, 
 though Rousseau could hardly have preached from 
 that text without bruising his own unbelieving head. 
 The amount of the whole was, that they had become 
 jealous of each other : R,ousseau was wounded by 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 215 
 
 Voltaire s grotesque saying, that, when he read the 
 eulogies on the savage state, he felt an irresistible 
 desire " to creep on all-fours ; " and Voltaire felt an 
 apprehension lest the younger pretender might, by 
 dint of earnest eloquence, work his way to a reputa 
 tion greater than his own. In 1760, Rousseau ad 
 dressed to him a crazy letter, in which he declared 
 that the Ferney theatricals had made his life a burden 
 to him ; and charged to the Ferney influence his own 
 misery, proscription, and banishment from home. 
 Voltaire never answered ; the charge betokened too 
 much insanity to admit a reply ; but, harmless as the 
 letter was, he resented the want of veneration im 
 plied in writing it, and ever after satirized the writer 
 with the greatest bitterness, knowing, without a di 
 rect conflict, how to take the deepest revenge. 
 
 It is very difficult to form a satisfactory idea of 
 the character of Rousseau ; for, though an intense 
 and unmitigated selfishness was the chief element in 
 it, he was at times capable of some display of gen 
 erosity, where it would sound to his own advantage. 
 For example, he subscribed to the statue of Voltaire, 
 greatly to the discomposure of him to whom the 
 compliment was paid ; and when the old poet, in his 
 last visit to Paris, took with him a tragedy for the 
 stage, which it was anticipated, naturally enough, 
 would prove a failure, Rousseau declared that it 
 would be inhuman and ungrateful in the public not 
 to treat it with respect, whatever its merits might 
 prove to be. The impression given by his life is, 
 that he was unsound of mind ; and yet the disease 
 was probably nothing more than that voluntary mo- 
 
216 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 nomania which any one may bring on by making 
 self the chief consideration and moving principle of 
 all his actions, looking at all things only in a selfish 
 light, and suffering his own shadow to darken every 
 thing on which it is cast. Every feeling, however 
 base, was innocent and holy, if he thought proper to 
 indulge it ; any action, however guilty it might have 
 been in another, was excusable, and even meritori 
 ous, in him. That common self-delusion by which 
 a man regards himself as a peculiar person, out of 
 the pale of the common law of feeling, amounted in 
 him to an absolution more complete than false reli 
 gion ever gave ; and his conscience, if he ever had 
 one, the only proof of which was his share in our 
 common humanity, was completely overawed by his 
 towering and stupendous self-applause. This, by a 
 not unusual retribution, became the source of his 
 distress : he was fully persuaded, that the world had 
 nothing to think of, and nothing to do, but to look 
 after him and his motions. If there was anywhere 
 a whisper, a smile, an obscure allusion, or a meaning 
 word, he was sure that it was aimed at him. Thus 
 he brooded over acts of kindness, as well as over 
 things indifferent, till they seemed deadly injuries, 
 and called up hatred and revenge. But, strange as 
 this disposition may seem, it will not do to call it 
 insanity. Half the world have these feelings at times ; 
 they might easily make them permanent by deter 
 mined indulgence ; and any low-spirited person who 
 abandons his mind to them might become as jealous, 
 as fantastic, as wayward, in one word, as much 
 of a madman, as Rousseau. 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 217 
 
 It is inconceivable how any one can study his 
 works with deep interest after reading his " Confes 
 sions," in which, by the way, he resembles certain 
 persons mentioned by Chesterfield, " who, with a 
 modest contrition, confess themselves guilty of most 
 of the cardinal virtues." He says, that in early life 
 he had a habit of lying on all occasions ; and his 
 later days, though he asserts the contrary, did not 
 vary altogether in this respect from the former. He 
 makes himself fourteen or fifteen years old when he 
 lived as footman in the service of the Countess de 
 Vercelles, from whom he stole a riband, and, being 
 charged with it, to remove suspicion from himself, 
 accused Marian, a fellow-servant, who had shown 
 much friendship for him, and thus, through his own 
 cowardly selfishness, destroyed the reputation of the 
 poor girl, without the least regard to her tears and 
 appeals to his conscience and manly feeling. He 
 says, that he afterwards felt remorse, when he thought 
 of Marian s ruin and distress ; but that his attach 
 ment for her was the cause of it, for he had stolen it 
 to give to her, and this was what made him think of 
 charging her with stealing it to give to him. Lord 
 Brougham shows that he was probably eighteen, 
 certainly not less than seventeen, years of age when 
 he was guilty of this heartless deed. His character 
 was then formed, if ever ; and we imagine it would 
 be difficult to find in any cabinet of human remains 
 a harder specimen of moral petrifaction. Through 
 out his " Confessions," he is candid to excess in 
 admitting the sins of other people, and in the same 
 manner endeavors to throw a refined and false col- 
 
 19 
 
218 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART, I. 
 
 oring over his own. The best friend he ever had 
 was Madame de Warens, a generous, accomplished, 
 and attractive woman, though not one of the vestal 
 virgins ; who was so disinterested and faithful, that 
 her strange philanthropy should never have been 
 exposed by him. She endeavored to procure him 
 orders in the Church, but r not succeeding, found 
 him a place with Le Maitre> the director of the 
 cathedral music, who treated him for a year with 
 the utmost kindness, till he lost his own office in 
 consequence of some differences with the chapter. 
 Rousseau then accompanied him to Lyons, where 
 he fell down in an epilectic fit one day in the street ; 
 and his grateful pupil took the occasion to slip away, 
 feeling no occasion to remain with one who could 
 serve him no longer. Add to this, his sending five of 
 his own children to the foundling hospital, in spite 
 of the tears of their mother, who, though a coarse 
 creature, was not dead to nature, and we have an 
 exhibition of selfishness as complete, and with as 
 slight a sprinkling of humanity, as can be found or 
 dreamed of among the sons of men. 
 
 There is a belief in those who know but little of 
 his life, that he was capable of generous actions. 
 It may have been so ; but, whatever they were, his 
 own hand, which made the best of every thing, has 
 not found it convenient to record them. Of generous 
 expressions, which cost nothing, he was more liberal ; 
 and he was perfectly prodigal of those fine senti 
 ments which have no particular relation to place or 
 person, and have not so much of pledge or promise 
 in them that he who employs them is ever expected 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 219 
 
 to make them good. He must be an eminent saint 
 in the estimation of those moralists who maintain that 
 one s instincts are always to be followed; for self 
 was his oracle and law, and there is no instance of a 
 departure from that moral standard on any occasion, 
 if we may except his self-denial in not seeing Ma 
 dame de Warens in her poverty and sorrow. She 
 had always treated him with the most affectionate 
 kindness, supporting him like a mother for many years 
 of his life, and sharing all her resources with him 
 Avhile she had any to bestow ; and when, through her 
 lavish expenditure and imprudence, she was reduced 
 to the extremity of want, he did not, though he was 
 within a day s journey of where she was, either visit 
 her or write to her, "because," as he says, " he 
 feared to sadden her heart with the story of his dis 
 asters." At this, the spirit of the Chancellor, who 
 has maintained unwonted coolness, waxes wrathful 
 within him : " As if she had not real disasters of her 
 own, as if the straw on which she was perishing 
 of want offered not wherewithal to touch her more 
 nearly than the tale of his fancied wrongs and trum 
 pery persecutions." Lord Brougham thinks, that at 
 one time he was certainly insane : if so, the madness 
 was of his own making. There is, however, no more 
 evidence of it at one period than another ; and, as we 
 have said, any jealous man, absolving himself, as 
 Rousseau did, from all moral restraint, and ail con 
 cern for the opinion of others, might soon become as 
 wild and extravagant, if not as heartless, as he. 
 
 This testimony should be borne whenever his name 
 is mentioned ; because, though his " New Heloise," 
 
220 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 with all its occasional eloquence in the expression of 
 feeling, is too coarse and low to find many who will 
 plead guilty to enjoying it at the present day, the 
 sentimentality which it created and fed still exists, 
 and exerts a fatal influence on many persons, teach 
 ing them to take credit for tenderness when their 
 hearts are hard as the nether millstone, and blinding 
 them to the guilt and grossness of every imaginable 
 sin. Many thus parade through life in a fancy dress, 
 thinking themselves the great sublime they draw. 
 They use this sentimentalism like a gauze handker 
 chief tied over their eyes, which hides from them only 
 w r hat they do not choose to see, and affords an excuse, 
 such as has served Rousseau through two genera 
 tions, for the unworthy paths in which they go. On 
 the mountain or the deep, they feel a transient emo 
 tion of sublimity ; and this, without the shadow of 
 sacrifice or self-denial, is their religion ; and very 
 exalted do they seem to themselves over those who, 
 with a vulgar sense of duty, labor on in the dusty 
 paths on the plain. In matters of benevolence, they 
 are ready to feel for that elegant and interesting dis 
 tress of which real life affords so little, though in 
 works of fiction it so much abounds. Since there is 
 no demand in the market of life for such humanity 
 as theirs, they take it out in feeling ; not discovering 
 the unsoundness of the emotion, because it is never 
 brought to the test. Meantime they go on, flourish 
 ing white handkerchiefs, and shedding sentimental 
 tears, which, as is fully evident to all but themselves, 
 are no more indications of tenderness than the drops 
 which at nightfall steal down the sides of the shaded 
 rock. 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 221 
 
 The influence of Rousseau upon literary taste and 
 tendencies has been exceedingly great. The success 
 with which he passed, coarse and selfish as he was, 
 for a man of deep and tender feeling, appears to have 
 been the signal for a procession of writers to with 
 draw the public attention from their own transgres 
 sions, by crying out against the oppression of social 
 laws, and lamenting the baseness of mankind. We 
 have received letters from inmates of our penitentia 
 ries, in which, after slightly admitting that they might 
 have been imprudent, they spoke with indignation of 
 the unequal hardship of the law, and the cold malig 
 nity of all other men. There is something in this 
 tone so consoling, and even elevating, to him who 
 employs it, that we are not to wonder at the taste 
 spreading into literature, a republic which, like 
 Texas, owes some part of its population to those 
 who have no reason to love the law. Lord Byron 
 carried on this masquerade with distinguished suc 
 cess, sustaining the character of a much injured man 
 so ably as almost to deceive himself, and entirely to 
 bewilder the sentimental portion of the world. Others, 
 far inferior to him, have also enacted the part of a 
 lion of the day by means of this drapery, though the 
 points of the inferior animal appeared conspicuously 
 through. Under convoy of male and female scrib 
 blers of novels, we see murderers, thieves, and ladies 
 of light life and conversation, present themselves with 
 easy confidence ; assuring us that it is not they, but 
 human laws and moral sentiments, which are an 
 swerable for the errors of their lives, if errors they 
 be ; maintaining that their garments are more beau- 
 
 19* 
 
222 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 tiful for the stains, and looking on the virtuous as 
 vagrant animals do on those in the pound, with pity 
 approaching to disdain. It should be said, however, 
 that Rousseau was a better man than his followers : 
 he never appears to have found himself out : but in 
 them it is evidently matter of shameless calculation 
 to secure gain or notoriety by defying the laws of 
 virtue ; and they make this exhibition of themselves 
 with a consciousness of exposure, and without think 
 ing it necessary to put on the least fig-leaf of self- 
 delusion. 
 
 It is true, with respect both to Voltaire and Rous 
 seau, that they were dyspeptics ; and they may fairly 
 claim all the immunities and exemptions which dis 
 eased livers entitle them to demand. But if this plea 
 be generally admitted, like that of insanity in the 
 case of murder, it would be difficult to say who shall 
 be " whipt of justice," or how it would be possible to 
 enforce a sentence of condemnation for any sin. For 
 we apprehend, that there are few of our readers w r ho 
 have not said with a sigh, " O dura messorum ilia! " 
 or who can think of those birds which digest nails 
 and broken glass with unruffled serenity, without feel 
 ings akin to admiration and despair. No doubt, the 
 martyrs of indigestion suffer ; and their irritability 
 and vengeance, like charity, begin at home : having 
 their origin there, they go forth to bless mankind. 
 How far it is possible to suppress them, to what 
 extent they are excusable, and whether they shall 
 be set down among vices or infirmities, it is not ours 
 to say ; but, if morality is to resolve itself into a form 
 of medical jurisprudence, and no man can be cen- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 223 
 
 sured till the doctor has felt his pulse and examined 
 the state of his system, others as well as literary sin 
 ners should have the benefit of it, and the same zeal 
 which is now manifested to do away with capital 
 punishment should extend itself to all penalties of 
 every kind and degree. 
 
 The next person who appears in the Chancellor s 
 gallery was distinguished, if any thing so common 
 can be regarded as a distinction, by a quarrel with 
 Rousseau. There may be a doubt, however, whether 
 that could be called a quarrel which was conducted 
 by one party without the least assistance from the 
 other. A quarrel seldom travels far upon one leg ; 
 and a feud with one so easy and kind-hearted as 
 Hume must needs have proceeded in that inconve 
 nient method, if it went on at all. How such a 
 quarrel could arise appears from the history of the 
 persecution suffered in Neufchatel by the " self-tortur 
 ing sophist," who declared that a quarry of stones 
 was thrown into his house at night, endangering his 
 life and filling his household with alarm ; while it 
 was stated by one of his friends, that the instrument 
 of this revenge, found upon the floor the next day, 
 was one solitary flint, and this discovery appears 
 to have been marked by the singular, though not 
 wholly unaccountable, circumstance that the stone 
 itself was larger than the hole in the glass which it 
 came through. Hume suffered much from his gener 
 osity to this " interesting solitary," as he was called 
 by his friends, who seem to have urged the historian 
 to invite him to England, simply in order to keep 
 him out of France. When he arrived, Hume found 
 
224 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 him a delightful place of retreat, and also procured 
 him a pension. But, a letter having been written by 
 that mischief-making animal, Horace Walpole, pur 
 porting to be addressed by Frederic to Rousseau, 
 pressing him to come to Berlin, and promising every 
 blessing except those persecutions in which he so 
 much delighted, the sophist, after mature delibera 
 tion, thought proper to ascribe this trick to a con 
 spiracy on the part of Hume, and resented it with 
 the utmost fury, even going so far as to throw up his 
 pension, an act of resignation, however, which he 
 recalled with great expedition. 
 
 It is as an unbeliever in the Christian religion that 
 Hume is generally remembered by those who hear 
 his name ; not only as a sceptic himself, but as the 
 author of those doubts and suggestions, which, re 
 produced in various forms, still operate to prevent 
 Christianity from finding admission into many minds. 
 But the truth is, that religion, wherever it is found, 
 has generally entered by the avenues of the heart ; 
 and a man of easy good-nature, prosperous in his 
 circumstances, exempt from humiliating and sorrow 
 ful changes, honored by the great and esteemed by 
 all around him, free from those relations and respon 
 sibilities in life from which our greatest distresses 
 as well as blessings come, was not so likely as others, 
 of different constitution and differently situated, to 
 feel those wants of the soul which that religion is 
 intended to supply. Never fiercely assailed by temp 
 tations, he was not compelled to resort to it for 
 strength to resist them ; having no tendency to pas 
 sion or revenge, he felt no need of its restraining 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 225 
 
 power ; enjoying every moment of the present life 
 as he did, his thoughts were seldom carried forward 
 to another existence ; and, as men seldom resort to 
 it till they feel their need of its supports and consola 
 tions, it is easy to see why it was that the subject 
 was never brought home to his heart. 
 
 We can find in his temperament, then, the reason 
 why he was so indifferent to Christianity, and so 
 careless whether he undermined its foundations in 
 men s minds. For he was not a scoffer ; though 
 there was an occasional tone of bitterness, he never 
 descended into buffoonery like that of Voltaire ; but 
 he evidently did not feel how much men need Chris 
 tianity, what a blessing it is, and what a disastrous 
 change the loss of its influence would be. He treats 
 it as a subject of metaphysical discussion merely; 
 nor could he understand the mighty argument for its 
 truth which is found in its universal adaptation to 
 the wants and sorrows of mankind. His doctrines 
 are thus carried out, as if nothing important was 
 involved, and as if it was simply a gratification of 
 curiosity to see how far they might be made to go. 
 Having shown that miracles are not likely to take 
 place, and that the error or falsehood of witnesses is 
 more common than a departure from the usual order 
 of things, he proceeds to infer that there can be no 
 such thing as a miracle ; which amounts to the asser 
 tion, that there is no such thing as Divine Providence, 
 that the power which established is not competent to 
 alter, and, in fact, excludes the Deity from all direct 
 concern with the universe which he has made ; 
 consequences of his argument, which, of themselves, 
 
226 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I, 
 
 would be enough to show that it could not possibly 
 be true, since they represent the creature as mightier 
 than its Creator, and speak of a God whose hands 
 are bound. Lord Brougham remarks, that, had 
 Hume lived to see the late discoveries in fossil oste 
 ology, which make it clear that there was at some 
 period an exertion of power to form man and other 
 animals not previously existing, he must either have 
 rejected the science, which would be absurd, or have 
 admitted the interposition of creative power. But 
 this is equally true of the whole universe : it must 
 either be self-existent, or the time must have been 
 when some power was exerted to bring it into being. 
 Whoever, therefore, is neither atheist, nor pantheist, 
 if he admits that the usual order of things has once 
 been suspended, cannot maintain that there is no 
 power to depart from it again. 
 
 But, without entering into the discussion on the 
 subject of miracles, which has already, at various 
 times and in divers manners, been more than suffi 
 ciently extended, considering that the evidence in 
 their favor has convinced clear-headed men without 
 number, while the doubters have been comparatively 
 few, we would simply remark, that most of those 
 who take the sceptical side of this subject, while 
 they think that they get rid of miracles, leave un 
 touched the great miracle of all ; and that is, Chris 
 tianity itself : whence did it come? In tracing the 
 history of other opinions and reforms, we can follow 
 them like rivers to the earthly fountains from which 
 they spring ; we can see the imperfect attempts 
 which went before them, the influences and ten- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 227 
 
 dencies which led to them ; their unformed elements 
 may be distinguished long before their living action 
 manifests itself to the world. But here was a reli 
 gion suddenly breaking out from the midst of dark 
 ness, breathing peace in a wild and martial time, 
 teaching the largest charity and freedom from preju 
 dice among a most narrow and bigoted people, 
 resisting the habits of thought and feeling which had 
 always prevailed, and itself giving the first impulse 
 towards that improvement in which it would lead the 
 nations on from glory to glory. It is idle to speak 
 of it as an effort of genius or a happy discovery ; 
 for these are results of efforts and progress previously 
 made, and no such elements can be found in the 
 ancient world. Now, as nothing can come of nothing, 
 and to every thing must be assigned a cause ade 
 quate to produce it, we do not know where to look 
 for any explanation of the existence of this religion 
 but that which regards it as a direct gift of God. 
 The sceptic, then, if he discredits the miracles, by 
 showing to his own satisfaction that they could never 
 have been wrought, cannot deny that Christianity 
 exists and prevails, and thus leaves himself em 
 barrassed with a difficulty greater than that which he 
 explains away. 
 
 The character of Hume has often been impeached 
 in general terms, in consequence of his opinions ; 
 Christians having always taken the liberty, in defend 
 ing their religion, to break all its laws of love. 
 Archbishop Magee, for example, speaks of his wri 
 tings as " standing memorials of a heart as wicked, 
 and a head as weak, as ever pretended to the char- 
 
228 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 acter of a philosopher and moralist ; " a remark 
 which, lacking the essential grace of truth, is of the 
 number of those which bless him who takes consid 
 erably more than him who gives, and which rather 
 enlighten us as to the good sense and manners of 
 him who uses them than of those to whom they are 
 applied. But Lord Brougham has inserted a letter 
 into the appendix to this Life, which gives a more un 
 pleasant impression of Hume than we have received 
 from any other quarter. It contains the expression 
 of a wish, that some clerical friend should remain in 
 his profession, which he desired to abandon ; for, 
 says the author of the " Inquiry concerning the Prin 
 ciples of Morals," 
 
 " It is putting too great respect on the vulgar and on their 
 superstitions to pique one s self on sincerity with regard to them. 
 Did ever one make it a point of honor to speak truth to children 
 or madmen ? If the thing were worthy being treated gravely, I 
 should tell him that the Pythian oracle, with the approbation of 
 Xenophon, advised every one to worship the gods < according to 
 the law of the city. I wish it were still in my power to be a hypo 
 crite in this particular ; the common duties of society usually 
 require it ; and the ecclesiastical profession only adds a little more 
 to an innocent dissimulation, or rather simulation, without which 
 it is impossible to pass through the world." 
 
 Such loose talk as this, the recommendation to a 
 friend to be a hypocrite, the wish to be one himself, 
 and the suggestion that duty may sometimes require 
 it, argues an extraordinary indifference on these sub 
 jects, which are commonly regarded as important, 
 whatever may be men s opinions in other respects. 
 Lord Brougham does great injustice to Paley in 
 connecting his doctrine of expediency with any such 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 229 
 
 application of it as this. It is not easy to conceive 
 of a man of any moral principle speaking in this 
 manner while in possession of his reason ; and it is 
 not doing injustice to one who does, to regard it as 
 a sign of certain deficiencies of moral constitution, 
 which would prevent his mind from apprehending 
 the worth and beauty of Christianity, and, to the 
 same extent, forbid its welcome in the heart. 
 
 There is another respect in which the great his 
 torian is little beholden to his noble biographer. 
 The impression has been, that Hume wrote with 
 great rapidity : the harmonious and beautiful order 
 of his narrative, and the free and manly grace of 
 expression, indicate that it came from his pen with a 
 swift and easy flow. This circumstance has been 
 regarded as an explanation of many of his errors ; 
 for, admirable as his work is, and delightful to 
 readers as it will ever be, it is wholly discredited as 
 an authority ; no one places the least reliance upon 
 it ; we resort to it for gratification, while we go 
 to inferior writers to know the truth. But Lord 
 Brougham gives the impression, that the act of com 
 position to Hume was laborious and painful ; his 
 manuscripts still in existence are everywhere scored, 
 interlined, and altered : indeed, he says himself, that 
 he was slow, and not easily satisfied with what he 
 wrote ; a fact which deprives him of the apology, 
 such as it is, which the extemporaneous manner of 
 writing ascribed to him afforded for many of his 
 errors. The Chancellor also declares, that, on some 
 occasions, he sacrificed truth to effect, introducing 
 striking circumstances without foundation, and alter- 
 
 20 
 
230 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 ing statements from what he knew to be the correct 
 version ; and, though these variations from the truth 
 of history, so far as noticed, are not of any great 
 importance, they are still sufficient to show, that his 
 conscience was not strictly delicate, and that, accord 
 ing to the suggestion made to his clerical friend, he 
 considered readers of history as among those incon 
 siderable persons to whom the truth needs not be 
 told ; either because he thought the article too rare 
 and precious to be wasted, or that the invention of 
 historical facts seemed a nobler and more inviting 
 office than simply to record them. 
 
 This distinguished man is generally spoken of as 
 a sceptic ; but Lord Brougham shows that his views 
 come as near to atheism as it is possible for a man 
 not of unholy life to go. Hume contends, not that 
 there are doubts on the subject of God s existence 
 and the immortality of the soul, but that we have no 
 evidence of either, and therefore no ground for be 
 lieving in God and immortality. And thus, with 
 respect to miracles, his argument maintains that they 
 cannot be proved ; that a divine interposition is a 
 thing impossible ; and of this there is a certainty 
 which no amount of testimony can outweigh. It 
 therefore leads, not to doubt, but to a conviction of 
 the falsehood of the religion which professes to come 
 from on high. Perhaps the reason why he has thus 
 been regarded, as one whose mind was balanced 
 between the two opinions, is, that he never, like 
 Voltaire, entered into a blind and furious w r arfare 
 against Christianity. His reasonings against it are 
 grave and decent, seldom defiled by unworthy Ian- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 231 
 
 guage or feeling. So unlike is this to the bearing of 
 most other infidels, that it gives the impression of un- 
 decidedness and neutrality ; when, perhaps, there 
 never was any one to whom the religion could have 
 been presented with so little hope of success ; since 
 his regular life, his steady temper, and prosperous 
 circumstances, had prevented his feeling the need of 
 it as most men do ; and, when the intellect, which 
 in him was infinitely stronger than the affections, 
 reported against it, no voice in its favor was lifted 
 up by his heart. Even if his views on the subject of 
 our faith had been at first mere speculations, as soon 
 as he published his arguments against it, he came 
 into sympathy with its opposers. Indifference was 
 no longer possible ; and it was as an antagonist of 
 Christianity, if not of all religion, that he lived and 
 died. 
 
 A statement was thrown out in the " Quarterly 
 Review " many years ago, and we well remember 
 the sensation it created, which represented the papers 
 left by Hume as containing evidence that distin 
 guished ministers of the gospel in Edinburgh were 
 in full sympathy with him ; practising on his sug 
 gestion with respect to deceiving the public, and 
 having no more real faith than he had in the religion 
 which they professed to preach. This incredible 
 assertion, which doubtless proceeded from some 
 narrow-minded bigot, who regarded false witness 
 against another sect as a virtue, and charity as a 
 mortal sin, was not corrected at the time ; but Lord 
 Brougham informs us, that he has caused the most 
 exact search to be made, and, finding no confirma- 
 
232 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 tion of the story, he gives it an unqualified contra 
 diction. % 
 
 One of the clergymen alluded to was Dr. Robert 
 son, who comes next in succession in this biography, 
 and whose life is written with a satisfaction increased, 
 doubtless, by the circumstance that he was connected 
 with the noble lord, whose grandmother was a sister 
 of the historian ; not that more than justice is done 
 to his moral character, but his talents and literary 
 standing are rated somewhat too high. Dr. Robert 
 son was a Christian in character, and therefore a 
 gentleman in his manners ; he did not think himself 
 bound to treat an unbeliever, who never insulted his 
 faith, as a profane and graceless enemy of man. 
 Though he was firm, or perhaps we should say 
 because he was firm, in his own conviction, he could 
 look upon one whose opinions were different, without 
 the least feeling of hatred and revenge ; in which 
 respect he had the advantage of some over-zealous 
 Christians, both in the peace and happiness of his 
 
 * Notwithstanding this denial, and in full view of the evidence on which it 
 is made, the charge is repeated in the last number of the " Quarterly Review," 
 apparently by the same writer who first brought it forward. He says, Lord 
 Brougham " produces no evidence, except as to the actual contents of the Hume 
 papers. They came but lately into the hands of their present possessors ; and 
 we think it might have occurred to Lord Brougham as not altogether impossible 
 (considering the late Mr. Baron Hume s refusal to let any use be made of them 
 during his own lifetime), that the learned judge purified the collection before he 
 bequeathed it to the Royal Society of Edinburgh." The reviewer also cites the 
 passage, which we have already quoted, from Hume s letter to Col. Edmon- 
 stone, advising a clerical friend not to abandon his profession because he had 
 become a sceptic, as affording " an inference in tolerable harmony with the 
 rumor so magisterially dismissed." Our readers will observe, however, that 
 this grave charge, first made upon the authority of mere rumor, is here repeated 
 as a matter of inference only ; and though the reviewer, it appears, has " had 
 access to some of Hume s unpublished letters," it does not appear that he found 
 in them any direct evidence of the truth of the accusation. 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 233 
 
 own temper, and in the influence he exerted to bring 
 unbelieving wanderers home. The calumny here 
 alluded to was doubtless owing to this liberality on 
 his part, misinterpreted by those who consider no 
 one who is not ready to put an infidel to death as 
 entitled to the name of Christian. 
 
 Lord Brougham, having a nearer interest in the 
 subject of this biography than in most others, is 
 naturally disposed to give him all his due. There 
 is such an evenness of merit, such a graceful and 
 sustained propriety, and so much freedom from strik 
 ing faults, in Robertson s historical writings, that his 
 works, which travelled up at once to the highest 
 popularity, have ever since kept their place in the 
 general esteem. It is curious to contrast his enthu 
 siastic reception with the cold reception given at first 
 to the great work of Hume. Of the first volume of 
 the " History of England," containing the reigns 
 of James the First and Charles the First, only five 
 and forty copies were sold in London the year 
 after it came from the press, though it treated of a 
 period of history most exciting in its interest, and, 
 the writer s careless inquiry into facts not having 
 then been discovered, was fitted, one would suppose, 
 by its animated grace of manner and living charm 
 of language, to eclipse all other writings of the kind 
 in the public eye. It gives a pleasing impression of 
 Hume s disposition, that, conscious as he must have 
 been of his own superiority, he could bear thus to be 
 cast into the shade. He wrote a letter of humorous 
 reproach to Robertson, complaining, that, when he 
 was sitting in glory at the feet of Smollett (of whose 
 
 20* 
 
234 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 history he had the meanest opinion), the author of 
 the " History of Scotland " should have pressed 
 himself above him, and come nearer to their great 
 master than he. But Robertson, if inferior to his 
 friend in sagacity and comprehension, was entitled 
 to success by his laborious accuracy. So far as his 
 means of information went, he was conscientiously 
 faithful. He was employed at least six years in his 
 first work, while Hume despatched his history of the 
 Stuarts in less than three ; though the amount of 
 materials to be consulted, the conflict of authorities, 
 and the obstacles in the way of accuracy, were, in 
 this latter case, a thousand to one, compared with 
 the other. 
 
 While Lord Brougham somewhat overestimates 
 the excellence of Robertson s writings, he is not blind 
 to his defects. It is refreshing to learn that he finds 
 fault with him in one respect ; and that is, for the 
 deference which he pays to what the world, much to 
 its own loss and injury, is pleased to call greatness, 
 and the indemnity which he is willing to concede to 
 heroes, tyrants, and similar nuisances of mankind. 
 Historians appear, by common consent, to have taken 
 might for right ; and courage, frankness, wisdom, or 
 decision of character, has been sufficient, at their tri 
 bunal, to save the offender from the condemnation of 
 every sin. It is disgusting in the extreme to hear the 
 butcher of his wives, the most brutal of sovereigns, 
 treated with hearty and sympathizing regard, as jolly 
 old King Harry ; and when the Chancellor comes on 
 Robertson and Hume with his long and sweeping 
 scourge, for their courtier-like homage to the mem- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 235 
 
 ory of Elizabeth, we feel that the infliction is richly 
 deserved. Not that we consider him particularly dis 
 criminating on these occasions. He seems to take it 
 for granted with respect to Mary Stuart, that her mar 
 riage with Bothwell was sufficient proof of all that 
 was alleged against her ; when those who examine 
 the subject will see, as we have set forth in a for 
 mer number,* that she could not possibly have been 
 accessory to the murder of her husband ; in a word, 
 that she was never stained with blood, whatever her 
 subsequent weakness may have been. Not so with 
 Elizabeth : it is beyond question, that, thinking the 
 slow poison of imprisonment was not enough, she 
 attempted to prevail on Drury and Paulet to murder 
 the unhappy queen ; and, not succeeding in this, she 
 resorted to the meanest, falsehood and imposture to 
 accomplish that infernal deed. Well says the Chan 
 cellor, " History, fertile in royal crimes, offers to our 
 execration few such characters as this great, success 
 ful, and popular princess. An assassin in her heart, 
 nay, in her counsels and orders ; an oppressor of the 
 most unrelenting cruelty in her whole conduct ; a 
 hypocritical dissembler, to whom falsehood was hab 
 itual, honest frankness strange, such is the light in 
 which she ought ever to be held up, as long as truth 
 and humanity shall bear any value in the eyes of 
 men." If there were any substance to the fiction, 
 that the Chancellor has the conscience of the sove 
 reign in his keeping, and if a human being in office 
 could feel as he does when out of it, we could wish 
 that his lordship was still presiding in the Court of 
 
 * North American Review, vol. xxxiv. p. 144. 
 
236 
 
 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 Chancery, not of England only, but of the literary 
 world. 
 
 In speaking of the " History of America," which 
 followed that of Scotland, Lord Brougham sails 
 away in a flight of enthusiasm which was hardly to 
 be expected from such a veteran ; not that he prefers 
 it as a whole to the other histories ; but he thinks that 
 there are passages and descriptions in it which neither 
 its author nor any other historian ever exceeded ; and 
 he evidently has no kind feeling towards Irving for 
 attempting the portrait of Columbus, which Robert 
 son had drawn before him. The Chancellor makes 
 a contrast between the passages in which the two 
 writers describe the first discovery of land by the 
 great navigator, greatly to the disparagement of 
 the American, whose account he considers ambitious 
 and straining after effect, and therefore far less 
 impressive than the noble simplicity of the other. 
 Robertson s description of that memorable scene is 
 certainly good, better even than Southey s slight 
 attempt in " Madoc" to bring before the reader that 
 moment which opened a new history to the world. 
 But Lord Brougham, whose temperament does not 
 always incline to laudation, has gone somewhat 
 beyond himself in this eulogy, treating the absence of 
 faults as a striking beauty, and imagining graces more 
 than are really there. He says that he once called 
 the attention of Lord Wellesley to this passage ; and 
 that nobleman afterwards assured him, that he shed 
 tears while he read it, and it had broken his rest at 
 night. Perhaps it may be the hardness brought over 
 our hearts by the constant practice of reviewing, but 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 237 
 
 we must plead guilty to reading it with dry eyes ; 
 nor are we often moved to tears by simple and judi 
 cious writing; while, on the contrary, we almost 
 weep aloud over the vicious affectation and vulgar 
 elegance which Bulwer and his company have im 
 posed upon the world as refined and intellectual writ 
 ing. We enjoy a compensation for this obtuseness, 
 however, in the fact, that we are not kept awake by 
 the better parts of the books which our public capa 
 city requires us to read ; and when we sit down to 
 the greater proportion of them, particularly the pop 
 ular novels of the day, it brings over us a spirit of 
 repose, a dreamless and heavy slumber, in which we 
 forget the toil and warfare of our vocation, and sub 
 side into peace and charity with all mankind. 
 
 While we are not much inclined to disagree with 
 Lord Brougham in his critical decisions, we greatly 
 honor the spirit in which he speaks of the manner in 
 which all history has been written. Historians who 
 know better, and who ought to guide the moral sen 
 timents of their readers, have fallen into the common 
 train of feeling, regarding all peaceful scenes and 
 virtues with comparative indifference, and exalting 
 ability and guilt into most unmerited glory. He 
 sharply censures, too, as well he may, the irregular 
 and inconsistent manner in which they dispense their 
 condemnation and applause ; exalting to the skies 
 the bloody ambition of the Plantagenets and the 
 crooked policy of the Tudors, while Richard the 
 Third, a man of greater courage and capacity, and 
 about as amiable, is the target for every broadside of 
 indignation, which, for the sake of appearances, they 
 
233 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 think it necessary sometimes to throw in. There is, 
 however, one objection to severe moral judgment, 
 which did not occur to the Chancellor s legal mind. 
 When an English admiral once remonstrated with 
 the Dey of Algiers respecting the lawless conduct of 
 his soldiers, that sovereign admitted that the com 
 plaint was well founded, and said that he had ear 
 nestly endeavored to make a reform, having, with 
 that view, hanged as many as fifty in a day ; but he 
 had found, though he evidently saw no other objec 
 tion to the process, that he could not very well spare 
 the men. Similar considerations may have induced 
 historians to be merciful to the wholesale robbers and 
 murderers of the human race ; for so general has 
 been the tendency to such practices, and so few are 
 there among those distinguished in history who have 
 not something of the kind to answer for, that strict 
 ness to mark and censure such iniquity would turn 
 history into a sort of Old Bailey chronicle ; writers 
 who now exult in their pride of place would become 
 literary hangmen under the moral law ; and the men 
 usually most admired and honored in the annals of 
 their country must necessarily be their victims. He 
 says, that he himself once undertook the reigns of 
 Alfred, Henry the Fifth, and Elizabeth, with a view 
 to the right application of moral principles to history, 
 and was prevented from completing the task only 
 by his growing public and professional labors. We 
 regret that he did not persevere : in his hands, Alfred 
 would have been duly honored for his intellectual 
 energy and civil wisdom ; France would have found 
 a late atonement for her wrongs in the chastisement 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 239 
 
 inflicted on the martial shade of Henry ; while dire 
 and unchivalrous would have been his lashes on the 
 shoulders of Queen Bess, " a model of falsehood 
 in all its more hateful and despicable forms, who had 
 all the guilt of murder on her head, and was only 
 only saved from its actual perpetration by having a 
 Paulet for her agent instead of a Tyrrel." It is much 
 to be desired that some arm of power would bring 
 about this revolution, vast and sweeping though it 
 would be ; dashing down the statues which now sit 
 on thrones in human estimation and public annals ; 
 and calling from weakness into power, and from dis 
 honor into glory, many who, in their own and suc 
 ceeding times, have seldom been honored with the 
 applause which they well deserve. 
 
 Dr. Robertson s life was marked in every part by 
 a dignified moderation, which does not give a very 
 animated interest to his biography, but implies more 
 character, and requires more energy to sustain, than 
 is generally supposed. It is easy to give way to 
 feeling, to let the passions loose, and to throw one s 
 self headlong into the rushing tide of party. And 
 this is what passes for force of character with man 
 kind, who are apt to mistake the noise and smoke of 
 the engines for the great moving power. But, while 
 sudden effects and transient impressions are pro 
 duced by men of impulse, who spend their strength 
 in irregular and violent exertions, the best services in 
 the cause of humanity, and by far the most enduring 
 results, may be traced in the world s history to men 
 of moderation, of whom Washington was an exam 
 ple. They are not rightly estimated by those about 
 
240 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 them, and succeeding times are slow to acknowledge 
 them as great. Flaring candles on the earth out 
 shine the brightest stars in heaven for a season ; but 
 the former are soon burnt out, while the planets are 
 shining on for ever. We should not assign Dr. 
 Robertson a place among the highest of this class, 
 by any means : but he, like the rest, has been under 
 estimated by those who confound moderation with 
 mediocrity ; who believe, that, in the warfare of life, 
 all depends, not on strength, but shouting ; and ex 
 pect to overthrow the strongholds of vice and oppres 
 sion like Jericho, not by siege and battery, but by 
 sounding their ram s horns under the walls. 
 
 The next portrait in the Chancellor s gallery brings 
 us out of the region of historians into that of philo 
 sophers. The first presented is Black, the great 
 chemical discoverer, whose name has been sur 
 rounded with a sort of obscurity much in contrast 
 with his distinguished claims, and rather strange, 
 considering how deeply science is indebted to him 
 for some of its greatest advances. It is explained 
 by the fact, that he was modest and unpretending, 
 content to be great, and not solicitous that men 
 should acknowledge his worth ; manifesting thereby 
 that confidence which is so much more common in 
 scientific than in literary men, that the world would 
 do him justice at last, however his merits might for 
 a time be misunderstood. When he was young, he 
 printed a Latin thesis, containing the intimation of 
 some of his discoveries. One of the copies was pre 
 sented by his father, then in Bordeaux, to Montes 
 quieu, who said to him, " I rejoice with you, my 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 241 
 
 good friend : your son will be the honor of your 
 name and family ; " a prediction which, whether 
 inspired by French politeness or a true discernment, 
 was afterwards well fulfilled. There is something 
 very interesting in Lord Brougham s description of 
 the man, of his graceful manner in lecturing, the 
 easy confidence with which he made his experiments, 
 the unlabored elegance of his extemporaneous speak 
 ing, and the philosophical views and suggestions 
 with which he chained the attention of his hearers. 
 His lordship says, that " the commanding periods 
 of Pitt s majestic oratory," " the vehemence of Fox s 
 burning declamation," " the close compacted chain 
 of Grant s pure reasoning," " the mingled fancy, 
 epigram, and argumentation of Plunket," have given 
 him less delight than he felt in attending those lec 
 tures, when "the first philosopher of the age" was 
 giving forth his own discoveries, recounting the 
 successive steps by which he had reached them, 
 and pointing out the difficulties triumphantly over 
 come. 
 
 There are generally many who are walking to 
 gether in the paths of science, nearly abreast of each 
 other ; and, as they have each mastered the succes 
 sive steps which lead up to a great discovery, it is 
 not easy always to say to whom the honor of making 
 it rightfully belongs. There are also individuals who 
 are fully capable of estimating what others have 
 done, and not too scrupulously self-denying to ap 
 propriate to themselves a share of it. Nations, too, 
 appear to consider claims of this kind to be main 
 tained like points of public honor, with as little 
 
 21 
 
242 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 regard as may be to honesty and truth. Lord 
 Brougham belabors the memory of Lavoisier, as one 
 of those kind-hearted people, who, when he found 
 that the parent of a discovery seemed to care but 
 little for his offspring, had too tender a heart to see 
 it wander as an orphan, and, as a duty of humanity, 
 adopted it as his own. Happily, Dr. Black was not 
 defrauded in this way as much as many others have 
 been ; the great French chemist being a schoolboy 
 when he made his discovery of fixed air, to which 
 the science owes its great subsequent progress. He 
 was not sensitive on the subject of fame. He found 
 his enjoyment in the literary society of Edinburgh, 
 which was then of a high order ; and, though his 
 readiness to communicate his speculations to others, 
 and his indifference to his own renown, exposed 
 him to this kind of plunder, the traits of character 
 which such conduct implies belong to those virtues 
 which bring with them a satisfaction that more than 
 compensates any loss or sacrifice which they re 
 quire. 
 
 Another great name in this department of science 
 is that of Cavendish, who, though connected with the 
 Duke of Devonshire, and enjoying a splendid estate, 
 had an intellectual taste and energy which carried 
 him above the temptations incident to birth and for 
 tune, into that high sphere where only the truly noble 
 are found. Perfectly indifferent to luxuries and 
 common gratifications, and living in the society of 
 his books and philosophical apparatus, he appeared, 
 like Black, so much more desirous to be than to 
 seem a benefactor to science, that he cared but little 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 243 
 
 for his discoveries when they were once made, and 
 had no ambition to publish his triumphs to the world. 
 He was obliged to make even greater efforts to keep 
 himself in private life than others to push themselves 
 before the public eye. His family, aware of his 
 talents, were anxious that, as the grandson of a 
 duke, he should make himself distinguished in public 
 affairs. Their displeasure had no effect to change 
 his purpose ; and an uncle, disapproving the course 
 which they pursued towards him, and respecting his 
 moral steadiness, left him heir to his own property, 
 amounting to a million and a half sterling. Very 
 few are the heads which would not have been 
 turned by such a Avindfall : he was, like ^Esop s trav 
 eller, tried by the storm and sunshine, save that the 
 sunbeams of prosperity could not induce him to 
 throw off the garment which the tempest of persecu 
 tion had shown itself unable to tear away. This 
 clear discernment of his own gifts and powers, this 
 determination to follow out his vocation, and this su 
 periority to common enjoyments and honors, would 
 be enough to stamp him with the seal of eminence, 
 even if he had never succeeded in unfolding some 
 of the deep mysteries of nature, and thus in com 
 manding the respect and gratitude of men. 
 
 The name of Priestley, which follows, is great in 
 the annals of science, but is better known to the 
 world by his theological opinions; and, though un 
 blessed by many, and defended by comparatively 
 few, it has fought its way to the universal acknow 
 ledgment, that he was a man of blameless life, of 
 generous affections; and that, whatever may have 
 
244 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 been his success in finding the truth, he at least pur 
 sued it in singleness of heart. He was detested as a 
 politician by the conservatives of his day, who saw 
 in the French Revolution, which gave him so much 
 joy, nothing but a curse to the world. He was 
 suspected and feared by theologians, as one who 
 w r as desirous to ruin the souls of others, having 
 already done that service for his own ; and the ut 
 most reach of their charity could extend only to the 
 wish, that he would confine himself to his laboratory, 
 instead of turning the world upside down by his 
 speculations. They could not see, what is now so 
 clear, that " we have no right to doubt his conscien 
 tious motives ; the more especially as his heterodox 
 dogmas, always manfully avowed, never brought 
 him any thing but vexation and injury in his tem 
 poral concerns." But the general feeling is now 
 softened throughout the Christian world. It may 
 be doubted whether Priestley would at this day be 
 rejected by any church, and thrown into deep dis 
 tress, as he was in his youth, by reason of his in 
 ability to feel contrition for Adam s sin. All now 
 required would be penitence for his personal of 
 fences, leaving Adam, like other people, to answer 
 for his own. 
 
 There never was a man of disposition more cheer 
 ful, social, and undaunted ; and endless as his con 
 troversies were, having, like other controversies, 
 very little of the beauty of holiness about them, he 
 might congratulate himself, like Hume, that " he had 
 no enemy, except perhaps the Whigs and the Tories, 
 and all the Christian world." His amiable manners 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 245 
 
 disarmed the hostility of all who came near him ; 
 and, when he was fiercely contesting the eternity of 
 future torments, his adversaries almost wished, for 
 his sake, that the doctrine might not be true. Of 
 his publications, which amounted to one hundred 
 and forty-one in number, only seventeen are on 
 scientific matters. Many relate to general subjects; 
 for such was his activity of mind, that he took a 
 quick and deep interest in every thing which came 
 before him. By far the greater part are theological, 
 which accounts, as Lord Brougham says, for his 
 now having few readers ; not many holding all his 
 ^peculiar tenets, while, as to some doctrines, he him 
 self composed the whole rank and file of his party. 
 
 The most brilliant and familiar name in the history 
 of chemistry is that of Sir Humphrey Davy, whose 
 life was as prosperous as that of Priestley was 
 troubled ; though it may be doubted whether the 
 circumstances of wealth, quiet, and popular admira 
 tion, which he enjoyed, were really beneficial either 
 to his happiness or his fame. Lord Brougham, 
 though rather reserved in drawing his private char 
 acter, intimates that he was not pleased to be re 
 minded of the obscurity from which he sprang. A 
 vain-glorious boast of one s self-elevation is offensive ; 
 but, if a great man is really ashamed of his humble 
 beginnings, the feeling must arise from a peculiar 
 kind of vanity, implying something unsound in his 
 heart. When he first came to London, he was un 
 couth and ungraceful in his bearing; but he soon 
 acquired sufficient courtly self-possession to com 
 mand the applause of his audiences. For a time, 
 
 21* 
 
2-16 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 he seemed intoxicated with this success, as it was 
 unfitly called ; but it is not the breath of ladies fans 
 that can fill one s sails for immortality ; and, though 
 Davy afterwards lived much in society, he devoted 
 himself to that earnest pursuit of science which alone 
 could sustain his reputation, and which led to those 
 discoveries that are now the glory of his name. It 
 is on these discoveries alone that Davy s great repu 
 tation must ultimately depend ; for his published 
 works on scientific subjects, though, proceeding from 
 such a source, they could not be without value, are 
 not by any means equal to his fame. His later 
 writings, " Salmonia " and " The Last Days of a 
 Philosopher," came from his pen after he had suf 
 fered from an apoplectic seizure, which, however 
 slight, is generally felt as the touch of death. He 
 submitted to great labor, not to speak of serious 
 dangers, in making his experiments ; but the labor 
 of writing is of a different kind, much less exciting, 
 and requiring not impulse, but still and patient de 
 termination, as we, in our critical capacity, have 
 sufficient reason to know. He was fond of society, 
 though English in his manners; that is, shy and 
 reserved, covering with a somewhat supercilious 
 bearing the conscious want of self-possession. But 
 he was also fond to enthusiasm of natural scenery, 
 a taste which implies a certain degree of refinement ; 
 though Lord Brougham represents him as indifferent 
 as the Chancellor himself is to the fine arts, and 
 willing to confess that deficiency which others so 
 ambitiously conceal. 
 
 Without saying any thing of the life of Simson 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE , ART. I. 247 
 
 the mathematician, which closes this first volume, 
 we shall only express our satisfaction at seeing these 
 portraits executed by so eminent a hand. Even if 
 they had no other value, they would make us ac 
 quainted with the opinions of the writer, who is as 
 much a subject of interest as any individual whose 
 lineaments he has drawn. He shows a familiarity 
 with the details of science, of the mathematics par 
 ticularly, which could hardly be expected after the 
 busy and tumultuous life which he has led. This 
 cannot be a mere remnant of early education : he 
 must have given to these pursuits the same sort of 
 attention which English statesmen generally devote 
 to classical studies and recollections. And the effect 
 is seen in his oratory, as reported, where strength 
 and energy abound, while grace and elegance are 
 wanting. His style is bold and manly, though 
 sometimes strangely careless and lounging ; but it is 
 always expressive of his mind and heart, and through 
 the most labyrinthian sentence it is always easy to 
 follow the sentiments and reasoning of the writer. 
 These are strong in favor of liberality, truth, and 
 freedom ; too strong to be relished always by the 
 blind adorers of the past. It is not to be denied, 
 that there is here and there some slight want of 
 Christian meekness ; but his buffets are generally 
 bestowed on those who deserve them. He abounds 
 in unfriends, as the Scotch call them ; having carried 
 on for years a large and successful manufacture of 
 that article, which few desire to possess. But, on 
 the whole, we say, Serus in cesium redeat, if that 
 be his destination, which the persons last mentioned 
 
248 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 
 
 will be inclined to question ; and, whenever he de 
 parts, let it be remembered, that he lifted his heavy 
 war-club on the side of liberty and toleration, and 
 struck many a crushing blow at the enemies of truth 
 and virtue, while soundly belaboring his own. 
 
249 
 
 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ART. II. 
 
 Lives of Men of Letters and Science, who flourished in the Time 
 of George the Third. By HENRY, LOUD BROUGHAM, F.R.S. 
 Second Series. Philadelphia: Carey and Hart, 1846; 12mo, 
 pp. 302. 
 
 WE give a hearty welcome to this new volume from 
 such a distinguished hand. It contains another 
 series of animated portraits, struck off with free and 
 bold execution. The writer, powerful as he is, has 
 not, in every respect, the best qualifications for such 
 a work ; but the reader is sure of finding independ 
 ent views and valuable information ; and, if there 
 should be a measure of prejudice and occasional 
 passion, this will only prove that his lordship is not 
 exempt from the misleading influences with which 
 less gifted minds are afflicted. In the case of men 
 of science, having a natural taste for their investiga 
 tions, he has entered with all his heart into those 
 studies and discoveries to which they are indebted 
 for their fame. With moralists and literary men, he 
 is of course less successful and happy. But a mind 
 like his, which has been for years in a state of 
 intense activity, cannot be turned to any subject 
 
2-50 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 without throwing light upon it, though it may, per- 
 ad venture, be accompanied with occasional bursts 
 of flame. At any rate, it is a good example for re 
 tired statesmen thus to engage in intellectual labors. 
 Would it might be followed by persons of the same 
 description in this country, who, after escaping from 
 the scuffle of politics in the condition of Canning s 
 " needy knife-grinder," with garments rent in twain, 
 before the sartor can repair the damage they have 
 sustained, are impatient as the war-horse to be in the 
 same glorious strife again ! 
 
 It is rather a curious procession which the ex- 
 chancellor now calls up from the deep. At its head 
 rolls on the stern and melancholy Johnson, appa 
 rently not aware that he is file-leader to the eloquent 
 Adam Smith, who was so distasteful to him when 
 living, that it would not be strange if he had a sharp 
 word to say to him even in the land of souls. They 
 are separated by the Frenchman Lavoisier, as a 
 barricade, from the spherical form of the sarcastic 
 and not very amiable Gibbon. Next comes Sir 
 Joseph Banks, who, with great forbearance, does 
 not swear, ~ out of fear, perhaps, of him who leads 
 the van ; and last, but not least, appears D Alem- 
 bert, one of those sketches which his lordship, who 
 is a half-domesticated Frenchman, delights to draw, 
 but which do not appear to be received by readers 
 in France with unmingled satisfaction, perhaps for 
 the reason that they are too severely true. Critics 
 of that nation have complained of want of novelty in 
 his life of Voltaire ; but they do not say whether they 
 expected him to discover new facts in the history of 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 251 
 
 one who spent all his life in the daylight, or whether 
 they wished him to exert his inventive genius in giv 
 ing a charm to biographical writing. Others have 
 quarrelled with his portrait of Rousseau, as it would 
 seem, because he does not represent that mean- 
 spirited creature as a great philanthropist and bene 
 factor of mankind. But if any one rejoices in filth, 
 and is disposed to make declamation pass for philan 
 thropy, he will find that the eyes of the world are 
 wide open ; and splendid shillings, if counterfeit, will 
 be left on the hands that receive them. Meantime, 
 Lord Brougham has been attacked by English crit 
 ics, one or two of whom he has paid back with a 
 compliment which will not make them impatient for 
 another. In their desire to show off his ignorance 
 and errors, they have made an unseemly exposure 
 of their own. But on the whole, as his language is 
 somewhat lofty, and as no man living has collected 
 a richer variety of enemies than he, it is not strange 
 if some should take this indirect way to resent those 
 wrongs which otherwise they would have no means 
 of avenging. 
 
 The greatest fault in this writer s portrait-painting 
 proceeds from an occasional waywardness and haste, 
 which lead him into views and representations which 
 his slower judgment would have disapproved. We 
 need not go far for an illustration of the truth of this 
 remark : there is the case of Dr. Johnson, to whom 
 he seems disposed to render justice, though with the 
 same uncertainty with which an eel may be supposed 
 to look upon the movements of a whale. There is 
 a passage of his history in which he ascribes to him 
 
252 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 motives and feelings which, when examined, seem 
 absurdly untrue. Thus, when the widow of his 
 friend Thrale married Piozzi, the doctor, like every 
 body else at the time, considered it an injudicious 
 and discreditable connection ; though, with the single 
 exception of the word " ignominious," which he 
 applies to it, there is nothing indicating excitement 
 of feeling ; and it should be remembered, that this 
 word, which sounds so formidable, was but one of 
 the ponderous missiles which he was accustomed to 
 employ. Lord Brougham professes himself unable 
 to see why it was not a very tolerable match, and 
 thinks that Johnson s opposition to it must have 
 arisen from an attachment to her on his own part. 
 Now, if this was so, all the world must have been 
 smitten with her charms, for there was a perfect 
 unanimity of opinion as to the course which she 
 pursued ; and, as Lord Brougham evidently knows 
 nothing more than others about Piozzi s character 
 and standing, his conjectures will not outweigh the 
 judgment which they had better opportunities of 
 forming. As to the doctor s affection, we speak 
 with diffidence, having had very little experience in 
 these affairs of the heart : but it does not seem to 
 us, that at the age of seventy-five he would be trans 
 ported with the tender passion ; nor that, with one 
 foot in the grave, he would have engaged in a love- 
 chase with any brilliant promise of success. His 
 lordship makes himself merry with the aristocratic 
 feeling of these humble persons, who considered her 
 marriage with Piozzi as a degradation ; and, sure 
 enough, it is ridiculous for one earthly potsherd to 
 
. MEN OP T/ETTERS ANT) SCIENCE, ART. II. 253 
 
 look clown upon another, which happens to be an 
 inch or two lower in the dust. But such is the way 
 of the world ; it is universal, although it be not a 
 true nor wise one ; and well as he discourses on the 
 subject, theoretically considered, we strongly appre 
 hend, that, if the case should be his own, and a 
 daughter of his house should marry a foreign adven 
 turer, he would set up an outcry of wrath and vexa 
 tion that might be heard across the deep. 
 
 We do not think, that this writer, in his estimate of 
 Johnson, makes sufficient allowance for the effect 
 of the disease which hung like a millstone round his 
 neck through all his mortal existence, a disease 
 which brings with it every form of gloom and irrita 
 bility, and which, in his case, was aggravated by the 
 loneliness in which he lived; for it is remarkable, 
 that, with his Avonderful power of conversation, his 
 society should have been so little sought ; though, 
 indeed, if the circle in which he moved had been 
 ever so extensive and inspiring, it could not have 
 afforded him the relief and comfort of a home. And 
 yet his lordship has had, as he says, unusual advan 
 tages for observing this fearful complaint, of seeing 
 the paralyzing influence which it exerts upon the 
 mind and the will, and the deadly aversion which it 
 gives to those active efforts in which the only remedy 
 can be found. This disorder was deeply engrained 
 in Johnson s constitution ; it brought with it a sense 
 of ever-present misery, and oppressed him with dark 
 forebodings ; he evidently feared the time when the 
 intellect would sink under it, leaving him a miserable 
 ruin. Had physical education been understood in 
 
 22 
 
254 MEN OF LETTERS ANB SCIENCE, ART. 11. , 
 
 his day, he might possibly have been relieved by 
 attention to diet and exercise, which no one then 
 seemed to suspect had any connection with health ? 
 or the want of it. One brave effort of that kind he 
 made, in giving up the stimulating drinks of all kinds 
 to which he had resorted for relief, an abstinence 
 in which he persevered to the last ; but generally, in 
 this instance, as in that of Collins and Cowper, the 
 malady seems to have been treated as a visitation of 
 God, with which there was no such thing as con 
 tending. When one thipks of his long struggle with 
 poverty ; of his dining behind a screen at Cave s? 
 because too meanly dressed to appear at that great 
 man s table ; of his supporting life for a long time 
 on less than sixpence a day ; of his occasional en 
 joyment of conversation with men like Burke, which, 
 when it was over, left him in solitude and sorrow ; 
 of the plaintive manner in which he would entreat 
 others to sit up with him, that he might escape as 
 long as possible the terrors of the night, it gives 
 us a view of his condition, which, one would think, 
 would excuse many of those petulant expressions 
 that appear numerous because Boswell has faithfully 
 recorded them, and has not always stated that it was 
 his own folly which brought down the shower-bath 
 of compliments upon his head. We learn from Miss 
 Reynolds, who was the Griffith among his chroni 
 clers, that he gave the impression of a man of un 
 hewn manners, but of a kind and affectionate heart. 
 And, while we do not undervalue that grace of life 
 in which he was so sadly wanting, it is but right to 
 remember his active and self-denying charity ; it is 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 255 
 
 but right to ask of those who censure him, if they 
 would be ready to receive and support two helpless 
 and unattractive women, together with a poor phy 
 sician, whose practice, unprofitable to himself, was 
 probably far more so to his victims ; forming a com 
 munity in which a favor done to one gave a pang to 
 the rest, and where he himself found so little com 
 fort, that he dreaded to enter his own door, but 
 would not dislodge them, because they could have 
 no home but for him. Truly, if it was required of 
 those who censure Johnson to exercise equal gene 
 rosity, the voices of condemnation would be few and 
 small. 
 
 While Lord Brougham, as it seems to us, hardly 
 does justice to the great moralist, presenting a view 
 of him which is deficient in harmony and wholeness, 
 and made up of parts not always consistent with 
 each other, the shade of Boswell would be beside 
 itself with exultation to find his own opinion of his 
 own merits confirmed by so competent a judge ; for 
 assuredly the Auchinleck patrician never dreamed 
 that his connection with Johnson would suggest to 
 any human mind the recollection of the intercourse 
 of Plato and Xenophon with Socrates. His lordship 
 praises not only his tact, cleverness, and skill, but 
 his admirable good-humor, his strict love of truth, 
 his high and generous principle, his kindness to his 
 friends, and his well-meant but sometimes grotesque 
 devotion ; and says that his book, once taken up, is 
 the most difficult of all others to lay down. Cer 
 tainly, no man of really intellectual taste ever joins 
 m the contempt which is poured on Boswell s name ; 
 
256 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 nor, on the other hand, will many be ready to sub 
 scribe to such extensive praise as this. The truth 
 is, that his contemporaries were as much at a loss to 
 know what place to assign him as men of the pre 
 sent day. Lord Stowell, when pressed on the 
 subject, could only say that he was universally wel 
 come as a "jolly fellow." It was his pleasure to 
 parade those weaknesses which most men keep to 
 themselves ; and, as he kept his banner of folly per 
 petually flying, they did no justice to the merits 
 which he possessed in no small degree. What but 
 a strong admiration of intellectual power could have 
 induced him to lead the life which he did ? And it 
 shows how oddly our notions of high and low are 
 perverted, that so many wonder at his submitting to 
 the caprice of Johnson, while it is considered per 
 fectly natural that such a person as Miss Burney 
 should feel herself honored by the trust of preparing 
 snuff for the queen. 
 
 We have no disposition to find fault with Lord 
 Brougham s estimate of Johnson s literary merits; 
 and what he says of the style of the great moralist 
 is altogether discriminating and true. To Johnson s 
 poetry he assigns a rank perhaps too high, if it be 
 regarded as poetry ; but when we regard it as elo 
 quent and powerful declamation, like that of Ju 
 venal, against the vices and follies of the times, it 
 certainly exhibits a striking union of deep feeling 
 with majesty and might. He loved the regular 
 cadences of verse, which he is said to have read in a 
 very impressive way ; and we see, in fact, in his 
 prose, that measured step and those balanced periods 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 257 
 
 which would seem wearily formal and mechanical in 
 any other, but which affect us differently in his case, 
 because they are the natural expression of his mind. 
 Some of his writings Lord Brougham characterizes 
 as dull and flimsy, in which he has reference princi 
 pally to the " Rambler " and " Idler," and seems to 
 us to express a hasty and ill-considered opinion. Dull 
 the " Rambler " may be, but flimsy it is not : it is 
 dull to us because it was an ephemeral publication, 
 which found readers, and satisfied them in the day 
 for which it was intended ; and, if it has lost its 
 attraction, it is in the same predicament with the 
 " Spectator," which no one now thinks of sitting 
 down to devour. That it was not wholly specu 
 lative and unpractical, appears from the circumstance 
 pointed out by Lord Brougham himself, that John 
 son, in some of these light periodicals, has an able 
 argument against imprisonment for debt, and capital 
 punishment ; thus anticipating, by three quarters of a 
 century, questions of great interest, which his own 
 age cared little for, but which have become subjects 
 of vast importance at the present day. 
 
 We fully accede to the justice of the opinion which 
 pronounces the "Lives of the Poets" the best of 
 Johnson s works. Some of these biographies are 
 spoken of with contempt, for their prejudice and 
 narrowness, by those who have never read them. 
 Lord Brougham thinks the life of Milton, for exam 
 ple, does not deserve the censure usually cast upon 
 it ; and any one can see, that, while Johnson had no 
 sympathy with Milton s politics, and was unable to 
 appreciate the peculiar beauties of " Lycidas," he 
 
 22* 
 
258 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 assigns to the "Paradise Lost" a place among the 
 highest efforts of the human mind. The life of Sav 
 age is here spoken of as overpraised, and that of 
 Swift as most objectionable ; while it is admitted, 
 that Johnson may have been so severe on the Dean 
 of St. Patrick s because he was so untrue to the sa 
 cred profession, which, with his tastes and principles, 
 he ought never to have assumed. As to Johnson s 
 prejudices, whatever they were, they never worked 
 in darkness : he always fearlessly avowed them ; 
 while his clear-headed sagacity, his sharp critical 
 discernment, his manly indignation at every thing 
 unworthy, his occasionally profound discussions, and 
 pointed and glittering remarks, giving life to the 
 narrative, which generally flows full with thought, 
 and, among other attractions, his occasional solem 
 nity and tenderness of feeling, these various merits 
 are united in a work which will never lose its charm 
 for intellectual readers so long as our language 
 endures. 
 
 But Dr. Johnson s works of various kinds, excel 
 lent and instructive as they are, will be more or less 
 esteemed as the literary fashion changes; always 
 sure, however, of readers of the higher order, how 
 ever neglected by the light and trifling generation 
 who disdain all things but new. If they were lost 
 and forgotten, his fame would rest securely on his 
 conversation as Boswell has recorded it, which is un 
 rivalled for its point, brilliancy, and strength : it is 
 here that his clear and powerful mind makes the 
 richest display of its activity, and the vast variety of 
 its resources. It goes straight as a cannon-ball to 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 259 
 
 the heart of every subject ; with intuitive discernment 
 he sees the matter at once in all its bearings ; no 
 mysticism nor illusion can stand for a moment before 
 him ; but, so far from giving a cold dissection of the 
 question presented, his views are made interesting by 
 the finest possible illustrations, and that quick sar 
 casm and playful humor, always at perfect command, 
 in which he was never exceeded. We do not well 
 understand on what authority Lord Brougham un 
 dertakes to place Swift before him. The dean s 
 range was limited, he says ; but within it he must have 
 been very great. It is true that he had that strong 
 common sense and wit which are among the chief 
 elements of success ; but we do not know that he 
 had the overflowing abundance and easy command 
 of his resources which conversation requires. Addi- 
 son, too, he says, has left a great reputation of this 
 kind ; and Bolingbroke s superiority to all others 
 cannot be doubted. But it seems to us, that he 
 might as well exalt the social powers of Adam and 
 Eve, who may have been great in conversation for 
 aught we know, though the existing records of it are 
 quite too few to sustain a confident opinion. 
 
 When Lord Brougham speaks of Johnson s con 
 versation as no conversation in any proper sense 
 of the word, as destitute of all free interchange of 
 thought, and allowing no free discussion of senti 
 ments and opinions, he is evidently misled by Bos- 
 well s record ; for that worthy did not care to set 
 down any thing but what Johnson said : the remarks 
 of others were introduced only when they served as 
 suggestions for his own. It would have been in- 
 
260 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART, II, 
 
 human to require of him to treasure up all the lifeless? 
 and indifferent things which were said, merely for 
 the sake of keeping the enlireness of the conversa 
 tion. And yet the prominence which is thus given 
 to the remarks of Johnson makes them appear or 
 acular and dictatorial, as if to hear what he would 
 say was the only object and concern of the whole 
 party. Now Bos well had this feeling, that it was 
 the province of all others to listen, and Johnson s 
 alone to speak ; but others, doubtless, viewed the 
 matter in a different light ; and these were like all 
 other conversations, in which each one took his share, 
 while Johnson bore the most distinguished part, 
 as, indeed, he would, were he living in any circle of 
 the present day. Let the attempt be made to record 
 the sayings of any other master of conversation, 
 Sir James Mackintosh, for example, and one 
 easily sees that in these social efforts Johnson has no 
 brother near his throne. 
 
 Though Lord Brougham, in his particular criti 
 cisms on Dr. Johnson s mind and character, is not 
 always entirely just, his summary of the whole is 
 given in terms to which no objection can be made. 
 He says that those who saw him but once or twice 
 formed an erroneous estimate of his temper, which 
 was rather kindly and sociable, and not at all sullen 
 or morose ; he allows that Johnson, to the last, had 
 nothing of that severity and querulousness which the 
 old are so apt to feel. He admits that he was 
 friendly, actively so, in the highest degree ; that he 
 was even imprudently charitable ; that he was strictly 
 and always just ; that his love of truth was wonder- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 261 
 
 ful, in matters both small and great ; and that his 
 habitual piety, his sense of his own unworthiness, 
 and his generally blameless life, entitled him to a 
 place among the good and great ; while he showed 
 his right appreciation of this world s honors, by at 
 taching more importance to his worth than to his 
 fame. Certainly this is high praise, and such as few 
 can ever deserve. But we do not see in this writer 
 the hearty sympathy with which Carlyle, for exam 
 ple, enters into the struggles and sorrows of " brave 
 old Samuel," admires the heroism and manly inde 
 pendence of his bearing, and does not upbraid him 
 with the coarseness of his manners, out of respect 
 for the firm energy with which, through his dreary 
 voyage of life, he forced his strained and shattered 
 vessel, " built in the eclipse," through the dark and 
 resisting sea. 
 
 Next in order is Adam Smith, who is represented 
 in Croker s Boswell, the main characteristic of which 
 is a brave neglect of dates and all kinds of precision, 
 as having come in conflict with Johnson, when the 
 latter was on his northern tour. It is said, that 
 the subject of difference was Smith s account of 
 Hume s last sickness ; that Johnson, with his usual 
 benignity, told Smith that he lied, and that he of the 
 " Moral Sentiments," in return, applied to the mo 
 ralist a term which properly belongs to younger 
 branches of the canine race, and is not often, we 
 believe, used in the best society with respect to 
 them, though of this we speak doubtfully, having 
 no means in our solitary attic of knowing what re 
 finements may have been introduced by the elegant 
 
262 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 literature of the day. It is a pity to disturb the story 
 of this classical communion ; but, as Johnson was in 
 Scotland in 1773, and Hume died in 1776, it was 
 certainly premature in the doctor to take offence 
 three years before offence was given. In fact, this 
 slight anachronism brings the authenticity of the 
 whole account into serious question ; not, however, 
 to the disparagement of Sir Walter Scott, whom 
 Lord Brougham is inclined to blame for it. He, 
 indeed, reported it to Croker ; but he said distinctly 
 that he had it from Professor John Millar, to whom, 
 therefore, the responsibility belongs. It was, no 
 doubt, an imaginative picture of what the meeting of 
 these two great men, if they came together, was 
 likely to have been ; dealing with the future as Mr. 
 Landor brings up the voices of the past. 
 
 Not much is known of the early days of Adam 
 Smith, save that he was stolen by gypsies in his 
 childhood, but soon happily rescued ; and that his 
 delicate health in youth drove him to the usual re 
 source of books and study. Having obtained an 
 exhibition for Baliol College, he spent seven years 
 at Oxford, but afterwards retained very little rever 
 ence and affection for that time-honored institution. 
 Of the enlargement of mind which then distinguished 
 it, some judgment may be formed from the fact, that 
 he was sharply reprimanded for reading Hume s 
 " Treatise of Human Nature ; " and the ray of light 
 which was struggling in at the keyhole was extin 
 guished by taking such works away. At the age of 
 twenty-nine, he filled the chair of Moral Philosophy 
 in the University of Glasgow ; a place for which he 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 263 
 
 was admirably suited by his power of communication 
 as well as by the habits of his mind, as he spoke with 
 great fluency when once engaged in his subject, and 
 was listened to with the enthusiasm which his ability, 
 accompanied by a popular manner, might be ex 
 pected to inspire. It is much to be regretted, that 
 his lectures were destroyed by his own hand before 
 he died. The course of Natural Theology was one 
 which would have great interest for readers of the 
 present day ; and such was the variety of suggestion 
 always flowing from his active and fertile mind, that 
 every part must have contained much to interest and 
 instruct mankind. 
 
 It was in 1759, that Adam Smith published his 
 " Theory of Moral Sentiments," a work so eloquent 
 and interesting that it could not fail to meet with 
 immediate and general success. This was the case 
 in Great Britain, though, as Grimm tells us, it 
 entirely failed in Paris, a region where moral senti 
 ments are generally in but little demand. It is true 
 that the leading principle of the work, resolving all 
 moral approbation into sympathy, is quite too narrow 
 to be true, as would be felt at once by any thought 
 ful reader ; but, considered as a treatise on sympathy, 
 or a view of some aspects of human nature, seen 
 with searching discrimination, and presented in a 
 rich and fascinating style, it would not be easy to 
 say too much in its praise. One effect of the fame 
 of this work was to recommend him to Charles 
 Townshend, who had married the Duchess of Buc- 
 cleuch, and who employed him to accompany the 
 young duke, her son, upon his travels. This gave 
 
264 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 him an opportunity of forming an acquaintance with 
 the eminent men upon the continent, and ultimately 
 led to his appointment as a revenue officer ; one of 
 those splendid rewards of intellectual greatness which 
 are held forth as a bounty to such efforts in England, 
 and of late in this country. There, the iron-headed 
 wolves who rob and murder in the service of the 
 state are heaped with estates, titles, and orders, while 
 such men as Burns are made excisemen at the rate 
 of seventy pounds a year. Here, men of fine talent 
 and manly understanding may peradventure have a 
 place in the custom-house, while all rich pastures are 
 carefully reserved for the worthless cattle who move 
 in the droves of party. 
 
 There was another less questionable advantage 
 which Dr. Smith secured by means of his residence 
 abroad : this was the acquaintance of distinguished 
 men, particularly in France, where he found those 
 whose tastes and investigations were similar to his 
 own. Among these was Quesnay, of whom we hear 
 in Marmontel s " Memoirs," who had acquired a 
 great reputation by his writings on political economy ; 
 a science which had attracted attention in its various 
 parts from the middle of the last century, and which 
 he was endeavoring to reduce to a systematic and 
 practical form. Though the public at large were 
 unable to comprehend the point and value of Ques- 
 nay s suggestions, he was admired by such men as 
 Condorcet, Turgot, and the elder Mirabeau, " the 
 crabbed old friend of man." Dr. Smith had such 
 an opinion of his ability and excellence, that he 
 would have dedicated the " Wealth of Nations " to 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 him, if Quesnay had lived to receive the attention. 
 He was not sufficiently master of the French lan 
 guage to speak it fluently ; but he was able to com 
 municate with such men as this, though not to 
 chatter with the apes and peacocks of fashionable 
 circles ; a privation, however, which he bore with 
 great fortitude. 
 
 About a dozen years after this European tour, 
 appeared the celebrated " Inquiry into the Nature 
 and Causes of the Wealth of Nations," a work which 
 is the surest foundation of his fame ; for, although it 
 was anticipated in its doctrines by the French and 
 Italian philosophers, it was so marked, as Hume 
 said, by depth, solidity, acuteness, and power of illus 
 tration, that it placed him at the head of all who had 
 attended to this great subject, not even excepting the 
 historian himself, whose own essays upon these ques 
 tions possessed all the merits which he delighted to 
 ascribe to those of his friend. It is not to be under 
 stood that Dr. Smith s views were borrowed : his 
 way was to elaborate those truths for himself in the 
 solitude and silence of his own mind. If he was 
 indebted to any one, it was probably to Hume, 
 whose essays may have been the means of turning 
 his attention to these inquiries. In the year when 
 those remarkable essays were published, he began to 
 lecture on political economy in Glasgow ; and, from 
 the character of his intellectual life, we may readily 
 infer that his views were original in himself, though 
 others may at the same time have reached conclu 
 sions resembling his own. 
 
 It was shortly after the publication of this great 
 23 
 
266 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 work that he received the appointment of commis 
 sioner of the customs ; a compliment about as ade 
 quate to his merits and claims as if Le Verrier, in 
 acknowledgment of his late scientific exploit, should 
 be appointed to superintend a church-clock in his 
 native city. It gave him a subsistence, indeed ; but 
 the duties of the office were incessant and vexatious, 
 peculiarly unsuited to one who was remarkable for 
 his absence of mind, an infirmity carried so far that he 
 would often talk in company, perfectly unconscious 
 of their presence ; and, in some instances, he would 
 enlighten those about him as to his opinion of their 
 merits, disclosing much more than they delighted to 
 know. He moved through the streets with his hands 
 behind him and his head in the air, wholly uncon 
 scious of any obstructions that might be in his way. 
 On one occasion he overturned the stall of a fiery old 
 woman, who, finding him perfectly unmoved by her 
 tempest of salutations, caught him by his garment, 
 saying, " Speak to me, or I shall die." It is rather 
 singular, that, with these habits, he could accomplish 
 any thing in the way of official duty ; and the beauty 
 and fitness of such rewards of intellectual greatness 
 were manifested in the necessity which it brought 
 with it, of suspending those labors of the mind, which, 
 though they would not answer for the custom-house, 
 might have enlightened and blessed the world. Rich 
 and active as his mind was, the preparation of his 
 great works required great expense of labor and time. 
 His habit of composition, too, was laborious and 
 slow ; it never became easier by practice, but, as he 
 told Mr. Stewart not long before his death, he always 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 267 
 
 wrote with the same difficulty as at first ; or, perhaps 
 we should say, he spoke ; for, instead of writing with 
 his own hand, he employed an amanuensis, to whom 
 he dictated as he walked about the room. He was 
 unfortunately fastidious in his judgment of his own 
 works ; he had eighteen folio volumes of his own 
 writing, which he ordered to be destroyed before his 
 death. His friends promised that it should be done ; 
 but he was not satisfied till the sacrifice was actually 
 made, and the labor of so many years was reduced 
 to dust and ashes. He said that he meant to have 
 done more, and there were materials in his manu 
 scripts out of which he could have made much ; 
 but he had not time for it, and all was lost to the 
 world. Will such governments as that of England 
 ever become sufficiently enlightened to withdraw 
 some portion of the immense amount now spent in 
 prizes for bloodshed, and appropriate it to the sup 
 port of those who, in a day of higher civilization, 
 will be at once the glory and the shame of their 
 country ? a country which knows its true interest 
 and honor no better than to lavish dukedoms and 
 princely fortunes on Marlborough and Wellington, 
 while these men, in every respect of mind and char 
 acter immeasurably above mere soldiers, are thought 
 highly blessed to receive from it enough to keep body 
 and soul together in the dreary winter of their days. 
 Nothing can be more attractive than the account 
 which Lord Brougham gives of Smith s disposition. 
 His benevolence was often carried beyond his means, 
 and always delicate in its regard to the feelings of 
 others. His principles of integrity were firm and high. 
 
268 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 The thoughtfulness of study, the demands of ill 
 health, had no tendency to make him selfish ; and the 
 approaches of age did not chill the warmth of his 
 affections. His mother lived with him till her death, 
 in 1784 ; and, after her death, his cousin, Miss Dou 
 glas, took charge of his family for the four succeeding 
 years. Her decease, in 1788, deprived him of most 
 of the comforts of his hospitable home ; but he lin 
 gered on with broken health and spirits, though with 
 an equal mind, till 1790, when a painful disorder 
 brought him down to the grave. A few days before 
 he died, several distinguished friends, who were ac 
 customed to sup with him on Sunday, were with him ; 
 when, finding himself unable to go with them to the 
 table, he said, " I believe we must adjourn this meet 
 ing to some other place ; " after which they never 
 met again. His complaints were of the kind which 
 are brought on by over-exertion of the brain and the 
 inactivity of a literary life. At one time he believed 
 he had found a panacea for his diseases in tar-water, 
 which was recommended by so great an authority 
 as Berkeley, and was hailed with as much enthu 
 siasm as sundry other nostrums, each of which 
 works miracles for the time, though unfortunately 
 its wonders and glories are too good to last. The 
 history of all such inventions and discoveries is 
 written in two passages of his letters. In one he 
 says : " Tar- water is a remedy in vogue here for 
 almost all diseases : it has perfectly cured me of an 
 inveterate scurvy and shaking in the head." But, 
 not long after this happy restoration, he says that 
 he has had those complaints as long as he remem- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 269 
 
 bers any thing, and " the tar- water has not removed 
 them." 
 
 The letter of Adam Smith in which he describes 
 the closing life of Hume has been the subject of 
 much remark, not very complimentary in its tone ; 
 for, in former days, many, who manifested no other 
 interest in Christianity, were furious against unbe 
 lievers ; and nothing could be more unscrupulous 
 than the manner in which they abused those sinners, 
 by way of giving them a taste of the religion of love. 
 Few men have ever received so much of this friendly 
 attention as Hume. His crime seemed to be, that he 
 was not so wicked as, in their opinion, an infidel 
 ought to be. Of this offence he was certainly guilty ; 
 and so odious did it make him, that it required some 
 courage in the good-natured Boswell, even under 
 Johnson s broadside, to tell him that " he was better 
 than his books ; " a eulogy which, proceeding from 
 such a quarter, might, one would think, have turned 
 his brain for ever. Now, though religionists at the 
 time had no patience with his serenity and cheerful 
 ness, still, if he possessed that equanimity in his clos 
 ing hour, there is no good reason why his friend 
 should not mention it even in words of praise. It is 
 true he had no right understanding of the religious 
 relations in which he stood ; but this should be dealt 
 with as a misfortune, rather than as one of the seven 
 deadly sins. Those who press their censures be 
 yond the bounds of justice always throw the general 
 sympathy on the opposite side. What Dr. Smith s 
 religious opinions were, it is not easy to say : there 
 are none of his writings in which he has disclosed 
 
 23* 
 
270 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 them. Lord Brougham thinks that there are allu 
 sions enough to a Divine Providence, and the hopes 
 of a future state, to remove all doubts on the subject ; 
 but, if he was alienated from Christianity, and we 
 have some fears that he was, it was probably owing 
 in part to the abuse which Christians, so called, had 
 heaped without measure upon his friend. 
 
 Lord Brougham passes to the Englishman Gibbon, 
 if English he may be called who prided himself on 
 writing French like a native, and whose joy it was 
 to spend so many of his days at a distance from his 
 own land. Gibbon was one of those who have light 
 ened the labor of biographers by giving some sketch 
 of his own life and mind. There is some danger of 
 partiality in these accounts, and they cannot always 
 be implicitly trusted ; not from any disposition to 
 mislead on the part of the writers, but from that over- 
 exaltation with which poor human nature contem 
 plates its own perfections, and the Christian tender 
 ness which it extends to its own sins. Still, it is 
 interesting to see how such men stood with them 
 selves ; and their self-estimation, whether high or low, 
 is always one of the chief elements from which an 
 estimate of character is made up. In the case of 
 Gibbon, there was no struggle with difficult circum 
 stances, no various adventure, nothing of that inci 
 dent which gives life to the story. Though not rich, 
 he was well provided for ; he had the full command 
 of his time and motions ; he had the most desirable 
 social resources at all times within his reach. But, 
 with that spirit which seems inseparable from the 
 human heart, we find him lamenting that he had not 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 271 
 
 embraced the lucrative profession of law or trade, or 
 even " the fat slumbers of the church ; " though it is 
 not probable that he would have succeeded in either 
 of the former ; and as to " fat slumbers," we imagine 
 it would have been difficult to find the happy indi 
 vidual who enjoyed more of them in life than he. 
 The health of the great historian was very delicate 
 in his childhood ; and he therefore did not enjoy the 
 advantage of much discipline or instruction. For 
 tunately for him, he was under the care of an aunt, 
 a woman of good taste and judgment, who directed 
 his inclination for reading, which was very strong, 
 and which turned itself most passionately to history, 
 the natural resource of the young reader in that day, 
 when a swarm of novels as worthless as the writers 
 of them had not yet come up into every corner of 
 people s houses, forming one of the chief pests of the 
 age. He read such works, however, more thoroughly 
 than is common with the young. For example, when 
 engaged with Hovvell s " History of the World," he 
 studied the geography of the Byzantine period, which 
 was contained in the volume that fell into his hands, 
 examining also the chronological systems which had 
 reference to the subject ; thus unconsciously prepar 
 ing for the work which he was afterwards to do. He 
 
 O 
 
 was hardly fifteen when he entered the University of 
 Oxford, a place which has a great and venerable 
 name, but which, according to Gibbon and Adam 
 Smith, offered greater advantages to wine-bibbers 
 and sinners than to those who wanted education, 
 without maturity of mind or force of character to work 
 it out for themselves. The result with him was, that 
 
272 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 he had read three or four plays of Terence after 
 fourteen months instruction ; his habits were irregular 
 and expensive ; no care was given to his religious 
 and moral instruction. Under the influence of a 
 friend who had become a Catholic, he was converted 
 to that form of Christianity, much to the annoyance 
 of his father, whose notions on the subject were 
 not the most enlarged, and who could devise no bet 
 ter way to reclaim him than to put him under the 
 influence of Mallet the poet, whose chief accomplish 
 ment for the trust appears to have been, that he had 
 no regard for Christianity whatever ; as if a person 
 could be reclaimed from what was thought excess on 
 one side, by the winning exhibition of far coarser 
 excess on the other. 
 
 Finding that this beautiful experiment did not suc 
 ceed, his father sent him to Lausanne, where he was 
 put under the care of a pious and sensible Protestant 
 divine, who soon gained an influence with him, and 
 brought him back from the Roman fold, which was 
 not then beset with converts, as it is in the present 
 day. The probability is, that there was no depth in 
 his feeling on either side ; and it may have been 
 because he found himself so cheered and welcomed 
 on these several occasions, and was so complimented 
 for his religious principles and feelings when he was 
 not conscious of having any, that he afterwards held 
 Christianity in so very light esteem. Meantime, he 
 was faithfully and diligently employed in study, pay 
 ing attention not only to French literature, with which 
 he was familiar, but securing those treasures of classi 
 cal learning which he afterwards used to so great ad- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 273 
 
 vantage. The monotony of his retired life was varied 
 by an affair of the heart with the daughter of a pastor, 
 the same lady afterwards known as the wife of 
 Neckar and mother of Madame de Stael. He re 
 sorted to the desperate measure of throwing himself 
 on his knees before her ; a most unguarded act, since 
 he could not rise himself by reason of his weight, and 
 she was not able, if disposed, to lift him ; so that it 
 was not till the servants came in that he was released 
 from his unhappy posture, and enabled to depart in 
 peace. 
 
 When he returned from abroad, he was kindly 
 received by his father, who had married a second 
 wife, a person who became to Gibbon a kind and 
 faithful friend. A military taste infested the country 
 at that time ; and people the most unfit for such 
 extravagances hurried away from their harmless 
 employments to share the excitement of war, at a 
 comfortable distance from its dangers. Gibbon, 
 among others, was glorified with the rank of captain 
 in the regiment of which his father was major ; but 
 he found no enjoyment in what he called his military 
 life ; he complained of the loss of time which it oc 
 casioned, and the rude companionship to which it 
 exposed him : it was altogether unsuited to his taste, 
 which did not fit him even for literary warfare, save 
 when there was no enemy arrayed against him, 
 as when he published his work on the study of 
 literature, in which he vindicates, as he says, his 
 favorite ; though who had attacked it, or thrown any 
 reproach upon it, since the " Battle of the Books," it 
 was not easy to tell. His essay, being written in 
 
274 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 French, was not read at all in England: abroad, it 
 excited some attention from the singularity of French 
 correctly written by a foreigner. He apologized for 
 what seemed like an affectation, by saying that he 
 had hopes of some diplomatic appointment, which it 
 might help to secure him ; but it was probably more 
 from display than any other reason, that he under 
 took to " babble the dialect of France." There are 
 very few who are acquainted with a foreign language 
 who can resist the temptation to flourish it in the 
 eyes and ears of men. 
 
 The natural bent of Gibbon s mind inclined him 
 strongly to historical investigations ; and, while en 
 gaged in the bloodless campaigns of the militia, he 
 had been revolving various subjects in his mind, such 
 as the expedition of Charles the Eighth into Italy, ihe 
 wars of the English barons, and the short and bril 
 liant lives of the Black Prince, of Sir Philip Sidney, 
 and Montrose. He had almost determined to en 
 gage in a biography of Raleigh, and read with deep 
 interest all the records of his romantic and adventur 
 ous life. But, among so many fine subjects, he was 
 perplexed with the variety and number ; and it 
 was not till he had made a visit to Rome that his 
 mind took fast hold of any one. There, in October, 
 1764, as he sat musing in the ruins of the Capitol, 
 he heard the barefooted friars singing vespers in the 
 Temple of Jupiter ; a sound which, as one might 
 have supposed, brought up affecting and powerful 
 associations of the changes and revolutions that had 
 passed over the Eternal City, and which was itself a 
 sufficient illustration of the decline and fall of the 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, -ART. II. 275 
 
 glory that had passed away. But the mere passing 
 thought was not sufficient to inspire him : it was not 
 till he felt the want of steady and systematic employ 
 ment, to keep his mind in tune, and to prevent the 
 exertion of its self-tormenting power, that he was 
 able to nerve himself for the great enterprise before 
 him. He found that, nothing is more afflicting than 
 the literary leisure which intellectual men so earnestly 
 desire. It was once stated in a Western print, that 
 " the operation of the * Relief laws had been found 
 very burdensome ; " and so in life, relieve a man from 
 the obligation to labor with his mind or hands, and 
 he can hardly bear the weight of existence. If he is 
 not under any such necessity, he must supply the 
 want of it for himself; and this was done by Gibbon, 
 with equal wisdom and success. 
 
 His great work was commenced in 1772, with 
 diligent and efficient preparation. He appears to 
 have been aware that his weak point would be the 
 style ; and so anxious was he to guard from failure 
 in this respect, that the first chapter was written 
 three times, and the next two twice over, before they 
 gave him satisfaction. But even then he was too 
 easily satisfied ; for, after all, he never gained the 
 power of melting down his various materials into a 
 harmonious, consistent, and flowing story. There 
 are constant intimations of what the reader has no 
 means of knowing, awkward and squinting allusions 
 to facts and incidents which are behind the scenes, 
 and a way of introducing subjects indirectly and by 
 implication, which, if produced at all, should come 
 full before us in the march of the history, each in its 
 
276 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 place and order. Many sentences seem intended 
 for riddles to try the ingenuity of the reader ; over 
 others we ponder quite as long as is worth while to 
 make sure that we understand them, a natural 
 and reasonable desire, in which we are sometimes 
 disappointed after all. And yet we must allow, 
 that, while his manner of writing is neither easy nor 
 graceful, it is more in keeping with his subject than 
 it would be with any other ; resembling the lordly 
 march of a Roman emperor in his flowing purple, 
 stately and majestic, though restricting the free 
 movements of the form. But, while it had some 
 obvious defects, its merits were superlatively great. 
 The two great historians of the time delighted to 
 honor it, Hume with friendly and sympathizing 
 interest, Robertson Avith gentlemanly praise. More 
 over, it had the honor of being dedicated to a royal 
 duke ; and history has recorded the exclamation of 
 distaste which fell from the Maecenas, when he saw 
 the historian heaving in sight with " his great square 
 book." Thus heralded, the work was received with 
 great applause. While Hume s history was left on 
 the bookseller s shelves, the first edition of this was 
 sold almost in a day : it was found in the studies 
 of the learned, and in the saloons of fashion. One 
 can hardly tell how it happened, that such a work, 
 with all its great merit, should have gained favor 
 with those who had no taste for the delightful narra 
 tive of Hume. But the voice of applause was not 
 the only sound which the author heard on this occa 
 sion. The church militant, always sufficiently war 
 like for a religion of peace, was at this time up in 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 277 
 
 arms. Various divines, with Bishop Watson at their 
 head, assailed him for the unfairness and malignant 
 spirit of those parts in which Christianity is men 
 tioned, and confronted him with charges which he 
 was not able to disprove. When they accused him 
 of incorrect statement and false quotation, he was 
 prepared to meet them : his regard to his character 
 as a historian was enough to save him from those 
 errors and crimes. But he could not deny that he 
 wrote in the character of a Christian, with an evident 
 design to throw contempt on the religion ; that he 
 intimated, in language sharp and sneering, what he 
 dared not openly advance ; that he made his history 
 a means of gratifying a spiteful and resentful feeling, 
 which he seemed to want courage to avow ; and 
 that, under some strange perversion of feeling, he 
 seemed to enjoy and defend the persecution of the 
 early martyrs, making light of their patient fortitude, 
 and justifying the oppressor s crimes. It is not easy 
 to explain how this venomous feeling against the 
 religion originated in his breast. It does not seem 
 so much like a doubt of its truth and divinity, as an 
 aversion to the name. But he finds his retribution 
 now : his credit as a historian is far lower than if he 
 had come out with an open declaration of his un 
 belief ; and, instead of exciting admiration by his 
 vast power of irony, he gives the impression of 
 something unsound in his heart. 
 
 In the two years between the publication of the 
 
 first and the commencement of the second volume, 
 
 he employed himself in his attendance as a member 
 
 of parliament, and in a visit to his friends, the 
 
 24 
 
278 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 Neckars, in Paris, where his familiarity with the 
 French language made him generally welcome. 
 Hume, who was a favorite there, was laughed at for 
 his ignorance of French, and his awkward simplicity 
 of manners. Gibbon appears to have been more 
 respected than beloved. In parliament, he gained 
 credit by drawing up a memorial in defence of the 
 British government against the French claims, in 
 1778. For this he was rewarded with the sinecure 
 place of Lord of Trade, which he held till the board 
 was abolished, in 1784, when, finding his income 
 unequal to the expense of living in London, he 
 determined to spend the rest of his days at Lau 
 sanne. He longed to take a part in the debates of 
 parliament ; but, as often as he thought of the horrors 
 of a failure, he shrank back with dismay. He was 
 not aware how many empty vessels in all public 
 bodies make the welkin ring with their abundance 
 and endlessness of sound. Extemporaneous speak 
 ing in its ordinary forms is easily acquired, too 
 easily, indeed, for the comfort and respectability of 
 our halls of state. Even now the silent members 
 are the chief ornaments of such places, and the 
 country would not lament if a prevailing lockjaw 
 should suppress the eloquence of many who might 
 us well be still. 
 
 After the completion of his second and third vol 
 umes, which, as he was well aware, were not re 
 ceived as warmly as the first, not, however, on 
 account of the matter or style, but simply because 
 the great majority of readers have no delight in 
 books that are long, he was in doubt whether to 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 279 
 
 proceed, or to close the history with the fall of the 
 Western Empire. But the same necessity which 
 urged him to begin required him to persevere : in 
 deed, it was more difficult, when once accustomed 
 to the routine, to sink back into listless repose. He 
 therefore kept on, and nearly completed his fourth 
 volume before leaving England, after narrowly escap 
 ing a controversy with Dr. Priestley, to which he 
 was earnestly invited by that excellent but somewhat 
 warlike divine. He was prepared to hear his treat 
 ment of Christianity condemned, and was not sur 
 prised when the censure came, though rather stunned 
 by its depth and loudness ; but he does not seem to 
 have been in the least aware that the indecency of 
 his notes would be matter of reproach. One can 
 hardly conceive what his habits of thought must have 
 been, to see nothing objectionable in his account of 
 Theodora, for example. Even when Person thun 
 dered out his anathema, Gibbon seemed more dis 
 posed to smile at such a person officiating in the 
 capacity of moralist, than to resent, or even to feel, 
 the reproach. The only excuse he thinks it neces 
 sary to make is, that the narrative is what it should 
 be, and only the notes are licentious ; whereas it is 
 evident, that this very consciousness, and the thin veil 
 of another language, only serve to excite attention, 
 which the reader without them never would have 
 thought of giving. It implies an enlightened know 
 ledge of human nature, like that of one who should 
 inclose what he wished to conceal in a thin covering, 
 writing on it a request to the public that no one 
 would look in. 
 
280 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 The history was completed in 1787 ; and most 
 readers are familiar with the striking description of 
 his feelings, as he wrote the closing words in a sum 
 mer-house in his garden, at the hour of midnight, 
 when the air was mild, the sky serene, and the moon 
 light sweetly reflected from the waters. His first 
 thought was that of joy at recovering his freedom, 
 and perhaps establishing his fame. But, on reflec 
 tion, he felt that he had parted with an old and 
 agreeable companion, which had been a source of 
 high and intellectual interest for years ; and that, 
 however the history might endure, the days of the 
 writer were wasting to their close. The question of 
 the duration of the history was soon decided. Every 
 intelligent reader felt that only a most uncommon 
 sagacity could have seen through the confusion of 
 the chaotic variety of his materials, estimating their 
 claims and merits, and their often obscure relations 
 with each other. So far from complaining of any 
 want of clearness in the narrative, the wonder is, that 
 he should ever have been able to subdue them into 
 tolerable harmony and order. He seems never to 
 have been weary of searching into the endless range 
 of subjects presented, balancing authorities and de 
 termining their accuracy with a precision and faith 
 fulness which few will venture to impeach. Guizot, 
 himself a great authority, admires this power of judi 
 cious discrimination ; and every one is struck with 
 his watchful penetration, his painstaking industry, 
 and the rich abundance of learning sprinkled over 
 the work almost to profusion. In these respects, he 
 is as much superior to Hume as that great historian 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 281 
 
 excelled him in the easy grace with which he tells 
 his story ; and the result is, that, while Hume is no 
 authority, the verdict of Gibbon is almost decisive in 
 every historical question which he ever undertook to 
 explore. 
 
 Though the cold sarcasm which runs through 
 Gibbon s history gives an unpleasant impression of 
 the man, he appears to have been kind and affection 
 ate in his intercourse with his friends, steady and 
 faithful in his attachments, and manly and honorable 
 in all the relations of life. No human being could 
 well be less attractive in the outward man. His 
 head enormously large, with no elevation of feature, 
 his mouth a round orifice directly in the centre ; his 
 form heavy and unmanageable, partly with corpu 
 lence, but still more by a fearful rupture, descending 
 to his knees, but which he seemed unconscious that 
 any one ever saw, and which he never mentioned 
 either to his physician or his attendant till it had 
 brought him nearly to the grave. With all these 
 impediments to personal display, he appears to have 
 taken pains and pride in dress. Colman describes 
 him in company, with a suit of flowered velvet, 
 together with a bag and sword, while Dr. Johnson 
 sat opposite in his coarse black stockings and raiment 
 of rusty brown. This, however, may have been 
 nothing more than the full dress of gentlemen, while 
 the foppery of the great moralist was excessive on 
 the opposite side. His conversation is said to have 
 been of a very high order, though somewhat formal 
 and labored ; his remarks appeared as if studied, 
 and even his wit had the air of careful preparation ; 
 
 24* 
 
282 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 but he was ready in argument, full of information, 
 and pleasant in manner, though not exempt from 
 affectation. He had the oppressive consciousness of 
 a great reputation to sustain, which is never favor 
 able to the true social manner, nor indeed to the best 
 display of the powers. Madame du Deffand be 
 lieved him to be very learned, but was not sure that 
 he was very clever ; while Suard speaks of his con 
 versation as full and animated. On the whole, he 
 appears to have borne in social life and conversation 
 a part not unequal to his literary name. 
 
 It is honorable to Gibbon that he was able to 
 secure and retain so many friends, among whom 
 the most confidential was Lord Sheffield, a man of 
 sense and honor, whose infirmity was, that he could 
 not refrain from writing pamphlets which Lord 
 Brougham pronounces unreadably dry. When in 
 England, Gibbon was domesticated in his house ; 
 and he with his family made visits to the historian at 
 Lausanne. When his lordship suffered under the 
 loss of his wife, the heaviest of domestic sorrows, he 
 at once, though disabled by infirmity, set out on a 
 long, painful, and dangerous journey, to comfort his 
 mourning friend. He was not at the time aware 
 that he was returning to die in his native land. But, 
 soon after his return, he found it necessary to consult 
 physicians, who relieved him for the time by a sur 
 gical operation ; but the difficulty returned, and a 
 second operation was more painful and less bene 
 ficial than the first. The evening before he died, he 
 was conversing with his friends about the probable 
 duration of his life, which he fixed at ten, and possi- 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 283 
 
 bly twenty, years. That night he was taken more ill, 
 and shortly after noon on the next day he expired. 
 
 The transition from Gibbon to Sir Joseph Banks 
 bears some resemblance to a decline and fall ; arid 
 yet the latter was useful and distinguished in his day 
 and generation, though his renown will not be likely 
 to sail far beyond it. Very great credit is due to 
 those who, having the means of living in luxury and 
 self-indulgence, rise above the temptations of their 
 position, and feel so strong a determination toward 
 the walks of science, that they cannot be content to 
 spend life in lazy epicureanism, or an empty fashion 
 able display. Even if they do not make any great 
 discoveries, nor extend the boundaries of science, 
 themselves, their aid and influence are of service to 
 those who do ; and, under their circumstances, to 
 possess such a taste implies a certain degree of 
 superiority, which entitles them to a place in the gen 
 eral estimation far higher than that of intelligent and 
 cultivated persons who live entirely for themselves. 
 He certainly is no common man who loves know 
 ledge for its own sake, looking to no other recom 
 pense than the enjoyment of the pursuit, delighting 
 in his own intimacy with nature, and contentedly 
 leaving it to others to write their names where they 
 will shine in the eyes of men. 
 
 There is not much in Sir Joseph Banks to sug 
 gest the idea of D Alembert, who comes next in 
 succession ; nor did their provinces of scientific action 
 lie, as Mrs. Malaprop says, contiguous to each other. 
 But Lord Brougham appears to have taken the lat 
 ter as an example of the peace of mind, and repose 
 
284 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 of the passions, which a life devoted to the severer 
 sciences tends, more than any other, to secure. 
 Adam Smith has pointed out their happy exemption 
 from those disturbing forces which perpetually affect 
 the serenity of artists and literary men, and, indeed, 
 of all who are dependent on the public taste either 
 for subsistence or applause. The difficulties which 
 the mathematician contends with are of a kind 
 which it is inspiring to encounter, and glorious to 
 overcome ; he stands in calm reliance on his own 
 powers ; no doubt or self-distrust oppresses him ; 
 fully persuaded that his results are established by 
 arguments that cannot be shaken, he knows that no 
 light suggestion, no wanton ridicule, and not even 
 the most bitter resistance, can prevent their making 
 their way ; and he submits them with comparative 
 unconcern to the judgment of mankind. His pur 
 suits also furnish a subject of never-failing interest, 
 which always engages his thoughts, but is never 
 painfully exciting ; and, as vacancy of mind occa 
 sions much of the restless irritability of life, the 
 mathematician is thus spared the vexation of spirit 
 which troubles other men. In days of heaviness and 
 sorrow, he can more readily turn from his grief in 
 this peaceful direction than in any other ; so that 
 whoever gives himself in good faith to these studies 
 has certainly chosen a good part, so far as happiness 
 is concerned. But there is no Arcadia in this lower 
 world. Men of science, like the men of Loo Choo, 
 will be found, if examined nearly, to have their jeal 
 ousies and wars ; their swords are not yet beaten 
 into ploughshares ; for some sort of controversy with 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 285 
 
 pens or swords seems inseparable from human na 
 ture. Even the religious penitent, as soon as he has 
 professed himself a follower of the Prince of Peace, 
 will fasten tooth and nail upon his neighbor for be 
 lieving a little more or less than he. 
 
 D Alembert made his first appearance in the world 
 as a foundling, exposed by his mother in a winter 
 night, but rescued, when almost dead, by the huma 
 nity of strangers. His father was M. Destouches, a 
 poet and commissary of artillery, who soon came 
 forward, and made provision for his support. His 
 mother was Madame de Tencin, so well known to 
 the readers of Marmontel, who represents her as the 
 witty and accomplished centre of a brilliant circle. 
 When he afterwards became distinguished, she was 
 desirous to have him come and live with her, and be 
 acknowledged as her son, which would not have 
 injured her reputation in the Paris of that day. But 
 he declined the honor, having already had enough 
 of her maternal affection ; and for forty years he lived 
 in the cottage of the poor woman who had rescued 
 him from the fate which his mother s love assigned 
 
 o 
 
 him. When his health compelled him to leave those 
 humble lodgings, he continued to supply her wants 
 from his own narrow income till she died. His 
 whole conduct in that relation was humane, affec 
 tionate, and honorable in the highest degree. 
 
 At the age of twelve, he was sent to a Jansenist 
 college, where his early promise was discovered, and 
 attempts were made to enlist his feelings in the feud 
 between his instructors and the Jesuits. They hoped, 
 doubtless, that another Pascal would rise up to throw 
 
286 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 the great weight of his character and talents on their 
 side. But D Alembert, though he went so far as to 
 write a commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 
 was too much engaged by what the pious fathers 
 called, in Fenelon s case, " the devilish attractions 
 of geometry." When he left them, he devoted him 
 self entirely to those studies. In order to increase 
 his small income, he made some attempts to study a 
 profession ; but, in whatever direction he forced his 
 mind, it was always springing back, like the bended 
 bow, to his favorite pursuits. In this he was not 
 encouraged certainly by his good old nurse, who 
 used to say to him in sorrow, " Oh ! you will never 
 be any thing more than a philosopher. And what is 
 a philosopher ? a foolish body, who wearies his 
 life out to be talked of after he is dead." But he 
 found his studies a great source of satisfaction, apart 
 from any such vision of posthumous renown. He 
 awoke, he says, every morning, with a feeling of 
 gladness in his heart, as he thought of the investiga 
 tion in which he was employed the day before, and 
 which he was again to pursue. In the evening, he 
 sometimes went to the theatre ; but, when there, what 
 he enjoyed most was thinking of the next day s la 
 bors. Though he was a philosopher, without ques 
 tion, according to the original sense of the word, 
 there was nothing which gave him less concern than 
 the manner in which he should be talked of, either 
 living or dead. 
 
 Talked of, however, he was destined to be. A 
 paper which he offered to the Academy of Sciences 
 attracted their favorable attention; and, in 1741, he 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 287 
 
 was admitted a member, at the age of twenty-four, 
 younger than any other who had received that honor, 
 except the celebrated Clairaut. Two years after, 
 D Alembert justified this high compliment by his 
 " Traite de Dynamique," which at once established 
 his reputation. For some years he was engaged in 
 following out his principles in their various and 
 extensive applications, till, in 1752, he published an 
 essay on a new theory of the resistance of fluids, 
 which was the subject that principally engaged his 
 attention for many years. Meantime, by way of 
 interlude, he had submitted a memoir on the general 
 theory of the winds, which was crowned by the 
 Royal Academy of Berlin. As his fame extended, 
 his enjoyment of life was less secure ; this being one 
 of the severe penalties which men pay for renown. 
 He became somewhat jealous of every invasion of 
 his rights and honors, to which he had been rather 
 indifferent before. Lord Brougham accounts for 
 these feelings, which were not according to his habits 
 or his nature, by ascribing them to the influence of 
 the literary factions and social parties with which he 
 had become connected, as an Encyclopedist, with 
 Diderot, Holbach, and Voltaire, to whom repose of 
 spirit was as much unknown as peace to the wicked ; 
 but a more general explanation of it may be found 
 in the general tendencies of human nature. Men be 
 come avaricious of praise as readily as of money ; and 
 as one who comes across our promising speculation 
 in business is regarded with feelings not entirely be 
 nignant, our charities wax cold toward those who in 
 terfere with the ingathering of our harvest of applause. 
 
 
288 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 It would have been well for D Alembert, if nothing 
 had ever drawn him out from the circle in which he 
 moved in his earlier days : for, up to the age of thirty- 
 five, his wants were few, his enjoyments simple, his 
 spirit unruffled, and his renown as a man of science 
 fast extending. But, when the famous " Encyclo 
 paedia " was established, he became joint-editor with 
 Diderot, and supplied many of the most striking 
 portions. His preliminary discourse on the distribu 
 tion and progress of the sciences was greatly admired 
 in its time ; but Lord Brougham regards it with 
 little favor. Still, the severity of his censure is rather 
 disarmed by the admission, that Bacon had fallen 
 into the same errors before. When the work to 
 which this discourse was an introduction appeared, 
 the church and the government were filled with mu 
 tual alarm. The great body of literary men grew 
 jealous of those who thus threatened to eclipse them ; 
 the fashionable circles, which exert so much influence 
 in Paris, took sides in the matter ; and it seemed as 
 if ^Eolus had let loose the winds to fan the flame 
 which threatened to consume the wights whose free 
 dom of speech, or rather whose known opinions, had 
 kindled it. There are some who melt away under 
 the influence of this kind of heat; others, on the 
 contrary, are hardened into petrifactions ; but, as 
 D Alembert was not of this hardy sort, and was 
 disgusted in the extreme with the new state of things, 
 he took occasion, when the government prohibited 
 the work in France, to withdraw from the editorial 
 charge ; leaving it in the hands of Diderot, who better 
 loved the sweet music of angry speech, and was 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 289 
 
 perfectly willing to finish his rough journey alone. 
 Having his attention thus directed to literature, 
 D Alembert wrote several works on various sub 
 jects, one of which, " On the Intercourse of Literary 
 Men with the Great," had the effect to change the 
 style in which works were dedicated, which, both in 
 France and England, till a late period, instead of 
 being offered with manly independence, were sub 
 mitted in the tone in w r hich the veteran beggar 
 acknowledges the donation of sixpence, praying 
 immortal blessings upon the Samaritan s head. 
 
 In 1752, the king of Prussia invited him to reside 
 in Berlin, with liberal appointments and a salary of 
 five hundred pounds a year ; which offer D Alembert 
 declined, though his income was but about seventy 
 pounds. His determination was to keep his indepen 
 dence and freedom, and his moderation was worthy of 
 praise ; though it should be staled that Frederic s 
 promises to pay were at a considerable discount, 
 particularly with those victims who had once tasted 
 his bounty, and could not be hired to expose them 
 selves to the same blessing again. He received, 
 some years after, a more tempting proposal from 
 Catherine of Russia, to undertake the education of 
 her son, with a salary of four thousand pounds. The 
 profligate old woman was willing to pay liberally for 
 the instruction of her boy. But, whether he foresaw 
 the impediments in the way of educating a young 
 emperor without brains, where the teacher might be 
 expected to do what nature had found beyond her, 
 or whether he was too much attached to the social 
 atmosphere of Paris to be willing on any terms to 
 23 
 
290 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 leave it, he wisely determined to be his own master ; 
 that service, unlike the other, being one which he 
 could renounce at will. 
 
 His attachment to Mademoiselle de 1 Espinasse is 
 a curious passage in his history. She was a young 
 person of romantic character and brilliant talents, 
 who lived with Madame du Deffand, as a compan 
 ion, with a salary of next to nothing a year ; in 
 consideration of which, she was to bear the intoler 
 able temper of her patroness, and to read her to 
 sleep in the morning ; for she rose when the sun set, 
 and went to sleep when he rose, so that the two 
 luminaries were seldom seen above the horizon to 
 gether. The attendant found but one comfort in her 
 life, which was to receive D Alembert and one or 
 two other friends, before the old lady appeared in the 
 eastern sky. Unhappily the patroness discovered the 
 proceeding, and, falling into a passion with her morn 
 ing star, dismissed it from her heaven. The young 
 lady s friends procured her a residence and a small 
 pension ; and, D Alembert having been taken dan 
 gerously sick, she nursed him with the greatest kind 
 ness and care. As they w T ere thus thrown together, 
 he continued to reside with her through the twelve 
 remaining years of her life. She, being susceptible in 
 her disposition, was meantime sending her affections 
 abroad : she forced them, so it would seem, at the 
 same time on Guibert, a French officer, and Mora, a 
 young Spanish grandee. But though she had thus 
 two, if not three, strings to her bow, she was put 
 out of tune by the failure of one ; for, on the death 
 of Mora, she took his loss so much to heart that 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 291 
 
 she began to decline, and two years after she died. 
 Now, D Alembert had gone regularly every morning 
 to the post-office to get her letters from the young 
 Spaniard. At her instigation, he had obtained from a 
 celebrated French physician a medical opinion that 
 the air of Paris was good for him, in order that his 
 relations might consent to his return to France, from 
 which they had recalled him ; but, after her decease, 
 we find him bitterly complaining of his discovering 
 that her affections were not his own, and asking, 
 with some simplicity, what security he could have 
 for believing that she had ever loved him. His un 
 certainty was a distress, no doubt ; but it resembled 
 that of another unfortunate hypochondriac, who, 
 waking one morning with a grievous colic, said that 
 " it was just as like as not that he had had it all 
 night," a reflection which added tenfold to the bitter 
 ness of his woe. 
 
 Lord Brougham so much laments the desertion of 
 D Alembert from science, that he is not inclined to 
 allow him much merit in his literary career. He 
 says that he came to it without the right preparation ; 
 not rich in classical attainments, nor indeed in any 
 kind of learning ; unacquainted with the principles 
 of criticism, and deficient also in correctness and 
 simplicity of taste. But his style was eminently 
 simple ; and, as the style is an expression of the 
 character of the mind, it can hardly be that he was 
 viciously defective in those respects, though he may 
 have been misled by partiality or prejudice in some 
 of his literary opinions. But the great difficulty with 
 him was his excessive admiration of Voltaire ; a man 
 
292 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 so distinguished by his variety of talent, that it was 
 impossible he should excel in all. It was bad 
 enough in him to place Corneille and Racine far 
 below the footstool of Voltaire ; but so far did he 
 carry his reverence, that he appears to have been 
 more delighted with Voltaire s approbation of his 
 mathematical works than that of seven men who 
 were able to understand them. Such deference to 
 such a genius was very apt to betray. 
 
 In private life, D Alembert appears to have been 
 always amiable, and everywhere welcome. He 
 came into society with the unconscious freedom of a 
 child ; never oppressed by the weight of his reputa 
 tion, not concerned what impression he made, but 
 always speaking from the overflow of his mind and 
 the dictation of his heart. There never was a trace 
 of reserve, suspicion, or pride about him : sometimes 
 he was gently satirical, but never bitter. He entered 
 with all his heart into the enjoyment of the hour ; 
 and, like every such person, exerted a sunny in 
 fluence round him, keeping all in good-humor with 
 him and with themselves. But he had other recom 
 mendations of a higher order. As soon as his in 
 come rose above poverty, half of it was spent in acts 
 of charity and kindness ; and in every way in his 
 power he served those who needed or deserved his 
 aid. To aristocratic influence he did not pay much 
 regard, but merit Avas sure of his respect. Thus, 
 the celebrated Laplace, when a young man, came to 
 Paris, bringing letters to him from divers magnates 
 in his native city. Finding that these were not at 
 tended to, the young student wrote him a letter on 
 
MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 293 
 
 the principles of mechanics, which received imme 
 diate attention, and in the course of the week ob 
 tained for him a professorship in the military school. 
 
 This great man died at the age of sixty-seven ; 
 and after his death it was discovered that his sympa 
 thies on the subject of religion had taken the side of 
 unbelievers. While he lived, he had avoided the 
 subject, and never wrote any thing in reference to it 
 which could give offence or pain ; but, in communi 
 cating with Frederic and Voltaire, their selfish and 
 sneering natures appear to have overborne the mo 
 deration and kindness of his own. As for Frederic, 
 it is some comfort to think that he was not a Chris 
 tian, since Christianity cannot be made responsible 
 for the stony hardness of his heart ; and even Vol 
 taire, though there was much of a redeeming nature 
 about him, was a sort of person whom Christianity 
 might be well content to disown. But it is unfortu 
 nate that D Alembert, with his kind heart and genial 
 nature, should have mistaken the Christianity of 
 Christians for that of the gospel, and thus have 
 rejected a religion which he was never fortunate 
 enough to know. And yet, as Lord Brougham sug 
 gests, there is great excuse for those who formed 
 their impressions of the religion of Jesus from what 
 they saw in the church ; it was no wonder that their 
 minds and hearts rose up against it : but, had they 
 endeavored to inform themselves on the subject, they 
 would have seen that the sentence which the gospel 
 pronounced against it was even severer than theirs. 
 
 We need say no more of these portraits, which 
 are painted with a bold and confident, but of course 
 25* 
 
294 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 
 
 an able hand. They are instructive and entertaining ; 
 and the sooner the rest follow, the more welcome 
 they will be. Considering his lordship s mathematical 
 tastes and talent, it might have been well to have 
 devoted himself exclusively to men of science ; yet 
 few will be inclined to complain that his range was 
 more extended. 
 
295 
 
 A D D I S N. 
 
 The Life of Joseph. Addison. By LUCY AIKIN. Philadelphia : 
 Carey and Hart, 1846 ; 12mo, pp. 279. 
 
 WE had not ventured to promise ourselves an op 
 portunity of bringing this great man in review before 
 us ; and we are not without misgivings lest the 
 world, which, like poor Lear, is apt to be somewhat 
 disordered in mind, should ask, as he did, which is 
 the justice and which the culprit. But we are grate 
 ful to Miss Aikin for writing this unpretending life 
 of Addison, and, still more so, for doing it in her 
 quiet and sensible manner ; contenting herself with 
 a likeness, and not trying to make it fascinating 
 with paint and gilding, after the fashion of the pres 
 ent day. Indeed, there is hardly a subject in the 
 whole range of literature, where affectation and dis 
 play would be more out of place. Those attractive 
 arts which snatch at impossible graces, sacrificing 
 truth to effect, and simple nature to quick impression, 
 would be reproved to silence, if not to shame, by the 
 presence of this great master. The very thought of 
 such treatment is enough to make one wish he were 
 on earth again, exerting the authority which a power 
 ful, refined, and graceful genius like his would have, 
 
296 ADDISON. 
 
 wherever it existed. It would be a sport to see how 
 many popular authors, who are read and admired 
 by thousands now, would, like the swine in Scrip 
 ture, which they resemble in coarseness and the spirit 
 that has entered into them, soon be seen running 
 violently down a steep place to perish in the sea of 
 oblivion, those blessed waters Avhich, it is to be 
 hoped, will never dry away. 
 
 There is something in the literary fame of this 
 writer which it is always refreshing to remember. 
 Like the Parthenon, it retains its charm, though for 
 ages unvisited by the traveller, laid waste by the 
 barbarian, and weather-stained by time ; so far trans 
 cending the adventurous antics of modern art, that, 
 as long as a fragment of pillar or peristyle remains, 
 it will be impossible to doubt the perfection of that 
 which the world of taste adores. Writing always 
 from a full mind, and never for the sake of writing, 
 he is always rich to overflowing in his resources ; 
 and, however excellent the work may be, gives the 
 impression that he is able to produce something 
 better. His memory was full of information ; all 
 the particulars of which had found their places in his 
 mind in harmony and order, so that classical allu 
 sions and suggestions from what he had seen and 
 read presented themselves when they were wanted, 
 giving him power to select the best. Like most 
 other calm and quiet observers of life, he found in 
 his own experience incidents and intimations which, 
 playfully introduced, gave spirit and life to his writ 
 ings. His movements were so easy and graceful, 
 that no one thought of the hard study and self-dis- 
 
ADDISON. 297 
 
 cipline by which alone he could have gained so com 
 plete a mastery of his own powers. Every thing 
 seemed to be thrown off without an effort, and so 
 indeed it was ; the effort came earlier in the history 
 of his mind ; and certain it is, that, without long and 
 patient thought, such as requires great concentration 
 of the intellectual powers, he never could have ac 
 quired a logical exactness so entirely free from all 
 the appearance of art, nor a habit of active and 
 earnest thought so much resembling revery in the 
 familiarity and carelessness of its flow. 
 
 One of the most striking traits of Addison s mind 
 was his humor, a quality of writing which is enjoyed 
 more generally than it is understood. It is commonly 
 supposed to be a gift, something belonging to the 
 native constitution of the mind ; but, if so, the birth 
 right would be found of little advantage, without that 
 ready tact and intuitive discernment of the right time 
 and place, which give humor its principal charm. 
 The untimely jest is like the stamp of an awkward 
 man upon a gouty toe : it is apt to be received with 
 a gratitude bordering on profaneness, and it is a cau 
 tion to all the prudent to keep out of the way of the 
 offender s disastrous evolutions. Some, like Swift, 
 who would otherwise be masters of the art, disarm 
 themselves of part of their power by an appearance 
 of ill-nature. Any thing which looks like savage- 
 ness, or an intent to wound, always creates antipathy 
 to him who indulges his satirical propensity at the 
 expense of another s feelings. Even if the satire 
 should be wholly impersonal, and aimed at the follies 
 and infirmities of human nature, the caustic and bit- 
 
298 ADDISON. 
 
 ing reflection which implies bitterness in him who 
 makes it never gives pleasure, nor finds a general 
 welcome. 
 
 There is also, in some humorous writers who have 
 nothing of this misanthropy, a kind of sly coarseness, 
 an apparent enjoyment of sensual allusions, a dispo 
 sition to tread as near as they dare to such for 
 bidden ground, Avhich the refined and cultivated 
 reader takes as an insult to himself, and does not 
 readily forgive. This is a temptation, a strange and 
 fatal one, from which, we are sorry to say, a writer 
 of our own land, whom we could otherwise name 
 with the highest honor, is not entirely free. But in 
 Addison s humor no one can trace any of these faults 
 of taste, spirit, or feeling. It plays like sunbeams 
 through the broken clouds upon the landscape, light 
 ing it up with gladness. Nature herself is not more 
 exempt from severity and grossness ; and we see 
 that, largely gifted as he was with the natural power, 
 he rather restrains than indulges it : he never looks 
 abroad for the jest, and receives with selection those 
 which present themselves while he is writing. He 
 always distinguishes most accurately the appropriate 
 place and time for producing it ; thus showing that 
 it requires high cultivation of mind, a quick percep 
 tion of fitness, and a perfect command of the powers, 
 to employ this faculty to advantage. Otherwise, it 
 is of no value, and may be even an injury to the pos 
 sessor ; as the gift of Tell s arrows would be of little 
 avail without the sure hand and eye to use them. 
 
 Nothing could be more superfluous than to praise 
 the style of Addison, which has been admired by sue- 
 
ADDISON. 299 
 
 cessive generations as the most perfect of all exam 
 ples. Art, in its highest cultivation, comes back to 
 nature ; and thus, while naturalness is the prevailing 
 charm of his manner, it shows the result, but not the 
 action, of high finish and industrious care. The Avord 
 gentlemanly would describe it better than any other, 
 because it implies the union of elegance and refine 
 ment with energy and power. In order to be thus 
 natural, style must be the true expression of the hab 
 itual movements of the mind ; it is not to be made 
 up or put on at pleasure ; if it is second-hand, it will 
 betray its unlawful origin, like stolen garments which 
 do not fit the wearer. The only way really to im 
 prove a deficient style is, not to change the arrange 
 ment and selection of language ; the care in such 
 cases must be applied directly to the mind itself; and 
 its utterance will become free and graceful in propor 
 tion to the order which it establishes among its trea 
 sures and resources, and the easy mastery over its 
 own powers which practice enables it to obtain. 
 
 We say this, because style is often spoken of as if 
 it was an art, like drawing or painting, which may 
 be acquired by one mind as well as another, by the 
 obscure and feeble as well as the clear and strong. 
 So, in point of fact, the matter is treated by many 
 writers ; those, for example, who have endeavored 
 to Germanize their manner. But the style is not 
 their own : they are responsible, doubtless, as a man 
 is held to answer for what he borrows or steals ; but 
 it gives no indication of their natural tone of thought, 
 any more than a bell, when it tolls for funeral or 
 worship, expresses its own sorrow or devotion. 
 
300 ADDISON. 
 
 Should their minds perchance speak out, they would 
 throw all the fine arrangement into confusion, and 
 startle their owners, perhaps, by the plain English 
 which they would employ. We may depend upon 
 it, that Carlyle does not talk Carlylism, nor do the 
 imitators of that eminent person walk in darkness 
 through a conversation as coolly as through a printed 
 page. When their object is to express their thought, 
 none can do it better ; and till they do the same thing 
 in writing as freely as in ordinary communication 
 with their friends, they may be cheered on with the 
 desperate admiration of a misguided few, but they 
 will find themselves out in their dead-reckoning. If 
 they are bound for immortality, or even for general 
 favor, they had better take observations of the great 
 lights of the literary world. From these they will 
 find, that no style can be extensively popular and 
 pleasing which is not a true and direct expression of 
 the writer s way of thinking. It is not enslaved to 
 any particular form ; it is bound by no narrow and 
 rigid law. The elephantine march of Johnson may 
 be as welcome as the manly gait of Addison, because 
 it represents as truly the movements of his ponderous 
 and gigantic mind. 
 
 But the character of this distinguished man is a 
 more important consideration than his talents or his 
 style : indeed it was this which, shining through his 
 writings, did as much as his ability to give him in 
 fluence in his own time, and an illustrious memory in 
 ours. John Foster, who, with all his excellence, occa 
 sionally betrayed something of that crustiness which 
 among some sects passes for a Christian grace, spoke 
 
ADDISON. 301 
 
 in a wholesale and sweeping way of all the chief 
 names in English literature, as opposed to the spirit 
 of the gospel, and aiding and comforting the enemy 
 by their influence and example. To some extent, 
 this was true. There was quite too little sense of 
 responsibility associated with intellectual power : 
 either the intense effort to keep body and soul toge 
 ther made them careless in what manner they fed 
 the popular taste, or the jealousies incident to their 
 profession destroyed their conscience and kindness ; 
 or in some instances, perhaps, their heads were 
 turned by success. Whatever the cause may have 
 been, a greater proportion than one could have sup 
 posed were unfaithful to the high trust which is con 
 fided to all who are gifted with high powers. Still, 
 it is extraordinary that with such an example as 
 Addison before him, one which can be contemplated 
 with almost unmingled satisfaction, any moralist 
 should give so hasty a verdict, which savors more of 
 passion than truth even in its application to others, 
 and cannot be sustained for a moment with respect 
 to him. If religion be the great science of duty, it 
 would be hard to show where it ever found a more 
 effective teacher ; and we trust we shall be able to 
 make it appear, that, if his tone and profession were 
 high, his life and conversation stood ready to make 
 them good. 
 
 But here we are met by some prevailing impres 
 sions concerning Addison, which allow that in most 
 respects he was eminently worthy, but nevertheless 
 charge him with certain faults and frailties which 
 throw a shadow over his name ; and, as the subject 
 
 26 
 
302 ADDISON. 
 
 is an interesting chapter in literary history, we pro 
 pose to consider it somewhat at large. All who 
 knew him bore witness to his excellence : his good 
 ness of heart and strength of principle appear in 
 every part of his life. His freedom from ambition 
 is clearly shown by his writing, for the most part, 
 without giving his name to the world ; and his gen 
 erous kindness could hardly be proved more conclu 
 sively than by his submitting to this labor to serve 
 another. And yet, strange as it may seem, it is in 
 these very points that some have assailed him, accus 
 ing him of jealous hostility to rising men of genius, 
 and of selfish unkindness to his friends. Such traits 
 of character are not very consistent with that reli 
 gious virtue which he is so generally admitted to 
 have possessed, that, as Boswell assures us, Johnson, 
 who, from political prejudice, was no friend to his 
 memory, was in the habit of recommending his writ 
 ings to those who felt the need of high influence and 
 inspiration, and often spoke of him with great re 
 spect, as foremost among the wise and good. 
 
 All these impressions to the disadvantage of Addi- 
 son can be traced home to the authority of Pope, 
 who, though in some respects a good man, was noto 
 riously jealous of his own literary standing, and, as 
 he had no mercy for those who were beneath, was 
 not likely to look with much benignity on one who 
 stood above him. His infirmity was not without its 
 excuses : his personal deformity was of a kind which 
 sours the temper ; his nervous temperament was irrit 
 able to the last degree ; and, while his poetical talent 
 made him a subject of interest and admiration, his 
 
ADDISON. 303 
 
 bodily weakness prevented his appearing familiarly 
 in the public eye. In his partial retirement, he was 
 surrounded by parasites of that kind who manifest 
 their faithfulness, not by friendly services, but by flat 
 tering unworthy prejudices and passions, and, in case 
 of any alienation, are like the firemen of Constanti 
 nople, who, it is said, for reasons of their own, some 
 times throw oil on the flames of a conflagration, 
 which has less effect to extinguish them than the ele 
 ment that is commonly employed. 
 
 Spence s " Anecdotes," which Johnson used so 
 freely in writing his " Lives of the Poets," contains 
 a rich abundance of this kind of lore. Pope appears 
 to have made his humble friend the residuary legatee 
 of all his suspicions and aversions ; and as Johnson 
 lived at a time when party spirit was at the highest, 
 and did not conceal his belief that to be a " vile 
 Whig" was an inexpiable sin, he gave more faith to 
 the stories and intimations of the " Anecdotes " than 
 he would have done, if Addison had had the pre 
 sumptive evidence of Toryism in his favor ; and, as 
 his life of the Whig statesman and poet has of course 
 displaced all others, the character which he has given 
 him determines the opinion of the present age. But 
 there was nothing underhand in the prejudice of 
 Johnson : it was always manly, aboveboard, and 
 made no pretension to thorough impartiality. Such 
 was his stern veracity, that nothing would induce 
 him to distort or suppress the truth, or rather what 
 he considered the truth, though he was often misled 
 by his feelings in his attempts to ascertain it. On 
 several occasions, as we shall see, he detects Spence s 
 
304 ADDISON. 
 
 misrepresentations, and ascribes them to the malig 
 nity of Pope. The wonder is, that, when he saw 
 through some of these mistakes or perversions of 
 fact, whichever they may have been, he should have 
 felt as if such a guide could ever be safely trusted ; 
 for trust him he did, too much and too far : almost 
 every thing which he has recorded to the disadvan 
 tage of Addison rests on Spence s authority alone. 
 We do not suppose, that Pope told his humble chro 
 nicler what he did not himself believe : the term 
 malignity, which Johnson employs, must be received 
 with some discount for his habitual choice of over 
 grown words. The amount of this malice was, that, 
 being jealous of Addison as a rival, he was ready to 
 credit and repeat whatever was said to his disadvan 
 tage ; and those persons who think it a pity to spoil 
 a pretty quarrel were always at hand to minister to 
 the prejudice which Pope, unfortunately for his hap 
 piness and honor, was too well disposed to feel. 
 
 Very little is known of Addison s early life, nor 
 can it now be ascertained how far the influences 
 which acted upon him in childhood determined his 
 character in later years : sometimes those influences 
 form young minds by sympathy, sometimes by re 
 action and resistance. His father was a divine, 
 respectable in his way, but earnest and busy in those 
 times which made all men politicians. Active, how 
 ever, as he was in his devotion to church and king, 
 he lived in comparative want, and was rewarded 
 only by coming in sight of a bishopric before he 
 died. One story of Addison s younger days repre 
 sents him as escaping from school, to avoid some 
 
ADDISON, 
 
 305 
 
 punishment which weighed on his imagination, and 
 living on such food as the woods supplied, till his 
 retreat was discovered, Dr, Johnson records a tra 
 dition of his once being ringleader in a " barring 
 out." The two legends seem inconsistent with each 
 other, and yet they may both be true. The former 
 does not show, as Miss Aikin believes, the elements 
 of that bashful spirit which afflicted him so much 
 in his manhood. The fact is, that all boys grow 
 retiring in their manner, when they are threatened 
 with a whipping ; and, though it is not always the 
 case, as Goldsmith says, that your modest people 
 are the most impudent in the world, it is true that 
 many are bold and free with their associates, who 
 are .subdued in the presence of others. 
 
 Addison was never able, through a life spent in 
 the daylight of the world, to throw off that embar 
 rassment which paralyzed the action of his mind in 
 company, and made him appear distant, cold, and 
 still. Chesterfield, in whose presence he was not 
 likely to thaw, described him as an awkward man, 
 while those whose company he enjoyed received a 
 very different impression of his manners and social 
 powers. Swift, who was not apt to err by excess of 
 praise, said that he never saw a man half so agreea 
 ble. Lady Mary Montague, who had a tolerable 
 acquaintance with society, described him as the best 
 company in the world. Pope, who, in his very 
 eulogy, shows something of pique, allows that his 
 company was more charming than that of any other 
 man, though with strangers he preserved his dignity 
 by a stiff silence ; thus ascribing to hauteur that cold- 
 
 26* 
 
306 ADDISON. 
 
 ness which was evidently owing to natural diffidence 
 and reserve. Dr. Young says, that he was rather 
 mute on some occasions ; but, when he felt at ease, 
 he went on in a noble strain of thought and lan 
 guage, which enchained the attention of all. 
 
 There are many such testimonials to the richness 
 and variety of his conversation ; and, if any received 
 a different impression, it is plainly owing to the 
 constitutional, or rather English, reserve which hung 
 like a mill-stone about him all his days. It is thought 
 to be less common in our country : here, old and 
 young, the latter especially, have in general quite as 
 much confidence as the case requires. Still, there are 
 examples of those who labor and suffer under this 
 disease, which renders them in company " afraid to 
 sit, afraid to fly ; " unable to say the right thing, and, 
 if they say any thing, sure to say the wrong ; but 
 generally so oppressed with the necessity of speak 
 ing, that, through fear of being silent, they dare not 
 open their lips, and causing epicures in conversation 
 to say, that, however much they might like the oys 
 ter if accessible, they cannot submit to the trouble of 
 opening the shell. 
 
 It was while at school that Addison formed that 
 friendship with Steele which gave so decided a direc 
 tion to his future life. Steele, who, though his 
 parents were English, contrived to be born in Dub 
 lin, as the appropriate birthplace for one of such an 
 Irish nature, was, as the world knows full well, a 
 thoughtless, inconsistent, rantipole person, full of tal 
 ent and good feeling, which were made of small 
 effect by his total want of discretion in common 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 307 
 
 affairs. If it was possible for him to get into diffi 
 culty, he was sure to improve the chance ; but, at 
 the same time, so amiable was his disposition, that 
 he always found friends, who, though out of patience 
 with his folly, were ready to get him out of the scrape. 
 Early in life, being sensible of his own frailty, he 
 endeavored to put himself under the necessity of 
 living religiously, by writing a book called " The 
 Christian Hero ; " but, as there was no basis of prin 
 ciple, nor even taste, under his conversion, the incon 
 sistency which soon appeared between his life and 
 his profession made it worse for him in every respect 
 than if his banner had not been lifted quite so high. 
 Then, to enliven himself under the depression brought 
 on by ridicule and reproach, he wrote a comedy 
 called " The Funeral," with which the public were 
 entertained, as might be expected from so sprightly 
 a subject, and which, of course, was in the same 
 degree refreshing to the writer. 
 
 A literary life commencing thus would hardly be 
 expected to lead to propitious results ; and he would 
 have done nothing to establish his reputation as a 
 writer, had it not been for his illustrious friend. It 
 was not unnatural that the shy and delicate Addison 
 should take a fancy to the bold and open-hearted 
 Steele ; and the latter had sufficient discernment to 
 understand the merits and abilities of his compan 
 ion. The attachment thus formed continued nearly 
 through life ; and only the exasperation of political 
 feeling, which spares nothing that is sacred, could 
 have alienated them from each other ; for it is unfor 
 tunately true, that the bands were broken at last. 
 
308 ADDISON, 
 
 Addison appears to have been originally destined 
 for the church ; and his thoughtful and contemplative 
 spirit might have found a home in the sacred pro 
 fession, where it is not, as in England, dependent on 
 patronage, and therefore married to worldliness by 
 law. For some reason now unknown, perhaps by 
 unconsciously yielding to circumstances, he inclined 
 to the paths of literature ; and, while yet at Oxford, 
 he is found in communication with Tonson the book 
 seller, whose name is as familiar in the annals of the 
 time as that of Monsieur Tonson at a later day. 
 His essay on the " Georgics," which he affixed to the 
 translation of Dryden, who appears to have been 
 pleased and flattered by his attentions, was not con 
 sidered as promising much strength and originality, 
 though its style was unexceptionable, and its criticism 
 just. Of a translation of the fourth " Georgic," 
 which he attempted, the elder poet courteously ob 
 served, that, after it, his own swarm would not be 
 worth the hiving. He engaged also in a translation 
 of Herodotus, to be superintended and partly exe 
 cuted by himself; which implies that he had more 
 acquaintance with Greek than Johnson was disposed 
 to allow. This work never reached the press ; but 
 his translations from Ovid were published, with notes 
 which eclipse the poetry, and, as the great critic ad 
 mitted, gave full promise of that discriminating taste 
 and talent which were afterwards so brightly mani 
 fested, and admired as widely as they were known. 
 He also produced a work which, at a later period, 
 he seemed very willing to suppress. It was an ac 
 count of English poets from Chaucer to Dryden, in 
 
ADDISON. 309 
 
 which he treats the patriarch and his successor Spen 
 ser without the reverence which they so well deserve, 
 and which is clamorously asserted for them by some, 
 who, admiring without having read, are vengeful 
 against those who have read without admiring. 
 
 The truth was, that the French classical taste was 
 then coming into England, teaching its poets to care 
 rather more for polished elegance of language and 
 measure than for the more substantial elements of 
 truth and nature. The new fashion prevailed ; and, 
 as usual, the fashion which it displaced was treated 
 with unmerited scorn. In this way it is that the 
 public taste is always swinging, like a pendulum, far 
 on one side or the other. This fancy came to its 
 height of finish and excellence in Pope ; another age 
 has seen him, with all his beauty arid power, treated 
 with profane derision, while a passion for infantine 
 simplicity rises and reigns for a time ; this, too, after 
 keeping the stage for its permitted season, is destined 
 to give place to some other excess. But sufficient 
 to the day is its own evil : what this excess is to be, 
 we are not yet unfortunate enough to know. 
 
 Addison, with no small share of talent for poetry, 
 was of course under the influence of the day ; and, 
 while his natural tendency was to nature, he was 
 drawn aside by cultivation ; and thus, inclining one 
 way while he walked in another, he could not be 
 expected to reach the height of success. It is a little 
 remarkable, that the effort which brought him at once 
 into notice was made to order. Such productions 
 generally have small attraction, except to those whose 
 exploits they commemorate and flatter : if they betray 
 
310 ADDISON. 
 
 any other inspiration than that of necessity or ambi 
 tion, their flame, like a fire of shavings, is soon spent, 
 leaving no permanent brightness in the literary sky. 
 His courtly career commenced with lines on the 
 king s return from his European campaign in 1695, 
 which gained him the favorable regard of Lord 
 Somers, whose approbation was an honor. In 1697, 
 he again sang the praise of William, who had no 
 ear for such matters, in some lines on the Peace of 
 Ryswick. These were addressed to Montagu, then 
 a leading public character, eminent in literature as 
 well as in the public councils. That statesman, in 
 acknowledgment of the attention, procured him a 
 grant of three hundred pounds a year, to give him 
 the means of travelling ; a favor which would have 
 been more to the purpose, had the money ever been 
 paid ; but the king died soon after, and the little 
 which he ever did for literature came at once to a 
 close. 
 
 The young poet also gained reputation by Latin 
 verses on the peace. Johnson allows them to have 
 been vigorous and elegant ; and when Addison went 
 abroad, the volume, published with a preface of his 
 own writing, served as an introduction to learned 
 and accomplished men. Among others, he presented 
 it to Boileau, then in the height of his fame. The 
 Frenchman replied, that the work had given him a 
 new idea of English cultivation ; and truly there was 
 room for new ideas, if we may judge from his remark 
 to a traveller who told him what honor the English 
 had paid to the memory of Dryden. He said he 
 was happy to learn it, but he had never heard the 
 
ADDISON. 311 
 
 gentleman s name before. Alas for glorious John ! 
 The truth was, the French at that time lorded it over 
 the political and literary world like undisputed and 
 rather supercilious masters. King William had done 
 something to break their civil and military sceptre, 
 and Marlborough was in a fair way to finish what he 
 had begun. But it was long before any literary 
 changes let sufficient light into France to see the 
 names of Shakspeare and Milton, so completely 
 eclipsed were they by certain French luminaries, 
 lost pleiads, too, which have long since perished, and 
 never been missed from the skies. 
 
 Whatever Addison s timidity and reserve may 
 have been in England, he appears to have left them 
 behind him when he travelled ; for we find him mak 
 ing acquaintance with all those who were distin 
 guished in literature. He remarks, in one of his 
 letters, that he had not seen a blush since he landed 
 in France : probably it is with blushes as with other 
 matters, that the supply is regulated by the demand. 
 Being but imperfectly acquainted with the French 
 language, he took up his residence for a time at Blois, 
 where it was thought to be spoken in great purity, in 
 order to learn it. 
 
 While preparing himself by the acquisition of mod 
 ern languages for his European tour, he was dili 
 gently studying the allusions of classical writers to 
 Italy and its antiquities ; those being the subject of 
 interest on which he had set his heart. His letters 
 written at the time are short ; but they have some 
 touches of his peculiar manner, particularly one in 
 which he congratulates a friend who tells him that 
 
312 ADDISON. 
 
 he has lost ten pounds by a copy of verses. Addison 
 assures him, that every time he meets with such a 
 loss, the more like a true poet he Avill be. In the 
 spelling of his letters, there is something which would 
 fill a phonographer with delight: the word " bin" 
 always represents the preterite of the verb to be ; and 
 there are sundry other graces of the kind, which 
 show how little importance was then attached to 
 what is now considered essential in a well-educated 
 writer. 
 
 On his second visit to Paris, he was able to enjoy 
 the society in which it abounded ; and, if it seems 
 strange, that, with his acknowledged reserve, he 
 could ever make himself at home in it, we must 
 remember that such persons are very much influ 
 enced by the prevailing social spirit. In England, 
 such a man would need to be furnished with an 
 ice-breaker to make his way in their arctic circles ; 
 but where there is no reserve to meet reserve, but 
 all are at their ease, a bashful man forgets himself, 
 ceases to think of his own words and motions, and 
 therefore is unconstrained and free. He was very 
 much struck with the cheerfulness of the French, 
 and the excellent terms with themselves on which 
 they all stood. Sometimes their self-exaltation was 
 disagreeable to an Englishman, who of course had 
 as good an opinion of his own country as they could 
 possibly have of France ; but their familiar courtesy 
 was always pleasing, and among their men of letters 
 he found these whom he considered it a privilege to 
 know. Among others, he visited Malebranche, who 
 was much admired by the English. The French 
 
ADDISON. 313 
 
 nation at the time had taken a religious turn, and 
 apprehended that there might be something unchris 
 tian in speculations which they did not understand. 
 Malebranche was therefore better acquainted with 
 the great men of England than some others of his 
 countrymen ; and, though he said nothing of glori 
 ous John, who was out of his line, he had heard of 
 Newton, and also of Hobbes, at whom he shook his 
 head. 
 
 But Italy is the country in which such a traveller 
 must feel most at home. He reached it in the usual 
 way by the tour through Switzerland, where the 
 scenery impressed him as it does all others. His 
 indifference, amounting to contempt for the Gothic 
 architecture, which appears in some passages of his 
 work, has given an impression to the disadvantage 
 of his taste. But this preference was of the conven 
 tional kind ; it was one in which he was educated ; 
 it was not to be overcome by general cultivation, 
 like a mistaken choice in literary works, nor had it 
 any thing to do with that love of nature, which often 
 is found mature and faultless in those who do not 
 know one picture, statue, or building from another. 
 While in France, he was agreeably struck with 
 those places in which the French king, when improv 
 ing his palace-grounds, had followed the leading 
 suggestions of nature, instead of forcing nature into 
 the traces of art. We apprehend that he must have 
 found but few such cases, and he valued them the 
 more perhaps on account of their rarity ; for the 
 landscape gardening of that day, which was im 
 ported from that country into England, seemed to 
 27 
 
 
314 ADDISON. 
 
 have for its leading principle to suppress nature, and 
 to extinguish what it could not reform. 
 
 But, while he found pleasure in contemplating 
 these wonders and glories of the visible world, his 
 active and searching mind made him a philosophical 
 observer of men. He looks upon them with " most 
 humorous sadness ; " sometimes smiling at follies and 
 pretensions, often breathing a fine spirit of liberty, 
 but always inspired with a love of his race. He was 
 just the man to encounter the officer of the Prince of 
 Monaco, whose dominions consisted of two towns. 
 That official told him, with much solemnity, that his 
 master and the king of France were faithful allies 
 and friends. His most Christian majesty must have 
 derived great solace from this assurance, when Marl- 
 borough was thundering on his borders. The little 
 republic of San Marino, which has existed through 
 so many changes in Europe, is described with ad 
 mirable humor ; of that kind, however, which, with 
 out any violent transition, easily resumes the serious 
 vein. It closes with a manly reflection on that natural 
 love of liberty which fills its rocks and snows with 
 inhabitants, while the Campagna is deserted ; show 
 ing the deep and universal feeling, that the chief 
 blessing of moral existence is for men to feel that 
 they are free. 
 
 In his description of Rome, where he spent con 
 siderable time, the same fine spirit appears. Though 
 he does not seem to have been an enthusiast in the 
 arts, he was deeply interested in every thing con 
 nected with ancient literature ; and the remains of 
 the Eternal City, eternal in its glory and influence, 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 315 
 
 though sinking under the effects of malaria and time, 
 had all of them some relation to those studies in which 
 he was most deeply interested. His political feel 
 ing, if, indeed, it does not deserve the higher name 
 of humanity, is shown in the remark, that the gran 
 deur of the old commonwealth manifested itself in 
 works of convenience or necessity, such as temples, 
 highways, aqueducts, walks, and bridges ; while the 
 magnificence of the city under the emperors dis 
 played itself in works of luxury or ostentation, such 
 as amphitheatres, circuses, triumphal arches, pillars, 
 and mausoleums. Miss Aikin suggests that he was 
 the first who ever used the expression " classic 
 ground," which is now as familiar as the ground 
 on which we tread. In his days, Rome was not 
 visited, as it is now, by tourists from all parts of the 
 world : the Englishman, having no social intercourse 
 with the living, had ample time for intimacy with the 
 mighty dead. Addison remarks that he had become 
 an adept in ancient coins, while he had almost lost 
 his acquaintance with English money. As to rust, 
 he could tell the age of it at sight ; having been 
 forced, by his total want of other society, to converse 
 with pictures, statues, and medals, all of which had 
 some story to tell of the interesting and memorable 
 past. 
 
 Swift, in a well-known allusion to Addison s cir 
 cumstances at this time, speaks of him as caressed 
 by lords, and left distressed in foreign lands ; which 
 is true enough, so far as regards his circumstances, 
 though the lords do not appear to deserve the 
 reproach which the dean, with his usual caustic 
 
316 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 philanthropy, endeavors to cast upon them. They 
 faithfully served Addison, or rather meant to serve 
 him, while they had the power : it was no fault of 
 theirs that King William broke his neck, and the 
 pension was left unpaid. Their ability to serve him 
 depended on their continuance in office, and they 
 would have been glad to retain the power, if possi 
 ble. They had already designated him for the office 
 of English secretary, to attend Prince Eugene, who 
 had just commenced the war in Italy, for the pur 
 pose of transmitting home accounts of his plans and 
 operations. These designs in his favor, of course, 
 came to nothing when they lost their places ; and he 
 must certainly have been hard pressed for the means 
 of subsistence. With his usual manly reserve on 
 matters which were personal to himself, he says no 
 thing of his own wants or his means ; neither does 
 Tickell, who had the means of knowing, supply the 
 deficiency ; but the papers of Tonson show that he 
 was looking round for that support which patron 
 age was no longer able to supply. The bookseller, 
 who was a sort of Maecenas in his way, had been 
 desired by the Duke of Somerset, usually called the 
 Proud, one of those animals whom chance some 
 times appears to lift up to see how they will look in 
 their elevation, to find a travelling tutor for his 
 son ; and it occurred to Tonson, in his good-nature, 
 that the place would be the one for Addison. For 
 the service thus rendered, the duke was to pay a 
 hundred guineas at the end of the year ; which seemed 
 to himself so munificent, that he expected the offer 
 to be welcomed with rapture by the fortunate indi- 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 317 
 
 vidual on whom the choice should fall. Addison had 
 no objection to the place ; but he had no mind to 
 worship the golden calf that offered it. He accord 
 ingly wrote an acceptance of the proposal, saying, at 
 the same time, that the compensation was not such 
 as would make it an object, if the place were not on 
 other accounts such as he desired. This independ 
 ence was something so new to the nobleman, that he 
 considered it equal to a rejection of his offer ; at any 
 rate, he saw that it would not be received with the 
 profound sense of obligation which he expected ; 
 and thus he lost the opportunity of going down to 
 future times in connection with one who would have 
 taught his son the manners and feelings of a gentle 
 man, which the young sparks of aristocracy have not 
 always the means of learning, and whose fame was 
 bright enough to illuminate the insignificance of his 
 own. 
 
 The literary history of England affords many such 
 examples of lords in rank who are commoners in 
 spirit and feeling. It is well that the changes of time 
 had transferred the office of patron of men of letters 
 to publishers like Jacob Tonson and his successors. 
 If all of them had manifested the sense and spirit of 
 Addison, the traditional base of prejudice on which 
 the card-house of nobility rests must long since have 
 given way to a better system, which would estimate 
 claims to respect, not by the court-register nor the 
 assessor s list, but by the elevation of manly and 
 moral feeling, and the riches of the heart. 
 
 When Addison returned to England, he was high 
 in reputation ; but, as he was in his thirty-third year, 
 27* 
 
318 ADDISON. 
 
 without the means of subsistence, the respect which 
 was paid him, and the honor of being a member of 
 the Kitcat, did not quite console him for the prospect 
 of starving. But his political party was rising ; the 
 victories of Marlborough were quite as beneficial to 
 the Whigs as to the country ; and, when the battle 
 of Blenheim had thrown all others into the shade, 
 Godolphin, turning his attention for once from New 
 market to Parnassus, was anxious to find some poet 
 to sing the triumph in strains of equal glory. As the 
 gentlemen of his acquaintance dealt in other steeds 
 than Pegasus, he applied to Montagu, better known 
 by his title of Halifax, who told him, with more truth 
 than courtesy, that, if he knew such a person, he 
 would not advise him to write while fools and block 
 heads were in favor, and those who had a good title 
 to distinction were neglected. The lord treasurer 
 did not resent the insinuation, though exceeding 
 broad, and simply promised that whoever would do 
 the service worthily should have no reason to repent 
 his labors. He then sent to Addison, at the sugges 
 tion of Halifax, who wisely thought that the poet 
 would do more for himself than his friends could do 
 for him. The work was undertaken at once ; and, 
 when it had proceeded as far as the famous simile of 
 the angel, Godolphin, on seeing it, gave him the 
 place of commissioner of appeals, which fell vacant 
 by the resignation of John Locke. 
 
 There is something grotesque in this dealing in 
 poetry as merchandise, and rewarding the bard with 
 a post from which the great metaphysician had just 
 departed. But, ,vhat is more to the purpose, the 
 
ADDISON. 319 
 
 poem was exactly what was wanted ; and it does 
 credit to the public taste, that, with so small an infu 
 sion of thunder and lightning, without any approach 
 to extravagance or excess, it should have found its 
 way to the proud heart of England, and been deemed 
 an adequate celebration of the greatest triumph of 
 her arms. The truth was, the angel rode in the 
 whirlwind and directed the storm to very good pur 
 pose ; at any rate, he contrived that they should fill 
 the poet s sails, which were wisely and not ambitiously 
 spread. Though it is not one of those works which 
 readers of the present day care much for, still it is 
 read, which is more than can be said of any other 
 poem manufactured in the same way. They com 
 monly die with the momentary enthusiasm which 
 called them into existence ; and the chief credit 
 which the poet now gains is that of having kept 
 clear of the faults and follies in which all similar 
 writings abound. One good effect of it was to set 
 the writer clear from debt. Slow rises talent, when 
 poverty hangs upon it ; its flight is rather that of the 
 flying-fish than the eagle ; and Marlborough did not 
 more rejoice to see the enemy fly, than the poet to 
 disperse his duns, and once more to stand even with 
 the world. 
 
 We have dwelt thus at large on the manner in 
 which Addison came forward into public life, to 
 show that he did not ascend, as Lord Bacon says 
 men generally go up to office, by a u winding stair." 
 It was owing to the prevailing impression of his 
 ability, not only in literary efforts, but for the duties 
 of any station. Two years after the publication of 
 
320 ADD1SON, 
 
 the " Campaign," he was appointed under-secretary 
 of state by Sir Charles Hedges, and continued in 
 that office by the Earl of Sunderland. The duties 
 could not have been oppressive ; at least, he was 
 able to accompany Lord Halifax to the Continent 
 on a complimentary mission to the Elector, officiat 
 ing as secretary to the minister, and receiving from 
 that Maecenas no other compensation or reward than 
 the honor and expense of the tour. It is unfortunate 
 that we have not more of his letters, which would 
 give us entertaining glimpses of the public events of 
 the day, such as the union of England and Scotland, 
 which was so bitterly opposed by many of the latter 
 nation. He says that one of the ministers of Edin 
 burgh lamented in his prayer, that Providence, after 
 having exalted England to be the head of Europe, 
 was in a fair way to make it one of the tails : this was 
 probably a correct expression of the gratitude with 
 which the measure of annexation was received. 
 
 One pleasant touch of the old Stuart feeling is 
 brought to light, showing that Anne was not entirely 
 passive, though she spent her days under the harrow 
 of royalty, without the least power to do as she 
 pleased. Something having passed in the lower 
 house of convocation tending to reduce her authority 
 as head of the church, she sent word to them that 
 she forgave them for that time, but would make use 
 of some other methods with them in case they did 
 the like in future. He alludes to an odd premonition 
 of the revolutionary spirit in France, in an age when 
 no one dreamed of any such thing. It was a pro 
 posal conveyed in a memorial, through the Duke 
 
ADD1SON. 321 
 
 of Burgundy, to the government, advising them to 
 get possession of the useless plate in convents and 
 palaces, and to convert it into money ; and, more 
 over, to take the needless officers and pensionaries, 
 the number of whom was estimated at eighty thou 
 sand, and to employ them in the foreign service of 
 the country. The latter part of this plan might 
 answer for other nations, even for some in which the 
 grand consummation of republicanism is already 
 come. The only difficulties are, that the gentlemen 
 in question, having the management of every thing, 
 would choose to render this patriotic service by 
 proxy : their part is to gather to the carcass when it 
 is fallen, leaving others to pull it down. 
 
 Addison was not long to retain this office, which 
 was well suited to his capacity and taste. The queen, 
 who was occasionally persuaded to make changes, to 
 show the world that she had a will of her own, a 
 fact which, notwithstanding her sex, was seriously 
 doubted, had begun to take the Tories into favor 
 and council, and was preparing, as fast as she dared, 
 to remove Marlborough from his brilliant station. 
 Meantime, Addison was employed in an attempt to 
 introduce an English opera to public favor in Lon 
 don. It seemed to him ridiculous for audiences to 
 sit by the hour listening to a language which neither 
 singer nor hearer understood. His plan was to 
 marry the Italian music to English verse ; without 
 reflecting, that, as nature had denied him an ear, he 
 was not the person to officiate at the bridal, and that 
 common-sense is not exactly the presiding genius by 
 which such matters are controlled. Johnson says, 
 
322 ADDJSON. 
 
 that on the stage the new opera was either hissed or 
 neglected, and growls at the author for dedicating it, 
 when published, to the Duchess of Marlborough, a 
 woman wholly without pretensions to literature or 
 taste ; not reflecting, that, if poets had been so fas 
 tidious in looking for patrons, they would have been 
 at. their wits end where to find them. 
 
 The moralist is, however, compelled by his sense 
 of justice to allow that the work is airy and elegant, 
 engaging in its progress and pleasing in its close. He 
 says that the subject is well chosen, the fiction plea 
 sant, and the praise of Marlborough in it is the result 
 of good-luck, improved by genius, as perhaps every 
 work of excellence must be. Sir John Hawkins, 
 who pretended to great connoisseurship in music, 
 and must at least have been a perfect judge of a dis 
 cord, having passed all his life in one, pronounced 
 the music of "Rosamond," which was the name of 
 the opera, " a jargon of sounds." This, however, 
 was the fault of the composer, or possibly might be 
 attributed to the crabbed temper of the amateur ; 
 and, when Johnson pronounced the opera one of the 
 best of A.ddison s compositions, it is clear that it could 
 not have injured his fame. One good effect of it was 
 to bring him into acquaintance with Tickell, then at 
 Oxford, who, according to the fashion of the time, 
 sent him some complimentary verses. He soon be 
 came the friend and associate of Addison, both in his 
 literary and public labors, and always proved himself 
 able, faithful, and honorable in every trust confided to 
 his hands. The only complaint the world has to make 
 of him is, that he has told so few particulars respect- 
 
ADDISON. 323 
 
 ing the life of Addison : this shows that Boswells, 
 though their price in the market is not high, are 
 beings of no small value ; and that the literary world 
 would consult its own interest by making it a rule to 
 encourage the multiplication of the race, rather than 
 to ridicule and abuse them. 
 
 One of the last favors of the Whig administration 
 was to give Addison the place of secretary to the 
 lord-lieutenant of Ireland, who was then the Marquis 
 of Wharton. At a later period, he visited the same 
 country again, as secretary to Sunderland, who, after 
 a fashion more common in church than state, did 
 not trouble himself to cross the Channel in the dis 
 charge of his official duty. Johnson expresses won 
 der, that Addison should have connected himself 
 with a person so impious, profligate, and shameless 
 as Wharton, when his own character was, in these 
 respects, precisely the reverse of the other s. He 
 appears to have mistaken the father for the duke, his 
 son, who was so notorious in connection with the 
 Jacobite party. The elder was no saint certainly ; 
 but his character was light, compared to the utter 
 darkness of his son s. Archbishop King, a very high 
 authority, says that he had known Wharton forty 
 years, and always considered him a true patriot, and 
 one who had his country s interest at heart ; no small 
 praise for a statesman in any age, and one which, in 
 that season of all corruption, it was a special honor 
 to deserve ; so that Addison s connection with him 
 was not that confederacy with sin which the great 
 critic seems to have apprehended. 
 
 The conduct of the secretary, in both these mis- 
 
324 ADDISON. 
 
 sions, commanded respect, and gave general satisfac 
 tion. But here, again, Johnson seems to intimate 
 that he was rather avaricious in his ways. He tells 
 us, on Swift s authority, that the secretary never 
 remitted his fees of office in favor of his friends, giv 
 ing as a reason, that, if it was done in a hundred 
 instances, it would be a loss to himself of two hun 
 dred guineas, while no friend would be a gainer of 
 more than two. Swift, who was a great calculator, 
 could not disapprove such exactness ; and it should 
 not have been related without stating, at the same 
 time, that Addison s revenues, which might have 
 been very great, had he, like other secretaries, 
 received the presents offered by applicants for office, 
 were reduced by his determination to take nothing 
 more than the regular fees, so that his income was 
 comparatively small. Archbishop King speaks with 
 great respect of his exemption from every thing like 
 avarice and corruption in his discharge of duty ; a 
 virtue of which Ireland had not seen a very rich dis 
 play, and which is not valued in proportion to its 
 rarity in that unfortunate island even now. 
 
 The truth is, that Addison was one of those who 
 care less for appearance than for reality : he was not 
 disposed to be generous, if that would make it im 
 possible for him to be just. Unlike some other men 
 of great talent, he never felt as if his genius released 
 him from the obligations of common honesty. He 
 would have despised himself, if he had made the 
 flourish of doing liberal favors, while a creditor was 
 suffering or complaining because his debt was un 
 paid. The knavish repudiation, which is so often 
 
ADDISON. 325 
 
 tolerated in great men, was not consistent with his 
 regard for his own honor. The feeling of the world 
 with respect to these matters is one that brings a 
 snare. So long as an eminent person is present to 
 awaken a personal interest in his readers or his party, 
 they forgive him this lavish freedom with money 
 which belongs to others ; they forbear to press home 
 that charge of dishonesty to which they know he 
 must plead guilty. But, when he is gone from the 
 earth, and the Egyptian tribunal sits in judgment on 
 the dead, that impartial court assumes as the law, 
 that he should first of all have done justly ; for if, 
 trampling on that obligation, he professed to have 
 gone on to the love of mercy, it must condemn as a 
 selfish crime that indulgence of feeling at the expense 
 of principle ; and it decides that the crown of bene 
 volence and generosity shall never be worn by the 
 unjust, and that a man who is not honest enough to 
 pay his debts when he has the power, however highly 
 he may be gifted, is the meanest work of God. Ad- 
 dison was sometimes very poor ; he was never rich : 
 his circumstances were such as to make exactness of 
 calculation a necessity as well as a virtue. But it 
 is idle to charge with avarice one who resisted temp 
 tations to gain wealth which he might have yielded 
 to without censure from others, and which he resisted 
 simply because he feared the censure of his own 
 heart. 
 
 It is quite evident, that, with this view of duty, he 
 must have been often troubled with the reckless 
 improvidence of his friend Steele, who cared little 
 how or from whom he obtained the means of expen- 
 
 28 
 
326 ADDISON. 
 
 sive self-indulgence, and, when he borrowed, never 
 associated with the act the idea that he must after 
 wards pay. That Addison was kind and charitable 
 to his follies is evident from their long attachment ; 
 but, when the revenue of the nation would not have 
 been sufficient to supply Steele s wasteful profusion, 
 it would have been as thoughtless as unavailing to 
 put his own living into the hands of the spendthrift, 
 only to see it fooled away. There are but few 
 traces on record of their dealings, in which, of 
 course, the borrowing was ah 1 on one side and the 
 lending on the other ; but that Addison lent freely 
 appears from a remark in one of Steele s letters to 
 his wife, in which he says, that " he has paid Mr. 
 Addison the whole thousand pounds." At a later 
 time, he says to her, " You will have Mr. Addison s 
 money to-morrow noon." 
 
 But Johnson has embalmed a story to Addison s 
 disadvantage, of his sending an execution into 
 Steele s house for a debt of a hundred pounds, 
 communicated to him by Savage, which has ap 
 peared in different forms. One account represents 
 Steele as telling the story with tears in his eyes ; 
 and, if these had no other source than their mutual 
 compotations, all such embellishments would be 
 easily supplied by the same inspiration. Another 
 version makes the sum a thousand pounds, and says 
 that with a " genteel letter the balance of the produce 
 of the execution was remitted to Steele." When 
 Johnson adopted the story, it was so inconsistent 
 with all that was known of Addison, that the world 
 could not believe it : he was asked to give his au- 
 
ADDISON. 327 
 
 thority ; there was no other than that of Savage, 
 which he knew was, if high in his estimation, low 
 enough in that of others ; and, instead of resting it 
 on that foundation, he said it was part of the familial- 
 literary history of the day. Now, there were times 
 when Savage s powers of hearing and speaking were 
 somewhat confused ; he may very easily have mis 
 interpreted some hasty suggestion of Steele s, who 
 at times labored under the same physical infirmity, 
 into a statement of what had actually taken place ; 
 and one must have an accurate knowledge of the 
 circumstances, at least so far as to be informed 
 whether Savage at the time was at the table or un 
 der it, before he can put implicit faith in a tradition 
 based on his authority alone. If the story is true in 
 any part, it is rather strange that it did not interrupt 
 the friendly harmony of the parties, which it certainly 
 never did ; and the idea suggested by Thomas 
 Sheridan was undoubtedly correct, that it was done, 
 not so much to secure the debt as to screen Steele s 
 property from other creditors. The debt was real, 
 without question ; Addison could not take such a 
 step in collusion with Steele without giving it the 
 aspect of an underhand proceeding, where fraud or 
 conspiracy there was none. As this solution is 
 perfectly consistent with Addison s character, who 
 had not the least severity in his nature to lead him 
 to such painful extremes, we should receive it at 
 once as the satisfactory explanation ; that is, if any 
 was needed beyond the circumstance, that the brains 
 of both Steele and Savage were often rolling in those 
 fine frenzies in which visions become reality, and the 
 
328 ADDISON. 
 
 boundary separating fact and fiction becomes as 
 variable as the profile of a wave of the sea. 
 
 Of the difficulty of ascertaining any fact thus told, 
 and therefore of believing it, we have an illustration 
 in what is said of Swift, who must be prominent in 
 any history where he appears, and who was so way- 
 Avard and peculiar, that his habits attracted more 
 attention than those of other persons equally high. 
 Odd enough, in all conscience, he was ; but this 
 same Sheridan, in his biography, has represented 
 him as making his appearance at Button s coffee 
 house, then the resort of the wits, in a rusty dress, 
 with a rude and unsocial manner, and a freedom of 
 talk, which, if it did not transcend all propriety, at 
 least hung over the outer edge. These peculiarities 
 gained him the name of the " mad parson," a title 
 to which he had, probably, a more serious claim 
 than those who applied it were able to discern. The 
 date of these proceedings was somewhere between 
 Swift s first political pamphlet in 1701, and his 
 " Tale of a Tub " in 1704 ; and, unless the relater 
 of the story could plead somnambulism to the satis 
 faction of the great jury of the public, there was 
 something in the dates, which, if challenged, must 
 have sorely " plagued the inventor." Addison, who 
 presided in these merry scenes, was all this while 
 residing quietly in Europe ; and he did not set up 
 his servant Button in this establishment, till some 
 time after his return at the close of 1703 ; so that it 
 was in some pre-existent state that Button and his 
 coffee-house must have been regaled with the exploits 
 of the " mad parson." It seems a pity to spoil these 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 3-29 
 
 pleasant stories by this narrow searching into their 
 truth. In common cases, they may go for what 
 they are worth ; but where a great man is charged 
 with inhumanity, entirely at variance with all that is 
 known of his character, there seems to be a reason 
 for applying the test of circumstantial evidence, and 
 figures which do not indulge themselves in lying, 
 but on the contrary sometimes expose the careless 
 ness, to say the least, of those who indiscreetly use 
 them. 
 
 The whole history of Addison s relations with 
 Swift is one that does him the greatest honor. It 
 was no easy matter to keep always on good terms 
 with such a man, whose natural disposition was 
 cynical and sarcastic, and who was wrought up, by 
 his strange fortune in politics, to a state of exaspera 
 tion against all mankind ; against the Whigs, 
 because they had not prevented the necessity of his 
 going over to the enemy ; and against the Tories, 
 because, with his sharp discernment, he saw that they 
 disliked while they flattered, and distrusted while 
 they used him. He was not blind to the fact, that, 
 with all his power to serve their cause, he had no 
 power to serve his own interests, which he had 
 no idea of disregarding. He fondly persuaded him 
 self that he could do much for others ; but it was 
 clear that he could do nothing for himself; and he 
 was not the man to hold a barren sceptre, and be 
 content with the gratification of vanity alone. This 
 unsatisfactory position in which he stood soured his 
 temper, which was not originally of the same growth 
 with sugar-cane, and made his wayward humor, 
 
 23* 
 
330 ADDISON. 
 
 where he put no constraint upon it, about as much 
 as the most Christian spirit could bear. 
 
 We have an example, in the story told by Pope, 
 of his paying him a visit in company with Gay, and 
 not arriving till after the hour of supper. Swift felt 
 it as a reflection on his hospitality : he therefore cal 
 culated how much the meal would have cost him, 
 and forced each of them to accept half a crown, in 
 order that, if they told the story with the idea of his 
 housekeeping which it implied, they might be under 
 the necessity of reporting themselves as the subjects 
 of his munificence too. There have been many 
 attempts to solve the problem of his unhappy his 
 tory ; but it seems to us there can be no reasonable 
 doubt, that, in these eccentricities of life, some of 
 which were so painful, we see the approach of that 
 insanity which clouded his fine understanding at last. 
 There are many shades of this unsoundness of mind, 
 before it reaches the point at which responsibility 
 ceases. Where that line is, and when the wayward 
 mind passes over it, can be determined only by Him 
 who reads the heart. There are many cases in 
 which it would be consoling to believe, in spite of 
 modern theologians, that demoniacal possession has 
 not yet wholly ceased from the world. 
 
 Considering what Swift s character was, there was 
 something remarkable in his constant respect and 
 attachment for Addison, who was so prominent in 
 the opposite party. Addison regarded him as the 
 first writer of the age ; and he, with the greatest 
 deference for Addison s ability, paid a still more 
 enviable homage to his acknowledged virtues. Even 
 
ADDISON. 331 
 
 when there had been something like estrangement 
 between them, on account of politics, he wrote to 
 Stella, " I yet know no man half so agreeable to me 
 as he is." When Addison first went to Ireland, 
 Swift expressed the hope, in a letter to Archbishop 
 King, that business might not spoil the best man in 
 the world. To Addison himself he says, that every 
 creature in the island who had a grain of worth ven 
 erated him, the Tories contending with the Whigs 
 which should say the most in his praise ; and, if he 
 chose to be king of Ireland, there was not a doubt 
 that all would submit to his power. At the same 
 time, he says, " I know there is nothing in this to 
 make you of more value to yourself; and yet it 
 ought to convince you, that the Irish are not an 
 uridistinguishing people." 
 
 When Addison was in England, and Swift was 
 daily expecting to hear of the predominance of his 
 own party, he wrote to the Whig secretary to learn 
 whether it was expedient to come over ; knowing 
 that he could trust his friendship and wisdom, though 
 on the opposite side. His aim appears to have been 
 a prebend then held by South ; but the old man, 
 who was never particularly complaisant, was not 
 disposed to die in order to oblige him. Addison 
 was also consulted with the same sort of confidence 
 by Wharton, who Avished to hold his post to the last 
 moment, and not resign till the new ministry were 
 likely, if he delayed, to save him the trouble. But 
 in those times of fierce excitement, when the nation 
 was stunned by the fall of Marlborough, it was not 
 possible for a man with Addison s power to remain 
 
332 ADDISON. 
 
 an inactive observer. He soon began to write in 
 reply to the " Examiner," then conducted by Prior, 
 a deserter from the Whigs ; and, without answering 
 in the same tone of abuse which Prior employed, he 
 showed how easy it was to put him down. Prior 
 had brought forward in one of his papers the letter 
 of a solemn correspondent, who recommended the 
 " Examiner " to the people : Addison said it re 
 minded him of a physician in Paris, who walked the 
 streets with a boy before him proclaiming, " My 
 father cures all sorts of diseases ! " to which the 
 doctor responded, in a grave and composed manner, 
 " The child says nothing but the truth ! " 
 
 When the " Whig Examiner," in which Addison 
 wrote, came to an end, Swift rejoiced in his journal 
 to Stella that it was at last " down among the dead 
 men," using the words of a popular song of the day. 
 Johnson, though of the same party, remarks, " He 
 might well rejoice at the death of that which he could 
 not have killed." The critic, with unusual impar 
 tiality, goes on to say, that, since party malevolence 
 has died away (it is pleasant to know that party- 
 spirit is not immortal), every reader must wish for 
 more of the " Whig Examiners ; " since on no occa 
 sion was the genius of the writer more vigorously 
 exerted, and the superiority of his powers more evi 
 dently displayed. Swift did not begin writing for 
 the Examiner " till Addison had ceased from the 
 " Whig Examiner : " they met often, and with mu 
 tual satisfaction ; but on some points there was neces 
 sarily a reserve. Swift remarks in his journal, " We 
 are as good friends as ever ; but we differ a little 
 
ADDISON. 333 
 
 about party." At a later period, " I love him as 
 much as ever, though we seldom meet." Early in 
 the next year, he speaks of their never meeting ; but 
 in the autumn he records that he supped at Addison s 
 lodgings, and says that there was no man whose 
 society was so attractive. 
 
 The alienation seems to have been wholly on 
 Swift s side : it arose from his identifying Addison 
 and Steele, for which he had no reason, and consid 
 ering the former as laid under obligation by his at 
 tempts to save the latter. It is clear that Addison 
 had no concern with Steele s contrivances to secure 
 a plank for himself at the shipwreck of his party : he 
 did not choose to talk with Swift on the subject, and 
 the successful politician was wounded by this re 
 serve. He complained that Addison hindered Steele 
 from soliciting his services, because he did not wish 
 that his thoughtless friend should be obliged to a 
 Tory ; while, in the same sentence, he says that 
 Addison is asking his good offices to make another 
 friend secretary in Geneva, which he shall use his 
 influence to do. Even so it is with the jealous, 
 ready to believe impossible contradictions. He re- 
 senis Addison s unwillingness to ask a favor for one 
 friend, at the very moment when he is asking one for 
 another. Truly, it must have required all Addison s 
 wisdom, or rather his unconscious integrity, to avoid 
 giving irritation to such a temper as this. 
 
 Johnson, speaking of Swift s kind services to Addi 
 son and his friends, says he wished others to believe, 
 what he probably believed himself, that they were 
 indebted to his influence for keeping their places ; a 
 
334 ADDISON. 
 
 form of expression which implies that the doctor 
 himself did not put implicit faith in his power. But 
 the queen s death finished that overthrow of the Tory 
 party which the quarrels of Oxford and Bolingbroke 
 had begun ; and Swift, losing by it the grant of a 
 thousand pounds from the treasury, which he sur 
 rendered multa gemens, retreated to his deanery in 
 Ireland ; a home which he detested, but which was 
 the only preferment that the ministers dared to give 
 to a person of such unclerical fame. When Addison 
 went again to Ireland, as secretary to Sunderland, 
 that nobleman, who, with a most affectionate indul 
 gence for himself, was rather unforgiving to others, 
 desired that he would hold no communication with 
 Swift ; but, with a spirit which did him honor, Addi 
 son chose to be the judge of his own society, and 
 refused to give the pledge required. There is reason 
 to suppose that they met in Ireland, though nothing 
 is particularly set down respecting it ; and it is well 
 known that they corresponded with each other till 
 the death of Addison, each maintaining the greatest 
 respect and regard for the other. Now, obviously, 
 no man was ever less gifted with reverence by nature 
 than Swift ; no one ever had a sharper eye to look 
 through the follies and weaknesses of other men ; 
 and it does seem to us that his profound respect and 
 confidence afford a better testimonial to the excel 
 lence of Addison than volumes of mere enthusiastic 
 praise. 
 
 While the Whig party was shivering in the wind, 
 and after it had gone down, Addison was more at 
 leisure for literary labors. With the single exception 
 
ADDISON. 335 
 
 of the " Whig Examiner," and some not very com 
 plimentary notice of Sacheverel, that ridiculous 
 creature who contrived to lift himself into a mo 
 ment s notoriety, mistaking it for fame, he does 
 not seem to have concerned himself much with pub 
 lic affairs. Meantime, Steele, who had great activity 
 of mind together with his well-known warmth of 
 heart, and was not without that ability which perpet 
 ual action gives, had formed the plan of a periodical, 
 to appear three times in the week, intended to contain 
 observations on life and manners, together with the 
 usual matter of newspapers. From its novelty it 
 met with some success ; and Addison, who was 
 then in Ireland, accidentally meeting with some 
 numbers of it, detected its author at once by a re 
 mark which he had himself communicated to Steele, 
 and which he knew was not likely to be indigenous 
 in any common editor s head. 
 
 Steele was excellent at suggesting all manner of 
 plans ; he was not without resources himself, and he 
 had extraordinary talents for securing the aid of 
 others, and saving himself that labor in which he 
 never delighted. By taking the name of Bickerstaff 
 for the imaginary editor of the " Tatler," he attracted 
 attention ; that being the name under which Swift 
 had lately satirized Partridge, the almanac-maker, 
 to death. This compliment, as was probably in 
 tended, secured the favor and assistance of the dean. 
 But the greatest windfall was the disposition of Ad 
 dison to come to the rescue ; and surely never was 
 there a channel better suited to make public those 
 treasures of sharp observation, critical remark, and 
 
336 ADDISON. 
 
 thoughtful humor, in which he abounded ; and which, 
 if not published anonymously, and in this light and 
 piecemeal form, might have been entirely lost to the 
 world. Steele, who was never deficient in good 
 feeling, was glad beyond measure when he found 
 what aid he had the prospect of receiving : he had 
 no jealousy of that genius which he knew was to 
 make such overshadowing eclipse of his own. In 
 fact, he says that he rejoiced in being excelled ; in 
 fluenced in part, doubtless, by a regard to the cir 
 culation of the paper, the profit of which was quite 
 important to his precarious resources, but also enjoy 
 ing the honor of heralding such talent as that of 
 Addison. and claiming that gratitude for the service 
 which the world was ready to give. 
 
 The world had more reason to be grateful for the 
 service actually rendered by these publications, than 
 it was able to estimate at the time. Afterwards, the 
 change of manners, which they were so instrumental 
 in producing, evidently appeared to be a signal im 
 provement, as well as a much-needed blessing. The 
 word gentleman, at that time, was a word without a 
 substantial meaning : it simply denoted one who was 
 not born to the worldly grandeur of nobleman, ba 
 ronet, or squire. Nothing like refinement of manners 
 or cultivation of mind was necessarily associated with 
 it. So far as wigs, red heels, and similar decorations, 
 could invest one with the aspect of civilization, they 
 were faithfully applied ; but, though the faith yet 
 lingers in the world, it is a mistake to suppose that 
 tailors and hair-dressers can make a gentleman ; 
 and, after all those decorations were put on, it was 
 
ADDISON. 337 
 
 felt that the gilding on the outside of the platter 
 could not supply the place of that cleanness within, 
 in which it was so wretchedly wanting. Not much 
 could be gained by the teaching of foreign masters. 
 Louis the Fourteenth, who was careful never to pass 
 a chambermaid without raising his hat, was coarse 
 as sea-sand in the substantial reality of refinement in 
 the domestic and social relations; and, in England, 
 whatever conventional system of manners might be 
 ordained, the barbarism of party spirit, intemperate 
 excess, and licentious indulgence, was perpetually 
 breaking through. It was necessary for some com 
 manding influence to be exerted strongly enough 
 to lift those virtues which were in low esteem ; to put 
 fashionable Vandalism to shame ; to raise the woman 
 above the courtesan, the flirt, or even the lady ; and 
 to show that the coxcomb, like Beau Fielding, the 
 automaton with a title, or even coronets and orders 
 without heads and hearts under them, were poor 
 varieties of manufacture, compared with the real 
 man. 
 
 It may have been, that there was a strong feeling 
 standing ready to welcome the right kind of re- 
 formet. The beastly excesses of Charles s court 
 must have produced a re-action in favor of decency, 
 at least, if not of virtue ; and, after the Revolution 
 of 1688, the sovereign did not encourage rakes and 
 rascals as much as he had done before. Still, though 
 the evil of immorality did not show itself in the 
 highest places as it did in that pandemonium where 
 such low bipeds as Sedley and Buckingham held 
 sway, it was powerful, and prevailed to such a de- 
 29 
 
338 ADDISON. 
 
 gree that it required a master to put it down. The 
 right kind of reformer is one who understands the 
 nature of the temptation, and the way to approach 
 the heart. There are many who lay claim to that 
 honorable name, and, so far as good intentions go, 
 deserve it, who resemble engineers laying siege to a 
 city, and beginning their operations by knocking their 
 own heads against the wall which they desire to over 
 throw. This promising experiment is repeated again 
 and again by the reformers of the present day. By 
 reason of the singular firmness of that part of their 
 physical system, they escape the consequences that 
 might be expected to follow, which is, indeed, a 
 crowning mercy ; but, when tfiey charge others less 
 gifted in the roof-tree with inhumanity for not using 
 the same battering-ram in their warfare, it may be 
 well to show them that there are other means of 
 contending with evil, less violent perhaps, but far 
 more likely to accomplish the purpose ; and that the 
 head, if it has any thing in it, can be used to more 
 advantage in a different way. 
 
 Thus Addison, by an easy and graceful adaptation 
 of his suggestions to the place and the time, gained 
 an audience for himself, where others would not have 
 been listened to. He improved the opportunity to 
 impress lessons of wisdom and virtue ; and he pro 
 duced an effect much greater than is generally 
 known. However little the world of that day was 
 inclined to thoughtfulness, it was intellectual enough 
 to admire his ability ; and, when men s respect was 
 thus secured, they could not treat with scorn the 
 instructions of such a master. Thus, thousands who 
 
ADD1SON. 339 
 
 would not have paid regard to mere professional 
 teaching were put in the way to hear of religion and 
 duty, and, still more, to see the pleasantness of tho^e 
 paths which he desired to have them tread. 
 
 Steele had the same good purpose of doing some 
 thing to raise the prevailing tone of morals and man 
 ners ; but there was an obvious reason why he was 
 not equal to the effort, inasmuch as he must needs 
 have commenced the enterprise by taking heed to his 
 own way of life. It is not by one who is able only to 
 supply the gossip of the hour, that such a work can be 
 successfully done. He could not have effected much 
 in that way, without his more powerful coadjutor. 
 But, in the alliance, his knowledge of the world was 
 not without its influence ; his ways of life brought 
 him into acquaintance with all sorts of persons. This 
 gave him that knowing air which is so generally im 
 pressive ; and, as the intimation was held out that 
 real events and characters were alluded to, his fami 
 liarity with men and manners made him formidable, 
 since it was certain that nothing which he knew 
 would be withheld from the public by excessive 
 caution or reserve. His short narratives, imaginary 
 letters, and various particulars of the kind, which 
 have now lost their interest, were then attractive and 
 exciting. That there was much chaff to the wheat 
 is certain ; still, there was something there : and, 
 even now, though the day of such writings is over, 
 those who have any love of common sense or literary 
 history will find as much to gratify their intellectual 
 taste, if they happen to have any, by reading the 
 " Tatler," as in dozing away life by lying parallel 
 
340 ADDISON. 
 
 with the horizon on the ill-savored heaps of George 
 Sand, and all that unsanctified crew. 
 
 To the " Tatler " succeeded the " Spectator," a 
 work of higher order, published every day, and 
 almost entirely abstaining from party-strife, with the 
 view of making more elevating impressions on the 
 public mind. The " Tatler " was commenced and 
 closed without Addison s knowledge : but the new 
 paper was more under his command ; and in it he 
 distinguished his own articles by certain letters which 
 were afterwards well understood. Tickell rather su 
 perfluously says that he did so, because he did not 
 wish to usurp the praise of others ; Steele insinuated 
 that it was because he could not without discontent 
 allow others to share his own. Johnson quotes this 
 last remark, as if he thought there was cause for the 
 complaint which it implied ; but why, in the name 
 of reason, should Addison surrender all the credit of 
 his own labor and talent to another ? One would 
 think, that, after having done so through the whole 
 existence of the " Tatler," and having in that way 
 lifted it into favor and circulation, it was about as 
 much as one, who had no special claim upon him, 
 could rightfully demand. And we should like well 
 to know how many literary men there are, who, 
 while conscious, as he must have been, that they are 
 the life and soul of a publication, would allow others 
 to appropriate all the profits and the praise. 
 
 Meantime, it may be well to state, that the mean 
 ing of the Clio Letters was not known at the time ; 
 and the reader of the day had no means, except 
 internal evidence, of distinguishing one writer from 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 341 
 
 another. Johnson adds to this a disparaging remark, 
 which he might well have spared, saying he had 
 heard that Addison eagerly seized his share of the 
 income of the " Spectator." He does not give his 
 authority ; probably he had none, more than popular 
 report or conjecture. But it would be difficult to 
 give any reason why Addison should be counted 
 avaricious for deriving some benefit from his labor ; 
 and Johnson should have been too well acquainted 
 with what is rational and right, to imply such a 
 groundless charge. His circumstances were not 
 such as to raise him above the necessity of this exer 
 tion ; and it does seem poor and unworthy enough 
 to censure him for doing what every one else would 
 have done in his place, and at the same time with 
 hold all credit from his generosity on the former 
 occasion, when he did what not one man in fifty 
 thousand could find it in his heart to do. 
 
 The " Spectator " soon gave evidence of the ad 
 vantage of having more of Addison s interest in it, 
 and of being wholly under his control. He excluded 
 politics almost entirely, that pernicious indulgence 
 by which Steele had run the bark of his own fortunes 
 ashore. The small gossip and scandal, allusions to 
 which had been thought necessary to supply attrac 
 tion to the " Tatler," were thrown overboard without 
 ceremony, and preparation was made to give the 
 "Spectator" a tone serious, earnest, and high. It 
 was a bold undertaking ; few of our Dailies would 
 venture quite so far : but the great master who had 
 it in charge, with his endless variety of resources, 
 was able to make it popular, and at the same time 
 
 29* 
 
342 ADDISON. 
 
 an authority in his own age. and to render it through 
 all future time a subject of admiration to the intel 
 lectual ; alas that they should be so few ! Those 
 who wanted entertainment were refreshed with the 
 Freezing of Words, Shallum, and Hilpah, not to 
 speak of Sir Roger de Coverley, perhaps the most 
 refined and delicate piece of humor which the Eng 
 lish or any language affords. The imaginative 
 reader was delighted with the "Vision of Mirza" 
 and similar fancies, playing like sunbeams on the 
 solemn field of duty which was spread out before 
 his mind. In his critical papers, his object is not 
 to display his own profoundness, but to bring his 
 readers into sympathy with his own perfect taste ; 
 and he treats with easy and familiar grace the work 
 before him, whether it be the grand and gigantic 
 scenery of the " Paradise Lost, or the charm of 
 simple description in " Chevy Chase " and the 
 " Babes in the Wood." Nothing can be better suited 
 to its purpose than the moral and religious portion 
 of these writings : his interest in the subject is not 
 got up for the occasion, like the Catskill cascade, 
 playing when they let on the water ; it comes like a 
 clear stream, flowing from a deep well-spring in his 
 heart. With all his earnestness against the Free 
 thinkers, who, it must be remembered, were unthink 
 ing scoffers, ridiculing what they did not understand, 
 he is entirely exempt from narrowness, and maintains 
 that kind and cheerful bearing which religion should 
 always wear. 
 
 The style of these celebrated papers is, as every 
 one knows, as near perfection as any thing ever has 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 343 
 
 been, artless, unaffected, transparent, but always 
 manly and strong. Like Dryden, he followed the 
 example of Tillotson, whose discourses, though as 
 sermons they are no great things, were excellent in 
 their unpretending English style, illustrating the truth 
 that simplicity is the best of graces, and retains its 
 attraction when ornament, high finish, and cumbrous 
 decoration, lose their interest and pass away. As we 
 intimated, the " Spectator " is not so much read at 
 present as it deserves. The present age abounds, 
 more than it is aware of, in various literary affecta 
 tions. The muse in fashion screws her countenance 
 into various contortions, and " looks delightfully 
 with all her might ; " so that it is almost impossible 
 to tell what her natural expression, if she ever had 
 any, may have been. Possibly, a return to these 
 writings might do something to restore the modesty 
 of nature. The experiment is worth trying, at least 
 so far as to know for ourselves whether our taste is 
 depraved or not : if we can take pleasure in these 
 quiet and unexciting works, we may have reason for 
 confidence, that, both in literature and morals, it is 
 still in harmony with that which is good, and which, 
 though neglected at times, will never lose the venera 
 tion of those fortunate individuals who are equipped 
 with a mind and a heart. 
 
 The " Spectator " was suddenly brought to a close 
 without consulting with Addison, and the " Guar 
 dian" established in like manner, without the con 
 currence of the person on whom their character 
 depended. But he was not the man to be offended 
 by such want of attention ; though, under the cir- 
 
344 ADDISON. 
 
 cumstances, a little more deference to his judgment 
 would have done no harm. The " Guardian," 
 though not, according to Swift s wicked expression, 
 " cruel dry," was of a graver cast than its prede 
 cessors ; and in the earlier parts, where we cannot 
 trace the hand of the master, it is less interesting than 
 the others. Still, it stands high in comparison with 
 other writings of the kind, with the exception of its 
 own ancestry ; and Addison s part in it, though less 
 humorous than his former efforts, is in every way 
 worthy of his fame. Johnson complains of its occa 
 sional liveliness, as inconsistent with its professed 
 character of Guardian; we do not see why. There 
 is no reason why, even in one who guards the public 
 morals, an attempt to make others smile should be a 
 sin ; and even if it were not quite in keeping with 
 the profession, still, as punishment is intended for the 
 prevention of crime, and there are so few human 
 writings which offend by reason of being sprightly 
 overmuch, there is no crying necessity at present for 
 exacting dulness as a religious virtue, or scouting 
 pleasantry as at war with the best interests of man 
 kind. 
 
 The work did not extend beyond two volumes, 
 not from want of favor or circulation, but because 
 Steele, with his usual restlessness, longed to be en 
 gaged in those politics from which Addison withheld 
 him, and in which he was sure to injure himself, 
 without doing service to any party. Later in life, he 
 involved himself in a world of embarrassment, by a 
 wild speculation for carrying live fish to market : at 
 this time, he was engaged in carrying his fish to the 
 
ADDISON. 345 
 
 political market, where he succeeded only so far as 
 to bring himself into near acquaintance with the 
 frying-pan and the fire. Shortly after, he met with 
 an unusual measure of success, not, however, in con 
 sequence of any happy arrangements of his own, 
 but because the act of Providence unexpectedly 
 removed the queen from her subjects, who were 
 quite ready to spare her to the skies. It is matter of 
 surprise to us, that historians do not set down the 
 fact, which to our minds seems clear, though the poli 
 ticians of her day had no means of knowing it, that 
 the ascendency of Bolingbroke and Oxford, and the 
 fall of Marlborough, were owing, not, to use Bur- 
 net s elegant expression, to his " brimstone of a wife," 
 nor to spilling a cup of coffee on the royal gown, but 
 to the attachment of the queen to her exiled brother, 
 and the concurrence of the Tory ministry in her wish 
 and purpose to restore him to the throne. The com 
 munication of that administration with the Pretender 
 can now be fully proved ; the living actions and the 
 dying words of the queen leave no doubt of her 
 accession to their conspiracies ; and this fact, once 
 established, explains many things at which the world 
 then wondered, and which on any other theory it is 
 hardly possible to understand. 
 
 It was the agitation of these political factions that 
 brought forward the celebrated " Cato," a drama 
 which Addison had commenced many years be 
 fore, which he had labored upon during his travels, 
 and which he was induced to finish at last, not from 
 his own interest in it, but from the solicitations of his 
 friends, who believed it might have an effect favora- 
 
346 ADDISON. 
 
 ble to the Whigs in those doubtful times of party. 
 The Tory house was divided against itself: the 
 Whigs, who saw in this another pleasing instance of 
 Satan against Satan, took courage from the prospect 
 of their fall. The queen, too, was not immortal ; 
 and her habits of life were of the kind not favorable 
 to strength of purpose or length of days. If, as Lu- 
 can says, Cato, unlike the gods, was more inclined 
 to sympathize with the weaker party, the great 
 Roman in England at the time might have been 
 sorely puzzled to know which way to lean. In fact, 
 the moment the play was published and acted, both 
 parties claimed " Cato," not so much because they 
 cared for Addison as the author, as from their deter 
 mination to appear to the nation as the champions of 
 the free. 
 
 Drury Lane, however thronged in later times, cer 
 tainly never witnessed more excitement than on this 
 occasion. The performance was then in the after 
 noon ; and, dinner to the contrary notwithstanding, 
 the theatre was besieged before the hour of noon. 
 Steele, who had undertaken to pack an audience, 
 found that he could pack the whole city of London 
 without any sort of trouble. Booth established his 
 fame in the part of Cato. Bolingbroke made him a 
 present of fifty guineas, as he said, " for defending 
 the cause of liberty so well against a Perpetual Dic 
 tator ; " in which that versatile personage made it clear 
 to the player, that there were actors, not trained to 
 the boards, who were infinitely better than he. The 
 Whigs were not to be outdone in that way : they, too, 
 came with their gifts and laurels ; so that, according 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 347 
 
 to Garth s expression, and no man ever said any 
 thing better, it was extremely probable that Cato 
 would have something to live upon after he died. 
 
 But there is one thing which in this connection 
 should be faithfully remembered. Johnson has thrown 
 the shadow of avarice over the name of Addison, by 
 the saying which we have before referred to, respect 
 ing his avidity for profits and praise. Colley Gibber, 
 who at that time was a joint patentee and manager 
 of Drury Lane, says that the author made a present 
 to him arid his brethren of the profits, which were 
 neither few nor small. This was not like a miser : it 
 certainly does not look like eager avidity for money, 
 to give up so freely that which nothing but generosity 
 called him to surrender. And this is a remarkable 
 illustration, showing how a thoughtless phrase of 
 a biographer may fix in the public mind for ages a 
 false impression, though many striking actions, and the 
 whole tenor of the life, show to those who examine 
 the subject, that it must be the reverse of true. 
 
 Addison does not seem to have anticipated much 
 success, if any; not thinking the drama suitable for 
 the stage. Dr. Young says, that Dryden, to whom 
 it was submitted, predicted that it would not meet 
 with the reception which it deserved. But this must 
 refer to some earlier attempt, or to the part which 
 was written early, certainly not to the finished play, 
 inasmuch as Dryden had left the stage of this world 
 at least a dozen years before. Pope, however, did 
 express the same opinion. When Addison told him 
 that the " Rape of the Lock " was a delicious piece 
 as it stood, and advised him not to alter it, Pope 
 
348 ADDISON. 
 
 ascribed the counsel to jealousy on the elder poet s 
 part. How easy would it be to attribute this advice 
 to Addison to unworthy dread of Cato s anticipated 
 renown ! Addison, so far from resenting it, only 
 said that he was of the same opinion, but that he had 
 submitted to the judgment of his friends, who were 
 importunate to have it appear. He certainly hated 
 the labor of completing it ; he said that he should 
 be glad to have some one do it for him ; but when 
 Hughes rather valiantly made the attempt, he saw 
 that it might be brought to an end in good earnest, if 
 left to an inferior hand. Hughes consoled himself 
 for his failure by writing some laudatory lines, which, 
 according to the usual fashion, were afterwards pub 
 lished with the play. 
 
 There were several others who took the same 
 opportunity of shining out to the world. Young, 
 Tickell, and Philips are familiar names ; but there 
 were others more questionable : among the rest were 
 some lines left with the printer, which Johnson says 
 are the best, but which " will lose somewhat of their 
 praise when the author is known to be Jeffreys." 
 There has been a question who this individual could 
 be. Some have supposed that it was the judge of 
 that name : if so, he was more just in letters than in 
 law. But he had been for about twenty years in the 
 other world, where there is reason to suppose that he 
 was less pleasantly engaged than in writing poetry. 
 The person in question was a much more harmless 
 gentleman, who did execution on literary, not human, 
 subjects, and has escaped the doom of everlasting 
 fame. 
 
ADDISON. 349 
 
 These flourishes of adulation were not to the taste 
 of the author, and he did his best to decline them. 
 In a letter still preserved, he endeavors to put aside 
 the compliment without wounding the feelings of the 
 person who sent the lines ; but, as it was not so easy 
 to avoid the honor without inflicting pain on the 
 writers, he submitted to the necessity, and let their 
 little wherries sail by his side. But there was one 
 point, where his honor was concerned, on which he 
 took open and manly ground. He intended to 
 dedicate the play to the Duchess of Marlborough, 
 who was then fallen from her height, and unable to 
 serve his interests if she would. It was not pledged 
 or promised, but his purpose was known. Mean 
 time, the queen, who, without any passion for litera 
 ture, desired the honor of patronizing " Cato," sent 
 him an intimation that a dedication to herself would 
 give her pleasure. He did not choose to take the 
 hint ; and, neither to compromise his own indepen 
 dence, nor to offer a needless affront to his sovereign, 
 he sent it forth without a dedication, which was un 
 common at that day. But the manliness of the 
 proceeding was more unusual still, when, had he 
 been so disposed, he could have gained favor by the 
 attention, and silenced all objection by pleading the 
 royal command. 
 
 This tragedy has been a subject of great admira 
 tion, not unmingled with bitter censure, which falls 
 harmless because it only charges him with not doing 
 what he never wished nor intended to do. In the 
 desperate feuds between the partisans of the classical 
 and romantic schools, every writer connected with the 
 
 30 
 
350 ADDISON. 
 
 one must needs be ridiculed and disowned by the 
 other. But those who can break through this nar 
 rowness of creeds can easily see that these are matters 
 of taste. There is no reason why every thing should 
 be conformed to a single standard. Addison never 
 pretended to be Shakspeare : the last thing in his 
 mind was to enter into comparison with the un 
 rivalled. His classical prepossessions inclined him 
 to side with the French ; it was in France,, indeed, 
 that he set himself seriously about the play : and the 
 only question is, whether he succeeded in what he 
 wished to do, a question which the world has pretty 
 decidedly answered. Johnson, in his conversation, 
 said that nothing would be more ridiculous than to 
 see a girl weep at the representation of " Cato." 
 But what a standard is this ! At the performance of 
 his own " Irene " no one would ever have cried, ex 
 cept to see the end of it ; and it would have gone hard 
 enough with his own muse, if pathetic interest was 
 so essential a thing. But an audience may be very 
 tolerably entertained without going to the extent of 
 crying. With all his variety of power, Addison 
 never aimed at the pathetic : he dealt more in smiles 
 than tears* It is rather remarkable that he could 
 have thrown so much affecting interest round the 
 Stoic, not because his grand and solemn bear 
 ing is not impressive to the feeling, but because the 
 sympathies of audiences and readers grow accus 
 tomed to their familiar courses, and such is not the 
 channel in which they are expected to flow. Though 
 the love-scenes may not be happily conceived, and 
 the tragic interest may not be of the kind most in 
 
ADDISON. 351 
 
 request with the present play-going generation, this 
 work has a full testimony to its excellence in the 
 place which it holds in the memories of cultivated 
 men. The fine images and sentiment in which it 
 abounds, as Miss Aikin justly remarks, are in con 
 stant use even by those who do not know from what 
 source they drew them. 
 
 Dr, Johnson, for some reason or other, has tran 
 scribed a great part of Dennis s criticism on " Cato," 
 which drags its slow length like a snake through his 
 pages. It deserves attention, not for its justice, 
 though it is not wholly untrue, but for its opening 
 the way to that ill-feeling on the part of Pope toward 
 Addison, which has done more than any thing else 
 to mislead the reading world. This ill-starred critic, 
 whose chief sin seemed to be an utter obtuseness on 
 the subject of poetry, had previously regaled himself 
 by tearing the " Rape of the Lock " and the " Essay 
 on Criticism" in pieces with his savage teeth. This 
 was an offence which Pope, who, like sundry other 
 Christians, performed the duty of forgiveness in a 
 way of his own, made a point of resenting. The 
 time was come when he thought he could do it with 
 a better grace than by avenging injuries of his own. 
 Accordingly, under the profession of defending Ad 
 dison, he fell upon Dennis in a coarse and personal 
 lampoon, which was bitter enough to gratify his own 
 spleen, but so contrived all the while as to leave the 
 objections to "Cato" unanswered. Addison, who, 
 with the feelings of a gentleman, had abstained from 
 all reply, did not choose to appear as confederate 
 with another to resent the injury in an underhand 
 
352 ADDISON. 
 
 way ; nor did he feel under particular obligation to 
 Pope for holding him up as a shield, while he in 
 dulged his own revenge. The low character of the 
 attack, also, was one for which he could not be 
 responsible to the world, He therefore said, that 
 he could not, either in honor or conscience, be privy 
 to such treatment ; and that, if he did take notice of 
 Mr. Dennis s objections, it should be in a different 
 way. This was high-minded and honorable ; but it 
 showed Pope that his artifice was seen through, and 
 that his coarseness was disapproved. It was there 
 fore the beginning of sorrows ; he never afterwards 
 was able to forget or forgive it ; and, his jealous and 
 irritable feeling having been thus awakened, every 
 word and deed of Addison was perversely misinter 
 preted. When he once had come under censure 
 of that high authority, he determined to break it 
 down. 
 
 Pope was sufficiently kind and manly in other 
 matters ; but his jealousy amounted to disease, wher 
 ever his poetical reputation was concerned ; and it is 
 surprising to see to what base arts he descended to 
 spread his own renown, and take vengeance on all 
 who stood in his way. The reply of Dennis to 
 Pope s abominable satire was a letter from Jacob, 
 the editor of the earlier " Lives of the Poets," stating 
 that Pope s life had been submitted to the bard him 
 self, to receive his improvements and corrections ; so 
 that he had endorsed his own praises, which many 
 would gladly do for themselves, but would not so 
 willingly appear to have done. The same underhand 
 course, by which, under pretence of defending " Ca- 
 
ADDISON, 
 
 353 
 
 to," he had fought his own battle, was resorted to on 
 many occasions. In the " Key to the Lock," which 
 is known to have been written by himself, he insa 
 tiably endeavored to fix the attention of the public 
 on a work which was already sufficiently admired. 
 In a remarkable paper in the " Guardian," he pre 
 tends to show how superior Philips s pastorals are 
 to his own; at the same time giving extracts with 
 comments, which make them ludicrous to the last 
 degree. 
 
 But his most singular effort of self-applause was 
 the publication of his letters, all of which have a 
 labored appearance, as if written, as no doubt they 
 were, for the public eye. Johnson s long head sus 
 pected, though he could not prove, this extraordinary 
 juggle ; in which Pope, finding that a correspondence 
 with a friend, improperly published, had attracted 
 some attention, contrived that an imperfect collection 
 of his letters should be thrown in the way of the book 
 seller Curll, who had no delicacy in that nor any 
 thing else. Accordingly they were printed ; where 
 upon Pope, pretending to be greatly aggrieved, com 
 plained to the House of Lords. Nothing, of course, 
 was done, as no law was violated ; but it gave the 
 poet the opportunity which he wanted, of publishing 
 his letters in full ; and, sure enough, they appeared, 
 so industriously fine, so nicely spangled with fine 
 sentiments and brilliant figures, as to bear on the 
 face of them the assurance, that, if written in the first 
 instance to individuals, they were, in fact, addressed 
 to the world. 
 
 The coolness between Addison and Pope, and 
 30* 
 
354 ADDISON. 
 
 Pope s revenge in consequence of it, have had such 
 an effect upon the reputation of the former, that the 
 matter requires to be examined at large. It is at the 
 same time one of the most curious problems in lit 
 erary history. It has engaged the inquiring attention 
 of many ; among others, of Sir William Blackstone, 
 the light of the English law, who summed up the 
 evidence on the subject, but pronounced no judg 
 ment, though his charge leaned evidently in favor 
 of Addison. But there are one or two things to be 
 considered, to which he and others who have dis 
 cussed the question have not paid sufficient regard. 
 One is, that, while Addison maintained a high and 
 dignified reserve, Pope took every opportunity to 
 tell his own story, and so to avenge his imaginary 
 wrongs ; not only repeating it to his parasite Spence, 
 who received it as so much gospel, but by immor 
 talizing it in the portrait of Atticus, one of those 
 admirable caricatures which no one knew so well 
 how to draw, and which, while they abounded in wit 
 and discriminating satire, were deficient in nothing 
 but the weightier matters of justice and truth. The 
 other thing to be regarded is the character of the two 
 men. This affords strong presumptive evidence on 
 the subject, which is most likely to have been unwor 
 thily jealous of the other. Was it the one whose 
 reputation was established, who was reverenced to 
 his heart s desire, and, what was more, who wrote 
 anonymously, and rather with a desire to serve his 
 friends than to establish his own fame, and whose 
 high standing in politics also gave him other interests 
 to divide his attention with this ? Or was it he 
 
ADDISON. 355 
 
 whose temper was so irritable, waspish, and easily 
 excited, that he spent his days in an endless quarrel 
 with poets both high and low ; and who had the folly, 
 driven by this mad jealousy, to embalm in rather a 
 filthy preparation the memories of his opposers, who, 
 but for this satire, which injures the writer more 
 than any one else, would have died and been forgot 
 ten in a day ? One would say beforehand, that the 
 latter would be the one to take offence and bear 
 malice, and so accordingly it proved. Had it been 
 a possible thing, Addison would have lived on good 
 terms with him, and he did so as long as it was in 
 his power. 
 
 We have already mentioned the attack on Dennis, 
 and Addison s reprehension of it, as the beginning 
 of this disunion. Dennis always declared, that Pope 
 applied to Lintot to engage him to write against 
 " Cato ; " but, though Dennis probably believed it, 
 there may have been some mistake in an application 
 thus received at second-hand. But the next source 
 of trouble is entirely open to the eye. Pope, having 
 finished his first draught of the " Rape of the Lock," 
 communicated it to Addison ; telling him at the same 
 time of his purpose to introduce the Sylphid ma 
 chinery, which he afterwards did with so much suc 
 cess. Addison, knowing that it was excellent as it 
 stood, and that such alterations were generally fail 
 ures, told him that it was merum sal, a delicious little 
 piece, and advised him to leave it as it was. 
 
 Warburton, who, learned and able as he was in 
 some things, was perversely obtuse in others, says 
 that, " upon this, Mr. Pope began to open his eyes to 
 
356 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 Addison s character." Truly, the operations of open 
 ing and shutting the eyes were strangely confounded 
 in his mind. What was there in this which any man 
 of sense could have received as jealous or unkind ? 
 If, after the poet had wrought out the Rosicrucian 
 machinery, Addison had counselled him to suppress 
 it, there might have been some little ground for 
 the suspicion ; but nothing save the most watchful 
 jealousy could have taken alarm at the wise advice 
 not to endanger that which was already excellent, by 
 an attempt to make it better. Johnson says the 
 same thing : he admits that it might have been done 
 reasonably and kindly ; and, really, nothing can be 
 more unmanly than the attempt to find a cause of 
 quarrel and a justification of bitterness in such a 
 harmless affair. Indeed, it seems so much like in 
 sanity, that it could hardly be explained, without 
 looking for the origin of the difficulty in the spirit 
 of party. Pope, who, as Johnson says, was apt to 
 be diffuse on the subject of his own virtues, pre 
 tended to be exempt from political feeling ; but he 
 was intimate with the detected Jacobites, Atterbury 
 and Bolingbroke, and it is now well known that he 
 was a bitter Tory in his heart. His other fancied 
 causes of uneasiness, then, were increased by this 
 venomous element, which poisons every heart in 
 which it dwells. 
 
 Having thus opened his eyes to Addison s charac 
 ter, without that illumination which would have been 
 more to the purpose on the subject of his own, it 
 was not long before Pope was to receive another 
 similar injury, which made his vision still clearer. 
 
ADDISON. 357 
 
 He had undertaken the translation of the " Iliad," 
 not, though he says it, by the advice of Addison ; for 
 the letter to which he alludes does not bear out this 
 assertion, though it contains strong expressions of 
 confidence in his ability, and of interest in his success. 
 It contained an intimation which may have been dis 
 tasteful to Pope, who so studiously disclaimed any 
 bias from party spirit, in the counsel which Addison 
 gave him for his general conduct, not to content 
 himself with half the nation for his admirers, when 
 he might as easily have them all ; but with this excep 
 tion, if it is one, the tone of the letter is eminently 
 kind. Having heard that some of Philips s hard 
 speeches against Pope had reached the sensitive bard, 
 Addison called on him to assure him that he had no 
 sympathy with what Philips might have said in his 
 dispraise. 
 
 It is easy to see, from the tone of Pope s letters, 
 that he feels a vexation which he can see no good 
 reason to indulge, or to avow : conscious that he was 
 not friendly to Addison, he amused himself, as usual 
 in such cases, by the faith that he himself was all 
 amiableness, and that Addison was an enemy to him. 
 But he found it easier to impose on himself than on 
 others. We find Jervas, the painter, good-naturedly 
 endeavoring to soothe him by relating Addison s kind 
 expressions respecting him, and his desire to serve 
 his brother-poet, when his party had re-ascended to 
 power. Pope s reply is clear evidence of that state of 
 mind which, not wholly content with itself, is still less 
 disposed to be satisfied with others. Whoever has 
 encountered such a disposition knows, that as, in feed- 
 
358 ADDISON. 
 
 ing cross animals, it is well to look after one s fin 
 gers, every favor done to the jealous is distorted 
 into an injury, received without thankfulness, and 
 answered with some snappish revenge. 
 
 Addison certainly tried hard to bear himself in such 
 a manner as to calm down those unreasonable suspi 
 cions. Pope had desired him to look over the first 
 books of his " Iliad." Addison asked him to dine 
 with him at a tavern, and there told him that he would 
 rather be excused from it at that time, since his friend 
 Tickell, when at Oxford, had translated the first book 
 of that poem, and was about to submit it to the world. 
 Tickell had desired him to examine it ; and if, at the 
 same time, he should do the same service for another, 
 it might place him in a delicate position between the 
 two. Now, in common cases, there could be no 
 reason for this caution ; but Addison knew his man, 
 and, being well aware how hard it was to keep the 
 peace, was earnest always to keep to the windward 
 of every affair in which it might be endangered. 
 Pope, however, did not see through his reasons : he 
 told him that Tickell had a perfect right to publish 
 his translation, and he to look it over ; but, if the first 
 book was thus precluded, he would be glad to send 
 him the second. Addison thus found it impossible 
 to escape : he looked over it, and in a few days 
 returned it with high expressions of praise. After 
 wards, when Pope s first four books were ready for 
 the subscribers, Tickell published his first book ; and 
 this appears to have rekindled all his former suspi 
 cion. 
 
 But why had not Tickell a right to publish his frag- 
 
ADDISON. 359 
 
 ment ? and how did he, by this proceeding, cross the 
 path of one who was so far before him ? Besides, if 
 it were wrong, why was Addison to answer for it ? 
 Though Tickell was his friend, Addison did not keep 
 him in leading-strings, nor feed him with a spoon. 
 The truth of the matter was, that Addison, when 
 solicited to give his opinion, had said that both were 
 good, but that Tickell s had more of the Greek : this 
 was doubtless his opinion, and there was no dispa 
 ragement to Pope in declaring it. But it so happened 
 that this was the very point in which Pope was con 
 scious that he was wanting. When he commenced 
 the work, he was so oppressed with the difficulty 
 thence arising, that " he wished somebody would 
 hang him ; " and the literary world are tolerably 
 unanimous in the opinion, that, however pleasing his 
 " Iliad " is in itself, there is something quite too 
 modern about it to give much idea of the original. It 
 is like the statues of Louis the Fourteenth, in which, 
 though he wore the classical drapery, he always 
 insisted on retaining the Parisian wig. A scholar, 
 like Addison, would be likely to feel this want of the 
 Homeric simplicity ; and why he should be rigidly 
 silent on the subject it is not easy to understand, 
 when, at the same time, he awarded the translation 
 the full measure of praise which it deserved. 
 
 There is no doubt, however, that Pope, all the 
 while, believed Addison himself to be the translator 
 of the first book, which had appeared in Tickell s 
 name. He did not say this while Addison was liv 
 ing; then it could have been easily disproved ; but 
 he was himself so much given to artifice and strata- 
 
360 ADDISON. 
 
 gem, that he easily suspected it in others. He says ; 
 in a letter to Addison, " I shall never believe that the 
 author of l Cato can say one thing, and think an 
 other." And yet it is plain that he did so believe : 
 these words are ample proof that he did ; for he evi 
 dently meant to hint, that the writer of the high sen 
 timents of the tragedy should be above deception in 
 matters of ordinary life. But it might have been 
 well for him to consider what was implied in this 
 charge. It accused Addison of falsehood, repeated 
 again and again. Addison had told him that the 
 work was Tickell s j now, if it was his own, there 
 was no reason why he should not say so ; he was 
 under no obligation to refrain from doing a thing, 
 because Pope had done it before him. So far from 
 operating to the prejudice of Pope s interests, it went 
 forth to the world with a declaration that it was not 
 to be continued, because the work was already 
 executed by an abler hand. Supposing that Addi 
 son would stoop to prevaricate, and the whole 
 tenor of his life made such a thing incredible, how 
 was any one in his senses to believe that he did so 
 without any inducement whatever ? No man lies, 
 without something to fear, or something to gain by 
 it. The process has no delight in itself to give it 
 attraction. But such was Pope s absurd exaggera 
 tion of the importance of his own undertakings, that 
 he was able to work himself into the monstrous 
 belief of Addison s manoeuvring thus disgracefully 
 in this matter, where he could have nothing to hope 
 for and nothing to dread. 
 
 But the reader may ask if there was no evidence 
 
ADDISON. 361 
 
 upon which to ground these suspicions. If he is not 
 familiar with the subject, he will be rather surprised 
 to learn, that there is nothing whatever but a remark 
 of Dr. Young, who, when he heard that the transla 
 tion was written at Oxford, said that he was there 
 well acquainted with Tickell, who communicated his 
 writings to him, and he thought it strange that he 
 should have been silent in respect to such an under 
 taking. This negative testimony certainly does not 
 amount to much : it was possible that Tickell might 
 have been so employed, without making it known to 
 his friends. It was possible that Addison might have 
 been mistaken in the impression that it was written 
 at Oxford. But really, if one man is to be charged 
 with falsehood, because another man has no other 
 means than his word of knowing what he says to be 
 true, a great mortality of human reputations must 
 follow the application of a standard so severe. Miss 
 Aikin has had access to the Tickell papers, which 
 are still carefully preserved ; and among them is a 
 letter from Dr. Young on the subject of this transla 
 tion, treating it as Tickell s own ; telling him that 
 Pope s is generally preferred, but that his is allowed 
 to be excellent, and, he has no doubt, will at last be 
 able to carry the day. 
 
 Those papers show also, that, instead of this first 
 book of the " Iliad" having been translated out of 
 hostility to Pope, Tickell had made arrangements 
 with a bookseller to translate and publish the whole. 
 The very preface prepared for it is still in existence, 
 containing judiciously formed principles on which he 
 had intended to proceed. Spence, who was not the 
 31 
 
362 ADDISON. 
 
 wisest of mankind, said that he was confirmed in 
 the impression that Addison wrote it, by the circum 
 stance that Tickell once had an opportunity of deny 
 ing it, which he did not improve. But it must be 
 remembered, that no one ventured to bring the charge 
 in Addison s lifetime ; that Tickell, who, according 
 to Spence himself, was a very " fair and worthy 
 man," could not have been aware that such a 
 calumny was spread ; and that, if any one had asked 
 him whether he had engaged in a fraud to act the 
 liar s part, he might have been likely to withhold a 
 reply to an application so elegantly presented. Old 
 D Israeli, whose researches were sometimes as valu 
 able as his son s novels are worthless, and human 
 laudation can no farther go, not having seen the 
 Tickell papers, believed what Wharton endeavored 
 to prove. But, even in the absence of all external 
 testimony, it is hard to conceive how any one can 
 believe that a man so exemplary as Addison would 
 engage in a wretched lying conspiracy, by which no 
 earthly purpose, not even that of injury to Pope, had 
 he desired it, could possibly have been answered. 
 
 There was but one other thing which Pope could 
 allege in justification of his bitter feeling towards 
 Addison. It seems that Gildon had written a life of 
 Wycherley, in which he abused Pope and his rela 
 tions; and Pope says young Lord Warwick told 
 him that Addison had encouraged Gildon to write 
 the scandal, and afterwards paid him ten guineas for 
 doing it. Blackstone sets down this story as utterly 
 incredible, so inconsistent is it in every respect with 
 the character of Addison. It is quite possible, that, 
 
ADDISON. 368 
 
 wh<5n Gildon s work was presented to him, he may, 
 before reading it, have given something to the author 
 as matter of charity ; but it is nonsense, on such an 
 account, to hold him responsible for what the work 
 contained. Here, again, what could he gain by 
 such a proceeding ? There was nothing but malice 
 to be gratified in any such way ; and, if he ever had 
 any malignity, he succeeded better in keeping it to 
 himself than is usual with the sons of men. Besides, 
 if a man of his high standing could have descended 
 to such a measure, is it likely that he would have 
 deposited the secret in a pudding-bag of a boy ? 
 There is often in such hopeful youths a good portion 
 of thoughtless malice ; even if one of them should 
 lie, it is not a thing wholly without example : but, 
 whatever the young lord s communication may have 
 been, we have only Pope s version of it, who pro 
 bably was not in the best state to understand or 
 remember it as it was; for, according to his own 
 account, he sat down and wrote a violent letter to 
 Addison, charging him with dirty ways, and, among 
 other insults, painting the character of Atticus as it 
 was first written. To this precious missive, Addison, 
 who doubtless perceived that it was impossible to be 
 at peace with such a person, never deigned a reply. 
 Pope says that he " used him civilly ever after," 
 which is more than most men would have done. 
 No thoughtful and unprejudiced person will think 
 that Addison ought to have cleared himself from 
 such imputations ; for what is character worth, if it 
 will not shield its possessor from such aspersions as 
 this ? 
 
364 ADDISON. 
 
 That part of this unfortunate history which *has 
 been most injurious to the memory of Addison is the 
 account of a last interview with Pope, said to have 
 been arranged by their mutual friends, when Pope 
 expressed a wish to hear his own faults, and spoke 
 as if he did not feel that he had been himself the 
 aggressor. It is said that Addison was so trans 
 ported with passion, that he accused Pope of upstart 
 vanity, and reminded him that he had been under 
 the greatest literary obligation to him, giving as an 
 instance a line in the " Messiah," which he had 
 essentially improved. After some words of contempt 
 for Pope s " Homer," he concluded, in a " low, hol 
 low voice of feigned temper," with advice to Pope 
 to be more humble, if he wished to appear well to 
 the world. Pope retorted in the like strain, abusing 
 Addison for his jealousy of the merit of others, and 
 similar failings ; and, after this exchange of confec 
 tionery, the two poets departed in peace, to meet no 
 more. 
 
 Internal evidence alone would show that this must 
 have been a poor fabrication. The benevolent fa 
 shion in which the interview was conducted was not 
 strictly Addisonian ; and the favor with which he 
 upbraided Pope, that of spoiling a very good line of 
 the " Messiah," was not enough to put the younger 
 poet under bonds of gratitude to the end of time. 
 If he had wished to insist on this point, he might 
 have referred to all he had written in favor of Pope, 
 as affording a less questionable claim upon his grate 
 ful feeling. But it is needless to dwell on this ; for 
 no one can doubt, that, had there been a word of 
 
ADDISON. 365 
 
 truth in this story, Pope would not have said, some 
 time before, that Addison " used him civilly ever 
 after ; " and as Pope was careful, in his conversa 
 tions with Spence, to give all his causes of complaint 
 against Addison, with perhaps a trifle over, he must 
 have been loud and long on the subject of such a 
 memorable passage, had it ever occurred. 
 
 But the story was not manufactured till after he 
 was in the dust. After his death, appeared a " Life 
 of Pope," without any publisher s name, but pur 
 porting to be written by William Ayre, Esq. and to 
 contain facts drawn from " original manuscripts, and 
 the testimony of persons of honor." D Israeli calls 
 it a " huddled compilation," which appeared in " a 
 suspicious form." Probably there was truth in speak 
 ing of the information as original, if much of it was 
 like the story related above. It occasioned some 
 remark when it first appeared, and was openly 
 ascribed to Curll, who was no doubt the person of 
 honor in question, and whose honor was so well 
 established, that nothing could gain credit for a mo 
 ment which rested on his testimony alone. He was 
 in the habit of publishing these " Lives," containing 
 large measures of " original " information, drawn 
 from conversation in coffee-houses, and other un 
 questionable sources, not to speak of the invention of 
 the writer ; and from this latter source must have 
 come this narrative of the last farewell of Pope and 
 Addison, concerning which D Israeli innocently says, 
 " Where he obtained all these interesting particulars 
 I have not yet discovered." 
 
 One of the most curious illustrations of Pope s 
 31* 
 
366 ADDISON. 
 
 state of mind, and one which shows the extravagance 
 of his peculiar feeling, is what he said to Spence 
 respecting Addison s sacred poems, those beauti 
 ful lyrics which have all the spiritual grace of earnest 
 devotion, together with a sweetness of language and 
 measure which, unfortunately, is seldom found in 
 Christian hymns. Tonson, having some pique against 
 Addison, said that, when he wrote them, he intended 
 to take orders and obtain a bishopric. But Tonson 
 honestly gave the reason of this very natural surmise : 
 it was, " I always thought him a priest in his heart." 
 Jacob could not conceive of a man s writing hymns, 
 and feeling the spirit of devotion, without something 
 to gain by the operation ; and his result was obtained 
 simply by putting two and two together, not because 
 there was any external reason for the suspicion in 
 any rational mind. Johnson admits, that Pope s 
 thinking this notion of Tonson s worth preserving is 
 a proof that some malignity, growing out of their 
 former rivalry, lingered in his heart ; for, as he says, 
 " Pope might have reflected that a man who had 
 been secretary of state to Sunderland knew a nearer 
 way to a bishopric than by defending religion or 
 translating the Psalms." He might also have said, 
 as Pope was well aware, that King David himself, 
 had he been extant, might have sung himself to ever 
 lasting bliss, before he would have reached an English 
 mitre by the force of piety and inspiration alone. 
 
 To the same source, without doubt, may be traced 
 the impression that Addison was given to excess in 
 wine ; for not an intimation of the kind can be found 
 in any authority save that of Spence, who was the 
 
ADDISON, 
 
 367 
 
 retailer of all Pope s uncharitable suspicions. He 
 said that Addison kept late hours with his friends at 
 taverns : but he does not charge him with excess ; 
 and, when we know the prevailing habits of gentle 
 men of that day, such a practice does not imply by 
 any means what it would now. It was the usual 
 way in which they associated with their familiar 
 companions. We may see, that even so late as 
 Boswell s time, more than half a century after, the 
 same custom prevailed in London, and was not then 
 inconsistent with propriety and good morals, though 
 it would be differently regarded now. Swift writes 
 to Colonel Hunter, "Sometimes Mr. Addison and 
 I steal to a bottle of bad wine, and wish for no third 
 person but you, who, if you were with us, would 
 never be satisfied without three more." This pas 
 sage, which applies more directly to the question than 
 any other recorded, implies that he was not a slave, 
 nor even inclined, to excess. We find, too, that he 
 was in the habit of retiring from this cheerful society 
 to the solitude of country lodgings, as more suited 
 to his labors, and more congenial with his taste. 
 
 The disease under which he suffered, and of which 
 he died, the asthma, was not such as intemperance 
 brings on. In the " Spectator," he speaks of this 
 habit in a manner which it does not seem credible 
 he should have adopted, if he could have been re 
 proached with the transgression which he so earnestly 
 condemned. Johnson maintains, what he had found 
 in Spence, that Addison sat late in taverns, and drank 
 too much wine ; but he also says, that Addison s pro 
 fessions and practice could not have been much at 
 
368 ADDISON. 
 
 variance, since, though he passed his life in a storm 
 of faction, and was formidable for his activity and 
 conspicuous for his station, his enemies never contra 
 dicted the character that was given of him by his 
 friends; and he retained the reverence, if not the 
 love, of those who were opposed to him and his 
 party. Moreover, the same great critic says, that he 
 dissipated the prejudice which had long connected 
 gayety with vice, and easy manners with looseness 
 of principle ; he restored morality to its dignity, and 
 taught virtue not to be ashamed. This is an eleva 
 tion of character above all Greek, above all Roman 
 fame. Though we are singularly deficient in all 
 information respecting the familiar manners of a per 
 son so distinguished, these terms are not descriptive 
 of the influence and character of an intemperate 
 man ; and, since there is no shadow of authority to 
 charge him with excess save that of Spence, and his 
 information was derived from Pope, who cherished 
 hatred and horror for the " little senate at Button s," 
 we shall hold ourselves excused from believing it, 
 balancing the general character of Addison against 
 the unsustained aspersions of an angry foe. 
 
 We do not think it necessary to dwell at length on 
 the story said to have been told by Voltaire, of his 
 having dined in company with Addison when in 
 England, and left him in a state of intoxication which 
 was painful to see. Voltaire may have said it, for 
 he was not very choice in his asseverations ; but 
 there is a difficulty in the way of believing it, arising 
 from the fact that he did not visit England till 1726, 
 and Addison died five years before. It is clear that 
 
ADDISON. 369 
 
 he was not in the company of Addison while living : 
 whether he has fallen in with him since, we have no 
 means of ascertaining. 
 
 It is singular, and not very creditable to Pope, 
 that every story which has ever been told to the dis 
 advantage of Addison proceeds from him, and is 
 based on his authority alone. It is from him we 
 learn, that Addison, when he was secretary to the 
 regency, was called upon to write notice to Hanover 
 that the queen was dead. " To do this," says John 
 son, " would not have been difficult for any man but 
 Addison, who was so overwhelmed by the greatness 
 of the event, and so distracted by the choice of 
 expressions, that the lords, who could not wait for 
 the niceties of criticism, called Mr. Southwell, clerk 
 of the house, and ordered him to despatch the mes 
 sage." Now, though Addison used Pope " civilly 
 ever after " their alienation, it does not seem likely 
 that he would have gone to him with this auricular 
 confession. Besides, it gives the impression that the 
 queen s death took them all by storm ; yet the lords 
 justices were appointed after her death by the coun 
 cil, and they, at their meeting, had chosen Addison 
 their secretary, and notified him of his election ; so 
 that he had ample time to recover from the shock 
 of that affliction, which, as it restored the ascen 
 dency of his own party, was not likely to break his 
 heart. It also appears, that the Earl of Dorset was 
 the living letter sent over to announce the event, and 
 to invite the Elector to the vacant throne ; so that it 
 is not probable that Addison was ever brought to 
 this disastrous pass. Had it been so, there is a pos- 
 
370 ADDISON. 
 
 sibility, that, with his long practice in public affairs, 
 and his eminently simple and natural style, in which 
 he no more dealt in choice expressions than in John 
 son s heavy cannonade of words, he might have found 
 terms to communicate to the Elector the fact that the 
 throne Avas vacant, which required neither flourish nor 
 lamentation to make the news go down. 
 
 It is to the same amiable authority to which we 
 have referred, and to no other, that we are indebted 
 for the story, that Addison resigned his office because 
 he was incompetent to discharge its duties. But it 
 is ridiculous to suppose, that, with his ability and 
 experience of public affairs, he could not do what 
 was so often and so easily done by far inferior men ; 
 for he was no retired scholar, untrained in this 
 world s affairs, but a man whose education and 
 habits of life were precisely adapted for the station, 
 with the single exception of speaking in parliament, 
 which was not expected of him, and which he never 
 undertook to do. The cause of his retirement is 
 obvious enough : it was the disease of which we have 
 spoken. His letters speak of long and dangerous 
 fits of sickness, which made his friends anxious, as 
 we learn from Vincent Bourne, Avho celebrated his 
 recovery, and which may have rendered him unequal 
 to the station, though not for the reasons which 
 Pope s insinuation would imply. It is to be hoped, 
 however, that they gave him credit for some honora 
 ble reason for retiring, when he died in the following 
 year, unless, indeed, the same charity which con 
 strued severe disease into incornpetency had charged 
 his death upon him as a sin. 
 
ADDISON. 371 
 
 The subject of Addison s marriage is enveloped in 
 a strange darkness. In this, however, his character 
 is not concerned. Many wise men of mature age 
 involve themselves in this kind of difficulty, from 
 which, when they find their mistake, they cannot 
 easily be extricated. But it is edifying to see, that 
 our impression of the urihappiness of his marriage 
 with the Countess of Warwick rests upon a " per 
 haps" of Johnson. He, in his blind reverence for 
 rank and title, did not perceive that the high political 
 standing of Addison, together with his literary fame, 
 made him rather more than equal to the widow of a 
 declining house ; for she was not of the family which 
 now bears the name ; and, having once taken his 
 own view of the matter, his ponderous fancy went 
 on in its career of invention with nothing to stop its 
 wheels. Johnson says he first became acquainted 
 with the lady from having been tutor to her son. 
 But there is no proof that he ever held this charge ; 
 and, being at the time in the office of under-secretary 
 of state, it is not very likely that he officiated as tutor 
 to a boy ten years old. That he did take an interest 
 in the youth is certain from his letters, and he did so 
 probably from regard to his mother ; but how or 
 when he formed her acquaintance, we are not 
 informed. Johnson also quotes from Tonson : " He 
 formed the design of getting that lady, from the time 
 he was first recommended into the family." Jacob 
 was certainly an extraordinary person to intrust a 
 love-tale with ; and, if Addison gave him his confi 
 dence on such a matter, he placed more trust in his 
 discretion than most other men would have done. 
 
372 ADDISON. 
 
 The great critic seems to have been aware, that 
 the world would think it well for him to give some 
 authority besides his own imagination for stating that 
 the marriage was unhappy ; but " uncontradicted 
 report" is all the testimony he can bring. But who 
 was to contradict it ? Addison might never have 
 heard of it : if he had, he does not seem very likely 
 to have published a manifesto assuring the world that 
 he was not the distressed object they took him for ; 
 nor had he descendants to rise up in after days, and 
 vindicate his married fame. Johnson might have 
 received a lesson, had he known what was said by his 
 friends of his own fair bride, of her coarse and vulgar 
 airs, and the selfishness with which she indulged her 
 self at great expense in country air, and other ele 
 ments somewhat stronger, while he was laboring 
 with his pen in London. Had the world known 
 nothing more, they might reasonably have inferred 
 that his own connection was no fountain of delight. 
 And yet there is no doubt that he sincerely loved and 
 deplored his wife. 
 
 There is something unpardonably rash in the man 
 ner in which he has descanted on this part of Addi- 
 son s history, without even Spence to sustain him. 
 The only fact which we know in relation to it implies 
 that the connection was happy, and not wanting 
 in that mutual confidence which forms its greatest 
 blessing. In Addison s will, dated a month before 
 his death, he left his whole estate, real and personal, 
 to his lady : at their marriage, instead of being en 
 riched by the connection, he had settled property on 
 her. JHis words are : "I do make and ordain my 
 
ADDISON. 373 
 
 dear wife executrix of this my last will ; and I do 
 appoint her to be guardian of my dear child Char 
 lotte Addison, until she attain the age of one and 
 twenty ; being well assured that she will take good 
 care of her education and maintenance, and provide 
 for her in case she live to be married." Anybody 
 who chooses may believe that such a man would 
 intrust his only child to the care of one who had 
 made his home so miserable that he was driven to 
 spend his evenings in a tavern ; but, with us, this 
 undoubted expression of confidence weighs more in 
 her favor than any amount of conjecture on the other 
 side. For this woman, it must be remembered, had 
 a son and daughters by her former marriage ; and a 
 father must have been more unnatural than we think 
 he was, if he had left his own child a helpless prisoner 
 in a house which is said to have been intolerable to 
 himself. 
 
 There is one passage in Addison s history on which 
 we cannot dwell with satisfaction, though the only 
 reproach which it brings is that of yielding for a 
 moment to the exasperation of feeling into which the 
 best men may sometimes fall. When he left office 
 for ever, parties were raging high ; and Steele, whose 
 reputation and fortunes had been shattered by his 
 follies, undertook the management of a paper which 
 he called the " Plebeian," in opposition to the Peerage 
 bill, which was intended to abridge that power of the 
 crown which had created twelve peers at once in 
 Harley s administration, to secure a majority in the 
 House of Lords. Some of the Whigs opposed the 
 measure, and among them Steele ; who was answered 
 
374 ADDISON. 
 
 in the " Old Whig," in a paper written with such 
 force of thought and style, that Addison was known 
 at once to be the writer. It contained no personal 
 allusions, and, though earnest in its argument, had 
 nothing in it meant to inflict a personal wound. Not 
 so with Steele s reply : it was angry and bitter, accus 
 ing the " Old Whig" of deserting his principles, and 
 treating him in a manner which seems unaccountable 
 to those who have never seen kind hearts possessed 
 with the devil of party. In his retort, Addison was 
 provoked to some personal and contemptuous expres 
 sions, such as he had never used before. The next 
 number of the " Plebeian " showed that Steele was 
 deeply wounded by the treatment which he had 
 brought upon himself; and, as Johnson says, 
 " Every reader must regret that these two illustrious 
 friends, after so many years passed in confidence 
 and endearment, in unity of interest, conformity of 
 opinion, and fellowship of study, should finally part 
 in acrimonious opposition." But so unfortunately 
 it was ; and yet we cannot believe that Steele would 
 have written as he did, could he have thought that 
 his former friend would read it almost with his dying 
 eyes. We are authorized to believe that Addison 
 regretted his share in it, from the circumstance that 
 Tickell did not mention this paper in his works, nor 
 insert it among his other writings ; and that Steele s 
 resentment was momentary, w r e may infer from his 
 afterwards mentioning Addison, in a letter to Con- 
 greve, as " the man that he loved best." 
 
 The dying scene of Addison was an appropriate 
 close to such a life : the support of that religion which 
 
ADDISON. 
 
 375 
 
 he had followed through all his days was present to 
 brighten the death-bed in his closing hour. Miss 
 Aikin inclines, from internal evidence, to distrust the 
 story told by Dr. Young, of his sending for the young 
 Earl of Warwick, that he might see how a Christian 
 could die. She thinks that it appears too much like 
 display to be consistent with his humble and retiring 
 spirit ; but it is going quite too far to discredit a cir 
 cumstantial statement made on such authority, merely 
 because it does not agree with our notions of what 
 beseems such a place and hour. We can see no 
 such aiming at effect, nor does it savor in the least of 
 ostentation. The young man, probably, like too 
 many persons of his rank and age, had no faith in 
 religious feeling; like others who have known nothing 
 of it from their own experience, he did not believe 
 in its existence ; not reflecting that he could not pro 
 nounce upon the genuineness of that which he did 
 not know. To us it seems perfectly natural that 
 Addison, earnest to undeceive him, should have taken 
 that course to show him that religion was not a name 
 and a profession, but a real and substantial thing, 
 which, though unseen, has power to sustain the dying 
 when the shadows of death are falling, and the world 
 is passing away. 
 
 Before his death, he sent for Gay, with whom he 
 had not been familiar, and, after receiving him with 
 great kindness, asked his forgiveness of some former 
 wrong : he did not say what it was, and Gay never 
 was able to conjecture what it could possibly have 
 been. But the incident is important ; for, certainly, 
 if the dying man was so anxious to make reparation 
 
376 ADDISON. 
 
 for an injury which the subject of it was never con 
 scious of receiving, he must, beyond all question, 
 have taken the same opportunity to clear his mind 
 from the shade of those greater offences with which 
 he has been charged, if there were any such to re 
 member. Were there nothing else, this would be 
 sufficient to prove to our satisfaction, that he had 
 never been guilty of that fraud, falsehood, and in 
 temperance, of which an enemy accused him, and 
 which have left a reproach upon his memory that it 
 is high time to remove, wherever the condemnation 
 may fall. 
 
 It is a matter of deep interest to the cause of let 
 ters to clear from unmerited reproach one of the few 
 who, with high literary eminence, have labored to 
 maintain not so much the reputation as the character 
 of a Christian. It is the glory of Addison, that, in 
 an age when lawless ridicule was sometimes applied 
 to subjects the most important, and when religion 
 was neither valued nor understood by many of the 
 leaders of taste, when Sir William Temple had 
 reason to say, " The fools of David s time, who said 
 in their hearts, There is no God, are the wits of 
 ours," he never was ashamed of the gospel, but 
 quietly opened his heart to its influences, and en 
 deavored to keep its commands. He was also free 
 from that narrowness with which religious principle 
 is sometimes attended. Sometimes he speaks with 
 severity of those who differed from him, for the virtue 
 of toleration had then hardly dawned upon the public 
 mind : but that he was free from all bigotry is mani 
 fest from his patronage of Whiston, and his respect 
 
ADDISON. 377 
 
 for Thomas Burnet, and the " reasoning mill," as 
 Voltaire called him, Dr. Samuel Clarke. Without 
 any compromise of his faith or feeling, he associated 
 with such men as Garth, who, when dying, sent to 
 him to ask if Christianity was true ; and, under ail 
 circumstances and in all associations, he kept the 
 whiteness of his soul undefiled, except by the stains 
 and shadows thrown upon it by the wretched hos 
 tility of Pope. How this was requited we happily 
 are able to tell. After their separation, brought on 
 by the insolent letter mentioned above, having occa 
 sion to speak of the manner in which the language 
 was enriched by translations of classical authors, 
 Addison, in the " Freeholder," mentions Pope s 
 " Homer," not cordially, as if it was meant for a 
 peace-offering, but in terms of respect perfectly natu 
 ral, kind, and such as, though they would not equal 
 the demands of the poet, all disinterested persons 
 would allow to be just. 
 
 But we do not mean to represent Addison as fault 
 less ; neither was Pope destitute of virtues, though 
 afflicted with that disease of the spirit which made 
 him see all things yellow. To us it seems clear, that 
 the great failing in Addison s character was his fas 
 tidiousness : excellent as his heart was, this difficulty 
 prevented his sympathies from extending as widely 
 as religion would have them. It made him shrink 
 from near approach to mankind in general, though 
 warm-hearted to his friends and companions ; and 
 thus it often happens, that literary habits and a sen 
 sitive nature, though they have their own ways of 
 manifestation, do something to unfit men for active 
 
 32* 
 
378 ADDISON. 
 
 usefulness ; as the marble, though excellent for sculp 
 ture, is less adapted for works of public improve 
 ment than coarser varieties of stone. But, after 
 making all possible abatement, enough will remain 
 to establish the character of Addison on the highest 
 ground. As a writer, we look through the history 
 of letters, and we find very few before him ; as a 
 man and a Christian, we know of none. 
 
 If we have exceeded our usual bounds in enlarging 
 on this subject, it is because we are fully persuaded 
 that justice has never been done to Addison. Those 
 who look into the matter are surprised to see how 
 little foundation there is for many things which go 
 down from generation to generation : it is sometimes 
 alarming to think how long the effect of a calumny 
 may last. But it is consoling to see, that, where the 
 life has been ordered in principle and faithfulness, 
 the general character bears witness for itself which 
 none can deny. The world may charge the man 
 with weaknesses and frailties ; but they cannot mis 
 represent him so far as to overcloud the brightness 
 of his fame. So it has been with Addison : those 
 who credited the slander have not denied his excel 
 lence ; they have tenderly lamented these darkening 
 stains, as those infirmities which may be expected 
 from poor human nature. But, in truth, he needs 
 no such forgiveness ; and we believe that those who 
 investigate the matter without having made up their 
 minds beforehand will bring in a verdict of " not 
 guilty," and be ready to exalt him to one of the 
 highest places among the lights of the world. 
 
379 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Margaret ; a Tale of the Real and Ideal, Blight and Bloom ; in 
 cluding Sketches of a Place not before described, called Mons 
 Christi. Boston : Jordan and Wiley, 18-15 ; 12mo, pp. 460. 
 
 To write a story which shall find a market would 
 not seem to be a very difficult undertaking, if we 
 may judge from the ship-loads of such matters which 
 find a rejoicing welcome, and the multitudes of men, 
 so called, besides women and children, who fall, with 
 a wolf-like appetite, on husks, which, if the lower 
 animals were readers, would appear intended for 
 creatures much lower than mankind. But to mature 
 a novel which shall command the respect of really 
 intelligent persons, which shall impress more on the 
 second reading than the first, and which powerful 
 minds can resort to for impulse and invigoration, is 
 what few of the multitudes who have attempted it 
 have been able to do ; because it requires a richness 
 of attainment, a cheerful and sympathizing spirit, a 
 wide-reaching mastery of style, together with a clear 
 and strong good sense, which are seldom found 
 united in any single mind. It may seem strange to 
 hear this last attribute mentioned as a chief element 
 of success, when it is one of the last gifts and graces 
 
380 MARGARET. 
 
 which the habitual novel-reader is likely to possess 
 himself, or to demand in others ; nevertheless, it is so. 
 It has been abundantly proved by experiment, that 
 sagacious common-sense is necessary for the manage 
 ment of the various materials, for the control and 
 guidance of fancy, and for bringing all to bear on 
 the impression which it is desired to stamp in the 
 mind and heart. One may apply to this quality 
 what William Penn said to the recorder of London, 
 when that potentate told him, after repeated de 
 mands, that he was guilty by the common law : 
 " Friend, if that law of which thou speakest be com 
 mon, methinks it should not be so hard to produce." 
 Hard to produce examples of this common-sense, in 
 this department of literature, it certainly is ; so much 
 the sins and sorrows, the quarrels and eccentricities, 
 of authors will sadly tell. And this is one great 
 reason why Scott and Miss Edgeworth still keep 
 their high stations, defying all efforts to displace 
 them. How far it is a gift of nature, and how far it 
 may be formed by experience and reflection, it is not 
 easy to tell ; but, without it, no writer of fiction will 
 ever make a satisfactory impression, or secure a 
 lasting and unquestioned fame. 
 
 But the highest gifts and powers would find them 
 selves at fault in the attempt to construct a story as 
 a vehicle for the expression of doctrines and opinions : 
 most probably they would not attempt it. A trans 
 parency cannot be a very good picture, and great 
 artists will leave it to other hands. It is true, that 
 St. Pierre, in his " Paul and Virginia," intended to 
 show the evils of artificial society in contrast with 
 
MARGARET. 381 
 
 the blessings of simple and unpretending life ; but it is 
 equally true, that no reader cares for or thinks of the 
 moral ; so that it is only because the fiction is not what 
 he meant it should be, that it met with such brilliant 
 success. There are many such cases, in which the 
 writer begins with that intention, but finds himself 
 obliged to give up the doctrine or the story. So in 
 Miss Martineau s " Illustrations of Political Econo 
 my," the doctrine is put out of the way as the story 
 advances, and afterwards attached to it, as if by a 
 wafer or a string : the reader removes the obstruc 
 tion to his operation, and treats the work like any 
 other fiction. But, in works of a graver cast, where 
 the moral is too precious to be thus cavalierly treated, 
 the doctrine is sure to crush down the narrative with 
 its weight. The sable fleet of religious novels, op 
 pressed with their leaden cargo, have shown marvel 
 lous alacrity in sinking where they were never heard 
 of more ; and the whole history of these experiments 
 proves, that there is an inherent unfitness in this 
 form of communication for any such purposes. Such 
 truths must be presented to minds in a different state 
 from that in which novels find and leave them. There 
 is something praiseworthy in the attempt, no doubt ; 
 but it is not every one who has the power to become 
 all things to all men ; and this adaptation, however 
 well intended, must have regard to its metes and 
 bounds. Had the great English moralist, in the 
 exercise of his high vocation, presented himself in a 
 ballroom, in order to create sympathy by assimilating 
 himself to the fashions there prevailing, he probably, 
 as he swept through the dance like a mastodon, de- 
 
382 MARGARET. 
 
 molishing light fantastic toes without number, would 
 have alarmed the sons and daughters of pleasure 
 by his stormy gyrations, more than he would have 
 fascinated them by putting on their manners and 
 graces. And every professed teacher places himself 
 at equal disadvantage, when he parts with the charac 
 ter which is natural to him, to assume, even for the 
 best reasons, a disguise which he knows not how to 
 wear. 
 
 When the writer s professed object is to present 
 and sustain new theories of social life, the difficulty 
 is greater yet ; because the first question with respect 
 to them is, " Are they practicable ? " It is easy to 
 frame beautiful systems, and to plan vast improve 
 ments ; but, when they are brought to the test of 
 action, unforeseen difficulties often appear. Like 
 the wings of the schemer in " Rasselas," however 
 nicely calculated for the resistance of the air and the 
 weight they are to carry, as soon as they are spread 
 for a flight, the neck of the inventor is in much dan 
 ger, and the merit of the contrivance is set at rest. 
 To show that a theory works Avell in a novel is not 
 enough to silence the doubter ; there the elements of 
 success are more under control and less refractory 
 than they are found in real life : the Utopian experi 
 ment, that is, the one tried nowhere, is not precisely 
 the thing to convince opposers. Neither is it enough 
 to show that the existing state of things requires im 
 provement ; this will be the case in the happiest state 
 of existence here below ; but it may be undeniable 
 that things are bad as they are, and yet not by any 
 means clear that our inventions would make them 
 
MARGARET. 383 
 
 better. And, when both the old abuses and the new 
 improvements are set before us in imaginary forms, 
 the former overstated as is common in fiction, and 
 the latter wholly untried in practice, and therefore 
 somewhat visionary in their aspect, all reasoning and 
 inference are too shadowy and unsubstantial to make 
 any impression on those who do not already sympa 
 thize with the theorist in his aversion for the old, and 
 his passion for the new. 
 
 One of the doctrines intimated in this work is the 
 sufficiency of every mind to itself; thus implying 
 that every human spirit can solve for itself the pro 
 blem of existence, and work out from its own re 
 sources an idea of God and eternity, sufficient to 
 satisfy the wants of the soul. A Christian apostle 
 has stated, that men might have become acquainted 
 with the Divine power and existence from the sug 
 gestion of created things ; but it must be understood 
 that they might have done so, had they begun aright, 
 by listening to the intimations of nature from with 
 out, and paying respect to the voice of conscience 
 within. Had this been the course of mankind from 
 the beginning, no doubt they might have travelled 
 in the ascending path of light far beyond what can 
 be seen or even imagined now. But that any single 
 mind exposed to depraving influences, with its selfish 
 and worldly passions constantly tempted into strong 
 action, could clear an atmosphere and form a field 
 of vision for itself, so as to discern those heavenly 
 things which are invisible to other eyes, requires to 
 be established by stronger evidence than a fictitious 
 illustration can supply. For the human race had a 
 
384 MARGARET. 
 
 tolerable allowance of time to make these discoveries 
 for themselves ; and yet, though powerful minds bent 
 their energies in that direction, they made no ap 
 proach to success. If they could not do it in some 
 thousand years, it does not seem likely that they can 
 do it at all. It is true that a sense of dependence 
 suggested that there was some higher Power ; but 
 this gives little satisfaction, without some knowledge 
 of his character, and our relations to him. If we feel 
 a presence near us at deep midnight, it gives us no 
 confidence : it is rather an oppressive and fearful 
 mystery. It is not till we recognize it as the pre 
 sence of a friend, that it can possibly encourage and 
 strengthen us. And it was in this painful way alone 
 that men felt the Divine presence in the ages before 
 Christianity ; and so, without a revelation, they would 
 feel it still. Now it may be admitted, that men of 
 themselves might discover the Divine existence ; but 
 what would the knowledge avail them, without such 
 information of his character as to make that know 
 ledge a blessing to the heart ? We do not under 
 stand this author as maintaining, however, that the 
 minds of children can work out the full disclosure 
 for themselves, but only as intimating that they are 
 better off without such religious instruction as is 
 commonly given them than with it. In this we do 
 not agree with him ; for, though uncouth, imperfect, 
 and unworthy, it at least conveys the impression of 
 something which is considered important ; and there 
 fore, when communicated in good faith and sincerity, 
 it is better than none. 
 
 Our author also intends to convey an idea of New 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 385 
 
 England life and character, by representing a com 
 munity which has grown up under a form of Chris 
 tianity. He paints them as coarse, selfish, and 
 worldly, with hardly an exception ; indulging in dis 
 honesty, intemperance, and other vices, unreproved, 
 and to such an extent as to excite the contempt and 
 aversion of a child, who herself had grown up among 
 degraded associates in a drunkard s home. What 
 can it be which induces all who give a representation 
 of New England to make it so desperately vulgar ? 
 In the name of common-sense, is it true, that there 
 is nobody but Sam Slick extant in this part of the 
 habitable globe ? Sharp and selfish many are, no 
 doubt, but not in a greater proportion than else 
 where ; and it is a fact, though no one would suspect 
 it from such writings, that there are hearts and souls 
 here ; hearts as true and souls as spiritual as in other 
 parts of the world. We hardly know how to explain 
 this perversion of the truth, except from the tendency 
 of the pencil, in the hands of an unpractised painter, 
 to caricature ; for every one who knows what real 
 refinement of feeling is, must have found much of it 
 in the humblest places of the land. And as for kind 
 affections, the author is true to nature, when, in a 
 beautiful passage of his work, he represents the vil 
 lagers as turning out, with self-forgetful and deep 
 feeling, to find the child, the heroine of his story, 
 who was wandering in the woods when a whirlwind 
 passed through them. Nothing can be better than 
 the description of enmities laid aside, and cares and 
 interests forgotten, while all engage with unanimous 
 impulse in this labor of love. Whence came these 
 
 33 
 
386 MARGARET. 
 
 affections, flashing out with such brightness at such 
 a time ? Had Christianity nothing to do in forming 
 them ? Would they have been found to the same 
 extent in any but a Christian land ? There were 
 those who distilled ardent spirit, and those who sold 
 and drank it ; but it does not appear that this was 
 done in consequence of instructions from the pulpit 
 to that effect ; nor could the clergymen be con 
 demned for not denouncing such things, when no 
 one suspected them to be sins. Father Matthew, had 
 he lived in that day, would have taken his glass with 
 others. The impressions thus given are neither ac 
 cording to nature nor truth. 
 
 Too much of the work, probably because the author 
 was describing that which he personally knew little 
 about, is liable to the same objection with the account 
 of the ordination dinner, on the 228th page, which 
 has just enough of fact to save it from being called 
 an entire misrepresentation, and enough of travesty 
 to give an entirely false impression of the men and 
 times which it describes ; men cheerful and natural 
 in their manners, but worthily respected, and at least 
 as holy as those who have come after them ; and 
 times which, though abounding in their own pecu 
 liar temptations, were exempt from some of the sins 
 of a later day. On the whole, the view of that state 
 of society which the author has given is not only 
 dreary and disgusting, but one-sided and unjust : it 
 is not drawn from the living reality of those times, 
 but from a theoretical imagination of what, in his 
 view, they are likely to have been. 
 
 The author has also fallen into a sort of cant. 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 387 
 
 which prevails quite extensively at the present day, 
 and threatens to abound yet more. It is the angry 
 lamentation over the fallen church ; as if Christianity 
 was better represented anywhere and everywhere 
 than in the lives and bearing of those who profess it. 
 Every one who has a wild opinion which Christians 
 regard with indifference ; every one who has some 
 fantastical remedy for social evils, which the good 
 sense of Christians rejects ; every one who, under 
 some transparent pretext of philanthropy, indulges his 
 selfish and savage passions, turns upon the church, 
 as if it was the source of all human guilt and woe. 
 Now, it is quite certain that the church, as it is their 
 pleasure to call it, is by no means true to its profes 
 sion nor to its design ; but the question is, To what 
 set of men could its influence be transferred with 
 any advantage ? And where are those who better 
 represent the spirit of their Master ? The church, it 
 must be remembered, is made up of men. They are 
 influenced and tempted like others in this strange 
 world ; but that they are less faithful than others, is 
 more easy to say than to prove. They ought, indeed, 
 to be more so ; and we have no doubt that they are 
 more faithful than others, immeasurably in ad 
 vance of those w r hose joy it is to abuse them. But 
 it is so easy to compound with one s conscience in 
 this way, and to assume to one s self the praise of 
 excellence without taking pains to reach it, that we 
 can hardly expect men to deny themselves the self- 
 glorifying satisfaction which it is such a comfort to 
 possess. Accordingly, we find great numbers who 
 endeavor to pass for holy and humane at the expense 
 
388 MARGARET. 
 
 of nothing but words. To revel in this pleasing 
 self-indulgence requires no other exertion on their 
 part than is necessary to run others down ; so that 
 not only are the consciences of individuals deeply 
 wounded by the sins of other people, but we see 
 great nations with all manner of social evils and 
 outrages untouched at home, sending their moral 
 sense abroad to denounce abuses in foreign lands,, 
 which are evidently recommended to their humanity 
 by the circumstance, that, inasmuch as those abuses 
 are out of their reach, they are not called upon to 
 redress them. It is a good suggestion to such per 
 sons, which is written where they perhaps are not 
 very likely to find it, u Let them show piety at 
 home." 
 
 Speaking of reformers, our times offer a curious 
 problem, and one which a future age may find it less 
 difficult to solve than the present. When it is the 
 glory of the age that the principle of love has been 
 discovered and applied, applied to the hearts of 
 men with a success which fills the world with won 
 der ; when the world, after hammering on evils for 
 some thousand years in the vain endeavor to over 
 come them with evil, has tried the experiment of 
 overcoming them with good, and has found that it can 
 be triumphantly done, how happens it that many 
 who pass for reformers are perpetually using lan 
 guage and breathing out a spirit which it would be 
 painfully ridiculous to regard as a manifestation of 
 love ? It would be hard to tell what such persons 
 have ever succeeded in reforming. Still they insist 
 upon their theory ; and, when they find that evils 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 389 
 
 only stand the firmer, and that the clear judgment 
 of mankind is not with them, so far from suspecting 
 the soundness of their principles, they turn in wrath 
 on their cooler advisers, representing them as the 
 abettors and upholders of all the wrongs which they 
 are striving to overthrow. The truth seems to be, 
 that such persons are but half awakened to the 
 truth. They have gone far enough in the right di 
 rection to see the guilt and danger of existing evils, 
 but not to reach the faintest comprehension of the 
 spirit of Christian love. Suddenly startled from their 
 indifference, they have been impatient to do some 
 thing, and, without reflecting whether they could do 
 any good, have dashed hastily into any door of re 
 form which stood open near them. Passion supplied 
 the place of humanity, which had not yet risen in 
 their hearts ; and, as no other objects of wrath were 
 near them, they fastened with teeth and nails on their 
 neighbors who were standing quietly at their side. 
 While others cannot see very clearly the good they 
 are accomplishing, they look upon their own exploits 
 with singular satisfaction, as every cock in the morn 
 ing doubtless exults in believing that the day never 
 would have broken but for him. We do not mean 
 to class our author with these grotesque reformers, 
 who bear no great resemblance to apostles, except it 
 be that their language is somewhat like Peter s when 
 he asseverated that he did not know his Master. 
 Something of their want of reverence for the Scrip 
 tures may be traced in him ; but he has not their 
 strong personal reasons for hostility to the ninth com 
 mandment. Without their harshness and violence, 
 
 33* 
 
390 MARGARET. 
 
 he fails in general sympathy for others, and therefore 
 awakens little in them. This, indeed, is one of the 
 chief faults in the book, a kind of hardness that 
 runs through it. When it pleads the true cause of 
 humanity, it gives no impression of tenderness ; it 
 breathes out an intellectual philanthropy ; its foun 
 tains do not seem to spring in the heart. 
 
 We say so much of reformers, because the chief 
 apparent object of this work is to present an exam 
 ple of social reform, the scene of which is a village 
 where the general tone of morals and manners was 
 coarse, selfish, and vicious ; more so, we imagine, 
 than it could have been anywhere in New Eng 
 land, even at the close of the Revolution ; though 
 it was the fact, that the difficulties and disasters of 
 the war left their marks behind them for many a 
 weary day. Industry and enterprise were sus 
 pended ; places of gossiping resort were, of course, 
 frequented ; and men sought for that happiness in 
 low and idle amusement, or sensual forgetfulness, 
 which, in better times, they would have found in the 
 successful exertion of their physical, social, and 
 spiritual powers. Now, the question arises, What 
 remedy can be applied to such a state of things, and 
 in general to those unworthy aspects of social life 
 which everywhere abound ? The inquiry is a serious 
 one, and at this moment engages the deep thought 
 and feeling of many earnest hearts. We do not 
 speak of those absurd persons who are perpetually 
 thrusting themselves before the public eye, little 
 heeding the indifference and contempt with which it 
 regards them ; who might be aptly represented by 
 
MARGARET. 391 
 
 the widow in this book, with her quack nostrums for 
 all disorders of the system ; remedies which, by their 
 sale, were beneficial to the inventor, but detrimental 
 in the extreme to the victim who might be induced to 
 take them. Such persons, who are sorrowful exam 
 ples of want of wisdom and power to guide them 
 selves, yearly assemble in conventions to discuss their 
 plans for the world s regeneration, all of which are 
 like the surgical process lately suggested for com 
 plaints of the heart, which was to take it out through 
 the side, cleanse it of disease, and then replace it ; a 
 process attended with the essential difficulty, that it 
 would cease to go meantime and for ever. Utterly 
 undismayed by objections, and case-hardened against 
 derision, they wear their fool s caps with as much 
 grace and grandeur as if they were royal crowns ; 
 nor do they feel in the least the force of the hint dis 
 tinctly given them, that the world will mind its own 
 business if they will attend to theirs. 
 
 One thing seems common to these worthies : they 
 have no confidence in the Christian religion as an 
 instrument for their purposes ; and, as they evidently 
 know nothing about it except the name, it is hardly 
 to be expected that they should understand its power. 
 This author, however, is aware that there is no power 
 sufficient to this great reform, except that which 
 resides in Christianity ; and his idea is, that, if it can 
 be set free from the corruptions which restrain its 
 energies, and brought into direct communication with 
 human hearts, it will bring their powers and affec 
 tions into such full and harmonious action, that, like 
 active human frames, they will resist the infection of 
 
392 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 prevailing disease, when those which lie unexerted 
 will be sure to receive it, and to linger on in wasting 
 decline, a burden to themselves, and losing all power 
 to bless and serve their race. This is undoubtedly 
 the truth ; but it is not so clear that the want of power 
 is owing to the particular form in which the religion 
 manifests itself, nor that it would become efficient at 
 once if its forms of doctrine or service were altered. 
 There are those who make too much of forms on the 
 superstitious side, when they treat them as substitutes 
 for duty and devotion ; and others ascribe too much 
 to them on the hostile side, when they consider them 
 as determining the religious character, which is 
 shaped and fashioned by other influences that work 
 deeper in the heart. If a portion of doctrinal forms 
 were wholly corrupt and unsound, and others were 
 pure from earthly admixture, it might be so. But 
 this is not the case ; for every sect has its portion of 
 truth : without it the sect could not have existed. 
 Error is nothing but a name and a delusion ; and as 
 we may see in popular fancies and superstitions, that 
 no one subsists for any length of time without some 
 basis of truth under it, so we find, on inquiring into 
 religious systems, that each one contains some truth 
 which either is not contained, or not set prominently 
 forth, in the others ; and therefore, instead of bring 
 ing all to a single form by a rejection of the rest, the 
 true reform would be for each to give and receive, 
 each imparting what is good in its views and its 
 influence to others, and cordially welcoming in return 
 whatever light and inspiration they may be able to 
 bestow. It must be remembered that these forms 
 
MARGARET. 393 
 
 are not arbitrarily and capriciously taken up, except 
 perhaps in a few cases. In general, they must have 
 established themselves in the mind and heart of num 
 bers by some stronger power than that of accidental 
 association. There must have been some reason for 
 their first adoption, sufficient to account for their past 
 and present existence. It will be found that they 
 expressed the state of mind and heart in the com 
 munity which embraced them ; they were in accord 
 ance with its moral and religious condition ; and 
 when they cease to have this fitness, they will begin 
 to perish ; they will lose all their hold on the general 
 reverence and affection ; and the attempt to sustain 
 them, in a vain traditional existence, will seem as 
 useless and unnatural as to detain a corpse from the 
 grave. 
 
 We cannot conceive how any one can fail to see 
 the truth on this subject, when he observes what is 
 passing in the Christian world. There is no danger 
 of any permanent harm from religious forms or par 
 ties, when all that their friends can do will hardly 
 keep them in existence. It is evident they are under 
 the operation of an unseen law, which ordains, that, 
 like the red leaves of autumn, when they have ceased 
 to answer the purpose of their existence, they shall 
 pass away. We see the most liberal, as they are 
 called, those which allow so much individual indepen 
 dence that they have hardly sufficient cohesion to call 
 themselves one, as fervor extends itself among them, 
 are like cold water when heat is applied to it, going 
 off in the shape of steam, not dangerous, as when 
 confined in cylinders, but quietly spreading in the 
 
394 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 air, and finding its place in the clouds ; while those 
 which are held more firmly together by party interest 
 and attraction, and therefore are gathered into larger 
 masses, at the moment when they are exulting in 
 their power and success, become aware of an air- 
 slaking process going on within them, bursting them 
 at first into huge fragments, which defy all attempts at 
 re-union, and are themselves fast crumbling into a 
 general heap of dust. If religious forms ever had 
 much influence upon the times, the times have now 
 the upper hand, and will take ample vengeance, if 
 ever they have suffered wrong. To us it seems clear 
 that the religious forms and systems in the day and 
 the village which our author describes existed not in 
 defiance of light and truth, but simply because the 
 community was not ripe for any other ; and, had a 
 better one been proposed to them, it would not have 
 been estimated or even understood. These forms, 
 which are the rallying points of sects and parties, are 
 seen in various lights and relations, as the adherents 
 to them advance or remain stationary. There is no 
 longer any singleness of views, and, of course, there 
 ceases to be any singleness of feeling. Hence it 
 results, that every such association contains the prin 
 ciple of decay within^itself : it will bide its time ; but 
 the eye of the sharp observer, when he traces the 
 first small seam creeping through its walls, though it 
 gives neither alarm nor warning to the inhabitants, 
 knows that it cannot be long before its end shall 
 come. 
 
 But suppose that these forms were as important as 
 some believe them ; suppose that they really exerted 
 
MARGARET. 395 
 
 a controlling influence for good or for evil on those 
 who live under them ; suppose it were possible to 
 remove at pleasure those which we disapprove. How 
 shall their place be supplied ? The Quaker, though 
 a deadly enemy to fashion, must have his garments, 
 and his resistance ends in adopting a fashion of his 
 own. So those who exclaim most fiercely against 
 these religious forms must have some drapery for 
 the religious sentiment ; and the question is, What 
 shall it be ? Our author, in the conclusion of his 
 work, appears to have had it in view to present a 
 system of his own, to which we have no particular 
 objection, except that it is his own ; in other words, 
 it is not one that most Christians would accept as a 
 means of inspiring or expressing their religious feel 
 ing. Like most other suggestions of the kind, it is 
 made only in the spirit of opposition to the old sys 
 tem : it mistakes reverse of wrong for right ; and, 
 when considered as a plan proposed for general 
 adoption, it is liable to the fatal objection, that there 
 is no prevailing state of mind standing ready to give 
 it welcome. The only true course to be pursued by 
 those who would introduce great social improve 
 ments is to adopt as a basis the existing state of 
 things. By gradual approach and correction, changes 
 may be made which shall amount at last to a revo 
 lutionary, and, all the while, an unconscious, reform ; 
 whereas, the friend of humanity who exalts himself 
 over the darkness of those around him, and calls on 
 them, with pert flippancy or passionate defiance, to 
 become as wise as he is, and to despise all the pre 
 sent objects of their reverence, is answered with 
 
396 MARGARET. 
 
 such a quiet intimation as the Jews gave to Herod 
 when he proposed to rebuild their temple, that, before 
 they suffered him to remove a stick of the old build 
 ing, they should like to see him provide, not only the 
 plan, but the materials and resources, for the new. 
 
 On the whole, we think that this is a matter which 
 necessarily arranges itself; that is, it is determined 
 by causes and influences not under the immediate 
 control of human effort, and therefore not to be 
 changed at will. Where the religious principle does 
 not exist, no outward forms of doctrine or service 
 will create it ; and, where it does exist in strength 
 and sincerity, it breaks through them at once, and 
 acts independently of them. If there is any want of 
 harmony between Christianity itself and its forms, 
 the form may be left standing till it perhaps sinks in 
 decay ; but the religious principle will be as free in 
 its range and action as if no form was there. It is 
 easy to see, in a great proportion of cases, why these 
 forms are prized and cherished with such fond de 
 votion. With many, the respect is traditional, and 
 taken at second-hand from their friends or fathers ; 
 but, when they choose for themselves, we can see 
 something in their temperament, character, or ha,bits 
 of thought and feeling, which inclines them to those 
 views and sects with which they will most readily 
 assimilate. And this tendency will not be changed 
 by the strongest demonstration we can give them of 
 the error of their way ; for they feel that it is natural 
 and beneficial to their hearts, if not to ours. Whether 
 we like it or not, we must reconcile ourselves to this 
 state of things : so it ever has been, and so it will 
 
MARGARET. 397 
 
 continue to be. But we may find some comfort in 
 reflecting that the spirit of truth is not confined to 
 any party, nor is it necessarily excluded from any. 
 Whenever it exists in power, it is the same in every 
 party, the same in every breast. 
 
 The author makes hostile demonstrations against 
 some institutions which are held in general regard ; 
 against the Sabbath of New England, for example, 
 which so many desire to replace with a Sabbath of 
 their own invention, and which is naturally enough 
 regarded by those who are unaccustomed to it as a 
 heavy and uninteresting day. There is no doubt, 
 that, in former times, it was observed with a severity 
 which would not consist with our feelings. This 
 writer has given a representation of it as it was half 
 a century ago, showing the general sense of relief 
 which pervaded all hearts, particularly those of the 
 children of the community, when the Sabbath sun 
 went down. But does he suppose that the day, with 
 all its gloom, was forced upon our fathers against 
 nature, and in defiance of their taste and choice ? 
 On the contrary, it was a true expression of their 
 taste and feeling ; and it came into that tragically 
 solemn form, and stood fast in their reverence, be 
 cause their hearts pronounced it good. It is true, 
 that a change in the character and feeling of the 
 community was taking place at the period which this 
 writer so well describes ; and he is perfectly right in 
 representing them as groaning under its severe re 
 straints, and submitting to it as a heavy burden, 
 because, when it had ceased to be in harmony with 
 their prevailing spirit, it could no longer do them 
 34 
 
398 . MARGARET. 
 
 good as before. It is when in this transition-state 
 that he describes it ; when it was changing from a 
 Judaical stagnation into the interested thoughtfulness 
 and cheerful devotion in which the Sabbath is now 
 spent by those who observe it best. Much specula 
 tive wisdom is expended on this subject by some of 
 the lights of our day ; sundry doctors maintaining 
 that every day should be a Sabbath, and not appear 
 ing to be at all aware that it may result from this 
 principle, if admitted, not that the Sabbath should be 
 dispensed with, but, on the contrary, that it should 
 send its influence through the week, making every 
 day like itself, a result which, we imagine, will 
 not soon come to pass in the history of those who 
 hold it in light esteem. As for the foolishness of 
 their preaching who maintain that it ought to be 
 given to recreation, as it is in some other lands, it is 
 enough to say, that a fiddling and dancing Sabbath 
 might be very much to their taste, but would be 
 rejected with scorn by every enlightened and thought 
 ful people. What we need is a day of rest to the 
 body in favor of the mind and heart ; and it is be 
 cause the Sabbath answers to this want of our nature, 
 that it exists and will endure, defying all attempts 
 that can be made to displace it from the reverence 
 and affection of cultivated men, We are glad to 
 see that the hostility of this writer turns only against 
 its errors and abuses, and that his ideal is one in 
 which all serious persons would agree. <( It is the 
 Lord s day to us : in the most exalted sense, it is 
 Christ s own day. All days are holy : this is the 
 cream of the week. On the spiritual river where 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 we would ever sail, the Sabbath opens into clearer 
 water, a broader bay ; and we can rest on our oars 
 to get a distincter view of the heavenly hills whither 
 we tend." 
 
 In one passage of his work, the Sabbath as it was 
 is brought full before us by a few touches of beauti 
 ful description : 
 
 " It was a Sabbath, morning, a June Sabbath morning, a June 
 Sabbath morning in New England. The sun rose over a hushed, 
 calm world, wrapt like a Madonna in prayer. It was The Day, 
 as the Bible is The Book. It was an intersection of the natural 
 course of time, a break in the customary order of events, and lay 
 between, with its walls of Saturday and Sunday night on either 
 side, like a chasm, or a dyke, or a mystical apartment, whatever 
 
 you would please liken it to It light, its air, its warmth, 
 
 its sound, its sun, the shimmer of the dawn on the brass cock 
 of the steeple, the look of the meeting-house itself, all things 
 were not as on other days. And now, when those old Sabbaths 
 are almost gone, some latent, indefinable impression of what they 
 were comes over us, and wrenches us into awe, stillness, and 
 regret." p. 101. 
 
 While we cannot but approve the idea of the Sab 
 bath as our author has here presented it, we cannot 
 say that we have equal confidence in the system of 
 festivals which he has devised in his Arcadian vision ; 
 not that they are inappropriate and inconsistent in 
 themselves, but because they are not in harmony 
 with the genius of our people. The same taste 
 which demands and rejoices in the Sabbath, as a 
 day of spiritual thoughtfulness, will not be likely to 
 thirst for recreations. Pleasures are not required by 
 the happy : just in proportion as the blessings of 
 physical and moral existence are generally diffused 
 
400 MARGARET. 
 
 and enjoyed, will such transient excitement be held 
 in diminished esteem. There could hardly be a 
 severer infliction to a serious and earnest native of 
 New England than to be required to enjoy himself, 
 as it is called. Such a penalty might be advanta 
 geously substituted for the treadmill in our prisons ; 
 for no person who had once suffered under the dis 
 cipline would put himself in the way to endure it 
 again. It is not that recreations are not wanted ; 
 for, here as elsewhere, they are essential to the 
 healthy activity of the mind and heart. But the 
 same pleasures in which some would disport them 
 selves luxuriously would drive others to their wit s 
 end with weariness and disdain. Men must unbend 
 from their severe cares ; but, should they lift up their 
 voices to sing, " Away with melancholy ! " it would 
 be an immediate signal for that unbidden guest to 
 come. Some of the festivals here suggested would 
 bring their own recommendation with them ; such, 
 for example, as that in the spring, when the inhabi 
 tants of the village renewed the flowers in the ceme 
 tery, transplanted ornamental trees into the streets, 
 and set out shrubbery near their houses. There 
 must be some object and design in a celebration, or 
 it will soon lose its place in the public mind. This 
 is the case already with the Fourth of July, which 
 has fallen into general decline, because it has refer 
 ence solely to the past, and men do not see any good 
 which its observance is likely to do. And, in the 
 great proportion of days and seasons set apart for 
 pleasure, there is a care-worn perplexity and solemn 
 hopelessness in the expression of men s faces, which 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 401 
 
 indicates, as plainly as words can do, that " the heart 
 distrusting asks, -Can this be joy ? " 
 
 But, without extending these general remarks, we 
 will proceed to say something of the literary charac 
 ter of the work, so far as it is possible to describe 
 any thing so unequal, disjointed, and full of contrasts 
 and contradictions. It is not a finished or satisfac 
 tory work, though it is evidently written by a man 
 of uncommon ability ; nor is it pleasing, though there 
 are many passages which one reads with deep in 
 terest and delight. Some of the characters are 
 finely conceived, and well sustained in parts, but 
 not self-consistent throughout. The style is often 
 rich and expressive, and again it is slovenly, snap 
 pish, and jerking. The writer s statement of his 
 ideas is sometimes clear and sharp as the outline of 
 cut tin, and then shades off into that mystical nothing 
 ness in which the imagination comes out and sup 
 plies what meaning it pleases. The opinions are in 
 general deliberate, manly, and forbearing ; but some 
 times they tend to that excess and exclusiveness 
 which so much disgrace the religion and philanthropy 
 of the present day, destroying all their loveliness, 
 and disarming them of half their power. So, too, 
 in his description of the effect of Christian principles, 
 and the result of their application to social disorders, 
 there is something elevated and inspiring; but the 
 impression left on the reader s mind is cold and for 
 bidding, and sympathy is not awakened in any pro 
 portion to the strength and sincerity with which these 
 great thoughts are presented. Altogether, we must 
 say that we think more highly of the writer than his 
 34* 
 
402 MARGARET. 
 
 work. His talent is unquestionable ; but there is 
 evidently something in his mental constitution, or his 
 acquired habits of thought and feeling, which must 
 be changed, before he can make the world acknow 
 ledge, indeed before he can make himself do justice 
 to, his powers. 
 
 On the whole, we greatly regret that the idea of 
 this work, if we are sure that we understand it, had 
 not been differently carried out and presented. No 
 thing could be more interesting than the picture of a 
 young girl, energetic and imaginative from her birth, 
 thrown among coarse and profane associates, and 
 not only keeping herself from contamination, but 
 maintaining a quiet superiority to the influences 
 which surround her, and coming into life with a 
 character formed by the agency of stronger influ 
 ences from within. That self-originated conceptions 
 of the Deity and of human relations would be found 
 in her heart, is not so sure ; but it might be assumed, 
 and the portrait drawn accordingly ; and she might 
 also have been represented as indifferent to religion, 
 because of the associations of severity, gloom, and 
 hollowness which had become connected with it in 
 her mind from the sight of its unworthy disciples ; 
 though this is not common. It is not the simple, nor 
 even the sensual, but those who are looking for argu 
 ments against religion, who hold it responsible for 
 what Christians are, and for all that it pleases them 
 to do. If, in the moral and intellectual solitude 
 where she dwelt, with unsympathizing beings around 
 her, great thoughts, lofty conceptions, and heavenly 
 feelings, should have arisen in her breast; and if, 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 403 
 
 when Christianity was first presented to her in its 
 purity and loveliness, she should have recognized in 
 it the ideal of her dreams, the beautiful mystery 
 which she had all the while been learning to love, 
 the finished portrait of that which she had seen in a 
 glass darkly in the silent chambers of her soul ; and 
 if, finding a new inspiration from this fulfilment of 
 her hopes and visions, she had gone out to exert an 
 influence, by means of sympathy, on all around her, 
 with no wealth to buy, nor power to overawe, im 
 pressing and interesting others, till the changed feel 
 ing and aspect of the community where she lived 
 bore testimony to the wonders love can do, we 
 should have had a work of a character far more 
 attractive and useful than the present, and offering a 
 better field for the author s peculiar powers. We 
 regret, therefore, that, instead of the more simple 
 development of this idea, it should have been given 
 in this unreal and impracticable form ; in which, be 
 sides the impression constantly made on the reader 
 that no such being ever existed, the improbability is 
 heightened by the language put into her mouth, 
 language which it is grievously unjust to the school 
 masters of a former generation to ascribe to their 
 teaching or example, when it is only an euphuism of 
 the present day, which is perfectly unaccountable in 
 some able men who use it, though it answers good 
 purpose to those pretenders who would cover up 
 their defect of meaning with a jargon of strange 
 sight and sound. We cannot tell why this author, 
 who, in his own person, generally employs nervous 
 and expressive terms, should have defaced his most 
 
404 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 prominent and interesting character by making her 
 speak in a dialect which resembles nothing ever 
 heard in the social world, and which is wholly out 
 of nature in a village-girl, whatever the accidental 
 circumstances of her education may have been. It 
 destroys the beauty and truth of the conception ; 
 we feel that she could have had no real existence ; 
 when, but for this, and the needless touches of 
 coarseness which we have mentioned, the idea of her 
 character might have been original, beautiful, and 
 true. 
 
 But we have no time to dwell farther on the de 
 velopment of character in this singular book. There 
 are other parts which seem more natural to the 
 author s taste and habits of thought ; those, for ex 
 ample, in which he describes the rich loveliness of 
 the landscape, and the various influences by which 
 it acts upon the heart. Here he is more at home ; 
 he has a discerning eye for the wonderful variety of 
 its treasures ; and he has evidently felt the power 
 of those inaudible tones in which it addresses all 
 who have an ear to hear them. He has noted every 
 crimson berry and red leaf of autumn, and all the 
 green plants and opening flowers of spring. He 
 seems to be on terms of intimacy with all the birds 
 of the air : from the lightest glance of a wing, or the 
 faintest snatches of song, he is able to detect them 
 afar. The stillness of the deep forest, grand and 
 solemn in its aspect and its sounds, but abounding 
 in animated existence, heavy and oppressive as it 
 is to the many, is best society to him. We know 
 not where any could go to find more exact and 
 
MARGARET. 405 
 
 pleasing descriptions of the scenery of New Eng 
 land, or of the vegetable and animal forms which 
 give it life, than to the work before us ; and the lan 
 guage in which he sets them forth, though he often 
 invents a dialect for his purpose which would have 
 startled even Noah Webster, had he lived to hear it, 
 is felt to be such as one would employ who was 
 gazing or listening with delight, and wanted words 
 of power to express his strong emotions. To this 
 part of his work, though there is some slight con 
 fusion of seasons, we give the heartiest praise. 
 
 We wish that we could have found the same full 
 sympathy for humanity manifested in this writer s de 
 scriptions of social life, which breathes through the 
 sentiments which he expresses. Yet it is not uncom 
 mon to find this interest in social reforms, and desire 
 to advance the welfare of mankind, evidently sincere 
 too, in those who do not give the impression of quick 
 sympathy with individuals. Perhaps it is, that the 
 sharp observation which searches out at a glance 
 the whole of the character has a natural tendency to 
 caricature ; faults and follies, even when slight and 
 easily forgiven, are often so ridiculous and annoying 
 as to destroy our respect for that which well deserves 
 it ; and it is on this account, perhaps, that this author, 
 observing as he is, has done less justice to what is 
 amiable and excellent in the character of New Eng 
 land men than might be expected in one who has 
 such a taste for the beautiful and the good. His 
 character is often disguised by un gracefulness of 
 speech and manner ; it is very seldom ostentatiously 
 paraded for applause ; still it should be visible to all 
 
406 MARGARET. 
 
 clear and earnest eyes, and is a subject on which every 
 heart in its right place might rejoice to dwell. 
 
 As a representation of manners as they were, and 
 in many respects are still, in New England, this book 
 is of great value. It is a succession of pictures, full 
 of life, and though somewhat overdrawn, not the less 
 giving life-like imaginations of many scenes which 
 will soon cease to be. Such is the " Training-day," 
 which was formerly a high festival, but has lost much 
 of its hold on the reverence and affection of the peo 
 ple ; and there is little prospect that its former glory 
 will ever be restored. We think our author makes 
 rather too much of our militia-system, not in the way 
 of excessive interest, but rather on the opposite side. 
 It does not strike us, that our train-bands are much in 
 danger of breaking the sixth commandment ; blood 
 and carnage are not the associations connected in our 
 minds with their exhibitions ; as Miss Martineau says 
 of them, everybody knows that they can fight when 
 they see reason, but we do not think them more likely 
 to rush into the battle from their indulging in this 
 harmless and peaceable display. 
 
 There was danger of another sort formerly con 
 nected with these celebrations, which was indeed 
 more serious, and under which many went down to 
 rise no more. The author has given a strong de 
 scription of the excitement and intemperance of those 
 occasions in former days. The latter vice, which was 
 once so general, or rather the means of which were 
 then so general, furnishes a frequent theme for sar 
 castic remark and severe description. There are 
 very few passages anywhere more powerful than the 
 
MARGARET. 407 
 
 account of the dark and hateful " still." The poor 
 child left alone in such a place at night, with an 
 intoxicated brother, a roaring furnace, a hissing cal 
 dron, barrels of detestable drink all round her, and 
 frightful shadows thrown by the angry fire, which, 
 fed by dry hemlock, sounded like subterranean mus 
 ketry, arid threw out burning splinters on her sleep 
 ing brother s face, - are brought before us as by a 
 master s hand. But, while we entirely approve the 
 tone in which he speaks on this subject at large, we 
 think he has fallen into the error so common with 
 communities and individuals when suddenly re 
 formed, that of representing their former state 
 as worse than it really was. Bad enough in con 
 science it was ; but New England was not quite 
 transformed into one vast bar-room. Many, many 
 there were who walked unhurt amidst the flames ; 
 and the inspiring manner in which the general feeling 
 rose against the destroyer, and the energy of will 
 exerted to resist it, showed that the heart of the peo 
 ple was still sound, and there was hope for the days 
 to come. 
 
 With respect to another great evil, war, which, as 
 the author shows, is not according to the spirit of the 
 gospel, we do not think his course in the narrative 
 so happy. His feeling is earnestly opposed to this 
 practice, not only as a desolating evil, but a deadly 
 sin. But an onslaught upon the militia is not the 
 sort of crusading expedition which is likely to reach 
 it : not only the town of Livingston, but the whole 
 country, might be exempted from military duty, 
 without any approach to that state of peace and 
 
408 MARGARET. 
 
 general good-will which Christianity is destined to 
 bring. But this subject seerns in a way to be 
 brought up as a theme for intelligent and interested 
 discussion : instead of being taken into the keeping 
 of a party, it will be investigated by active and 
 powerful minds. The public will at length be firmly 
 established in some convictions which will affect the 
 proceedings of nations ; a work which the feeling of 
 a sect would never be able to do. The duty of not 
 resisting evil, how far does it go ? Is the Saviour s 
 charge, " Resist not evil," to be understood like 
 another near it, " Give to him that asketh thee " ? or 
 is it to be followed in full, and without reserve ? 
 Have we a right to resist evil with our tongues, 
 while our hands are bound ? or may we take com 
 fort in our self-denial, by abusing others with the 
 hardest words which the language affords ? Does 
 this obligation extend only to cases in which life is 
 concerned ? and what gives the right to deprive 
 others of liberty, while the life may not be taken 
 away ? If evil may not be resisted in one way, can 
 it be in another ? and, if not, how is any social sys 
 tem to hold together for a day ? These are ques 
 tions, lying under this matter, which need to be 
 patiently sifted, and made clear to the public mind, 
 before it can reach a full understanding of this whole 
 subject of war. And, since no partial views will 
 accomplish any thing more than imperfect reforms, 
 it is well that this subject is not likely to be chaired 
 like a candidate at an English election, but debated 
 wisely and wilhout passion by manly and indepen 
 dent minds. 
 
MARGARET. 409 
 
 The subject of capital punishment, which is of 
 near kindred to the former, is here introduced in the 
 fate of Chilion, the early friend of Margaret, whom 
 she had always regarded as a brother. His charac 
 ter is finely sustained throughout, except in the single 
 incident for it could hardly be called an action 
 which brought his life to a close. A husking frolic, 
 the festival which answers to the harvest-home of 
 other countries, was followed by a supper, which is 
 the greatest failure in all the work. The revels 
 ended in furious intoxication ; and Chilion, seeing a 
 young man apparently offering some insult to Mar 
 garet, and urged on by the reproaches of Rose, who 
 had drunk something more than the dews of night, 
 threw a file at the offender, which severed an artery 
 of his neck, and inflicted a wound of which he bled 
 to death. The author found a jury, though to a 
 sheriff it might have been a difficult matter, who 
 brought in a verdict of wilful murder, and the judge 
 pronounced the sentence of the law. There are 
 some natural and affecting scenes in the prison, but 
 we cannot say so much of the condemnation : it is 
 ruined by the unnatural talk of Margaret in her 
 raving, which falls like ice upon the reader s excited 
 feeling. But the question of capital punishment is 
 not reached by such an imaginary case as this. 
 Evidently nothing could be more absurd than such 
 a penalty inflicted on such a person, where it was 
 obvious that he could not have intended to give a 
 fatal wound. The question is, whether capital 
 punishment can be dispensed with. It is not to the 
 purpose to say, that " the worst use you can put a 
 35 
 
410 MARGARET. 
 
 man to is to hang him ; " for this, though doubtless 
 a smart saying, would apply equally well to shutting 
 him up in a jail. When the truth is made clear that 
 this fearful penalty does not answer its purpose, or 
 that some others can be resorted to instead of it, the 
 public mind will be ready to surrender it ; but, if this 
 is not done, it must endure till it is displaced by the 
 advance of civilization, which has many remains of 
 barbarism yet hanging round it, but will sooner or 
 later lose all its taste for blood. 
 
 If the impressions of the readers of this book are 
 like ours, they have thought the author superior to 
 his work ; which, though it abounds in proofs of 
 talent, has many things that to some must impair, to 
 others utterly destroy, its attraction. If he is one of 
 those who feel no respect for prevailing sentiments in 
 matters of taste, he may persist in his own way, 
 which, as it is now, will not lead him to a throne 
 in men s minds and hearts. But if he will pay 
 deference to established modes of communication, 
 which, though they might be improved, are at 
 present the only channels through which extensive 
 influence can be exerted, he may gain for himself a 
 brilliant reputation, and, what is more to his purpose, 
 he may be a powerful and successful instrument for 
 bringing about those reforms which he evidently has 
 at heart, and which will be triumphantly accom 
 plished in happier days than ours. 
 
POETRY 
 
POETRY. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 SEEN FOR THE FIKST TIME ON A SPRING MORNING. 
 
 I LOVE the memory of the hour 
 
 When first in youth I found thee ; 
 For infant beauty gently threw 
 
 A morning freshness round thee. 
 A single star was rising then 
 
 With mild and lovely motion, 
 And scarce the zephyr s mildest breath 
 
 Went o er the sleeping ocean. 
 
 I love the memory of that hour : 
 
 It wakes a pensive feeling, 
 As when within the winding shell 
 
 The playful winds are stealing. 
 It tells my heart of those bright years 
 
 Ere hope went down in sorrow, 
 When all the joys of yesterday 
 
 Were painted on to-morrow. 
 35* 
 
414 TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Where art thou now ? Thy once-loved flowers 
 
 Their yellow leaves are twining, 
 And bright and beautiful again 
 
 That single star is shining. 
 But where art thou ? The bended grass 
 
 A dewy stone discloses, 
 And love s light footsteps print the ground 
 
 Where all my peace reposes. 
 
 Farewell ! my tears are not for thee : 
 
 Twere weakness to deplore thee, 
 Or vainly mourn thine absence here, 
 
 While angels half adore thee. 
 Thy days were few, and quickly told ; 
 
 Thy short and mournful story 
 Hath ended like the morning star, 
 
 That melts in deeper glory. 
 
 1816. 
 
415 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 How slow and peacefully the broad red moon 
 Glides down the bending sky ! All still ! 
 She seems to smile upon those sounding waves 
 That lift their thundering voices to the heaven, 
 As if they mourned her solitude of march 
 Above the waste of waters. But now she leans 
 Upon their breast, and pours her liberal ray : 
 The distant mountains drink the yellow light, 
 The dark-red rocks extend their giant-shades, 
 Long paths of glory kindle in the deep, 
 And there far-shadowed on the sea-beat shore 
 The silent forests on their aged head 
 Receive the glittering crown ; or, dimly seen, 
 Some small white sail flings up an airy glance, 
 And smiles a light farewell. 
 
 The lantern glimmers on the distant beach ; 
 The barge stands waiting for its outward flight ; 
 Those hurrying forms exchange a short embrace ; 
 Some as in sorrow slowly move away, 
 While others leap with gay and youthful bound 
 Where the shrill whistle loudly calls away 
 To the wide ocean, their familiar home. 
 The light boat dances by the unbending side 
 Of that black ship that sideway slowly swings ; 
 Her streamers winding in the playful breeze, 
 Her broad sail heaving in the midnight air. 
 
416 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 And who is she, the lovely form, that leans 
 Intensely gazing on the weltering waves ? 
 Is it that, musing on their stormy play 
 In the forgetfulness of youthful joy, 
 Her home, her friends, her country, all depart ? 
 Or, in the anguish of the parting hour, 
 Dares she not even indulge in one last glance 
 Where the still moonbeam in its dewy light 
 Sleeps on the boundary of the far-off hills ? 
 Within the friendly circle of those hills, 
 For ever open to the smile of heaven, 
 She leaves a peaceful home. 
 
 There, in the freshness of the youthful spring, 
 Together we have drunk the gales of morn, 
 When we have followed the new-opened flower, 
 Our light steps dashing from the bended grass 
 The dew-drops reddening in the rising sun, 
 When Autumn hung upon the dying year 
 Her pensive wreath so wild, so fanciful ; 
 Together we have marked the evening cloud, 
 When the bright ridges of the western hill 
 Seemed slowly melting in the burning heaven ; 
 Together we have watched the star of love 
 Walking with lonely step the silent blue, 
 Before the deep-thronged armies of the night 
 Began their pathway up the glowing skies. 
 Oh ! there was rapture in that pensive hour, 
 There was deep harmony in nature s silence ; 
 For angels breathe their anthems on the heart, 
 That walks its circle on the waves of life, 
 As peacefully as thine. 
 
 There, in the winter night, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 417 
 
 The deep storm, rushing on the sounding blast, 
 Howls round the windows of thy former home. 
 Within, the embers cast a fitful glow ; 
 The tall shade trembles on the dusky wall, 
 And the red fire-light on each cheerful face 
 Paints the calm lines of innocence and peace. 
 One chair is vacant ! how it wakes the thought 
 That hurries onward to the ocean-stream, 
 And swiftly follows in thy venturous way, 
 Till from the rapture of the dream we wake, 
 Wondering thou art not there : and when we bow 
 With reverent heart, and raise the nightly prayer 
 When the fond soul bears all its loves to heaven, 
 We breathe thy name with many a fond desire 
 That He whose spirit is on the stormy wave, 
 Who rules the heaven, and dwells in virtuous hearts, 
 Would still remember thee. 
 
 Oft at night, 
 
 In the wild fancies of the troubled sleep, 
 When rosy-fingered spirits wind the dream 
 Around the slumberer s heart, thy well-known bark 
 With homeward step shall walk the joyous waves, 
 And dash the kindling spray ; the mariner 
 Breathe in the freshness of his native airs, 
 And pour the fulness of his grateful heart 
 In the inspiring song : thou too art there, 
 Thy dark hair floating on the morning wind, 
 Thy bright eye fixed with long and burning gaze 
 On thy dear native home ; then, while I mark 
 The passionate laugh, the recognizing glance, 
 The airy vessel calmly melts away. 
 Then the black terrors of the storm arise, 
 Waked by the echoes of the angry sea ; 
 
418 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 The lightning-flash throws wide its gusty light, 
 The deep-mouthed thunder rolls its rattling wheels, 
 A far-off cry expires upon the seas ! 
 Was it the music of the passing bell 
 Swelling the cadence of the dying gale ? 
 A shade at first; but now, too plainly seen, 
 She floats upon the white edge of the wave ; 
 The morning light is on her marble face ; 
 The wind lifts playfully her flowing hair 
 In gay embrace ; her pale extended arm, 
 Heaved with the rolling of the element, 
 Invites me with a slow mysterious motion, 
 How dreadful in the eloquence of death ! 
 As in the ruins of that lovely form 
 Affection lingered still. But thou, my friend, 
 Whom we lament with unavailing tears, 
 Art numbered in the heaven : no tear profane, 
 No sad remembrance, lingers there to dim 
 Thine own excelling glory. 
 
 Only a dream ! and thou mayest still return 
 
 To that loved home, whose well-remembered charms 
 
 Long years of absence have not worn away : 
 
 But the warm friends of youth shall not be there, 
 
 And strange inhabitants shall coldly tell 
 
 How the old tenants of that happy place 
 
 Have closed their eyes in peace ; their parting breath 
 
 Spent in last blessings on their favorite child, 
 
 On her, the far-away ; and he, the one 
 
 Who heard the accents of thy last farewell. 
 
 And loved thee with a never-failing love, 
 
 Went to the grave alone. 
 
419 
 
 LINES ON DYING. 
 
 MY hour is come ; but no unthought-of hour, 
 
 Whose gloomy presence chills my soul with dread. 
 
 It steals as gently o er my weary heart, 
 
 As the fond parent s footsteps round the cradle 
 
 Where innocent beauty sleeps. I ve looked for it 
 
 Since the first opening of my youthful mind : 
 
 Sometimes in hours of gladness would the thought, 
 
 Calmly as angels voices heard in dreams, 
 
 Forbid the unmeaning laugh of careless joy, 
 
 And melt each feeling into pensive sadness. 
 
 Sometimes in midnight musings, when the soul 
 
 Was weary of existence, it would come 
 
 In many a flash of wild and strange delight, 
 
 I found no pleasure in the youthful spring, 
 
 Nor the bright kindlings of the morning cloud ; 
 
 My spirit lingered on the waning year, 
 
 On the last blushes of the sunset heaven, 
 
 And the red leaf that whispered it must fall. 
 
 I loved to gaze on beauty, but twas not 
 
 The airy form, and features bright with smiles, 
 
 But the pale cheek where death had gently laid 
 
 His first light touch, and left it lovely still. 
 
 I ve lain for hours beneath the aged tree 
 
 That casts its shadow o er the homes of death, 
 
 When evening sunshine slept on every leaf, 
 
 And all around was still ; I ve marked the graves, 
 
 Some nameless as I would my own should be, 
 
420 LINES ON DYING. 
 
 Some graved with all the high parade of death, 
 
 Some with low stones and moss fast creeping o er them, 
 
 As cold oblivion gathers o er the names 
 
 Of those who rest below ; then I dismissed 
 
 Life and its changes from my heart awhile, 
 
 And thought of death till it became familiar. 
 
 I thought the humblest unremembered one 
 
 Was laid there with a sigh, some with warm tears, 
 
 Some with the grief that time could never heal, 
 
 With love enduring as the aching heart, 
 
 Whose love became despair ; and could it be, 
 
 That souls once full of high and heavenly musing, 
 
 Souls that could chain affection to their graves, 
 
 Were mingling with the dust that closed them in ? 
 
 No : the long grass springs yearly from their bed, 
 
 The violet there renews its tender flower, 
 
 And sure the image of the heavenly nature 
 
 Is durable as they : oh ! you may close the coffin, 
 
 Heap high the earth upon their breast, or bind 
 
 The rocky arches of the ponderous tomb ; 
 
 The soul will burst its bondage, yes, will smile 
 
 At those memorials man felt bound to raise, 
 
 While it springs upward to its native home. 
 
 Oft in its loneliest watches of the night, 
 When silence rested on the slumbering world, 
 When the leaf stirred not ; but, serene in heaven, 
 The moon and stars went on their glorious way, 
 And the winds dared not breathe while earth lay still, 
 And wondered at their beauty, I have thought 
 If, when the weary cares of life are ended, 
 My spirit might have rest in fields of light, 
 And dwell in mansions calm and blest as they. 
 Why might it not ? tis clay that binds it down. 
 
LINES ON DYING. 421 
 
 But oft even now the spirit throws off its chains, 
 And hurries upward through the vast of heaven, 
 Beyond heaven s utmost bounds, even now it ranges 
 Beyond the farthest star, whose fainting ray 
 Seems trembling into darkness, and borrows thence 
 Emotions deep and strong imaginings, 
 With thoughts more beautiful than earth affords, 
 And finds a friend in each bright wanderer there. 
 
 Then surely when the bands of clay are loosed, 
 And the strong prison of the soul is broken, 
 It will rise high above its boldest flight, 
 Above its cares, above its joys and sorrows ; 
 And rest not till it breathes the heavenly air, 
 And folds its pinions at the throne of God. 
 
 Then welcome death ! the valley s clods are sweet. 
 The once faint heart is mightier than the grave. 
 Lay me to rest beneath the aged tree 
 Which many a year hath bent its hoary head 
 In musing o er those small round hills of green, 
 While many a ruin of the form divine, 
 The young and beautiful, the old and gray, 
 Have sunk in frailty at the glance of death, 
 And hands as frail have borne them to their rest. 
 There oft I went at evening s hour of peace, 
 Looked o er the field so widely ridged with graves, 
 And sadly pondered what it is to die. 
 
 Years have passed by : the ground is even now ; 
 But there I fain would lay me down to sleep 
 Where no rude foot shall break the holy calm, 
 No sound be wakeful but the night-wind s sigh 
 When the red leaves are withering on my bed. 
 36 
 
422 LINES ON DYING. 
 
 There the cold moon shall pour her gilding light, 
 And star-beams glimmer through the twining boughs, 
 Above his rest who loved their beauty well. 
 
 The humblest one receives a farewell sigh, 
 And my departure may call forth a tear ; 
 For in this dark world man can weep for man. 
 But let no pageant of unmeaning grief, 
 No mourning train, in all the pride of sorrow, 
 Go with my ashes to their place of rest ; 
 And let no stone oppress them : years may pass, 
 And friends forget where they have laid me down ; 
 But let me never raise the marble prayer 
 To ask remembrance from the stranger s heart, 
 When love grows cold, and tears have ceased to now. 
 
 1822. 
 
423 
 
 THE LAND OF THE BLEST. 
 
 OH ! when the hours of life are past, 
 And death s dark shadow falls at last, 
 It is not sleep, it is not rest : 
 Tis glory opening to the blest. 
 
 Their way to heaven was pure from sin, 
 And Christ shall then receive them in ; 
 There each shall wear a robe of light, 
 Like his, divinely fair and bright. 
 
 There parted hearts again shall meet 
 In union holy, calm, and sweet ; 
 There grief find rest, and never more 
 Shall sorrow call them to deplore. 
 
 There angels shall unite their prayers 
 With spirits bright and blest as theirs ; 
 And light shall glance on every crown, 
 From suns that never more go down. 
 
 No storms shall ride the troubled air, 
 No voice of passion enter there ; 
 But all be peaceful as the sigh 
 Of evening gales that breathe and die. 
 
 For there the God of mercy sheds 
 His purest influence on their heads, 
 And gilds the spirits round the throne 
 With glory radiant as his own. 
 
424 
 
 THE RISING MOON. 
 
 THE moon is up ! how calm and slow 
 She wheels above the hill ! 
 
 The weary winds forget to blow, 
 And all the world lies still. 
 
 The way-worn travellers with delight 
 
 Her rising brightness see ; 
 Revealing all the paths and plains, 
 
 And gilding every tree. 
 
 It glistens where the hurrying stream 
 
 Its little rippling heaves ; 
 It falls upon the forest-shade, 
 
 And sparkles on the leaves. 
 
 So once on Judah s evening hills 
 The heavenly lustre spread ; 
 
 The gospel sounded from the blaze, 
 And shepherds gazed with dread. 
 
 And still that light upon the world 
 Its guiding splendor throws, 
 
 Bright in the opening hours of life, 
 And brighter at the close. 
 
 The waning moon in time shall fail 
 To walk the midnight skies ; 
 
 But God hath kindled this bright light 
 With fire that never dies. 
 
425 
 
 AUTUMN EVENING. 
 
 BEHOLD the western evening light ! 
 
 It melts in deepening gloom : 
 So calmly Christians sink away, 
 
 Descending to the tomb. 
 
 The wind breathes low ; the withering leaf 
 Scarce whispers from the tree : 
 
 So gently flows the parting breath, 
 When good men cease to be. 
 
 How beautiful on all the hills 
 
 The crimson light is shed ! 
 Tis like the peace the Christian gives 
 
 To mourners round his bed. 
 
 How mildly on the wandering cloud 
 
 The sunset beam is cast ! 
 Tis like the memory left behind 
 
 When loved ones breathe their last. 
 
 And now above the dews of night 
 
 The yellow star appears : 
 So faith springs in the hearts of those 
 
 Whose eyes are bathed in tears. 
 
 But soon the morning s happier light 
 
 Its glory shall restore ; 
 And eyelids that are sealed in death 
 
 Shall wake to close no more. 
 36* 
 
426 
 
 LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. 
 
 The idea of the following lines is taken from that beautiful passage in 
 " Anastasius," in which he is represented lamenting the death of his child 
 Alexis : 
 
 IT was but yesterday, my love, thy little heart beat high, 
 And I had scorned the warning voice that told me thou 
 
 must die ; 
 I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits light and 
 
 free, 
 And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to 
 
 thee. 
 
 Upon the dewy field I saw thine early footsteps fly, 
 Unfettered as the matin bird that cleaves the radiant 
 
 sky; 
 And often as the sunrise gale blew back thy shining 
 
 hair, 
 Thy cheek displayed the red-rose tinge that health had 
 
 painted there. 
 
 Then, withered as my heart had been, I could not but 
 
 rejoice 
 
 To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice, 
 Now echoing in the careless laugh, now melting down to 
 
 tears : 
 Twas like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier 
 
 years. 
 
LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. 427 
 
 Thanks for that memory to thee, my lovely little boy ! 
 Tis all remains of former bliss that care cannot destroy ; 
 I listened, as the mariner suspends the out-bound oar 
 To taste the farewell gale that blows from off his native 
 shore. 
 
 I loved thee, and my heart was blest ; but, ere the day was 
 
 spent, 
 
 I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent, 
 And shuddered as I cast a look upon the fainting head, 
 For all the glow of health was gone, and life was almost 
 
 fled. 
 
 One glance upon thy marble brow made known that hope 
 
 was vain ; 
 
 I knew the swiftly wasting lamp would never light again ; 
 Thy cheek was pale, thy snow-white lips were gently 
 
 thrown apart, 
 And life in every passing breath seemed gushing from the 
 
 heart. 
 
 And, when I could not keep the tear from gathering in 
 
 my eye, 
 
 Thy little hand prest gently mine in token of reply ; 
 To ask one more exchange of love, thy look was upward 
 
 cast, 
 And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed. 
 
 I trusted I should not have lived to bid farewell to thee, 
 And nature in my heart declares it ought not so to be ; 
 I hoped that thou within the grave my weary head should 
 
 lay, 
 And live beloved when I was gone for many a happy 
 
 day. 
 
428 LAMENT OF ANASTASJUS. 
 
 With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to 
 
 close, 
 
 And how I envied in that hour thy calm and deep repose ! 
 For I was left alone on earth, with pain and grief opprest ; 
 And thou wert with the sainted, where the weary are at 
 
 rest. 
 
 Yes ! I am left alone on earth ; but I will not repine 
 Because a spirit loved so well is earlier blest than mine : 
 My fate may darken as it will, I shall not much deplore, 
 Since thou art where the ills of life can never reach thee 
 more. 
 
 1823. 
 
429 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 ON RECEIVING A PRESENT OF FLOWERS, WHICH SHE CALLED 
 EMBLEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 I THANK you, my dearest : twas kind to send 
 A proof of love to your faithful friend ; 
 And, though. I have long since learned to fear, 
 From the hard- won lesson of many a year, 
 That the faithless heart very seldom shares 
 In the language of feeling the tongue declares, 
 I will still believe, that, at least in youth, 
 There may be a union of friendship and truth. 
 
 Besides, I am glad to see the flowers ; 
 They remind my heart of its greener hours, 
 When all the present, the future, and past 
 Were a vision of pleasure too bright to last. 
 Emblems of friendship they may be now ; 
 They are torn away from their parent bough ; 
 But they were not so when they used to stand 
 Beneath the care of a lovely hand, 
 And seemed as if grateful and proud to shed 
 Their fragrance round on their native bed ; 
 And the light breeze whispered its joy to bear 
 Their perfume away to the evening air. 
 
 They are like friendship, when noon-day showers 
 Have torn them down from their native bowers ; 
 
430 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 When cold and withered their branches lie 
 
 In the careless steps of the passer-by : 
 
 Or when the maiden delights to wear 
 
 Their green in the wreaths of her braided hair, 
 
 To brighten her charms on some festive day ; 
 
 And then like a friend to be cast away, 
 
 Or folded down in some holy book, 
 
 In which she is never again to look : 
 
 Or given away to some favored youth, 
 
 In the silent language he takes for truth ; 
 
 To be worn and worshipped, and fondly pressed 
 
 By day and night to his foolish breast ; 
 
 Till he finds that the flowers will be blooming on, 
 
 When the love that gave them is long since gone ; 
 
 And their beauty may perish whenever it will ; 
 
 The flowers of the heart may be frailer still. 
 
 Tis the fault of nature ; for ask your heart, 
 If its own warm feelings do not depart ; 
 If it never breathed a delighted vow 
 To friends it will scarcely remember now : 
 And yet in yourself you do not condemn 
 The change of feeling you censure in them. 
 Oh ! no ; for friendship will not be true ; 
 And the radiant star of the morning dew, 
 Which the zephyr dries with its gentle wing, 
 Is as brilliant, as fair, and as vain a thing. 
 
 I ve seen the gaze of an altered eye, 
 
 And the hand held from rue I knew not why ; 
 
 I ve heard the footsteps of friends who fled, 
 
 When sickness hung over my weary bed ; 
 
 And I thought that the heart might be warmed as soon 
 
 By the last cold ray of the waning moon. 
 
TO A YOUNG LADY. 431 
 
 I would trust as soon to the meteor-spark 
 That misled the course of the shipwrecked bark, 
 As confide in the perjured, betraying kiss 
 That friendship gives in a world like this. 
 
 But they were not all, and while they were changed, 
 There were some whose feeling no time estranged ; 
 Whose words of kindness were true to the last, 
 As the leaf endures when summer is past. 
 
 Then, if there is friendship which can be true, 
 
 May its best affections be pledged to you ! 
 
 If there are hearts you love to cherish, 
 
 If there are feelings that will not perish, 
 
 May they strew their blessings around your way, 
 
 From this morning hour to your latest day ! 
 
 If the hope that before you so bright appears, 
 
 Has risen in smiles to go down in tears ; 
 
 If the star of promise, that blazes high, 
 
 Be quenched in the clouds of a stormy sky ; 
 
 May a hand as true, and more dear than mine, 
 
 Be near to support you in life s decline, 
 
 Till you reach the mansions of heavenly rest, 
 
 Where friends unite, and their loves are blest ! 
 
 1824. 
 
432 
 
 M O N A D X C K. 
 
 UPON the far-off mountain s brow 
 
 The angry storm has ceased to beat, 
 And broken clouds are gathering now 
 
 In lowly reverence round his feet. 
 I saw their dark and crowded bands 
 
 On his firm head in wrath descending ; 
 But there, once more redeemed, he stands, 
 
 And heaven s clear arch is o er him bending. 
 
 I ve seen him when the rising sun 
 
 Shone like a watch-fire on the height ; 
 I ve seen him when the day was done, 
 
 Bathed in the evening s crimson light ; 
 I ve seen him in the midnight hour, 
 
 When all the world beneath were sleeping, 
 Like some lone sentry in his tower 
 
 His patient watch in silence keeping. 
 
 And there, as ever steep and clear, 
 
 That pyramid of Nature springs ! 
 He owns no rival turret near, 
 
 No sovereign but the King of kings : 
 While many a nation hath passed by, 
 
 And many an age unknown in story, 
 His walls and battlements on high 
 
 He rears in melancholy glory. 
 
MONADNOCK. 433 
 
 And let a world of human pride 
 
 With all its grandeur melt away, 
 And spread around his rocky side 
 
 The broken fragments of decay ; 
 Serene his hoary head will tower, 
 
 Untroubled by one thought of sorrow : 
 He numbers not the weary hour ; 
 
 He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow. 
 
 Farewell ! I go my distant way : 
 
 Perhaps, not far in future years, 
 The eyes that glow with smiles to-day 
 
 May gaze upon thee dim with tears. 
 Then let me learn from thee to rise, 
 
 All time and chance and change defying, 
 Still pointing upward to the skies, 
 
 And on the inward strength relying. 
 
 If life before my weary eye 
 
 Grows fearful as the angry sea, 
 Thy memory shall suppress the sigh 
 
 For that which never more can be ; 
 Inspiring all within the heart 
 
 With firm resolve and strong endeavor 
 To act a brave and faithful part, 
 
 Till life s short warfare ends for ever. 
 
 1824. 
 
 37 
 
434 
 
 ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT. 
 
 AND this is death ! how cold and still, 
 
 And yet how lovely it appears ! 
 Too cold to let the gazer smile, 
 
 But far too beautiful for tears. 
 The sparkling eye no more is bright, 
 
 The cheek hath lost its rose-like red ; 
 And yet it is with strange delight 
 
 I stand and gaze upon the dead. 
 
 But when I see the fair wide brow 
 
 Half shaded by the silken hair, 
 That never looked so fair as now, 
 
 When life and health were laughing there, 
 I wonder not that grief should swell 
 
 So wildly upward in the breast, 
 And that strong passion once rebel, 
 
 That need not, cannot be suppressed. 
 
 I wonder not that parents eyes, 
 
 In gazing thus, grow cold and dim ; 
 That burning tears and aching sighs 
 
 Are blended with the funeral hymn. 
 The spirit hath an earthly part, 
 
 That weeps when earthly pleasure flies ; 
 And Heaven would scorn the frozen heart 
 
 That melts not when the infant dies. 
 
ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT. 43-5 
 
 And yet why mourn ? That deep repose 
 
 Shall never more be broke by pain ; 
 Those lips no more in sighs unclose, 
 
 Those eyes shall never weep again. 
 For think not that the blushing flower 
 
 Shall wither in the churchyard sod : 
 Twas made to gild an angel s bower 
 
 Within the paradise of God. 
 
 Once more I gaze, and swift and far 
 
 The clouds of death and sorrow fly ; 
 I see thee like a new-born star, 
 
 Mo-ve up thy pathway in the sky : 
 The star hath rays serene and bright, 
 
 But cold and pale compared with thine ; 
 For thy orb shines with heavenly light, 
 
 With beams unfailing and divine. 
 
 Then let the burthened heart be free, 
 
 The tears of sorrow all be shed, 
 And parents calmly bend to see 
 
 The mournful beauty of the dead ; 
 Thrice happy that their infant bears 
 
 To Heaven no darkening stain of sin, 
 And only breathed life s morning airs 
 
 Before its evening storms begin. 
 
 Farewell ! I shall not soon forget ! 
 
 Although thy heart hath ceased to beat, 
 My memory warmly treasures yet 
 
 Thy features calm and mildly sweet. 
 But no : that look is not the last ; 
 
 We yet may meet where seraphs dwell, 
 Where love no more deplores the past, 
 
 Nor breathes that withering word, Farewell ! 
 
 1825. 
 
436 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A POEM, 
 
 AND THE WATERS WERE ABATED. 
 
 Now life looks smiling on the world again ; 
 The bright waves dance, the ocean lifts its voice, 
 Rejoicing that its work of death is done ; 
 The forests send from out their caverned green 
 The solemn fulness of the organ s tone, 
 Deep as it rolls in temples made with hands ; 
 The boundless fields unroll their velvet green, 
 Where the tired eye may rest with calm delight ; 
 The infant buds burst all their prisoning shells, 
 And varied brilliants gem the hills and vales 
 Like sprinklings from the morning s changing cloud, 
 Or the fallen rainbow shivered into flowers. 
 But high o er all the rainbow firmly springs ; 
 For now the sun hath scaled the barrier hills, 
 And, slowly rising from his mountain-throne, 
 Smiles on the lovely stranger of the heavens 
 That fronts him on the purple robe of clouds, 
 Whose dark folds roll in majesty away. 
 Tis beautiful ! Admiring hearts and eyes 
 Are wondering raised, as if the angel files, 
 With arms yet burning from the radiant blaze, 
 Thronged in bright circle round the long-lost world, 
 To hail its rising from its watery tomb. 
 
437 
 
 Tis beautiful! and all their hearts are peace; 
 No more they ponder on the lately dead, 
 Or dream how soon their own despair may come ; 
 Their fears and sorrows find repose at last, 
 For God hath said it, and their hearts reply 
 That God s own hand hath bent its arching tower, 
 And joined its colored circles in the heaven, 
 That all might read the language of his love, 
 Oft as it drives the angry storm away, 
 And breathes its calmness on the world below. 
 Man would have stamped it in recording brass, 
 Or graved it in the everlasting rock ; 
 But God hath framed it finer than the air, 
 With tints as frail as those of slenderest flowers, 
 Or evening clouds that fade beneath the view. 
 
 Thousands of years have risen and passed away, 
 Stars have expired, and yet the rainbow lives 
 In all the brightness of its earlier light, 
 On Nature s festivals to span the heavens, 
 Till the last heart of man shall cease to beat, 
 When mountains melt, and rocks are rent with fires, 
 And ocean rolls its latest wave away. 
 
 1826, 
 
438 
 
 " MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE 
 IS HE?" 
 
 WHERE is he ? Hark ! his lonely home 
 
 Is answering to the mournful call ! 
 The setting sun with dazzling blaze 
 
 May fire the windows of his hall ; 
 But evening shadows quench the light, 
 
 And all is cheerless, cold, and dim, 
 Save where one taper wakes at night, 
 
 Like weeping love remembering him. 
 
 Where is he ? Hark ! the friend replies : 
 
 " I watched beside his dying bed, 
 And heard the low and struggling sighs 
 
 That gave the living to the dead ; 
 I saw his weary eyelids close, 
 
 And then the ruin coldly cast, 
 Where all the loving and beloved, 
 
 Though sadly parted, meet at last." 
 
 Where is he ? Hark ! the marble says, 
 
 That " here the mourners laid his head ; 
 And here sometimes, in after-days, 
 
 They came, and sorrowed for the dead : 
 But one by one they passed away, 
 
 And soon they left me here alone 
 To sink in unobserved decay, 
 
 A nameless and neglected stone." 
 
" MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST," ETC. 439 
 
 Where is he ? Hark ! tis Heaven replies : 
 
 " The star-beam of the purple sky, 
 That looks beneath the evening s brow, 
 
 Mild as some beaming angel s eye, 
 As calm and clear it gazes down, 
 
 Is shining from the place of rest, 
 The pearl of his immortal crown, 
 
 The heavenly radiance of the blest ! " 
 
440 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 When his friends and family were dead, and he himself was disgraced by the 
 Athenians, showed no sign of emotion, till, at the funeral of his last surviv 
 ing son, he burst into tears as he attempted to place the funeral garland on 
 his head. 
 
 " WHO are these with mournful tread, 
 Wailing for the youthful dead ? 
 Wherefore do the following crowd 
 Breathe their sullen murmurs loud ? 
 And He ? the gathering crowds retire 
 Before his eye s commanding fire : 
 The lines of age are in his face, 
 But time bends not his martial grace, 
 
 Nor sorrow bows his head ; 
 And, while the maddening throng condemn, 
 He hath not even a thought for them : 
 
 His soul is with the dead ! " 
 
 Stranger, twould fire my aged cheek 
 That deeply injured name to speak : 
 Twas once the Athenian s breath of life, 
 The watchword of the bloodiest strife ; 
 For, when he led the marshalled brave, 
 His galley rode the foremost wave ; 
 And, when the thundering shock began, 
 His sword was blazing in the van. 
 
 Who hath not seen the stormy crowd 
 Before his mild persuasion bowed ; 
 
PERICLES. 441 
 
 Or sunk to earth as o er them passed 
 His burning accents fierce and fast ? 
 Like the breeze the meadow bending, 
 
 Lightly in its evening play, 
 Like the storm the mountain rending, 
 
 Hurrying on its whirlwind-way, 
 He told the funeral praise of those 
 Who fell before our Samian foes ; 
 He made our hearts with rapture swell, 
 That Athens triumphed when they fell : 
 But when he changed the scene again, 
 And showed them bleeding on the plain, 
 
 Far from all that life endears, 
 We wept for those ill-fated men, 
 And knew not which was mightiest then, 
 
 The glory or the tears. 
 
 Look within that marble court, 
 
 Where the sculptured fount is playing ; 
 
 See the youth, in innocent sport, 
 Each his mimic fleet arraying ; 
 
 See the yellow sunbeams fall 
 
 Through the garden s wreathing wall, 
 
 Where fruit-groves paint with sweetness lean 
 
 Their ponderous flakes of massy green, 
 
 In which the mansion s turrets sleep 
 
 Like sunny islands in the deep. 
 
 Those courts are mine ; and, but for him, 
 
 My blood had died that fountain s brim ; 
 
 And cold and blackened ruins pressed 
 
 The spot so peaceful, calm, and blest. 
 
 Look round on many a roof, excelling 
 The splendor of a prince s dwelling ; 
 
442 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 And mark those groves in shady ranks, 
 Climbing up the marble banks 
 
 To where yon dark hill towers 
 Like Athens in her virgin pride, 
 Surveying far on every side 
 
 Her wide-extended powers. 
 Look ! for my aged eyes are dim, 
 Tis glorious ! and tis all from him. 
 The Parthenon rears its pearly crown, 
 Fair, as if Heaven had sent it down ; 
 But he that temple upward threw, 
 Against the clear transparent blue. 
 Like our own goddess, from the head 
 
 Of Jove in youth immortal springing, 
 A gentle grace is round it shed, 
 
 Far, far abroad its radiance flinging. 
 The many-colored tints of day 
 Around its finish love to play, 
 And gild its pillars light and proud, 
 As gravings from the evening cloud ; 
 He made the marble spring to earth 
 In all this loveliness of birth ; 
 A thing for nations to adore 
 And love, but never rival more. 
 
 Go to the battle s stormy plain, 
 Where clanging squadrons charge again, 
 And read the war-cry on their lips ; 
 Or go to Athens thousand ships, 
 And ask what name of power presides 
 Above the battle of the tides ; 
 And when the harp of after- days 
 Is ringing high to notes of praise, 
 
PERICLES. 
 
 Go, read what name has longest hung 
 Upon the true Athenian s tongue. 
 
 " Injured old man ! and can it be, 
 Thy country hath rewarded thee, 
 By striving with ungenerous aim 
 To change thy glory into shame ? " 
 
 Death struck the dearest from his side, 
 
 Till none were left but one ; 
 And now he mourns that only pride, 
 
 His sole surviving son. 
 He kept the sternness of his heart, 
 
 The brightness of his eye ; 
 But death hath struck the tenderest part, 
 
 And he begins to die. 
 He hath none left to bear disgrace. 
 
 " Oh may it fall on Athens race ! 
 May they go down to well-earned graves 
 Of thankless and dishonored slaves ! 
 How many a time in future years 
 Shall they recall with hopeless tears 
 That glorious day s departed sun, 
 When Athens and renown were one. 
 Then the Greek maid will fain discover 
 Thy spirit in her youthful lover ; 
 And matrons press their infants charms 
 With warmer triumph in their arms, 
 When breathing prayers that they may see 
 Their darling child resembling thee ! " 
 
 The hero by the burial stands 
 
 With head declined and folded hands ; 
 
 443 
 
444 PERICLES. 
 
 But when he vainly tries to spread 
 The garland on that marble head, 
 At once upon his memory throng 
 The thoughts of unresented wrong ; 
 The thankless land he could not save, 
 The home now colder than the grave ; 
 And bursts of grief, with sudden start, 
 Spring upward in his withered heart. 
 Tis but a moment, and tis past ; 
 That moment s frenzy is the last : 
 
 His eye no more is dim. 
 But bitterer tears than these shall fall 
 Within the guilty city s wall, 
 
 When Athens weeps for him. 
 
 1826. 
 
44-" 
 
 LINES T 
 
 She died " as the grass 
 Which withereth afore it groweth up ; 
 Wherewith the mower fiUeth not his hand, 
 Neither, he that hindeth sheaves his bosom. 
 
 WHILE the poor wanderer of life is in this vale of tears, 
 There will be hours when hearts look back to dear de 
 parted years : 
 
 Around him night is falling fast, he feels the evening chills, 
 But sees warm sunshine lingering yet on youth s far-dis 
 tant hills. 
 
 The lovely form of youthful hope revisits his sad heart, 
 And joy that long since bade farewell, but could not quite 
 
 depart, 
 And friendship once so passing sweet, too pure and strong 
 
 to die, 
 And those delicious tears of love he did not wish to dry. 
 
 Oft I remember thus, and feel the mystery of the hour ; 
 I know not then if joy or grief possess the mightier power : 
 While many a loved departed one tis pleasure to recall, 
 Tis anguish to remember thee, the loveliest of them all. 
 
 Yes ! sadly welcomed and with tears is now, and long- 
 must be, 
 
 The memory of my parting hour, my earliest friend, from 
 thee : 
 
 33 
 
446 LINKS TO . 
 
 For common hopes and common joys I deeply mourn 
 
 apart ; 
 But the remembrance of the loss, it thunderstrikes the 
 
 heart. 
 
 For, oh ! how fast and fervently, when life is in its spring, 
 
 Hand bound to hand, and heart to heart, the young affec 
 tions cling ; 
 
 By early and unaltering love our souls were joined in 
 one, 
 
 With ties that death hath burst indeed, but never hath 
 undone. 
 
 Now death hath thrown us wide apart ; but memory 
 
 treasures yet 
 
 Too painful to remember now, too lovely to forget 
 Thy manner like an angel s pure, thy mild and mournful 
 
 grace, 
 And all the rosy light of youth that kindled in thy face ; 
 
 The open brow with sunny curls around its arches thrown, 
 
 The speaking eye through which the soul in melting ra 
 diance shone, 
 
 The smile that lighted up the lip with bright and pensive 
 glow, 
 
 And the dark shade that o er it passed, when tears began 
 to flow. 
 
 And then how sternly beautiful the spirit bold and high 
 That lighted o er thy marble brow, and filled thy radiant 
 
 eye, 
 
 When, seated by the evening fire, or rambling side by side, 
 We read how holy sufferers lived, or glorious martyrs 
 
 died. 
 
LINKS TO 
 
 447 
 
 And thus with feeling all the same, with bright and ear 
 nest eye, 
 
 We held communion long and sweet with ocean, earth, 
 and sky : 
 
 They told the glory of our God, they bore our thoughts 
 above, 
 
 And made us purer as we heard their eloquence of love. 
 
 And so within the temple-walls we stood with childish 
 
 awe, 
 And wondered why our fathers feared a God they never 
 
 saw, 
 Till we had learned and loved to raise our early offering 
 
 there, 
 To join the deep and plaintive hymn, or pour our souls 
 
 in prayer. 
 
 Was this a happiness too pure for erring man to know ? 
 Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my happiness below ? 
 For, lovely as the vision was, it sunk away as soon 
 As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark 
 at noon. 
 
 I gazed with trembling in thine eye, its living light was 
 
 fled; 
 
 Upon thy cheek was deeply stained the cold unusual red : 
 The violet vein that wandered up beneath thy shining hair 
 Contrasted with thy snowy brow, the seal of death was 
 
 there ! 
 
 And then thy sweet and gentle voice confirmed that we 
 
 must part, 
 That voice whose every tone, till then, was music to my 
 
 heart : 
 
448 LINES TO 
 
 I shuddered at the warning words, I could not let 
 
 thee go, 
 And leave me journeying here alone in weariness and 
 
 woe. 
 
 But thou art gone, too early gone, and I am doomed to 
 
 stay, 
 
 Perhaps till many a year has rolled its weary weight away : 
 Thou wast the glory of my heart, my hopes were heavenly 
 
 fair, 
 But now my guiding star is set in darkness and despair. 
 
 Tis thus the stream in early life before us seems to run, 
 Now stealing through the fragrant shade, now sparkling 
 
 in the sun ; 
 But soon it breaks upon the rock with wild and mournful 
 
 roar, 
 Or, heavily spread upon the plain, lies slumbering on the 
 
 shore. 
 
 1826. 
 
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