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diff --git a/40988-8.txt b/40988-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5f46a14..0000000 --- a/40988-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,26538 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb, by -Charles Lamb and Mary Lamb - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb - Miscellaneous Prose - -Author: Charles Lamb - Mary Lamb - -Editor: E.V. Lucas - -Release Date: October 8, 2012 [EBook #40988] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF CHARLES AND MARY LAMB *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -THE WORKS OF - -CHARLES AND MARY LAMB - - -I. MISCELLANEOUS PROSE (1798-1834) - - -BY THE SAME EDITOR - - - The Life of Charles Lamb - Mr. Ingleside - Over Bemerton's - Listener's Lure - One Day and Another - Fireside and Sunshine - Character and Comedy - Old Lamps for New - The Hambledon Men - The Open Road - The Friendly Town - Her Infinite Variety - Good Company - The Gentlest Art - The Second Post - A Swan and Her Friends - A Wanderer in London - A Wanderer in Holland - A Wanderer in Paris - Highways and Byways in Sussex - Anne's Terrible Good Nature - The Slowcoach - Sir Pulteney - - and - -The Pocket Edition of the Works of Charles Lamb: I. Miscellaneous Prose; -II. Elia; III. Children's Books; IV. Poems and Plays; V. and VI. -Letters. - - -[Illustration: _Charles Lamb (aged 30)_ - -_In the dress of a Venetian Senator._ - -_From a painting by William Hazlitt._] - - - - -MISCELLANEOUS PROSE - -BY - -CHARLES AND MARY LAMB - - - - EDITED BY - E. V. LUCAS - - - - WITH A FRONTISPIECE - - - - METHUEN & CO. LTD. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - - - -_First Published in this form (Fcap. 8vo) in 1912_ - - -_This Work was first Published in Seven Volumes (Demy 8vo) in 1903-5_ - - - - -PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION - - -This edition is the same as that in seven large volumes published -between 1903 and 1905, except that it has been revised and amended and -arranged in more companionable shape. Some new matter is included; some -doubtful matter has been removed; and the notes, although occasionally -enriched, have been reduced in number and often condensed. For completer -annotation as well as for portraits and accessory illustrations the old -edition must be consulted. - -The present volume contains all Lamb's prose, with the exception of his -work for children, his full notes in the Dramatic Specimens and Garrick -Extracts, his prose plays and the Elia essays. The contents have been -arranged in their order of publication, the earliest dating from 1798, -when Lamb was twenty-three, and the latest belonging to 1834, the year -of his death--thus covering the whole of his literary life. - -In Mr. Bedford's design for the cover of this edition certain Elian -symbolism will be found. The upper coat of arms is that of Christ's -Hospital, where Lamb was at school; the lower is that of the Inner -Temple, where he was born and spent many years. The figures at the bells -are those which once stood out from the façade of St. Dunstan's Church -in Fleet Street, and are now in Lord Londesborough's garden in Regent's -Park. Lamb shed tears when they were removed. The tricksy sprite and the -candles (brought by Betty) need no explanatory words of mine. - - E. V. L. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - TEXT NOTE - PAGE PAGE - - Rosamund Gray 1 438 - - Curious fragments, extracted from a commonplace-book - which belonged to Robert Burton, the famous Author - of _The Anatomy of Melancholy_ 35 440 - - Early Journalism 41 442 - I. G. F. Cooke in "Richard the Third" 41 442 - II. Grand State Bed 44 442 - III. Fable for Twelfth Day 44 444 - IV. The Londoner 46 444 - - Characters of Dramatic Writers, Contemporary with - Shakspeare 48 445 - - On the Inconveniences Resulting from Being Hanged 65 445 - - On the Danger of Confounding Moral with Personal Deformity: - with a Hint to those who have the Framing - of Advertisements for Apprehending Offenders 74 448 - - On the Ambiguities Arising from Proper Names 80 448 - - On the Genius and Character of Hogarth; with some - Remarks on a Passage in the Writings of the Late - Mr. Barry 81 448 - - On the Custom of Hissing at the Theatres, with some - Account of a Club of Damned Authors 101 449 - - On Burial Societies; and the Character of an - Undertaker 107 451 - - On the Tragedies of Shakspeare, Considered with Reference - to their Fitness for Stage Representation 112 451 - - Specimens from the Writings of Fuller, the Church - Historian 130 453 - - Edax on Appetite 138 454 - - _Hospita_ on the Immoderate Indulgence of the Pleasures of - the Palate 145 454 - - The Good Clerk, a Character; with some Account of "The - Complete English Tradesman" 148 455 - - Memoir of Robert Lloyd 153 455 - - Confessions of a Drunkard 154 456 - - Recollections of Christ's Hospital 162 460 - - Table-Talk in _The Examiner_ 174 464 - I. Reynolds and Leonardo Da Vinci 174 464 - II. The New Acting 176 465 - III. Books with one Idea in them 178 466 - IV. A Sylvan Surprise 179 467 - V. Street Conversation 179 467 - VI. A Town Residence 180 467 - VII. Gray's _Bard_ 181 468 - VIII. An American War for Helen 182 468 - IX. Dryden and Collier 183 468 - X. Play-house Memoranda 184 468 - - Review of _The Excursion_ 187 469 - - On the Melancholy of Tailors 200 473 - - On Needle-work 204 477 - - On the Poetical Works of George Wither 210 477 - - Five Dramatic Criticisms 215 484 - I. Mrs. Gould (Miss Burrell) in "Don Giovanni" 215 484 - II. Miss Kelly at Bath 217 485 - III. Richard Brome's "Jovial Crew" 219 486 - IV. Isaac Bickerstaff's "Hypocrite" 221 489 - V. New Pieces at the Lyceum 222 490 - - Four Reviews 225 491 - I. _Falstaff's Letters_ 225 491 - II. Charles Lloyd's Poems 229 493 - III. Barron Field's Poems 232 493 - IV. Keats' "Lamia" 235 494 - - Sir Thomas More 239 495 - - The Confessions of H. F. V. H. Delamore, Esq. 246 496 - - The Gentle Giantess 248 497 - - Letter to an Old Gentleman whose Education has been - Neglected 251 497 - - Ritson _versus_ John Scott the Quaker 257 498 - - Letter of Elia to Robert Southey 265 498 - - Guy Faux 278 509 - - Nugæ Criticæ: On a Passage in "The Tempest" 285 511 - - Original Letter of James Thomson 288 512 - - Biographical Memoir of Mr. Liston 292 512 - - A Vision of Horns 299 513 - - The Illustrious Defunct 304 514 - - Unitarian Protests 310 514 - - Autobiography of Mr. Munden 314 515 - - The "Lepus" Papers 317 515 - I. Many Friends 317 516 - II. Readers against the Grain 319 516 - III. Mortifications of an Author 322 516 - IV. Tom Pry 324 516 - V. Tom Pry's Wife 326 517 - VI. A Character 327 517 - - Reflections in the Pillory 329 518 - - The Last Peach 333 519 - - "Odes and Addresses to Great People" 335 519 - - The Religion of Actors 337 521 - - A Popular Fallacy 340 523 - - Reminiscences of Juke Judkins, Esq., of Birmingham 342 523 - - Contributions to Hone's _Every-Day Book_ and _Table Book_ 349 523 - I. Remarkable Correspondent 349 527 - II. Captain Starkey 351 528 - III. Twelfth of August 354 528 - IV. The Ass 356 529 - V. _In re_ Squirrels 359 530 - VI. An Appearance of the Season 360 531 - VII. The Months 361 531 - VIII. Reminiscence of Sir Jeffery Dunstan 366 532 - IX. Mrs. Gilpin Riding to Edmonton 368 533 - X. The Defeat of Time 369 534 - - An Autobiographical Sketch 375 535 - - Shakspeare's Improvers 376 535 - - Saturday Night 379 537 - - Estimate of De Foe's Secondary Novels 381 537 - - Clarence Songs 383 539 - - Recollections of a Late Royal Academician 385 540 - - The Latin Poems of Vincent Bourne 391 544 - - The Death of Munden 397 545 - - Thoughts on Presents of Game, &c. 398 546 - - Table-Talk by the Late Elia 400 547 - - The Death of Coleridge 406 549 - - Cupid's Revenge 407 550 - - - - - APPENDIX - - ESSAYS AND NOTES NOT CERTAIN TO BE LAMB'S, BUT PROBABLY HIS - - - Scraps of Criticism 425 551 - - The Miscellany 427 552 - - Review of Dibdin's _Comic Tales_ 429 552 - - Dog Days 430 553 - - The Progress of Cant 431 554 - - Mr. Ephraim Wagstaff 432 554 - - Review of Moxon's Sonnets 435 554 - - - NOTES 437 - - - FRONTISPIECE - - CHARLES LAMB (AGED 30) IN THE DRESS OF A VENETIAN SENATOR - From A Painting By William Hazlitt Now in the National Portrait - Gallery - - - - -ROSAMUND GRAY - -(WRITTEN 1797-1798. FIRST EDITION 1798. TEXT OF 1818) - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -It was noontide. The sun was very hot. An old gentlewoman sat spinning -in a little arbour at the door of her cottage. She was blind; and her -grandaughter was reading the Bible to her. The old lady had just left -her work, to attend to the story of Ruth. - -"Orpah kissed her mother-in-law; but Ruth clave unto her." It was a -passage she could not let pass without a _comment_. The moral she drew -from it was not very _new_, to be sure. The girl had heard it a hundred -times before--and a hundred times more she could have heard it, without -suspecting it to be tedious. Rosamund loved her grandmother. - -The old lady loved Rosamund too; and she had reason for so doing. -Rosamund was to her at once a child and a servant. She had only _her_ -left in the world. They two lived together. - -They had once known better days. The story of Rosamund's parents, their -failure, their folly, and distresses, may be told another time. Our tale -hath grief enough in it. - -It was now about a year and a half since old Margaret Gray had sold off -all her effects, to pay the debts of Rosamund's father--just after the -mother had died of a broken heart; for her husband had fled his country -to hide his shame in a foreign land. At that period the old lady retired -to a small cottage, in the village of Widford, in Hertfordshire. - -Rosamund, in her thirteenth year, was left destitute, without fortune or -friends: she went with her grandmother. In all this time she had served -her faithfully and lovingly. - -Old Margaret Gray, when she first came into these parts, had eyes, and -could see. The neighbours said, they had been dimmed by weeping: be that -as it may, she was latterly grown quite blind. "God is very good to us, -child; I can _feel_ you yet." This she would sometimes say; and we need -not wonder to hear, that Rosamund clave unto her grandmother. - -Margaret retained a spirit unbroken by calamity. There was a principle -_within_, which it seemed as if no outward circumstances could reach. It -was a _religious_ principle, and she had taught it to Rosamund; for the -girl had mostly resided with her grandmother from her earliest years. -Indeed she had taught her all that she knew herself; and the old lady's -knowledge did not extend a vast way. - -Margaret had drawn her maxims from observation; and a pretty long -experience in life had contributed to make her, at times, a little -_positive_: but Rosamund never argued with her grandmother. - -Their library consisted chiefly in a large family Bible, with notes and -expositions by various learned expositors from Bishop Jewell downwards. - -This might never be suffered to lie about like other books--but was kept -constantly wrapt up in a handsome case of green velvet, with gold -tassels--the only relick of departed grandeur they had brought with them -to the cottage--every thing else of value had been sold off for the -purpose above mentioned. - -This Bible Rosamund, when a child, had never dared to open without -permission; and even yet, from habit, continued the custom. Margaret had -parted with none of her _authority_; indeed it was never exerted with -much harshness; and happy was Rosamund, though a girl grown, when she -could obtain leave to read her Bible. It was a treasure too valuable for -an indiscriminate use; and Margaret still pointed out to her -grandaughter _where to read_. - -Besides this, they had the "Complete Angler, or Contemplative Man's -Recreation," with cuts--"Pilgrim's Progress," the first part--a Cookery -Book, with a few dry sprigs of rosemary and lavender stuck here and -there between the leaves, (I suppose, to point to some of the old lady's -most favorite receipts,) and there was "Wither's Emblems," an old book, -and quaint. The old fashioned pictures in this last book were among the -first exciters of the infant Rosamund's curiosity. Her contemplation -had fed upon them in rather older years. - -Rosamund had not read many books besides these; or if any, they had been -only occasional companions: these were to Rosamund as old friends, that -she had long known. I know not whether the peculiar cast of her mind -might not be traced, in part, to a tincture she had received, early in -life, from Walton, and Wither, from John Bunyan, and her Bible. - -Rosamund's mind was pensive and reflective, rather than what passes -usually for _clever_ or _acute_. From a child she was remarkably shy and -thoughtful--this was taken for stupidity and want of feeling; and the -child has been sometimes whipt for being a _stubborn thing_, when her -little heart was almost bursting with affection. - -Even now her grandmother would often reprove her, when she found her too -grave or melancholy; give her sprightly lectures about good humour and -rational mirth; and not unfrequently fall a crying herself, to the great -discredit of her lecture. Those tears endeared her the more to Rosamund. - -Margaret would say, "Child, I love you to cry, when I think you are only -remembering your poor dear father and mother--I would have you think -about them sometimes--it would be strange if you did not--but I fear, -Rosamund; I fear, girl, you sometimes think too deeply about your own -situation and poor prospects in life. When you do so, you do -wrong--remember the naughty rich man in the parable. He never had any -good thoughts about God, and his religion: and that might have been your -case." - -Rosamund, at these times, could not reply to her; she was not in the -habit of _arguing_ with her grandmother; so she was quite silent on -these occasions--or else the girl knew well enough herself, that she had -only been sad to think of the desolate condition of her best friend, to -see her, in her old age, so infirm and blind. But she had never been -used to make excuses, when the old lady said she was doing wrong. - -The neighbours were all very kind to them. The veriest rustics never -passed them without a bow, or a pulling off of the hat--some shew of -courtesy, aukward indeed, but affectionate--with a "good morrow, madam," -or "young madam," as it might happen. - -Rude and savage natures, who seem born with a propensity to express -contempt for any thing that looks like prosperity, yet felt respect for -its declining lustre. - -The farmers, and better sort of people, (as they are called,) all -promised to provide for Rosamund, when her grandmother should die. -Margaret trusted in God, and believed them. - -She used to say, "I have lived many years in the world, and have never -known people, _good people_, to be left without some friend; a relation, -a benefactor, a _something_. God knows our wants--that it is not good -for man or woman to be alone; and he always sends us a helpmate, a -leaning-place, a _somewhat_." Upon this sure ground of experience, did -Margaret build her trust in Providence. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Rosamund had just made an end of her story, (as I was about to relate,) -and was listening to the application of the moral, (which said -application she was old enough to have made herself, but her grandmother -still continued to treat her, in many respects, as a child, and Rosamund -was in no haste to lay claim to the title of womanhood,) when a young -gentleman made his appearance, and interrupted them. - -It was young Allan Clare, who had brought a present of peaches, and some -roses, for Rosamund. - -He laid his little basket down on a seat of the arbour; and in a -respectful tone of voice, as though he were addressing a parent, -enquired of Margaret "how she did." - -The old lady seemed pleased with his attentions--answered his enquiries -by saying, that "her cough was less troublesome a-nights, but she had -not yet got rid of it, and probably she never might; but she did not -like to teaze young people with an account of her infirmities." - -A few kind words passed on either side, when young Clare, glancing a -tender look at the girl, who had all this time been silent, took leave -of them with saying "I shall bring _Elinor_ to see you in the evening." - -When he was gone, the old lady began to prattle. - -"That is a sweet dispositioned youth, and I _do_ love him dearly, I must -say it--there is such a modesty in all he says or does--he should not -come here so often, to be sure, but I don't know how to help it; there -is so much goodness in him, I can't find in my heart to forbid him. But, -Rosamund, girl, I must tell you beforehand; when you grow older, Mr. -Clare must be no companion for _you_--while you were both so young, it -was all very well--but the time is coming, when folks will think harm of -it, if a rich young gentleman, like Mr. Clare, comes so often to our -poor cottage.--Dost hear, girl? why don't you answer? come, I did not -mean to say any thing to hurt you--speak to me, Rosamund--nay, I must -not have you be sullen--I don't love people that are sullen." - -And in this manner was this poor soul running on, unheard and unheeded, -when it occurred to her, that possibly the girl might not be _within -hearing_. - -And true it was, that Rosamund had slunk away at the first mention of -Mr. Clare's good qualities: and when she returned, which was not till a -few minutes after Margaret had made an end of her fine harangue, it is -certain her cheeks _did_ look very _rosy_. That might have been from the -heat of the day or from exercise, for she had been walking in the -garden. - -Margaret, we know, was blind; and, in this case, it was lucky for -Rosamund that she was so, or she might have made some not unlikely -surmises. - -I must not have my reader infer from this, that I at all think it -likely, a young maid of fourteen would fall in love without asking her -grandmother's leave--the thing itself is not to be conceived. - -To obviate all suspicions, I am disposed to communicate a little -anecdote of Rosamund. - -A month or two back her grandmother had been giving her the strictest -prohibitions, in her walks, not to go near a certain spot, which was -dangerous from the circumstance of a huge overgrown oak tree spreading -its prodigious arms across a deep chalk-pit, which they partly -concealed. - -To this fatal place Rosamund came one day--female curiosity, we know, is -older than the flood--let us not think hardly of the girl, if she -partook of the sexual failing. - -Rosamund ventured further and further--climbed along one of the -branches--approached the forbidden chasm--her foot slipped--she was not -killed--but it was by a mercy she escaped--other branches intercepted -her fall--and with a palpitating heart she made her way back to the -cottage. - -It happened that evening, that her grandmother was in one of her best -humours, caressed Rosamund, talked of old times, and what a blessing it -was they two found a shelter in their little cottage, and in conclusion -told Rosamund, "she was a good girl, and God would one day reward her -for her kindness to her old blind grandmother." - -This was more than Rosamund could bear. Her morning's disobedience came -fresh into her mind, she felt she did not deserve all this from -Margaret, and at last burst into a fit of crying, and made confession of -her fault. The old gentlewoman kissed and forgave her. - -Rosamund never went near that naughty chasm again. - -Margaret would never have heard of this, if Rosamund had not told of it -herself. But this young maid had a delicate moral sense, which would not -suffer her to take advantage of her grandmother, to deceive her, or -conceal any thing from her, though Margaret was old, and blind, and easy -to be imposed upon. - -Another virtuous _trait_ I recollect of Rosamund, and, now I am in the -vein, will tell it. - -Some, I know, will think these things trifles--and they are so--but if -these _minutiæ_ my reader better acquainted with Rosamund, I am content -to abide the imputation. - -These promises of character, hints, and early indications of a _sweet -nature_, are to me more dear, and choice in the selection, than any of -those pretty wild flowers, which this young maid, this virtuous -Rosamund, has ever gathered in a fine May morning, to make a posy to -place in the bosom of her old blind friend. - -Rosamund had a very just notion of drawing, and would often employ her -talent in making sketches of the surrounding scenery. - -On a landscape, a larger piece than she had ever yet attempted, she had -now been working for three or four months. She had taken great pains -with it, given much time to it, and it was nearly finished. For _whose_ -particular inspection it was designed, I will not venture to conjecture. -We know it could not have been for her grandmother's. - -One day she went out on a short errand, and left her landscape on the -table. When she returned she found it _gone_. - -Rosamund from the first suspected some mischief, but held her tongue. At -length she made the fatal discovery. Margaret, in her absence, had laid -violent hands on it; not knowing what it was, but taking it for some -waste paper, had torn it in half, and with one half of this elaborate -composition had twisted herself up--a thread-paper! - -Rosamund spread out her hands at sight of the disaster, gave her -grandmother a roguish smile, but said not a word. She knew the poor soul -would only fret, if she told her of it,--and when once Margaret was set -a fretting for other people's misfortunes, the fit held her pretty long. - -So Rosamund that very afternoon began another piece of the same size and -subject; and Margaret, to her dying day, never dreamed of the mischief -she had unconsciously done. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Rosamund Gray was the most beautiful young creature that eyes ever -beheld. Her face had the sweetest expression in it--a gentleness--a -modesty--a timidity--a certain charm--a grace without a name. - -There was a sort of melancholy mingled in her smile. It was not the -thoughtless levity of a girl--it was not the restrained simper of -premature womanhood--it was something which the poet Young might have -remembered, when he composed that perfect line, - - "Soft, modest, melancholy, female, fair." - -She was a mild-eyed maid, and every body loved her. Young Allan Clare, -when but a boy, sighed for her. - -Her yellow hair fell in bright and curling clusters, like - - "those hanging locks - Of young Apollo." - -Her voice was trembling and musical. A graceful diffidence pleaded for -her whenever she spake--and, if she said but little, that little found -its way to the heart. - -Young, and artless, and innocent, meaning no harm, and thinking none; -affectionate as a smiling infant--playful, yet inobtrusive, as a weaned -lamb--every body loved her. Young Allan Clare, when but a boy, sighed -for her. - - * * * * * - -The moon is shining in so brightly at my window, where I write, that I -feel it a crime not to suspend my employment awhile to gaze at her. - -See how she glideth, in maiden honor, through the clouds, who divide on -either side to do her homage. - -Beautiful vision!--as I contemplate thee, an internal harmony is -communicated to my mind, a moral brightness, a tacit analogy of mental -purity; a calm like _that_ we ascribe in fancy to the favored -inhabitants of thy fairy regions, "argent fields." - -I marvel not, O moon, that heathen people, in the "olden times," did -worship thy deity--Cynthia, Diana, Hecate. Christian Europe invokes thee -not by these names now--her idolatry is of a blacker stain: Belial is -her God--she worships Mammon. - -False things are told concerning thee, fair planet--for I will ne'er -believe, that thou canst take a perverse pleasure in distorting the -brains of us poor mortals. Lunatics! moonstruck! Calumny invented, and -folly took up, these names. I would hope better things from thy mild -aspect and benign influences. - -Lady of Heaven, thou lendest thy pure lamp to light the way to the -virgin mourner, when she goes to seek the tomb where her warrior lover -lies. - -Friend of the distressed, thou speakest only _peace_ to the lonely -sufferer, who walks forth in the placid evening, beneath thy gentle -light, to chide at fortune, or to complain of changed friends, or -unhappy loves. - -Do I dream, or doth not even now a heavenly calm descend from thee into -my bosom, as I meditate on the chaste loves of Rosamund and her Clare? - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Allan Clare was just two years elder than Rosamund. He was a boy of -fourteen, when he first became acquainted with her--it was soon after -she had come to reside with her grandmother at Widford. - -He met her by chance one day, carrying a pitcher in her hand, which she -had been filling from a neighbouring well--the pitcher was heavy, and -she seemed to be bending with its weight. - -Allan insisted on carrying it for her--for he thought it a sin, that a -delicate young maid, like her, should be so employed, and he stand idle -by. - -Allan had a propensity to do little kind offices for every body--but at -the sight of Rosamund Gray his first fire was kindled--his young mind -seemed to have found an object, and his enthusiasm was from that time -forth awakened. His visits, from that day, were pretty frequent at the -cottage. - -He was never happier than when he could get Rosamund to walk out with -him. He would make her admire the scenes he admired--fancy the wild -flowers he fancied--watch the clouds he was watching--and not -unfrequently repeat to her poetry, which he loved, and make her love it. - -On their return, the old lady, who considered them yet as but children, -would bid Rosamund fetch Mr. Clare a glass of her currant wine, a bowl -of new milk, or some cheap dainty, which was more welcome to Allan than -the costliest delicacies of a prince's court. - -The boy and girl, for they were no more at that age, grew fond of each -other--more fond than either of them suspected. - - "They would sit, and sigh, - And look upon each other, and conceive - Not what they ail'd; yet something they did ail, - And yet were well--and yet they were not well; - And what was their disease, they could not tell. - -And thus, - - In this first garden of their simpleness - They spent their childhood." - -A circumstance had lately happened, which in some sort altered the -nature of their attachment. - -Rosamund was one day reading the tale of "Julia de Roubigné"--a book -which young Clare had lent her. - -Allan was standing by, looking over her, with one hand thrown round her -neck, and a finger of the other pointing to a passage in Julia's third -letter. - -"Maria! in my hours of visionary indulgence, I have sometimes painted to -myself a _husband_--no matter whom--comforting me amidst the distresses, -which fortune had laid upon us. I have smiled upon him through my tears; -tears, not of anguish, but of tenderness;--our children were playing -around us, unconscious of misfortune; we had taught them to be humble, -and to be happy; our little shed was reserved to us, and their smiles to -cheer it.--I have imagined the luxury of such a scene, and affliction -became a part of my dream of happiness." - -The girl blushed as she read, and trembled--she had a sort of confused -sensation, that Allan was noticing her--yet she durst not lift her eyes -from the book, but continued reading, scarce knowing what she read. - -Allan guessed the cause of her confusion. Allan trembled too--his colour -came and went--his feeling became impetuous--and, flinging both arms -round her neck, he kissed his young favourite. - -Rosamund was vexed and pleased, soothed and frightened, all in a -moment--a fit of tears came to her relief. - -Allan had indulged before in these little freedoms, and Rosamund had -thought no harm of them--but from this time the girl grew timid and -reserved--distant in her manner, and careful of her behaviour, in -Allan's presence--not seeking his society as before, but rather shunning -it--delighting more to feed upon his idea in absence. - -Allan too, from this day, seemed changed: his manner became, though not -less tender, yet more respectful and diffident--his bosom felt a throb -it had till now not known, in the society of Rosamund--and, if he was -less familiar with her than in former times, that charm of delicacy had -superadded a grace to Rosamund, which, while he feared, he loved. - -There is a _mysterious character_, heightened indeed by fancy and -passion, but not without foundation in reality and observation, which -true lovers have ever imputed to the object of their affections. This -character Rosamund had now acquired with Allan--something _angelic, -perfect, exceeding nature_. - -Young Clare dwelt very near to the cottage. He had lost his parents, who -were rather wealthy, early in life; and was left to the care of a -sister, some ten years older than himself. - -Elinor Clare was an excellent young lady--discreet, intelligent, and -affectionate. Allan revered her as a parent, while he loved her as his -own familiar friend. He told all the little secrets of his heart to -her--but there was _one_, which he had hitherto unaccountably concealed -from her--namely, the extent of his regard for Rosamund. - -Elinor knew of his visits to the cottage, and was no stranger to the -persons of Margaret and her grandaughter. She had several times met -them, when she had been walking with her brother--a civility usually -passed on either side--but Elinor avoided troubling her brother with any -unseasonable questions. - -Allan's heart often beat, and he has been going to tell his sister -_all_--but something like shame (false or true, I shall not stay to -enquire) had hitherto kept him back--still the secret, unrevealed, hung -upon his conscience like a crime--for his temper had a sweet and noble -frankness in it, which bespake him yet a virgin from the world. - -There was a fine openness in his countenance--the character of it -somewhat resembled Rosamund's--except that more fire and enthusiasm were -discernible in Allan's--his eyes were of a darker blue than -Rosamund's--his hair was of a chesnut colour--his cheeks ruddy, and -tinged with brown. There was a cordial sweetness in Allan's smile, the -like to which I never saw in any other face. - -Elinor had hitherto connived at her brother's attachment to Rosamund. -Elinor, I believe, was something of a physiognomist, and thought she -could trace in the countenance and manner of Rosamund qualities, which -no brother of her's need be ashamed to love. - -The time was now come, when Elinor was desirous of knowing her brother's -favorite more intimately--an opportunity offered of breaking the matter -to Allan. - -The morning of the day, in which he carried his present of fruit and -flowers to Rosamund, his sister had observed him more than usually busy -in the garden, culling fruit with a nicety of choice not common to him. - -She came up to him, unobserved, and, taking him by the arm, enquired, -with a questioning smile--"What are you doing, Allan? and who are those -peaches designed for?" - -"For Rosamund Gray"--he replied--and his heart seemed relieved of a -burthen, which had long oppressed it. - -"I have a mind to become acquainted with your handsome friend--will you -introduce me, Allan? I think I should like to go and see her this -afternoon." - -"Do go, do go, Elinor--you don't know what a good creature she is--and -old blind Margaret, you will like _her_ very much." - -His sister promised to accompany him after dinner; and they parted. -Allan gathered no more peaches, but hastily cropping a few roses to -fling into his basket, went away with it half filled, being impatient to -announce to Rosamund the coming of her promised visitor. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -When Allan returned home, he found an invitation had been left for him, -in his absence, to spend that evening with a young friend, who had just -quitted a public school in London, and was come to pass one night in his -father's house at Widford, previous to his departure the next morning -for Edinburgh University. - -It was Allan's bosom friend--they had not met for some months--and it -was probable, a much longer time must intervene, before they should meet -again. - -Yet Allan could not help looking a little blank, when he first heard of -the invitation. This was to have been an important evening. But Elinor -soon relieved her brother, by expressing her readiness to go alone to -the cottage. - -"I will not lose the pleasure I promised myself, whatever you may -determine upon, Allan--I will go by myself rather than be disappointed." - -"Will you, will you, Elinor?" - -Elinor promised to go--and I believe, Allan, on a second thought, was -not very sorry to be spared the aukwardness of introducing two persons -to each other, both so dear to him, but either of whom might happen not -much to fancy the other. - -At times, indeed, he was confident that Elinor _must_ love Rosamund, and -Rosamund _must_ love Elinor--but there were also times in which he felt -misgivings--it was an event he could scarce hope for very joy! - -Allan's _real presence_ that evening was more at the cottage than at the -house, where his _bodily semblance_ was visiting--his friend could not -help complaining of a certain absence of mind, a _coldness_ he called -it. - -It might have been expected, and in the course of things predicted, that -Allan would have asked his friend some questions of what had happened -since their last meeting, what his feelings were on leaving school, the -probable time when they should meet again, and a hundred natural -questions which friendship is most lavish of at such times; but nothing -of all this ever occurred to Allan--they did not even settle the method -of their future correspondence. - -The consequence was, as might have been expected, Allan's friend thought -him much altered, and, after his departure, sat down to compose a -doleful sonnet about a "faithless friend."--I do not find that he ever -finished it--indignation, or a dearth of rhymes, causing him to break -off in the middle. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -In my catalogue of the little library at the cottage, I forgot to -mention a book of Common Prayer. My reader's fancy might easily have -supplied the omission--old ladies of Margaret's stamp (God bless them) -may as well be without their spectacles, or their elbow chair, as their -prayer book--I love them for it. - -Margaret's was a handsome octavo, printed by Baskerville, the binding -red, and fortified with silver at the edges. Out of this book it was -their custom every afternoon to read the proper psalms appointed for the -day. - -The way they managed was this: they took verse by verse--Rosamund _read_ -her little portion, and Margaret repeated hers, in turn, from -memory--for Margaret could say all the Psalter by heart, and a good part -of the Bible besides. She would not unfrequently put the girl right when -she stumbled or skipped. This Margaret imputed to giddiness--a quality -which Rosamund was by no means remarkable for--but old ladies, like -Margaret, are not in all instances alike discriminative. - -They had been employed in this manner just before Miss Clare arrived at -the cottage. The psalm they had been reading was the hundred and -fourth--Margaret was naturally led by it into a discussion of the works -of creation. - -There had been _thunder_ in the course of the day--an occasion of -instruction which the old lady never let pass--she began-- - -"Thunder has a very awful sound--some say, God Almighty is angry -whenever it thunders--that it is the voice of God speaking to us--for my -part, I am not afraid of it"-- - -And in this manner the old lady was going on to particularise, as usual, -its beneficial effects, in clearing the air, destroying of vermin, &c. -when the entrance of Miss Clare put an end to her discourse. - -Rosamund received her with respectful tenderness--and, taking her -grandmother by the hand, said, with great sweetness, "Miss Clare is come -to see you, grandmother." - -"I beg pardon, lady--I cannot _see_ you--but you are heartily -welcome--is your brother with you, Miss Clare? I don't hear him."-- - -"He could not come, madam, but he sends his love by me." - -"You have an excellent brother, Miss Clare--but pray do us the honor to -take some refreshment--Rosamund"---- - -And the old lady was going to give directions for a bottle of her -currant wine--when Elinor, smiling, said "she was come to take a cup of -tea with her, and expected to find no ceremony." - -"After tea, I promise myself a walk with _you_, Rosamund, if your -grandmother can spare you."--Rosamund looked at her grandmother. - -"O, for that matter, I should be sorry to debar the girl from any -pleasure--I am sure it's lonesome enough for her to be with _me_ -always--and if Miss Clare will take you out, child, I shall do very well -by myself till you return--it will not be the first time, you know, that -I have been left here alone--some of the neighbours will be dropping in -bye and bye--or, if _not_, I shall take no harm." - -Rosamund had all the simple manners of a child--she kissed her -grandmother, and looked happy. - -All tea-time the old lady's discourse was little more than a panegyric -on young Clare's good qualities. Elinor looked at her young friend, and -smiled. Rosamund was beginning to look grave--but there was a cordial -sunshine in the face of Elinor, before which any clouds of reserve, that -had been gathering on Rosamund's soon brake away. - -"Does your grandmother ever go out, Rosamund?" - -Margaret prevented the girl's reply, by saying--"my dear young lady, I -am an old woman, and very infirm--Rosamund takes me a few paces beyond -the door sometimes--but I walk very badly--I love best to sit in our -little arbour, when the sun shines--I can yet feel it warm and -cheerful--and, if I lose the beauties of the season, I shall be very -happy if you and Rosamund can take delight in this fine summer evening." - -"I shall want to rob you of Rosamund's company now and then, if we like -one another. I had hoped to have seen _you_, madam, at our house. I -don't know whether we could not make room for you to come and live with -us--what say you to it?--Allan would be proud to tend you, I am sure; -and Rosamund and I should be nice company." - -Margaret was all unused to such kindnesses, and wept--Margaret had a -great spirit--yet she was not above accepting an obligation from a -worthy person--there was a delicacy in Miss Clare's manner--she could -have no interest, but pure goodness, to induce her to make the offer--at -length the old lady spake from a full heart. - -"Miss Clare, this little cottage received us in our distress--it gave us -shelter when we had _no home_--we have praised God in it--and, while -life remains, I think I shall never part from it--Rosamund does every -thing for me--" - -"And will do, grandmother, as long as I live;"--and then Rosamund fell a -crying. - -"You are a good girl, Rosamund, and if you do but find friends when I am -dead and gone, I shall want no better accommodation while I live--but, -God bless you, lady, a thousand times, for your kind offer." - -Elinor was moved to tears, and, affecting a sprightliness, bade Rosamund -prepare for her walk. The girl put on her white silk bonnet; and Elinor -thought she had never beheld so lovely a creature. - -They took leave of Margaret, and walked out together--they rambled over -all Rosamund's favourite haunts--through many a sunny field--by secret -glade or woodwalk, where the girl had wandered so often with her beloved -Clare. - -Who now so happy as Rosamund? She had oft-times heard Allan speak with -great tenderness of his sister--she was now rambling, arm in arm, with -that very sister, the "vaunted sister" of her friend, her beloved Clare. - -Not a tree, not a bush, scarce a wild flower in their path, but revived -in Rosamund some tender recollection, a conversation perhaps, or some -chaste endearment. Life, and a new scene of things, were now opening -before her--she was got into a fairy land of uncertain existence. - -Rosamund was too happy to talk much--but Elinor was delighted with her -when she _did_ talk:--the girl's remarks were suggested, most of them, -by the passing scene--and they betrayed, all of them, the liveliness of -present impulse:--her conversation did not consist in a comparison of -vapid feeling, an interchange of sentiment lip-deep--it had all the -freshness of young sensation in it. - -Sometimes they talked of Allan. - -"Allan is very good," said Rosamund, "very good _indeed_ to my -grandmother--he will sit with her, and hear her stories, and read to -her, and try to divert her a hundred ways. I wonder sometimes he is not -tired. She talks him to death!" - -"Then you confess, Rosamund, that the old lady _does_ tire _you_ -sometimes." - -"Oh no, I did not mean _that_--it's very different--I am used to all her -ways, and I can humour her, and please her, and I ought to do it, for -she is the only friend I ever had in the world." - -The new friends did not conclude their walk till it was late, and -Rosamund began to be apprehensive about the old lady, who had been all -this time alone. - -On their return to the cottage, they found that Margaret had been -somewhat impatient--old ladies, _good old ladies_, will be so at -times--age is timorous and suspicious of danger, where no danger is. - -Besides, it was Margaret's bed-time, for she kept very good -hours--indeed, in the distribution of her meals, and sundry other -particulars, she resembled the livers in the antique world, more than -might well beseem a creature of this. - -So the new friends parted for that night--Elinor having made Margaret -promise to give Rosamund leave to come and see her the next day. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Miss Clare, we may be sure, made her brother very happy, when she told -him of the engagement she had made for the morrow, and how delighted she -had been with his handsome friend. - -Allan, I believe, got little sleep that night. I know not, whether joy -be not a more troublesome bed-fellow than grief--hope keeps a body very -wakeful, I know. - -Elinor Clare was the best good creature--the least selfish human being I -ever knew--always at work for other people's good, planning other -people's happiness--continually forgetful to consult for her own -personal gratifications, except indirectly, in the welfare of -another--while her parents lived, the most attentive of daughters--since -they died, the kindest of sisters--I never knew but _one_ like her. - -It happens that I have some of this young lady's _letters_ in my -possession--I shall present my reader with one of them. It was written -a short time after the death of her mother, and addressed to a cousin, a -dear friend of Elinor's, who was then on the point of being married to -Mr. Beaumont, of Staffordshire, and had invited Elinor to assist at her -nuptials. I will transcribe it with minute fidelity. - - * * * * * - - _Elinor Clare to Maria Leslie_ - - Widford, July the --, 17--. - -Health, Innocence, and Beauty, shall be thy bridemaids, my sweet cousin. -I have no heart to undertake the office. Alas! what have I to do in the -house of feasting? - -Maria! I fear lest my griefs should prove obtrusive. Yet bear with me a -little--I have recovered already a share of my former spirits. - -I fear more for Allan than myself. The loss of two such parents, with so -short an interval, bears very heavy on him. The boy _hangs_ about me -from morning till night. He is perpetually forcing a smile into his poor -pale cheeks--you know the sweetness of his smile, Maria. - -To-day, after dinner, when he took his glass of wine in his hand, he -burst into tears, and would not, or could not then, tell me the -reason--afterwards he told me--"he had been used to drink Mamma's health -after dinner, and _that_ came in his head and made him cry." I feel the -claims the boy has upon me--I perceive that I am living to _some -end_--and the thought supports me. - -Already I have attained to a state of complacent feelings--my mother's -lessons were not thrown away upon her Elinor. - -In the visions of last night her spirit seemed to stand at my -bed-side--a light, as of noon day, shone upon the room--she opened my -curtains--she smiled upon me with the same placid smile as in her -life-time. I felt no fear. "Elinor," she said, "for my sake take care of -young Allan,"--and I awoke with calm feelings. - -Maria! shall not the meeting of blessed spirits, think you, be something -like this?--I think, I could even now behold my mother without dread--I -would ask pardon of her for all my past omissions of duty, for all the -little asperities in my temper, which have so often grieved her gentle -spirit when living. Maria! I think she would not turn away from me. - -Oftentimes a feeling, more vivid than memory, brings her before me--I -see her sit in her old elbow chair--her arms folded upon her lap--a tear -upon her cheek, that seems to upbraid her unkind daughter for some -inattention--I wipe it away and kiss her honored lips. - -Maria! when I have been fancying all this, Allan will come in, with his -poor eyes red with weeping, and taking me by the hand, destroy the -vision in a moment. - -I am prating to you, my sweet cousin, but it is the prattle of the -heart, which Maria loves. Besides, whom have I to talk to of these -things but you--you have been my counsellor in times past, my companion, -and sweet familiar friend. Bear with me a little--I mourn the -"cherishers of my infancy." - -I sometimes count it a blessing, that my father did not prove the -_survivor_. You know something of his story. You know there was a foul -tale current--it was the busy malice of that bad man, S----, which -helped to spread it abroad--you will recollect the active good nature of -our friends W---- and T----; what pains they took to undeceive -people--with the better sort their kind labours prevailed; but there was -still a party who shut their ears. You know the issue of it. My father's -great spirit bore up against it for some time--my father never was a -_bad_ man--but that spirit was broken at the last--and the -greatly-injured man was forced to leave his old paternal dwelling in -Staffordshire--for the neighbours had begun to point at him.--Maria! I -have _seen_ them _point_ at him, and have been ready to drop. - -In this part of the country, where the slander had not reached, he -sought a retreat--and he found a still more grateful asylum in the daily -solicitudes of the best of wives. - -"An enemy hath done this," I have heard him say--and at such times my -mother would speak to him so soothingly of forgiveness, and -long-suffering, and the bearing of injuries with patience; would heal -all his wounds with so gentle a touch;--I have seen the old man weep -like a child. - -The gloom that beset his mind, at times betrayed him into scepticism--he -has doubted if there be a Providence! I have heard him say, "GOD has -built a brave world, but methinks he has left his creatures to bustle in -it _how they may_." - -At such times he could not endure to hear my mother talk in a religious -strain. He would say, "Woman, have done--you confound, you perplex me, -when you talk of these matters, and for one day at least unfit me for -the business of life." - -I have seen her look at him--O GOD, Maria! such a _look_! it plainly -spake that she was willing to have shared her precious hope with the -partner of her earthly cares--but she found a repulse-- - -Deprived of such a wife, think you, the old man could have long endured -his existence? or what consolation would his wretched daughter have had -to offer him, but silent and imbecile tears? - -My sweet cousin, you will think me tedious--and I am so--but it does me -good to talk these matters over. And do not you be alarmed for me--my -sorrows are subsiding into a deep and sweet resignation. I shall soon be -sufficiently composed, I know it, to participate in my friend's -happiness. - -Let me call her, while yet I may, my own Maria Leslie! Methinks, I shall -not like you by any other name. Beaumont! Maria Beaumont! it hath a -strange sound with it--I shall never be reconciled to this name--but do -not you fear--Maria Leslie shall plead with me for Maria Beaumont. - - And now, my sweet Friend, - - God love you, and your - - ELINOR CLARE. - - * * * * * - -I find in my collection several letters, written soon after the date of -the preceding, and addressed all of them to Maria Beaumont.--I am -tempted to make some short extracts from these--my tale will suffer -interruption by them--but I was willing to preserve whatever memorials I -could of Elinor Clare. - - * * * * * - - _From Elinor Clare to Maria Beaumont_ - - (AN EXTRACT) - -----"I have been strolling out for half an hour in the fields; and my -mind has been occupied by thoughts, which Maria has a right to -participate. I have been bringing my _mother_ to my recollection. My -heart ached with the remembrance of infirmities, that made her closing -years of life so sore a trial to her. - -I was concerned to think, that our family differences have been one -source of disquiet to her. I am sensible that _this last_ we are apt to -exaggerate after a person's death--and surely, in the main, there was -considerable harmony among the members of our little family--still I was -concerned to think, that we ever gave her gentle spirit disquiet. - -I thought on years back--on all my parents' friends--the H----s, the -F----s, on D---- S----, and on many a merry evening, in the fire-side -circle, in that comfortable back parlour--it is never used now.-- - -O ye _Matravises_[1] of the age, ye know not what ye lose, in despising -these petty topics of endeared remembrance, associated circumstances of -past times;--ye know not the throbbings of the heart, tender yet -affectionately familiar, which accompany the dear and honored names of -_father_ or of _mother_. - -Maria! I thought on all these things; my heart ached at the review of -them--it yet aches, while I write this--but I am never so satisfied with -my train of thoughts, as when they run upon these subjects--the tears, -they draw from us, meliorate and soften the heart, and keep fresh within -us that memory of dear friends dead, which alone can fit us for a -re-admission to their society hereafter." - - * * * * * - -(_From another Letter_) - -----"I had a bad dream this morning--that Allan was dead--and who, of -all persons in the world, do you think, put on mourning for him? Why, -_Matravis_.--This alone might cure me of superstitious thoughts, if I -were inclined to them; for why should Matravis _mourn_ for us, or our -family?--_Still_ it was pleasant to awake, and find it but a -dream.--Methinks something like an awaking from an ill dream shall the -Resurrection from the Dead be.--Materially different from our accustomed -scenes, and ways of life, the _World to come_ may possibly not be--still -it is represented to us under the notion of a _Rest_, a _Sabbath_, a -state of bliss." - - * * * * * - - [1] This name will be explained presently. - -(_From another Letter_) - -----"Methinks, you and I should have been born under the same roof, -sucked the same milk, conned the same hornbook, thumbed the same -Testament, together:--for we have been more than sisters, Maria! - -Something will still be whispering to me, that I shall one day be inmate -of the same dwelling with my cousin, partaker with her in all the -delights, which spring from mutual good offices, kind words, attentions -in sickness and in health,--conversation, sometimes innocently trivial, -and at others profitably serious;--books read and commented on, -together; meals ate, and walks taken, together,--and conferences, how we -may best do good to this poor person or that, and wean our spirits from -the world's _cares_, without divesting ourselves of its _charities_. -What a picture I have drawn, Maria!--and none of all these things may -ever come to pass." - - * * * * * - -(_From another Letter_) - -----"Continue to write to me, my sweet cousin. Many good thoughts, -resolutions, and proper views of things, pass through the mind in the -course of the day, but are lost for want of committing them to paper. -Seize them, Maria, as they pass, these Birds of Paradise, that show -themselves and are gone,--and make a grateful present of the precious -fugitives to your friend. - -To use a homely illustration, just rising in my fancy,--shall the good -housewife take such pains in pickling and preserving her worthless -fruits, her walnuts, her apricots, and quinces--and is there not much -_spiritual housewifery_ in treasuring up our mind's best fruits,--our -heart's meditations in its most favored moments? - -This said simile is much in the fashion of the old Moralizers, such as I -conceive honest Baxter to have been, such as Quarles and Wither were, -with their curious, serio-comic, quaint emblems. But they sometimes -reach the heart, when a more elegant simile rests in the fancy. - -Not low and mean, like these, but beautifully familiarized to our -conceptions, and condescending to human thoughts and notions, are all -the discourses of our LORD--conveyed in parable, or similitude, what -easy access do they win to the heart, through the medium of the -delighted imagination! speaking of heavenly things in fable, or in -simile, drawn from earth, from objects _common, accustomed_. - -Life's business, with such delicious little interruptions as our -correspondence affords, how pleasant it is!--why can we not paint on the -dull paper our whole feelings, exquisite as they rise up?" - - * * * * * - -(_From another Letter_) - -----"I had meant to have left off at this place; but, looking back, I am -sorry to find too gloomy a cast tincturing my last page--a -representation of life false and unthankful. Life is _not_ all vanity -and disappointment--it hath much of evil in it, no doubt; but to those -who do not misuse it, it affords comfort, _temporary_ comfort, -much--much that endears us to it, and dignifies it--many true and good -feelings, I trust, of which we need not be ashamed--hours of -tranquillity and hope.--But the morning was dull and overcast, and my -spirits were under a cloud. I feel my error. - -Is it no blessing, that we two love one another so dearly--that Allan is -left me--that you are settled in life--that worldly affairs go smooth -with us both--above all, that our lot hath fallen to us in a Christian -country? Maria! these things are not little. I will consider life as a -long feast, and not forget to say grace." - - * * * * * - -(_From another Letter_) - -----"Allan has written to me--you know, he is on a visit at his old -tutor's in Gloucestershire--he is to return home on Thursday--Allan is a -dear boy--he concludes his letter, which is very affectionate -throughout, in this manner-- - -'Elinor, I charge you to learn the following stanza by heart-- - - The monarch may forget his crown, - That on his head an hour hath been; - The bridegroom may forget his bride - Was made his wedded wife yestreen; - The mother may forget her child, - That smiles so sweetly on her knee: - But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, - And all that thou hast done for me. - -'The lines are in Burns--you know, we read him for the first time -together at Margate--and I have been used to refer them to you, and to -call you, in my mind, _Glencairn_--for you were always very, very good -to me. I had a thousand failings, but you would love me in spite of them -all. I am going to drink your health.'" - - * * * * * - -I shall detain my reader no longer from the narrative. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -They had but four rooms in the cottage. Margaret slept in the biggest -room up stairs, and her grandaughter in a kind of closet adjoining, -where she could be within hearing, if her grandmother should call her in -the night. - -The girl was often disturbed in that manner--two or three times in a -night she has been forced to leave her bed, to fetch her grandmother's -cordials, or do some little service for her--but she knew that -Margaret's ailings were _real_ and pressing, and Rosamund never -complained--never suspected, that her grandmother's requisitions had any -thing unreasonable in them. - -The night she parted with Miss Clare, she had helped Margaret to bed, as -usual--and, after saying her prayers, as the custom was, kneeling by the -old lady's bed-side, kissed her grandmother, and wished her a good -night--Margaret blessed her, and charged her to go to bed directly. It -was her customary injunction, and Rosamund had never dreamed of -disobeying. - -So she retired to her little room. The night was warm and clear--the -moon very bright--her window commanded a view of _scenes_ she had been -tracing in the day-time with Miss Clare. - -All the events of the day past, the occurrences of their walk, arose in -her mind. She fancied she should like to retrace those scenes--but it -was now nine o'clock, a late hour in the village. - -Still she fancied it would be very charming--and then her grandmother's -injunction came powerfully to her recollection--she sighed, and turned -from the window--and walked up and down her little room. - -Ever, when she looked at the window, the wish returned. It was not so -_very late_. The neighbours were yet about, passing under the window to -their homes--she thought, and thought again, till her sensations became -vivid, even to painfulness--her bosom was aching to give them vent. - -The village clock struck ten!--the neighbours ceased to pass under the -window. Rosamund, stealing down stairs, fastened the latch behind her, -and left the cottage. - -One, that knew her, met her, and observed her with some surprize. -Another recollects having wished her a good night. Rosamund never -returned to the cottage! - -An old man, that lay sick in a small house adjoining to Margaret's, -testified the next morning, that he had plainly heard the old creature -calling for her grandaughter. All the night long she made her moan, and -ceased not to call upon the name of Rosamund. But no Rosamund was -there--the voice died away, but not till near day-break. - -When the neighbours came to search in the morning, Margaret was missing! -She had _straggled_ out of bed, and made her way into Rosamund's -room--worn out with fatigue and fright, when she found the girl not -there, she had laid herself down to die--and, it is thought, she died -_praying_--for she was discovered in a kneeling posture, her arms and -face extended on the pillow, where Rosamund had slept the night -before--a smile was on her face in death. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Fain would I draw a veil over the transactions of that night--but I -cannot--grief, and burning shame, forbid me to be silent--black deeds -are about to be made public, which reflect a stain upon our common -nature. - -Rosamund, enthusiastic and improvident, wandered unprotected to a -distance from her guardian doors--through lonely glens, and wood walks, -where she had rambled many a _day_ in safety--till she arrived at a -shady copse, out of the hearing of any human habitation. - -_Matravis_ met her.--"Flown with insolence and wine," returning home -late at night, he passed that way! - -Matravis was a very ugly man. Sallow-complexioned! and, if hearts can -wear that colour, his heart was sallow-complexioned also. - -A young man with _gray_ deliberation! cold and systematic in all his -plans; and all his plans were evil. His very lust was systematic. - -He would brood over his bad purposes for such a dreary length of time, -that it might have been expected, some solitary check of conscience must -have intervened to save him from commission. But that _Light from -Heaven_ was extinct in his dark bosom. - -Nothing that is great, nothing that is amiable, existed for this unhappy -man. He feared, he envied, he suspected; but he never loved. The sublime -and beautiful in nature, the excellent and becoming in morals, were -things placed beyond the capacity of his sensations. He loved not -poetry--nor ever took a lonely walk to meditate--never beheld virtue, -which he did not try to disbelieve, or female beauty and innocence, -which he did not lust to contaminate. - -A sneer was perpetually upon his face, and malice _grinning_ at his -heart. He would say the most ill-natured things, with the least remorse, -of any man I ever knew. This gained him the reputation of a wit--other -_traits_ got him the reputation of a villain. - -And this man formerly paid his court to Elinor Clare!--with what success -I leave my readers to determine.--It was not in Elinor's nature to -despise any living thing--but in the estimation of this man, to be -rejected was to be _despised_--and Matravis _never forgave_. - -He had long turned his eyes upon Rosamund Gray. To steal from the bosom -of her friends the jewel they prized so much, the little ewe lamb they -held so dear, was a scheme of delicate revenge, and Matravis had a -two-fold motive for accomplishing this young maid's ruin. - -Often had he met her in her favorite solitudes, but found her ever cold -and inaccessible. Of late the girl had avoided straying far from her own -home, in the fear of meeting him--but she had never told her fears to -Allan. - -Matravis had, till now, been content to be a villain within the limits -of the law--but, on the present occasion, hot fumes of wine, -co-operating with his deep desire of revenge, and the insolence of an -unhoped for meeting, overcame his customary prudence, and Matravis rose, -at once, to an audacity of glorious mischief. - -Late at night he met her, a lonely, unprotected virgin--no friend at -hand--no place near of refuge. - -Rosamund Gray, my soul is exceeding sorrowful for thee--I loath to tell -the hateful circumstances of thy wrongs. Night and silence were the only -witnesses of this young maid's disgrace--Matravis fled. - -Rosamund, polluted and disgraced, wandered, an abandoned thing, about -the fields and meadows till day-break. Not caring to return to the -cottage, she sat herself down before the gate of Miss Clare's house--in -a stupor of grief. - -Elinor was just rising, and had opened the windows of her chamber, when -she perceived her desolate young friend.--She ran to embrace her--she -brought her into the house--she took her to her bosom--she kissed -her--she spake to her; but Rosamund could not speak. - -Tidings came from the cottage. Margaret's death was an event, which -could not be kept concealed from Rosamund. When the sweet maid heard of -it, she languished, and fell sick--she never held up her head after that -time. - -If Rosamund had been a _sister_, she could not have been kindlier -treated, than by her two friends. - -Allan had prospects in life--might, in time, have married into any of -the first families in Hertfordshire--but Rosamund Gray, humbled though -she was, and put to shame, had yet a charm for _him_--and he would have -been content to share his fortunes with her yet, if Rosamund would have -lived to be his companion. - -But this was not to be--and the girl soon after died. She expired in the -arms of Elinor--quiet, gentle, as she lived--thankful, that she died not -among strangers--and expressing by signs, rather than words, a gratitude -for the most trifling services, the common offices of humanity. She died -uncomplaining; and this young maid, this untaught Rosamund, might have -given a lesson to the grave philosopher in death. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -I was but a boy when these events took place. All the village remember -the story, and tell of Rosamund Gray, and old blind Margaret. - -I parted from Allan Clare on that disastrous night, and set out for -Edinburgh the next morning, before the facts were commonly known--I -heard not of them--and it was four months before I received a letter -from Allan. - -"His heart" he told me "was gone from him--for his sister had died of a -phrensy fever!"--not a word of Rosamund in the letter--I was left to -collect her story from sources which may one day be explained. - -I soon after quitted Scotland, on the death of my father, and returned -to my native village. Allan had left the place, and I could gain no -information, whether he were dead or living. - -I passed the _cottage_. I did not dare to look that way, or to enquire -_who_ lived there.--A little dog, that had been Rosamund's, was yelping -in my path. I laughed aloud like one mad, whose mind had suddenly gone -from him--I stared vacantly around me, like one alienated from common -perceptions. - -But I was young at that time, and the impression became gradually -weakened, as I mingled in the business of life. It is now _ten years_ -since these events took place, and I sometimes think of them as unreal. -Allan Clare was a dear friend to me--but there are times, when Allan and -his sister, Margaret and her grandaughter, appear like personages of a -dream--an idle dream. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Strange things have happened unto me--I seem scarce awake--but I will -recollect my thoughts, and try to give an account of what has befallen -me in the few last weeks. - -Since my father's death our family have resided in London. I am in -practice as a surgeon there. My mother died two years after we left -Widford. - -A month or two ago I had been busying myself in drawing up the above -narrative, intending to make it public. The employment had forced my -mind to dwell upon _facts_, which had begun to fade from it--the memory -of old times became vivid, and more vivid--I felt a strong desire to -revisit the scenes of my native village--of the young loves of Rosamund -and her Clare. - -A kind of dread had hitherto kept me back; but I was restless now, till -I had accomplished my wish. I set out one morning to walk--I reached -Widford about eleven in the forenoon--after a slight breakfast at my -inn--where I was mortified to perceive, the old landlord did not know me -again--(old Thomas Billet--he has often made angle rods for me when a -child)--I rambled over all my accustomed haunts. - -Our old house was vacant, and to be sold. I entered, unmolested, into -the room that had been my bed-chamber. I kneeled down on the spot where -my little bed had stood--I felt like a child--I prayed like one--it -seemed as though old times were to return again--I looked round -involuntarily, expecting to see some face I knew--but all was naked and -mute. The bed was gone. My little pane of painted window, through which -I loved to look at the sun, when I awoke in a fine summer's morning, was -taken out, and had been replaced by one of common glass. - -I visited, by turns, every chamber--they were all desolate and -unfurnished, one excepted, in which the owner had left a harpsichord, -probably to be sold--I touched the keys--I played some old Scottish -tunes, which had delighted me when a child. Past associations revived -with the music-blended with a sense of _unreality_, which at last became -too powerful--I rushed out of the room to give vent to my feelings. - -I wandered, scarce knowing where, into an old wood, that stands at the -back of the house--we called it the _Wilderness_. A well-known _form_ -was missing, that used to meet me in this place--it was thine, Ben -Moxam--the kindest, gentlest, politest, of human beings, yet was he -nothing higher than a gardener in the family. Honest creature, thou -didst never pass me in my childish rambles, without a soft speech, and a -smile. I remember thy good-natured face. But there is one thing, for -which I can never forgive thee, Ben Moxam--that thou didst join with an -old maiden aunt of mine in a cruel plot, to lop away the hanging -branches of the old fir trees.--I remember them sweeping to the ground. - -I have often left my childish sports to ramble in this place--its glooms -and its solitude had a mysterious charm for my young mind, nurturing -within me that love of quietness and lonely thinking, which have -accompanied me to maturer years. - -In this _Wilderness_ I found myself after a ten years' absence. Its -stately fir trees were yet standing, with all their luxuriant company of -underwood--the squirrel was there, and the melancholy cooings of the -wood-pigeon--all was as I had left it--my heart softened at the -sight--it seemed, as though my character had been suffering a _change_, -since I forsook these shades. - -My parents were both dead--I had no counsellor left, no experience of -age to direct me, no sweet voice of reproof. The LORD had taken away my -_friends_, and I knew not where he had laid them. I paced round the -wilderness, seeking a comforter. I prayed, that I might be restored to -that _state of innocence_, in which I had wandered in those shades. - -Methought, my request was heard--for it seemed as though the stains of -manhood were passing from me, and I were relapsing into the purity and -simplicity of childhood. I was content to have been moulded into a -perfect child. I stood still, as in a trance. I dreamed that I was -enjoying a personal intercourse with my heavenly Father--and, -extravagantly, put off the shoes from my feet--for the place where I -stood, I thought, was holy ground. - -This state of mind could not last long--and I returned, with languid -feelings to my Inn. I ordered my dinner--green peas and a sweetbread--it -had been a favorite dish with me in my childhood--I was allowed to have -it on my birth days. I was impatient to see it come upon table--but, -when it came, I could scarce eat a mouthful--my tears choaked me. I -called for wine--I drank a pint and a half of red wine--and not till -then had I dared to visit the church-yard, where my parents were -interred. - -The _cottage_ lay in my way--Margaret had chosen it for that very -reason, to be near the church--for the old lady was regular in her -attendance on public worship--I passed on--and in a moment found myself -among the tombs. - -I had been present at my father's burial, and knew the spot again--my -mother's funeral I was prevented by illness from attending--a plain -stone was placed over the grave, with their initials carved upon it--for -they both occupied one grave. - -I prostrated myself before the spot--I kissed the earth that covered -them--I contemplated, with gloomy delight, the time when I should mingle -my dust with their's--and kneeled, with my arms incumbent on the -grave-stone, in a kind of mental prayer--for I could not speak. - -Having performed these duties, I arose with quieter feelings, and felt -leisure to attend to indifferent objects.--Still I continued in the -church-yard, reading the various inscriptions, and moralizing on them -with that kind of levity, which will not unfrequently spring up in the -mind, in the midst of deep melancholy. - -I read of nothing but careful parents, loving husbands, and dutiful -children. I said jestingly, where be all the _bad_ people buried? Bad -parents, bad husbands, bad children--what cemeteries are appointed for -these? do they not sleep in consecrated ground? or is it but a pious -fiction, a generous oversight, in the survivors, which thus tricks out -men's epitaphs when dead, who, in their life-time, discharged the -offices of life, perhaps, but lamely?--Their failings, with their -reproaches, now sleep with them in the grave. _Man wars not with the -dead._ It is a _trait_ of human nature, for which I love it. - -I had not observed, till now, a little group assembled at the other end -of the church-yard; it was a company of children, who were gathered -round a young man, dressed in black, sitting on a grave-stone. - -He seemed to be asking them questions--probably, about their -learning--and one little dirty ragged-headed fellow was clambering up -his knees to kiss him.--The children had been eating black cherries--for -some of the stones were scattered about, and their mouths were smeared -with them. - -As I drew near them, I thought I discerned in the stranger a mild -benignity of countenance, which I had somewhere seen before--I gazed at -him more attentively-- - -It was Allan Clare! sitting on the grave of his sister. - -I threw my arms about his neck. I exclaimed "Allan"--he turned his eyes -upon me--he knew me--we both wept aloud--it seemed, as though the -interval, since we parted, had been as nothing--I cried out, "come, and -tell me about these things." - -I drew him away from his little friends--he parted with a show of -reluctance from the church-yard--Margaret and her grandaughter lay -buried there, as well as his sister--I took him to my Inn--secured a -room, where we might be private--ordered fresh wine--scarce knowing what -I did, I danced for joy. - -Allan was quite overcome, and taking me by the hand he said, "this -repays me for all." - -It was a proud day for me--I had found the friend I thought dead--earth -seemed to me no longer valuable, than as it contained _him_; and -existence a blessing no longer than while I should live to be his -comforter. - -I began, at leisure, to survey him with more attention. Time and grief -had left few traces of that fine _enthusiasm_, which once burned in his -countenance--his eyes had lost their original fire, but they retained an -uncommon sweetness and, whenever they were turned upon me, their smile -pierced to my heart. - -"Allan, I fear you have been a sufferer." He replied not, and I could -not press him further. I could not call the dead to life again. - -So we drank, and told old stories--and repeated old poetry--and sang old -songs--as if nothing had happened.--We sat till very late--I forgot that -I had purposed returning to town that evening--to Allan all places were -alike--I grew noisy, he grew cheerful--Allan's old manners, old -enthusiasm, were returning upon him--we laughed, we wept, we mingled our -tears, and talked extravagantly. - -Allan was my chamber-fellow that night--and lay awake, planning schemes -of living together under the same roof, entering upon similar -pursuits;--and praising GOD, that we had met. - -I was obliged to return to town the next morning, and Allan proposed to -accompany me.--"Since the death of his sister," he told me, "he had been -a wanderer." - -In the course of our walk he unbosomed himself without reserve--told me -many particulars of his way of life for the last nine or ten years, -which I do not feel myself at liberty to divulge. - -Once, on my attempting to cheer him, when I perceived him over -thoughtful, he replied to me in these words:-- - -"Do not regard me as unhappy, when you catch me in these moods. I am -never more happy than at times, when, by the cast of my countenance, men -judge me most miserable. - -"My friend, the events, which have left this sadness behind them, are of -no recent date. The melancholy, which comes over me with the -recollection of them, is not hurtful, but only tends to soften and -tranquillize my mind, to detach me from the restlessness of human -pursuits. - -"The stronger I feel this detachment, the more I find myself drawn -heavenward to the contemplation of spiritual objects. - -"I love to keep old friendships alive and warm within me, because I -expect a renewal of them in the _World of Spirits_. - -"I am a wandering and unconnected thing on the earth. I have made no new -friendships, that can compensate me for the loss of the old--and the -more I know mankind, the more does it become necessary for me to supply -their loss by little images, recollections, and circumstances, of past -pleasures. - -"I am sensible that I am surrounded by a multitude of very worthy -people, plain-hearted souls, sincere, and kind.--But they have hitherto -eluded my pursuit, and will continue to bless the little circle of their -families and friends, while I must remain a stranger to them. - -"Kept at a distance by mankind, I have not ceased to love them--and -could I find the cruel persecutor, the malignant instrument of GOD'S -judgments on me and mine, I think I would forgive, and try to love him -too. - -"I have been a quiet sufferer. From the beginning of my calamities it -was given to me, not to see the hand of man in them. I perceived a -mighty arm, which none but myself could see, extended over me. I gave my -heart to the Purifier, and my will to the Sovereign Will of the -Universe. The irresistible wheels of destiny passed on in their -everlasting rotation,--and I suffered myself to be carried along with -them without complaining." - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Allan told me, that for some years past, feeling himself disengaged from -every personal tye, but not alienated from human sympathies, it had been -his taste, his _humour_ he called it, to spend a great portion of his -time in _hospitals_ and _lazar houses_. - -He had found a _wayward pleasure_, he refused to name it a virtue, in -tending a description of people, who had long ceased to expect kindness -or friendliness from mankind, but were content to accept the reluctant -services, which the often-times unfeeling instruments and servants of -these well-meant institutions deal out to the poor sick people under -their care. - -It is not medicine, it is not broths and coarse meats, served up at a -stated hour with all the hard formalities of a prison,--it is not the -scanty dole of a bed to die on--which dying man requires from his -species. - -Looks, attentions, consolations,--in a word, _sympathies_, are what a -man most needs in this awful close of mortal sufferings. A kind look, a -smile, a drop of cold water to the parched lip--for these things a man -shall bless you in death. - -And these better things than cordials did Allan love to administer--to -stay by a bed-side the whole day, when something disgusting in a -patient's distemper has kept the very nurses at a distance--to sit by, -while the poor wretch got a little sleep--and be there to smile upon him -when he awoke--to slip a guinea, now and then, into the hands of a nurse -or attendant--these things have been to Allan as _privileges_, for which -he was content to live, choice marks, and circumstances, of his Maker's -goodness to him. - -And I do not know whether occupations of this kind be not a spring of -purer and nobler delight (certainly instances of a more disinterested -virtue) than arises from what are called Friendships of Sentiment. - -Between two persons of liberal education, like opinions, and common -feelings, oftentimes subsists a Vanity of Sentiment, which disposes each -to look upon the other as the only being in the universe worthy of -friendship, or capable of understanding it,--themselves they consider as -the solitary receptacles of all that is delicate in feeling, or stable -in attachment:--when the odds are, that under every green hill, and in -every crowded street, people of equal worth are to be found, who do more -good in their generation, and make less noise in the doing of it. - -It was in consequence of these benevolent propensities, I have been -describing, that Allan oftentimes discovered considerable inclinations -in favor of my way of life, which I have before mentioned as being that -of a surgeon. He would frequently attend me on my visits to patients; -and I began to think, that he had serious intentions of making my -profession his study. - -He was present with me at a scene--a _death-bed scene_--I shudder when I -do but think of it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -I was sent for the other morning to the assistance of a gentleman, who -had been wounded in a duel,--and his wounds by unskilful treatment had -been brought to a dangerous crisis. - -The uncommonness of the name, which was _Matravis_ suggested to me, -that this might possibly be no other than Allan's old enemy. Under this -apprehension, I did what I could to dissuade Allan from accompanying -me--but he seemed bent upon going, and even pleased himself with the -notion, that it might lie within his ability to do the unhappy man some -service. So he went with me. - -When we came to the house, which was in Soho-Square, we discovered that -it was indeed the man--the identical Matravis, who had done all that -mischief in times past--but not in a condition to excite any other -sensation than pity in a heart more hard than Allan's. - -Intense pain had brought on a delirium--we perceived this on first -entering the room--for the wretched man was raving to himself--talking -idly in mad unconnected sentences,--that yet seemed, at times, to have a -reference to _past facts_. - -One while he told us his dream. "He had lost his way on a great heath, -to which there seemed no end--it was cold, cold, cold--and dark, very -dark--an old woman in leading-strings, _blind_, was groping about for a -guide"--and then he frightened me,--for he seemed disposed to be -_jocular_, and sang a song about "an old woman clothed in grey," and -said "he did not believe in a devil." - -Presently he bid us "not tell Allan Clare"--Allan was hanging over him -at that very moment, sobbing.--I could not resist the impulse, but cried -out, "_this_ is Allan Clare--Allan Clare is come to see you, my dear -Sir."--The wretched man did not hear me, I believe, for he turned his -head away, and began talking of _charnel houses_, and _dead men_, and -"whether they knew anything that passed in their coffins." - -Matravis died that night. - - * * * * * - - - - -CURIOUS FRAGMENTS, - -_Extracted from a common-place book, which belonged to Robert Burton, -the famous Author of The Anatomy of Melancholy_ - -(1800. FIRST PUBLISHED 1802. TEXT OF 1818) - - -EXTRACT I - -I Democritus Junior have put my finishing pen to a tractate _De -Melancholia_, this day December 5, 1620. First, I blesse the Trinity, -which hath given me health to prosecute my worthlesse studies thus far, -and make supplication, with a _Laus Deo_, if in any case these my poor -labours may be found instrumental to weede out black melancholy, carking -cares, harte-grief, from the mind of man. _Sed hoc magis volo quam -expecto._ - -I turn now to my book, _i nunc liber, goe forth, my brave Anatomy, child -of my brain-sweat_, and yee, _candidi lectores_, lo! here I give him up -to you, even do with him what you please, my masters. Some, I suppose -will applaud, commend, cry him up (these are my friends) hee is a _flos -rarus_, forsooth, a none-such, a Phœnix, (concerning whom see _Plinius_ -and _Mandeuille_, though _Fienus de monstris_ doubteth at large of such -a bird, whom Montaltus confuting argueth to have been a man _malæ -scrupulositatis_, of a weak and cowardlie faith: _Christopherus a Vega_ -is with him in this.) Others again will blame, hiss, reprehende in many -things, cry down altogether, my collections, for crude, inept, putid, -_post cœnam scripta, Coryate could write better upon a full meal_, -verbose, inerudite, and not sufficiently abounding in authorities, -_dogmata_, sentences of learneder writers which have been before me, -when as that first named sort clean otherwise judge of my labours to bee -nothing else but a _messe of opinions_, a vortex attracting -indiscriminate, gold, pearls, hay, straw, wood, excrement, an exchange, -tavern, marte, for foreigners to congregate, Danes, Swedes, Hollanders, -Lombards, so many strange faces, dresses, salutations, languages, all -which _Wolfius_ behelde with great content upon the Venetian Rialto, as -he describes diffusedly in his book the world's Epitome, which -_Sannazar_ so bepraiseth, _e contra_ our Polydore can see nothing in -it; they call me singular, a pedant, fantastic, words of reproach in -this age, which is all too neoteric and light for my humour. - -One cometh to me sighing, complaining. He expected universal remedies in -my Anatomy; so many cures as there are distemperatures among men. I have -not put his affection in my cases. Hear you his case. My fine Sir is a -lover, an _inamorato_, Pyramus, a Romeo; he walks seven years -disconsolate, moping, because he cannot enjoy his miss, _insanus amor_ -is his melancholy, the man is mad; _delirat_, he dotes; all this while -his Glycera is rude, spiteful, not to be entreated, churlish, spits at -him, yet exceeding fair, gentle eyes, (which is a beauty,) hair lustrous -and _smiling_, the trope is none of mine, _Æneas Sylvius_ hath _crines -ridentes_--in conclusion she is wedded to his rival, a boore, a -_Corydon_, a rustic, _omnino ignarus, he can scarce construe Corderius_, -yet haughty, fantastic, _opiniatre_. The lover travels, goes into -foreign parts, peregrinates, _amoris ergo_, sees manners, customs, not -English, converses with pilgrims, lying travellers, monks, hermits, -those cattle, pedlars, travelling gentry, _Egyptians_, natural wonders, -unicorns (though _Aldobrandus_ will have them to be figments) satyrs, -semi-viri, apes, monkeys, baboons, curiosities artificial, _pyramides_, -Virgilius his tombe, relicks, bones, which are nothing but ivory as -_Melancthon_ judges, though _Cornutus_ leaneth to think them bones of -dogs, cats, (why not men?) which subtill priests vouch to have been -saints, martyrs, _heu Pietas_! By that time he has ended his course, -_fugit hora_, seven other years are expired, gone by, time is he should -return, he taketh ship for Britaine, much desired of his friends, -_favebant venti, Neptune is curteis_, after some weekes at sea he -landeth, rides post to town, greets his family, kinsmen, _compotores, -those jokers his friends that were wont to tipple with him at -alehouses_; these wonder now to see the change, _quantum mutatus, the -man is quite another thing_, he is disenthralled, manumitted, he wonders -what so bewitched him, he can now both see, hear, smell, handle, -converse with his mistress, single by reason of the death of his rival, -a widow having children, grown willing, prompt, amorous, shewing no such -great dislike to second nuptials, he might have her for asking, no such -thing, his mind is changed, he loathes his former meat, had liever eat -ratsbane, aconite, his humour is to die a bachelour; marke the -conclusion. In this humour of celibate seven other years are consumed -in idleness, sloth, world's pleasures, which fatigate, satiate, induce -wearinesse, vapours, _tædium vitæ_: When upon a day, behold a wonder, -_redit Amor_, the man is as sick as ever, he is commenced lover upon the -old stock, walks with his hand thrust in his bosom for negligence, -moping he leans his head, face yellow, beard flowing and incomposite, -eyes sunken, _anhelus, breath wheezy and asthmatical, by reason of -overmuch sighing_: society he abhors, solitude is but a hell, what shall -he doe? all this while his mistresse is forward, coming, _amantissima, -ready to jump at once into his mouth_, her he hateth, feels disgust when -she is but mentioned, thinks her ugly, old, a painted Jesabeel, Alecto, -Megara, and Tisiphone all at once, a Corinthian Lais, a strumpet, only -not handsome; that which he affecteth so much, that which drives him -mad, distracted, phrenetic, beside himself, is no beauty which lives, -nothing in _rerum naturâ_, (so he might entertain a hope of a cure) but -something which is not, can never be, a certain _fantastic opinion_ or -_notional image_ of his mistresse, _that which she was_, and that which -hee thought her to be, in former times, how beautiful! torments him, -frets him, follows him, makes him that he wishes to die. - -This Caprichio, _Sir Humourous_, hee cometh to me to be cured. I counsel -marriage with his mistresse, according to Hippocrates his method, -together with milk diet, herbs, aloes, and wild parsley, good in such -cases, though Avicenna preferreth some sorts of wild fowl, teals, -widgeons, becca ficos, which men in Sussex eat. He flies out in a -passion, ho! ho; and falls to calling me names, dizzard, ass, lunatic, -moper, Bedlamite, Pseudo-Democritus. I smile in his face, bidding him be -patient, tranquil, to no purpose, he still rages, I think this man must -fetch his remedies from Utopia, Fairy Land, Islands in the Moone, &c. - - -EXTRACT II - -* * * * * Much disputacyons of fierce wits amongst themselves, in -logomachies, subtile controversies, many dry blows given on either -side, contentions of learned men, or such as would be so thought, as -_Bodinus de Periodis_ saith of such an one, _arrident amici ridet -mundus_, in English, this man his cronies they cocker him up, they -flatter him, he would fayne appear somebody, meanwile the world thinks -him no better than a dizzard, a ninny, a sophist. * * * * * Philosophy -running mad, madness philosophizing, much idle-learned enquiries, what -truth is? and no issue, fruit, of all these noises, only huge books are -written, and who is the wiser? * * * * * Men sitting in the Doctor's -chair, we marvel how they got there, being _homines intellectûs -pulverulenti_, as _Trincauellius_ notes; they care not so they may raise -a dust to smother the eyes of their oppugners; _homines parvulissimi_ as -_Lemnius_, whom _Alcuin_ herein taxeth of a crude Latinism; dwarfs, -minims, the least little men, these spend their time, and it is odds but -they lose their time and wits too into the bargain, chacing of nimble -and retiring Truth: Her they prosecute, her still they worship, -_libant_, they make libations, spilling the wine, as those old Romans in -their sacrificials, _Cerealia, May-games_: Truth is the game all these -hunt after, to the extreme perturbacyon and drying up of the moistures, -_humidum radicale exsiccant_, as _Galen_, in his counsels to one oft -these wear-wits, brain-moppers, spunges, saith. * * * * and for all this -_nunquam metam attingunt_, and how should they? they bowle awry, -shooting beside the marke; whereas it should appear, that _Truth -absolute_ on this planet of ours is scarcely to be found, but in her -stede _Queene Opinion_ predominates, governs, whose shifting and ever -mutable _Lampas_, me seemeth, is man's destinie to follow, she -præcurseth, she guideth him, before his uncapable eyes she frisketh her -tender lights, which entertayne the child-man, untill what time his -sight be strong to endure the vision of _Very Truth_, which is in the -heavens, the vision beatifical, as _Anianus_ expounds in his argument -against certain mad wits which helde God to be corporeous; these were -dizzards, fools, _gothamites_. * * * * but and if _Very Truth_ be extant -indeede on earth, as some hold she it is which actuates men's deeds, -purposes, ye may in vaine look for her in the learned universities, -halls, colleges. Truth is no Doctoresse, she takes no degrees at Paris -or Oxford, amongst great clerks, disputants, subtile Aristotles, men -_nodosi ingenii, able to take Lully by the chin_, but oftentimes to -such an one as myself, an _Idiota_ or common person, _no great things_, -melancholizing in woods where waters are, quiet places by rivers, -fountains, whereas the silly man expecting no such matter, thinketh -only how best to delectate and refresh his mynde continually with -_Natura_ her pleasaunt scenes, woods, water-falls, or _Art_ her -statelie gardens, parks, terraces, _Belvideres_, on a sudden the -goddesse herself _Truth_ has appeared, with a shyning lyghte, and a -sparklyng countenance, so as yee may not be able lightly to resist her -* * * * * - - -EXTRACT III - -This morning, May 2, 1662, having first broken my fast upon eggs and -cooling salades, mellows, water-cresses, those herbes, according to -_Villanovus_ his prescription, who disallows the use of meat in a -morning as gross, fat, hebetant, _feral_, altogether fitter for wild -beasts than men, _e contra_ commendeth this herb-diete for gentle, -humane, active, conducing to contemplation in most men, I betook myselfe -to the nearest fields. (Being in London I commonly dwell in the -_suburbes_, as airiest, quietest, _loci musis propriores_, free from -noises of caroches, waggons, mechanick, and base workes, workshoppes, -also sights, pageants, spectacles of outlandlish birds, fishes, -crocodiles, _Indians_, mermaids, adde quarrels, fightings, wranglings of -the common sort, _plebs_, the rabble, duelloes with fists, _proper to -this island_, at which the stiletto'd and secrete _Italian_ laughs.) -Withdrawing myselfe from these buzzing and illiterate vanities, with a -_bezo las manos_ to the city, I begin to inhale, draw in, snuff up, as -horses _dilatis naribus_ snort the fresh aires, with exceeding great -delight, when suddenly there crosses me a procession sad, heavy, -dolourous, tristfull, melancholick, able to change mirth into dolour, -and overcast a clearer atmosphere than possibly the neighbourhoods of so -great a citty can afford. An old man, a poore man, deceased, is borne on -men's shoulders to a poore buriall, without solemnities of hearse, -mourners, plumes, _mutæ personæ, those personate actors that will weep -if yee skew them a piece of silver_; none of those customed civilities -of children, kinsfolk, _dependants_, following the coffin; he died a -poore man, his friends _assessores opum, those cronies of his that stuck -by him so long as he had a penny_, now leave him, forsake him, shun him, -desert him; they think it much to follow his putrid and stinking carcase -to the grave; his children, if he had any, for commonly the case stands -thus, this poore man his son dies before him, he survives, poore, -indigent, base, dejected, miserable, &c. or if he have any which survive -him, _sua negotia agunt_, they mind their own business, forsooth, -cannot, will not, find time, leisure, _inclination, extremum munus -perficere_, to follow to the pit their old indulgent father, which loved -them, stroked them, caressed them, cockering them up, _quantum potuit_, -as farre as his means extended, while they were babes, chits, _minims_, -hee may rot in his grave, lie stinking in the sun _for them_, have no -buriall at all, they care not. _O nefas!_ Chiefly I noted the coffin to -have been _without a pall_, nothing but a few planks, of cheapest wood -that could be had, _naked_, having none of the ordinary _symptomata_ of -a funerall, those _locularii_ which bare the body having on diversely -coloured coats, _and none black_: (one of these reported the deceased to -have been an almsman seven yeares, a pauper, harboured and fed in the -workhouse of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, to whose proper burying-ground he -was now going for interment). All which when I behelde, hardly I -refrained from weeping, and incontinently I fell to musing: "If this man -had been rich, a _Crœsus_, a _Crassus, or as rich as Whittington_, what -pompe, charge, lavish cost, expenditure, of rich buriall, -_ceremoniall-obsequies, obsequious ceremonies_, had been thought too -good for such an one; what store of panegyricks, elogies, funeral -orations, &c. some beggarly poetaster, worthy to be beaten for his ill -rimes, crying him up, hee was rich, generous, bountiful, polite, -learned, _a Mæcenas_, while as in very deede he was nothing lesse: what -weeping, sighing, sorrowing, honing, complaining, kinsmen, friends, -relatives, fortieth cousins, poor relatives, lamenting for the deceased; -hypocriticall heirs, sobbing, striking their breasts, (they care not if -he had died a year ago); so many clients, dependants, flatterers, -_parasites, cunning Gnathoes_, tramping on foot after the hearse, all -their care is, who shall stand fairest with the successour; he mean time -(like enough) spurns them from him, spits at them, treads them under his -foot, will have nought to do with any such cattle. I think him in the -right: _Hæc sunt majora gravitate Heracliti. The follies are enough to -give crying Heraclitus a fit of the spleene._ - - * * * * * - - - - -EARLY JOURNALISM - -I.--G. F. COOKE IN "RICHARD THE THIRD" - -(1802) - - -Some few of us remember to have _seen_, and all of us have heard our -fathers tell of Quin, and Garrick, and Barry, and some faint traditional -notices are left us of their manner in particular scenes, and their -stile of delivering certain emphatic sentences. Hence our curiosity is -excited, when a _new Hamlet_ or a _new Richard_ makes his appearance, in -the first place, to inquire, how he acted in the _Closet scene_, in the -_Tent scene_; how he looked, and how he started, when the _Ghost_ came -on, and how he cried - - Off with his head. So much for Buckingham. - -We do not reprehend this minute spirit of comparison. On the contrary, -we consider it as a delightful artifice, by which we connect the -recreations of the past with those of the present generation, what -pleased our fathers with what pleases us. We love to witness the -obstinate attachments, the unconquerable prejudices (as they seem to -us), of the old men, our seniors, the whimsical gratification they -appear to derive from the very refusal to be gratified; to hear them -talk of the good _old_ actors, whose race is for ever extinct. - -With these impressions, we attended the first appearance of Mr. Cooke, -in the character of _Richard the Third_, last winter. We thought that he -"bustled" through the scenes with at least as much spirit and effect as -any of his predecessors whom we remember in the part, and was not -deficient in the delivery of any of those rememberable speeches and -exclamations, which old prescription hath set up as _criteria_ of -comparison. Now that the grace of freshness is worn off, and Mr. Cooke -is no longer a novitiate candidate for public favour, we propose to -enter into the question--whether that popular actor is right or wrong in -his conception of the great outlines of the character; those strong -essential differences which separate _Richard_ from all the other -creations of Shakespeare. We say _of Shakespeare_; for though the Play, -which passes for _his_ upon the _Stage_, materially differs from _that_ -which _he_ wrote under the same title, being in fact little better than -a compilation or a cento of passages extracted from other of his Plays, -and applied with gross violations of propriety (as we are ready at any -time to point out), besides some miserable additions, which _he_ never -could have written; all together producing an inevitable inconsistency -of character, sufficient to puzzle and confound the _best Actor; yet_, -in this chaos and perplexity, we are of opinion, that it becomes an -Actor to shew his taste, by adhering, as much as possible, to the spirit -and intention of the original Author, and to consult his _safety_ in -_steering_ by the _Light_, which Shakespeare holds out to him, as by a -great _Leading Star_. Upon these principles, we presume to censure Mr. -Cooke, while we are ready to acknowledge, that this Actor presents us -with a very original and very forcible portrait (if not of the _man -Richard_, whom Shakespeare drew, yet) of the _monster Richard_, as he -exists in the _popular idea_, in _his own exaggerated_ and _witty -self-abuse_, in the overstrained representations of the parties who were -_sufferers_ by his _ambition_; and, above all, in the impertinent and -wretched _scenes_, so absurdly foisted in by some, who have thought -themselves capable of adding to what _Shakespeare wrote_. - -But of Mr. Cooke's _Richard_: - -1st. _His predominant and masterly simulation._ - - He has a tongue can wheedle with the DEVIL. - -It has been the policy of that antient and grey simulator, in all ages, -to hide his _horns_ and _claws_. The _Richard_ of Mr. Cooke perpetually -obtrudes _his_. We see the effect of his deceit uniformly _successful_, -but we do not comprehend _how_ it _succeeds_. We can put ourselves, by a -very common fiction, into the place of the individuals upon whom it -acts, and say, that, in the like case, we should not have been alike -credulous. The hypocrisy is too glaring and visible. It resembles more -the shallow cunning of a mind which is its own dupe, than the profound -and practised art of so powerful an intellect as _Richard's_. It is too -obstreperous and loud, breaking out into _triumphs_ and _plaudits_ at -its own success, like an unexercised _noviciate_ in _tricks_. It has -none of the silent confidence, and steady self-command of the -_experienced politician_; it possesses none of that _fine address_, -which was necessary to have betrayed the heart of _Lady Anne_, or even -to have imposed upon the duller wits of the _Lord Mayor_ and _Citizens_. - -2dly. _His habitual jocularity_, the effect of buoyant spirits, and an -elastic mind, rejoicing in its own powers, and in the success of its -machinations. This quality of unstrained mirth accompanies _Richard_, -and is a prime feature in his character. It never leaves him; in plots, -in stratagems, and in the midst of his bloody devices, it is perpetually -driving him upon wit, and jests, and personal satire, fanciful -allusions, and quaint felicities of phrase. It is one of the chief -artifices by which the consummate master of dramatic effect has -contrived to soften the horrors of the scene, and to make us contemplate -a bloody and vicious character with delight. No where, in any of his -plays, is to be found so much of sprightly colloquial dialogue, and -soliloquies of genuine humour, as in _Richard_. This character of -unlaboured mirth Mr. Cooke seems entirely to pass over, and substitutes -in its stead the coarse, taunting humour, and clumsy merriment, of a -low-minded assassin. - -3dly. _His personal deformity._--When the _Richard_ of Mr. Cooke makes -allusions to his own _form_, they seem accompanied with _unmixed -distaste_ and _pain_, like some obtrusive and _haunting_ idea--But -surely the _Richard_ of Shakespeare mingles in these allusions a -perpetual reference to his own powers and capacities, by which he is -enabled to surmount these petty objections; and the joy of a defect -_conquered_, or _turned_ into an advantage, is one cause of these very -allusions, and of the satisfaction, with which his mind recurs to them. -These allusions themselves are made in an ironical and good humoured -spirit of exaggeration--the most bitter of them are to be found in his -self-congratulating soliloquy spoken in the very moment and crisis of -joyful exultation on the success of his unheard of courtship.--No -_partial excellence_ can satisfy for this absence of a _just general -conception_--otherwise we are inclined to admit, that, in the delivery -of _single sentences_, in a _new_ and often _felicitous_ light thrown -upon _old_ and _hitherto misconstrued_ passages, no actor that we have -seen has gone beyond Mr. Cooke. He is always _alive_ to the scene before -him; and by the _fire_ and _novelty_ of his manner, he seems likely to -infuse some _warm blood_ into the _frozen declamatory stile_, into -which our theatres have for some time past been degenerating. - - -II.--GRAND STATE BED - -Ever since an account of the Marquis of Exeter's Grand State Bed -appeared in the fashionable world, grandeur in this article of furniture -has become quite the rage. Among others the Lord Mayor feeling for the -dignity of the city of London, has petitioned the Corporation for one of -great splendour to be placed in the Mansion-house, _at the City's -expence_. - -We have been favoured with a description of this magnificent state bed, -the choice of his Lordship. The body is formed by the callipee, or under -shell of a large turtle, carved in mahogany, and sufficiently capacious -to receive two well-fed people. The callipash, or upper shell, forms the -canopy. The posts are four gigantic figures richly gilt: two of them -accurate copies of Gog and Magog; the other two represent Sir William -Walworth and the last man in armour. Cupids with custards are the -supporters. The curtains are of mazarine purple, and curiously wrought -with the series of the idle and industrious apprentice from Hogarth, in -gold embroidery: but the vallens exceed description; _there_, the -various incidents in the life of Whittington are painted. The mice in -one of the compartments are done so much to the life, that his -Lordship's cat, who is an accurate judge of mice, was deceived. The -quilt is of fashionable patchwork figures, the description of which we -shall not anticipate, as, we understand, Mr. Birch has obtained a sketch -of it for his large Twelfth Cake. The whole is worthy of the taste of -the first Magistrate of the first City in the world. - - -III.--FABLE FOR TWELFTH DAY - -Once upon a high and solemn occasion all the great _fasts_ and -_festivals_ in the year presented themselves before the throne of -_Apollo, God of Days_.--Each brought an offering in his hand, as is the -custom all over the _East_, that no man shall appear before the presence -of the King empty-handed. _Shrove-Tuesday_ was there with his -_pan-cakes_, and _Ash-Wednesday_ with his oblation of _fish_. -_Good-Friday_ brought the mystical _bun_. _Christmas-Day_ came bending -underneath an intolerable load of _turkeys_ and _mince-pies_, his -snow-white temples shaded with _holly_ and the sacred _misletoe_, and -_singing_ a _carol_ as he advanced. Next came the _Thirtieth_ of -_January_, bearing a _calf's-head_ in a charger; but _Apollo_ no sooner -understood the emblematical meaning of the offering, than the stomach of -the _God_ turned sick, and with visible indignation and abhorrence he -ordered the unfortunate _Day_ out of his presence--the contrite _Day_ -returned in a little time, bearing in his hands a _Whig_ (a sort of cake -well-tempered and delicious)--the _God_ with smiles accepted the -atonement, and the happy _Day_ understood that his peace was made, he -promising never to bring such a dish into the presence of a _God_ again. -Then came the august _Fourth_ of _June_, crowned with such a crown as -British Monarchs commonly wear, leading into the presence the venerable -_Nineteenth_ of _May_--_Apollo_ welcomed the royal pair, and placed them -nearest to himself, and welcomed their noble progeny, their eldest-born -and heir, the accomplished _Twelfth_ of _August_, with all his brave -brothers and handsome sisters. Only the merry _First_ of _April_ who is -retained in the Court of _Apollo_ as _King's Jester_, made some mirth by -his reverent inquiries after the health of the _Eighteenth_ of -_January_, who, being a _kept_ mistress, had not been deemed a proper -personage to be introduced into such an assembly. _Apollo_, laughing, -rebuked the petulance of his wit; so all was mirth and good humour in -the palace--only the sorrowful _Epiphany_ stood silent and abashed--he -was _poor_, and had come before the King without an oblation. The _God_ -of _Days_ perceived his confusion, and turning to the _Muses_ (who are -_nine_), and to the _Graces_, his hand-maids (who are _three_ in -number), he beckoned to them, and gave to them in charge to prepare a -_Cake_ of the richest and preciousest ingredients: they obeyed, -tempering with their fine and delicate fingers the spices of the _East_, -the bread-flour of the _West_, with the fruits of the _South_, pouring -over all the _Ices_ of the _North_. The God himself crowned the whole -with _talismanic figures_, which contained this wondrous virtue--that -whosoever ate of the _Cake_ should forthwith become _Kings_ and -_Queens_. Lastly, by his heralds, he invested the trembling and thankful -_Epiphany_ with the privilege of presenting this Cake before the King -upon an annual festival for ever. Now this Cake is called _Twelfth -Cake_ upon earth, after the _number_ of the virgins who fashioned the -same, being nine and three. - - -IV.--THE LONDONER - -(1802. TEXT OF 1818) - -_To the Editor of the Reflector_ - -Mr. Reflector,--I was born under the shadow of St. Dunstan's steeple, -just where the conflux of the eastern and western inhabitants of this -twofold city meet and justle in friendly opposition at Temple-bar. The -same day which gave me to the world, saw London happy in the celebration -of her great annual feast. This I cannot help looking upon as a lively -omen of the future great good will which I was destined to bear toward -the city, resembling in kind that solicitude which every Chief -Magistrate is supposed to feel for whatever concerns her interests and -well being. Indeed I consider myself in some sort a speculative Lord -Mayor of London: for though circumstances unhappily preclude me from the -hope of ever arriving at the dignity of a gold chain and Spital Sermon, -yet thus much will I say of myself in truth, that Whittington with his -Cat (just emblem of vigilance and a furred gown) never went beyond me in -affection, which I bear to the citizens. - -I was born, as you have heard, in a crowd. This has begot in me an -entire affection for that way of life, amounting to an almost -insurmountable aversion from solitude and rural scenes. This aversion -was never interrupted or suspended, except for a few years in the -younger part of my life, during a period in which I had set my -affections upon a charming young woman. Every man while the passion is -upon him, is for a time at least addicted to groves and meadows and -purling streams. During this short period of my existence, I contracted -just familiarity enough with rural objects to understand tolerably well -ever after the _poets_, when they declaim in such passionate terms in -favor of a country life. - -For my own part, now the fit is past, I have no hesitation in declaring, -that a mob of happy faces crowding up at the pit door of Drury-lane -Theatre, just at the hour of six, gives me ten thousand sincerer -pleasures, than I could ever receive from all the flocks of silly sheep -that ever whitened the plains of Arcadia or Epsom Downs. - -This passion for crowds is no where feasted so full as in London. The -man must have a rare _recipe_ for melancholy, who can be dull in -Fleet-street. I am naturally inclined to hypochondria, but in London it -vanishes, like all other ills. Often, when I have felt a weariness or -distaste at home, have I rushed out into her crowded Strand, and fed my -humour, till tears have wetted my cheek for unutterable sympathies with -the multitudinous moving picture, which she never fails to present at -all hours, like the scenes of a shifting pantomime. - -The very deformities of London, which give distaste to others, from -habit do not displease me. The endless succession of shops where _Fancy -miscalled Folly_ is supplied with perpetual gauds and toys, excite in me -no puritanical aversion. I gladly behold every appetite supplied with -its proper food. The obliging customer, and the obliged -tradesman--things which live by bowing, and things which exist but for -homage--do not affect me with disgust; from habit I perceive nothing but -urbanity, where other men, more refined, discover meaness: I love the -very smoke of London, because it has been the medium most familiar to my -vision. I see grand principles of honor at work in the dirty ring which -encompasses two combatants with fists, and principles of no less eternal -justice in the detection of a pickpocket. The salutary astonishment with -which an execution is surveyed, convinces me more forcibly than a -hundred volumes of abstract polity, that the universal instinct of man -in all ages has leaned to order and good government. - -Thus an art of extracting morality from the commonest incidents of a -town life, is attained by the same well-natured alchymy, with which the -Foresters of Arden, in a beautiful country, - - Found tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, - Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. - -Where has spleen her food but in London? Humour, Interest, Curiosity, -suck at her measureless breasts without a possibility of being satiated. -Nursed amid her noise, her crowds, her beloved smoke, what have I been -doing all my life, if I have not lent out my heart with usury to such -scenes! - - I am, Sir, your faithful servant, - - A LONDONER. - - * * * * * - - - - -CHARACTERS OF DRAMATIC WRITERS, CONTEMPORARY WITH SHAKSPEARE. - -(1808. TEXT OF 1818) - - -When I selected for publication, in 1808, Specimens of English Dramatic -Poets who lived about the time of Shakspeare, the kind of extracts which -I was anxious to give were, not so much passages of wit and humour, -though the old plays are rich in such, as scenes of passion, sometimes -of the deepest quality, interesting situations, serious descriptions, -that which is more nearly allied to poetry than to wit, and to tragic -rather than to comic poetry. The plays which I made choice of were, with -few exceptions, such as treat of human life and manners, rather than -masques and Arcadian pastorals, with their train of abstractions, -unimpassioned deities, passionate mortals--Claius, and Medorus, and -Amintas, and Amarillis. My leading design was, to illustrate what may be -called the moral sense of our ancestors. To shew in what manner they -felt, when they placed themselves by the power of imagination in trying -circumstances, in the conflicts of duty and passion, or the strife of -contending duties; what sort of loves and enmities theirs were; how -their griefs were tempered, and their full-swoln joys abated: how much -of Shakspeare shines in the great men his contemporaries, and how far in -his divine mind and manners he surpassed them and all mankind. I was -also desirous to bring together some of the most admired scenes of -Fletcher and Massinger, in the estimation of the world the only dramatic -poets of that age entitled to be considered after Shakspeare, and, by -exhibiting them in the same volume with the more impressive scenes of -old Marlowe, Heywood, Tourneur, Webster, Ford, and others, to shew what -we had slighted, while beyond all proportion we had been crying up one -or two favourite names. From the desultory criticisms which accompanied -that publication, I have selected a few which I thought would best stand -by themselves, as requiring least immediate reference to the play or -passage by which they were suggested. - - -CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE - -_Lust's Dominion, or the Lascivious Queen._--This tragedy is in King -Cambyses' vein; rape, and murder, and superlatives; "huffing braggart -puft lines," such as the play-writers anterior to Shakspeare are full -of, and Pistol but coldly imitates. - -_Tamburlaine the Great, or the Scythian Shepherd._--The lunes of -Tamburlaine are perfect midsummer madness. Nebuchadnazar's are mere -modest pretensions compared with the thundering vaunts of this Scythian -Shepherd. He comes in, drawn by conquered kings, and reproaches these -_pampered jades of Asia_ that they can _draw but twenty miles a day_. -Till I saw this passage with my own eyes, I never believed that it was -any thing more than a pleasant burlesque of mine ancient's. But I can -assure my readers that it is soberly set down in a play, which their -ancestors took to be serious. - -_Edward the Second._--In a very different style from mighty Tamburlaine -is the tragedy of Edward the Second. The reluctant pangs of abdicating -royalty in Edward furnished hints, which Shakspeare scarcely improved in -his Richard the Second; and the death-scene of Marlowe's king moves pity -and terror beyond any scene antient or modern with which I am -acquainted. - -_The Rich Jew of Malta._--Marlowe's Jew does not approach so near to -Shakspeare's, as his Edward the Second does to Richard the Second. -Barabas is a mere monster brought in with a large painted nose to please -the rabble. He kills in sport, poisons whole nunneries, invents infernal -machines. He is just such an exhibition as a century or two earlier -might have been played before the Londoners "by the royal command," when -a general pillage and massacre of the Hebrews had been previously -resolved on in the cabinet. It is curious to see a superstition wearing -out. The idea of a Jew, which our pious ancestors contemplated with so -much horror, has nothing in it now revolting. We have tamed the claws of -the beast, and pared its nails, and now we take it to our arms, fondle -it, write plays to flatter it; it is visited by princes, affects a -taste, patronizes the arts, and is the only liberal and gentlemanlike -thing in Christendom. - -_Doctor Faustus._--The growing horrors of Faustus's last scene are -awfully marked by the hours and half hours as they expire, and bring him -nearer and nearer to the exactment of his dire compact. It is indeed an -agony and a fearful colluctation. Marlowe is said to have been tainted -with atheistical positions, to have denied God and the Trinity. To such -a genius the history of Faustus must have been delectable food: to -wander in fields where curiosity is forbidden to go, to approach the -dark gulf near enough to look in, to be busied in speculations which are -the rottenest part of the core of the fruit that fell from the tree of -knowledge.[2] Barabas the Jew, and Faustus the conjurer, are offsprings -of a mind which at least delighted to dally with interdicted subjects. -They both talk a language which a believer would have been tender of -putting into the mouth of a character though but in fiction. But the -holiest minds have sometimes not thought it reprehensible to counterfeit -impiety in the person of another, to bring Vice upon the stage speaking -her own dialect; and, themselves being armed with an unction of -self-confident impunity, have not scrupled to handle and touch that -familiarly, which would be death to others. Milton in the person of -Satan has started speculations hardier than any which the feeble armoury -of the atheist ever furnished; and the precise, strait-laced Richardson -has strengthened Vice, from the mouth of Lovelace, with entangling -sophistries and abstruse pleas against her adversary Virtue, which -Sedley, Villiers, and Rochester, wanted depth of libertinism enough to -have invented. - - [2] Error, entering into the world with Sin among us poor Adamites - may be said to spring from the tree of knowledge itself, and from - the rotten kernels of that fatal apple.--_Howell's Letters._ - - -THOMAS DECKER - -_Old Fortunatus._--The humour of a frantic lover, in the scene where -Orleans to his friend Galloway defends the passion with which himself, -being a prisoner in the English king's court, is enamoured to frenzy of -the king's daughter Agripyna, is done to the life. Orleans is as -passionate an inamorato as any which Shakspeare ever drew. He is just -such another adept in Love's reasons. The sober people of the world are -with him - - ----A swarm of fools - Crowding together to be counted wise. - -He talks "pure Biron and Romeo," he is almost as poetical as they, quite -as philosophical, only a little madder. After all, Love's sectaries are -a reason unto themselves. We have gone retrograde to the noble heresy, -since the days when Sidney proselyted our nation to this mixed health -and disease; the kindliest symptom, yet the most alarming crisis in the -ticklish state of youth; the nourisher and the destroyer of hopeful -wits; the mother of twin births, wisdom and folly, valour and weakness; -the servitude above freedom; the gentle mind's religion; the liberal -superstition. - -_The Honest Whore._--There is in the second part of this play, where -Bellafront, a reclaimed harlot, recounts some of the miseries of her -profession, a simple picture of honour and shame, contrasted without -violence, and expressed without immodesty, which is worth all the -_strong lines_ against the harlot's profession, with which both parts of -this play are offensively crowded. A satirist is always to be suspected, -who, to make vice odious, dwells upon all its acts and minutest -circumstances with a sort of relish and retrospective fondness. But so -near are the boundaries of panegyric and invective, that a worn-out -sinner is sometimes found to make the best declaimer against sin. The -same high-seasoned descriptions, which in his unregenerate state served -but to inflame his appetites, in his new province of a moralist will -serve him, a little turned, to expose the enormity of those appetites in -other men. When Cervantes with such proficiency of fondness dwells upon -the Don's library, who sees not that he has been a great reader of books -of knight-errantry--perhaps was at some time of his life in danger of -falling into those very extravagancies which he ridiculed so happily in -his hero? - - -JOHN MARSTON - -_Antonio and Mellida._--The situation of Andrugio and Lucio, in the -first part of this tragedy, where Andrugio Duke of Genoa banished his -country, with the loss of a son supposed drowned, is cast upon the -territory of his mortal enemy the Duke of Venice, with no attendants but -Lucio an old nobleman, and a page--resembles that of Lear and Kent in -that king's distresses. Andrugio, like Lear, manifests a kinglike -impatience, a turbulent greatness, an affected resignation. The enemies -which he enters lists to combat, "Despair and mighty Grief and sharp -Impatience," and the forces which he brings to vanquish them, "cornets -of horse," &c. are in the boldest style of allegory. They are such a -"race of mourners" as the "infection of sorrows loud" in the intellect -might beget on some "pregnant cloud" in the imagination. The prologue -to the second part, for its passionate earnestness, and for the tragic -note of preparation which it sounds, might have preceded one of those -old tales of Thebes or Pelops' line, which Milton has so highly -commended, as free from the common error of the poets in his day, of -"intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity, brought in -without discretion corruptly to gratify the people." It is as solemn a -preparative as the "warning voice which he who saw the Apocalypse heard -cry." - -_What you Will.--O I shall ne'er forget how he went cloath'd._ Act I. -Scene 1.--To judge of the liberality of these notions of dress, we must -advert to the days of Gresham, and the consternation which a phenomenon -habited like the merchant here described would have excited among the -flat round caps and cloth stockings upon 'Change, when those "original -arguments or tokens of a citizen's vocation were in fashion, not more -for thrift and usefulness than for distinction and grace." The blank -uniformity to which all professional distinctions in apparel have been -long hastening, is one instance of the decay of symbols among us, which, -whether it has contributed or not to make us a more intellectual, has -certainly made us a less imaginative people. Shakspeare knew the force -of signs: a "malignant and a turban'd Turk." This "meal-cap miller," -says the author of God's Revenge against Murder, to express his -indignation at an atrocious outrage committed by the miller Pierot upon -the person of the fair Marieta. - - -AUTHOR UNKNOWN - -_The Merry Devil of Edmonton._--The scene in this delightful comedy, in -which Jerningham, "with the true feeling of a zealous friend," touches -the griefs of Mounchensey, seems written to make the reader happy. Few -of our dramatists or novelists have attended enough to this. They -torture and wound us abundantly. They are economists only in delight. -Nothing can be finer, more gentlemanlike, and nobler, than the -conversation and compliments of these young men. How delicious is -Raymond Mounchensey's forgetting, in his fears, that Jerningham has a -"Saint in Essex;" and how sweetly his friend reminds him! I wish it -could be ascertained, which there is some grounds for believing, that -Michael Drayton was the author of this piece. It would add a worthy -appendage to the renown of that Panegyrist of my native Earth; who has -gone over her soil, in his Polyolbion, with the fidelity of a herald, -and the painful love of a son; who has not left a rivulet, so narrow -that it may be stept over, without honorable mention; and has animated -hills and streams with life and passion beyond the dreams of old -mythology. - - -THOMAS HEYWOOD - -_A Woman Killed with Kindness._--Heywood is a sort of _prose_ -Shakspeare. His scenes are to the full as natural and affecting. But we -miss _the poet_, that which in Shakspeare always appears out and above -the surface of _the nature_. Heywood's characters in this play, for -instance, his country gentlemen, &c. are exactly what we see, but of the -best kind of what we see, in life. Shakspeare makes us believe, while we -are among his lovely creations, that they are nothing but what we are -familiar with, as in dreams new things seem old; but we awake, and sigh -for the difference. - -_The English Traveller._--Heywood's preface to this play is interesting, -as it shews the heroic indifference about the opinion of posterity, -which some of these great writers seem to have felt. There is -magnanimity in authorship as in every thing else. His ambition seems to -have been confined to the pleasure of hearing the players speak his -lines while he lived. It does not appear that he ever contemplated the -possibility of being read by after ages. What a slender pittance of fame -was motive sufficient to the production of such plays as the English -Traveller, the Challenge for Beauty, and the Woman Killed with Kindness! -Posterity is bound to take care that a writer loses nothing by such a -noble modesty. - - -THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM ROWLEY - -_A Fair Quarrel._--The insipid levelling morality to which the modern -stage is tied down, would not admit of such admirable passions as these -scenes are filled with. A puritanical obtuseness of sentiment, a stupid -infantile goodness, is creeping among us, instead of the vigorous -passions, and virtues clad in flesh and blood, with which the old -dramatists present us. Those noble and liberal casuists could discern in -the differences, the quarrels, the animosities of men, a beauty and -truth of moral feeling, no less than in the everlastingly inculcated -duties of forgiveness and atonement. With us, all is hypocritical -meekness. A reconciliation-scene, be the occasion never so absurd, never -fails of applause. Our audiences come to the theatre to be complimented -on their goodness. They compare notes with the amiable characters in the -play, and find a wonderful sympathy of disposition between them. We have -a common stock of dramatic morality, out of which a writer may be -supplied without the trouble of copying it from originals within his own -breast. To know the boundaries of honour, to be judiciously valiant, to -have a temperance which shall beget a smoothness in the angry swellings -of youth, to esteem life as nothing when the sacred reputation of a -parent is to be defended, yet to shake and tremble under a pious -cowardice when that ark of an honest confidence is found to be frail and -tottering, to feel the true blows of a real disgrace blunting that sword -which the imaginary strokes of a supposed false imputation had put so -keen an edge upon but lately: to do, or to imagine this done in a -feigned story, asks something more of a moral sense, somewhat a greater -delicacy of perception in questions of right and wrong, than goes to the -writing of two or three hackneyed sentences about the laws of honour as -opposed to the laws of the land, or a common-place against duelling. Yet -such things would stand a writer now-a-days in far better stead than -Captain Agar and his conscientious honour; and he would be considered as -a far better teacher of morality than old Rowley or Middleton, if they -were living. - - -WILLIAM ROWLEY - -_A New Wonder; a Woman Never Vext._--The old play-writers are -distinguished by an honest boldness of exhibition, they shew every thing -without being ashamed. If a reverse in fortune is to be exhibited, they -fairly bring us to the prison-grate and the almsbasket. A poor man on -our stage is always a gentleman, he may be known by a peculiar neatness -of apparel, and by wearing black. Our delicacy in fact forbids the -dramatizing of distress at all. It is never shewn in its essential -properties; it appears but as the adjunct of some virtue, as something -which is to be relieved, from the approbation of which relief the -spectators are to derive a certain soothing of self-referred -satisfaction. We turn away from the real essences of things to hunt -after their relative shadows, moral duties; whereas, if the truth of -things were fairly represented, the relative duties might be safely -trusted to themselves, and moral philosophy lose the name of a science. - - -THOMAS MIDDLETON - -_The Witch._--Though some resemblance may be traced between the charms -in Macbeth, and the incantations in this play, which is supposed to have -preceded it, this coincidence will not detract much from the originality -of Shakspeare. His witches are distinguished from the witches of -Middleton by essential differences. These are creatures to whom man or -woman, plotting some dire mischief, might resort for occasional -consultation. Those originate deeds of blood, and begin bad impulses to -men. From the moment that their eyes first meet with Macbeth's, he is -spell-bound. That meeting sways his destiny. He can never break the -fascination. These witches can hurt the body, those have power over the -soul. Hecate in Middleton has a son, a low buffoon: the hags of -Shakspeare have neither child of their own, nor seem to be descended -from any parent. They are foul anomalies, of whom we know not whence -they are sprung, nor whether they have beginning or ending. As they are -without human passions, so they seem to be without human relations. They -come with thunder and lightning, and vanish to airy music. This is all -we know of them. Except Hecate, they have no _names_; which heightens -their mysteriousness. The names, and some of the properties, which the -other author has given to his hags, excite smiles. The Weird Sisters are -serious things. Their presence cannot co-exist with mirth. But, in a -lesser degree, the witches of Middleton are fine creations. Their power -too is, in some measure, over the mind. They raise jars, jealousies, -strifes, "like a thick scurf" over life. - - -WILLIAM ROWLEY,--THOMAS DECKER,--JOHN FORD, &c. - -_The Witch of Edmonton._--Mother Sawyer, in this wild play, differs from -the hags of both Middleton and Shakspeare. She is the plain traditional -old woman witch of our ancestors; poor, deformed, and ignorant; the -terror of villages, herself amenable to a justice. That should be a -hardy sheriff, with the power of the county at his heels, that would -lay hands upon the Weird Sisters. They are of another jurisdiction. But -upon the common and received opinion, the author (or authors) have -engrafted strong fancy. There is something frightfully earnest in her -invocations to the Familiar. - - -CYRIL TOURNEUR - -_The Revenger's Tragedy._--The reality and life of the dialogue, in -which Vindici and Hippolito first tempt their mother, and then threaten -her with death for consenting to the dishonour of their sister, passes -any scenical illusion I ever felt. I never read it but my ears tingle, -and I feel a hot blush overspread my cheeks, as if I were presently -about to proclaim such malefactions of myself as the brothers here -rebuke in their unnatural parent, in words more keen and dagger-like -than those which Hamlet speaks to his mother. Such power has the passion -of shame truly personated, not only to strike guilty creatures unto the -soul, but to "appal" even those that are "free." - - -JOHN WEBSTER - -_The Duchess of Malfy._--All the several parts of the dreadful apparatus -with which the death of the Duchess is ushered in, the waxen images -which counterfeit death, the wild masque of madmen, the tomb-maker, the -bellman, the living person's dirge, the mortification by degrees,--are -not more remote from the conceptions of ordinary vengeance, than the -strange character of suffering which they seem to bring upon their -victim is out of the imagination of ordinary poets. As they are not like -inflictions of this life, so her language seems not of this world. She -has lived among horrors till she is become "native and endowed [indued] -unto that element." She speaks the dialect of despair; her tongue has a -smatch of Tartarus and the souls in bale. To move a horror skilfully, to -touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as it can bear, to -wean and weary a life till it is ready to drop, and then step in with -mortal instruments to take its last forfeit: this only a Webster can do. -Inferior geniuses may "upon horror's head horrors accumulate," but they -cannot do this. They mistake quantity for quality; they terrify babes -with painted devils; but they know not how a soul is to be moved. Their -terrors want dignity, their affrightments are without decorum. - -_The White Devil, or Vittoria Corombona._--This White Devil of Italy -sets off a bad cause so speciously, and pleads with such an -innocence-resembling boldness, that we seem to see that matchless beauty -of her face which inspires such gay confidence into her, and are ready -to expect, when she has done her pleadings, that her very judges, her -accusers, the grave ambassadors who sit as spectators, and all the -court, will rise and make proffer to defend her in spite of the utmost -conviction of her guilt; as the Shepherds in Don Quixote make proffer to -follow the beautiful Shepherdess Marcela, "without making any profit of -her manifest resolution made there in their hearing." - - So sweet and lovely does she make the shame, - Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, - Does spot the beauty of her budding name! - -I never saw any thing like the funeral dirge in this play, for the death -of Marcello, except the ditty which reminds Ferdinand of his drowned -father in the Tempest. As that is of the water, watery; so this is of -the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to -resolve itself into the element which it contemplates. - -In a note on the Spanish Tragedy in the Specimens, I have said that -there is nothing in the undoubted plays of Jonson which would authorize -us to suppose that he could have supplied the additions to Hieronymo. I -suspected the agency of some more potent spirit. I thought that Webster -might have furnished them. They seemed full of that wild, solemn, -preternatural cast of grief which bewilders us in the Duchess of Malfy. -On second consideration, I think this a hasty criticism. They are more -like the overflowing griefs and talking distraction of Titus Andronicus. -The sorrows of the Duchess set inward; if she talks, it is little more -than soliloquy imitating conversation in a kind of bravery. - - -JOHN FORD - -_The Broken Heart._--I do not know where to find, in any play, a -catastrophe so grand, so solemn, and so surprising as in this. This is -indeed, according to Milton, to describe high passions and high actions. -The fortitude of the Spartan boy, who let a beast gnaw out his bowels -till he died without expressing a groan, is a faint bodily image of this -dilaceration of the spirit, and exenteration of the inmost mind, which -Calantha, with a holy violence against her nature, keeps closely -covered, till the last duties of a wife and a queen are fulfilled. -Stories of martyrdom are but of chains and the stake; a little bodily -suffering. These torments - - On the purest spirits prey, - As on entrails, joints, and limbs, - With answerable pains, but more intense. - -What a noble thing is the soul in its strengths and in its weaknesses! -Who would be less weak than Calantha? Who can be so strong? The -expression of this transcendent scene almost bears us in imagination to -Calvary and the Cross; and we seem to perceive some analogy between the -scenical sufferings which we are here contemplating, and the real -agonies of that final completion to which we dare no more than hint a -reference. Ford was of the first order of poets. He sought for -sublimity, not by parcels, in metaphors or visible images, but directly -where she has her full residence in the heart of man; in the actions and -sufferings of the greatest minds. There is a grandeur of the soul above -mountains, seas, and the elements. Even in the poor perverted reason of -Giovanni and Annabella, in the play[3] which stands at the head of the -modern collection of the works of this author, we discern traces of that -fiery particle, which, in the irregular starting from out the road of -beaten action, discovers something of a right line even in obliquity, -and shews hints of an improveable greatness in the lowest descents and -degradations of our nature. - - [3] 'Tis Pity she is a Whore. - - -FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE - -_Alaham, Mustapha._--The two tragedies of Lord Brooke, printed among his -poems, might with more propriety have been termed political treatises -than plays. Their author has strangely contrived to make passion, -character, and interest, of the highest order, subservient to the -expression of state dogmas and mysteries. He is nine parts Machiavel and -Tacitus, for one part Sophocles or Seneca. In this writer's estimate of -the powers of the mind, the understanding must have held a most -tyrannical pre-eminence. Whether we look into his plays, or his most -passionate love-poems, we shall find all frozen and made rigid with -intellect. The finest movements of the human heart, the utmost grandeur -of which the soul is capable, are essentially comprised in the actions -and speeches of Cælica and Camena. Shakspeare, who seems to have had a -peculiar delight in contemplating womanly perfection, whom for his many -sweet images of female excellence all women are in an especial manner -bound to love, has not raised the ideal of the female character higher -than Lord Brooke, in these two women, has done. But it requires a study -equivalent to the learning of a new language to understand their meaning -when they speak. It is indeed hard to hit: - - Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day - Or seven though one should musing sit. - -It is as if a being of pure intellect should take upon him to express -the emotions of our sensitive natures. There would be all knowledge, but -sympathetic expressions would be wanting. - - -BEN JONSON - -_The Case is Altered._--The passion for wealth has worn out much of its -grossness in tract of time. Our ancestors certainly conceived of money -as able to confer a distinct gratification in itself, not considered -simply as a symbol of wealth. The old poets, when they introduce a -miser, make him address his gold as his mistress; as something to be -seen, felt, and hugged; as capable of satisfying two of the senses at -least. The substitution of a thin, unsatisfying medium in the place of -the good old tangible metal, has made avarice quite a Platonic affection -in comparison with the seeing, touching, and handling-pleasures of the -old Chrysophilites. A bank-note can no more satisfy the touch of a true -sensualist in this passion, than Creusa could return her husband's -embrace in the shades. See the Cave of Mammon in Spenser; Barabas's -contemplation of his wealth in the Rich Jew of Malta; Luke's raptures in -the City Madam; the idolatry and absolute gold-worship of the miser -Jaques in this early comic production of Ben Jonson's. Above all hear -Guzman, in that excellent old translation of the Spanish Rogue, -expatiate on the "ruddy cheeks of your golden ruddocks, your Spanish -pistolets, your plump and full-faced Portuguese, and your clear-skinned -pieces of eight of Castile," which he and his fellows the beggars kept -secret to themselves, and did privately enjoy in a plentiful manner. -"For to have them, to pay them away, is not to enjoy them; to enjoy -them, is to have them lying by us; having no other need of them than to -use them for the clearing of the eye-sight, and the comforting of our -senses. These we did carry about with us, sewing them in some patches of -our doublets near unto the heart, and as close to the skin as we could -handsomely quilt them in, holding them to be restorative." - -_Poetaster._--This Roman play seems written to confute those enemies of -Ben in his own days and ours, who have said that he made a pedantical -use of his learning. He has here revived the whole Court of Augustus, by -a learned spell. We are admitted to the society of the illustrious dead. -Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Tibullus, converse in our own tongue more finely -and poetically than they were used to express themselves in their native -Latin. Nothing can be imagined more elegant, refined, and court-like, -than the scenes between this Louis the Fourteenth of antiquity and his -literati. The whole essence and secret of that kind of intercourse is -contained therein. The economical liberality by which greatness, seeming -to waive some part of its prerogative, takes care to lose none of the -essentials; the prudential liberties of an inferior, which flatter by -commanded boldness and soothe with complimentary sincerity. These, and a -thousand beautiful passages from his New Inn, his Cynthia's Revels, and -from those numerous court-masques and entertainments which he was in the -daily habit of furnishing, might be adduced to shew the poetical fancy -and elegance of mind of the supposed rugged old bard. - -_Alchemist._--The judgment is perfectly overwhelmed by the torrent of -images, words, and book-knowledge, with which Epicure Mammon (Act 2, -Scene 2) confounds and stuns his incredulous hearer. They come pouring -out like the successive falls of Nilus. They "doubly redouble strokes -upon the foe." Description outstrides proof. We are made to believe -effects before we have testimony for their causes. If there is no one -image which attains the height of the sublime, yet the confluence and -assemblage of them all produces a result equal to the grandest poetry. -The huge Zerxean army countervails against single Achilles. Epicure -Mammon is the most determined offspring of its author. It has the whole -"matter and copy of the father--eye, nose, lip, the trick of his frown." -It is just such a swaggerer as contemporaries have described old Ben to -be. Meercraft, Bobadil, the Host of the New Inn, have all his image and -superscription. But Mammon is arrogant pretension personified. Sir -Samson Legend, in Love for Love, is such another lying, overbearing -character, but he does not come up to Epicure Mammon. What a "towering -bravery" there is in his sensuality! he affects no pleasure under a -Sultan. It is as if "Egypt with Assyria strove in luxury." - - -GEORGE CHAPMAN - -_Bussy D'Ambois, Byron's Conspiracy, Byron's Tragedy, &c. &c._--Webster -has happily characterised the "full and heightened style" of Chapman, -who, of all the English play-writers, perhaps approaches nearest to -Shakspeare in the descriptive and didactic, in passages which are less -purely dramatic. He could not go out of himself, as Shakspeare could -shift at pleasure, to inform and animate other existences, but in -himself he had an eye to perceive and a soul to embrace all forms and -modes of being. He would have made a great epic poet, if indeed he has -not abundantly shewn himself to be one; for his Homer is not so properly -a translation as the stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written. The -earnestness and passion which he has put into every part of these poems, -would be incredible to a reader of mere modern translations. His almost -Greek zeal for the glory of his heroes can only be paralleled by that -fierce spirit of Hebrew bigotry, with which Milton, as if personating -one of the zealots of the old law, clothed himself when he sat down to -paint the acts of Samson against the uncircumcised. The great obstacle -to Chapman's translations being read, is their unconquerable quaintness. -He pours out in the same breath the most just and natural, and the most -violent and crude expressions. He seems to grasp at whatever words come -first to hand while the enthusiasm is upon him, as if all other must be -inadequate to the divine meaning. But passion (the all in all in -poetry) is every where present, raising the low, dignifying the mean, -and putting sense into the absurd. He makes his readers glow, weep, -tremble, take any affection which he pleases, be moved by words, or in -spite of them, be disgusted and overcome their disgust. - - -FRANCIS BEAUMONT.--JOHN FLETCHER - -_Maid's Tragedy._-One characteristic of the excellent old poets is, -their being able to bestow grace upon subjects which naturally do not -seem susceptible of any. I will mention two instances. Zelmane in the -Arcadia of Sidney, and Helena in the All's Well that Ends Well of -Shakspeare. What can be more unpromising at first sight, than the idea -of a young man disguising himself in woman's attire, and passing himself -off for a woman among women; and that for a long space of time? Yet Sir -Philip has preserved so matchless a decorum, that neither does Pryocles' -manhood suffer any stain for the effeminacy of Zelmane, nor is the -respect due to the princesses at all diminished when the deception comes -to be known. In the sweetly constituted mind of Sir Philip Sidney, it -seems as if no ugly thought or unhandsome meditation could find a -harbour. He turned all that he touched into images of honour and virtue. -Helena in Shakspeare is a young woman seeking a man in marriage. The -ordinary rules of courtship are reversed, the habitual feelings are -crossed. Yet with such exquisite address this dangerous subject is -handled, that Helena's forwardness loses her no honour; delicacy -dispenses with its laws in her favour, and nature, in her single case, -seems content to suffer a sweet violation. Aspatia, in the Maid's -Tragedy, is a character equally difficult, with Helena, of being managed -with grace. She too is a slighted woman, refused by the man who had once -engaged to marry her. Yet it is artfully contrived, that while we pity -we respect her, and she descends without degradation. Such wonders true -poetry and passion can do, to confer dignity upon subjects which do not -seem capable of it. But Aspatia must not be compared at all points with -Helena; she does not so absolutely predominate over her situation but -she suffers some diminution, some abatement of the full lustre of the -female character, which Helena never does. Her character has many -degrees of sweetness, some of delicacy; but it has weakness, which, if -we do not despise, we are sorry for. After all, Beaumont and Fletcher -were but an inferior sort of Shakspeares and Sidneys. - -_Philaster._--The character of Bellario must have been extremely popular -in its day. For many years after the date of Philaster's first -exhibition on the stage, scarce a play can be found without one of these -women pages in it, following in the train of some pre-engaged lover, -calling on the gods to bless her happy rival (his mistress), whom no -doubt she secretly curses in her heart, giving rise to many pretty -_equivoques_ by the way on the confusion of sex, and either made happy -at last by some surprising turn of fate, or dismissed with the joint -pity of the lovers and the audience. Donne has a copy of verses to his -mistress, dissuading her from a resolution which she seems to have taken -up from some of these scenical representations, of following him abroad -as a page. It is so earnest, so weighty, so rich in poetry, in sense, in -wit, and pathos, that it deserves to be read as a solemn close in future -to all such sickly fancies as he there deprecates. - - -JOHN FLETCHER - -_Thierry and Theodoret._--The scene where Ordella offers her life a -sacrifice, that the king of France may not be childless, I have always -considered as the finest in all Fletcher, and Ordella to be the most -perfect notion of the female heroic character, next to Calantha in the -Broken Heart. She is a piece of sainted nature. Yet noble as the whole -passage is, it must be confessed that the manner of it, compared with -Shakspeare's finest scenes, is faint and languid. Its motion is -circular, not progressive. Each line revolves on itself in a sort of -separate orbid. They do not join into one another like a running-hand. -Fletcher's ideas moved slow; his versification, though sweet, is -tedious, it stops at every turn; he lays line upon line, making up one -after the other, adding image to image so deliberately, that we see -their junctures. Shakspeare mingles every thing, runs line into line, -embarrasses sentences and metaphors; before one idea has burst its -shell, another is hatched and clamorous for disclosure. Another striking -difference between Fletcher and Shakspeare, is the fondness of the -former for unnatural and violent situations. He seems to have thought -that nothing great could be produced in an ordinary way. The chief -incidents in some of his most admired tragedies shew this.[4] Shakspeare -had nothing of this contortion in his mind, none of that craving after -violent situations, and flights of strained and improbable virtue, which -I think always betrays an imperfect moral sensibility. The wit of -Fletcher is excellent[5] like his serious scenes, but there is something -strained and far-fetched in both. He is too mistrustful of Nature, he -always goes a little on one side of her. Shakspeare chose her without a -reserve: and had riches, power, understanding, and length of days, with -her, for a dowry. - - [4] Wife for a Month, Cupid's Revenge, Double Marriage, &c. - - [5] Wit without Money, and his comedies generally. - -_Faithful Shepherdess._--If all the parts of this delightful pastoral -had been in unison with its many innocent scenes and sweet lyric -intermixtures, it had been a poem fit to vie with Comus or the Arcadia, -to have been put into the hands of boys and virgins, to have made matter -for young dreams, like the loves of Hermia and Lysander. But a spot is -on the face of this Diana. Nothing short of infatuation could have -driven Fletcher upon mixing with this "blessedness" such an ugly -deformity as Cloe, the wanton shepherdess! If Cloe was meant to set off -Clorin by contrast, Fletcher should have known that such weeds by -juxta-position do not set off, but kill sweet flowers. - - -PHILIP MASSINGER.--THOMAS DECKER - -_The Virgin Martyr._--This play has some beauties of so very high an -order, that with all my respect for Massinger, I do not think he had -poetical enthusiasm capable of rising up to them. His associate Decker, -who wrote Old Fortunatus, had poetry enough for any thing. The very -impurities which obtrude themselves among the sweet pieties of this -play, like Satan among the Sons of Heaven, have a strength of contrast, -a raciness, and a glow, in them, which are beyond Massinger. They are to -the religion of the rest what Caliban is to Miranda. - - -PHILIP MASSINGER.--THOMAS MIDDLETON.--WILLIAM ROWLEY - -_Old Law._--There is an exquisiteness of moral sensibility, making one's -eyes to gush out tears of delight, and a poetical strangeness in the -circumstances of this sweet tragi-comedy, which are unlike any thing in -the dramas which Massinger wrote alone. The pathos is of a subtler edge. -Middleton and Rowley, who assisted in it, had both of them finer -geniuses than their associate. - - -JAMES SHIRLEY - -Claims a place amongst the worthies of this period, not so much for any -transcendant talent in himself, as that he was the last of a great race, -all of whom spoke nearly the same language, and had a set of moral -feelings and notions in common. A new language, and quite a new turn of -tragic and comic interest, came in with the Restoration. - - - - -ON THE INCONVENIENCES RESULTING FROM BEING HANGED - -(1810. TEXT OF 1818) - -_To the Editor of the Reflector_ - - -Sir,--I am one of those unhappy persons whose misfortunes, it seems, do -not entitle them to the benefit of pure pity. All that is bestowed upon -me of that kindest alleviator of human miseries, comes dashed with a -double portion of contempt. My griefs have nothing in them that is felt -as sacred by the bystanders. Yet is my affliction in truth of the -deepest grain. The heaviest task that was ever given to mortal patience -to sustain. Time, that wears out all other sorrows, can never modify or -soften mine. Here they must continue to gnaw, as long as that fatal -mark---- - -Why was I ever born? Why was innocence in my person suffered to be -branded with a stain which was appointed only for the blackest guilt? -What had I done, or my parents, that a disgrace of mine should involve a -whole posterity in infamy? I am almost tempted to believe, that, in some -pre-existent state, crimes to which this sublunary life of mine hath -been as much a stranger as the babe that is newly born into it, have -drawn down upon me this vengeance, so disproportionate to my actions on -this globe. - -My brain sickens, and my bosom labours to be delivered of the weight -that presses upon it, yet my conscious pen shrinks from the avowal. But -out it must---- - -O, Mr. Reflector! guess at the wretch's misery who now writes this to -you, when, with tears and burning blushes, he is obliged to confess, -that he has been---- HANGED---- - -Methinks I hear an involuntary exclamation burst from you, as your -imagination presents to you fearful images of your correspondent -unknown,--_hanged!_ - -Fear not, Mr. Editor. No disembodied spirit has the honour of addressing -you. I am flesh and blood, an unfortunate system of bones, muscles, -sinews, arteries, like yourself. - -_Then, I presume, you mean to be pleasant--That expression of yours, Mr. -Correspondent, must be taken somehow in a metaphorical sense----_ - -In the plainest sense, without trope or figure--Yes, Mr. Editor! this -neck of mine has felt the fatal noose,--these hands have tremblingly -held up the corroborative prayer-book,--these lips have sucked the -moisture of the last consolatory orange,--this tongue has chaunted the -doleful cantata which no performer was ever called upon to repeat,--this -face has had the veiling nightcap drawn over it---- - -But for no crime of mine.--Far be it from me to arraign the justice of -my country, which, though tardy, did at length recognise my innocence. -It is not for me to reflect upon judge or jury, now that eleven years -have elapsed since the erroneous sentence was pronounced. Men will -always be fallible, and perhaps circumstances did appear at the time a -little strong---- - -Suffice it to say, that after hanging four minutes, (as the spectators -were pleased to compute it,--a man that is being strangled, I know from -experience, has altogether a different measure of time from his friends -who are breathing leisurely about him,--I suppose the minutes lengthen -as time approaches eternity, in the same manner as the miles get longer -as you travel northward--), after hanging four minutes, according to the -best calculation of the bystanders, a reprieve came, and I was cut -DOWN---- - -Really I am ashamed of deforming your pages with these technical -phrases--if I knew how to express my meaning shorter---- - -But to proceed.--My first care after I had been brought to myself by the -usual methods, (those methods that are so interesting to the operator -and his assistants, who are pretty numerous on such occasions,--but -which no patient was ever desirous of undergoing a second time for the -benefit of science), my first care was to provide myself with an -enormous stock or cravat to hide the place--you understand me;--my next -care was to procure a residence as distant as possible from that part of -the country where I had suffered. For that reason I chose the -metropolis, as the place where wounded honour (I had been told) could -lurk with the least danger of exciting enquiry, and stigmatised -innocence had the best chance of hiding her disgrace in a crowd. I -sought out a new circle of acquaintance, and my circumstances happily -enabling me to pursue my fancy in that respect, I endeavoured, by -mingling in all the pleasures which the town affords, to efface the -memory of what I had undergone. - -But alas! such is the portentous and all-pervading chain of connection -which links together the head and members of this great community, my -scheme of lying perdu was defeated almost at the outset. A countryman of -mine, whom a foolish law-suit had brought to town, by chance met me, and -the secret was soon blazoned about. - -In a short time, I found myself deserted by most of those who had been -my intimate friends. Not that any guilt was supposed to attach to my -character. My officious countryman, to do him justice, had been candid -enough to explain my perfect innocence. But, somehow or other, there is -a want of strong virtue in mankind. We have plenty of the softer -instincts, but the heroic character is gone. How else can I account for -it, that of all my numerous acquaintance, among whom I had the honour of -ranking sundry persons of education, talents, and worth, scarcely here -and there one or two could be found, who had the courage to associate -with a man that had been hanged. - -Those few who did not desert me altogether, were persons of strong but -coarse minds; and from the absence of all delicacy in them I suffered -almost as much as from the superabundance of a false species of it in -the others. Those who stuck by me were the jokers, who thought -themselves entitled by the fidelity which they had shewn towards me to -use me with what familiarity they pleased. Many and unfeeling are the -jests that I have suffered from these rude (because faithful) Achateses. -As they past me in the streets, one would nod significantly to his -companion and say, pointing to me, smoke his cravat, and ask me if I had -got a wen, that I was so solicitous to cover my neck. Another would -enquire, What news from * * * Assizes? (which you may guess, Mr. Editor, -was the scene of my shame), and whether the sessions was like to prove a -maiden one? A third would offer to ensure me from drowning. A fourth -would teaze me with enquiries how I felt when I was swinging, whether I -had not something like a blue flame dancing before my eyes? A fifth took -a fancy never to call me anything but _Lazarus_. And an eminent -bookseller and publisher,--who, in his zeal to present the public with -new facts, had he lived in those days, I am confident, would not have -scrupled waiting upon the person himself last mentioned, at the most -critical period of his existence, to solicit a _few facts relative to -resuscitation_,--had the modesty to offer me ---- guineas per sheet, if -I would write, in his Magazine, a physiological account of my feelings -upon coming to myself. - -But these were evils which a moderate fortitude might have enabled me to -struggle with. Alas! Mr. Editor, the women,--whose good graces I had -always most assiduously cultivated, from whose softer minds I had hoped -a more delicate and generous sympathy than I found in the men,--the -women begun to shun me--this was the unkindest blow of all. - -But is it to be wondered at? How couldst thou imagine, wretchedest of -beings, that that tender creature Seraphina would fling her pretty arms -about that neck which previous circumstances had rendered infamous? That -she would put up with the refuse of the rope, the leavings of the cord? -Or that any analogy could subsist between the knot which binds true -lovers, and the knot which ties malefactors? - -I can forgive that pert baggage Flirtilla, who, when I complimented her -one day on the execution which her eyes had done, replied, that, to be -sure, Mr. * * was a judge of those things. But from thy more exalted -mind, Celestina, I expected a more unprejudiced decision. - -The person whose true name I conceal under this appellation, of all the -women that I was ever acquainted with, had the most manly turn of mind, -which she had improved by reading and the best conversation. Her -understanding was not more masculine than her manners and whole -disposition were delicately and truly feminine. She was the daughter of -an officer who had fallen in the service of his country, leaving his -widow and Celestina, an only child, with a fortune sufficient to set -them above want, but not to enable them to live in splendour. I had the -mother's permission to pay my addresses to the young lady, and Celestina -seemed to approve of my suit. - -Often and often have I poured out my overcharged soul in the presence of -Celestina, complaining of the hard and unfeeling prejudices of the -world, and the sweet maid has again and again declared, that no -irrational prejudice should hinder her from esteeming every man -according to his intrinsic worth. Often has she repeated the consolatory -assurance, that she could never consider as essentially ignominious an -_accident_, which was indeed to be deprecated, but which might have -happened to the most innocent of mankind. Then would she set forth some -illustrious example, which her reading easily furnished, of a Phocion or -a Socrates unjustly condemned; of a Raleigh or a Sir Thomas More, to -whom late posterity had done justice; and by soothing my fancy with some -such agreeable parallel, she would make me almost to triumph in my -disgrace, and convert my shame into glory. - -In such entertaining and instructive conversations the time passed on, -till I importunately urged the mistress of my affections to name a day -for our union. To this she obligingly consented, and I thought myself -the happiest of mankind. But how was I surprised one morning on the -receipt of the following billet from my charmer:-- - -Sir,--You must not impute it to levity, or to a worse failing, -ingratitude, if, with anguish of heart, I feel myself compelled by -irresistible arguments to recall a vow which I fear I made with too -little consideration. I never can be yours. The reasons of my decision, -which is final, are in my own breast, and you must everlastingly remain -a stranger to them. Assure yourself that I can never cease to esteem you -as I ought. - - CELESTINA. - -At the sight of this paper, I ran in frantic haste to Celestina's -lodgings, where I learned, to my infinite mortification, that the mother -and daughter were set off on a journey to a distant part of the country, -to visit a relation, and were not expected to return in less than four -months. - -Stunned by this blow, which left me without the courage to solicit an -explanation by letter, even if I had known where they were, (for the -particular address was industriously concealed from me), I waited with -impatience the termination of the period, in the vain hope that I might -be permitted to have a chance of softening the harsh decision by a -personal interview with Celestina after her return. But before three -months were at an end, I learned from the newspapers, that my beloved -had--given her hand to another! - -Heart-broken as I was, I was totally at a loss to account for the -strange step which she had taken; and it was not till some years after -that I learned the true reason from a female relation of hers, to whom -it seems Celestina had confessed in confidence, that it was no demerit -of mine that had caused her to break off the match so abruptly, nor any -preference which she might feel for any other person, for she preferred -me (she was pleased to say) to all mankind; but when she came to lay the -matter closer to her heart, she found that she never should be able to -bear the sight (I give you her very words as they were detailed to me by -her relation) the sight of a man in a nightcap, who had appeared on a -public platform, it would lead to such a disagreeable association of -ideas! And to this punctilio I was sacrificed. - -To pass over an infinite series of minor mortifications, to which this -last and heaviest might well render me callous, behold me here, Mr. -Editor! in the thirty-seventh year of my existence, (the twelfth, -reckoning from my re-animation), cut off from all respectable -connections, rejected by the fairer half of the community,--who in my -case alone seem to have laid aside the characteristic pity of their sex; -punished because I was once punished unjustly; suffering for no other -reason than because I once had the misfortune to suffer without any -cause at all. In no other country, I think, but this, could a man have -been subject to such a life-long persecution, when once his innocence -had been clearly established. - -Had I crawled forth a rescued victim from the rack in the horrible -dungeons of the Inquisition,--had I heaved myself up from a half -bastinado in China, or been torn from the just-entering, ghastly -impaling stake in Barbary,--had I dropt alive from the knout in -Russia, or come off with a gashed neck from the half-mortal, -scarce-in-time-retracted scymeter of an executioneering slave in -Turkey,--I might have borne about the remnant of this frame (the mangled -trophy of reprieved innocence) with credit to myself, in any of those -barbarous countries. No scorn, at least, would have mingled with the -pity (small as it might be) with which what was left of me would have -been surveyed. - -The singularity of my case has often led me to enquire into the reasons -of the general levity with which the subject of hanging is treated as a -topic in this country. I say as a topic: for let the very persons who -speak so lightly of the thing at a distance be brought to view the real -scene,--let the platform be bona fide exhibited, and the trembling -culprit brought forth,--the case is changed; but as a topic of -conversation, I appeal to the vulgar jokes which pass current in every -street. But why mention them, when the politest authors have agreed in -making use of this subject as a source of the ridiculous? Swift, and -Pope, and Prior, are fond of recurring to it. Gay has built an entire -drama upon this single foundation. The whole interest of the _Beggar's -Opera_ may be said to hang upon it. To such writers as Fielding and -Smollet it is a perfect _bon[ne]bouche_.--Hear the facetious Tom Brown, -in his _Comical View of London and Westminster_, describe the _Order of -the Show at one of the Tyburn Executions_ in his time:--"Mr. Ordinary -visits his melancholy flock in Newgate by eight. Doleful procession up -Holborn-hill about eleven. Men handsome and proper that were never -thought so before, which is some comfort however. Arrive at the fatal -place by twelve. Burnt brandy, women, and sabbath-breaking, repented of. -Some few penitential drops fall under the gallows. Sheriffs men, parson, -pickpockets, criminals, all very busy. The last concluding peremptory -psalm struck up. Show over by one."--In this sportive strain does this -misguided wit think proper to play with a subject so serious, which yet -he would hardly have done, if he had not known that there existed a -predisposition in the habits of his unaccountable countrymen to consider -the subject as a jest. But what shall we say to Shakspeare, who, (not -to mention the solution which the _Gravedigger_ in _Hamlet_ gives of his -fellow workman's problem), in that scene in _Measure for Measure_, where -the _Clown_ calls upon _Master Barnardine_ to get up and be hanged, -which he declines on the score of being sleepy, has actually gone out of -his way to gratify this amiable propensity in his countrymen; for it is -plain, from the use that was to be made of his head, and from -_Abhorson's_ asking, "is the axe upon the block, sirrah?" that -beheading, and not hanging, was the punishment to which _Barnardine_ was -destined. But Shakspeare knew that the axe and block were pregnant with -no ludicrous images, and therefore falsified the historic truth of his -own drama (if I may so speak) rather than he would leave out such -excellent matter for a jest as the suspending of a fellow-creature in -mid air has been ever esteemed to be by Englishmen. - -One reason why the ludicrous never fails to intrude itself into our -contemplations upon this mode of death, I suppose to be, the absurd -posture into which a man is thrown who is condemned to dance, as the -vulgar delight to express it, upon nothing. To see him whisking and -wavering in the air, - - As the wind you know will wave a man;[6] - - [6] Hieronimo in the Spanish tragedy. - -to behold the vacant carcase, from which the life is newly dislodged, -shifting between earth and heaven, the sport of every gust; like a -weather-cock, serving to shew from which point the wind blows; like a -maukin, fit only to scare away birds; like a nest left to swing upon a -bough when the bird is flown: these are uses to which we cannot without -a mixture of spleen and contempt behold the human carcase reduced. We -string up dogs, foxes, bats, moles, weasels. Man surely deserves a -steadier death. - -Another reason why the ludicrous associates more forcibly with this than -with any other mode of punishment, I cannot help thinking to be, the -senseless costume with which old prescription has thought fit to clothe -the exit of malefactors in this country. Let a man do what he will to -abstract from his imagination all idea of the whimsical, something of it -will come across him when he contemplates the figure of a -fellow-creature in the day-time (in however distressing a situation) in -a night cap. Whether it be that this nocturnal addition has something -discordant with day-light, or that it is the dress which we are seen in -at those times when we are "seen," as the Angel in Milton expresses it, -"least wise;" this I am afraid will always be the case; unless indeed, -as in my instance, some strong personal feeling overpower the ludicrous -altogether. To me, when I reflect upon the train of misfortunes which -have pursued me through life, owing to that accursed drapery, the cap -presents as purely frightful an object as the sleeveless yellow coat and -devil-painted mitre of the San Benitos.--An ancestor of mine, who -suffered for his loyalty in the time of the civil wars, was so sensible -of the truth of what I am here advancing, that on the morning of -execution, no intreaties could prevail upon him to submit to the odious -dishabille, as he called it, but he insisted upon wearing, and actually -suffered in, the identical flowing periwig which he is painted in, in -the gallery belonging to my uncle's seat in ----shire. - -Suffer me, Mr. Editor, before I quit the subject, to say a word or two -respecting the minister of justice in this country; in plain words, I -mean the hangman. It has always appeared to me that, in the mode of -inflicting capital punishments with us, there is too much of the -ministry of the human hand. The guillotine, as performing its functions -more of itself and sparing human agency, though a cruel and disgusting -exhibition, in my mind, has many ways the advantage over _our way_. In -beheading, indeed, as it was formerly practised in England, and in -whipping to death, as is sometimes practised now, the hand of man is no -doubt sufficiently busy; but there is something less repugnant in these -downright blows than in the officious barber-like ministerings of _the -other_. To have a fellow with his hangman's hands fumbling about your -collar, adjusting the thing as your valet would regulate your cravat, -valuing himself on his menial dexterity---- - -I never shall forget meeting my rascal,--I mean the fellow who -officiated for me,--in London last winter. I think I see him now,--in a -waistcoat that had been mine,--smirking along as if he knew me---- - -In some parts of Germany, that fellow's office is by law declared -infamous, and his posterity incapable of being ennobled. They have -hereditary hangmen, or had at least, in the same manner as they had -hereditary other great officers of state; and the hangmen's families of -two adjoining parishes intermarried with each other, to keep the breed -entire. I wish something of the same kind were established in England. - -But it is time to quit a subject which teems with disagreeable images-- - - Permit me to subscribe myself, Mr. Editor, - - Your unfortunate friend, - - PENSILIS. - - - - -ON THE DANGER OF CONFOUNDING MORAL WITH PERSONAL DEFORMITY; WITH A HINT -TO THOSE WHO HAVE THE FRAMING OF ADVERTISEMENTS FOR APPREHENDING -OFFENDERS - -(1810. TEXT OF 1818) - -_To the Editor of the Reflector_ - - -Mr. Reflector,--There is no science in their pretensions to which -mankind are more apt to commit grievous mistakes, than in the supposed -very obvious one of physiognomy. I quarrel not with the principles of -this science, as they are laid down by learned professors; much less am -I disposed, with some people, to deny its existence altogether as any -inlet of knowledge that can be depended upon. I believe that there is, -or may be, an art to "read the mind's construction in the face." But, -then, in every species of _reading_, so much depends upon the eyes of -the reader; if they are blear, or apt to dazzle, or inattentive, or -strained with too much attention, the optic power will infallibly bring -home false reports of what it reads. How often do we say, upon a cursory -glance at a stranger, what a fine open countenance he has, who, upon -second inspection, proves to have the exact features of a knave. Nay, in -much more intimate acquaintances, how a delusion of this kind shall -continue for months, years, and then break up all at once. - -Ask the married man, who has been so but for a short space of time, if -those blue eyes where, during so many years of anxious courtship, truth, -sweetness, serenity, seemed to be written in characters which could not -be misunderstood--ask him if the characters which they now convey be -exactly the same?--if for truth he does not _read_ a dull virtue (the -mimic of constancy) which changes not, only because it wants the -judgment to make a preference?--if for sweetness he does not _read_ a -stupid habit of looking pleased at every thing;--if for serenity he does -not _read_ animal tranquillity, the dead pool of the heart, which no -breeze of passion can stir into health? Alas! what is this book of the -countenance good for, which when we have read so long, and thought that -we understood its contents, there comes a countless list of -heart-breaking errata at the end! - -But these are the pitiable mistakes to which love alone is subject. I -have inadvertently wandered from my purpose, which was to expose quite -an opposite blunder, into which we are no less apt to fall, through -hate. How ugly a person looks upon whose reputation some awkward -aspersion hangs, and how suddenly his countenance clears up with his -character. I remember being persuaded of a man whom I had conceived an -ill opinion of, that he had a very bad set of teeth; which, since I have -had better opportunities of being acquainted with his face and facts, I -find to have been the very reverse of the truth. _That crooked old -woman_, I once said, speaking of an ancient gentlewoman, whose actions -did not square altogether with my notions of the rule of right. The -unanimous surprise of the company before whom I uttered these words, -soon convinced me that I had confounded mental with bodily obliquity, -and that there was nothing tortuous about the old lady but her deeds. - -This humour of mankind to deny personal comeliness to those with whose -moral attributes they are dissatisfied, is very strongly shewn in those -advertisements, which stare us in the face from the walls of every -street, and, with the tempting bait which they hang forth, stimulate at -once cupidity and an abstract love of justice in the breast of every -passing peruser; I mean, the advertisements offering rewards for the -apprehension of absconded culprits, strayed apprentices, bankrupts who -have conveyed away their effects, debtors that have run away from their -bail. I observe, that in exact proportion to the indignity with which -the prosecutor, who is commonly the framer of the advertisement, -conceives he has been treated, the personal pretensions of the fugitive -are denied, and his defects exaggerated. - -A fellow, whose misdeeds have been directed against the public in -general, and in whose delinquency no individual shall feel himself -particularly interested, generally meets with fair usage. A coiner or a -smuggler shall get off tolerably well. His beauty, if he has any, is not -much underrated, his deformities are not much magnified. A run-away -apprentice, who excites perhaps the next least degree of spleen in his -prosecutor, generally escapes with a pair of bandy legs; if he has taken -any thing with him in his flight, a hitch in his gait is generally -superadded. A bankrupt, who has been guilty of withdrawing his effects, -if his case be not very atrocious, commonly meets with mild usage. But a -debtor who has left his bail in jeopardy, is sure to be described in -characters of unmingled deformity. Here the personal feelings of the -bail, which may be allowed to be somewhat poignant, are admitted to -interfere; and, as wrath and revenge commonly strike in the dark, the -colours are laid on with a grossness which I am convinced must often -defeat its own purpose. The fish that casts an inky cloud about him that -his enemies may not find him, cannot more obscure himself by that device -than the blackening representations of these angry advertisers must -inevitably serve to cloak and screen the persons of those who have -injured them from detection. I have before me at this moment one of -these bills, which runs thus:-- - - "FIFTY POUNDS REWARD. - - "Run away from his bail, John Tomkins, formerly resident in - Princes-street, Soho, but lately of Clerkenwell. Whoever shall - apprehend, or cause to be apprehended and lodged in one of his - Majesty's jails, the said John Tomkins, shall receive the above - reward. He is a thickset, sturdy man, about five foot six inches - high, halts in his left leg, with a stoop in his gait, with coarse - red hair, nose short and cocked up, with little grey eyes, one of - them bears the effect of a blow which he has lately received, with - a pot belly, speaks with a thick and disagreeable voice, goes - shabbily drest, had on when he went away a greasy shag great coat - with rusty yellow buttons." - -Now, although it is not out of the compass of possibility that John -Tomkins aforesaid may comprehend in his agreeable person all the -above-mentioned aggregate of charms; yet, from my observation of the -manner in which these advertisements are usually drawn up, though I have -not the pleasure of knowing the gentleman, yet would I lay a wager, that -an advertisement to the following effect would have a much better chance -of apprehending and laying by the heels this John Tomkins than the above -description, although penned by one who, from the good services which he -appears to have done for him, has not improbably been blessed with some -years of previous intercourse with the said John. Taking, then, the -above advertisement to be true, or nearly so, down to the words "left -leg" inclusive (though I have some doubt if the blemish there implied -amount to a positive lameness, or be perceivable by any but the nearest -friends of John) I would proceed thus:-- - ---"Leans a little forward in his walk, his hair thick and inclining to -auburn, his nose of the middle size, a little turned up at the end, -lively hazel eyes (the contusion, as its effects are probably gone off -by this time, I judge better omitted) inclines to be corpulent, his -voice thick but pleasing, especially when he sings, had on a decent shag -great coat with yellow buttons." - -Now, I would stake a considerable wager (though by no means a positive -man) that some such mitigated description would lead the beagles of the -law into a much surer track for finding this ungracious varlet, than to -set them upon a false scent after fictitious ugliness and fictitious -shabbiness; though, to do those gentlemen justice, I have no doubt their -experience has taught them in all such cases to abate a great deal of -the deformity which they are instructed to expect; and has discovered to -them, that the Devil's agents upon this earth, like their master, are -far less ugly in reality than they are painted. - -I am afraid, Mr. Reflector, that I shall be thought to have gone wide of -my subject, which was to detect the practical errors of physiognomy, -properly so called; whereas I have introduced physical defects, such as -lameness, the effects of accidents upon a man's person, his wearing -apparel, &c. as circumstances on which the eye of dislike, looking -ascance, may report erroneous conclusions to the understanding. But if -we are liable, through a kind, or an unkind passion, to mistake so -grossly concerning things so exterior and palpable, how much more are -we likely to err respecting those nicer and less perceptible hints of -character in a face, whose detection constitutes the triumph of the -physiognomist. - -To revert to those bestowers of unmerited deformity, the framers of -advertisements for the apprehension of delinquents, a sincere desire of -promoting the ends of public justice induces me to address a word to -them on the best means of attaining those ends. I will endeavour to lay -down a few practical, or rather negative, rules for their use, for my -ambition extends no further than to arm them with cautions against the -self-defeating of their own purposes:-- - -1. Imprimis, then, Mr. Advertiser! If the culprit whom you are willing -to recover be one to whom in times past you have shewn kindness, and -been disposed to think kindly of him yourself, but he has deceived your -trust, and has run away, and left you with a load of debt to answer for -him,--sit down calmly, and endeavour to behold him through the -spectacles of memory rather than of present conceit. Image to yourself, -before you pen a tittle of his description, the same plausible, -good-looking man who took you in; and try to put away from your mind -every intrusion of that deceitful spectre which perpetually obtrudes -itself in the room of your former friend's known visage. It will do you -more credit to have been deceived by such a one; and depend upon it, the -traitor will convey to the eyes of the world in general much more of -that first idea which you formed (perhaps in part erroneous) of his -physiognomy, than of that frightful substitute which you have suffered -to creep in upon your mind and usurp upon it; a creature which has no -archetype except in your own brain. - -2. If you be a master that have to advertise a runaway apprentice, -though the young dog's faults are known only to you, and no doubt his -conduct has been aggravating enough, do not presently set him down as -having crooked ancles. He may have a good pair of legs, and run away -notwithstanding. Indeed, the latter does rather seem to imply the -former. - -3. If the unhappy person against whom your laudable vengeance is -directed be a thief, think that a thief may have a good nose, good eyes, -good ears. It is indispensable to his profession that he be possessed of -sagacity, foresight, vigilance; it is more than probable, then, that he -is endued with the bodily types or instruments of these qualities to -some tolerable degree of perfectness. - -4. If petty larceny be his offence, I exhort you, do not confound -meanness of crime with diminutiveness of stature. These things have no -connection. I have known a tall man stoop to the basest action, a short -man aspire to the height of crime, a fair man be guilty of the foulest -actions, &c. - -5. Perhaps the offender has been guilty of some atrocious and aggravated -murder. Here is the most difficult case of all. It is above all -requisite, that such a daring violator of the peace and safety of -society should meet with his reward, a violent and ignominious death. -But how shall we get at him? Who is there among us, that has known him -before he committed the offence, that shall take upon him to say he can -sit down coolly and pen a dispassionate description of a murderer? The -tales of our nursery,--the reading of our youth,--the ill-looking man -that was hired by the Uncle to dispatch the Children in the Wood,--the -grim ruffians who smothered the babes in the Tower,--the black and -beetle-browed assassin of Mrs. Ratcliffe,--the shag-haired villain of -Mr. Monk Lewis,--the Tarquin tread, and mill-stone dropping eyes, of -Murder in Shakspeare,--the exaggerations of picture and of poetry,--what -we have read and what we have dreamed of,--rise up and crowd in upon us -such eye-scaring portraits of the man of blood, that our pen is -absolutely forestalled; we commence poets when we should play the part -of strictest historians, and the very blackness of horror which the deed -calls up, serves as a cloud to screen the doer. The fiction is -blameless, it is accordant with those wise prejudices with which nature -has guarded our innocence, as with impassable barriers, against the -commission of such appalling crimes; but meantime, the criminal escapes; -or if,--owing to that wise abatement in their expectation of deformity, -which, as I hinted at before, the officers of pursuit never fail to -make, and no doubt in cases of this sort they make a more than ordinary -allowance,--if, owing to this or any accident, the offender is caught -and brought to his trial, who that has been led out of curiosity to -witness such a scene, has not with astonishment reflected on the -difference between a real committer of a murder, and the idea of one -which he has been collecting and heightening all his life out of books, -dreams, &c. The fellow, perhaps, is a sleek, smug-looking man, with -light hair and eye-brows,--the latter by no means jutting out or like a -crag,--and with none of those marks which our fancy had pre-bestowed -upon him. - -I find I am getting unawares too serious; the best way on such occasions -is, to leave off, which I shall do by generally recommending to all -prosecuting advertisers not to confound crimes with ugliness; or rather, -to distinguish between that physiognomical deformity, which I am willing -to grant always accompanies crime, and mere _physical ugliness_,--which -signifies nothing, is the exponent of nothing, and may exist in a good -or bad person indifferently. - - CRITO. - - - - -ON THE AMBIGUITIES ARISING FROM PROPER NAMES - -(1811) - - -Mr. Reflector,--How oddly it happens that the same sound shall suggest -to the minds of two persons hearing it ideas the most opposite! I was -conversing a few years since with a young friend upon the subject of -poetry, and particularly that species of it which is known by the name -of the Epithalamium. I ventured to assert, that the most perfect -specimen of it in our language was the Epithalamium of Spenser upon his -own marriage. - -My young gentleman, who has a smattering of taste, and would not -willingly be thought ignorant of any thing remotely connected with the -belles lettres, expressed a degree of surprise, mixed with -mortification, that he should never have heard of this poem, Spenser -being an author with whose writings he thought himself peculiarly -conversant. - -I offered to show him the poem in the fine folio copy of the poet's -works, which I have at home. He seemed pleased with the offer, though -the mention of the folio seemed again to puzzle him. But presently -after, assuming a grave look, he compassionately muttered to himself -"poor Spencer." - -There was something in the tone with which he spoke these words that -struck me not a little. It was more like the accent with which a man -bemoans some recent calamity that has happened to a friend, than that -tone of sober grief with which we lament the sorrows of a person, -however excellent, and however grievous his afflictions may have been, -who has been dead more than two centuries. I had the curiosity to -enquire into the reasons of so uncommon an ejaculation. My young -gentleman, with a more solemn tone of pathos than before, repeated "poor -Spencer," and added, "he has lost his wife." - -My astonishment at this assertion rose to such a height, that I began to -think the brain of my young friend must be cracked, or some -unaccountable reverie had gotten possession of it. But upon further -explanation it appeared that the word "Spenser,"--which to you or me, -Reader, in a conversation upon poetry too, would naturally have called -up the idea of an old poet in a ruff, one Edmund Spenser, that -flourished in the days of Queen Elizabeth, and wrote a poem called the -_Fairy Queen_, with the _Shepherd's Calender_, and many more verses -besides,--did in the mind of my young friend excite a very different and -quite modern idea, namely, that of the Honourable William Spencer, one -of the living ornaments, if I am not misinformed, of this present -poetical era, A.D. 1811. - - X. Y. Z. - - - - -ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF HOGARTH; WITH SOME REMARKS ON A PASSAGE -IN THE WRITINGS OF THE LATE MR. BARRY - -(1811. TEXT OF 1818) - - -One of the earliest and noblest enjoyments I had when a boy was in the -contemplation of those capital prints by Hogarth, the _Harlot's_ and -_Rake's Progresses_, which, along with some others, hung upon the walls -of a great hall in an old-fashioned house in ----shire, and seemed the -solitary tenants (with myself) of that antiquated and life-deserted -apartment. - -Recollection of the manner in which those prints used to affect me, has -often made me wonder, when I have heard Hogarth described as a mere -comic painter, as one whose chief ambition was to _raise a laugh_. To -deny that there are throughout the prints which I have mentioned -circumstances introduced of a laughable tendency, would be to run -counter to the common notions of mankind; but to suppose that in their -_ruling character_ they appeal chiefly to the risible faculty, and not -first and foremost to the very heart of man, its best and most serious -feelings, would be to mistake no less grossly their aim and purpose. A -set of severer Satires (for they are not so much Comedies, which they -have been likened to, as they are strong and masculine Satires) less -mingled with any thing of mere fun, were never written upon paper, or -graven upon copper. They resemble Juvenal, or the satiric touches in -Timon of Athens. - -I was pleased with the reply of a gentleman, who being asked which book -he esteemed most in his library, answered,--"Shakspeare:" being asked -which he esteemed next best, replied,--"Hogarth." His graphic -representations are indeed books: they have the teeming, fruitful, -suggestive meaning of _words_. Other pictures we look at,--his prints we -read. - -In pursuance of this parallel, I have sometimes entertained myself with -comparing the _Timon of Athens_ of Shakspeare (which I have just -mentioned) and Hogarth's _Rake's Progress_ together. The story, the -moral, in both is nearly the same. The wild course of riot and -extravagance, ending in the one with driving the Prodigal from the -society of men into the solitude of the deserts, and in the other with -conducting the Rake through his several stages of dissipation into the -still more complete desolations of the mad-house, in the play and in the -picture are described with almost equal force and nature. The levee of -the Rake, which forms the subject of the second plate in the series, is -almost a transcript of Timon's levee in the opening scene of that play. -We find a dedicating poet, and other similar characters, in both. - -The concluding scene in the _Rake's Progress_ is perhaps superior to the -last scenes of _Timon_. If we seek for something of kindred excellence -in poetry, it must be in the scenes of Lear's beginning madness, where -the King and the Fool and the Tom-o'-Bedlam conspire to produce such a -medley of mirth checked by misery, and misery rebuked by mirth; where -the society of those "strange bed-fellows" which misfortunes have -brought Lear acquainted with, so finely sets forth the destitute state -of the monarch, while the lunatic bans of the one, and the disjointed -sayings and wild but pregnant allusions of the other, so wonderfully -sympathize with that confusion, which they seem to assist in the -production of, in the senses of that "child-changed father." - -In the scene in Bedlam, which terminates the _Rake's Progress_, we find -the same assortment of the ludicrous with the terrible. Here is -desperate madness, the overturning of originally strong thinking -faculties, at which we shudder, as we contemplate the duration and -pressure of affliction which it must have asked to destroy such a -building;--and here is the gradual hurtless lapse into idiocy, of -faculties, which at their best of times never having been strong, we -look upon the consummation of their decay with no more of pity than is -consistent with a smile. The mad taylor, the poor driveller that has -gone out of his wits (and truly he appears to have had no great journey -to go to get past their confines) for the love of _Charming Betty -Careless_,--these half-laughable, scarce-pitiable objects take off from -the horror which the principal figure would of itself raise, at the same -time that they assist the feeling of the scene by contributing to the -general notion of its subject:-- - - Madness, thou chaos of the brain, - What art, that pleasure giv'st, and pain? - Tyranny of Fancy's reign! - Mechanic Fancy, that can build - Vast labyrinths and mazes wild, - With rule disjointed, shapeless measure, - Fill'd with horror, fill'd with pleasure! - Shapes of horror, that would even - Cast doubts of mercy upon heaven. - Shapes of pleasure, that, but seen, - Would split the shaking sides of spleen.[7] - - [7] Lines inscribed under the plate. - -Is it carrying the spirit of comparison to excess to remark, that in the -poor kneeling weeping female, who accompanies her seducer in his sad -decay, there is something analogous to Kent, or Caius, as he delights -rather to be called, in _Lear_,--the noblest pattern of virtue which -even Shakspeare has conceived,--who follows his royal master in -banishment, that had pronounced _his_ banishment, and forgetful at once -of his wrongs and dignities, taking on himself the disguise of a menial, -retains his fidelity to the figure, his loyalty to the carcass, the -shadow, the shell and empty husk of Lear? - -In the perusal of a book, or of a picture, much of the impression which -we receive depends upon the habit of mind which we bring with us to such -perusal. The same circumstance may make one person laugh, which shall -render another very serious; or in the same person the first impression -may be corrected by after-thought. The misemployed incongruous -characters at the _Harlot's Funeral_, on a superficial inspection, -provoke to laughter; but when we have sacrificed the first emotion to -levity, a very different frame of mind succeeds, or the painter has lost -half his purpose. I never look at that wonderful assemblage of depraved -beings, who, without a grain of reverence or pity in their perverted -minds, are performing the sacred exteriors of duty to the relics of -their departed partner in folly, but I am as much moved to sympathy from -the very want of it in them, as I should be by the finest representation -of a virtuous death-bed surrounded by real mourners, pious children, -weeping friends,--perhaps more by the very contrast. What reflexions -does it not awake, of the dreadful heartless state in which the creature -(a female too) must have lived, who in death wants the accompaniment of -one genuine tear. That wretch who is removing the lid of the coffin to -gaze upon the corpse with a face which indicates a perfect negation of -all goodness or womanhood--the hypocrite parson and his demure -partner--all the fiendish group--to a thoughtful mind present a moral -emblem more affecting than if the poor friendless carcass had been -depicted as thrown out to the woods, where wolves had assisted at its -obsequies, itself furnishing forth its own funeral banquet. - -It is easy to laugh at such incongruities as are met together in this -picture,--incongruous objects being of the very essence of -laughter,--but surely the laugh is far different in its kind from that -thoughtless species to which we are moved by mere farce and grotesque. -We laugh when Ferdinand Count Fathom, at the first sight of the white -cliffs of Britain, feels his heart yearn with filial fondness towards -the land of his progenitors, which he is coming to fleece and -plunder,--we smile at the exquisite irony of the passage,--but if we are -not led on by such passages to some more salutary feeling than laughter, -we are very negligent perusers of them in book or picture. - -It is the fashion with those who cry up the great Historical School in -this country, at the head of which Sir Joshua Reynolds is placed, to -exclude Hogarth from that school, as an artist of an inferior and vulgar -class. Those persons seem to me to confound the painting of subjects in -common or vulgar life with the being a vulgar artist. The quantity of -thought which Hogarth crowds into every picture, would alone -_unvulgarize_ every subject which he might choose. Let us take the -lowest of his subjects, the print called _Gin Lane_. Here is plenty of -poverty and low stuff to disgust upon a superficial view; and -accordingly, a cold spectator feels himself immediately disgusted and -repelled. I have seen many turn away from it, not being able to bear it. -The same persons would perhaps have looked with great complacency upon -Poussin's celebrated picture of the _Plague of Athens_.[8] Disease and -Death and bewildering Terror in _Athenian garments_ are endurable, and -come, as the delicate critics express it, within the "limits of -pleasurable sensation." But the scenes of their own St. Giles's, -delineated by their own countryman, are too shocking to think of. Yet if -we could abstract our minds from the fascinating colours of the picture, -and forget the coarse execution (in some respects) of the print, -intended as it was to be a cheap plate, accessible to the poorer sort of -people, for whose instruction it was done, I think we could have no -hesitation in conferring the palm of superior genius upon Hogarth, -comparing this work of his with Poussin's picture. There is more of -imagination in it--that power which draws all things to one,--which -makes things animate and inanimate, beings with their attributes, -subjects and their accessories, take one colour, and serve to one -effect. Every thing in the print, to use a vulgar expression, _tells_. -Every part is full of "strange images of death." It is perfectly amazing -and astounding to look at. Not only the two prominent figures, the woman -and the half-dead man, which are as terrible as any thing which Michael -Angelo ever drew, but every thing else in the print contributes to -bewilder and stupefy,--the very houses, as I heard a friend of mine -express it, tumbling all about in various directions, seem drunk--seem -absolutely reeling from the effect of that diabolical spirit of phrenzy -which goes forth over the whole composition.--To shew the poetical and -almost prophetical conception in the artist, one little circumstance may -serve. Not content with the dying and dead figures, which he has strewed -in profusion over the proper scene of the action, he shews you what (of -a kindred nature) is passing beyond it. Close by the shell, in which, by -direction of the parish beadle, a man is depositing his wife, is an old -wall, which, partaking of the universal decay around it, is tumbling to -pieces. Through a gap in this wall are seen three figures, which appear -to make a part in some funeral procession which is passing by on the -other side of the wall, out of the sphere of the composition. This -extending of the interest beyond the bounds of the subject could only -have been conceived by a great genius. Shakspeare, in his description of -the painting of the Trojan War, in his _Tarquin and Lucrece_, has -introduced a similar device, where the painter made a part stand for the -whole:-- - - For much imaginary work was there, - Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, - That for Achilles' image stood his spear, - Grip'd in an armed hand; himself behind - Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind; - A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, - Stood for the whole to be imagined. - - [8] At the late Mr. Hope's, in Cavendish-square. - -This he well calls _imaginary work_, where the spectator must meet the -artist in his conceptions half way; and it is peculiar to the confidence -of high genius alone to trust so much to spectators or readers. Lesser -artists shew every thing distinct and full, as they require an object to -be made out to themselves before they can comprehend it. - -When I think of the power displayed in this (I will not hesitate to say) -sublime print, it seems to me the extreme narrowness of system alone, -and of that rage for classification, by which, in matters of taste at -least, we are perpetually perplexing instead of arranging our ideas, -that would make us concede to the work of Poussin above-mentioned, and -deny to this of Hogarth, the name of a grand serious composition. - -We are for ever deceiving ourselves with names and theories. We call one -man a great historical painter, because he has taken for his subjects -kings or great men, or transactions over which time has thrown a -grandeur. We term another the painter of common life, and set him down -in our minds for an artist of an inferior class, without reflecting -whether the quantity of thought shewn by the latter may not much more -than level the distinction which their mere choice of subjects may seem -to place between them; or whether, in fact, from that very common life a -great artist may not extract as deep an interest as another man from -that which we are pleased to call history. - -I entertain the highest respect for the talents and virtues of Reynolds, -but I do not like that his reputation should overshadow and stifle the -merits of such a man as Hogarth, nor that to mere names and -classifications we should be content to sacrifice one of the greatest -ornaments of England. - -I would ask the most enthusiastic admirer of Reynolds, whether in the -countenances of his _Staring_ and _Grinning Despair_, which he has given -us for the faces of Ugolino and dying Beaufort, there be any thing -comparable to the expression which Hogarth has put into the face of his -broken-down rake in the last plate but one of the _Rake's Progress_,[9] -where a letter from the manager is brought to him to say that his play -"will not do?" Here all is easy, natural, undistorted, but withal what a -mass of woe is here accumulated!--the long history of a mis-spent life -is compressed into the countenance as plainly as the series of plates -before had told it; here is no attempt at Gorgonian looks which are to -freeze the beholder, no grinning at the antique bedposts, no -face-making, or consciousness of the presence of spectators in or out of -the picture, but grief kept to a man's self, a face retiring from notice -with the shame which great anguish sometimes brings with it,--a final -leave taken of hope,--the coming on of vacancy and stupefaction,--a -beginning alienation of mind looking like tranquillity. Here is matter -for the mind of the beholder to feed on for the hour together,--matter -to feed and fertilize the mind. It is too real to admit one thought -about the power of the artist who did it.--When we compare the -expression in subjects which so fairly admit of comparison, and find the -superiority so clearly to remain with Hogarth, shall the mere -contemptible difference of the scene of it being laid in the one case in -our Fleet or King's Bench Prison, and in the other in the State Prison -of Pisa, or the bed-room of a cardinal,--or that the subject of the one -has never been authenticated, and the other is matter of history,--so -weigh down the real points of the comparison, as to induce us to rank -the artist who has chosen the one scene or subject (though confessedly -inferior in that which constitutes the soul of his art) in a class from -which we exclude the better genius (who has happened to make choice of -the other) with something like disgrace?[10] - - [9] The first perhaps in all Hogarth for serious expression. That - which comes next to it, I think, is the jaded morning countenance of - the debauchee in the second plate of the _Marriage Alamode_, which - lectures on the vanity of pleasure as audibly as any thing in - Ecclesiastes. - - [10] Sir Joshua Reynolds, somewhere in his lectures, speaks of the - _presumption_ of Hogarth in attempting the grand style in painting, - by which he means his choice of certain Scripture subjects. - Hogarth's excursions into Holy Land were not very numerous, but what - he has left us in this kind have at least this merit, that they have - expression of _some sort or other_ in them,--the _Child Moses before - Pharaoh's Daughter_, for instance: which is more than can be said of - Sir Joshua Reynolds's _Repose in Egypt_, painted for Macklin's - Bible, where for a Madona he has substituted a sleepy, insensible, - unmotherly girl, one so little worthy to have been selected as the - Mother of the Saviour, that she seems to have neither heart nor - feeling to entitle her to become a mother at all. But indeed the - race of Virgin Mary painters seems to have been cut up, root and - branch, at the Reformation. Our artists are too good Protestants to - give life to that admirable commixture of maternal tenderness with - reverential awe and wonder approaching to worship, with which the - Virgin Mothers of L. da Vinci and Raphael (themselves by their - divine countenances inviting men to worship) contemplate the union - of the two natures in the person of their Heaven-born Infant. - -The _Boys under Demoniacal Possession_ of Raphael and Dominichino, by -what law of classification are we bound to assign them to belong to the -great style in painting, and to degrade into an inferior class the Rake -of Hogarth when he is the Madman in the Bedlam scene? I am sure he is -far more impressive than either. It is a face which no one that has seen -can easily forget. There is the stretch of human suffering to the utmost -endurance, severe bodily pain brought on by strong mental agony, the -frightful obstinate laugh of madness,--yet all so unforced and natural, -that those who never were witness to madness in real life, think they -see nothing but what is familiar to them in this face. Here are no -tricks of distortion, nothing but the natural face of agony. This is -high tragic painting, and we might as well deny to Shakspeare the -honours of a great tragedian, because he has interwoven scenes of mirth -with the serious business of his plays, as refuse to Hogarth the same -praise for the two concluding scenes of the _Rake's Progress_, because -of the Comic Lunatics[11] which he has thrown into the one, or the -Alchymist that he has introduced in the other, who is paddling in the -coals of his furnace, keeping alive the flames of vain hope within the -very walls of the prison to which the vanity has conducted him, which -have taught the darker lesson of extinguished hope to the desponding -figure who is the principal person of the scene. - - [11] - - There are of madmen, as there are of tame, - All humour'd not alike. We have here some - So apish and fantastic, play with a feather; - And though 'twould grieve a soul to see God's image - So blemish'd and defac'd, yet do they act - Such antick and such pretty lunacies, - That, spite of sorrow, they will make you smile. - Others again we have, like angry lions, - Fierce as wild bulls, untameable as flies. - "Honest Whore." - - -It is the force of these kindly admixtures, which assimilates the scenes -of Hogarth and of Shakspeare to the drama of real life, where no such -thing as pure tragedy is to be found; but merriment and infelicity, -ponderous crime and feather-light vanity, like twiformed births, -disagreeing complexions of one intertexture, perpetually unite to shew -forth motley spectacles to the world. Then it is that the poet or -painter shews his art, when in the selection of these comic adjuncts he -chooses such circumstances as shall relieve, contrast with, or fall -into, without forming a violent opposition to, his principal object. Who -sees not that the Grave-digger in _Hamlet_, the Fool in _Lear_, have a -kind of correspondency to, and fall in with, the subjects which they -seem to interrupt, while the comic stuff in _Venice Preserved_, and the -doggrel nonsense of the Cook and his poisoning associates in the _Rollo_ -of Beaumont and Fletcher, are pure, irrelevant, impertinent -discords,--as bad as the quarrelling dog and cat under the table of the -_Lord and the Disciples at Emmaus_ of Titian? - -Not to tire the reader with perpetual reference to prints which he may -not be fortunate enough to possess, it may be sufficient to remark, that -the same tragic cast of expression and incident, blended in some -instances with a greater alloy of comedy, characterizes his other great -work, the _Marriage Alamode_, as well as those less elaborate exertions -of his genius, the prints called _Industry and Idleness_, the _Distrest -Poet_, &c. forming, with the _Harlot's_ and _Rake's Progresses_, the -most considerable if not the largest class of his productions,--enough -surely to rescue Hogarth from the imputation of being a mere buffoon, or -one whose general aim was only to _shake the sides_. - -There remains a very numerous class of his performances, the object of -which must be confessed to be principally comic. But in all of them will -be found something to distinguish them from the droll productions of -Bunbury and others. They have this difference, that we do not merely -laugh at, we are led into long trains of reflection by them. In this -respect they resemble the characters of Chaucer's _Pilgrims_, which have -strokes of humour in them enough to designate them for the most part as -comic, but our strongest feeling still is wonder at the -comprehensiveness of genius which could crowd, as poet and painter have -done, into one small canvas so many diverse yet co-operating materials. - -The faces of Hogarth have not a mere momentary interest, as in -caricatures, or those grotesque physiognomies which we sometimes catch a -glance of in the street, and, struck with their whimsicality, wish for a -pencil and the power to sketch them down; and forget them again as -rapidly,--but they are permanent abiding ideas. Not the sports of -nature, but her necessary eternal classes. We feel that we cannot part -with any of them, lest a link should be broken. - -It is worthy of observation, that he has seldom drawn a mean or -insignificant countenance.[12] Hogarth's mind was eminently reflective; -and, as it has been well observed of Shakspeare, that he has transfused -his own poetical character into the persons of his drama (they are all -more or less _poets_) Hogarth has impressed a _thinking character_ upon -the persons of his canvas. This remark must not be taken universally. -The exquisite idiotism of the little gentleman in the bag and sword -beating his drum in the print of the _Enraged Musician_, would of itself -rise up against so sweeping an assertion. But I think it will be found -to be true of the generality of his countenances. The knife-grinder and -Jew flute-player in the plate just mentioned may serve as instances -instead of a thousand. They have intense thinking faces, though the -purpose to which they are subservient by no means required it; but -indeed it seems as if it was painful to Hogarth to contemplate mere -vacancy or insignificance. - - [12] If there are any of that description, they are in his - _Strolling Players_, a print which has been cried up by Lord Orford - as the richest of his productions, and it may be, for what I know, - in the mere lumber, the properties, and dead furniture of the scene, - but in living character and expression it is (for Hogarth) - lamentably poor and wanting; it is perhaps the only one of his - performances at which we have a right to feel disgusted. - -This reflection of the artist's own intellect from the faces of his -characters, is one reason why the works of Hogarth, so much more than -those of any other artist are objects of meditation. Our intellectual -natures love the mirror which gives them back their own likenesses. The -mental eye will not bend long with delight upon vacancy. - -Another line of eternal separation between Hogarth and the common -painters of droll or burlesque subjects, with whom he is often -confounded, is the sense of beauty, which in the most unpromising -subjects seems never wholly to have deserted him. "Hogarth himself," -says Mr. Coleridge,[13] from whom I have borrowed this observation, -speaking of a scene which took place at Ratzeburg, "never drew a more -ludicrous distortion, both of attitude and physiognomy, than this effect -occasioned: nor was there wanting beside it one of those beautiful -female faces which the same Hogarth, _in whom the satirist never -extinguished that love of beauty which belonged to him as a poet_, so -often and so gladly introduces as the central figure in a crowd of -humorous deformities, which figure (such is the power of true genius) -neither acts nor is meant to act as a contrast; but diffuses through -all, and over each of the group, a spirit of reconciliation and human -kindness; and even when the attention is no longer consciously directed -to the cause of this feeling, still blends its tenderness with our -laughter: and _thus prevents the instructive merriment at the whims of -nature, or the foibles or humours of our fellow-men, from degenerating -into the heart-poison of contempt or hatred_." To the beautiful females -in Hogarth, which Mr. C. has pointed out, might be added, the frequent -introduction of children (which Hogarth seems to have taken a -particular delight in) into his pieces. They have a singular effect in -giving tranquillity and a portion of their own innocence to the subject. -The baby riding in its mother's lap in the _March to Finchley_, (its -careless innocent face placed directly behind the intriguing -time-furrowed countenance of the treason-plotting French priest) -perfectly sobers the whole of that tumultuous scene. The boy mourner -winding up his top with so much unpretended insensibility in the plate -of the _Harlot's Funeral_, (the only thing in that assembly that is not -a hypocrite) quiets and soothes the mind that has been disturbed at the -sight of so much depraved man and woman kind. - - [13] _The Friend_, No. XVI. - -I had written thus far, when I met with a passage in the writings of the -late Mr. Barry, which, as it falls in with the _vulgar notion_ -respecting Hogarth, which this Essay has been employed in combating, I -shall take the liberty to transcribe, with such remarks as may suggest -themselves to me in the transcription; referring the reader for a full -answer to that which has gone before. - -"Notwithstanding Hogarth's merit does undoubtedly entitle him to an -honourable place amongst the artists, and that his little compositions -considered as so many dramatic representations, abounding with humour, -character, and extensive observations on the various incidents of low, -faulty, and vicious life, are very ingeniously brought together, and -frequently tell their own story with more facility than is often found -in many of the elevated and more noble inventions of Raffael, and other -great men; yet it must be honestly confessed, that in what is called -knowledge of the figure, foreigners have justly observed, that Hogarth -is often so raw, and uninformed, as hardly to deserve the name of an -artist. But this capital defect is not often perceivable, as examples of -the naked and of elevated nature but rarely occur in his subjects, which -are for the most part filled with characters, that in their nature tend -to deformity; besides, his figures are small, and the junctures, and -other difficulties of drawing that might occur in their limbs, are -artfully concealed with their cloaths, rags, &c. But what would atone -for all his defects, even if they were twice told, is his admirable fund -of invention, ever inexhaustible in its resources; and his satire, which -is always sharp and pertinent, and often highly moral, was (except in a -few instances, where he weakly and meanly suffered his integrity to -give way to his envy) seldom or never employed in a dishonest or unmanly -way. - -Hogarth has been often imitated in his satirical vein, sometimes in his -humorous; but very few have attempted to rival him in his moral walk. -The line of art pursued by my very ingenious predecessor and brother -academician, Mr. Penny, is quite distinct from that of Hogarth, and is -of a much more delicate and superior relish; he attempts the heart, and -reaches it, whilst Hogarth's general aim is only to shake the sides: in -other respects no comparison can be thought of, as Mr. Penny has all -that knowledge of the figure and academical skill which the other -wanted. As to Mr. Bunbury, who had so happily succeeded in the vein of -humour and caricatura, he has for some time past altogether relinquished -it, for the more amiable pursuit of beautiful nature: this indeed is not -to be wondered at, when we recollect that he has, in Mrs. Bunbury, so -admirable an exemplar of the most finished grace and beauty, continually -at his elbow. But (to say all that occurs to me on this subject) perhaps -it may be reasonably doubted, whether the being much conversant with -Hogarth's method of exposing meanness, deformity, and vice, in many of -his works, is not rather a dangerous, or, at least, a worthless pursuit; -which, if it does not find a false relish, and a love of, and search -after satire and buffoonery in the spectator, is at least not unlikely -to give him one. Life is short, and the little leisure of it is much -better laid out upon that species of art, which is employed upon the -amiable and the admirable, as it is more likely to be attended with -better and nobler consequences to ourselves. These two pursuits in art, -may be compared with two sets of people with whom we might associate; if -we give ourselves up to the Footes, the Kenricks, &c. we shall be -continually busied, and paddling in whatever is ridiculous, faulty, and -vicious in life; whereas there are those to be found, with whom we -should be in the constant pursuit and study of all that gives a value -and a dignity to human nature." [Account of a Series of Pictures in the -Great Room of the Society of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, at the -Adelphi, by James Barry, R.A., Professor of Painting to the Royal -Academy; reprinted in the last quarto edition of his works.] - -"----it must be honestly confessed, that in what is called knowledge of -the figure, foreigners have justly observed," &c. - -It is a secret well known to the professors of the art and mystery of -criticism, to insist upon what they do not find in a man's works, and to -pass over in silence what they do. That Hogarth did not draw the naked -figure so well as Michael Angelo might be allowed, especially as -"examples of the naked," as Mr. Barry acknowledges, "rarely (he might -almost have said never) occur in his subjects;" and that his figures -under their draperies do not discover all the fine graces of an Antinous -or an Apollo, may be conceded likewise; perhaps it was more suitable to -his purpose to represent the average forms of mankind in the mediocrity -(as Mr. Burke expresses it) of the age in which he lived: but that his -figures in general, and in his best subjects, are so glaringly incorrect -as is here insinuated, I dare trust my own eye so far as positively to -deny the fact. And there is one part of the figure in which Hogarth is -allowed to have excelled, which these foreigners seem to have -overlooked, or perhaps calculating from its proportion to the whole (a -seventh or an eighth, I forget which) deemed it of trifling importance; -I mean the human face; a small part, reckoning by geographical inches, -in the map of man's body, but here it is that the painter of expression -must condense the wonders of his skill, even at the expense of -neglecting the "jonctures and other difficulties of drawing in the -limbs," which it must be a cold eye that in the interest so strongly -demanded by Hogarth's countenances has leisure to survey and censure. - -"The line of art pursued by my very ingenious predecessor and brother -academician, Mr. Penny." - -The first impression caused in me by reading this passage, was an eager -desire to know who this Mr. Penny was. This great surpasser of Hogarth -in the "delicacy of his relish," and the "line which he pursued," where -is he, what are his works, what has he to shew? In vain I tried to -recollect, till by happily putting the question to a friend who is more -conversant in the works of the illustrious obscure than myself, I -learned that he was the painter of a _Death of Wolfe_ which missed the -prize the year that the celebrated picture of West on the same subject -obtained it; that he also made a picture of the _Marquis of Granby -relieving a Sick Soldier_; moreover, that he was the inventor of two -pictures of _Suspended and Restored Animation_, which I now remember to -have seen in the Exhibition some years since, and the prints from which -are still extant in good men's houses. This then I suppose is the line -of subjects in which Mr. Penny was so much superior to Hogarth. I -confess I am not of that opinion. The relieving of poverty by the purse, -and the restoring a young man to his parents by using the methods -prescribed by the Humane Society, are doubtless very amiable subjects, -pretty things to teach the first rudiments of humanity; they amount to -about as much instruction as the stories of good boys that give away -their custards to poor beggar-boys in children's books. But, good God! -is this _milk for babes_ to be set up in opposition to Hogarth's moral -scenes, his _strong meat for men_? As well might we prefer the fulsome -verses upon their own goodness, to which the gentlemen of the Literary -Fund annually sit still with such shameless patience to listen, to the -satires of Juvenal and Persius; because the former are full of tender -images of Worth relieved by Charity, and Charity stretching out her hand -to rescue sinking Genius, and the theme of the latter is men's crimes -and follies with their black consequences--forgetful meanwhile of those -strains of moral pathos, those sublime heart-touches, which these poets -(in _them_ chiefly shewing themselves poets) are perpetually darting -across the otherwise appalling gloom of their subject--consolatory -remembrancers, when their pictures of guilty mankind have made us even -to despair for our species, that there is such a thing as virtue and -moral dignity in the world, that her unquenchable spark is not utterly -out--refreshing admonitions, to which we turn for shelter from the too -great heat and asperity of the general satire. - -And is there nothing analogous to this in Hogarth? nothing which -"attempts and reaches the heart?"--no aim beyond that of "shaking the -sides?"--if the kneeling ministering female in the last scene of the -_Rake's Progress_, the Bedlam scene, of which I have spoken before, and -have dared almost to parallel it with the most absolute idea of Virtue -which Shakspeare has left us, be not enough to disprove the assertion; -if the sad endings of the Harlot and the Rake, the passionate -heart-bleeding entreaties for forgiveness which the adulterous wife is -pouring forth to her assassinated and dying lord in the last scene but -one of the _Marriage Alamode_,--if these be not things to touch the -heart, and dispose the mind to a meditative tenderness: is there nothing -sweetly conciliatory in the mild, patient face and gesture with which -the wife seems to allay and ventilate the feverish irritated feelings of -her poor poverty-distracted mate (the true copy of the _genus -irritabile_) in the print of the _Distrest Poet_? or if an image of -maternal love be required, where shall we find a sublimer view of it -than in that aged woman in _Industry and Idleness_ (plate v.) who is -clinging with the fondness of hope not quite extinguished to her brutal -vice-hardened child, whom she is accompanying to the ship which is to -bear him away from his native soil, of which he has been adjudged -unworthy: in whose shocking face every trace of the human countenance -seems obliterated, and a brute beast's to be left instead, shocking and -repulsive to all but her who watched over it in its cradle before it was -so sadly altered, and feels it must belong to her while a pulse by the -vindictive laws of his country shall be suffered to continue to beat in -it. Compared with such things, what is Mr. Penny's "knowledge of the -figure and academical skill which Hogarth wanted?" - -With respect to what follows concerning another gentleman, with the -congratulations to him on his escape out of the regions of "humour and -caricatura," in which it appears he was in danger of travelling side by -side with Hogarth, I can only congratulate my country, that Mrs. Hogarth -knew _her_ province better than by disturbing her husband at his pallet -to divert him from that universality of subject, which has stamped him -perhaps, next to Shakspeare, the most inventive genius which this island -has produced, into the "amiable pursuit of beautiful nature," _i.e._ -copying ad infinitum the individual charms and graces of Mrs. H----. - -"Hogarth's method of exposing meanness, deformity, and vice, paddling in -whatever is ridiculous, faulty, and vicious." - -A person unacquainted with the works thus stigmatised, would be apt to -imagine, that in Hogarth there was nothing else to be found but subjects -of the coarsest and most repulsive nature. That his imagination was -naturally unsweet, and that he delighted in raking into every species of -moral filth. That he preyed upon sore places only, and took a pleasure -in exposing the unsound and rotten parts of human nature;--whereas, with -the exception of some of the plates of the _Harlot's Progress_, which -are harder in their character than any of the rest of his productions, -(the _Stages of Cruelty_ I omit as mere worthless caricaturas, foreign -to his general habits, the offspring of his fancy in some wayward -humour), there is scarce one of his pieces where vice is most strongly -satirised, in which some figure is not introduced upon which the moral -eye may rest satisfied; a face that indicates goodness, or perhaps mere -good humouredness and carelessness of mind (negation of evil) only, yet -enough to give a relaxation to the frowning brow of satire, and keep the -general air from tainting. Take the mild, supplicating posture of -patient Poverty in the poor woman that is persuading the pawnbroker to -accept her clothes in pledge, in the plate of _Gin Lane_, for an -instance. A little does it, a little of the _good_ nature overpowers a -world of _bad_. One cordial honest laugh of a Tom Jones absolutely -clears the atmosphere that was reeking with the black putrifying -breathings of a hypocrite Blifil. One homely expostulating shrug from -Strap, warms the whole air which the suggestions of a gentlemanly -ingratitude from his friend Random had begun to freeze. One "Lord bless -us!" of Parson Adams upon the wickedness of the times, exorcises and -purges off the mass of iniquity which the world-knowledge of even a -Fielding could cull out and rake together. But of the severer class of -Hogarth's performances, enough, I trust, has been said to shew that they -do not merely shock and repulse; that there is in them the "scorn of -vice" and the "pity" too; something to touch the heart, and keep alive -the sense of moral beauty; the "lacrymæ rerum," and the sorrowing by -which the heart is made better. If they be bad things, then is satire -and tragedy a bad thing; let us proclaim at once an age of gold, and -sink the existence of vice and misery in our speculations; let us - - ----wink, and shut our apprehensions up - From common sense of what men were and are: - -let us _make believe_ with the children that every body is good and -happy; and, with Dr. Swift, write panegyrics upon the world. - -But that larger half of Hogarth's works which were painted more for -entertainment than instruction (though such was the suggestiveness of -his mind, that there is always something to be learnt from them) his -humourous scenes,--are they such as merely to disgust and set us against -our species? - -The confident assertions of such a man as I consider the late Mr. Barry -to have been, have that weight of authority in them which staggers, at -first hearing, even a long preconceived opinion. When I read his -pathetic admonition concerning the shortness of life, and how much -better the little leisure of it were laid out upon "that species of art -which is employed about the amiable and the admirable;" and Hogarth's -"method" proscribed as a "dangerous or worthless pursuit," I began to -think there was something in it; that I might have been indulging all my -life a passion for the works of this artist, to the utter prejudice of -my taste and moral sense; but my first convictions gradually returned, a -world of good-natured English faces came up one by one to my -recollection, and a glance at the matchless _Election Entertainment_, -which I have the happiness to have hanging up in my parlour, subverted -Mr. Barry's whole theory in an instant. - -In that inimitable print, (which in my judgment as far exceeds the more -known and celebrated _March to Finchley_, as the best comedy exceeds the -best farce that ever was written,) let a person look till he be -saturated, and when he has done wondering at the inventiveness of genius -which could bring so many characters (more than thirty distinct classes -of face) into a room, and set them down at table together, or otherwise -dispose them about, in so natural a manner, engage them in so many easy -sets and occupations, yet all partaking of the spirit of the occasion -which brought them together, so that we feel that nothing but an -election time could have assembled them; having no central figure or -principal group, (for the hero of the piece, the Candidate, is properly -set aside in the levelling indistinction of the day, one must look for -him to find him) nothing to detain the eye from passing from part to -part, where every part is alike instinct with life,--for here are no -furniture-faces, no figures brought in to fill up the scene like stage -choruses, but all dramatis personæ: when he shall have done wondering at -all these faces so strongly charactered, yet finished with the accuracy -of the finest miniature; when he shall have done admiring the numberless -appendages of the scene, those gratuitous doles which rich genius flings -into the heap when it has already done enough, the over-measure which it -delights in giving, as if its stores were exhaustless; the dumb rhetoric -of the scenery--for tables, and chairs, and joint-stools in Hogarth, -are living and significant things; the witticisms that are expressed by -words, (all artists but Hogarth have failed when they have endeavoured -to combine two mediums of expression, and have introduced words into -their pictures), and the unwritten numberless little allusive -pleasantries that are scattered about; the work that is going on in the -scene, and beyond it, as is made visible to the "eye of mind," by the -mob which choaks up the door-way, and the sword that has forced an -entrance before its master: when he shall have sufficiently admired this -wealth of genius, let him fairly say what is the _result_ left on his -mind. Is it an impression of the vileness and worthlessness of his -species? or is not the general feeling which remains, after the -individual faces have ceased to act sensibly on his mind, a _kindly one -in favour of his species_? was not the general air of the whole scene -wholesome? did it do the heart hurt to be among it? Something of a -riotous spirit to be sure is there, some worldly-mindedness in some of -the faces, a Doddingtonian smoothness which does not promise any -superfluous degree of sincerity in the fine gentleman who has been the -occasion of calling so much good company together: but is not the -general cast of expression in the faces, of the good sort? do they not -seem cut out of the _good old rock_, substantial English honesty? would -one fear treachery among characters of their expression? or shall we -call their honest mirth and seldom-returning relaxation by the hard -names of vice and profligacy? That poor country fellow, that is grasping -his staff (which, from that difficulty of feeling themselves at home -which poor men experience at a feast, he has never parted with since he -came into the room), and is enjoying with a relish that seems to fit all -the capacities of his soul the slender joke, which that facetious wag -his neighbour is practising upon the gouty gentleman, whose eyes the -effort to suppress pain has made as round as rings--does it shock the -"dignity of human nature" to look at that man, and to sympathise with -him in the seldom-heard joke which has unbent his care-worn hard-working -visage, and drawn iron smiles from it? or with that full-hearted cobbler -who is honouring with the grasp of an honest fist the unused palm of -that annoyed patrician, whom the license of the time has seated next -him? - -I can see nothing "dangerous" in the contemplation of such scenes as -this, or the _Enraged Musician_, or the _Southwark Fair_, or twenty -other pleasant prints which come crowding in upon my recollection, in -which the restless activities, the diversified bents and humours, the -blameless peculiarities of men, as they deserve to be called, rather -than their "vices and follies," are held up in a laughable point of -view. All laughter is not of a dangerous or soul-hardening tendency. -There is the petrifying sneer of a demon which excludes and kills Love, -and there is the cordial laughter of a man which implies and cherishes -it. What heart was ever made the worse by joining in a hearty laugh at -the simplicities of Sir Hugh Evans or Parson Adams, where a sense of the -ridiculous mutually kindles and is kindled by a perception of the -amiable? That tumultuous harmony of singers that are roaring out the -words, "The world shall bow to the Assyrian throne," from the opera of -_Judith_, in the third plate of the series, called the _Four Groups of -Heads_; which the quick eye of Hogarth must have struck off in the very -infancy of the rage for sacred oratorios in this country, while "Music -yet was young;" when we have done smiling at the deafening distortions, -which these tearers of devotion to rags and tatters, these takers of -Heaven by storm, in their boisterous mimicry of the occupation of -angels, are making,--what unkindly impression is left behind, or what -more of harsh or contemptuous feeling, than when we quietly leave Uncle -Toby and Mr. Shandy riding their hobby-horses about the room? The -conceited, long-backed Sign-painter, that with all the self-applause of -a Raphael or Correggio (the twist of body which his conceit has thrown -him into has something of the Correggiesque in it) is contemplating the -picture of a bottle which he is drawing from an actual bottle that hangs -beside him, in the print of _Beer Street_,--while we smile at the -enormity of the self delusion, can we help loving the good humour and -self-complacency of the fellow? would we willingly wake him from his -dream? - -I say not that all the ridiculous subjects of Hogarth have necessarily -something in them to make us like them; some are indifferent to us, some -in their natures repulsive, and only made interesting by the wonderful -skill and truth to nature in the painter; but I contend that there is in -most of them that sprinkling of the better nature, which, like holy -water, chases away and disperses the contagion of the bad. They have -this in them besides, that they bring us acquainted with the every-day -human face,--they give us skill to detect those gradations of sense and -virtue (which escape the careless or fastidious observer) in the -countenances of the world about us; and prevent that disgust at common -life, that _tædium quotidianarum formarum_, which an unrestricted -passion for ideal forms and beauties is in danger of producing. In this, -as in many other things, they are analogous to the best novels of -Smollett or Fielding. - - - - -ON THE CUSTOM OF HISSING AT THE THEATRES, WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF A CLUB OF -DAMNED AUTHORS - -(1811) - - -Mr. Reflector, I am one of those persons whom the world has thought -proper to designate by the title of Damned Authors. In that memorable -season of dramatic failures, 1806-7, in which no fewer, I think, than -two tragedies, four comedies, one opera, and three farces, suffered at -Drury-lane theatre, I was found guilty of constructing an afterpiece, -and was _damned_. - -Against the decision of the public in such instances there can be no -appeal. The Clerk of Chatham might as well have protested against the -decision of Cade and his followers, who were then _the public_. Like him -I was condemned, because I could write. - -Not but it did appear to some of us, that the measures of the popular -tribunal at that period savoured a little of harshness and of the -_summum jus_. The public mouth was early in the season fleshed upon the -_Vindictive Man_, and some pieces of that nature, and it retained -through the remainder of it a relish of blood. As Dr. Johnson would have -said; sir, there was a habit of sibilation in the house. - -Still less am I disposed to inquire into the reason of the comparative -lenity, on the other hand, with which some pieces were treated, which, -to indifferent judges, seemed at least as much deserving of -condemnation as some of those which met with it. I am willing to put a -favourable construction upon the votes that were given against us; I -believe that there was no bribery or designed partiality in the -case;--only "our nonsense did not happen to suit their nonsense;" that -was all. - -But against the _manner_ in which the public on these occasions think -fit to deliver their disapprobation, I must and ever will protest. - -Sir, imagine----but you have been present at the damning of a -piece----those who never had that felicity, I beg them to imagine--a -vast theatre, like that which Drury-lane was, before it was a heap of -dust and ashes (I insult not over its fallen greatness, let it recover -itself when it can for me, let it lift up its towering head once more, -and take in poor authors to write for it, hic cœstus artemque repono)--a -theatre like that, filled with all sorts of disgusting sounds,--shrieks, -groans, hisses, but chiefly the last, like the noise of many waters, or -that which Don Quixote heard from the fulling mills, or that wilder -combination of devilish sounds which St. Anthony listened to in the -wilderness. - -O, Mr. Reflector, is it not a pity, that the sweet human voice, which -was given man to speak with, to sing with, to whisper tones of love in, -to express compliance, to convey a favour, or to grant a suit--that -voice, which in a Siddons, or a Braham, rouses us, in a Syren Catalani -charms and captivates us,--that the musical, expressive human voice -should be converted into a rival of the noises of silly geese, and -irrational venomous snakes! - -I shall never forget the sounds on _my night_; I never before that time -fully felt the reception which the Author of All Ill in the Paradise -Lost meets with from the critics in the _pit_, at the final close of his -Tragedy upon the Human Race--though that, alas! met with too much -success-- - - ----from innumerable tongues, - A dismal universal _hiss_, the sound - Of public scorn.--Dreadful was the din - Of _hissing_ through the hall, thick swarming now - With complicated monsters, head and tail, - Scorpion and asp, and Amphisbœna dire, - Cerastes horn'd, Hydrus, and Elops drear, - And Dipsas. - -For hall substitute theatre, and you have the very image of what takes -place at what is called the _damnation_ of a piece,--and properly so -called; for here you see its origin plainly, whence the custom was -derived, and what the first piece was that so suffered. After this none -can doubt the propriety of the appellation. - -But, sir, as to the justice of bestowing such appalling, heart-withering -denunciations of the popular obloquy, upon the venial mistake of a poor -author, who thought to please us in the act of filling his pockets,--for -the sum of his demerits amounts to no more than that,--it does, I own, -seem to me a species of retributive justice, far too severe for the -offence. A culprit in the pillory (bate the eggs) meets with no severer -exprobation. - -Indeed, I have often wondered that some modest critic has not proposed, -that there should be a wooden machine to that effect erected in some -convenient part of the proscenium, which an unsuccessful author should -be required to mount, and stand his hour, exposed to the apples and -oranges of the pit;--this amende honorable would well suit with the -meanness of some authors, who in their prologues fairly prostrate their -sculls to the Audience, and seem to invite a pelting. - -Or why should they not have their pens publicly broke over their heads, -as the swords of recreant knights in old times were, and an oath -administered to them that they should never write again. - -Seriously, _Messieurs the Public_, this outrageous way which you have -got of expressing your displeasures, is too much for the occasion. When -I was deafening under the effects of it, I could not help asking, what -crime of great moral turpitude I had committed: for every man about me -seemed to feel the offence as personal to himself, as something which -public interest and private feelings alike called upon him in the -strongest possible manner to stigmatise with infamy. - -The Romans, it is well known to you, Mr. Reflector, took a gentler -method of marking their disapprobation of an author's work. They were a -humane and equitable nation.--They left the furca and the patibulum, the -axe and the rods, to great offenders: for these minor, and (if I may so -term them) extra-moral offences, the _bent thumb_ was considered as a -sufficient sign of disapprobation, _vertere pollicem_; as the _pressed -thumb_, _premere pollicem_, was a mark of approving. - -And really there seems to have been a sort of fitness in this method, a -correspondency of sign in the punishment to the offence; for as the -action of _writing_ is performed by bending the thumb forward, the -retroversion, or bending back of that joint, did not unaptly point to -the _opposite of that action_, implying, that it was the will of the -audience that the author should _write no more_. A much more -significant, as well as more humane, way of expressing that desire, than -our custom of hissing, which is altogether senseless and indefensible. -Nor do we find that the Roman audiences deprived themselves, by this -lenity, of any tittle of that supremacy which audiences in all ages have -thought themselves bound to maintain over such as have been candidates -for their applause. On the contrary, by this method they seem to have -had the author, as we should express it, completely _under finger and -thumb_. - -The provocations to which a dramatic genius is exposed from the public -are so much the more vexatious, as they are removed from any possibility -of retaliation, the hope of which sweetens most other injuries:--for the -public _never writes itself_.--Not but something very like it took place -at the time of the O.P. differences. The placards which were nightly -exhibited, were, properly speaking, the composition of the public.--The -public wrote them, the public applauded them, and precious morceaus of -wit and eloquence they were; except some few, of a better quality, which -it is well known were furnished by professed dramatic writers. After -this specimen of what the public can do for itself, it should be a -little slow in condemning what others do for it. - -As the degrees of malignancy vary in people according as they have more -or less of the Old Serpent (the father of hisses) in their composition, -I have sometimes amused myself with analyzing this many-headed hydra, -which calls itself the public, into the component parts of which it is -"complicated, head and tail," and seeing how many varieties of the snake -kind it can afford. - -First, there is the Common English Snake.--This is that part of the -auditory who are always the majority at damnations, but who, having no -critical venom in themselves to sting them on, stay till they hear -others hiss, and then join in for company. - -The Blind Worm is a species very nearly allied to the foregoing. Some -naturalists have doubted whether they are not the same. - -The Rattle Snake.--These are your obstreperous talking critics,--the -impertinent guides of the pit,--who will not give a plain man leave to -enjoy an evening's entertainment, but with their frothy jargon, and -incessant finding of faults, either drown his pleasure quite, or force -him in his own defence to join in their clamorous censure. The hiss -always originates with these. When this creature springs his _rattle_, -you would think, from the noise it makes, there was something in it; but -you have only to examine the instrument from which the noise proceeds, -and you will find it typical of a critic's tongue,--a shallow membrane, -empty, voluble, and seated in the most contemptible part of the -creature's body. - -The Whip Snake.--This is he that lashes the poor author the next day in -the newspapers. - -The Deaf Adder, or Surda Echidna of Linnæus.--Under this head may be -classed all that portion of the spectators (for audience they properly -are not) who not finding the first act of a piece answer to their -preconceived notions of what a first act should be, like _Obstinate_ in -_John Bunyan_, positively thrust their fingers in their ears, that they -may not hear a word of what is coming, though perhaps the very next act -may be composed in a style as different as possible, and be written -quite to their own tastes. These Adders refuse to hear the voice of the -charmer, because the tuning of his instrument gave them offence. - -I should weary you and myself too, if I were to go through all the -classes of the serpent kind. Two qualities are common to them all. They -are creatures of remarkably cold digestions, and chiefly haunt _pits_ -and low grounds. - -I proceed with more pleasure to give you an account of a Club to which I -have the honour to belong. There are fourteen of us, who are all authors -that have been once in our lives what is called _damned_. We meet on the -anniversaries of our respective nights, and make ourselves merry at the -expence of the public. The chief tenets which distinguish our society, -and which every man among us is bound to hold for gospel, are,-- - -That the public, or mob, in all ages, have been a set of blind, deaf, -obstinate, senseless, illiterate savages. That no man of genius in his -senses would be ambitious of pleasing such a capricious, ungrateful -rabble. That the only legitimate end of writing for them is to pick -their pockets, and, _that failing_, we are at full liberty to vilify and -abuse them as much as ever we think fit. - -That authors, by their affected pretences to humility, which they make -use of as a cloak to insinuate their writings into the callous senses of -the multitude, obtuse to every thing but the grossest flattery, have by -degrees made that great beast their master; as we may act submission to -children till we are obliged to practise it in earnest. That authors are -and ought to be considered the masters and preceptors of the public, and -not _vice versa_. That it was so in the days of Orpheus, Linus, and -Musæus, and would be so again, if it were not that writers prove -traitors to themselves. That in particular, in the days of the first of -those three great authors just mentioned, audiences appear to have been -perfect models of what audiences should be; for though along with the -trees and the rocks and the wild creatures, which he drew after him to -listen to his strains, some serpents doubtless came to hear his music, -it does not appear that any one among them ever lifted up a _dissentient -voice_. They knew what was due to authors in those days. Now every stock -and stone turns into a serpent, and has a voice. - -That the terms "Courteous Reader" and "Candid Auditors," as having given -rise to a false notion in those to whom they were applied, as if they -conferred upon them some right, _which they cannot have_, of exercising -their judgments, ought to be utterly banished and exploded. - -These are our distinguishing tenets. To keep up the memory of the cause -in which we suffered, as the ancients sacrificed a goat, a supposed -unhealthy animal, to Æsculapius, on our feast-nights we cut up a goose, -an animal typical of the _popular voice_, to the deities of Candour and -Patient Hearing. A zealous member of the society once proposed that we -should revive the obsolete luxury of viper-broth; but the stomachs of -some of the company rising at the proposition, we lost the benefit of -that highly salutary and _antidotal dish_. - -The privilege of admission to our club is strictly limited to such as -have been fairly _damned_. A piece that has met with ever so little -applause, that has but languished its night or two, and then gone out, -will never entitle its author to a seat among us. An exception to our -usual readiness in conferring this privilege is, in the case of a -writer, who having been once condemned, writes again, and becomes -candidate for a second martyrdom. Simple damnation we hold to be a -merit, but to be twice-damned we adjudge infamous. Such a one we utterly -reject, and black-ball without a hearing:-- - - _The common damn'd shun his society._ - - -Hoping that your publication of our Regulations may be a means of -inviting some more members into our society, I conclude this long -letter. I am, Sir, yours, - - SEMEL-DAMNATUS. - - - - -ON BURIAL SOCIETIES; AND THE CHARACTER OF AN UNDERTAKER - -(1811. TEXT OF 1818) - -_To the Editor of the Reflector_ - - -Mr. Reflector,--I was amused the other day with having the following -notice thrust into my hand by a man who gives out bills at the corner of -Fleet-market. Whether he saw any prognostics about me, that made him -judge such notice seasonable, I cannot say; I might perhaps carry in a -countenance (naturally not very florid) traces of a fever which had not -long left me. Those fellows have a good instinctive way of guessing at -the sort of people that are likeliest to pay attention to their papers. - - "BURIAL SOCIETY - - "A favourable opportunity now offers to any person, of either sex, - who would wish to be buried in a genteel manner, by paying one - shilling entrance, and two-pence per week for the benefit of the - stock. Members to be free in six months. The money to be paid at Mr. - Middleton's, at the sign of the _First_ and the _Last_, - Stonecutter's street, Fleet-market. The deceased to be furnished as - follows:--A strong elm coffin, covered with superfine black, and - finished with two rows, all round, close drove, best japanned nails, - and adorned with ornamental drops, a handsome plate of inscription, - Angel above, and Flower beneath, and four pair of handsome handles, - with wrought grips; the coffin to be well pitched, lined, and - ruffled with fine crape; a handsome crape shroud, cap, and pillow. - For use, a handsome velvet pall, three gentlemen's cloaks, three - crape hatbands, three hoods and scarfs, and six pair of gloves; two - porters equipped to attend the funeral, a man to attend the same - with band and gloves; also, the burial fees paid, if not exceeding - one guinea." - -"Man," says Sir Thomas Browne, "is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, -and pompous in the grave." Whoever drew up this little advertisement, -certainly understood this appetite in the species, and has made abundant -provision for it. It really almost induces a _tædium vitæ_ upon one to -read it. Methinks I could be willing to die, in death to be so attended. -The two rows all round close-drove best black japanned nails,--how -feelingly do they invite and almost irresistibly persuade us to come and -be fastened down! what aching head can resist the temptation to repose, -which the crape shroud, the cap, and the pillow present; what sting is -there in death, which the handles with wrought gripes are not calculated -to pluck away? what victory in the grave, which the drops and the velvet -pall do not render at least extremely disputable; but above all, the -pretty emblematic plate with the Angel above and the Flower beneath, -takes me mightily. - -The notice goes on to inform us, that though the society has been -established but a very few years, upwards of eleven hundred persons have -put down their names. It is really an affecting consideration to think -of so many poor people, of the industrious and hard working class (for -none but such would be possessed of such a generous forethought) -clubbing their twopences to save the reproach of a parish funeral. Many -a poor fellow, I dare swear, has that Angel and Flower kept from the -_Angel_ and _Punchbowl_, while, to provide himself a bier, he has -curtailed himself of _beer_. Many a savory morsel has the living body -been deprived of, that the lifeless one might be served up in a richer -state to the worms. And sure, if the body could understand the actions -of the soul, and entertain generous notions of things, it would thank -its provident partner, that she had been more solicitous to defend it -from dishonours at its dissolution, than careful to pamper it with good -things in the time of its union. If Cæsar were chiefly anxious at his -death how he might die most decently, every Burial Society may be -considered as a Club of Cæsars. - -Nothing tends to keep up, in the imaginations of the poorer sort of -people, a generous horror of the workhouse more than the manner in which -pauper funerals are conducted in this metropolis. The coffin nothing but -a few naked planks, coarsely put together,--the want of a pall (that -decent and well-imagined veil, which, hiding the coffin that hides the -body, keeps that which would shock us at two removes from us), the -coloured coats of the men that are hired, at cheap rates, to carry the -body,--altogether, give the notion of the deceased having been some -person of an ill-life and conversation, some one who may not claim the -entire rites of Christian burial,--one by whom some parts of the sacred -ceremony would be desecrated if they should be bestowed upon him. I meet -these meagre processions sometimes in the street. They are sure to make -me out of humour and melancholy all the day after. They have a harsh and -ominous aspect. - -If there is anything in the prospectus issued from Mr. Middleton's, -Stonecutter's-street, which pleases me less than the rest, it is to -find, that the six pair of gloves are to be returned, that they are only -lent, or, as the bill expresses it, for use, on the occasion. The hood, -scarfs, and hatbands, may properly enough be given up after the -solemnity: the cloaks no gentleman would think of keeping; but a pair of -gloves, once fitted on, ought not in courtesy to be re-demanded. The -wearer should certainly have the fee-simple of them. The cost would be -but trifling, and they would be a proper memorial of the day. This part -of the Proposal wants reconsidering. It is not conceived in the same -liberal way of thinking as the rest. I am also a little doubtful whether -the limit, within which the burial-fee is made payable, should not be -extended to thirty shillings. - -Some provision too ought undoubtedly to be made in favour of those -well-intentioned persons and well-wishers to the fund, who, having all -along paid their subscriptions regularly, are so unfortunate as to die -before the six months, which would entitle them to their freedom, are -quite completed. One can hardly imagine a more distressing case than -that of a poor fellow lingering on in a consumption till the period of -his freedom is almost in sight, and then finding himself going with a -velocity which makes it doubtful whether he shall be entitled to his -funeral honours: his quota to which he nevertheless squeezes out, to the -diminution of the comforts which sickness demands. I think, in such -cases, some of the contribution-money ought to revert. With some such -modifications, which might easily be introduced, I see nothing in these -Proposals of Mr. Middleton which is not strictly fair and genteel; and -heartily recommend them to all persons of moderate incomes, in either -sex, who are willing that this perishable part of them should quit the -scene of its mortal activities, with as handsome circumstances as -possible. - -Before I quit the subject, I must guard my readers against a scandal, -which they may be apt to take at the place whence these Proposals -purport to be issued. From the sign of the _First_ and the _Last_, they -may conclude that Mr. Middleton is some publican, who, in assembling a -club of this description at his house, may have a sinister end of his -own, altogether foreign to the solemn purpose for which the club is -pretended to be instituted. I must set them right by informing them that -the issuer of these Proposals is no publican, though he hangs out a -sign, but an honest superintendent of funerals, who, by the device of a -Cradle and a Coffin, connecting both ends of human existence together, -has most ingeniously contrived to insinuate, that the framers of these -_first_ and _last_ receptacles of mankind divide this our life betwixt -them, and that all that passes from the midwife to the undertaker may, -in strict propriety, _go for nothing_: an awful and instructive lesson -to human vanity. - -Looking over some papers lately that fell into my hands by chance, and -appear to have been written about the beginning of the last century, I -stumbled, among the rest, upon the following short Essay, which the -writer calls "_The character of an Undertaker_." It is written with some -stiffness and peculiarities of style, but some parts of it, I think, not -unaptly characterise the profession to which Mr. Middleton has the -honour to belong. The writer doubtless had in his mind the entertaining -character of _Sable_, in Steele's excellent comedy of the _Funeral_. - -CHARACTER OF AN UNDERTAKER - -"He is master of the ceremonies at burials and mourning assemblies, -grand marshal at funeral processions, the only true yeoman of the body, -over which he exercises a dictatorial authority from the moment that the -breath has taken leave to that of its final commitment to the earth. His -ministry begins where the physician's, the lawyer's, and the divine's, -end. Or if some part of the functions of the latter run parallel with -his, it is only _in ordine ad spiritualia_. His temporalities remain -unquestioned. He is arbitrator of all questions of honour which may -concern the defunct; and upon slight inspection will pronounce how long -he may remain in this upper world with credit to himself, and when it -will be prudent for his reputation that he should retire. His -determination in these points is peremptory and without appeal. Yet, -with a modesty peculiar to his profession, he meddles not out of his own -sphere. With the good or bad actions of the deceased in his life-time he -has nothing to do. He leaves the friends of the dead man to form their -own conjectures as to the place to which the departed spirit is gone. -His care is only about the exuviæ. He concerns not himself even about -the body, as it is a structure of parts internal, and a wonderful -microcosm. He leaves such curious speculations to the anatomy professor. -Or, if any thing, he is averse to such wanton enquiries, as delighting -rather that the parts which he has care of should be returned to their -kindred dust in as handsome and unmutilated condition as possible; that -the grave should have its full and unimpaired tribute,--a complete and -just carcass. Nor is he only careful to provide for the body's -entireness, but for its accommodation and ornament. He orders the -fashion of its clothes, and designs the symmetry of its dwelling. Its -vanity has an innocent survival in him. He is bed-maker to the dead. The -pillows which he lays never rumple. The day of interment is the theatre -in which he displays the mysteries of his art. It is hard to describe -what he is, or rather to tell what he is not, on that day: for, being -neither kinsman, servant, nor friend, he is all in turns; a -transcendent, running through all those relations. His office is to -supply the place of self-agency in the family, who are presumed -incapable of it through grief. He is eyes, and ears, and hands, to the -whole household. A draught of wine cannot go round to the mourners, but -he must minister it. A chair may hardly be restored to its place by a -less solemn hand than his. He takes upon himself all functions, and is a -sort of ephemeral major-domo! He distributes his attentions among the -company assembled according to the degree of affliction, which he -calculates from the degree of kin to the deceased; and marshals them -accordingly in the procession. He himself is of a sad and tristful -countenance; yet such as (if well examined) is not without some show of -patience and resignation at bottom: prefiguring, as it were, to the -friends of the deceased, what their grief shall be when the hand of Time -shall have softened and taken down the bitterness of their first -anguish; so handsomely can he fore-shape and anticipate the work of -Time. Lastly, with his wand, as with another divining rod, he calculates -the depth of earth at which the bones of the dead man may rest, which he -ordinarily contrives may be at such a distance from the surface of this -earth, as may frustrate the profane attempts of such as would violate -his repose, yet sufficiently on this side the centre to give his friends -hopes of an easy and practicable resurrection. And here we leave him, -casting in dust to dust, which is the last friendly office that he -_undertakes_ to do." - - -Begging your pardon for detaining you so long among "graves, and worms, -and epitaphs," - - I am, Sir, - - Your humble servant, - - MORITORUS. - - - - -ON THE TRAGEDIES OF SHAKSPEARE, CONSIDERED WITH REFERENCE TO THEIR -FITNESS FOR STAGE REPRESENTATION - -(1811. TEXT OF 1818) - - -Taking a turn the other day in the Abbey, I was struck with the affected -attitude of a figure, which I do not remember to have seen before, and -which upon examination proved to be a whole-length of the celebrated Mr. -Garrick. Though I would not go so far with some good catholics abroad as -to shut players altogether out of consecrated ground, yet I own I was -not a little scandalized at the introduction of theatrical airs and -gestures into a place set apart to remind us of the saddest realities. -Going nearer, I found inscribed under this harlequin figure the -following lines:-- - - To paint fair Nature, by divine command, - Her magic pencil in his glowing hand, - A Shakspeare rose: then to expand his fame - Wide o'er this breathing world, a Garrick came. - Though sunk in death the forms the Poet drew, - The Actor's genius bade them breathe anew; - Though, like the bard himself, in night they lay, - Immortal Garrick call'd them back to day: - And till ETERNITY with power sublime, - Shall mark the mortal hour of hoary TIME, - SHAKSPEARE and GARRICK like twin stars shall shine, - And earth irradiate with a beam divine. - -It would be an insult to my readers' understandings to attempt any thing -like a criticism on this farrago of false thoughts and nonsense. But the -reflection it led me into was a kind of wonder, how, from the days of -the actor here celebrated to our own, it should have been the fashion to -compliment every performer in his turn, that has had the luck to please -the town in any of the great characters of Shakspeare, with the notion -of possessing a _mind congenial with the poet's_: how people should come -thus unaccountably to confound the power of originating poetical images -and conceptions with the faculty of being able to read or recite the -same when put into words;[14] or what connection that absolute mastery -over the heart and soul of man, which a great dramatic poet possesses, -has with those low tricks upon the eye and ear, which a player by -observing a few general effects, which some common passion, as grief, -anger, &c. usually has upon the gestures and exterior, can so easily -compass. To know the internal workings and movements of a great mind, of -an Othello or a Hamlet for instance, the _when_ and the _why_ and the -_how far_ they should be moved; to what pitch a passion is becoming; to -give the reins and to pull in the curb exactly at the moment when the -drawing in or the slackening is most graceful; seems to demand a reach -of intellect of a vastly different extent from that which is employed -upon the bare imitation of the signs of these passions in the -countenance or gesture, which signs are usually observed to be most -lively and emphatic in the weaker sort of minds, and which signs can -after all but indicate some passion, as I said before, anger, or grief, -generally; but of the motives and grounds of the passion, wherein it -differs from the same passion in low and vulgar natures, of these the -actor can give no more idea by his face or gesture than the eye (without -a metaphor) can speak, or the muscles utter intelligible sounds. But -such is the instantaneous nature of the impressions which we take in at -the eye and ear at a playhouse, compared with the slow apprehension -oftentimes of the understanding in reading, that we are apt not only to -sink the play-writer in the consideration which we pay to the actor, but -even to identify in our minds in a perverse manner, the actor with the -character which he represents. It is difficult for a frequent playgoer -to disembarrass the idea of Hamlet from the person and voice of Mr. K. -We speak of Lady Macbeth, while we are in reality thinking of Mrs. S. -Nor is this confusion incidental alone to unlettered persons, who, not -possessing the advantage of reading, are necessarily dependent upon the -stage-player for all the pleasure which they can receive from the drama, -and to whom the very idea of _what an author is_ cannot be made -comprehensible without some pain and perplexity of mind: the error is -one from which persons otherwise not meanly lettered, find it almost -impossible to extricate themselves. - - [14] It is observable that we fall into this confusion only in - _dramatic_ recitations. We never dream that the gentleman who reads - Lucretius in public with great applause, is therefore a great poet - and philosopher; nor do we find that Tom Davies, the bookseller, who - is recorded to have recited the Paradise Lost better than any man in - England in his day (though I cannot help thinking there must be some - mistake in this tradition) was therefore, by his intimate friends, - set upon a level with Milton. - -Never let me be so ungrateful as to forget the very high degree of -satisfaction which I received some years back from seeing for the first -time a tragedy of Shakspeare performed, in which these two great -performers sustained the principal parts. It seemed to embody and -realize conceptions which had hitherto assumed no distinct shape. But -dearly do we pay all our life after for this juvenile pleasure, this -sense of distinctness. When the novelty is past, we find to our cost -that instead of realizing an idea, we have only materialized and brought -down a fine vision to the standard of flesh and blood. We have let go a -dream, in quest of an unattainable substance. - -How cruelly this operates upon the mind, to have its free conceptions -thus crampt and pressed down to the measure of a strait-lacing -actuality, may be judged from that delightful sensation of freshness, -with which we turn to those plays of Shakspeare which have escaped being -performed, and to those passages in the acting plays of the same writer -which have happily been left out in performance. How far the very custom -of hearing any thing _spouted_, withers and blows upon a fine passage, -may be seen in those speeches from Henry the Fifth, &c. which are -current in the mouths of school-boys from their being to be found in -_Enfield Speakers_, and such kind of books. I confess myself utterly -unable to appreciate that celebrated soliloquy in Hamlet, beginning "To -be or not to be," or to tell whether it be good, bad, or indifferent, it -has been so handled and pawed about by declamatory boys and men, and -torn so inhumanly from its living place and principle of continuity in -the play, till it is become to me a perfect dead member. - -It may seem a paradox, but I cannot help being of opinion that the plays -of Shakspeare are less calculated for performance on a stage, than those -of almost any other dramatist whatever. Their distinguished excellence -is a reason that they should be so. There is so much in them, which -comes not under the province of acting, with which eye, and tone, and -gesture, have nothing to do. - -The glory of the scenic art is to personate passion, and the turns of -passion; and the more coarse and palpable the passion is, the more hold -upon the eyes and ears of the spectators the performer obviously -possesses. For this reason, scolding scenes, scenes where two persons -talk themselves into a fit of fury, and then in a surprising manner talk -themselves out of it again, have always been the most popular upon our -stage. And the reason is plain, because the spectators are here most -palpably appealed to, they are the proper judges in this war of words, -they are the legitimate ring that should be formed round such -"intellectual prize-fighters." Talking is the direct object of the -imitation here. But in all the best dramas, and in Shakspeare above all, -how obvious it is, that the form of _speaking_, whether it be in -soliloquy or dialogue, is only a medium, and often a highly artificial -one, for putting the reader or spectator into possession of that -knowledge of the inner structure and workings of mind in a character, -which he could otherwise never have arrived at _in that form of -composition_ by any gift short of intuition. We do here as we do with -novels written in the _epistolary form_. How many improprieties, perfect -solecisms in letter-writing, do we put up with in Clarissa and other -books, for the sake of the delight which that form upon the whole gives -us. - -But the practice of stage representation reduces every thing to a -controversy of elocution. Every character, from the boisterous -blasphemings of Bajazet to the shrinking timidity of womanhood, must -play the orator. The love-dialogues of Romeo and Juliet, those -silver-sweet sounds of lovers' tongues by night; the more intimate and -sacred sweetness of nuptial colloquy between an Othello or a Posthumus -with their married wives, all those delicacies which are so delightful -in the reading, as when we read of those youthful dalliances in -Paradise-- - - As beseem'd - Fair couple link'd in happy nuptial league, - Alone: - -by the inherent fault of stage representation, how are these things -sullied and turned from their very nature by being exposed to a large -assembly; when such speeches as Imogen addresses to her lord, come -drawling out of the mouth of a hired actress, whose courtship, though -nominally addressed to the personated Posthumus, is manifestly aimed at -the spectators, who are to judge of her endearments and her returns of -love. - -The character of Hamlet is perhaps that by which, since the days of -Betterton, a succession of popular performers have had the greatest -ambition to distinguish themselves. The length of the part may be one of -their reasons. But for the character itself, we find it in a play, and -therefore we judge it a fit subject of dramatic representation. The play -itself abounds in maxims and reflexions beyond any other, and therefore -we consider it as a proper vehicle for conveying moral instruction. But -Hamlet himself--what does he suffer meanwhile by being dragged forth as -a public schoolmaster, to give lectures to the crowd! Why, nine parts in -ten of what Hamlet does, are transactions between himself and his moral -sense, they are the effusions of his solitary musings, which he retires -to holes and corners and the most sequestered parts of the palace to -pour forth; or rather, they are the silent meditations with which his -bosom is bursting, reduced to _words_ for the sake of the reader, who -must else remain ignorant of what is passing there. These profound -sorrows, these light-and-noise-abhorring ruminations, which the tongue -scarce dares utter to deaf walls and chambers, how can they be -represented by a gesticulating actor, who comes and mouths them out -before an audience, making four hundred people his confidants at once? I -say not that it is the fault of the actors so to do; he must pronounce -them _ore rotundo_, he must accompany them with his eye, he must -insinuate them into his auditory by some trick of eye, tone, or gesture, -or he fails. _He must be thinking all the while of his appearance, -because he knows that all the while the spectators are judging of it._ -And this is the way to represent the shy, negligent, retiring Hamlet. - -It is true that there is no other mode of conveying a vast quantity of -thought and feeling to a great portion of the audience, who otherwise -would never earn it for themselves by reading, and the intellectual -acquisition gained this way may, for aught I know, be inestimable; but I -am not arguing that Hamlet should not be acted, but how much Hamlet is -made another thing by being acted. I have heard much of the wonders -which Garrick performed in this part; but as I never saw him, I must -have leave to doubt whether the representation of such a character came -within the province of his art. Those who tell me of him, speak of his -eye, of the magic of his eye, and of his commanding voice: physical -properties, vastly desirable in an actor, and without which he can never -insinuate meaning into an auditory,--but what have they to do with -Hamlet? what have they to do with intellect? In fact, the things aimed -at in theatrical representation, are to arrest the spectator's eye upon -the form and the gesture, and so to gain a more favourable hearing to -what is spoken: it is not what the character is, but how he looks; not -what he says, but how he speaks it. I see no reason to think that if the -play of Hamlet were written over again by some such writer as Banks or -Lillo, retaining the process of the story, but totally omitting all the -poetry of it, all the divine features of Shakspeare, his stupendous -intellect; and only taking care to give us enough of passionate -dialogue, which Banks or Lillo were never at a loss to furnish; I see -not how the effect could be much different upon an audience, nor how the -actor has it in his power to represent Shakspeare to us differently from -his representation of Banks or Lillo. Hamlet would still be a youthful -accomplished prince, and must be gracefully personated; he might be -puzzled in his mind, wavering in his conduct, seemingly-cruel to -Ophelia, he might see a ghost, and start at it, and address it kindly -when he found it to be his father; all this in the poorest and most -homely language of the servilest creeper after nature that ever -consulted the palate of an audience; without troubling Shakspeare for -the matter: and I see not but there would be room for all the power -which an actor has, to display itself. All the passions and changes of -passion might remain: for those are much less difficult to write or act -than is thought, it is a trick easy to be attained, it is but rising or -falling a note or two in the voice, a whisper with a significant -foreboding look to announce its approach, and so contagious the -counterfeit appearance of any emotion is, that let the words be what -they will, the look and tone shall carry it off and make it pass for -deep skill in the passions. - -It is common for people to talk of Shakspeare's plays being _so -natural_; that every body can understand him. They are natural indeed, -they are grounded deep in nature, so deep that the depth of them lies -out of the reach of most of us. You shall hear the same persons say that -George Barnwell is very natural, and Othello is very natural, that they -are both very deep; and to them they are the same kind of thing. At the -one they sit and shed tears, because a good sort of young man is tempted -by a naughty woman to commit a _trifling peccadillo_, the murder of an -uncle or so,[15] that is all, and so comes to an untimely end, which is -_so moving_; and at the other, because a blackamoor in a fit of jealousy -kills his innocent white wife: and the odds are that ninety-nine out of -a hundred would willingly behold the same catastrophe happen to both the -heroes, and have thought the rope more due to Othello than to Barnwell. -For of the texture of Othello's mind, the inward construction -marvellously laid open with all its strengths and weaknesses, its heroic -confidences and its human misgivings, its agonies of hate springing from -the depths of love, they see no more than the spectators at a cheaper -rate, who pay their pennies a-piece to look through the man's telescope -in Leicester-fields, see into the inward plot and topography of the -moon. Some dim thing or other they see, they see an actor personating a -passion, of grief, or anger, for instance, and they recognize it as a -copy of the usual external effects of such passions; or at least as -being true to _that symbol of the emotion which passes current at the -theatre for it_, for it is often no more than that: but of the grounds -of the passion, its correspondence to a great or heroic nature, which is -the only worthy object of tragedy,--that common auditors know any thing -of this, or can have any such notions dinned into them by the mere -strength of an actor's lungs,--that apprehensions foreign to them should -be thus infused into them by storm, I can neither believe, nor -understand how it can be possible. - - [15] If this note could hope to meet the eye of any of the Managers, - I would entreat and beg of them, in the name of both the Galleries, - that this insult upon the morality of the common people of London - should cease to be eternally repeated in the holiday weeks. Why are - the 'Prentices of this famous and well-governed city, instead of an - amusement, to be treated over and over again with the nauseous - sermon of George Barnwell? Why _at the end of their vistoes_ - [_vistas_] are we to place the _gallows_? Were I an uncle, I should - not much like a nephew of mine to have such an example placed before - his eyes. It is really making uncle-murder too trivial to exhibit it - as done upon such slight motives;--it is attributing too much to - such characters as Millwood;--it is putting things into the heads of - good young men, which they would never otherwise have dreamed of. - Uncles that think any thing of their lives, should fairly petition - the Chamberlain against it. - -We talk of Shakspeare's admirable observation of life, when we should -feel, that not from a petty inquisition into those cheap and every-day -characters which surrounded him, as they surround us, but from his own -mind, which was, to borrow a phrase of Ben Jonson's, the very "sphere of -humanity," he fetched those images of virtue and of knowledge, of which -every one of us recognizing a part, think we comprehend in our natures -the whole; and oftentimes mistake the powers which he positively creates -in us, for nothing more than indigenous faculties of our own minds, -which only waited the application of corresponding virtues in him to -return a full and clear echo of the same. - -To return to Hamlet.--Among the distinguishing features of that -wonderful character, one of the most interesting (yet painful) is that -soreness of mind which makes him treat the intrusions of Polonius with -harshness, and that asperity which he puts on in his interviews with -Ophelia. These tokens of an unhinged mind (if they be not mixed in the -latter case with a profound artifice of love, to alienate Ophelia by -affected discourtesies, so to prepare her mind for the breaking off of -that loving intercourse, which can no longer find a place amidst -business so serious as that which he has to do) are parts of his -character, which to reconcile with our admiration of Hamlet, the most -patient consideration of his situation is no more than necessary; they -are what we _forgive afterwards_, and explain by the whole of his -character, but _at the time_ they are harsh and unpleasant. Yet such is -the actor's necessity of giving strong blows to the audience, that I -have never seen a player in this character, who did not exaggerate and -strain to the utmost these ambiguous features,--these temporary -deformities in the character. They make him express a vulgar scorn at -Polonius which utterly degrades his gentility, and which no explanation -can render palateable; they make him shew contempt, and curl up the nose -at Ophelia's father,--contempt in its very grossest and most hateful -form; but they get applause by it: it is natural, people say; that is, -the words are scornful, and the actor expresses scorn, and that they can -judge of: but why so much scorn, and of that sort, they never think of -asking. - -So to Ophelia.--All the Hamlets that I have ever seen, rant and rave at -her as if she had committed some great crime, and the audience are -highly pleased, because the words of the part are satirical, and they -are enforced by the strongest expression of satirical indignation of -which the face and voice are capable. But then, whether Hamlet is likely -to have put on such brutal appearances to a lady whom he loved so -dearly, is never thought on. The truth is, that in all such deep -affections as had subsisted between Hamlet and Ophelia, there is a stock -of _supererogatory love_, (if I may venture to use the expression) which -in any great grief of heart, especially where that which preys upon the -mind cannot be communicated, confers a kind of indulgence upon the -grieved party to express itself, even to its heart's dearest object, in -the language of a temporary alienation; but it is not alienation, it is -a distraction purely, and so it always makes itself to be felt by that -object: it is not anger, but grief assuming the appearance of -anger,--love awkwardly counterfeiting hate, as sweet countenances when -they try to frown: but such sternness and fierce disgust as Hamlet is -made to shew, is no counterfeit, but the real face of absolute -aversion,--of irreconcileable alienation. It may be said he puts on the -madman; but then he should only so far put on this counterfeit lunacy as -his own real distraction will give him leave; that is, incompletely, -imperfectly; not in that confirmed, practised way, like a master of his -art, or, as Dame Quickly would say, "like one of those harlotry -players." - -I mean no disrespect to any actor, but the sort of pleasure which -Shakspeare's plays give in the acting seems to me not at all to differ -from that which the audience receive from those of other writers; and, -_they being in themselves essentially so different from all others_, I -must conclude that there is something in the nature of acting which -levels all distinctions. And in fact, who does not speak indifferently -of the Gamester and of Macbeth as fine stage performances, and praise -the Mrs. Beverley in the same way as the Lady Macbeth of Mrs. S.? -Belvidera, and Calista, and Isabella, and Euphrasia, are they less liked -than Imogen, or than Juliet, or than Desdemona? Are they not spoken of -and remembered in the same way? Is not the female performer as great (as -they call it) in one as in the other? Did not Garrick shine, and was he -not ambitious of shining in every drawling tragedy that his wretched day -produced,--the productions of the Hills and the Murphys and the -Browns,--and shall he have that honour to dwell in our minds for ever as -an inseparable concomitant with Shakspeare? A kindred mind! O who can -read that affecting sonnet of Shakspeare which alludes to his profession -as a player:-- - - Oh for my sake do you with Fortune chide, - The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, - That did not better for my life provide - Than public means which public custom [manners] breeds-- - Thence comes it that my name receives a brand; - And almost thence my nature is subdued - To what it works in, like the dyer's hand-- - -Or that other confession:-- - - Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there, - And made myself a motly to thy view, - Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear-- - -Who can read these instances of jealous self-watchfulness in our sweet -Shakspeare, and dream of any congeniality between him and one that, by -every tradition of him, appears to have been as mere a player as ever -existed; to have had his mind tainted with the lowest players' -vices,--envy and jealousy, and miserable cravings after applause; one -who in the exercise of his profession was jealous even of the -women-performers that stood in his way; a manager full of managerial -tricks and stratagems and finesse: that any resemblance should be -dreamed of between him and Shakspeare,--Shakspeare who, in the plenitude -and consciousness of his own powers, could with that noble modesty, -which we can neither imitate nor appreciate, express himself thus of his -own sense of his own defects:-- - - Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, - Featur'd like him, like him with friends possest; - Desiring _this man's art, and that man's scope_. - -I am almost disposed to deny to Garrick the merit of being an admirer of -Shakspeare. A true lover of his excellencies he certainly was not; for -would any true lover of them have admitted into his matchless scenes -such ribald trash as Tate and Cibber, and the rest of them, that - - With their darkness durst affront his light, - -have foisted into the acting plays of Shakspeare? I believe it -impossible that he could have had a proper reverence for Shakspeare, and -have condescended to go through that interpolated scene in Richard the -Third, in which Richard tries to break his wife's heart by telling her -he loves another woman, and says, "if she survives this she is -immortal." Yet I doubt not he delivered this vulgar stuff with as much -anxiety of emphasis as any of the genuine parts; and for acting, it is -as well calculated as any. But we have seen the part of Richard lately -produce great fame to an actor by his manner of playing it, and it lets -us into the secret of acting, and of popular judgments of Shakspeare -derived from acting. Not one of the spectators who have witnessed Mr. -C.'s exertions in that part, but has come away with a proper conviction -that Richard is a very wicked man, and kills little children in their -beds, with something like the pleasure which the giants and ogres in -children's books are represented to have taken in that practice; -moreover, that he is very close and shrewd and devilish cunning, for you -could see that by his eye. - -But is in fact this the impression we have in reading the Richard of -Shakspeare? Do we feel any thing like disgust, as we do at that -butcher-like representation of him that passes for him on the stage? A -horror at his crimes blends with the effect which we feel, but how is it -qualified, how is it carried off, by the rich intellect which he -displays, his resources, his wit, his buoyant spirits, his vast -knowledge and insight into characters, the poetry of his part,--not an -atom of all which is made perceivable in Mr. C.'s way of acting it. -Nothing but his crimes, his actions, is visible; they are prominent and -staring; the murderer stands out, but where is the lofty genius, the man -of vast capacity,--the profound, the witty, accomplished Richard? - -The truth is, the Characters of Shakspeare are so much the objects of -meditation rather than of interest or curiosity as to their -actions, that while we are reading any of his great criminal -characters,--Macbeth, Richard, even Iago,--we think not so much of the -crimes which they commit, as of the ambition, the aspiring spirit, the -intellectual activity, which prompts them to overleap those moral -fences. Barnwell is a wretched murderer; there is a certain fitness -between his neck and the rope; he is the legitimate heir to the gallows; -nobody who thinks at all can think of any alleviating circumstances in -his case to make him a fit object of mercy. Or to take an instance from -the higher tragedy, what else but a mere assassin is Glenalvon! Do we -think of any thing but of the crime which he commits, and the rack which -he deserves? That is all which we really think about him. Whereas in -corresponding characters in Shakspeare so little do the actions -comparatively affect us, that while the impulses, the inner mind in all -its perverted greatness, solely seems real and is exclusively attended -to, the crime is comparatively nothing. But when we see these things -represented, the acts which they do are comparatively every thing, their -impulses nothing. The state of sublime emotion into which we are -elevated by those images of night and horror which Macbeth is made to -utter, that solemn prelude with which he entertains the time till the -bell shall strike which is to call him to murder Duncan,--when we no -longer read it in a book, when we have given up that vantage-ground of -abstraction which reading possesses over seeing, and come to see a man -in his bodily shape before our eyes actually preparing to commit a -murder, if the acting be true and impressive, as I have witnessed it in -Mr. K.'s performance of that part, the painful anxiety about the act, -the natural longing to prevent it while it yet seems unperpetrated, the -too close pressing semblance of reality, give a pain and an uneasiness -which totally destroy all the delight which the words in the book -convey, where the deed doing never presses upon us with the painful -sense of presence: it rather seems to belong to history,--to something -past and inevitable, if it has any thing to do with time at all. The -sublime images, the poetry alone, is that which is present to our minds -in the reading. - -So to see Lear acted,--to see an old man tottering about the stage with -a walking-stick, turned out of doors by his daughters in a rainy night, -has nothing in it but what is painful and disgusting. We want to take -him into shelter and relieve him. That is all the feeling which the -acting of Lear ever produced in me. But the Lear of Shakspeare cannot be -acted. The contemptible machinery by which they mimic the storm which he -goes out in, is not more inadequate to represent the horrors of the real -elements, than any actor can be to represent Lear: they might more -easily propose to personate the Satan of Milton upon a stage, or one of -Michael Angelo's terrible figures. The greatness of Lear is not in -corporal dimension, but in intellectual: the explosions of his passion -are terrible as a volcano: they are storms turning up and disclosing to -the bottom that sea, his mind, with all its vast riches. It is his mind -which is laid bare. This case of flesh and blood seems too insignificant -to be thought on; even as he himself neglects it. On the stage we see -nothing but corporal infirmities and weakness, the impotence of rage; -while we read it, we see not Lear, but we are Lear,--we are in his mind, -we are sustained by a grandeur which baffles the malice of daughters and -storms; in the aberrations of his reason, we discover a mighty irregular -power of reasoning, immethodized from the ordinary purposes of life, but -exerting its powers, as the wind blows where it listeth, at will upon -the corruptions and abuses of mankind. What have looks, or tones, to do -with that sublime identification of his age with that of the _heavens -themselves_, when in his reproaches to them for conniving at the -injustice of his children, he reminds them that "they themselves are -old." What gesture shall we appropriate to this? What has the voice or -the eye to do with such things? But the play is beyond all art, as the -tamperings with it shew: it is too hard and stony; it must have -love-scenes, and a happy ending. It is not enough that Cordelia is a -daughter, she must shine as a lover too. Tate has put his hook in the -nostrils of this Leviathan, for Garrick and his followers, the showmen -of the scene, to draw the mighty beast about more easily. A happy -ending!--as if the living martyrdom that Lear had gone through,--the -flaying of his feelings alive, did not make a fair dismissal from the -stage of life the only decorous thing for him. If he is to live and be -happy after, if he could sustain this world's burden after, why all this -pudder and preparation,--why torment us with all this unnecessary -sympathy? As if the childish pleasure of getting his gilt robes and -sceptre again could tempt him to act over again his misused station,--as -if at his years, and with his experience, any thing was left but to die. - -Lear is essentially impossible to be represented on a stage. But how -many dramatic personages are there in Shakspeare, which though more -tractable and feasible (if I may so speak) than Lear, yet from some -circumstance, some adjunct to their character, are improper to be shewn -to our bodily eye. Othello for instance. Nothing can be more soothing, -more flattering to the nobler parts of our natures, than to read of a -young Venetian lady of highest extraction, through the force of love and -from a sense of merit in him whom she loved, laying aside every -consideration of kindred, and country, and colour, and wedding with a -_coal-black Moor_--(for such he is represented, in the imperfect state -of knowledge respecting foreign countries in those days, compared with -our own, or in compliance with popular notions, though the Moors are now -well enough known to be by many shades less unworthy of a white woman's -fancy)--it is the perfect triumph of virtue over accidents, of the -imagination over the senses. She sees Othello's colour in his mind. But -upon the stage, when the imagination is no longer the ruling faculty, -but we are left to our poor unassisted senses, I appeal to every one -that has seen Othello played, whether he did not, on the contrary, sink -Othello's mind in his colour; whether he did not find something -extremely revolting in the courtship and wedded caresses of Othello and -Desdemona; and whether the actual sight of the thing did not over-weigh -all that beautiful compromise which we make in reading;--and the reason -it should do so is obvious, because there is just so much reality -presented to our senses as to give a perception of disagreement, with -not enough of belief in the internal motives,--all that which is -unseen,--to overpower and reconcile the first and obvious -prejudices.[16] What we see upon a stage is body and bodily action; what -we are conscious of in reading is almost exclusively the mind, and its -movements: and this I think may sufficiently account for the very -different sort of delight with which the same play so often affects us -in the reading and the seeing. - - [16] The error of supposing that because Othello's colour does not - offend us in the reading, it should also not offend us in the - seeing, is just such a fallacy as supposing that an Adam and Eve in - a picture shall affect us just as they do in the poem. But in the - poem we for a while have Paradisaical senses given us, which vanish - when we see a man and his wife without clothes in the picture. The - painters themselves feel this, as is apparent by the aukward shifts - they have recourse to, to make them look not quite naked; by a sort - of prophetic anachronism, antedating the invention of fig-leaves. So - in the reading of the play, we see with Desdemona's eyes; in the - seeing of it, we are forced to look with our own. - -It requires little reflection to perceive, that if those characters in -Shakspeare which are within the precincts of nature, have yet something -in them which appeals too exclusively to the imagination, to admit of -their being made objects to the senses without suffering a change and a -diminution,--that still stronger the objection must lie against -representing another line of characters, which Shakspeare has introduced -to give a wildness and a supernatural elevation to his scenes, as if to -remove them still farther from that assimilation to common life in which -their excellence is vulgarly supposed to consist. When we read the -incantations of those terrible beings the Witches in Macbeth, though -some of the ingredients of their hellish composition savour of the -grotesque, yet is the effect upon us other than the most serious and -appalling that can be imagined? Do we not feel spell-bound as Macbeth -was? Can any mirth accompany a sense of their presence? We might as well -laugh under a consciousness of the principle of Evil himself being truly -and really present with us. But attempt to bring these beings on to a -stage, and you turn them instantly into so many old women, that men and -children are to laugh at. Contrary to the old saying, that "seeing is -believing," the sight actually destroys the faith; and the mirth in -which we indulge at their expense, when we see these creatures upon a -stage, seems to be a sort of indemnification which we make to ourselves -for the terror which they put us in when reading made them an object of -belief,--when we surrendered up our reason to the poet, as children to -their nurses and their elders; and we laugh at our fears, as children -who thought they saw something in the dark, triumph when the bringing in -of a candle discovers the vanity of their fears. For this exposure of -supernatural agents upon a stage is truly bringing in a candle to expose -their own delusiveness. It is the solitary taper and the book that -generates a faith in these terrors: a ghost by chandelier light, and in -good company, deceives no spectators,--a ghost that can be measured by -the eye, and his human dimensions made out at leisure. The sight of a -well-lighted house, and a well-dressed audience, shall arm the most -nervous child against any apprehensions: as Tom Brown says of the -impenetrable skin of Achilles with his impenetrable armour over it, -"Bully Dawson would have fought the devil with such advantages." - -Much has been said, and deservedly, in reprobation of the vile mixture -which Dryden has thrown into the Tempest: doubtless without some such -vicious alloy, the impure ears of that age would never have sate out to -hear so much innocence of love as is contained in the sweet courtship of -Ferdinand and Miranda. But is the Tempest of Shakspeare at all a subject -for stage representation? It is one thing to read of an enchanter, and -to believe the wondrous tale while we are reading it; but to have a -conjuror brought before us in his conjuring-gown, with his spirits about -him, which none but himself and some hundred of favoured spectators -before the curtain are supposed to see, involves such a quantity of the -_hateful incredible_, that all our reverence for the author cannot -hinder us from perceiving such gross attempts upon the senses to be in -the highest degree childish and inefficient. Spirits and fairies cannot -be represented, they cannot even be painted,--they can only be believed. -But the elaborate and anxious provision of scenery, which the luxury of -the age demands, in these cases works a quite contrary effect to what is -intended. That which in comedy, or plays of familiar life, adds so much -to the life of the imitation, in plays which appeal to the higher -faculties, positively destroys the illusion which it is introduced to -aid. A parlour or a drawing-room,--a library opening into a garden,--a -garden with an alcove in it,--a street, or the piazza of Covent-garden, -does well enough in a scene; we are content to give as much credit to it -as it demands; or rather, we think little about it,--it is little more -than reading at the top of a page, "Scene, a Garden;" we do not imagine -ourselves there, but we readily admit the imitation of familiar objects. -But to think by the help of painted trees and caverns, which we know to -be painted, to transport our minds to Prospero, and his island and his -lonely cell[17]; or by the aid of a fiddle dexterously thrown in, in an -interval of speaking, to make us believe that we hear those supernatural -noises of which the isle was full:--the Orrery Lecturer at the Haymarket -might as well hope, by his musical glasses cleverly stationed out of -sight behind his apparatus, to make us believe that we do indeed hear -the chrystal spheres ring out that chime, which if it were to inwrap our -fancy long, Milton thinks, - - Time would run back and fetch the age of gold, - And speckled vanity - Would sicken soon and die, - And leprous Sin would melt from earthly mould; - Yea Hell itself would pass away, - And leave its dolorous mansions to the peering day. - - [17] It will be said these things are done in pictures. But pictures - and scenes are very different things. Painting is a world of itself, - but in scene-painting there is the attempt to deceive; and there is - the discordancy, never to be got over, between painted scenes and - real people. - -The Garden of Eden, with our first parents in it, is not more impossible -to be shewn on a stage, than the Enchanted Isle, with its no less -interesting and innocent first settlers. - -The subject of Scenery is closely connected with that of the Dresses, -which are so anxiously attended to on our stage. I remember the last -time I saw Macbeth played, the discrepancy I felt at the changes of -garment which he varied,--the shiftings and re-shiftings, like a Romish -priest at mass. The luxury of stage-improvements, and the importunity of -the public eye, require this. The coronation robe of the Scottish -monarch was fairly a counterpart to that which our King wears when he -goes to the Parliament-house,--just so full and cumbersome, and set out -with ermine and pearls. And if things must be represented, I see not -what to find fault with in this. But in reading, what robe are we -conscious of? Some dim images of royalty--a crown and sceptre, may -float before our eyes, but who shall describe the fashion of it? Do we -see in our mind's eye that Webb or any other robe-maker could pattern? -This is the inevitable consequence of imitating every thing, to make all -things natural. Whereas the reading of a tragedy is a fine abstraction. -It presents to the fancy just so much of external appearances as to make -us feel that we are among flesh and blood, while by far the greater and -better part of our imagination is employed upon the thoughts and -internal machinery of the character. But in acting, scenery, dress, the -most contemptible things, call upon us to judge of their naturalness. - -Perhaps it would be no bad similitude, to liken the pleasure which we -take in seeing one of these fine plays acted, compared with that quiet -delight which we find in the reading of it, to the different feelings -with which a reviewer, and a man that is not a reviewer, reads a fine -poem. The accursed critical habit,--the being called upon to judge and -pronounce, must make it quite a different thing to the former. In seeing -these plays acted, we are affected just as judges. When Hamlet compares -the two pictures of Gertrude's first and second husband, who wants to -see the pictures? But in the acting, a miniature must be lugged out; -which we know not to be the picture, but only to shew how finely a -miniature may be represented. This shewing of every thing, levels all -things: it makes tricks, bows, and curtesies, of importance. Mrs. S. -never got more fame by any thing than by the manner in which she -dismisses the guests in the banquet-scene in Macbeth: it is as much -remembered as any of her thrilling tones or impressive looks. But does -such a trifle as this enter into the imaginations of the readers of that -wild and wonderful scene? Does not the mind dismiss the feasters as -rapidly as it can? Does it care about the gracefulness of the doing it? -But by acting, and judging of acting, all these non-essentials are -raised into an importance, injurious to the main interest of the play. - -I have confined my observations to the tragic parts of Shakspeare. It -would be no very difficult task to extend the enquiry to his comedies; -and to shew why Falstaff, Shallow, Sir Hugh Evans, and the rest, are -equally incompatible with stage representation. The length to which -this Essay has run, will make it, I am afraid, sufficiently distasteful -to the Amateurs of the Theatre, without going any deeper into the -subject at present. - - - - -SPECIMENS FROM THE WRITINGS OF FULLER, THE CHURCH HISTORIAN - -(1811. TEXT OF 1818) - - -The writings of Fuller are usually designated by the title of quaint, -and with sufficient reason; for such was his natural bias to conceits, -that I doubt not upon most occasions it would have been going out of his -way to have expressed himself out of them. But his wit is not always a -_lumen siccum_, a dry faculty of surprising; on the contrary, his -conceits are oftentimes deeply steeped in human feeling and passion. -Above all, his way of telling a story, for its eager liveliness, and the -perpetual running commentary of the narrator happily blended with the -narration, is perhaps unequalled. - -As his works are now scarcely perused but by antiquaries, I thought it -might not be unacceptable to my readers to present them with some -specimens of his manner, in single thoughts and phrases; and in some few -passages of greater length, chiefly of a narrative description. I shall -arrange them as I casually find them in my book of extracts, without -being solicitous to specify the particular work from which they are -taken. - -_Pyramids._--"The Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten -the names of their founders." - -_Virtue in a short person._--"His soul had but a short diocese to visit, -and therefore might the better attend the effectual informing thereof." - -_Intellect in a very tall one._--"Oft times such who are built four -stories high, are observed to have little in their cock-loft." - -_Naturals._--"Their heads sometimes so little, that there is no room for -wit; sometimes so long, that there is no wit for so much room." - -_Negroes._--"The image of God cut in ebony." - -_School-divinity._--"At the first it will be as welcome to thee as a -prison, and their very solutions will seem knots unto thee." - -_Mr. Perkins, the Divine._--"He had a capacious head, with angles -winding and roomy enough to lodge all controversial intricacies." - -_The same._--"He would pronounce the word _Damn_ with such an emphasis -as left a doleful echo in his auditors' ears a good while after." - -_Judges in capital cases._--"O let him take heed how he strikes, that -hath a dead hand." - -_Memory._--"Philosophers place it in the rear of the head, and it seems -the mine of memory lies there, because there men naturally dig for it, -scratching it when they are at a loss." - -_Fancy._--"It is the most boundless and restless faculty of the soul; -for while the Understanding and the Will are kept, as it were, _in -libera custodia_ to their objects of _verum et bonum_, the Fancy is free -from all engagements: it digs without spade, sails without ship, flies -without wings, builds without charges, fights without bloodshed; in a -moment striding from the centre to the circumference of the world; by a -kind of omnipotency creating and annihilating things in an instant; and -things divorced in Nature are married in Fancy as in a lawless place." - -_Infants._--"Some, admiring what motives to mirth infants meet with in -their silent and solitary smiles, have resolved, how truly I know not, -that then they converse with angels; as indeed such cannot among mortals -find any fitter companions." - -_Music._--"Such is the sociableness of music, it conforms itself to all -companies both in mirth and mourning; complying to improve that passion -with which it finds the auditors most affected. In a word, it is an -invention which might have beseemed a son of Seth to have been the -father thereof: though better it was that Cain's great grandchild should -have the credit first to find it, than the world the unhappiness longer -to have wanted it." - -_St. Monica._--"Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as -harbingers to heaven, and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness through -the chinks of her sickness-broken body."[18] - - [18] - - The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, - Lets in new lights through chinks which time has made.--WALLER. - - - -_Mortality._--"To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the -body, no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul." - -_Virgin._--"No lordling husband shall at the same time command her -presence and distance; to be always near in constant attendance, and -always to stand aloof in awful observance." - -_Elder Brother._--"Is one who made haste to come into the world to bring -his parents the first news of male posterity, and is well rewarded for -his tidings." - -_Bishop Fletcher._--"His pride was rather on him than in him, as only -gait and gesture deep, not sinking to his heart, though causelessly -condemned for a proud man, as who was a _good hypocrite_, and far more -humble than he appeared." - -_Masters of Colleges._--"A little alloy of dulness in a Master of a -College makes him fitter to manage secular affairs." - -_The Good Yeoman._--"Is a gentleman in ore, whom the next age may see -refined." - -_Good Parent._--"For his love, therein, like a well drawn picture, he -eyes all his children alike." - -_Deformity in Children._--"This partiality is tyranny, when parents -despise those that are deformed; _enough to break those whom God had -bowed before_." - -_Good Master._--"In correcting his servant he becomes not a slave to his -own passion. Not cruelly making new _indentures_ of the flesh of his -apprentice. He is tender of his servant in sickness and age. If crippled -in his service, his house is his hospital. Yet how many throw away those -dry bones, out of the which themselves have sucked the marrow!" - -_Good Widow._--"If she can speak but little good of him [her dead -husband] she speaks but little of him. So handsomely folding up her -discourse, that his virtues are shewn outwards, and his vices wrapped up -in silence; as counting it barbarism to throw dirt on his memory who -hath moulds cast on his body." - -_Horses._--"These are men's wings, wherewith they make such speed. A -generous creature a horse is, sensible in some sort of honour; and made -most handsome by that which deforms men most--pride." - -_Martyrdom._--"Heart of oak hath sometime warped a little in the -scorching heat of persecution. Their want of true courage herein cannot -be excused. Yet many censure them for surrendering up their forts after -a long siege, who would have yielded up their own at the first summons. -Oh! there is more required to make one valiant, than to call Cranmer or -Jewel coward; as if the fire in Smithfield had been no hotter than what -is painted in the Book of Martyrs." - -_Text of St. Paul._--"St. Paul saith, let not the sun go down on your -wrath, to carry news to the antipodes in another world of thy revengeful -nature. Yet let us take the Apostle's meaning rather than his words, -with all possible speed to depose our passion; not understanding him so -literally, that we may take leave to be angry till sunset: then might -our wrath lengthen with the days; and men in Greenland, where the day -lasts above a quarter of a year, have plentiful scope for revenge."[19] - - [19] This whimsical prevention of a consequence which no one would - have thought of deducing,--setting up an absurdum on purpose to hunt - it down,--placing guards as it were at the very outposts of - possibility,--gravely giving out laws to insanity and prescribing - moral fences to distempered intellects, could never have entered - into a head less entertainingly constructed than that of Fuller, or - Sir Thomas Browne, the very air of whose style the conclusion of - this passage most aptly imitates. - -_Bishop Brownrig._--"He carried learning enough _in numerato_ about him -in his pockets for any discourse, and had much more at home in his -chests for any serious dispute." - -_Modest Want._--"Those that with diligence fight against poverty, though -neither conquer till death makes it a drawn battle; expect not but -prevent their craving of thee: for God forbid the heavens should never -rain, till the earth first opens her mouth; seeing _some grounds will -sooner burn than chap_." - -_Death-bed Temptations._--"The devil is most busy on the last day of his -term; and a tenant to be outed cares not what mischief he doth." - -_Conversation._--"Seeing we are civilized Englishmen, let us not be -naked savages in our talk." - -_Wounded Soldier._--"Halting is the stateliest march of a soldier; and -'tis a brave sight to see the flesh of an ancient as torn as his -colours." - -_Wat Tyler._--"A _misogrammatist_; if a good Greek word may be given to -so barbarous a rebel." - -_Heralds._--"Heralds new mould men's names,--taking from them, adding -to them, melting out all the liquid letters, torturing mutes to make -them speak, and making vowels dumb,--to bring it to a fallacious -_homonomy_ at the last, that their names may be the same with those -noble houses they pretend to." - -_Antiquarian Diligence._--"It is most worthy observation, with what -diligence he [Camden] enquired after ancient places, making hue and cry -after many a city which was run away, and by certain marks and tokens -pursuing to find it; as by the situation on the Roman highways, by just -distance from other ancient cities, by some affinity of name, by -tradition of the inhabitants, by Roman coins digged up, and by some -appearance of ruins. A broken urn is a whole evidence; or an old gate -still surviving, out of which the city is run out. Besides, commonly -some new spruce town not far off is grown out of the ashes thereof, -which yet hath so much natural affection as dutifully to own those -reverend ruins for her mother." - -_Henry de Essex._--"He is too well known in our English Chronicles, -being Baron of Raleigh, in Essex, and Hereditary Standard Bearer of -England. It happened in the reign of this king [Henry II.] there was a -fierce battle fought in Flintshire, at Coleshall, between the English -and Welsh, wherein this Henry de Essex _animum et signum simul abjecit_, -betwixt traitor and coward, cast away both his courage and banner -together, occasioning a great overthrow of English. But he that had the -baseness to do, had the boldness to deny the doing of so foul a fact; -until he was challenged in combat by Robert de Momford, a knight, -eye-witness thereof, and by him overcome in a duel. Whereupon his large -inheritance was confiscated to the king, and he himself, _partly thrust, -partly going into a convent, hid his head in a cowl, under which, -betwixt shame and sanctity, he blushed out the remainder of his -life_."[20]--_Worthies. Article, Bedfordshire._ - - [20] The fine imagination of Fuller has done what might have been - pronounced impossible: it has given an interest, and a holy - character, to coward infamy. Nothing can be more beautiful than the - concluding account of the last days, and expiatory retirement, of - poor Henry de Essex. The address with which the whole of this little - story is told is most consummate: the charm of it seems to consist - in a perpetual balance of antitheses not too violently opposed, and - the consequent activity of mind in which the reader is - kept:--"Betwixt traitor and coward"--"baseness to do, boldness to - deny"--"partly thrust, partly going, into a convent"--"betwixt shame - and sanctity." The reader by this artifice is taken into a kind of - partnership with the writer,--his judgment is exercised in settling - the preponderance,--he feels as if he were consulted as to the - issue. But the modern historian flings at once the dead weight of - his own judgment into the scale, and settles the matter. - -_Sir Edward Harwood, Knt._--"I have read of a bird, which hath a face -like, and yet will prey upon, a man; who coming to the water to drink, -and finding there by reflection, that he had killed one like himself, -pineth away by degrees, and never afterwards enjoyeth itself.[21] Such -is in some sort the condition of Sir Edward. This accident, that he had -killed one in a private quarrel, put a period to his carnal mirth, and -was a covering to his eyes all the days of his life. No possible -provocations could afterwards tempt him to a duel; and no wonder that -one's conscience loathed that whereof he had surfeited. He refused all -challenges with more honour than others accepted them; it being well -known, that he would set his foot as far in the face of his enemy as any -man alive."--_Worthies. Art. Lincolnshire._ - - [21] I do not know where Fuller read of this bird; but a more awful - and affecting story, and moralizing of a story, in Natural History, - or rather in that Fabulous Natural History, where poets and - mythologists found the Phœnix and the Unicorn, and "other strange - fowl," is no where extant. It is a fable which Sir Thomas Browne, if - he had heard of it, would have exploded among his Vulgar Errors; but - the delight which he would have taken in the discussing of its - probabilities, would have shewn that the _truth of the fact_, though - the avowed object of his search, was not so much the motive which - put him upon the investigation, as those hidden affinities and - poetical analogies,--those _essential verities_ in the application - of strange fable, which made him linger with such reluctant delay - among the last fading lights of popular tradition; and not seldom to - conjure up a superstition, that had been long extinct, from its - dusty grave, to inter it himself with greater ceremonies and - solemnities of burial. - -_Decayed Gentry._--"It happened in the reign of King James, when Henry -Earl of Huntingdon was Lieutenant of Leicestershire, that a labourer's -son in that county was pressed into the wars; as I take it, to go over -with Count Mansfield. The old man at Leicester requested his son might -be discharged, as being the only staff of his age, who by his industry -maintained him and his mother. The Earl demanded his name, which the man -for a long time was loth to tell (as suspecting it a fault for so poor a -man to confess the truth), at last he told his name was Hastings. -'Cousin Hastings,' said the Earl, 'we cannot all be top branches of the -tree, though we all spring from the same root; your son, my kinsman, -shall not be pressed.' So good was the meeting of modesty in a poor, -with courtesy in an honourable person, and gentry I believe in both. And -I have reason to believe, that some who justly own the surnames and -blood of Bohuns, Mortimers, and Plantagenets (though ignorant of their -own extractions), are hid in the heap of common people, where they find -that under a thatched cottage, which some of their ancestors -could not enjoy in a leaded castle,--contentment, with quiet and -security."--_Worthies. Art. Of Shire-Reeves or Shiriffes._ - -_Tenderness of Conscience in a Tradesman._--"Thomas Curson, born in -Allhallows, Lombard-street, armourer, dwelt without Bishopsgate. It -happened that a stage-player borrowed a rusty musket, which had lain -long leger in his shop: now though his part were comical, he therewith -acted an unexpected tragedy, killing one of the standers by, the gun -casually going off on the stage, which he suspected not to be charged. O -the difference of divers men in the tenderness of their consciences; -some are scarce touched with a wound, whilst others are wounded with a -touch therein. This poor armourer was highly afflicted therewith, though -done against his will, yea without his knowledge, in his absence, by -another, out of mere chance. Hereupon he resolved to give all his estate -to pious uses: no sooner had he gotten a round sum, but presently he -posted with it in his apron to the Court of Aldermen, and was in pain -till by their direction he had settled it for the relief of poor in his -own and other parishes, and disposed of some hundreds of pounds -accordingly, as I am credibly informed by the then churchwardens of the -said parish. Thus as he conceived himself casually (though at a great -distance) to have occasioned the death of one, he was the immediate and -direct cause of giving a comfortable living to many." - -_Burning of Wickliffe's Body by Order of the Council of -Constance._--"Hitherto [A.D. 1428] the corpse of John Wickliffe had -quietly slept in his grave about forty-one years after his death, till -his body was reduced to bones, and his bones almost to dust. For though -the earth in the chancel of Lutterworth, in Leicestershire, where he was -interred, hath not so quick a digestion with the earth of Aceldama, to -consume flesh in twenty-four hours, yet such the appetite thereof, and -all other English graves, to leave small reversions of a body after so -many years. But now such the spleen of the Council of Constance, as -they not only cursed his memory as dying an obstinate heretic, but -ordered that his bones (with this charitable caution,--if it may be -discerned from the bodies of other faithful people) to be taken out of -the ground, and thrown far off from any Christian burial. In obedience -hereunto, Rich. Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, Diocesan of Lutterworth, -sent his officers (vultures with a quick sight, scent, at a dead -carcase) to ungrave him. Accordingly to Lutterworth they come, Sumner, -Commissary, Official, Chancellor, Proctors, Doctors, and their servants -(so that the remnant of the body would not hold out a bone amongst so -many hands), take what was left out of the grave, and burnt them to -ashes, and cast them into Swift, a neighbouring brook, running hard by. -_Thus this brook has conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into Severn, -Severn into the narrow seas, they into the main ocean; and thus the -ashes of Wickliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now is -dispersed all the world over._"[22]--Church History. - - [22] The concluding period of this most lively narrative I will not - call a conceit: it is one of the grandest conceptions I ever met - with. One feels the ashes of Wickliffe gliding away out of the reach - of the Sumners, Commissaries, Officials, Proctors, Doctors, and all - the puddering rout of executioners of the impotent rage of the - baffled Council: from Swift into Avon, from Avon into Severn, from - Severn into the narrow seas, from the narrow seas into the main - ocean, where they become the emblem of his doctrine, "dispersed all - the world over." Hamlet's tracing the body of Cæsar to the clay that - stops a beer-barrel, is a no less curious pursuit of "ruined - mortality;" but it is in an inverse ratio to this: it degrades and - saddens us, for one part of our nature at least; but this expands - the whole of our nature, and gives to the body a sort of - ubiquity,--a diffusion, as far as the actions of its partner can - have reach or influence. - - I have seen this passage smiled at, and set down as a quaint conceit - of old Fuller. But what is not a conceit to those who read it in a - temper different from that in which the writer composed it? The most - pathetic parts of poetry to cold tempers seem and are nonsense, as - divinity was to the Greeks foolishness. When Richard II., meditating - on his own utter annihilation as to royalty, cries out, - - "O that I were a mockery king of snow, - To melt before the sun of Bolingbroke," - - if we have been going on pace for pace with the passion before, this - sudden conversion of a strong-felt metaphor into something to be - actually realized in nature, like that of Jeremiah, "Oh! that my - head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears," is strictly - and strikingly natural; but come unprepared upon it, and it is a - conceit; and so is a "head" turned into "waters." - - - - -EDAX ON APPETITE - -(1811. TEXT OF 1818) - -_To the Editor of the Reflector_ - - -Mr. Reflector,--I am going to lay before you a case of the most -iniquitous persecution that ever poor devil suffered. - -You must know, then, that I have been visited with a calamity ever since -my birth. How shall I mention it without offending delicacy? Yet out it -must. My sufferings then have all arisen from a most inordinate -appetite---- - -Not for wealth, not for vast possessions,--then might I have hoped to -find a cure in some of those precepts of philosophers or poets,--those -verba et voces which Horace speaks of: - - "quibus hunc lenire dolorem - Possis, et magnam morbi deponere partem;" - -not for glory, not for fame, not for applause,--for against this -disease, too, he tells us there are certain piacula, or, as Pope has -chosen to render it, - - "rhymes, which fresh and fresh applied, - Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride;" - -nor yet for pleasure, properly so called: the strict and virtuous -lessons which I received in early life from the best of parents,--a -pious clergyman of the Church of England, now no more,--I trust have -rendered me sufficiently secure on that side:---- - -No, Sir, for none of these things; but an appetite, in its coarsest and -least metaphorical sense,--an appetite for _food_. - -The exorbitances of my arrow-root and pap-dish days I cannot go back far -enough to remember, only I have been told, that my mother's constitution -not admitting of my being nursed at home, the woman who had the care of -me for that purpose used to make most extravagant demands for my -pretended excesses in that kind; which my parents, rather than believe -any thing unpleasant of me, chose to impute to the known covetousness -and mercenary disposition of that sort of people. This blindness -continued on their part after I was sent for home, up to the period -when it was thought proper, on account of my advanced age, that I should -mix with other boys more unreservedly than I had hitherto done. I was -accordingly sent to boarding-school. - -Here the melancholy truth became too apparent to be disguised. The -prying republic of which a great school consists, soon found me out: -there was no shifting the blame any longer upon other people's -shoulders,--no good-natured maid to take upon herself the enormities of -which I stood accused in the article of bread and butter, besides the -crying sin of stolen ends of puddings, and cold pies strangely missing. -The truth was but too manifest in my looks,--in the evident signs of -inanition which I exhibited after the fullest meals, in spite of the -double allowance which my master was privately instructed by my kind -parents to give me. The sense of the ridiculous, which is but too much -alive in grown persons, is tenfold more active and alert in boys. Once -detected, I was the constant butt of their arrows,--the mark against -which every puny leveller directed his little shaft of scorn. The very -Graduses and Thesauruses were raked for phrases to pelt me with by the -tiny pedants. Ventri natus,--Ventri deditus,--Vesana gula,--Escarum -gurges,--Dapibus indulgens,--Non dans frœna gulæ,--Sectans lautæ fercula -mensæ, resounded wheresoever I past. I lead a weary life, suffering the -penalties of guilt for that which was no crime, but only following the -blameless dictates of nature. The remembrance of those childish -reproaches haunts me yet oftentimes in my dreams. My school-days come -again, and the horror I used to feel, when in some silent corner retired -from the notice of my unfeeling playfellows, I have sat to mumble the -solitary slice of gingerbread allotted me by the bounty of considerate -friends, and have ached at heart because I could not spare a portion of -it, as I saw other boys do, to some favourite boy;--for if I know my own -heart, I was never selfish,--never possessed a luxury which I did not -hasten to communicate to others; but my food, alas! was none; it was an -indispensable necessary; I could as soon have spared the blood in my -veins, as have parted that with my companions. - -Well, no one stage of suffering lasts for ever: we should grow -reconciled to it at length, I suppose, if it did. The miseries of my -school-days had their end; I was once more restored to the paternal -dwelling. The affectionate solicitude of my parents was directed to the -good-natured purpose of concealing even from myself the infirmity which -haunted me. I was continually told that I was growing, and the appetite -I displayed was humanely represented as being nothing more than a -symptom and an effect of that. I used even to be complimented upon it. -But this temporary fiction could not endure above a year or two. I -ceased to grow, but alas! I did not cease my demands for alimentary -sustenance. - -Those times are long since past, and with them have ceased to exist the -fond concealment,--the indulgent blindness,--the delicate -over-looking,--the compassionate fiction. I and my infirmity are left -exposed and bare to the broad, unwinking eye of the world, which nothing -can elude. My meals are scanned, my mouthfuls weighed in a balance: that -which appetite demands, is set down to the account of gluttony,--a sin -which my whole soul abhors, nay, which Nature herself has put it out of -my power to commit. I am constitutionally disenabled from that vice; for -how can he be guilty of excess, who never can get enough? Let them -cease, then, to watch my plate; and leave off their ungracious -comparisons of it to the seven baskets of fragments, and the -supernaturally-replenished cup of old Baucis; and be thankful that their -more phlegmatic stomachs, not their virtue, have saved them from the -like reproaches. I do not see that any of them desist from eating till -the holy rage of hunger, as some one calls it, is supplied. Alas! I am -doomed to stop short of that continence. - -What am I to do? I am by disposition inclined to conviviality, and the -social meal. I am no gourmand: I require no dainties: I should despise -the board of Heliogabalus, except for its long sitting. Those vivacious, -long-continued meals of the latter Romans, indeed I justly envy; but the -kind of fare which the Curii and Dentati put up with, I could be content -with. Dentatus I have been called, among other unsavory jests. -Double-meal is another name which my acquaintance have palmed upon me, -for an innocent piece of policy which I put in practice for some time -without being found out; which was,--going the round of my friends, -beginning with the most primitive feeders among them, who take their -dinner about one o'clock, and so successively dropping in upon the next -and the next, till by the time I got among my more fashionable -intimates, whose hour was six or seven, I have nearly made up the body -of a just and complete meal (as I reckon it), without taking more than -one dinner (as they account of dinners) at one person's house. Since I -have been found out, I endeavour to make up by a damper, as I call it, -at home, before I go out. But alas! with me, increase of appetite truly -grows by what it feeds on. What is peculiarly offensive to me at those -dinner-parties is, the senseless custom of cheese, and the dessert -afterwards. I have a rational antipathy to the former; and for fruit, -and those other vain vegetable substitutes for meat (meat, the only -legitimate aliment for human creatures since the flood, as I take it to -be deduced from that permission, or ordinance rather, given to Noah and -his descendants), I hold them in perfect contempt. Hay for horses. I -remember a pretty apologue, which Mandeville tells very much to this -purpose in his Fable of the Bees:--He brings in a Lion arguing with a -Merchant, who had ventured to expostulate with this king of beasts upon -his violent methods of feeding. The Lion thus retorts:--"Savage I am, -but no Creature can be called Cruel but what either by Malice or -Insensibility extinguishes his natural Pity: The Lion was born without -Compassion; we follow the instinct of our Nature; the Gods have -appointed us to live upon the waste and spoil of other Animals, and as -long as we can meet with dead ones, we never hunt after the Living. 'Tis -only Man, mischievous Man, that can make Death a sport. Nature taught -your stomach to crave nothing but Vegetables."--(Under favour of the -Lion, if he meant to assert this universally of mankind, it is not true. -However, what he says presently is very sensible.)--"Your violent -fondness to change, and greater eagerness after Novelties, have prompted -you to the destruction of Animals without Justice or Necessity.... The -Lion has a ferment within him, that consumes the toughest Skin and -hardest Bones, as well as the Flesh of all Animals without exception: -Your squeamish Stomach, in which the Digestive Heat is weak and -inconsiderable, won't so much as admit of the most tender Parts of them, -unless above half the Concoction has been performed by artificial Fire -beforehand; and yet what Animal have you spared, to satisfy the Caprices -of a languid Appetite? Languid I say; for what is Man's Hunger if -compared to the Lion's? Yours, when it is at the worst, makes you -Faint; mine makes me Mad: Oft have I tried with Roots and Herbs to allay -the violence of it, but in vain; nothing but large quantities of Flesh -can any ways appease it."--Allowing for the Lion not having a prophetic -instinct to take in every lusus naturæ that was possible of the human -appetite, he was, generally speaking, in the right; and the Merchant was -so impressed with his argument that, we are told, he replied not, but -fainted away. O, Mr. Reflector, that I were not obliged to add, that the -creature who thus argues was but a type of me! Miserable man! _I am that -Lion._ "Oft have I tried with roots and herbs to allay that violence, -but in vain; nothing but----." - -Those tales which are renewed as often as the editors of papers want to -fill up a space in their unfeeling columns, of great eaters,--people -that devour whole geese and legs of mutton _for wagers_, are sometimes -attempted to be drawn to a parallel with my case. This wilful -confounding of motives and circumstances, which make all the difference -of moral or immoral in actions, just suits the sort of talent which some -of my acquaintance pride themselves upon. _Wagers!_--I thank heaven, I -was never mercenary, nor could consent to prostitute a gift (though but -a left-handed one) of nature, to the enlarging of my worldly substance; -prudent as the necessities, which that fatal gift have involved me in, -might have made such a prostitution to appear in the eyes of an -indelicate world. - -Rather let me say, that to the satisfaction of that talent which was -given me, I have been content to sacrifice no common expectations; for -such I had from an old lady, a near relation of our family, in whose -good graces I had the fortune to stand, till one fatal evening----. You -have seen, Mr. Reflector, if you have ever passed your time much in -country towns, the kind of suppers which elderly ladies in those places -have lying in petto in an adjoining parlour, next to that where they are -entertaining their periodically-invited coevals with cards and muffins. -The cloth is usually spread some half-hour before the final rubber is -decided, whence they adjourn to sup upon what may emphatically be called -_nothing_. A sliver of ham, purposely contrived to be transparent to -shew the china-dish through it, neighbouring a slip of invisible brawn, -which abuts upon something they call a tartlet, as that is bravely -supported by an atom of marmalade, flanked in its turn by a grain of -potted beef, with a power of such dishlings, _minims of hospitality_, -spread in defiance of human nature, or rather with an utter ignorance of -what it demands. Being engaged at one of these card-parties, I was -obliged to go a little before _supper-time_ (as they facetiously call -the point of time in which they are taking these shadowy refections), -and the old lady, with a sort of fear shining through the smile of -courteous hospitality that beamed in her countenance, begged me to step -into the next room and take something before I went out in the cold,--a -proposal which lay not in my nature to deny. Indignant at the airy -prospect I saw before me, I set to, and in a trice dispatched the whole -meal intended for eleven persons,--fish, flesh, fowl, pastry,--to the -sprigs of garnishing parsley, and the last fearful custard that quaked -upon the board. I need not describe the consternation, when in due time -the dowagers adjourned from their cards. Where was the supper?--and the -servants' answer, Mr. ---- had eat it all.--That freak, however, jested -me out of a good three hundred pounds a year, which I afterwards was -informed for a certainty the old lady meant to leave me. I mention it -not in illustration of the unhappy faculty which I am possessed of; for -any unlucky wag of a school-boy, with a tolerable appetite, could have -done as much without feeling any hurt after it,--only that you may judge -whether I am a man likely to set my talent to sale, or to require the -pitiful stimulus of a wager. - -I have read in Pliny, or in some author of that stamp, of a reptile in -Africa, whose venom is of that hot, destructive quality, that -wheresoever it fastens its tooth, the whole substance of the animal that -has been bitten in a few seconds is reduced to dust, crumbles away, and -absolutely disappears: it is called from this quality, the Annihilator. -Why am I forced to seek, in all the most prodigious and portentous facts -of Natural History, for creatures typical of myself? _I am that Snake, -that Annihilator_: "wherever I fasten, in a few seconds----." - -O happy sick men, that are groaning under the want of that very thing, -the excess of which is my torment! O fortunate, too fortunate, if you -knew your happiness, invalids! What would I not give to exchange this -fierce concoctive and digestive heat,--this rabid fury which vexes me, -which tears and torments me,--for your quiet, mortified, hermit-like, -subdued, and sanctified stomachs,--your cool, chastened inclinations, -and coy desires for food! - -To what unhappy figuration of the parts intestine I owe this unnatural -craving, I must leave to the anatomists and the physicians to determine: -they, like the rest of the world, have doubtless their eye upon me; and -as I have been cut up alive by the sarcasms of my friends, so I shudder -when I contemplate the probability that this animal frame, when its -restless appetites shall have ceased their importunity, may be cut up -also (horrible suggestion!) to determine in what system of solids or -fluids this original sin of my constitution lay lurking. What work will -they make with their acids and alkalines, their serums and coagulums, -effervescences, viscous matter, bile, chyle, and acrimonious juices, to -explain that cause which Nature, who willed the effect to punish me for -my sins, may no less have determined to keep in the dark from them, to -punish them for their presumption. - -You may ask, Mr. Reflector, to what purpose is my appeal to you: what -can you do for me? Alas! I know too well that my case is out of the -reach of advice,--out of the reach of consolation. But it is some relief -to the wounded heart to impart its tale of misery; and some of my -acquaintance, who may read my case in your pages under a borrowed name, -may be induced to give it a more humane consideration than I could ever -yet obtain from them under my own. Make them, if possible, to _reflect_, -that an original peculiarity of constitution is no crime; that not that -which goes into the mouth desecrates a man, but that which comes out of -it,--such as sarcasm, bitter jests, mocks and taunts, and ill-natured -observations; and let them consider, if there be such things (which we -have all heard of) as Pious Treachery, Innocent Adultery, &c. whether -there may not be also such a thing as Innocent Gluttony. - - I shall only subscribe myself, - - Your afflicted servant, - - EDAX. - - - - -_HOSPITA_ ON THE IMMODERATE INDULGENCE OF THE PLEASURES OF THE PALATE - -(1811. TEXT OF 1818) - -_To the Editor of the Reflector_ - - -Mr. Reflector,--My husband and I are fond of company, and being in easy -circumstances, we are seldom without a party to dinner two or three days -in a week. The utmost cordiality has hitherto prevailed at our meetings; -but there is a young gentleman, a near relation of my husband's, that -has lately come among us, whose preposterous behaviour bids fair, if not -timely checked, to disturb our tranquillity. He is too great a favourite -with my husband in other respects, for me to remonstrate with him in any -other than this distant way. A letter printed in your publication may -catch his eye; for he is a great reader, and makes a point of seeing all -the new things that come out. Indeed, he is by no means deficient in -understanding. My husband says that he has a good deal of wit; but for -my part I cannot say I am any judge of that, having seldom observed him -open his mouth except for purposes very foreign to conversation. In -short, Sir, this young gentleman's failing is, an immoderate indulgence -of his palate. The first time he dined with us, he thought it necessary -to extenuate the length of time he kept the dinner on the table, by -declaring that he had taken a very long walk in the morning, and came in -fasting; but as that excuse could not serve above once or twice at most, -he has latterly dropped the mask altogether, and chosen to appear in his -own proper colours without reserve or apology. - -You cannot imagine how unpleasant his conduct has become. His way of -staring at the dishes as they are brought in, has absolutely something -immodest in it: it is like the stare of an impudent man of fashion at a -fine woman, when she first comes into a room. I am positively in pain -for the dishes, and cannot help thinking they have consciousness, and -will be put out of countenance, he treats them so like what they are -not. - -Then again he makes no scruple of keeping a joint of meat on the table, -after the cheese and fruit are brought in, till he has what he calls -_done with it_. Now how awkward this looks, where there are ladies, you -may judge, Mr. Reflector,--how it disturbs the order and comfort of a -meal. And yet I always make a point of helping him first, contrary to -all good manners,--before any of my female friends are helped,--that he -may avoid this very error. I wish he would eat before he comes out. - -What makes his proceedings more particularly offensive at our house is, -that my husband, though out of common politeness he is obliged to set -dishes of animal food before his visitors, yet himself and his whole -family (myself included) feed entirely on vegetables. We have a theory, -that animal food is neither wholesome nor natural to man; and even -vegetables we refuse to eat until they have undergone the operation of -fire, in consideration of those numberless little living creatures which -the glass helps us to detect in every fibre of the plant or root before -it be dressed. On the same theory we boil our water, which is our only -drink, before we suffer it to come to table. Our children are perfect -little Pythagoreans: it would do you good to see them in their nursery, -stuffing their dried fruits, figs, raisins, and _milk_, which is the -only approach to animal food which is allowed. They have no notion how -the substance of a creature that ever had life can become food for -another creature. A beef-steak is an absurdity to them; a mutton-chop, a -solecism in terms; a cutlet, a word absolutely without any meaning; a -butcher is nonsense, except so far as it is taken for a man who delights -in blood, or a hero. In this happy state of innocence we have kept their -minds, not allowing them to go into the kitchen, or to hear of any -preparations for the dressing of animal food, or even to know that such -things are practised. But as a state of ignorance is incompatible with a -certain age; and as my eldest girl, who is ten years old next Midsummer, -must shortly be introduced into the world and sit at table with us, -where she will see some things which will shock all her received -notions, I have been endeavouring by little and little to break her -mind, and prepare it for the disagreeable impressions which must be -forced upon it. The first hint I gave her upon the subject, I could see -her recoil from it with the same horror with which we listen to a tale -of Anthropophagism; but she has gradually grown more reconciled to it in -some measure, from my telling her that it was the custom of the -world,--to which, however senseless, we must submit so far as we could -do it with innocence, not to give offence; and she has shewn so much -strength of mind on other occasions, which I have no doubt is owing to -the calmness and serenity superinduced by her diet, that I am in good -hopes, when the proper season for her _debut_ arrives, she may be -brought to endure the sight of a roasted chicken or a dish of -sweatbreads, for the first time, without fainting. Such being the nature -of our little household, you may guess what inroads into the economy of -it,--what revolutions and turnings of things upside down, the example of -such a feeder as Mr. ---- is calculated to produce. - -I wonder at a time like the present, when the scarcity of every kind of -food is so painfully acknowledged, that _shame_ has no effect upon him. -Can he have read Mr. Malthus's Thoughts on the Ratio of Food to -Population? Can he think it reasonable that one man should consume the -sustenance of many? - -The young gentleman has an agreeable air and person, such as are not -unlikely to recommend him on the score of matrimony. But his fortune is -not over large; and what prudent young woman would think of embarking -hers with a man who would bring three or four mouths (or what is -equivalent to them) into a family? She might as reasonably choose a -widower in the same circumstances with three or four children. - -I cannot think who he takes after. His father and mother, by all -accounts, were very moderate eaters; only I have heard that the latter -swallowed her victuals very fast, and the former had a tedious custom of -sitting long at his meals. Perhaps he takes after both. - -I wish you would turn this in your thoughts, Mr. Reflector, and give us -your ideas on the subject of excessive eating; and, particularly, of -animal food. - - HOSPITA. - - - - -THE GOOD CLERK, A CHARACTER; WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF "THE COMPLETE ENGLISH -TRADESMAN" - -(1811) - - -The Good Clerk.--He writeth a fair and swift hand, and is competently -versed in the Four First Rules of Arithmetic, in the Rule of Three -(which is sometimes called the Golden Rule) and in Practice. We mention -these things, that we may leave no room for cavillers to say, that any -thing essential hath been omitted in our definition; else, to speak the -truth, these are but ordinary accomplishments, and such as every -understrapper at a desk is commonly furnished with. The character we -treat of soareth higher. - -He is clean and neat in his person; not from a vain-glorious desire of -setting himself forth to advantage in the eyes of the other sex (with -which vanity too many of our young Sparks now-a-days are infected) but -to do credit (as we say) to the office. For this reason he evermore -taketh care that his desk or his books receive no soil; the which things -he is commonly as solicitous to have fair and unblemished, as the owner -of a fine horse is to have him appear in good keep. - -He riseth early in the morning; not because early rising conduceth to -health (though he doth not altogether despise that consideration) but -chiefly to the intent that he may be first at the desk. There is his -post, there he delighteth to be, unless when his meals, or necessity, -calleth him away; which time he alway esteemeth as lost, and maketh as -short as possible. - -He is temperate in eating and drinking, that he may preserve a clear -head and steady hand for his master's service. He is also partly induced -to this observation of the rules of temperance by his respect for -religion and the laws of his country; which things (it may once for all -be noted) do add special assistances to his actions, but do not and -cannot furnish the main spring or motive thereto. His first ambition (as -appeareth all along) is to be a good Clerk, his next a good Christian, a -good Patriot, &c. - -Correspondent to this, he keepeth himself honest, not for fear of the -laws, but because he hath observed how unseemly an article it maketh in -the Day Book, or Ledger, when a sum is set down lost or missing; it -being his pride to make these books to agree, and to tally, the one side -with the other, with a sort of architectural symmetry and -correspondence. - -He marrieth, or marrieth not, as best suiteth with his employer's views. -Some merchants do the rather desire to have married men in their -Counting Houses, because they think the married state a pledge for their -servants' integrity, and an incitement to them to be industrious; and it -was an observation of a late Lord Mayor of London, that the sons of -Clerks do generally prove Clerks themselves, and that Merchants -encouraging persons in their employ to marry, and to have families, was -the best method of securing a breed of sober industrious young men -attached to the mercantile interest. Be this as it may, such a character -as we have been describing, will wait till the pleasure of his employer -is known on this point; and regulateth his desires by the custom of the -house or firm to which he belongeth. - -He avoideth profane oaths and jesting, as so much time lost from his -employ; what spare time he hath for conversation, which in a Counting -House such as we have been supposing can be but small, he spendeth in -putting seasonable questions to such of his fellows (and sometimes -_respectfully_ to the master himself) who can give him information -respecting the price and quality of goods, the state of exchange, or the -latest improvements in book-keeping; thus making the motion of his lips, -as well as of his fingers, subservient to his master's interest. Not -that he refuseth a brisk saying, or a cheerful sally of wit, when it -comes unforced, is free of offence, and hath a convenient brevity. For -this reason he hath commonly some such phrase as this in his mouth:-- - - It's a slovenly look - To blot your book. - -Or, - - Red ink for ornament, black for use, - The best of things are open to abuse. - -So upon the eve of any great holyday, of which he keepeth one or two at -least every year, he will merrily say in the hearing of a confidential -friend, but to none other:-- - - All work and no play - Makes Jack a dull boy. - -Or, - - A bow always bent must crack at last. - -But then this must always be understood to be spoken confidentially, -and, as we say, _under the rose_. - -Lastly, his dress is plain without singularity; with no other ornament -than the quill, which is the badge of his function, stuck under the -dexter ear, and this rather for convenience of having it at hand, when -he hath been called away from his desk, and expecteth to resume his seat -there again shortly, than from any delight which he taketh in foppery or -ostentation. The colour of his clothes is generally noted to be black -rather than brown, brown rather than blue or green. His whole deportment -is staid, modest, and civil. His motto is Regularity.---- - -This Character was sketched, in an interval of business, to divert some -of the melancholy hours of a Counting House. It is so little a creature -of fancy, that it is scarce any thing more than a recollection of some -of those frugal and economical maxims which, about the beginning of the -last century, (England's meanest period), were endeavoured to be -inculcated and instilled into the breasts of the London Apprentices,[23] -by a class of instructors who might not inaptly be termed _The Masters -of mean Morals_. The astonishing narrowness and illiberality of the -lessons contained in some of those books is inconceivable by those whose -studies have not led them that way, and would almost induce one to -subscribe to the hard censure which Drayton has passed upon the -mercantile spirit:-- - - _The gripple merchant, born to be the curse - Of this brave Isle._ - - [23] This term designated a larger class of young men than that to - which it is now confined; it took in the articled Clerks of - Merchants and Bankers, the George Barnwells of the day. - -I have now lying before me that curious book by Daniel Defoe, "The -Complete English Tradesman." The pompous detail, the studied analysis of -every little mean art, every sneaking address, every trick and -subterfuge (short of larceny) that is necessary to the tradesman's -occupation, with the hundreds of anecdotes, dialogues (in Defoe's -liveliest manner) interspersed, all tending to the same amiable -purpose, namely, the sacrificing of every honest emotion of the soul to -what he calls the main chance,--if you read it in an _ironical sense_, -and as a piece of _covered satire_, make it one of the most amusing -books which Defoe ever writ, as much so as any of his best novels. It is -difficult to say what his intention was in writing it. It is almost -impossible to suppose him in earnest. Yet such is the bent of the book -to narrow and to degrade the heart, that if such maxims were as catching -and infectious as those of a licentious cast, which happily is not the -case, had I been living at that time, I certainly should have -recommended to the Grand Jury of Middlesex, who presented the Fable of -the Bees, to have presented this book of Defoe's in preference, as of a -far more vile and debasing tendency. I will give one specimen of his -advice to the young Tradesman on the _Government of his Temper_. "The -retail tradesman in especial, and even every tradesman in his station, -must furnish himself with a competent stock of patience; I mean that -sort of patience which is needful to bear with all sorts of -impertinence, and the most provoking curiosity that it is impossible to -imagine the buyers, even the worst of them, are or can be guilty of. _A -tradesman behind his counter must have no flesh and blood about him, no -passions, no resentment_; he must never be angry, no not so much as seem -to be so, if a customer tumbles him five hundred pounds worth of goods, -and scarce bids money for any thing; nay, though they really come to his -shop with no intent to buy, as many do, only to see what is to be sold, -and though he knows they cannot be better pleased, than they are, at -some other shop where they intend to buy, 'tis all one, the tradesman -must take it, he must place it to the account of his calling, that _'tis -his business to be ill used and resent nothing_; and so must answer as -obligingly to those that give him an hour or two's trouble and buy -nothing, as he does to those who in half the time lay out ten or twenty -pounds. The case is plain, and if some do give him trouble and do not -buy, others make amends and do buy; and as for the trouble, 'tis the -business of the shop." Here follows a most admirable story of a mercer -who, by his indefatigable meanness and more than Socratic patience under -affronts, overcame and reconciled a lady, who upon the report of another -lady that he had behaved saucily to some third lady, had determined to -shun his shop, but by the over-persuasions of a fourth lady was induced -to go to it; which she does, declaring before hand that she will buy -nothing, but give him all the trouble she can. Her attack and his -defence, her insolence and his persevering patience, are described in -colours worthy of a Mandeville; but it is too long to recite. "The short -inference from this long discourse (says he) is this, that here you see, -and I could give you many examples like this, how and in what manner a -shop-keeper is to behave himself in the way of his business; what -impertinences, what taunts, flouts, and ridiculous things, he must bear -in his trade, and must not shew the least return, or the least signal of -disgust: he must have no passions, no fire in his temper; he must be all -soft and smooth; nay, if his real temper be naturally fiery and hot, he -must shew none of it in his shop; he must be a perfect _complete -hypocrite_ if he will be a _complete tradesman_.[24] It is true, natural -tempers are not to be always counterfeited; the man cannot easily be a -lamb in his shop, and a lion in himself; but let it be easy or hard, it -must be done, and is done: there are men who have by custom and usage -brought themselves to it, that nothing could be meeker and milder than -they, when behind the counter, and yet nothing be more furious and -raging in every other part of life; nay the provocations they have met -with in their shops have so irritated their rage, that they would go up -stairs from their shop, and fall into frenzies, and a kind of madness, -and beat their heads against the wall, and perhaps mischief themselves, -if not prevented, till the violence of it had gotten vent, and the -passions abate and cool. I heard once of a shop-keeper that behaved -himself thus to such an extreme, that when he was provoked by the -impertinence of the customers, beyond what his temper could bear, he -would go up stairs and beat his wife, kick his children about like dogs, -and be as furious for two or three minutes, as a man chained down in -Bedlam; and again, when that heat was over, would sit down and cry -faster than the children he had abused; and after the fit, he would go -down into the shop again, and be as humble, courteous, and as calm as -any man whatever; so absolute a government of his passions had he in the -shop and so little out of it: in the shop, a soul-less animal that -would resent nothing; and in the family a madman: in the shop, meek like -a lamb; but in the family, outrageous like a Libyan lion. The sum of the -matter is, it is necessary for a tradesman to subject himself by all the -ways possible to his business; _his customers are to be his idols: so -far as he may worship idols by allowance, he is to bow down to them, and -worship them_; at least he is not in any way to displease them, or shew -any disgust or distaste whatsoever they may say or do; the bottom of all -is, that he is intending to get money by them, and it is not for him -that gets money to offer the least inconvenience to them by whom he gets -it; he is to consider that, as Solomon says, the borrower is servant to -the lender, so the seller is servant to the buyer."--What he says on the -head of _Pleasures and Recreations_ is not less amusing:--"The -tradesman's pleasure should be in his business, his companions should be -his books, (he means his Ledger, Waste-book, &c.) and if he has a -family, he makes _his excursions up stairs and no further_:--none of my -cautions aim at restraining a tradesman from diverting himself, as we -call it, with his fireside, or keeping company with his wife and -children."--Liberal allowance; nay, almost licentious and criminal -indulgence!--but it is time to dismiss this _Philosopher of Meanness_. -More of this stuff would illiberalize the pages of the _Reflector_. Was -the man in earnest, when he could bring such powers of description, and -all the charms of natural eloquence, in commendation of the meanest, -vilest, wretchedest degradations of the human character?--Or did he not -rather laugh in his sleeve at the doctrines which he inculcated, and -retorting upon the grave Citizens of London their own arts, palm upon -them a sample of disguised Satire under the name of wholesome -Instruction? - - L. B. - - [24] As no qualification accompanies this maxim, it must be - understood as the genuine sentiment of the Author! - - - - -MÉMOIR OF ROBERT LLOYD - -(1811) - - -----Also, in October, in his 33d year, Mr. Robert Lloyd, third son of -Charles Lloyd. To dilate in many words upon his character, would be to -violate the modest regard due to his memory, who in his lifetime shrunk -so anxiously from every species of notice. His constitutional misfortune -was an excess of nervous sensibility, which in the purest of hearts -produced rather too great a spirit of self-abasement, a perpetual -apprehension of not doing what was right. Yet, beyond this tenderness, -he seemed absolutely to have no self-regards at all. His eye was single, -and ever fixed upon that form of goodness, which he venerated wherever -he found it, except in himself. What he was to his parents, and in his -family, the newness of their sorrow may make it unseasonable to touch -at; his loss, alas! was but one in a complication of domestic -afflictions which have fallen so heavy of late upon a very worthy house. -But as a friend, the writer of this memorial can witness, that what he -once esteemed and loved, it was an unalterable law of his mind to -continue to esteem and love. Absences of years, the discontinuance of -correspondence, from whatever cause, for ever so great a length of time, -made no difference. It seemed as if the affectionate part of his nature -could suffer no abatement. The display of what the world calls shining -talents, would have been incompatible with a character like his; but he -oftentimes let fall, in his familiar talk, and in his letters, bright -and original illustrations of feeling, which might have been mistaken -for genius, if his own watchful modest spirit had not constantly -interposed to recall and substitute for them some of the ordinary forms -of observation, which lay less out of that circle of common sympathy, -within which his kind nature delighted to move. - - - - -CONFESSIONS OF A DRUNKARD - -(1813. TEXT OF 1822) - - -Dehortations from the use of strong liquors have been the favourite -topic of sober declaimers in all ages, and have been received with -abundance of applause by water-drinking critics. But with the patient -himself, the man that is to be cured, unfortunately their sound has -seldom prevailed. Yet the evil is acknowledged, the remedy simple. -Abstain. No force can oblige a man to raise the glass to his head -against his will. 'Tis as easy as not to steal, not to tell lies. - -Alas! the hand to pilfer, and the tongue to bear false witness, have no -constitutional tendency. These are actions indifferent to them. At the -first instance of the reformed will, they can be brought off without a -murmur. The itching finger is but a figure in speech, and the tongue of -the liar can with the same natural delight give forth useful truths, -with which it has been accustomed to scatter their pernicious -contraries. But when a man has commenced sot---- - -O pause, thou sturdy moralist, thou person of stout nerves and a strong -head, whose liver is happily untouched, and ere thy gorge riseth at the -_name_ which I have written, first learn what the _thing_ is; how much -of compassion, how much of human allowance, thou may'st virtuously -mingle with thy disapprobation. Trample not on the ruins of a man. Exact -not, under so terrible a penalty as infamy, a resuscitation from a state -of death almost as real as that from which Lazarus rose not but by a -miracle. - -Begin a reformation, and custom will make it easy. But what if the -beginning be dreadful, the first steps not like climbing a mountain but -going through fire? what if the whole system must undergo a change -violent as that which we conceive of the mutation of form in some -insects? what if a process comparable to flaying alive be to be gone -through? is the weakness that sinks under such struggles to be -confounded with the pertinacity which clings to other vices, which have -induced no constitutional necessity, no engagement of the whole victim, -body and soul? - -I have known one in that state, when he has tried to abstain but for one -evening,--though the poisonous potion had long ceased to bring back its -first enchantments, though he was sure it would rather deepen his gloom -than brighten it,--in the violence of the struggle, and the necessity he -has felt of getting rid of the present sensation at any rate, I have -known him to scream out, to cry aloud, for the anguish and pain of the -strife within him. - -Why should I hesitate to declare, that the man of whom I speak is -myself? I have no puling apology to make to mankind. I see them all in -one way or another deviating from the pure reason. It is to my own -nature alone I am accountable for the woe that I have brought upon it. - -I believe that there are constitutions, robust heads and iron insides, -whom scarce any excesses can hurt; whom brandy (I have seen them drink -it like wine), at all events whom wine, taken in ever so plentiful -measure, can do no worse injury to than just to muddle their faculties, -perhaps never very pellucid. On them this discourse is wasted. They -would but laugh at a weak brother, who, trying his strength with them, -and coming off foiled from the contest, would fain persuade them that -such agonistic exercises are dangerous. It is to a very different -description of persons I speak. It is to the weak, the nervous; to those -who feel the want of some artificial aid to raise their spirits in -society to what is no more than the ordinary pitch of all around them -without it. This is the secret of our drinking. Such must fly the -convivial board in the first instance, if they do not mean to sell -themselves for term of life. - -Twelve years ago I had completed my six and twentieth year. I had lived -from the period of leaving school to that time pretty much in solitude. -My companions were chiefly books, or at most one or two living ones of -my own book-loving and sober stamp. I rose early, went to bed betimes, -and the faculties which God had given me, I have reason to think, did -not rust in me unused. - -About that time I fell in with some companions of a different order. -They were men of boisterous spirits, sitters up a-nights, disputants, -drunken; yet seemed to have something noble about them. We dealt about -the wit, or what passes for it after midnight, jovially. Of the quality -called fancy I certainly possessed a larger share than my companions. -Encouraged by their applause, I set up for a profest joker! I, who of -all men am least fitted for such an occupation, having, in addition to -the greatest difficulty which I experience at all times of finding words -to express my meaning, a natural nervous impediment in my speech! - -Reader, if you are gifted with nerves like mine, aspire to any character -but that of a wit. When you find a tickling relish upon your tongue -disposing you to that sort of conversation, especially if you find a -preternatural flow of ideas setting in upon you at the sight of a bottle -and fresh glasses, avoid giving way to it as you would fly your greatest -destruction. If you cannot crush the power of fancy, or that within you -which you mistake for such, divert it, give it some other play. Write an -essay, pen a character or description,--but not as I do now, with tears -trickling down your cheeks. - -To be an object of compassion to friends, of derision to foes; to be -suspected by strangers, stared at by fools; to be esteemed dull when you -cannot be witty, to be applauded for witty when you know that you have -been dull; to be called upon for the extemporaneous exercise of that -faculty which no premeditation can give; to be spurred on to efforts -which end in contempt; to be set on to provoke mirth which procures the -procurer hatred; to give pleasure and be paid with squinting malice; to -swallow draughts of life-destroying wine which are to be distilled into -airy breath to tickle vain auditors; to mortgage miserable morrows for -nights of madness; to waste whole seas of time upon those who pay it -back in little inconsiderable drops of grudging applause,--are the wages -of buffoonery and death. - -Time, which has a sure stroke at dissolving all connexions which have no -solider fastening than this liquid cement, more kind to me than my own -taste or penetration, at length opened my eyes to the supposed qualities -of my first friends. No trace of them is left but in the vices which -they introduced, and the habits they infixed. In them my friends survive -still, and exercise ample retribution for any supposed infidelity that I -may have been guilty of towards them. - -My next more immediate companions were and are persons of such intrinsic -and felt worth, that though accidentally their acquaintance has proved -pernicious to me, I do not know that if the thing were to do over again, -I should have the courage to eschew the mischief at the price of -forfeiting the benefit. I came to them reeking from the steams of my -late over-heated notions of companionship; and the slightest fuel which -they unconsciously afforded, was sufficient to feed my old fires into a -propensity. - -They were no drinkers, but, one from professional habits, and another -from a custom derived from his father, smoked tobacco. The devil could -not have devised a more subtle trap to re-take a backsliding penitent. -The transition, from gulping down draughts of liquid fire to puffing out -innocuous blasts of dry smoke, was so like cheating him. But he is too -hard for us when we hope to commute. He beats us at barter; and when we -think to set off a new failing against an old infirmity, 'tis odds but -he puts the trick upon us of two for one. That (comparatively) white -devil of tobacco brought with him in the end seven worse than himself. - -It were impertinent to carry the reader through all the processes by -which, from smoking at first with malt liquor, I took my degrees through -thin wines, through stronger wine and water, through small punch, to -those juggling compositions, which, under the name of mixed liquors, -slur a great deal of brandy or other poison under less and less water -continually, until they come next to none, and so to none at all. But it -is hateful to disclose the secrets of my Tartarus. - -I should repel my readers, from a mere incapacity of believing me, were -I to tell them what tobacco has been to me, the drudging service which I -have paid, the slavery which I have vowed to it. How, when I have -resolved to quit it, a feeling as of ingratitude has started up; how it -has put on personal claims and made the demands of a friend upon me. How -the reading of it casually in a book, as where Adams takes his whiff in -the chimney-corner of some inn in Joseph Andrews, or Piscator in the -Complete Angler breaks his fast upon a morning pipe in that delicate -room _Piscatoribus Sacrum_, has in a moment broken down the resistance -of weeks. How a pipe was ever in my midnight path before me, till the -vision forced me to realize it,--how then its ascending vapours curled, -its fragrance lulled, and the thousand delicious ministerings conversant -about it, employing every faculty, extracted the sense of pain. How from -illuminating it came to darken, from a quick solace it turned to a -negative relief, thence to a restlessness and dissatisfaction, thence to -a positive misery. How, even now, when the whole secret stands confessed -in all its dreadful truth before me, I feel myself linked to it beyond -the power of revocation. Bone of my bone---- - -Persons not accustomed to examine the motives of their actions, to -reckon up the countless nails that rivet the chains of habit, or perhaps -being bound by none so obdurate as those I have confessed to, may recoil -from this as from an overcharged picture. But what short of such a -bondage is it, which in spite of protesting friends, a weeping wife, -and a reprobating world, chains down many a poor fellow, of no original -indisposition to goodness, to his pipe and his pot? - -I have seen a print after Correggio, in which three female figures are -ministering to a man who sits fast bound at the root of a tree. -Sensuality is soothing him, Evil Habit is nailing him to a branch, and -Repugnance at the same instant of time is applying a snake to his side. -In his face is feeble delight, the recollection of past rather than -perception of present pleasures, languid enjoyment of evil with utter -imbecility to good, a Sybaritic effeminacy, a submission to bondage, the -springs of the will gone down like a broken clock, the sin and the -suffering co-instantaneous, or the latter forerunning the former, -remorse preceding action--all this represented in one point of -time.--When I saw this, I admired the wonderful skill of the painter. -But when I went away, I wept, because I thought of my own condition. - -Of _that_ there is no hope that it should ever change. The waters have -gone over me. But out of the black depths, could I be heard, I would cry -out to all those who have but set a foot in the perilous flood. Could -the youth, to whom the flavor of his first wine is delicious as the -opening scenes of life, or the entering upon some newly discovered -paradise, look into my desolation, and be made to understand what a -dreary thing it is when a man shall feel himself going down a precipice -with open eyes and a passive will,--to see his destruction, and have no -power to stop it, and yet to feel it all the way emanating from himself; -to perceive all goodness emptied out of him, and yet not to be able to -forget a time when it was otherwise; to bear about the piteous spectacle -of his own self-ruins:--could he see my fevered eye, feverish with last -night's drinking, and feverishly looking for this night's repetition of -the folly; could he feel the body of the death out of which I cry hourly -with feebler and feebler outcry to be delivered,--it were enough to make -him dash the sparkling beverage to the earth in all the pride of its -mantling temptation; to make him clasp his teeth, - - and not undo 'em - To suffer WET DAMNATION to run through 'em. - -Yea, but (methinks I hear somebody object) if sobriety be that fine -thing you would have us to understand, if the comforts of a cool brain -are to be perferred to that state of heated excitement which you -describe and deplore, what hinders in your own instance that you do not -return to those habits from which you would induce others never to -swerve? if the blessing be worth preserving, is it not worth recovering? - -_Recovering!_--O if a wish could transport me back to those days of -youth, when a draught from the next clear spring could slake any heats -which summer suns and youthful exercise had power to stir up in the -blood, how gladly would I return to thee, pure element, the drink of -children, and of child-like holy hermit. In my dreams I can sometimes -fancy thy cool refreshment purling over my burning tongue. But my waking -stomach rejects it. That which refreshes innocence, only makes me sick -and faint. - -But is there no middle way betwixt total abstinence and the excess which -kills you?--For your sake, reader, and that you may never attain to my -experience, with pain I must utter the dreadful truth, that there is -none, none that I can find. In my stage of habit (I speak not of habits -less confirmed--for some of them I believe the advice to be most -prudential) in the stage which I have reached, to stop short of that -measure which is sufficient to draw on torpor and sleep, the benumbing -apoplectic sleep of the drunkard, is to have taken none at all. The pain -of the self-denial is all one. And what that is, I had rather the reader -should believe on my credit, than know from his own trial. He will come -to know it, whenever he shall arrive at that state, in which, -paradoxical as it may appear, _reason shall only visit him through -intoxication_: for it is a fearful truth, that the intellectual -faculties by repeated acts of intemperance may be driven from their -orderly sphere of action, their clear day-light ministeries, until they -shall be brought at last to depend, for the faint manifestation of their -departing energies, upon the returning periods of the fatal madness to -which they owe their devastation. The drinking man is never less himself -than during his sober intervals. Evil is so far his good.[25] - - [25] When poor M---- painted his last picture, with a pencil in one - trembling hand, and a glass of brandy and water in the other, his - fingers owed the comparative steadiness, with which they were - enabled to go through their task in an imperfect manner, to a - temporary firmness derived from a repetition of practices, the - general effect of which had shaken both them and him so terribly. - -Behold me then, in the robust period of life, reduced to imbecility and -decay. Hear me count my gains, and the profits which I have derived from -the midnight cup. - -Twelve years ago I was possessed of a healthy frame of mind and body. I -was never strong, but I think my constitution (for a weak one) was as -happily exempt from the tendency to any malady as it was possible to be. -I scarce knew what it was to ail any thing. Now, except when I am losing -myself in a sea of drink, I am never free from those uneasy sensations -in head and stomach, which are so much worse to bear than any definite -pains or aches. - -At that time I was seldom in bed after six in the morning, summer and -winter. I awoke refreshed, and seldom without some merry thoughts in my -head, or some piece of a song to welcome the new-born day. Now, the -first feeling which besets me, after stretching out the hours of -recumbence to their last possible extent, is a forecast of the wearisome -day that lies before me, with a secret wish that I could have lain on -still, or never awaked. - -Life itself, my waking life, has much of the confusion, the trouble, and -obscure perplexity, of an ill dream. In the daytime I stumble upon dark -mountains. - -Business, which, though never particularly adapted to my nature, yet as -something of necessity to be gone through, and therefore best undertaken -with cheerfulness, I used to enter upon with some degree of alacrity, -now wearies, affrights, perplexes me. I fancy all sorts of -discouragements, and am ready to give up an occupation which gives me -bread, from a harassing conceit of incapacity. The slightest commission -given me by a friend, or any small duty which I have to perform for -myself, as giving orders to a tradesman, &c. haunts me as a labour -impossible to be got through. So much the springs of action are broken. - -The same cowardice attends me in all my intercourse with mankind. I dare -not promise that a friend's honour, or his cause, would be safe in my -keeping, if I were put to the expense of any manly resolution in -defending it. So much the springs of moral action are deadened within -me. - -My favourite occupations in times past, now cease to entertain. I can -do nothing readily. Application for ever so short a time kills me. This -poor abstract of my condition was penned at long intervals, with -scarcely any attempt at connexion of thought, which is now difficult to -me. - -The noble passages which formerly delighted me in history or poetic -fiction, now only draw a few weak tears, allied to dotage. My broken and -dispirited nature seems to sink before any thing great and admirable. - -I perpetually catch myself in tears, for any cause, or none. It is -inexpressible how much this infirmity adds to a sense of shame, and a -general feeling of deterioration. - -These are some of the instances, concerning which I can say with truth, -that it was not always so with me. - -Shall I lift up the veil of my weakness any further? or is this -disclosure sufficient? - -I am a poor nameless egotist, who have no vanity to consult by these -Confessions. I know not whether I shall be laughed at, or heard -seriously. Such as they are, I commend them to the reader's attention, -if he finds his own case any way touched. I have told him what I am come -to. Let him stop in time. - - ELIA. - - - - -RECOLLECTIONS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL - -(1813. TEXT OF 1818) - - -To comfort the desponding parent with the thought that, without -diminishing the stock which is imperiously demanded to furnish the more -pressing and homely wants of our nature, he has disposed of one or more -perhaps out of a numerous offspring, under the shelter of a care scarce -less tender than the paternal, where not only their bodily cravings -shall be supplied, but that mental _pabulum_ is also dispensed, which HE -hath declared to be no less necessary to our sustenance, who said, that -"not by bread alone man can live;" for this Christ's Hospital unfolds -her bounty. Here neither, on the one hand, are the youth lifted up above -their family, which we must suppose liberal though reduced; nor, on the -other hand, are they liable to be depressed below its level by the mean -habits and sentiments which a common charity-school generates. It is, in -a word, an Institution to keep those who have yet held up their heads in -the world from sinking; to keep alive the spirit of a decent household, -when poverty was in danger of crushing it; to assist those who are the -most willing, but not always the most able, to assist themselves; to -separate a child from his family for a season, in order to render him -back hereafter, with feelings and habits more congenial to it, than he -could even have attained by remaining at home in the bosom of it. It is -a preserving and renovating principle, an antidote for the _res angusta -domi_, when it presses, as it always does, most heavily upon the most -ingenuous natures. - -This is Christ's Hospital; and whether its character would be improved -by confining its advantages to the very lowest of the people, let those -judge who have witnessed the looks, the gestures, the behaviour, the -manner of their play with one another, their deportment towards -strangers, the whole aspect and physiognomy of that vast assemblage of -boys on the London foundation, who freshen and make alive again with -their sports the else mouldering cloisters of the old Grey Friars--which -strangers who have never witnessed, if they pass through Newgate-street, -or by Smithfield, would do well to go a little out of their way to see. - -For the Christ's Hospital boy feels that he is no charity-boy; he feels -it in the antiquity and regality of the foundation to which he belongs; -in the usage which he meets with at school, and the treatment he is -accustomed to out of its bounds; in the respect, and even kindness, -which his well known garb never fails to procure him in the streets of -the metropolis; he feels it in his education, in that measure of -classical attainments, which every individual at that school, though not -destined to a learned profession, has it in his power to procure, -attainments which it would be worse than folly to put it in the reach of -the labouring classes to acquire: he feels it in the numberless -comforts, and even magnificences, which surround him; in his old and -awful cloisters, with their traditions; in his spacious school-rooms, -and in the well-ordered, airy, and lofty rooms where he sleeps; in his -stately dining-hall, hung round with pictures by Verrio, Lely, and -others, one of them surpassing in size and grandeur almost any other in -the kingdom;[26] above all, in the very extent and magnitude of the body -to which he belongs, and the consequent spirit, the intelligence, and -public conscience, which is the result of so many various yet -wonderfully combining members. Compared with this last-named advantage, -what is the stock of information, (I do not here speak of book-learning, -but of that knowledge which boy receives from boy,) the mass of -collected opinions, the intelligence in common, among the few and narrow -members of an ordinary boarding-school? - - [26] By Verrio, representing James the Second on his throne, - surrounded by his courtiers, (all curious portraits,) receiving the - mathematical pupils at their annual presentation, a custom still - kept up on New-year's-day at Court. - -The Christ's Hospital or Blue-coat boy, has a distinctive character of -his own, as far removed from the abject qualities of a common -charity-boy as it is from the disgusting forwardness of a lad brought up -at some other of the public schools. There is _pride_ in it, accumulated -from the circumstances which I have described as differencing him from -the former; and there is a _restraining modesty_, from a sense of -obligation and dependence, which must ever keep his deportment from -assimilating to that of the latter. His very garb, as it is antique and -venerable, feeds his self-respect; as it is a badge of dependence, it -restrains the natural petulance of that age from breaking out into -overt-acts of insolence. This produces silence and a reserve before -strangers, yet not that cowardly shyness which boys mewed up at home -will feel; he will speak up when spoken to, but the stranger must begin -the conversation with him. Within his bounds he is all fire and play; -but in the streets he steals along with all the self-concentration of a -young monk. He is never known to mix with other boys, they are a sort of -laity to him. All this proceeds, I have no doubt, from the continual -consciousness which he carries about him of the difference of his dress -from that of the rest of the world; with a modest jealousy over himself, -lest, by over-hastily mixing with common and secular playfellows, he -should commit the dignity of his cloth. Nor let any one laugh at this; -for, considering the propensity of the multitude, and especially of the -small multitude, to ridicule any thing unusual in dress--above all, -where such peculiarity may be construed by malice into a mark of -disparagement--this reserve will appear to be nothing more than a wise -instinct in the Blue-coat boy. That it is neither pride nor rusticity, -at least that it has none of the offensive qualities of either, a -stranger may soon satisfy himself by putting a question to any of these -boys: he may be sure of an answer couched in terms of plain civility, -neither loquacious nor embarrassed. Let him put the same question to a -parish-boy, or to one of the trencher-caps in the ---- cloisters, and -the impudent reply of the one shall not fail to exasperate any more than -the certain servility, and mercenary eye to reward, which he will meet -with in the other, can fail to depress and sadden him. - -The Christ's Hospital boy is a religious character. His school is -eminently a religious foundation; it has its peculiar prayers, its -services at set times, its graces, hymns, and anthems, following each -other in an almost monastic closeness of succession. This religious -character in him is not always untinged with superstition. That is not -wonderful, when we consider the thousand tales and traditions which must -circulate, with undisturbed credulity, amongst so many boys, that have -so few checks to their belief from any intercourse with the world at -large; upon whom their equals in age must work so much, their elders so -little. With this leaning towards an over-belief in matters of religion, -which will soon correct itself when he comes out into society, may be -classed a turn for romance above most other boys. This is to be traced -in the same manner to their excess of society with each other, and -defect of mingling with the world. Hence the peculiar avidity with which -such books as the Arabian Nights Entertainments, and others of a still -wilder cast, are, or at least were in my time, sought for by the boys. I -remember when some half-dozen of them set off from school, without map, -card, or compass, on a serious expedition to find out _Philip Quarll's -Island_. - -The Christ's Hospital boy's sense of right and wrong is peculiarly -tender and apprehensive. It is even apt to run out into ceremonial -observances, and to impose a yoke upon itself beyond the strict -obligations of the moral law. Those who were contemporaries with me at -that School thirty years ago, will remember with what more than Judaic -rigour the eating of the fat of certain boiled meats[27] was -interdicted. A boy would have blushed, as at the exposure of some -heinous immorality, to have been detected eating that forbidden portion -of his allowance of animal food, the whole of which, while he was in -health, was little more than sufficient to allay his hunger. The same, -or even greater, refinement was shewn in the rejection of certain kinds -of sweet-cake. What gave rise to these supererogatory penances, these -self-denying ordinances, I could never learn;[28] they certainly argue -no defect of the conscientious principle. A little excess in that -article is not undesirable in youth, to make allowance for the -inevitable waste which comes in maturer years. But in the less ambiguous -line of duty, in those directions of the moral feelings which cannot be -mistaken or depreciated, I will relate what took place in the year 1785, -when Mr. Perry, the steward, died. I must be pardoned for taking my -instances from my own times. Indeed, the vividness of my recollections, -while I am upon this subject, almost brings back those times; they are -present to me still. But I believe that in the years which have elapsed -since the period which I speak of, the character of the Christ's -Hospital boy is very little changed. Their situation in point of many -comforts is improved; but that which I ventured before to term the -_public conscience_ of the school, the pervading moral sense, of which -every mind partakes, and to which so many individual minds contribute, -remains, I believe, pretty much the same as when I left it. I have seen -within this twelvemonth almost the change which has been produced upon a -boy of eight or nine years of age, upon being admitted into that school; -how, from a pert young coxcomb, who thought that all knowledge was -comprehended within his shallow brains, because a smattering of two or -three languages and one or two sciences were stuffed into him by -injudicious treatment at home, by a mixture with the wholesome society -of so many schoolfellows, in less time than I have spoken of, he has -sunk to his own level, and is contented to be carried on in the quiet -orb of modest self-knowledge in which the common mass of that -unpresumptuous assemblage of boys seem to move: from being a little -unfeeling mortal, he has got to feel and reflect. Nor would it be a -difficult matter to shew how, at a school like this, where the boy is -neither entirely separated from home, nor yet exclusively under its -influence, the best feelings, the filial for instance, are brought to a -maturity which they could not have attained under a completely domestic -education; how the relation of parent is rendered less tender by -unremitted association, and the very awfulness of age is best -apprehended by some sojourning amidst the comparative levity of youth; -how absence, not drawn out by too great extension into alienation or -forgetfulness, puts an edge upon the relish of occasional intercourse, -and the boy is made the better _child_ by that which keeps the force of -that relation from being felt as perpetually pressing on him; how the -substituted paternity, into the care of which he is adopted, while in -everything substantial it makes up for the natural, in the necessary -omission of individual fondnesses and partialities, directs the mind -only the more strongly to appreciate that natural and first tie, in -which such weaknesses are the bond of strength, and the appetite which -craves after them betrays no perverse palate. But these speculations -rather belong to the question of the comparative advantages of a public -over a private education in general. I must get back to my favourite -school; and to that which took place when our old and good steward died. - - [27] Under the denomination of _gags_. - - [28] I am told that the late steward,[A] who evinced on many - occasions a most praiseworthy anxiety to promote the comfort of the - boys, had occasion for all his address and perseverance to eradicate - the first of these unfortunate prejudices, in which he at length - happily succeeded, and thereby restored to one-half of the animal - nutrition of the school those honors which painful superstition and - blind zeal had so long conspired to withhold from it. - - [A] Mr. Hathaway. - -And I will say, that when I think of the frequent instances which I have -met with in children, of a hard-heartedness, a callousness, and -insensibility to the loss of relations, even of those who have begot and -nourished them, I cannot but consider it as a proof of something in the -peculiar conformation of that school, favourable to the expansion of the -best feelings of our nature, that, at the period which I am noticing, -out of five hundred boys there was not a dry eye to be found among them, -nor a heart that did not beat with genuine emotion. Every impulse to -play, until the funeral day was past, seemed suspended throughout the -school; and the boys, lately so mirthful and sprightly, were seen pacing -their cloisters alone, or in sad groupes standing about, few of them -without some token, such as their slender means could provide, a black -ribband, or something to denote respect and a sense of their loss. The -time itself was a time of anarchy, a time in which all authority (out of -school-hours) was abandoned. The ordinary restraints were for those days -superseded; and the gates, which at other times kept us in, were left -without watchers. Yet, with the exception of one or two graceless boys -at most, who took advantage of that suspension of authority to _skulk -out_, as it was called, the whole body of that great school kept -rigorously within their bounds, by a voluntary self-imprisonment; and -they who broke bounds, though they escaped punishment from any master, -fell into a general disrepute among us, and, for that which at any other -time would have been applauded and admired as a mark of spirit, were -consigned to infamy and reprobation: so much _natural government_ have -gratitude and the principles of reverence and love, and so much did a -respect to their dead friend prevail with these Christ's Hospital boys -above any fear which his presence among them when living could ever -produce. And if the impressions which were made on my mind so long ago -are to be trusted, very richly did their steward deserve this tribute. -It is a pleasure to me even now to call to mind his portly form, the -regal awe which he always contrived to inspire, in spite of a tenderness -and even weakness of nature that would have enfeebled the reins of -discipline in any other master; a yearning of tenderness towards those -under his protection, which could make five hundred boys at once feel -towards him each as to their individual father. He had faults, with -which we had nothing to do; but, with all his faults, indeed, Mr. Perry -was a most extraordinary creature. Contemporary with him, and still -living, though he has long since resigned his occupation, will it be -impertinent to mention the name of our excellent upper grammar-master, -the Rev. James Boyer? He was a disciplinarian, indeed, of a different -stamp from him whom I have just described; but, now the terrors of the -rod, and of a temper a little too hasty to leave the more nervous of us -quite at our ease to do justice to his merits in those days, are long -since over, ungrateful were we if we should refuse our testimony to that -unwearied assiduity with which he attended to the particular improvement -of each of us. Had we been the offspring of the first gentry in the -land, he could not have been instigated by the strongest views of -recompense and reward to have made himself a greater slave to the most -laborious of all occupations than he did for us sons of charity, from -whom, or from our parents, he could expect nothing. He has had his -reward in the satisfaction of having discharged his duty, in the -pleasurable consciousness of having advanced the respectability of that -institution to which, both man and boy, he was attached; in the honours -to which so many of his pupils have successfully aspired at both our -Universities; and in the staff with which the Governors of the Hospital -at the close of his hard labours, with the highest expressions of the -obligations the school lay under to him unanimously voted to present -him. - -I have often considered it among the felicities of the constitution of -this school, that the offices of steward and schoolmaster are kept -distinct; the strict business of education alone devolving upon the -latter, while the former has the charge of all things out of school, the -controul of the provisions, the regulation of meals, of dress, of play, -and the ordinary intercourse of the boys. By this division of -management, a superior respectability must attach to the teacher while -his office is unmixed with any of these lower concerns. A still greater -advantage over the construction of common boarding-schools is to be -found in the settled salaries of the masters, rendering them totally -free of obligation to any individual pupil or his parents. This never -fails to have its effect at schools where each boy can reckon up to a -hair what profit the master derives from him, where he views him every -day in the light of a caterer, a provider for the family, who is to get -so much by him in each of his meals. Boys will see and consider these -things; and how much must the sacred character of preceptor suffer in -their minds by these degrading associations! The very bill which the -pupil carries home with him at Christmas, eked out, perhaps, with -elaborate though necessary minuteness, instructs him that his teachers -have other ends than the mere love to learning in the lessons which they -give him; and though they put into his hands the fine sayings of Seneca -or Epictetus, yet they themselves are none of those disinterested -pedagogues to teach philosophy _gratis_. The master, too, is sensible -that he is seen in this light; and how much this must lessen that -affectionate regard to the learners which alone can sweeten the bitter -labour of instruction, and convert the whole business into unwelcome -and uninteresting taskwork, many preceptors that I have conversed with -on the subject are ready, with a sad heart, to acknowledge. From this -inconvenience the settled salaries of the masters of this school in -great measure exempt them; while the happy custom of chusing masters -(indeed every officer of the establishment) from those who have received -their education there, gives them an interest in advancing the character -of the school, and binds them to observe a tenderness and a respect to -the children, in which a stranger, feeling that independence which I -have spoken of, might well be expected to fail. - -In affectionate recollections of the place where he was bred up, in -hearty recognitions of old school-fellows met with again after the lapse -of years, or in foreign countries, the Christ's Hospital boy yields to -none; I might almost say, he goes beyond most other boys. The very -compass and magnitude of the school, its thousand bearings, the space it -takes up in the imagination beyond the ordinary schools, impresses a -remembrance, accompanied with an elevation of mind, that attends him -through life. It is too big, too affecting an object, to pass away -quickly from his mind. The Christ's Hospital boy's friends at school are -commonly his intimates through life. For me, I do not know whether a -constitutional imbecility does not incline me too obstinately to cling -to the remembrances of childhood; in an inverted ratio to the usual -sentiments of mankind, nothing that I have been engaged in since seems -of any value or importance, compared to the colours which imagination -gave to everything then. I belong to no _body corporate_ such as I then -made a part of.--And here, before I close, taking leave of the general -reader, and addressing myself solely to my old school fellows, that were -contemporaries with me from the year 1782 to 1789, let me have leave to -remember some of those circumstances of our school, which they will not -be unwilling to have brought back to their minds. - -And first, let us remember, as first in importance in our childish eyes, -the young men (as they almost were) who, under the denomination of -_Grecians_, were waiting the expiration of the period when they should -be sent, at the charges of the Hospital, to one or other of our -Universities, but more frequently to Cambridge. These youths, from their -superior acquirements, their superior age and stature, and the fewness -of their numbers, (for seldom above two or three at a time were -inaugurated into that high order,) drew the eyes of all, and especially -of the younger boys, into a reverent observance and admiration. How tall -they used to seem to us!--how stately would they pace along the -cloisters!--while the play of the lesser boys was absolutely suspended, -or its boisterousness at least allayed, at their presence! Not that they -ever beat or struck the boys--that would have been to have demeaned -themselves--the dignity of their persons alone insured them all respect. -The task of blows, of corporal chastisement, they left to the common -monitors, or heads of wards, who, it must be confessed, in our time had -rather too much licence allowed them to oppress and misuse their -inferiors; and the interference of the Grecian, who may be considered as -the spiritual power, was not unfrequently called for, to mitigate by its -mediation the heavy unrelenting arm of this temporal power, or monitor. -In fine, the Grecians were the solemn Muftis of the school. Æras were -computed from their time;--it used to be said, such or such a thing was -done when S---- or T---- was Grecian. - -As I ventured to call the Grecians the Muftis of the school, the king's -boys,[29] as their character then was, may well pass for the Janisaries. -They were the terror of all the other boys; bred up under that hardy -sailor, as well as excellent mathematician, and co-navigator with -Captain Cook, William Wales. All his systems were adapted to fit them -for the rough element which they were destined to encounter. Frequent -and severe punishments, which were expected to be borne with more than -Spartan fortitude, came to be considered less as inflictions of disgrace -than as trials of obstinate endurance. To make his boys hardy, and to -give them early sailor-habits, seemed to be his only aim; to this every -thing was subordinate. Moral obliquities, indeed, were sure of receiving -their full recompense, for no occasion of laying on the lash was ever -let slip; but the effects expected to be produced from it were something -very different from contrition or mortification. There was in William -Wales a perpetual fund of humour, a constant glee about him, which, -heightened by an inveterate provincialism of North country-dialect, -absolutely took away the sting from his severities. His punishments were -a game at patience, in which the master was not always worst contented -when he found himself at times overcome by his pupil. What success this -discipline had, or how the effects of it operated upon the after-lives -of these king's boys, I cannot say: but I am sure that, for the time, -they were absolute nuisances to the rest of the school. Hardy, brutal, -and often wicked, they were the most graceless lump in the whole mass; -older and bigger than the other boys, (for, by the system of their -education they were kept longer at school by two or three years than any -of the rest, except the Grecians,) they were a constant terror to the -younger part of the school; and some who may read this, I doubt not, -will remember the consternation into which the juvenile fry of us were -thrown, when the cry was raised in the cloisters, that _the First Order -was coming_--for so they termed the first form or class of those boys. -Still these sea-boys answered some good purposes in the school. They -were the military class among the boys, foremost in athletic exercises, -who extended the fame of the prowess of the school far and near; and the -apprentices in the vicinage, and sometimes the butchers' boys in the -neighbouring market, had sad occasion to attest their valour. - - [29] The mathematical pupils, bred up to the sea, on the foundation - of Charles the Second. - -The time would fail me if I were to attempt to enumerate all those -circumstances, some pleasant, some attended with some pain, which, seen -through the mist of distance, come sweetly softened to the memory. But I -must crave leave to remember our transcending superiority in those -invigorating sports, leap-frog, and basting the bear; our delightful -excursions in the summer holidays to the New River, near Newington, -where, like otters, we would live the long day in the water, never -caring for dressing ourselves when we had once stripped; our savoury -meals afterwards, when we came home almost famished with staying out all -day without our dinners; our visits at other times to the Tower, where, -by antient privilege, we had free access to all the curiosities; our -solemn processions through the City at Easter, with the Lord Mayor's -largess of buns, wine, and a shilling, with the festive questions and -civic pleasantries of the dispensing Aldermen, which were more to us -than all the rest of the banquet; our stately suppings in public, where -the well-lighted hall, and the confluence of well-dressed company who -came to see us, made the whole look more like a concert or assembly, -than a scene of a plain bread and cheese collation; the annual orations -upon St. Matthew's day, in which the senior scholar, before he had done, -seldom failed to reckon up, among those who had done honour to our -school by being educated in it, the names of those accomplished critics -and Greek scholars, Joshua Barnes and Jeremiah Markland (I marvel they -left out Camden while they were about it). Let me have leave to remember -our hymns and anthems, and well-toned organ; the doleful tune of the -burial anthem chanted in the solemn cloisters, upon the seldom-occurring -funeral of some school-fellow; the festivities at Christmas, when the -richest of us would club our stock to have a gaudy day, sitting round -the fire, replenished to the height with logs, and the penniless, and he -that could contribute nothing, partook in all the mirth, and in some of -the substantialities of the feasting; the carol sung by night at that -time of the year, which, when a young boy, I have so often lain awake to -hear from seven (the hour of going to bed) till ten, when it was sung by -the older boys and monitors, and have listened to it, in their rude -chanting, till I have been transported in fancy to the fields of -Bethlehem, and the song which was sung at that season by angels' voices -to the shepherds. - -Nor would I willingly forget any of those things which administered to -our vanity. The hem-stitched bands, and town-made shirts, which some of -the most fashionable among us wore; the town-girdles, with buckles of -silver, or shining stone; the badges of the sea-boys; the cots, or -superior shoe-strings of the monitors; the medals of the markers, (those -who were appointed to hear the Bible read in the wards on Sunday morning -and evening,) which bore on their obverse in silver, as certain parts of -our garments carried in meaner metal, the countenance of our Founder, -that godly and royal child, King Edward the Sixth, the flower of the -Tudor name--the young flower that was untimely cropt as it began to fill -our land with its early odours--the boy patron of boys--the serious and -holy child who walked with Cranmer and Ridley--fit associate, in those -tender years, for the bishops and future martyrs of our Church, to -receive, or (as occasion sometimes proved,) to give instruction. - - "But, ah! what means the silent tear? - Why, e'en mid joy, my bosom heave? - Ye long-lost scenes, enchantments dear! - Lo! now I linger o'er your grave. - - ----Fly, then, ye hours of rosy hue, - And bear away the bloom of years! - And quick succeed, ye sickly crew - Of doubts and sorrows, pains and fears! - - Still will I ponder Fate's unalter'd plan, - Nor, tracing back the child, forget that I am man."[30] - - [30] Lines meditated in the cloisters of Christ's Hospital, in the - "Poetics" of Mr. George Dyer. - - - - -TABLE-TALK IN _THE EXAMINER_ - -I.--REYNOLDS AND LEONARDO DA VINCI - -(1813) - - -The Reynolds Gallery has upon the whole disappointed me. Some of the -portraits are interesting. They are faces of characters whom we -(middle-aged gentlemen) were born a little too late to remember, but -about whom we have heard our fathers tell stories, till we almost fancy -to have seen them. There is a charm in the portrait of a Rodney, or a -Keppel, which even a picture of Nelson must want for me. I should turn -away after a slight inspection from the best likeness that could be made -of Mrs. Anne Clark; but Kitty Fisher is a considerable personage. Then -the dresses of some of the women so exactly remind us of modes which we -can just recall; of the forms under which the venerable relationships of -aunt or mother first presented themselves to our young eyes; the aprons, -the coifs, the lappets, the hoods. Mercy on us, what a load of -head-ornaments seem to have conspired to bury a pretty face in the -picture of Mrs. Long, _yet could not_! Beauty must have some "charmed -life" to have been able to surmount the conspiracy of fashion in those -days to destroy it. The portraits which least pleased me were those of -boys as infant Bacchuses, Jupiters, &c. But the Artist is not to be -blamed for the disguise. No doubt the parents wished to see their -children deified in their life-time. It was but putting a thunderbolt -(instead of a squib) into young master's hands, and a whey-faced chit -was transformed into the infant Ruler of Olympus, him who was afterwards -to shake heaven and earth with his black brow. Another good boy pleased -his grandmama with saying his prayers so well, and the blameless dotage -of the good old woman imagined in him an adequate representative of the -infancy of the awful prophet Samuel. _But the great historical -compositions, where the Artist was at liberty to paint from his own -idea--the Beaufort and the Ugolino_;--why then, I must confess, pleading -the liberty of Table-Talk for my presumption, that they have not left -any very elevating impressions upon my mind. Pardon a ludicrous -comparison. I know, Madam, you admire them both; but placed opposite to -each other as they are at the Gallery, as if to set the one work in -competition with the other, they did remind me of the famous contention -for the prize of deformity, mentioned in the 173d number of the -_Spectator_. The one stares and the other grins; but is their common -dignity in their countenances? Does any thing of the history of their -life gone by peep through the ruins of the mind in the face, like the -unconquerable grandeur that surmounts the distortions of the -Laocoon?--The figures which stand by the bed of Beaufort are indeed -happy representations of the plain unmannered old Nobility of the -English Historical Plays of Shakspeare; but for any thing else,--give me -leave to recommend these Macaroons. - -After leaving the Reynolds Gallery, where, upon the whole, I received a -good deal of pleasure, not feeling that I had quite had my fill of -paintings, I stumbled upon a picture in Piccadilly (No. 22, I think), -which purports to be a portrait of Francis the First by Leonardo da -Vinci. Heavens, what a difference! It is but a portrait as most of those -I had been seeing; but placed by them it would kill them, swallow them -up as Moses's rod the other rods. Where did those old painters get their -models? I see no such figures, not in my dreams, as this Francis, in the -character, or rather with the attributes of John the Baptist. A more -than mortal majesty in the brow and upon the eyelid--an arm muscular, -beautifully formed--the long graceful massy fingers compressing, yet so -as not to hurt, a lamb more lovely, more sweetly shrinking, than we can -conceive that milk-white one which followed Una. The picture altogether -looking as if it were eternal--combining the truth of flesh with a -promise of permanence like marble. - -Leonardo, from the one or two specimens we have of him in England, must -have been a stupendous genius. I scarce can think he has had his full -fame--he who could paint that wonderful personification of the Logos or -third person of the Trinity, grasping a globe, late in the possession of -Mr. Troward of Pall-Mall, where the hand was by the boldest licence -twice as big as the truth of drawing warranted, yet the effect to every -one that saw it, by some magic of genius, was confessed to be not -_monstrous_, but _miraculous_ and _silencing_. It could not be gainsaid. - - -II.--[THE NEW ACTING] - -(1813) - -The difference of the present race of actors from those I remember, -seems to be, that less study is found necessary for the profession than -was formerly judged to be requisite. Parsons and Dodd must have -_thought_ a good deal before they could have matured such exhibitions as -their _Foresight_ and _Aguecheek_. We do not want capable actors, but -their end is answered with less pains. The way is to get a kind of -familiarity with the audience, to strike up a kind of personal -friendship, to be "hail fellow, well met," with them: those excellent -comedians, Bannister and Dowton, who had least need of these arts, have -not disdained to use them. You see a reciprocity of greeting and -goodwill between them and the house at first entrance. It is amazing how -much carelessness of acting slips in by this intercourse. After all, it -is a good-natured fault, and a great many kindly feelings are generated -in the galleries by this process, feelings which are better than -criticism.--Russell's _Jerry Sneak_ appears to me to be a piece of the -richest colouring we have on the present stage in the comic line, if, -indeed, it be entirely comic, for its effect on me, in some passages, is -even pathetic. The innocent, good-natured tones with which _Sneak_ makes -his ineffectual appeals to the sympathy of the hard-hearted and -contemptuous betrayer of his honour, the _Major_; the slight dash of -idiotism which the Actor contrives to throw into the part, (which Foote, -I will venture to say, never dreamt of), but yet which has the happiest -effect in turning what would be _contempt_, an ill-natured and -heart-injuring passion, into _pity_ and _compassion_; are some of the -nicest effects of observation, and tend to unvulgarize the part, if I -may be allowed the expression.--For a piece of pure drollery, Liston's -_Lord Grizzle_ has no competitor. Comedy it is not, nor farce. It is -neither nature, nor exaggerated nature. It is a creation of the actor's -own. _Grizzle_ seems a being of another world, such an one as _Nicolaus -Klimius_ might have seen at the fantastic courts of his _World under the -Ground_. It is an abstract idea of court qualities,--an apotheosis of -apathy. Ben Jonson's abstractions of courtiers in his _Cynthia's Revels_ -and _Every Man out of his Humour_, what a treat it would be to see them -on the stage done in the same manner!--What I most despair of is, seeing -again a succession of such actresses as Mrs. Mattocks, Miss Pope, and -Mrs. Jordan. This coquetting between the performer and the public is -carried to a shocking excess by some of the Ladies who play the first -characters in what is called genteel comedy. Instead of playing their -pretty airs upon their lover on the stage, as Mrs. Abingdon or Mrs. -Cibber were [was] content to do, or Mrs. Oldfield before them, their -whole artillery of charms is now directed to ensnare--whom?--why, the -whole audience--a thousand gentlemen, perhaps--for this many-headed -beast they furl and unfurl their fan, and teach their lips to curl in -smiles, and their bosoms exhibit such pretty instructive heavings. These -personal applications, which used to be a sort of sauce-piquant for the -pert epilogue, now give the standing relish to the whole play. I am -afraid an actress who should omit them would not find her account in it. -I am sure that the very absence of this fault in Miss Kelly, and her -judicious attention to her part, with little or no reference to the -spectators, is one cause why her varied excellencies, though they are -beginning to be perceived, have yet found their way more slowly to the -approbation of the public, than they have deserved. Two or three more -such instances would reform the stage, and drive off the Glovers, the -Johnstons, and the St. Legers. O! when shall we see a female part acted -in the quiet, unappealing manner of Miss Pope's _Miss Candour_? When -shall we get rid of the Dalilahs of the stage? - - -III.--[BOOKS WITH ONE IDEA IN THEM] - -(1813) - -Dull poetry is to me far more oppressive than the same quantity of -dullness in prose. The act of attending to the metre is perfectly -painful where there is nothing to repay one in the thought. Of heavy -prose I can swallow a good dose. I do not know that I was ever deterred -from reading through a book which I had begun, supposing the subject to -be to my mind, except Patrick's Pilgrim. The freezing, appalling, -petrifying dullness of that book is quite astounding. Yet is there one -lively image in the preface, which an author in the present day might -comfort himself by applying to his reviewers: "If the writer of these -pages shall chance to meet with any that shall only study to cavil and -pick a quarrel with him, he is prepared beforehand to take no notice of -it, nor to be more troubled at their incivility, than a devout hermit is -at the ugly faces which the creatures who something resemble men make at -him as he is walking through the deserts." An amusing catalogue might be -made of books which contain but one good passage. They would be a sort -of single-speech Hamiltons; if Balaam's palfry might not be thought a -more apt counterpart to them. Killigrew's play of the Parson's Wedding, -which in length of massy dullness exceeds many books, is remarkable for -one little spark of liveliness. The languishing fine lady of the piece -exclaims most characteristically, upon coming in tired with walking: "I -am glad I am come home, for I am e'en as weary with this walking. For -God's sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie? I swear I have -often sought it till I was weary, and yet I could ne'er find -it."--Charron on Wisdom, a cumbrous piece of formality, which Pope's -eulogium lately betrayed me into the perusal of, has one splendid -passage; page 138, (I think) English translation. It contrasts the open -honours with which we invest the sword, as the means of putting man out -of the world, with the concealing and retiring circumstances that -accompany his introduction into it. It is a piece of gorgeous and happy -eloquence.--What could Pope mean by that line,--"sage Montaigne, or -more sage Charron?" Montaigne is an immense treasure-house of -observation, anticipating all the discoveries of succeeding essayists. -You cannot dip in him without being struck with the aphorism, that there -is nothing new under the sun. All the writers on common life since him -have done nothing but echo him. You cannot open him without detecting a -Spectator, or starting a Rambler; besides that his own character -pervades the whole, and binds it sweetly together. Charron is a mere -piece of formality, scholastic dry bones, without sinew or living flesh. - - -IV.--[A SYLVAN SURPRISE] - -(1813) - -Time and place give every thing its propriety. Strolling one day in the -Twickenham meadows, I was struck with the appearance of something dusky -upon the grass, which my eye could not immediately reduce into a shape. -Going nearer, I discovered the cause of the phenomenon. In the midst of -the most rural scene in the world, the day glorious over head, the wave -of Father Thames rippling deliciously by him, lay outstretched at his -ease upon Nature's verdant carpet--a chimney-sweeper-- - - ----a spot like which - Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb - Through his glaz'd optic tube yet never saw. - -There is no reason in nature why a chimney-sweeper should not indulge a -taste for rural objects, but somehow the ideas were discordant. It -struck upon me like an inartificial discord in music. It was a -combination of _urbs in rure_, which my experience had not prepared me -to anticipate. - - -V.--[STREET CONVERSATION] - -(1813) - -It should seem almost impossible for a person to have arrived at the age -of manhood, and never once to have heard or suspected that there have -been people born before our times. Yet this fact I am obliged to -conclude from the fragment of a conversation which I overheard between -two of the lower order of Irish, who passed me in Holborn the other -day. One of them, it seems, had appealed in defence of his argument to -the opinions or practice of their forefathers, for I heard the other -exclaim "the ancients! who were they?"--"What!" retorted his companion, -with an air of insolent superiority, "did you never hear of the -ancients? did you never read of them?" They had got too far from me to -hear the conclusion of their extraordinary discourse; but I have often -thought that it would be amusing to register the sentences, and scraps -of sentences, which one catches up in a day's walk about the town; I -mean in the way of fair and honest listening, without way-laying one's -neighbour for more than he would be willing to communicate. From these -flying words, with the help of a little imagination, one might often -piece out a long conversation foregone. - - -VI.--[A TOWN RESIDENCE] - -(1813) - -Where would a man of taste chuse his town residence, setting convenience -out of the question? Palace-yard,--for its contiguity to the Abbey, the -Courts of Justice, the Sittings of Parliament, Whitehall, the Parks, -&c.,--I hold of all places in these two great cities of London and -Westminster to be the most classical and eligible. Next in classicality, -I should name the four Inns of Court: they breathe a learned and -collegiate air; and of them chiefly, - - ----those bricky towers - The which on Thames' broad aged back doth ride, - Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers; - There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide, - Till they decay'd through pride-- - -as Spenser describes evidently with a relish. I think he had Garden -Court in his eye. The noble hall which stands there must have been built -about that time. Next to the Inns of Court, Covent-Garden, for its _rus -in urbe_, its wholesome scents of early fruits and vegetables, its -tasteful church and arcades,--above all, the neighbouring theatres, -cannot but be approved of. I do not know a fourth station comparable to -or worthy to be named after these. To an antiquarian, every spot in -London, or even Southwark, teems with historical associations, local -interest. He could not chuse amiss. But to me, who have no such -qualifying knowledge, the Surrey side of the water is peculiarly -distasteful. It is impossible to connect any thing interesting with it. -I never knew a man of taste to live, what they term, _over the bridge_. -Observe, in this place I speak solely of _chosen and voluntary_ -residence. - - -VII.--[GRAY'S _BARD_] - -(1813) - -The beard of Gray's Bard, "streaming like a meteor," had always struck -me as an injudicious imitation of the Satanic ensign in the _Paradise -Lost_, which - - ----full high advanced, - Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind: - -till the other day I met with a passage in Heywood's old play, _The Four -Prentices of London_, which it is difficult to imagine not to be the -origin of the similitude in both poets. The line in Italics Gray has -almost verbatim adopted-- - - In Sion towers hangs his victorious flag. - Blowing defiance this way; and its shews - _Like a red meteor in the troubled air_, - Or like a blazing comet that foretells - The fall of princes. - -All here is noble, and as it should be. The comparison enlarges the -thing compared without stretching it upon a violent rack, till it bursts -with ridiculous explosion. The application of such gorgeous imagery to -an old man's beard is of a piece with the Bardolfian bombast: "see you -these meteors, these exhalations?" or the raptures of an Oriental lover, -who should compare his mistress's nose to a watchtower or a steeple. The -presageful nature of the meteor, which makes so fine an adjunct of the -simile in Heywood, Milton has judiciously omitted, as less proper to his -purpose; but he seems not to have overlooked the beauty of it, by his -introducing the superstition in a succeeding book-- - - ----like a comet burn'd, - That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge - In th' artic sky, and from his horrid hair - Shakes pestilence and war. - - -VIII.--[AN AMERICAN WAR FOR HELEN] - -(1813) - -I have in my possession a curious volume of Latin verses, which I -believe to be unique. It is entitled _Alexandri Fultoni Scoti -Epigrammatorum libri quinque_. It purports to be printed at Perth, and -bears date 1679. By the appellation which the author gives himself in -the preface, _hypodidasculus_, I suppose him to have been usher at some -school. It is no uncommon thing now a days for persons concerned in -academies to affect a literary reputation in the way of their trade. The -"master of a seminary for a limited number of pupils at Islington," -lately put forth an edition of that scarce tract, the _Elegy in a -Country Churchyard_ (to use his own words), with notes and -head-lines!--But to our author. These epigrams of Alexander Fulton, -Scotchman, have little remarkable in them besides extreme dulness and -insipidity; but there is one, which, by its being marshalled in the -front of the volume, seems to have been the darling of its parent, and -for its exquisite flatness, and the surprising stroke of anachronism -with which it is pointed, deserves to be rescued from oblivion. It is -addressed, like many of the others, to a fair one:-- - - AD MARIULAM SUAM AUTOR - - Moverunt bella olim Helenæ decor atque venustas - Europen inter frugiferamque Asiam. - Tam bona, quam tu, tam prudens, sin illa fuisset, - Ad lites issent Africa et America! - -Which, in humble imitation of mine author's peculiar poverty of stile, I -have ventured thus to render into English:-- - - THE AUTHOR TO HIS MOGGY - - For love's illustrious cause, and Helen's charms, - All Europe and all Asia rush'd to arms. - Had she with these thy polish'd sense combin'd, - All Afric and America had join'd! - -The happy idea of an American war undertaken in the cause of beauty -ought certainly to recommend the author's memory to the countrymen of -Madison and Jefferson; and the bold anticipation of the discovery of -that Continent in the time of the Trojan War is a flight beyond the -Sibyll's books. - - -IX.--[DRYDEN AND COLLIER] - -(1813) - -The different way in which the same story may be told by different -persons was never more strikingly illustrated than by the manner in -which the celebrated Jeremy Collier has described the effects of -Timotheus's music upon Alexander, in the Second Part of his Essays. We -all know how Dryden has treated the subject. Let us now hear his great -contemporary and antagonist:--"_Timotheus_, a _Grecian_," says Collier, -"was so great a _Master_, that he could make a Man storm and swagger -like a Tempest. And then, by altering the _Notes_ and the _Time_, he -would take him down again, and sweeten his Humour in a trice. One Time, -when _Alexander_ was at Dinner, this Man play'd him a _Phrygian_ Air: -The Prince immediately rises, snatches up his Lance, and puts himself -into a Posture of Fighting. And the Retreat was no sooner sounded by the -Change of the Harmony, but his Arms were grounded, and his Fire extinct; -and he sat down as orderly as if he had come from one of _Aristotle's -Lectures_. I warrant you _Demosthenes_ would have been flourishing about -such a Business a long Hour, and may be not have done it neither. But -_Timotheus_ had a nearer Cut to the Soul: He could neck a Passion at a -Stroke, and lay it Asleep. _Pythagoras_ once met with a Parcel of -drunken Fellows, who were likely to be troublesome enough. He presently -orders the _Musick_ to play Grave, and chop into a _Dorian_: Upon this, -they all threw away their _Garlands_, and were as sober and as -shame-faced as one would wish."--It is evident that Dryden, in his -inspired Ode, and Collier in all this pudder of prose, meant the same -thing. But what a work does the latter make with his "necking a passion -at his stroke," "making a man storm and swagger like a tempest," and -then "taking him down and sweetening his humour in a trice." What in -Dryden is "Softly sweet in Lydian measures," Collier calls "chopping -into a Dorian."--This Collier was the same who, in his Biographical -Dictionary, says of Shakespeare, that "though his genius generally was -jocular, and inclining to festivity, yet _he could when he pleased be as -serious as any body_." - - -X.--PLAY-HOUSE MEMORANDA - -(1813) - -I once sat in the Pit of Drury-lane Theatre next to a blind man, who, I -afterwards learned, was a street musician, well known about London. The -play was _Richard the Third_, and it was curious to observe the interest -which he took in every successive scene, so far more lively than could -be perceived in any of the company around him. At those pathetic -interviews between the _Queen_ and _Duchess of York_, after the murder -of the children, his eyes (or rather the places where eyes should have -been) gushed out tears in torrents, and he sat intranced in attention, -while every one about him was tittering, partly at him, and partly at -the grotesque figures and wretched action of the women, who had been -selected by managerial taste to personate those royal mourners. Having -no drawback of sight to impair his sensibilities, he simply attended to -the scene, and received its unsophisticated impression. _So much the -rather her celestial light shone inward._ I was pleased with an -observation which he made, when I asked him how he liked Kemble, who -played _Richard_. I should have thought (said he) that that man had been -reading something out of a book, if I had not known that I was in a -play-house. - -I was once amused in a different way by a knot of country people who had -come to see a play at that same Theatre. They seemed perfectly -inattentive to all the best performers for the first act or two, though -the piece was admirably played, but kept poring in the play-bill, and -were evidently watching for the appearance of one, who was to be the -source of supreme delight to them that night. At length the expected -actor arrived, who happened to be in possession of a very insignificant -part, not much above a mule [? mute]. I saw their faint attempt at -raising a clap on his appearance, and their disappointment at not being -seconded by the audience in general. I saw them try to admire and to -find out something very wonderful in him, and wondering all the while at -the moderate sensation he produced. I saw their pleasure and their -interest subside at last into flat mortification, when the riddle was at -once unfolded by my recollecting that this performer bore the same name -with an actor, then in the acme of his celebrity, at Covent-Garden, but -who lately finished his theatrical and mortal career on the other side -the Atlantic. They had come to see Mr. C----, but had come to the wrong -house. - -Is it a stale remark to say, that I have constantly found the interest -excited at a play-house to bear an exact inverse proportion to the price -paid for admission. Formerly, when my sight and hearing were more -perfect, and my purse a little less so, I was a frequenter of the upper -gallery in the old Theatres. The eager attention, the breathless -listening, the anxiety not to lose a word, the quick anticipation of the -significance of the scene (every sense kept as it were upon a sharp look -out), which are exhibited by the occupiers of those higher and now -almost out-of-sight regions (who, going seldom to a play, cannot afford -to lose any thing by inattention), suffer some little diminution, as you -descend to the lower or two-shilling ranks; but still the joy is lively -and unallayed, save [that] by some little _incursion_ of _manners_, the -expression of it is expected to abate somewhat of its natural -liveliness. The oaken plaudits of the trunkmaker would _here_ be -considered as going a little beyond the line.--In the pit first begins -that accursed critical faculty, which, making a man the judge of his own -pleasures, too often constitutes him the executioner of his own and -others! You may see the _jealousy of being unduly pleased_, the -_suspicion of being taken in to admire_; in short, the vile critical -spirit, creeping and diffusing itself, and spreading from the wrinkled -brows and cloudy eyes of the front row sages and newspaper reporters -(its proper residence), till it infects and clouds over the thoughtless, -vacant countenance, of John Bull tradesmen, and clerks of -counting-houses, who, but for that approximation, would have been -contented to have grinned without rule, and to have been pleased without -asking why. The sitting next a critic is contagious. Still now and then, -a _genuine spectator_ is to be found among them, a shopkeeper and his -family, whose honest titillations of mirth, and generous chucklings of -applause, cannot wait or be at leisure to take the cue from the sour -judging faces about them. Haply they never dreamed that there were such -animals in nature as critics or reviewers; even the idea of an author -may be a speculation they never entered into; but they take the mirth -they find as a pure effusion of the actor-folks, set there on purpose to -make them fun. I love the unenquiring gratitude of such spectators. As -for the Boxes, I never can understand what brings the people there. I -see such frigid indifference, such unconcerned spectatorship, such -impenetrability to pleasure or its contrary, such being _in the house_ -and yet not _of it_, certainly they come far nearer the nature of _the -Gods_, upon the system of Lucretius at least, than those honest, hearty, -well-pleased, unindifferent mortals above, who, from time immemorial, -have had that name, upon no other ground than situation, assigned them. - -Take the play-house altogether, there is a less sum of enjoyment than -used to be. Formerly you might see something like the effect of a -novelty upon a citizen, his wife and daughters, in the Pit; their -curiosity upon every new face that entered upon the stage. The talk of -how they got in at the door, and how they were crowded upon some former -occasion, made a topic till the curtain drew up. People go too often -now-a-days to make their ingress or egress of consequence. Children of -seven years of age will talk as familiarly of the performers, aye and as -knowingly (according to the received opinion) as grown persons; more -than the grown persons in my time. Oh when shall I forget first seeing a -play, at the age of five or six? It was _Artaxerxes_. Who played, or who -sang in it, I know not. Such low ideas as actors' names, or actors' -merits, never entered my head. The mystery of delight was not cut open -and dissipated for me by those who took me there. It was _Artaxerxes_ -and _Arbaces_ and _Mandane_ that I saw, not Mr. Beard, or Mr. Leoni, or -Mrs. Kennedy. It was all enchantment and a dream. No such pleasure has -since visited me but in dreams. I was in Persia for the time, and the -burning idol of their devotion in the Temple almost converted me into a -worshipper. I was awe-struck, and believed those significations to be -something more than elemental fires. I was, with Uriel, in the body of -the sun.--What should I have gained by knowing (as I should have done, -had I been born thirty years later) that that solar representation was a -mere painted scene, that had neither fire nor light in itself, and that -the royal phantoms, which passed in review before me, were but such -common mortals as I could see every day out of my father's window? We -crush the faculty of delight and wonder in children, by explaining every -thing. We take them to the source of the Nile, and shew them the scanty -runnings, instead of letting the beginnings of that seven fold stream -remain in impenetrable darkness, a mysterious question of wonderment and -delight to ages. - - - - -REVIEW OF _THE EXCURSION; A POEM_ - -BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. LONDON. 4to. pp. 447 - -(1814) - - -The volume before us, as we learn from the Preface, is "a detached -portion of an unfinished poem, containing views of man, nature, and -society;" to be called the Recluse, as having for its principal subject -the "sensations and opinions of a poet living in retirement;" and to be -preceded by a "record in verse of the origin and progress of the -author's own powers, with reference to the fitness which they may be -supposed to have conferred for the task." To the completion of this plan -we look forward with a confidence which the execution of the finished -part is well calculated to inspire.--Meanwhile, in what is before us -there is ample matter for entertainment: for the "Excursion" is not a -branch (as might have been suspected) prematurely plucked from the -parent tree to gratify an overhasty appetite for applause; but is, in -itself, a complete and legitimate production. - -It opens with the meeting of the poet with an aged man whom he had known -from his school days; in plain words, a Scottish pedlar; a man who, -though of low origin, had received good learning and impressions of the -strictest piety from his stepfather, a minister and village -schoolmaster. Among the hills of Athol, the child is described to have -become familiar with the appearances of nature in his occupation as a -feeder of sheep; and from her silent influences to have derived a -character, meditative, tender, and poetical. With an imagination and -feelings thus nourished--his intellect not unaided by books, but those, -few, and chiefly of a religious cast--the necessity of seeking a -maintenance in riper years, had induced him to make choice of a -profession, the _appellation_ for which has been gradually declining -into contempt, but which formerly designated a class of men, who, -journeying in country places, when roads presented less facilities for -travelling, and the intercourse between towns and villages was -unfrequent and hazardous, became a sort of link of neighbourhood to -distant habitations; resembling, in some small measure, in the effects -of their periodical returns, the caravan which Thomson so feelingly -describes as blessing the cheerless Siberian in its annual visitation, -with "news of human kind." - -In the solitude incident to this rambling life, power had been given him -to keep alive that devotedness to nature which he had imbibed in his -childhood, together with the opportunity of gaining such notices of -persons and things from his intercourse with society, as qualified him -to become a "teacher of moral wisdom." With this man, then, in a hale -old age, released from the burthen of his occupation, yet retaining much -of its active habits, the poet meets, and is by him introduced to a -second character--a sceptic--one who had been partially roused from an -overwhelming desolation, brought upon him by the loss of wife and -children, by the powerful incitement of hope which the French Revolution -in its commencement put forth, but who, disgusted with the failure of -all its promises, had fallen back into a laxity of faith and conduct -which induced at length a total despondence as to the dignity and final -destination of his species. In the language of the poet, he - - ----broke faith with those whom he had laid - In earth's dark chambers, - -Yet he describes himself as subject to compunctious visitations from -that silent quarter. - - ----Feebly must They have felt, - Who, in old time, attired with snakes and whips - The vengeful Furies. _Beautiful_ regards - Were turned on me--the face of her I loved; - The Wife and Mother; pitifully fixing - Tender reproaches, insupportable!--p. 133. - -The conversations with this person, in which the Wanderer asserts the -consolatory side of the question against the darker views of human life -maintained by his friend, and finally calls to his assistance the -experience of a village priest, the third, or rather fourth -interlocutor, (for the poet himself is one,) form the groundwork of the -"Excursion." - -It will be seen by this sketch that the poem is of a didactic nature, -and not a fable or story; yet it is not wanting in stories of the most -interesting kind,--such as the lovers of Cowper and Goldsmith will -recognise as something familiar and congenial to them. We might instance -the Ruined Cottage, and the Solitary's own story, in the first half of -the work; and the second half, as being almost a continued cluster of -narration. But the prevailing charm of the poem is, perhaps, that, -conversational as it is in its plan, the dialogue throughout is carried -on in the very heart of the most romantic scenery which the poet's -native hills could supply; and which, by the perpetual references made -to it either in the way of illustration or for variety and pleasurable -description's sake, is brought before us as we read. We breathe in the -fresh air, as we do while reading Walton's Complete Angler; only the -country about us is as much bolder than Walton's, as the thoughts and -speculations, which form the matter of the poem, exceed the trifling -pastime and low-pitched conversation of his humble fishermen. We give -the description of the "two huge peaks," which from some other vale -peered into that in which the Solitary is entertaining the poet and -companion. "Those," says their host, - - ----if here you dwelt, would be - Your prized Companions.--Many are the notes - Which in his tuneful course the wind draws forth - From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores; - And well those lofty Brethren bear their part - In the wild concert--chiefly when the storm - Rides high; then all the upper air they fill - With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow, - Like smoke, along the level of the blast - In mighty current; theirs, too, is the song - Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails; - And in the grim and breathless hour of noon, - Methinks that I have heard them echo back - The thunder's greeting:--nor have Nature's laws - Left them ungifted with a power to yield - Music of finer frame; a harmony, - So do I call it, though it be the hand - Of silence, though there be no voice;--the clouds, - The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns, - Motions of moonlight, all come thither--touch, - And have an answer--thither come, and shape - A language not unwelcome to sick hearts - And idle spirits:--there the sun himself - At the calm close of summer's longest day - Rests his substantial Orb;--between those heights - And on the top of either pinnacle, - More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault, - Sparkle the Stars as of their station proud. - Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man - Than the mute agent stirring there:--alone - Here do I sit and watch.--p. 84. - -To a mind constituted like that of Mr. Wordsworth, the stream, the -torrent, and the stirring leaf--seem not merely to suggest associations -of deity, but to be a kind of speaking communication with it. He walks -through every forest, as through some Dodona; and every bird that flits -among the leaves, like that miraculous one[31] in Tasso, but in language -more intelligent, reveals to him far higher lovelays. In his poetry -nothing in Nature is dead. Motion is synonymous with life. "Beside yon -spring," says the Wanderer, speaking of a deserted well, from which, in -former times, a poor woman, who died heart-broken, had been used to -dispense refreshment to the thirsty traveller, - - ----beside yon Spring I stood, - And eyed its waters till we seem'd to feel - One sadness, they and I. For them a bond - Of brotherhood is broken: time has been - When, every day, the touch of human hand - Dislodged the natural sleep that binds them up - In mortal stillness;--p. 27. - - [31] - - With partie coloured plumes and purple bill, - A woondrous bird among the rest there flew, - That in plaine speech sung love laies loud and shrill, - Her leden was like humaine language trew, - So much she talkt, and with such wit and skill, - That strange it seemed how much good she knew. - _Fairefax's Translation_ [Book 16, Stanza 13]. - -To such a mind, we say--call it strength or weakness--if weakness, -assuredly a fortunate one--the visible and audible things of creation -present, not dim symbols, or curious emblems, which they have done at -all times to those who have been gifted with the poetical faculty; but -revelations and quick insights into the life within us, the pledge of -immortality:-- - - ----the whispering Air - Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights, - And blind recesses of the caverned rocks; - The little Rills, and Waters numberless, - Inaudible by day-light, - -"I have seen," the poet says, and the illustration is an happy one: - - ----I have seen - A curious Child [who dwelt upon a tract - Of inland ground], applying to his ear - The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd Shell; - To which, in silence hushed, his very soul - Listened intensely, and his countenance soon - Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within - Were heard,--sonorous cadences! whereby, - To his belief, the Monitor expressed - Mysterious union with its native Sea. - Even such a Shell the Universe itself - Is to the ear of Faith; and [there are times, - I doubt not, when to you it] doth impart - Authentic tidings of invisible things; - Of ebb and flow, and ever during power; - And central peace subsisting at the heart - Of endless agitation.--p. 191. - -Sometimes this harmony is imaged to us by an echo; and in one instance, -it is with such transcendant beauty set forth by a shadow and its -corresponding substance, that it would be a sin to cheat our readers at -once of so happy an illustration of the poet's system, and so fair a -proof of his descriptive powers. - - Thus having reached a bridge, that overarched - The hasty rivulet where it lay becalmed - In a deep pool, by happy chance we saw - A two-fold Image; on a grassy bank - A snow-white Ram, and in the crystal flood - Another and the same! Most beautiful, - On the green turf, with his imperial front - Shaggy and bold, and wreathed horns superb, - The breathing Creature stood; as beautiful, - Beneath him, shewed his shadowy Counterpart. - Each had his glowing mountains, each his sky, - And each seemed centre of his own fair world: - Antipodes unconscious of each other, - Yet, in partition, with their several spheres, - Blended in perfect stillness, to our sight!--p. 407. - -Combinations, it is confessed, "like those reflected in that quiet -pool," cannot be lasting: it is enough for the purpose of the poet, if -they are felt.--They are at least his system; and his readers, if they -reject them for their creed, may receive them merely as poetry. In him, -_faith_, in friendly alliance and conjunction with the religion of his -country, appears to have grown up, fostered by meditation and lonely -communions with Nature--an internal principle of lofty consciousness, -which stamps upon his opinions and sentiments (we were almost going to -say) the character of an expanded and generous Quakerism. - -From such a creed we should expect unusual results; and, when applied to -the purposes of consolation, more touching considerations than from the -mouth of common teachers. The finest speculation of this sort perhaps in -the poem before us, is the notion of the thoughts which may sustain the -spirit, while they crush the frame of the sufferer, who from loss of -objects of love by death, is commonly supposed to pine away under a -broken heart. - - ----If there be whose tender frames have drooped - Even to the dust; apparently, through weight - Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power - An agonizing spirit to transmute, - Infer not hence a hope from those withheld - When wanted most; a confidence impaired - So pitiably, that, having ceased to see - With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love - Of what is lost, and perish through regret. - Oh! no, full oft the innocent Sufferer sees - Too clearly; feels too vividly; and longs - To realize the Vision with intense - And overconstant yearning--there--there lies - The excess, by which the balance is destroyed. - Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh, - This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs, - Though inconceivably endowed, too dim - For any passion of the soul that leads - To extacy; and, all the crooked paths - Of time and change disdaining, takes its course - Along the line of limitless desires.--p. 148. - -With the same modifying and incorporating power, he tells us,-- - - Within the soul a Faculty abides, - That with interpositions, which would hide - And darken, so can deal, that they become - Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt - Her native brightness. As the ample Moon, - In the deep stillness of a summer even - Rising behind a thick and lofty Grove, - Burns like an unconsuming fire of light, - In the green tree; and, kindling on all sides - Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil - Into a substance glorious as her own, - Yea with her own incorporated, by power - Capacious and serene. Like power abides - In Man's celestial Spirit; Virtue thus - Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds - A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, - From the incumbrances of mortal life, - From error, disappointment,--nay from guilt; - And sometimes, so relenting Justice wills, - From palpable oppressions of Despair.--p. 188. - -This is high poetry; though (as we have ventured to lay the basis of the -author's sentiments in a sort of liberal Quakerism) from some parts of -it, others may, with more plausibility, object to the appearance of a -kind of Natural Methodism: we could have wished therefore that the tale -of Margaret had been postponed, till the reader had been strengthened by -some previous acquaintance with the author's theory, and not placed in -the front of the poem, with a kind of ominous aspect, beautifully tender -as it is. It is a tale of a cottage, and its female tenant, gradually -decaying together, while she expected the return of one whom poverty and -not unkindness had driven from her arms. We trust ourselves only with -the conclusion-- - - Nine tedious years; - From their first separation, nine long years, - She lingered in unquiet widowhood, - A Wife and Widow. [Needs must it have been - A sore heart-wasting!] I have heard, my Friend, - That in yon arbour oftentimes she sate - Alone, through half the vacant Sabbath-day; - And if a dog passed by she still would quit - The shade, and look abroad. On this old Bench - For hours she sate; and evermore her eye - Was busy in the distance, shaping things - That made her heart beat quick. You see that path, - [Now faint,--the grass has crept o'er its grey line;] - There, to and fro, she paced through many a day - Of the warm summer, from a belt of hemp - That girt her waist, spinning the long drawn thread - With backward steps. Yet ever as there pass'd - A man whose garments shew'd the Soldier's[32] red, - [Or crippled Mendicant in Sailor's garb], - The little Child who sate to turn the wheel - Ceas'd from his task; and she with faultering voice - Made many a fond enquiry; and when they, - Whose presence gave no comfort, were gone by, - Her heart was still more sad. And by yon gate, - That bars the Traveller's road, she often stood, - And when a stranger Horseman came the latch - Would lift, and in his face look wistfully; - Most happy, if, from aught discovered there - Of tender feeling, she might dare repeat - The same sad question. Meanwhile her poor hut - Sank to decay: for he was gone--whose hand, - At the first nipping of October frost, - Closed up each chink, and with fresh bands of straw - Checquered the green-grown thatch. And so she lived - Through the long winter, reckless and alone; - Until her house by frost, and thaw, and rain, - Was sapped; and while she slept the nightly damps - Did chill her breast; and in the stormy day - Her tattered clothes were ruffled by the wind; - Even at the side of her own fire. Yet still - She loved this wretched spot, nor would for worlds - Have parted hence: and still that length of road, - And this rude bench, one torturing hope endeared, - Fast rooted at her heart: and here, my Friend, - In sickness she remains; and here she died, - Last human Tenant of these ruined Walls.--p. 44. - - [32] Her husband had enlisted for a soldier. - -The fourth book, entitled "Despondency Corrected," we consider as the -most valuable portion of the poem. For moral grandeur; for wide scope of -thought and a long train of lofty imagery; for tender personal appeals; -and a _versification_ which we feel we ought to notice, but feel it also -so involved in the poetry, that we can hardly mention it as a distinct -excellence; it stands without competition among our didactic and -descriptive verse. The general tendency of the argument (which we might -almost affirm to be the leading moral of the poem) is to abate the pride -of the calculating _understanding_, and to reinstate the _imagination_ -and the _affections_ in those seats from which modern philosophy has -laboured but too successfully to expel them. - -"Life's autumn past," says the grey-haired Wanderer, - - ----I stand on Winter's verge, - And daily lose what I desire to keep: - Yet rather would I instantly decline - To the traditionary sympathies - Of a most rustic ignorance, and take - A fearful apprehension from the owl - Or death-watch,--and as readily rejoice, - If two auspicious magpies crossed my way; - This rather would I do than see and hear - The repetitions wearisome of sense, - Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place;--p. 168. - -In the same spirit, those illusions of the imaginative faculty to which -the peasantry in solitary districts are peculiarly subject, are -represented as the kindly ministers of _conscience_: - - ----with whose service charged - They come and go, appear and disappear; - Diverting evil purposes, remorse - Awakening, chastening an intemperate grief, - Or pride of heart abating: - -Reverting to more distant ages of the world, the operation of that same -faculty in producing the several fictions of Chaldean, Persian, and -Grecian idolatry, is described with such seductive power, that the -Solitary, in good earnest, seems alarmed at the tendency of his own -argument.--Notwithstanding his fears, however, there is one thought so -uncommonly fine, relative to the spirituality which lay hid beneath the -gross material forms of Greek worship, in metal or stone, that we cannot -resist the allurement of transcribing it-- - - ----triumphant o'er this pompous show - Of Art, this palpable array of Sense, - On every side encountered; in despite - Of the gross fictions, chaunted in the streets - By wandering Rhapsodists; and in contempt - Of doubt and bold denials hourly urged - Amid the wrangling Schools--a SPIRIT hung, - Beautiful Region! o'er thy Towns and Farms, - Statues and Temples, and memorial Tombs; - And emanations were perceived; and acts - Of immortality, in Nature's course, - Exemplified by mysteries, that were felt - As bonds, on grave Philosopher imposed - And armed Warrior; and in every grove - A gay or pensive tenderness prevailed - When piety more awful had relaxed. - "Take, running River, take these Locks of mine"-- - Thus would the Votary say--"this severed hair, - My Vow fulfilling, do I here present, - Thankful for my beloved Child's return. - Thy banks, Cephissus, he again hath trod, - Thy murmurs heard; and drunk the chrystal lymph - With which thou dost refresh the thirsty lip, - And moisten all day long these flowery fields." - And doubtless, sometimes, when the hair was shed - Upon the flowing stream, a thought arose - Of Life continuous, Being unimpaired; - That hath been, is, and where it was and is - There shall be,--seen, and heard, and felt, and known, - And recognized,--existence unexposed - To the blind walk of mortal accident; - From diminution safe and weakening age; - While Man grows old, and dwindles, and decays; - And countless generations of Mankind - Depart; and leave no vestige where they trod.--p. 173. - -In discourse like this the first day passes away.--The second (for this -almost dramatic poem takes up the action of two summer days) is varied -by the introduction of the village priest; to whom the Wanderer resigns -the office of chief speaker, which had been yielded to his age and -experience on the first. The conference is begun at the gate of the -church-yard; and after some natural speculations concerning death and -immortality--and the custom of funereal and sepulchral observances, as -deduced from a feeling of immortality--certain doubts are proposed -respecting the quantity of moral worth existing in the world, and in -that mountainous district in particular. In the resolution of these -doubts, the priest enters upon a most affecting and singular strain of -narration, derived from the graves around him. Pointing to hillock after -hillock, he gives short histories of their tenants, disclosing their -humble virtues, and touching with tender hand upon their frailties. - -Nothing can be conceived finer than the manner of introducing these -tales. With heaven above his head, and the mouldering turf at his -feet--standing betwixt life and death--he seems to maintain that -spiritual relation which he bore to his living flock, in its -undiminished strength, even with their ashes; and to be in his proper -cure, or diocese, among the dead. - -We might extract powerful instances of pathos from these tales--the -story of Ellen in particular--but their force is in combination, and in -the circumstances under which they are introduced. The traditionary -anecdote of the Jacobite and Hanoverian, as less liable to suffer by -transplanting, and as affording an instance of that finer species of -humour, that thoughtful playfulness in which the author more nearly -perhaps than in any other quality resembles Cowper, we shall lay (at -least a part of it) before our readers. It is the story of a whig who, -having wasted a large estate in election contests, retired "beneath a -borrowed name" to a small town among these northern mountains, where a -Caledonian laird, a follower of the house of Stuart, who had fled his -country after the overthrow at Culloden, returning with the return of -lenient times, had also fixed his residence. - - ----Here, then, they met, - Two doughty Champions; flaming Jacobite - And sullen Hanoverian! you might think - That losses and vexations, less severe - Than those which they had severally sustained, - Would have inclined each to abate his zeal - For his ungrateful cause; no,--I have heard - My reverend Father tell that, mid the calm - Of that small Town encountering thus, they filled - Daily its Bowling-green with harmless strife; - Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the Church; - And vexed the Market-place. But in the breasts - Of these Opponents gradually was wrought, - With little change of general sentiment, - Such change towards each other, that their days - By choice were spent in constant fellowship; - And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke, - Those very bickerings made them love it more. - - A favourite boundary to their lengthened walks - This Church-yard was. And, whether they had come - Treading their path in sympathy and linked - In social converse, or by some short space - Discreetly parted to preserve the peace, - One Spirit seldom failed to extend its sway - Over both minds, when they awhile had marked - The visible quiet of this holy ground - And breathed its soothing air;---- - [_Seven lines omitted_]. - - --There live who yet remember to have seen - Their courtly Figures,--seated on a stump - Of an old Yew, their favourite resting-place. - But, as the Remnant of the long-lived Tree - Was disappearing by a swift decay, - They, with joint care, determined to erect, - Upon its site, a Dial, which should stand - For public use; and also might survive - As their own private monument; for this - Was the particular spot, in which they wished - (And Heaven was pleased to accomplish their desire) - That, undivided their Remains should lie. - So, where the mouldered Tree had stood, was raised - Yon Structure, framing, with the ascent of steps - That to the decorated Pillar lead, - A work of art, more sumptuous, as might seem, - Than suits this Place; yet built in no proud scorn - Of rustic homeliness; they only aimed - To ensure for it respectful guardianship. - Around the margin of the Plate, whereon - The Shadow falls, to note the stealthy hours, - Winds an inscriptive Legend,----At these words - Thither we turned; and gathered, as we read, - The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couched. - "Time flies; it is his melancholy task - To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes, - And re-produce the troubles he destroys. - But, while his blindness thus is occupied. - Discerning Mortal! do thou serve the will - Of Time's eternal Master, and that peace, - Which the World wants, shall be for Thee confirmed."--pp. 270-3. - -The causes which have prevented the poetry of Mr. Wordsworth from -attaining its full share of popularity are to be found in the boldness -and originality of his genius. The times are past when a poet could -securely follow the direction of his own mind into whatever tracts it -might lead. A writer, who would be popular, must timidly coast the shore -of prescribed sentiment and sympathy. He must have just as much more of -the imaginative faculty than his readers, as will serve to keep their -apprehensions from stagnating, but not so much as to alarm their -jealousy. He must not think or feel too deeply. - -If he has had the fortune to be bred in the midst of the most -magnificent objects of creation, he must not have given away his heart -to them; or if he have, he must conceal his love, or not carry his -expressions of it beyond that point of rapture, which the occasional -tourist thinks it not overstepping decorum to betray, or the limit which -that gentlemanly spy upon Nature, the picturesque traveller, has -vouchsafed to countenance. He must do this, or be content to be thought -an enthusiast. - -If from living among simple mountaineers, from a daily intercourse with -them, not upon the footing of a patron, but in the character of an -equal, he has detected, or imagines that he has detected, through the -cloudy medium of their unlettered discourse, thoughts and apprehensions -not vulgar; traits of patience and constancy, love unwearied, and heroic -endurance, not unfit (as he may judge) to be made the subject of verse, -he will be deemed a man of perverted genius by the philanthropist who, -conceiving of the peasantry of his country only as objects of a -pecuniary sympathy, starts at finding them elevated to a level of -humanity with himself, having their own loves, enmities, cravings, -aspirations, &c., as much beyond his faculty to believe, as his -beneficence to supply. - -If from a familiar observation of the ways of children, and much more -from a retrospect of his own mind when a child, he has gathered more -reverential notions of that state than fall to the lot of ordinary -observers, and, escaping from the dissonant wranglings of men, has tuned -his lyre, though but for occasional harmonies, to the milder utterance -of that soft age,--his verses shall be censured as infantile by critics -who confound poetry "having children for its subject" with poetry that -is "childish," and who, having themselves perhaps never been _children_, -never having possessed the tenderness and docility of that age, know not -what the soul of a child is--how apprehensive! how imaginative! how -religious! - -We have touched upon some of the causes which we conceive to have been -unfriendly to the author's former poems. We think they do not apply in -the same force to the one before us. There is in it more of uniform -elevation, a wider scope of subject, less of manner, and it contains -none of those starts and imperfect shapings which in some of this -author's smaller pieces offended the weak, and gave scandal to the -perverse. It must indeed be approached with seriousness. It has in it -much of that quality which "draws the devout, deterring the profane." -Those who hate the Paradise Lost will not love this poem. The steps of -the great master are discernible in it; not in direct imitation or -injurious parody, but in the following of the spirit, in free homage and -generous subjection. - -One objection it is impossible not to foresee. It will be asked, why put -such eloquent discourse in the mouth of a pedlar? It might be answered -that Mr. Wordsworth's plan required a character in humble life to be the -organ of his philosophy. It was in harmony with the system and scenery -of his poem. We read Piers Plowman's Creed, and the lowness of the -teacher seems to add a simple dignity to the doctrine. Besides, the poet -has bestowed an unusual share of education upon him. Is it too much to -suppose that the author, at some early period of his life, may himself -have known such a person, a man endowed with sentiments above his -situation, another Burns; and that the dignified strains which he has -attributed to the Wanderer may be no more than recollections of his -conversation, heightened only by the amplification natural to poetry, or -the lustre which imagination flings back upon the objects and companions -of our youth? After all, if there should be found readers willing to -admire the poem, who yet feel scandalized at a _name_, we would advise -them, wherever it occurs, to substitute silently the word _Palmer_, or -_Pilgrim_, or any less offensive designation, which shall connect the -notion of sobriety in heart and manners with the experience and -privileges which a wayfaring life confers. - - - - -ON THE MELANCHOLY OF TAILORS - -(1814. TEXT OF 1818) - - Sedet, æternumque sedebit, - Infelix Theseus. VIRGIL. - - -That there is a professional melancholy, if I may so express myself, -incident to the occupation of a tailor, is a fact which I think very few -will venture to dispute. I may safely appeal to my readers, whether they -ever knew one of that faculty that was not of a temperament, to say the -least, far removed from mercurial or jovial. - -Observe the suspicious gravity of their gait. The peacock is not more -tender, from a consciousness of his peculiar infirmity, than a gentleman -of this profession is of being known by the same infallible testimonies -of his occupation. "Walk, that I may know thee." - -Do you ever see him go whistling along the foot-path like a carman, or -brush through a crowd like a baker, or go smiling to himself like a -lover? Is he forward to thrust into mobs, or to make one at the -ballad-singer's audiences? Does he not rather slink by assemblies and -meetings of the people, as one that wisely declines popular observation? - -How extremely rare is a noisy tailor! a mirthful and obstreperous -tailor! - -"At my nativity," says Sir Thomas Browne, "my ascendant was the earthly -sign of Scorpius; I was born in the planetary hour of Saturn, and I -think I have a piece of that leaden planet in me." One would think that -he were anatomizing a tailor! save that to the latter's occupation, -methinks, a woollen planet would seem more consonant, and that he should -be born when the sun was in Aries.--He goes on. "I am no way facetious, -nor disposed for the mirth and galliardize of company." How true a type -of the whole trade! Eminently economical of his words, you shall seldom -hear a jest come from one of them. He sometimes furnishes subject for a -repartee, but rarely (I think) contributes one _ore proprio_. - -Drink itself does not seem to elevate him, or at least to call out of -him any of the external indications of vanity. I cannot say that it -never causes his pride to swell, but it never breaks out. I am even -fearful that it may swell and rankle to an alarming degree inwardly. For -pride is near of kin to melancholy;--a hurtful obstruction from the -ordinary outlets of vanity being shut. It is this stoppage which -engenders proud humours. Therefore a tailor may be proud. I think he is -never vain. The display of his gaudy patterns in that book of his which -emulates the rainbow, never raises any inflations of that emotion in -him, corresponding to what the wigmaker (for instance) evinces, when he -expatiates on a curl or a bit of hair. He spreads them forth with a -sullen incapacity for pleasure, a real or affected indifference to -grandeur. Cloth of gold neither seems to elate, nor cloth of frize to -depress him--according to the beautiful motto which formed the modest -impresse of the shield worn by Charles Brandon at his marriage with the -King's sister. Nay, I doubt whether he would discover any vain-glorious -complacence in his colours, though "Iris" herself "dipt the woof." - -In further corroboration of this argument--who ever saw the wedding of a -tailor announced in the newspapers, or the birth of his eldest son? - -When was a tailor known to give a dance, or to be himself a good dancer, -or to perform exquisitely on the tight rope, or to shine in any such -light and airy pastimes? to sing, or play on the violin? - -Do they much care for public rejoicings, lightings up, ringing of bells, -firing of cannons, &c.? - -Valiant I know they can be; but I appeal to those who were witnesses to -the exploits of Eliot's famous troop, whether in their fiercest charges -they betrayed any thing of that thoughtless oblivion of death with which -a Frenchman jigs into battle, or whether they did not shew more of the -melancholy valour of the Spaniard, upon whom they charged; that -deliberate courage which contemplation and sedentary habits breathe? - -Are they often great newsmongers?--I have known some few among them -arrive at the dignity of speculative politicians; but that light and -cheerful every-day interest in the affairs and goings-on of the world, -which makes the barber[33] such delightful company, I think is rarely -observable in them. - - [33] Having incidentally mentioned the barber, in a comparison of - professional temperaments, I hope no other trade will take offence, - or look upon it as an incivility done to them, if I say, that in - courtesy, humanity, and all the conversational and social graces - which "gladden life," I esteem no profession comparable to his. - Indeed so great is the goodwill which I bear to this useful and - agreeable body of men, that, residing in one of the Inns of Court - (where the best specimens of them are to be found, except perhaps at - the universities) there are seven of them to whom I am personally - known, and who never pass me without the compliment of the hat on - either side. My truly polite and urbane friend, Mr. A----m, of - Flower-de-luce-court, in Fleet-street, will forgive my mention of - him in particular. I can truly say, that I never spent a quarter of - an hour under his hands without deriving some profit from the - agreeable discussions, which are always going on there. - -This characteristic pensiveness in them being so notorious, I wonder -none of those writers, who have expressly treated of melancholy, should -have mentioned it. Burton, whose book is an excellent abstract of all -the authors in that kind who preceded him, and who treats of every -species of this malady, from the _hypochondriacal_ or _windy_ to the -_heroical_ or _love melancholy_, has strangely omitted it. Shakspeare -himself has overlooked it. "I have neither the scholar's melancholy -(saith Jaques) which is emulation; nor the courtier's, which is proud; -nor the soldier's, which is politick; nor the lover's, which is all -these:"--and then, when you might expect him to have brought in, "nor -the tailor's, which is so and so"--he comes to an end of his -enumeration, and falls to a defining of his own melancholy. - -Milton likewise has omitted it, where he had so fair an opportunity of -bringing it in, in his _Penseroso_. - -But the partial omissions of historians proving nothing against the -existence of any well-attested fact, I shall proceed and endeavour to -ascertain the causes why this pensive turn should be so predominant in -people of this profession above all others. - -And first, may it not be, that the custom of wearing apparel being -derived to us from the fall, and one of the most mortifying products of -that unhappy event, a certain _seriousness_ (to say no more of it) may -in the order of things have been intended to be impressed upon the minds -of that race of men to whom in all ages the care of contriving the human -apparel has been entrusted,--to keep up the memory of the first -institution of clothes, and serve as a standing remonstrance against -those vanities, which the absurd conversion of a memorial of our shame -into an ornament of our persons was destined to produce? Correspondent -in some sort to this, it may be remarked, that the tailor sitting over a -cave or hollow place, in the cabbalistic language of his order, is said -to have _certain melancholy regions_ always open under his feet.--But -waving further enquiry into final causes, where the best of us can only -wander in the dark, let us try to discover the efficient causes of this -melancholy. - -I think, then, that they may be reduced to two, omitting some -subordinate ones, viz., - - The sedentary habits of the tailor.-- - Something peculiar in his diet.-- - -First, his _sedentary habits_.--In Dr. Norris's famous narrative of the -frenzy of Mr. John Dennis, the patient, being questioned as to the -occasion of the swelling in his legs, replies that it came "by -criticism;" to which the learned doctor seeming to demur, as to a -distemper which he had never read of, Dennis (who appears not to have -been mad upon all subjects) rejoins with some warmth, that it was no -distemper, but a noble art! that he had sat fourteen hours a day at it: -and that the other was a pretty doctor not to know that there was a -communication between the brain and the legs. - -When we consider that this sitting for fourteen hours continuously, -which the critic probably practised only while he was writing his -"remarks," is no more than what the tailor, in the ordinary pursuance of -his art, submits to daily (Sundays excepted) throughout the year, shall -we wonder to find the brain affected, and in a manner over-clouded, from -that indissoluble sympathy between the noble and less noble parts of the -body, which Dennis hints at? The unnatural and painful manner of his -sitting must also greatly aggravate the evil, insomuch that I have -sometimes ventured to liken tailors at their boards to so many envious -Junos, _sitting cross-legged to hinder the birth of their own felicity_. -The legs transversed thus X cross-wise, or decussated, was among the -ancients the posture of malediction. The Turks, who practise it at this -day, are noted to be a melancholy people. - -Secondly, his _diet_.--To which purpose I find a most remarkable passage -in Burton, in his chapter entitled "Bad diet a cause of melancholy." -"Amongst herbs to be eaten (he says) I find gourds, cucumbers, melons, -disallowed; but especially CABBAGE. It causeth troublesome dreams, and -sends up black vapours to the brain. Galen, _loc. affect._ lib. 3, cap. -6, of all herbs condemns CABBAGE. And Isaack, lib. 2, cap. 1, _animæ -gravitatem facit_, it brings heaviness to the soul." I could not omit so -flattering a testimony from an author, who, having no theory of his own -to serve, has so unconsciously contributed to the confirmation of mine. -It is well known that this last-named vegetable has, from the earliest -periods which we can discover, constituted almost the sole food of this -extraordinary race of people. - - BURTON, _Junior_. - - - - -ON NEEDLE-WORK - -(BY MARY LAMB) - -(1815) - -_To the Editor of The British Lady's Magazine_ - - -MR. EDITOR,--In early life I passed eleven years in the exercise of my -needle for a livelihood. Will you allow me to address your readers, -among whom might perhaps be found some of the kind patronesses of my -former humble labours, on a subject widely connected with female -life--the state of needlework in this country. - -To lighten the heavy burthen which many ladies impose upon themselves is -one object which I have in view: but, I confess, my strongest motive is -to excite attention towards the industrious sisterhood to which I once -belonged. - -From books I have been informed of the fact, upon which "The British -Lady's Magazine" chiefly founds its pretensions, namely, that women have -of late been rapidly advancing in intellectual improvement. Much may -have been gained in this way, indirectly, for that class of females for -whom I wish to plead. Needlework and intellectual improvement are -naturally in a state of warfare. But I am afraid the root of the evil -has not as yet been struck at. Workwomen of every description were never -in so much distress for want of employment. - -Among the present circle of my acquaintance I am proud to rank many that -may truly be called respectable; nor do the female part of them, in -their mental attainments, at all disprove the prevailing opinion of that -intellectual progression which you have taken as the basis of your work; -yet I affirm that I know not a single family where there is not some -essential drawback to its comfort which may be traced to needle-work -_done at home_, as the phrase is for all needle-work performed in a -family by some of its own members, and for which no remuneration in -money is received or expected. - -In money alone, did I say? I would appeal to all the fair votaries of -voluntary housewifery, whether, in the matter of conscience, any one of -them ever thought she had done as much needle-work as she ought to have -done. Even fancy work, the fairest of the tribe!--how delightful the -arrangement of her materials! the fixing upon her happiest pattern, how -pleasing an anxiety! how cheerful the commencement of the labour she -enjoins! But that lady must be a true lover of the art, and so -industrious a pursuer of a predetermined purpose, that it were pity her -energy should not have been directed to some wiser end, who can affirm -she neither feels weariness during the execution of a fancy piece, nor -takes more time than she had calculated for the performance. - -Is it too bold an attempt to persuade your readers that it would prove -an incalculable addition to general happiness, and the domestic comfort -of both sexes, if needle-work were never practised but for a -remuneration in money? As nearly, however, as this desirable thing can -be effected, so much more nearly will women be upon an equality with -men, as far as respects the mere enjoyment of life. As far as that -goes, I believe it is every woman's opinion that the condition of men is -far superior to her own. - -"They can do what they like," we say. Do not these words generally mean, -they have time to seek out whatever amusements suit their tastes? We -dare not tell them we have no time to do this; for, if they should ask -in what manner we dispose of our time, we should blush to enter upon a -detail of the minutiæ which compose the sum of a woman's daily -employment. Nay, many a lady who allows not herself one quarter of an -hour's positive leisure during her waking hours, considers her own -husband as the most industrious of men, if he steadily pursue his -occupation till the hour of dinner, and will be perpetually lamenting -her own idleness. - -_Real business_ and _real leisure_ make up the portions of men's -time--two sources of happiness which we certainly partake of in a very -inferior degree. To the execution of employment, in which the faculties -of the body or mind are called into busy action, there must be a -consoling importance attached, which feminine duties (that generic term -for all our business) cannot aspire to. - -In the most meritorious discharges of those duties, the highest praise -we can aim at is to be accounted the helpmates of _man_; who, in return -for all he does for us, expects, and justly expects, us to do all in our -power to soften and sweeten life. - -In how many ways is a good woman employed, in thought or action, through -the day, in order that her _good man_ may be enabled to feel his leisure -hours _real substantial holyday_, and perfect respite from the cares of -business! Not the least part to be done to accomplish this end is to fit -herself self to become a conversational companion; that is to say, she -has to study and understand the subjects on which he loves to talk. This -part of our duty, if strictly performed, will be found by far our -hardest part. The disadvantages we labour under from an education -differing from a manly one make the hours in which we _sit and do -nothing_ in men's company too often any thing but a relaxation; -although, as to pleasure and instruction, time so passed may be esteemed -more or less delightful. - -To make a man's home so desirable a place as to preclude his having a -wish to pass his leisure hours at any fireside in preference to his -own, I should humbly take to be the sum and substance of woman's -domestic ambition. I would appeal to our _British ladies_, who are -generally allowed to be the most zealous and successful of all women in -the pursuit of this object,--I would appeal to them who have been most -successful in the performance of this laudable service, in behalf of -father, son, husband, or brother, whether an anxious desire to perform -this duty well is not attended with enough of _mental_ exertion, at -least, to incline them to the opinion that women may be more properly -ranked among the contributors to, than the partakers of, the undisturbed -relaxation of man. - -If a family be so well ordered that the master is never called in to its -direction, and yet he perceives comfort and economy well attended to, -the mistress of that family (especially if children form a part of it) -has, I apprehend, as large a share of womanly employment as ought to -satisfy her own sense of duty; even though the needle-book and -thread-case were quite laid aside, and she cheerfully contributed her -part to the slender gains of the corset-maker, the milliner, the -dress-maker, the plain-worker, the embroidress, and all the numerous -classifications of females supporting themselves by _needle-work_, that -great staple commodity which is alone appropriated to the -self-supporting part of our sex. - -Much has been said and written on the subject of men engrossing to -themselves every occupation and calling. After many years of observation -and reflection, I am obliged to acquiesce in the notion that it cannot -well be ordered otherwise. - -If at the birth of girls it were possible to foresee in what cases it -would be their fortune to pass a single life, we should soon find trades -wrested from their present occupiers, and transferred to the exclusive -possession of our sex. The whole mechanical business of copying writings -in the law department, for instance, might very soon be transferred with -advantage to the poorer sort of women, who with very little teaching -would soon beat their rivals of the other sex in facility and neatness. -The parents of female children, who were known to be destined from their -birth to maintain themselves through, the whole course of their lives -with like certainty as their sons are, would feel it a duty incumbent -on themselves to strengthen the minds, and even the bodily -constitutions, of their girls, so circumstanced, by an education which, -without affronting the preconceived habits of society, might enable them -to follow some occupation now considered above the capacity or too -robust for the constitution of our sex. Plenty of resources would then -lie open for single women to obtain an independent livelihood, when -every parent would be upon the alert to encroach upon some employment, -now engrossed by men, for such of their daughters as would then be -exactly in the same predicament as their sons now are. Who, for -instance, would lay by money to set up his sons in trade; give premiums, -and in part maintain them through a long apprenticeship; or, which men -of moderate incomes frequently do, strain every nerve in order to bring -them up to a learned profession; if it were in a very high degree -probable that, by the time they were twenty years of age, they would be -taken from this trade or profession, and maintained during the remainder -of their lives by the _person whom they should marry_. Yet this is -precisely the situation in which every parent, whose income does not -very much exceed the moderate, is placed with respect to his daughters. - -Even where boys have gone through a laborious education, superinducing -habits of steady attention, accompanied with the entire conviction that -the business which they learn is to be the source of their future -distinction, may it not be affirmed that the persevering industry -required to accomplish this desirable end causes many a hard struggle in -the minds of young men, even of the most hopeful disposition? What then -must be the disadvantages under which a very young woman is placed who -is required to learn a trade, from which she can never expect to reap -any profit, but at the expence of losing that place in society, to the -possession of which she may reasonably look forward, inasmuch as it is -by far the most _common lot_, namely, the condition of a _happy_ English -wife? - -As I desire to offer nothing to the consideration of your readers but -what, at least as far as my own observation goes, I consider as truths -confirmed by experience, I will only say that, were I to follow the bent -of my own speculative opinion, I should be inclined to persuade every -female over whom I hoped to have any influence to contribute all the -assistance in her power to those of her own sex who may need it, in the -employments they at present occupy, rather than to force them into -situations now filled wholly by men. With the mere exception of the -profits which they have a right to derive from their needle, I would -take nothing from the industry of man which he already possesses. - -"A penny saved is a penny earned," is a maxim not true, unless the penny -be saved in the same time in which it might have been earned. I, who -have known what it is to work for _money earned_, have since had much -experience in working for _money saved_; and I consider, from the -closest calculation I can make, that a _penny saved_ in that way bears -about a true proportion to a _farthing earned_. I am no advocate for -women, who do not depend on themselves for a subsistence, proposing to -themselves to _earn money_. My reasons for thinking it not advisable are -too numerous to state--reasons deduced from authentic facts, and strict -observations on domestic life in its various shades of comfort. But, if -the females of a family, _nominally_ supported by the other sex, find it -necessary to add something to the common stock, why not endeavour to do -something by which they may produce money _in its true shape_? - -It would be an excellent plan, attended with very little trouble, to -calculate every evening how much money has been saved by needle-work -_done in the family_, and compare the result with the daily portion of -the yearly income. Nor would it be amiss to make a memorandum of the -time passed in this way, adding also a guess as to what share it has -taken up in the thoughts and conversation. This would be an easy mode of -forming a true notion, and getting at the exact worth of this species of -_home_ industry, and perhaps might place it in a different light from -any in which it has hitherto been the fashion to consider it. - -Needle-work, taken up as an amusement, may not be altogether unamusing. -We are all pretty good judges of what entertains ourselves, but it is -not so easy to pronounce upon what may contribute to the entertainment -of others. At all events, let us not confuse the motives of economy with -those of simple pastime. If _saving_ be no object, and long habit have -rendered needle-work so delightful an avocation that we cannot think of -relinquishing it, there are the good old contrivances in which our -grand-dames were used to beguile and lose their time--knitting, -knotting, netting, carpet working, and the like ingenious -pursuits--those so-often-praised but tedious works, which are so long in -the operation, that purchasing the labour has seldom been thought good -economy, yet, by a certain fascination, they have been found to chain -down the great to a self-imposed slavery, from which they considerately, -or haughtily, excuse the needy. These may be esteemed lawful and -lady-like amusements. But, if those works, more usually denominated -useful, yield greater satisfaction, it might be a laudable scruple of -conscience, and no bad test to herself of her own motive, if a lady, who -had no absolute need, were to give the money so saved to poor -needle-women belonging to those branches of employment from which she -has borrowed these shares of pleasurable labour. - - SEMPRONIA. - - - - -ON THE POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE WITHER - -(? 1815. TEXT OF 1818) - - -The poems of G. Wither are distinguished by a hearty homeliness of -manner, and a plain moral speaking. He seems to have passed his life in -one continued act of an innocent self-pleasing. That which he calls his -_Motto_ is a continued self-eulogy of two thousand lines, yet we read it -to the end without any feeling of distaste, almost without a -consciousness that we have been listening all the while to a man -praising himself. There are none of the cold particles in it, the -hardness and self-ends which render vanity and egotism hateful. He seems -to be praising another person, under the mask of self; or rather we feel -that it was indifferent to him where he found the virtue which he -celebrates; whether another's bosom, or his own, were its chosen -receptacle. His poems are full, and this in particular is one downright -confession, of a generous self-seeking. But by self he sometimes means -a great deal,--his friends, his principles, his country, the human race. - -Whoever expects to find in the satirical pieces of this writer any of -those peculiarities which pleased him in the satires of Dryden or Pope, -will be grievously disappointed. Here are no high-finished characters, -no nice traits of individual nature, few or no personalities. The game -run down is coarse general vice, or folly as it appears in classes. A -liar, a drunkard, a coxcomb, is _stript and whipt_; no Shaftesbury, no -Villiers, or Wharton, is curiously anatomized, and read upon. But to a -well-natured mind there is a charm of moral sensibility running through -them which amply compensates the want of those luxuries. Wither seems -every where bursting with a love of goodness and a hatred of all low and -base actions.--At this day it is hard to discover what parts in the poem -here particularly alluded to, _Abuses Stript and Whipt_, could have -occasioned the imprisonment of the author. Was Vice in High Places more -suspicious than now? had she more power; or more leisure to listen after -ill reports? That a man should be convicted of a libel when he named no -names but Hate, and Envy, and Lust, and Avarice, is like one of the -indictments in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, where Faithful is arraigned for -having "railed on our noble Prince Beelzebub, and spoken contemptibly of -his honourable friends, the Lord Old Man, the Lord Carnal Delight, and -the Lord Luxurious." What unlucky jealousy could have tempted the great -men of those days to appropriate such innocent abstractions to -themselves! - -Wither seems to have contemplated to a degree of idolatry his own -possible virtue. He is for ever anticipating persecution and martyrdom; -fingering, as it were, the flames, to try how he can bear them. Perhaps -his premature defiance sometimes made him obnoxious to censures, which -he would otherwise have slipped by. - -The homely versification of these Satires is not likely to attract in -the present day. It is certainly not such as we should expect from a -poet "soaring in the high region of his fancies with his garland and his -singing robes about him;"[34] nor is it such as he has shown in his -_Philarete_, and in some parts in his _Shepherds Hunting_. He seems to -have adopted this dress with voluntary humility, as fittest for a moral -teacher, as our divines chuse sober grey or black; but in their -humility consists their sweetness. The deepest tone of moral feeling in -them, (though all throughout is weighty, earnest and passionate) is in -those pathetic injunctions against shedding of blood in quarrels, in the -chapter entitled _Revenge_. The story of his own forbearance, which -follows, is highly interesting. While the Christian sings his own -victory over Anger, the Man of Courage cannot help peeping out to let -you know, that it was some higher principle than _fear_ which counselled -his forbearance. - - [34] Milton. - -Whether encaged, or roaming at liberty, Wither never seems to have -abated a jot of that free spirit, which sets its mark upon his writings, -as much as a predominant feature of independence impresses every page of -our late glorious Burns; but the elder poet wraps his proof-armour -closer about him, the other wears his too much outwards; he is thinking -too much of annoying the foe, to be quite easy within; the spiritual -defences of Wither are a perpetual source of inward sunshine, the -magnanimity of the modern is not without its alloy of soreness, and a -sense of injustice, which seems perpetually to gall and irritate. Wither -was better skilled in the "sweet uses of adversity," he knew how to -extract the "precious jewel" from the head of the "toad," without -drawing any of the "ugly venom" along with it.--The prison notes of -Wither are finer than the wood notes of most of his poetical brethren. -The description in the Fourth Eglogue of his _Shepherds Hunting_ (which -was composed during his imprisonment in the Marshalsea) of the power of -the Muse to extract pleasure from common objects, has been oftener -quoted, and is more known, than any part of his writings. Indeed the -whole Eglogue is in a strain so much above not only what himself, but -almost what any other poet has written, that he himself could not help -noticing it; he remarks, that his spirits had been raised higher than -they were wont "through the love of poesy."--The praises of Poetry have -been often sung in ancient and in modern times; strange powers have been -ascribed to it of influence over animate and inanimate auditors; its -force over fascinated crowds has been acknowledged; but, before Wither, -no one ever celebrated its power _at home_, the wealth and the strength -which this divine gift confers upon its possessor. Fame, and that too -after death, was all which hitherto the poets had promised themselves -from their art. It seems to have been left to Wither to discover, that -poetry was a present possession, as well as a rich reversion; and that -the Muse had promise of both lives, of this, and of that which was to -come. - -The _Mistress of Philarete_ is in substance a panegyric protracted -through several thousand lines in the mouth of a single speaker, but -diversified, so as to produce an almost dramatic effect, by the artful -introduction of some ladies, who are rather auditors than interlocutors -in the scene; and of a boy, whose singing furnishes pretence for an -occasional change of metre: though the seven syllable line, in which the -main part of it is written, is that in which Wither has shown himself so -great a master, that I do not know that I am always thankful to him for -the exchange. - -Wither has chosen to bestow upon the lady whom he commends, the name of -Arete, or Virtue; and, assuming to himself the character of Philarete, -or Lover of Virtue, there is a sort of propriety in that heaped measure -of perfections, which he attributes to this partly real, partly -allegorical, personage. Drayton before him had shadowed his mistress -under the name of Idea, or Perfect Pattern, and some of the old Italian -love-strains are couched in such religious terms as to make it doubtful, -whether it be a mistress, or Divine Grace, which the poet is addressing. - -In this poem (full of beauties) there are two passages of pre-eminent -merit. The first is where the lover, after a flight of rapturous -commendation, expresses his wonder why all men that are about his -mistress, even to her very servants, do not view her with the same eyes -that he does. - - Sometime I do admire, - All men burn not with desire; - Nay I muse her servants are not - Pleading love; but O! they dare not. - And I therefore wonder, why - They do not grow sick and die. - Sure they would do so, but that, - By the ordinance of fate, - There is some concealed thing - So each gazer limiting, - He can see no more of merit - Than beseems his worth and spirit, - For in her a grace there shines, - That o'er-daring thoughts confines; - Making worthless men despair - To be lov'd of one so fair. - Yea the destinies agree, - Some _good judgments_ blind should be, - And not gain the power of knowing - Those rare beauties in her growing. - Reason doth as much imply: - For if every judging eye, - Which beholdeth her, should there - Find what excellencies are; - All, o'ercome by those perfections, - Would be captive to affections. - So in happiness unblest, - She for lovers should not rest. - -The other is, where he has been comparing her beauties to gold, and -stars, and the most excellent things in nature; and, fearing to be -accused of hyperbole, the common charge against poets, vindicates -himself by boldly taking upon him, that these comparisons are no -hyperboles; but that the best things in nature do, in a lover's eye, -fall short of those excellencies which he adores in her. - - What pearls, what rubies can - Seem so lovely fair to man, - As her lips whom he doth love, - When in sweet discourse they move, - Or her lovelier teeth, the while - She doth bless him with a smile? - Stars indeed fair creatures be; - Yet amongst us where is he - Joys not more the whilst he lies - Sunning in his mistress' eyes. - Than in all the glimmering light - Of a starry winter's night? - Note the beauty of an eye-- - And if aught you praise it by - Leave such passion in your mind, - Let my reason's eye be blind. - Mark if ever red or white - Any where gave such delight, - As when they have taken place - In a worthy woman's face. - - * * * * * - - I must praise her as I may, - Which I do mine own rude way; - Sometime setting forth her glories - By unheard of allegories--&c. - -To the measure in which these lines are written, the wits of Queen -Anne's days contemptuously gave the name of Namby Pamby, in ridicule of -Ambrose Philips, who has used it in some instances, as in the lines on -Cuzzoni, to my feeling at least, very deliciously; but Wither, whose -darling measure it seems to have been, may shew, that in skilful hands -it is capable of expressing the subtilest movements of passion. So true -it is, which Drayton seems to have felt, that it is the poet who -modifies the metre, not the metre the poet; in his own words, that - - It's possible to climb; - To kindle, or to slake; - Altho' in Skelton's rhime.[35] - - [35] "A long line is a line we are long repeating. In the _Shepherds - Hunting_ take the following-- - - "If thy verse doth bravely tower, - _As she makes wing, she gets power_; - Yet the higher she doth soar, - She's affronted still the more, - 'Till she to the high'st hath past, - Then she rests with fame at last. - - what longer measure can go beyond the majesty of this! what - Alexandrine is half so long in pronouncing or expresses _labor - slowly but strongly surmounting difficulty_ with the life with which - it is done in the second of these lines? or what metre could go - beyond these, from _Philarete_-- - - "Her true beauty leaves behind - Apprehensions in my mind - Of more sweetness, than all art - Or inventions can impart. - _Thoughts too deep to be express'd, - And too strong to be suppress'd._" - - - - -FIVE DRAMATIC CRITICISMS - -I.--MRS. GOULD (MISS BURRELL) IN "DON GIOVANNI IN LONDON" - -OLYMPIC THEATRE - -(1818) - - -This Theatre, fitted up with new and tasteful decorations, opened on -Monday with a burletta founded upon a pleasant extravagance recorded of -Wilmot the "mad Lord" of Rochester. The house, in its renovated -condition, is just what play-houses should be, and once were, from its -size admirably adapted for seeing and hearing, and only perhaps rather -too well lit up. Light is a good thing, but to preserve the eyes is -still better. Elliston and Mrs. Edwin personated a reigning wit and -beauty of the Court of Charles the Second to the life. But the charm of -the evening to us, we confess, was the acting of Mrs. T. Gould (late -Miss Burrell) in the burlesque _Don Giovanni_ which followed. This -admirable piece of foolery takes up our hero just where the legitimate -drama leaves him, on the "burning marl." We are presented with a fair -map of Tartarus, the triple-headed cur, the Furies, the Tormentors, and -the Don, prostrate, thunder-smitten. But there is an elasticity in the -original make of this _strange man_, as Richardson would have called -him. He is not one of those who change with the change of climate. He -brings with him to his new habitation _ardours_ as glowing and constant -as any which he finds there. No sooner is he recovered from his first -surprise, than he falls to his old trade, is caught "ogling -_Proserpine_," and coquets with two she devils at once, till he makes -the house _too hot to hold him_; and _Pluto_ (in whom a wise jealousy -seems to produce the effects of kindness) turns him neck and heels out -of his dominions,--much to the satisfaction of _Giovanni_, who stealing -a boat from Charon, and a pair of light heels from _Mercury_, or (as he -familiarly terms him) _Murky_, sets off with flying colours, conveying -to the world above the souls of three damsels, just eloped from Styx, to -comfort his tender and new-born spiritualities on the journey. Arrived -upon earth (with a new body, we are to suppose, but his old habits) he -lights a-propos upon a tavern in London, at the door of which three -merry weavers, widowers, are trouling a catch in triumph over their -deceased spouses-- - - They lie in yonder church-yard - At rest--and so are we. - -Their departed partners prove to be the identical lady ghosts who have -accompanied the Don in his flight, whom he now delivers up in perfect -health and good plight, not a jot the worse for their journey, to the -infinite surprise, and consternation ill-dissembled, of their ill-fated, -twice-yoked mates. The gallantries of the Don in his second state of -probation, his meeting with _Leporello_, with _Donna Anna_, and a -countless host of injured virgins besides, doing penance in the humble -occupation of apple-women, fishwives and sausage-fryers, in the purlieus -of Billinsgate and Covent-garden, down to the period of his complete -reformation, and being made an honest man of, by marrying into a sober -English citizen's family, although infinitely pleasant in the -exhibition, would be somewhat tedious in the recital: but something must -be said of his representative. - -We have seen Mrs. Jordan in male characters, and more ladies beside than -we would wish to recollect--but never any that so completely answered -the purpose for which they were so transmuted, as the Lady who enacts -the mock _Giovanni_. This part, as it is played at the Great House in -the Haymarket (Shade of Mozart, and ye living admirers of Ambrogetti, -pardon the barbarity) had always something repulsive and distasteful to -us.--We cannot sympathize with _Leporello's_ brutal display of the -_list_, and were shocked (no strait-laced moralists either) with the -applauses, with the _endurance_ we ought rather to say, which fashion -and beauty bestowed upon that disgustful insult to feminine unhappiness. -The _Leporello_ of the Olympic Theatre is not one of the most refined -order, but we can bear with an English blackguard better than with the -hard Italian. But _Giovanni_--free, fine, frank-spirited, -single-hearted creature, turning all the mischief into fun as harmless -as toys, or children's _make-believe_, what praise can we repay to you, -adequate to the pleasure which you have given us? We had better be -silent, for you have no name, and our mention will but be thought -fantastical. You have taken out the sting from the evil thing, by what -magic we know not, for there are actresses of greater mark and attribute -than you. With you and your _Giovanni_ our spirits will hold communion, -whenever sorrow or suffering shall be our lot. We have seen you triumph -over the infernal powers; and pain, and Erebus, and the powers of -darkness, are henceforth "shapes of a dream." - - -II.--MISS KELLY AT BATH - -(1819) - -Dear G.---- I was thinking yesterday of our old play-going days, of your -and my partiality to Mrs. Jordan; of our disputes as to the relative -merits of Dodd and Parsons; and whether Smith or Jack Palmer, were the -most of a Gentleman. The occasion of my falling into this train of -thinking was my learning from the newspapers that Miss Kelly is paying -the Bath Theatre a visit. (Your own Theatre, I am sorry to find, is shut -up, either from parsimonious feelings, or through the influence of ---- -principles.[36]) This lady has long ranked among the most considerable -of our London performers. If there are one or two of greater name, I -must impute it to the circumstance, that she has never burst upon the -town at once in the maturity of her power; which is a great advantage to -debutantes, who have passed their probationary years in Provincial -Theatres. We do not hear them tuning their instruments. But she has been -winning her patient way from the humblest gradations to the eminence -which she has now attained, on the self same boards which supported her -first in the slender pretensions of chorus-singer. I very much wish that -you would go and see her. You will not see Mrs. Jordan, but something -else; something on the whole very little, if at all, inferior to that -lady, in her best days. I cannot hope that you will think so; I do not -even wish that you should. Our longest remembrances are the most sacred; -and I shall revere the prejudice, that shall prevent you from thinking -quite so favorably of her as I do.--I do not well know how to draw a -parallel between their distinct manners of acting. I seem to recognize -the same pleasantness and nature in both: but Mrs. Jordan's was the -carelessness of a child; her child-like spirit shook off the load of -years from her spectators; she seemed one whom care could not come near; -a privileged being, sent to teach mankind what it most wants, -joyousness. Hence, if we had more unmixed pleasure from her -performances, we had, perhaps, less sympathy with them than with those -of her successor. This latter lady's is the joy of a freed spirit, -escaping from care, as a bird that had been limed; her smiles, if I may -use the expression, seemed saved out of the fire, relics which a good -and innocent heart had snatched up as most portable; her contents are -visitors, not inmates: she can lay them by altogether; and when she does -so, I am not sure that she is not greatest. She is, in truth, no -ordinary tragedian. Her Yarico is the most intense piece of acting which -I ever witnessed, the most heart-rending spectacle. To see her leaning -upon that wretched reed, her lover--the very exhibition of whose -character would be a moral offence, but for her clinging and noble -credulity--to see her lean upon that flint, and by the strong workings -of passion imagine it a god--is one of the most afflicting lessons of -the yearnings of the human heart and its sad mistakes, that ever was -read upon a stage. The whole performance is every where _African_, -fervid, glowing. Nor is this any thing more than the wonderful force of -imagination in this performer; for turn but the scene, and you shall -have her come forward in some kindly home-drawn character of an English -rustic, a Phœbe, or a Dinah Cropley, where you would swear that her -thoughts had never strayed beyond the precincts of the dairy, or the -farm; or her mind known less tranquil passions than she might have -learned among the flock, her out-of-door companions. See her again in -parts of pure fun, such as the House-maid in the Merry Mourners, where -the suspension of the broom in her hand, which she had been delightfully -twirling, on unexpectedly encountering her sweetheart in the character -of a fellow-servant, is quite equal to Mrs. Jordan's cordial inebriation -in Nell.--I do not know whether I am not speaking it to her honor, that -she does not succeed in what are called fine lady parts. Our friend C. -once observed, that no man of genius ever figured as a gentleman. -Neither did any woman, gifted with Mrs. Jordan's or Miss Kelly's -sensibilities, ever take upon herself to shine as a fine lady, the very -essence of this character consisting in the entire repression of all -genius and all feeling. To sustain a part of this kind to the life, a -performer must be haunted by a perpetual self-reference: she must be -always thinking of herself, and how she looks, and how she deports -herself in the eyes of the spectators; whereas the delight of actresses -of true feeling, and their chief power, is to elude the personal notice -of an audience, to escape into their parts, and hide themselves under -the hood of their assumed character. Their most graceful self-possession -is in fact a self-forgetfulness; an oblivion alike of self and of -spectators. For this reason your most approved epilogue-speakers have -been always ladies who have possessed least of this self-forgetting -quality; and I think I have seen the amiable actress in question -suffering some embarrassment, when she has had an address of this sort -to deliver; when she found the modest veil of personation, which had -half hid her from the audience, suddenly withdrawn, and herself brought -without any such qualifying intervention before the public. - - [36] The word here omitted by the Bristol Editor, we suppose, is - _methodistical_ (Leigh Hunt in _The Examiner_). - -I should apologise for the length of this letter, if I did not remember -the lively interest you used to take in theatrical performances.--I am, -&c. &c., - - * * * *. - - -III.--RICHARD BROME'S "JOVIAL CREW" - -(1819) - -The _Jovial Crew_ or the _Merry Beggars_ has been revived here [the -English Opera] after an interval, as the bills tell us, of seven years. -Can it be so long (it seems but yesterday) since we saw poor LOVEGROVE -in _Justice Clack_? his childish treble still pipes in our ears: "Whip -'em, whip 'em, whip 'em." DOWTON was the representative of the Justice -the other night, and shook our ribs most incontinently. He was in -"excellent foolery," and our lungs crowed chanticleer. Yet it appears to -us, that there was a still higher strain of fatuity in his -predecessor--that his eyes distilled a richer dotage. Perhaps after all -it was an error of the memory. Defunct merit comes out upon us -strangely. - -Easy natural WRENCH was the _Springlove_; too comfortable a personage -perhaps to personify _Springlove_, in whom the voice of the bird awakens -a restless instinct of roaming that had slept during the winter. Miss -STEVENSON certainly leaves us nothing to regret for the absence of the -Lady, however agreeable, who formerly performed the part of _Meriel_. -Miss STEVENSON is a fine open-countenanced lass, with glorious girlish -manners. But the _Princess of Mumpers_, and _Lady Paramount_, of -beggarly counterfeit accents, was _she_ that played _Rachel_. Her -gabbling lachrymose petitions; her tones, such as we have heard by the -side of old woods, when an irresistible face has come peeping on one on -a sudden; with her full black locks, and a _voice_--how shall we -describe it?--a voice that was by nature meant to convey nothing but -truth and goodness, but warped by circumstance into an assurance that -she is telling us a lie--that catching twitch of the thievish -irreproveable finger--those ballad-singers' notes, so vulgar, yet so -unvulgar--that assurance, so like impudence, and yet so many countless -leagues removed from it--her jeers, which we had rather stand, than be -caressed with other ladies' compliments, a summer's day long--her face, -with a wild out-of-door's grace upon it-- - -Altogether, a brace of more romantic she-beggars it was never our -fortune to meet in this supplicatory world. The youngest might have sate -for "pretty Bessy," whose father was an Earl, and whose legend still -adorns the front of mine Hostess's doors at Bethnal-Green; and the other -could be no less than the "Beggar Maid" whom "King Cophetua wooed." -"What a lass that were," said a stranger who sate beside us, speaking of -Miss KELLY in _Rachel_, "to go a gipseying through the world with." We -confess we longed to drop a tester in her lap, she begged so masterly. - -By the way, this is the true _Beggar's Opera_. The other should have -been called the _Mirror for Highwaymen_. We wonder the Societies for the -Suppression of Mendicity (and other good things) do not club for the -putting down of this infamous protest in favour of air, and clear -liberty, and honest license, and blameless assertion of man's original -blest charter of blue skies, and vagrancy, and nothing-to-do. - - * * * *. - - -IV.--ISAAC BICKERSTAFF'S "HYPOCRITE" - -(1819) - -By one of those strange perversities which actuate poor mortals in the -place of motives (to persuade us into the notion that we are free -agents, we presume), we had never till the other evening seen DOWTON in -_Doctor Cantwell_. By a pious fraud of Mr. ARNOLD'S, who, by a process -as simple as some of those by which MATHEWS metamorphoses his person, -has converted the play into an opera,--a conversion, by the way, for -which we are highly indebted to him,--we have been favoured with this -rich novelty at our favourite theatre. It seems a little unreasonable to -come lagging in with a posthumous testimony to the merits of a -performance of which the town has long rung, but we cannot help -remarking in Mr. DOWTON'S acting, the subtil _gradations_ of the -hypocrisy; the length to which it runs in proportion as the recipient is -capable of taking it in; the gross palpable way in which he adminsters -the dose in wholesale to old _Lady Lambert_, that rich fanatic; the -somewhat more guarded manner in which he retails it out, only so much at -a time as he can bear, to the somewhat less bitten fool her son; and the -almost absence of it, before the younger members of the family, when -nobody else is by: how the cloven foot peeps out a little and a little -more, till the diabolical nature is stung out at last into full -manifestation of its horrid self. What a grand insolence in the tone -which he assumes, when he commands _Sir John_ to quit _his_ house! and -then the tortures and agonies when he is finally baffled! It is in these -last perhaps that he is greatest, and we should be doing injustice not -to compare this part of the performance with, and in some respects to -give it the preference above, the acting of Mr. KEAN in a situation -nearly analogous, at the conclusion of the _City Madam_. _Cantwell_ -reveals his pangs with quite as much force, and without the assistance -of those contortions which transform the detected _Luke_ into the -similitude of a mad tiger, or a foaming demon. DOWTON plays it neither -like beast nor demon, but simply as it should be, a bold bad man pushed -to extremity. Humanity is never once overstepped. Has it ever been -noticed, the exquisite modulation with which he drawls out the word -CHARLES, when he calls his secretary, so humble, so seraphic, so -resigned. The most diabolical of her sex that we ever knew accented all -her honey devil words in just such a hymn-like smoothness. The spirit of -WHITFIELD seems hovering in the air, to suck in the blessed tones, so -much like his own upon earth: Lady HUNTINGDON claps her neat white -wings, and gives it out again in heaven to the sainted ones, in -approbation. - -Miss KELLY is not quite at home in _Charlotte_; she is too good for such -parts. Her cue is to be natural; she cannot put on the modes of -artificial life, and play the coquet as it is expected to be played. -There is a frankness in her tones which defeats her purposes: we could -not help wondering why her lover (Mr. PEARMAN) looked so rueful; we -forgot that she was acting airs and graces, as she seemed to forget it -herself, turning them into a playfulness which could breed no doubt for -a moment which way her inclinations ran. She is in truth not framed to -tease or torment even in jest, but to utter a hearty _Yes_ or _No_; to -yield or refuse assent with a noble sincerity. We have not the pleasure -of being acquainted with her, but we have been told that she carries the -same cordial manners into private life. We have heard, too, of some -virtues which she is in the practice of; but they are of a description -which repay themselves, and with them neither we nor the public have any -thing to do. - -One word about WRENCH, who played the Colonel:--Was this man never -unhappy? It seems as if care never came near him, as if the black ox -could never tread upon his foot; we want something calamitous to befal -him, to bring him down to us. It is a shame he should be suffered to go -about with his well-looking happy face and tones, insulting us thin race -of irritable and irritable-making critics. - - * * * *. - - -V.--NEW PIECES AT THE LYCEUM - -(1819) - -A plot has broke out at this theatre. Some quarrel has been breeding -between the male and female performers, and the women have determined to -set up for themselves. Seven of them, _Belles without Beaux_ they call -themselves, have undertaken to get up a piece without any assistance -from the men, and in our opinion have established their point most -successfully. There is Miss CAREW with her silvery tones, and Miss -STEVENSON with her delicious mixture of the school-girl and the -waiting-maid, and Miss KELLY sure to be first in any mischief, and Mrs. -CHATTERLY with some of the best acting we have ever witnessed, and Miss -LOVE, worthy of the _name_, and Mrs. GROVE that rhymes to her, and Mrs. -RICHARDSON who might in charity have been allowed somewhat a larger -portion of the dialogue. The effect was enchanting. We mean, for once. -We do not want to encourage these Amazonian vanities. Once or twice we -longed to have WRENCH bustling among them. A lady who sate near us was -observed to gape for want of variety. To us it was delicate -quintessence, an apple-pye made all of quinces. We remember poor -HOLCROFT'S last Comedy, which positively died from the opposite excess; -it was choked up with men, and perished from a redundancy of male -population. It had nine principal men characters in it, and but one -woman, and she of no very ambiguous character. Mrs. HARLOW, to do the -part justice, chose to play it in scarlet. - -We did not know Mrs. CHATTERLY'S merits before; she plays, with -downright sterling good acting, a prude who is to be convinced out of -her prudery by Miss KELLY'S (we did not catch her stage-name) assumption -of the dress and character of a brother of seventeen, who makes the -prettiest unalarming Platonic approaches; and in the shyest mask of -moral battery, no one step of which you can detect, or say _this_ is -decidedly going too far, vanquishes at last the ice of her scruples, -brings her into an infinite scrape, and then with her own infinite good -humour sets all to right, and brings her safe out of it again with an -explanation. Mrs. CHATTERLY'S embarrassments were masterly. Miss -STEVENSON her maid's start, at surprising a youth in her mistress's -closet at midnight, was quite as good. Miss KELLY we do not care to say -any thing about, because we have been accused of flattering her. The -truth is, this lady puts so much intelligence and good sense into every -part which she plays, that there is no expressing an honest sense of her -merits, without incurring a suspicion of that sort. But what have we to -gain by praising Miss KELLY? - -Altogether this little feminine republic, this provoking experiment, -went off most smoothly. What a nice world it would be, we sometimes -think, _all women!_ but then we are afraid we slip in a fallacy unawares -into the hypothesis; we somehow edge in the idea of ourselves as -spectators or something among them. - -We saw WILKINSON after it in _Walk for a Wager_. What a picture of -Forlorn Hope! of abject orphan destitution! he seems to have no friends -in the world but his legs, and he plies them accordingly. He goes -walking on like a perpetual motion. His continual ambulatory presence -performs the part of a Greek chorus. He is the walking Gentleman of the -piece; a Peripatetic that would make a Stoic laugh. He made us cry. His -_Muffincap_ in _Amateurs and Actors_ is just such another piece of -acting. We have seen charity boys, both of St. Clement's and Farringdon -without, looking just as old, ground down out of all semblance of youth, -by abject and hopeless neglect--you cannot guess their age between -fifteen and fifty. If Mr. PEAK is the author of these pieces, he has no -reason to be piqued at their reception. - -We must apologize for an oversight in our last week's article. The -allusion made to Mr. KEAN'S acting of _Luke_ in the _City Madam_ was -totally inapplicable to the part and to the play. We were thinking of -his performance of the concluding scenes of the _New Way to Pay Old -Debts_. We confounded one of MASSINGER'S strange heroes with the other. -It was _Sir Giles Overreach_ we meant; nor are we sure that our remark -was just, even with this explanation. When we consider the intense tone, -in which Mr. KEAN thinks it proper (and he is quite as likely to be in -the right as his blundering critic) to pitch the temperament of that -monstrous character from the beginning, it follows but logically and -naturally, that where the wild uncontrollable man comes to be baffled of -his purpose, his passions should assume a frenzied manner, which it was -altogether absurd to expect should be the same with the manner of the -cautious and self-restraining _Cantwell_, even when he breaks loose from -all bonds in the agony of his final exposure. We never felt more -strongly the good sense of the saying,--Comparisons are odious. They -betray us not seldom into bitter errors of judgment; and sometimes, as -in the present instance, into absolute matter of fact blunders. But we -have recanted. - - * * * *. - - - - -FOUR REVIEWS - -(1819-1820) - -I.--_FALSTAFF'S LETTERS_ - -(1819) - -_Original Letters, &c., of Sir John Falstaff and his Friends; now first -made public by a Gentleman, a descendant of Dame Quickly, from genuine -MSS. which have been in the possession of the Quickly Family near four -hundred years_. London: Robinsons, 1796 - - -A copy of this work sold at the Roxburgh sale for five guineas. We have -both before and since that time picked it up at stalls for eighteen -pence. Reader, if you shall ever light upon a copy in the same way, we -counsel you to buy it. We are deceived if there be not in it much of the -true Shakspearian stuff. We present you with a few of the Letters, which -may speak for themselves:-- - - -FALSTAFF TO THE PRINCE - -"I pr'ythee, Hal, lend me thy 'kerchief. An thy unkindness have not -started more salt gouts down my poor old cheek, than my good rapier hath -of blood from foemen's gashes in five and thirty years' service, then am -I a very senseless mummy. I squander away in drinkings monies belonging -to the soldiery! I do deny it--they have had part--the surplus is gone -in charity--accuse the parish officers--make them restore--the whoreson -wardens do now put on the cloak of supplication at the church doors, -intercepting gentlemen for charity, forsooth!--'Tis a robbery, a -villainous robbery! to come upon a gentleman reeking with piety, God's -book in his hand, brimfull of the sacrament! Thou knowest, Hal, as I am -but man, I dare in some sort leer at the plate and pass, but as I have -the body and blood of Christ within me, could I do it? An I did not make -an oblation of a matter of ten pound after the battle of Shrewsbury, in -humble gratitude for thy safety, Hal, then am I the veriest -transgressor denounced in God's code. But I'll see them damned ere I'll -be charitable again. Let 'em coin the plate--let them coin the holy -chalice...." - - -THE SAME TO THE SAME - -"Ha! ha! ha! And dost thou think I would not offer up ten pound for -thee? yea, a hundred--more--but take heed of displeasing in thy -sacrifice. Cain did bring a kid, yea, a firstling upon the altar, and -the blaze ascended not. Abel did gather simple herbs, penny-royal, Hal, -and mustard, a fourpenny matter, and the odour was grateful. I had ten -pound for the holy offertory--mine ancient Pistol doth know it--but the -angel did arrest my hand. Could I go beyond the word?--the angel which -did stretch forth his finger, lest the good patriarch should slay his -son.--That Ned Poins hath more colours than a jay, more abuse than a -taught pie, and for wit--the cuckow's dam may be Fool of the Court to -him. I lie down at Shrewsbury out of base fear! I melt into roods, and -acres, and poles! I tell thee what, Hal, there's not a subject in the -land hath half my temperance of valour.--Did I not see thee combating -the man-queller, Hotspur; yea, in peril of subduement? Was it for me to -lose my sweet Hal without a thrust, having my rapier, my habergion, my -good self about me? I did lie down in the hope of sherking him in the -rib--four drummers and a fifer did help me to the ground:--didst thou -not mark how I did leer upon thee from beneath my buckler? That Poins -hath more scurrility than is in a whole flock of disquieted geese. - -"For the rebels I did conceal, thou should'st give me laud. I did think -thou wert already encompassed with more enemies than the resources of -men could prevent overwhelming thee: yea, that thou wert the dove on the -waters of Ararat, and didst lack a resting-place. Was it for me to heap -to thy manifold disquiets? Was it for me to fret thee with the advice of -more enemies than thou didst already know of? I could not take their -lives, and therefore did I take their monies. I did fine them, lest they -should scape, Hal, thou dost understand me, without chastisement; yea, I -fined them for a punishment. They did make oath on the point of my sword -to be true men:--an the rogues forswore themselves, and joined the -Welchman, let them look to it--'tis no 'peachment of my virtue...." - - -AGAIN - -"Oh! I am setting on a nest of the most unfledged cuckows that ever -brooded under the wing of hawk. Thou must know, Hal, I had note of a -good hale recruit or two in this neighbourhood. In other shape came I -not; look to it, Master Shallow, that in other shape I depart not. But I -know thou art ever all desire to be admitted a Fellow Commoner in a -jest. Robert Shallow, Esq. judgeth the hamlet of Cotswold. Doth not the -name of judge horribly chill thee? With Aaron's rod in his hand, he hath -the white beard of Moses on his chin. In good sooth his perpetual -countenance is not unlike what thou wouldst conceit of the momentary one -of the lunatic Jew, when he tumbled God's tables from the mount. He hath -a quick busy gait--more of this upright Judge (perpendicular as a -pikeman's weapon, Hal,) anon. I would dispatch with these Bardolph; but -the knave's hands--(I cry thee mercy) his mouth is full in preventing -desertion among my recruits. An every liver among them haven't stood me -in three and forty shilling, then am I a naughty escheator.--I tell thee -what, Hal, I'd fight against my conscience for never a Prince in -Christendom but thee.--Oh! this is a most damnable cause, and the rogues -know it--they'll drink nothing but sack of three and twopence a gallon; -and I enlist me none but tall puissant fellows that would quaff me up -Fleet-ditch, were it filled with sack--picked men, Hal--such as will -shake my Lord of York's mitre. I pray thee, sweet lad, make speed--thou -shalt see glorious deeds." - - * * * * * - -How say you, reader, do not these inventions smack of Eastcheap? Are -they not nimble, forgetive, evasive? Is not the humour of them -elaborate, cogitabund, fanciful? Carry they not the true image and -superscription of the father which begat them? Are they not steeped all -over in character--subtle, profound, unctuous? Is not here the very -effigies of the Knight? Could a counterfeit _Jack Falstaff_ come by -these conceits? Or are you, reader, one who delights to drench his -mirth in tears? You are, or, peradventure, have been a lover; a -"dismissed bachelor," perchance, one that is "lass-lorn." Come, then, -and weep over the dying bed of such a one as thyself. Weep with us the -death of poor _Abraham Slender_. - - -DAVY TO SHALLOW - -"Master Abram is dead, gone, your Worship, dead! Master Abram! Oh! good, -your Worship, a's gone. A' never throve, since a' came from -Windsor--'twas his death. I called him rebel, your Worship--but a' was -all subject--a' was subject to any babe, as much as a king--a' turned, -_like as it were the latter end of a lover's lute_--a' was all peace and -resignment--a' took delight in nothing but his Book of Songs and -Sonnets--a' would go to the Stroud side under the large beech tree, and -sing, 'till 'twas quite pity of our lives to mark him; for his chin grew -as long as a muscle.--Oh! a' sung his soul and body quite away--a' was -lank as any greyhound, and had such a scent! I hid his love-songs among -your Worship's law-books; for I thought, if a' could not get at them, it -might be to his quiet; but a' snuffed them out in a moment. Good, your -Worship, have the wise woman of Brentford secured--Master Abram may have -been conjured--Peter Simple says, a' never looked up after a' sent for -the wise woman.--Marry, a' was always given to look down afore his -elders; a' might do it, a' was given to it--your Worship knows it; but -then 'twas peak and pert with him, marry, in the turn of his heel.--A' -died, your Worship, just about one, at the crow of the cock.--I thought -how it was with him; for a' talked as quick, ay, marry, as glib as your -Worship; and a' smiled, and looked at his own nose, and called 'Sweet -Ann Page.' I asked him if a' would eat--so a' bad us commend him to his -cousin Robert (a' never called your Worship so before) and bad us get -hot meat, for a' would not say 'nay' to Ann again.[37] But a' never -lived to touch it--a' began all in a moment to sing 'Lovers all, a -Madrigall.' 'Twas the only song Master Abram ever learnt out of book, -and clean by heart, your Worship--and so a' sung, and smiled, and looked -askew at his own nose, and sung, and sung on, till his breath waxed -shorter, and shorter, and shorter, and a' fell into a struggle and -died. Alice Shortcake craves, she may make his shroud...." - - [37] Vide, _Merry Wives of Windsor_, latter part of 1st scene, 1st - act. - - * * * * * - -Should these specimens fail to rouse your curiosity to see the whole, it -may be to your loss, gentle reader, but it will give small pain to the -spirit of him that wrote this little book; my fine-tempered friend, J. -W.--for not in authorship, or the spirit of authorship, but from the -fullness of a young soul, newly kindling at the Shakspearian flame, and -bursting to be delivered of a rich exuberance of conceits,--I had almost -said _kindred with those of the full Shakspearian genius itself_,--were -these letters dictated. We remember when the inspiration came upon him; -when the plays of Henry the Fourth were first put into his hands. We -think at our recommendation he read them, rather late in life, though -still he was but a youth. He may have forgotten, but we cannot, the -pleasant evenings which ensued at the Boar's Head (as we called our -tavern, though in reality the sign was not that, nor the street -Eastcheap, for that honoured place of resort has long since passed away) -when over our pottle of Sherris he would talk you nothing but pure -_Falstaff_ the long evenings through. Like his, the wit of J. W. was -deep, recondite, imaginative, full of goodly figures and fancies. Those -evenings have long since passed away, and nothing comparable to them has -come in their stead, or can come. "We have heard the chimes at -midnight." - - * * * *. - - -II.--CHARLES LLOYD'S POEMS - -(1819) - -NUGÆ CANORÆ. POEMS BY CHARLES LLOYD - -The reader who shall take up these poems in the mere expectation of -deriving amusement for an idle hour, will have been grievously misled by -the title. _Nugæ_ they certainly are not, but full of weight; earnest, -passionate communings of the spirit with itself. He that reads them must -come to them in a serious mood; he should be one that has descended into -his own bosom; that has probed his own nature even to shivering; that -has indulged the deepest yearnings of affection, and has had them -strangely flung back upon him; that has built to himself a fortress out -of conscious weakness; that has cleaved to the rock of his early -religion, and through hope in it hath walked upon the uneasy waters. - -We should be sorry to convey a false notion. Mr. Lloyd's religion has -little of pretence or sanctimoniousness about it; it is worn as an -armour of self-defence, not as a weapon of outward annoyance: the -believing may be drawn by it, and the unbelieving need not be deterred. -The Religionist of Nature may find some things to venerate in its mild -Christianity, when he shall discover in a volume, generally hostile to -new experiments in philosophy and morals, some of its tenderest pages -dedicated to the virtues of _Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin_. - -Mr. Lloyd's poetry has not much in it that is narrative or dramatic. It -is richer in natural description; but the _imagery_ is for the most part -embodied with, and made subservient to, the _sentiment_, as in many of -the sonnets, &c. His genius is metaphysical and profound; his verses are -made up of deep feeling, accompanied with the perpetual running -commentary of his own deeper self-reflection. His affections seem to run -kindliest in domestic channels; and there some strains, commemorative of -a dead relative, which, while they do honour to the heart of the writer, -are of too sacred a nature, we think, almost to have been committed to -print at all; much less would they bear exposal among the miscellaneous -matter indispensable to a public journal. We prefer therefore giving an -extract from the fine blank verse poem, entitled _Christmas_. It is -richly embued with the meditative, introspective cast of mind, so -peculiar to this author:-- - - There is a time - When first sensation paints the burning cheek, - Fills the moist eye, and quickens the keen pulse, - That mystic meanings half conceiv'd invest - The simplest forms, and all doth speak, all lives - To the eager heart! At such a time to me - Thou cam'st, dear holiday! Thy twilight glooms - Mysterious thoughts awaken'd, and I mus'd - As if possest, yea felt as I had known - The dawn of inspiration. Then the days - Were sanctified by feeling, all around - Of an indwelling presence darkly spake. - - Silence had borrow'd sounds to cheat the soul! - And, to the toys of life, the teeming brain, - Impregning them with its own character, - Gave preternatural import; the dull face - Was eloquent, and e'en the idle air - Most potent shapes, varying and yet the same, - Substantially express'd. - - But soon my heart, - Unsatisfied with blissful shadows, felt - Achings of vacancy, and own'd the throb - Of undefin'd desire, while lays of love - Firstling and wild stole to my trem'lous tongue. - To me thy rites were mock'ry then, thy glee - Of little worth. More pleas'd I trod the waste - Sear'd with the sleety wind, and drank its blast; - Deeming thy dreary shapes most strangely sweet, - Mist-shrouded winter! in mute loneliness - I wore away the day which others hail'd - So cheerily, still usher'd in with chaunt - Of carol, and the merry ringers' peal, - Most musical to the good man that wakes - And praises God in gladness. - - But soon fled - The dreams of love fantastic! Still the Friend, - The Friend, the wild roam o'er the drifted snows - Remain unsung! then when the wintry view - Objectless, mist-hidden, or in uncouth forms - Prank'd by the arrowy flake might aptly yield - New stores to shaping fantasy, I rov'd - With him my lov'd companion! Oh, 'twas sweet; - Ye who have known the swell that heaves the breast - Pregnant with loftiest poesy, declare - Is aught more soothing to the charmed soul - Than friendship's glow, the independent dream - Gathering when all the frivolous shews are fled - Of artificial life; when the wild step - Boundeth on wide existence, unbeheld, - Uncheck'd, and the heart fashioneth its hope - In Nature's school, while Nature bursts around, - Nor Man her spoiler meddles in the scene! - Farewell, dear day, much hath it sooth'd my heart - To chaunt thy frail memorial. - - Now advance - The darkening years, and I do sojourn, home! - From thee afar. Where the broad-bosom'd hills, - Swept by perpetual clouds, of Scotland, rise, - Me fate compels to tarry. - Ditty quaint or custom'd carol, there my vacant ear - Ne'er blest! I thought of home and happier days! - - And as I thought, my vexed spirit blam'd - That austere race, who, mindless of the glee - Of good old festival, coldly forbade - Th' observance which of mortal life relieves - The languid sameness, seeming too to bring - Sanction from hoar antiquity and years - Long past! - - * * * *. - - -III.--BARRON FIELD'S POEMS - -(1820) - -"FIRST FRUITS OF AUSTRALIAN POETRY" - -Sydney, New South Wales. Printed for Private Distribution - - I first adventure; follow me who list; - And be the second Austral Harmonist. - -Whoever thou art that hast transplanted the British wood-notes to the -far-off forest which the Kangaroo haunts--whether thou art some -involuntary exile that solaces his sad estrangement with recurrence to -his native notes, with more wisdom than those captive Hebrews of old -refused to sing their Sion songs in a strange land--or whether, as we -rather suspect, thou art that valued friend of ours, who, in thy young -time of life, together with thy faithful bride, thy newly "wedded -flower," didst, in obedience to the stern voice of duty, quit thy -friends, thy family, thy pleasing avocations, the Muses with which thou -wert as deeply smitten as any, we believe, in our age and country, to go -and administer tedious justice in inauspicious unliterary -THIEFLAND[38]--we reclaim thee for our own, and gladly would transport -thee back to thy native "fields," and studies congenial to thy habits. - - [38] An elegant periphrasis for _the Bay_. Mr. Coleridge led us the - way--"CLOUDLAND, gorgeous land." - -We know a merry Captain, and co-navigator with Cook, who prides himself -upon having planted the first pun in Otaheite. It was in their own -language, and the islanders first looked at him, then stared at one -another, and all at once burst out into a genial laugh. It was a -stranger, and as a stranger they gave it welcome. Many a quibble of -their own growth, we doubt not, has since sprung from that well-timed -exotic. Where puns flourish, there must be no inconsiderable advance in -civilization. The same good results we are willing to augur from this -dawn of refinement at Sydney. They were beginning to have something like -a theatrical establishment there, which we are sorry to hear has been -suppressed; for we are of opinion with those who think that a taste for -such kind of entertainments is one remove at least from profligacy, and -that Shakspeare and Gay may be as safe teachers of morality as the -ordinary treatises which assume to instil that science. We have seen one -of their play bills (while the thing was permitted to last) and were -affected by it in no ordinary degree; particularly in the omission of -the titles of honour, which in this country are condescendingly conceded -to the players. In their Dramatis Personæ _Jobson_ was played by Smith; -_Lady Loverule_, Jones; _Nell_, Wilkinson: Gentlemen and Lady Performers -alike curtailed of their fair proportions. With a little patronage, we -prophesy, that in a very few years the histrionic establishment of -Sydney would have risen in respectability; and the humble performers -would, by tacit leave, or open permission, have been allowed to use the -same encouraging affixes to their names, which dignify their prouder -brethren and sisters in the mother country. What a moral advancement, -what a lift in the scale, to a Braham or a Stephens of New South Wales, -to write themselves _Mr._ and _Miss_! The King here has it not in his -power to do so much for a Commoner, no, not though he dub him a Duke. - -"The First Fruits" consist of two poems. The first celebrates the plant -_epacris grandiflora_; but we are no botanists, and perhaps there is too -much matter mixed up in it from the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, to please -some readers. The thefts are indeed so open and palpable, that we almost -recur to our first surmise, that the author must be some unfortunate -wight, sent on his travels for plagiarisms of a more serious complexion. -But the old matter and the new blend kindly together; and must, we hope, -have proved right acceptable to more than one - - ----Among the Fair - Of that young land of Shakspeare's tongue. - -We select for our readers the second poem; and are mistaken, if it does -not relish of the graceful hyperboles of our elder writers. We can -conceive it to have been written by Andrew Marvel, supposing him to have -been banished to Botany Bay, as he did, we believe, once meditate a -voluntary exile to Bermuda. See his fine poem, "Where the remote -Bermudas ride." - - * * * *. - - -"THE KANGAROO" - - "----mixtumque genus, prolesque biformis."--VIRG., _Æn._, vi. - - Kangaroo, Kangaroo! - Thou spirit of Australia, - That redeems from utter failure, - From perfect desolation, - And warrants the creation - Of this fifth part of the earth, - Which would seem an after-birth, - Not conceiv'd in the beginning - (For God bless'd his work at first, - And saw that it was good), - But emerg'd at the first sinning, - When the ground was therefore curst;-- - And hence this barren wood! - - Kangaroo, Kangaroo! - Tho' at first sight we should say, - In thy nature that there may - Contradiction be involv'd, - Yet, like discord well resolv'd, - It is quickly harmoniz'd. - Sphynx or mermaid realiz'd, - Or centaur unfabulous, - Would scarce be more prodigious, - [Or labyrinthine minotaur - With which great Theseus did war,] - Or Pegasus poetical, - Or hippogriff--chimeras all! - But, what Nature would compile, - Nature knows to reconcile; - And Wisdom, ever at her side, - Of all her children's justified. - - She had made the squirrel fragile; - She had made the bounding hart; - But a third so strong and agile - Was beyond ev'n Nature's art. - So she join'd the former two - In thee, Kangaroo! - - To describe thee, it is hard: - Converse of the camélopard, - Which beginneth camel-wise, - But endeth of the panther size, - Thy fore half, it would appear, - Had belong'd to "some small deer," - Such as liveth in a tree; - By thy hinder, thou should'st be - A large animal of chase, - Bounding o'er the forest's space;-- - Join'd by some divine mistake, - None but Nature's hand can make-- - Nature, in her wisdom's play, - On Creation's holiday. - For howso'er anomalous, - Thou yet art not incongruous, - Repugnant or preposterous. - Better-proportion'd animal, - More graceful or ethereal, - Was never follow'd by the hound, - With fifty steps to thy one bound. - Thou canst not be amended: no; - Be as thou art; thou best art so. - - When sooty swans are once more rare, - And duck-moles[39] the museum's care, - Be still the glory of this land, - Happiest work of finest hand! - - [39] The _cygnus niger_ of Juvenal is no _rara avis_ in Australia; - and time has here given ample proof of the _ornithorynchus - paradoxus_. [Barron Field's note.] - - -IV.--KEATS' "LAMIA" - -(1820) - -LAMIA, ISABELLA, THE EVE OF SAINT AGNES, AND OTHER POEMS. BY JOHN KEATS. -AUTHOR OF _ENDYMION_ - - A casement high and triple-arch'd there was, - All garlanded with carven imag'ries - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, - And diamonded with panes of quaint device, - Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, - As are the tiger-moth's deep damask'd wings; - And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, - And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, - A shield'd scutcheon blush'd with blood of Queens and Kings. - - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, - And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, - As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; - Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, - And on her silver cross soft amethyst, - And on her hair a glory, like a saint: - She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, - Save wings, for heaven [:--Porphyro grew faint, - She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint - - Anon his heart revives:] her vespers done, - Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; - Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; - Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees - Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, - Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, - In fancy, fair Saint Agnes in her bed, - But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. - - Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, - In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, - Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd - Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; - Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; - Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; - Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; - Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, - As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. - -Such is the description which Mr. Keats has given us, with a delicacy -worthy of Christabel, of a high-born damsel, in one of the apartments of -a baronial castle, laying herself down devoutly to dream, on the charmed -Eve of St. Agnes; and like the radiance, which comes from those old -windows upon the limbs and garments of the damsel, is the almost -Chaucer-like painting, with which this poet illumes every subject he -touches. We have scarcely any thing like it in modern description. It -brings us back to ancient days, and - - _Beauty making-beautiful old rhymes._ - -The finest thing in the volume is the paraphrase of Boccaccio's story of -the Pot of Basil. Two Florentines, merchants, discovering that their -sister Isabella has placed her affections upon Lorenzo, a young factor -in their employ, when they had hopes of procuring for her a noble match, -decoy Lorenzo, under pretence of a ride, into a wood, where they -suddenly stab and bury him. The anticipation of the assassination is -wonderfully conceived in one epithet, in the narration of the ride-- - - So the two brothers, and their _murder'd_ man, - Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream - Gurgles---- - -Returning to their sister, they delude her with a story of their having -sent Lorenzo abroad to look after their merchandises; but the spirit of -her lover appears to Isabella in a dream, and discovers how and where he -was stabbed, and the spot where they have buried him. To ascertain the -truth of the vision, she sets out to the place, accompanied by her old -nurse, ignorant as yet of her wild purpose. Her arrival at it, and -digging for the body, is described in the following stanzas, than which -there is nothing more awfully simple in diction, more nakedly grand and -moving in sentiment, in Dante, in Chaucer, or in Spenser:-- - - She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though - One glance did fully all its secrets tell; - Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know - Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well; - Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow - Like to a native lily of the dell: - Then with her knife, all sudden, she began - To dig more fervently than misers can. - - Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon - Her silk had play'd in purple fantasies, - She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone, - And put it in her bosom, where it dries - And freezes utterly unto the bone - Those dainties made to still an infant's cries: - Then 'gan she work again; nor stay'd her care, - But to throw back at times her veiling hair. - - That old nurse stood beside her wondering, - Until her heart felt pity to the core - At sight of such a dismal labouring, - And so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar, - And put her lean hands to the horrid thing: - Three hours they labour'd at this travail sore; - At last they felt the kernel of the grave, - And Isabella did not stamp and rave. - -To pursue the story in prose:--They find the body, and with their joint -strengths sever from it the head, which Isabella takes home, and -wrapping it in a silken scarf, entombs it in a garden-pot, covers it -with mould, and over it she plants sweet basil, which, watered with her -tears, thrives so that no other basil tufts in all Florence throve like -her basil. How her brothers, suspecting something mysterious in this -herb, which she watched day and night, at length discover the head, and -secretly convey the basil from her; and how from the day that she loses -her basil she pines away, and at last dies [--for this], we must refer -our readers to the poem, or to the divine germ of it in Boccaccio. It is -a great while ago since we read the original; and in this affecting -revival of it we do but - - _Weep again a long-forgotten woe._ - -More exuberantly rich in imagery and painting is the story of the Lamia. -It is of as gorgeous stuff as ever romance was composed of. Her first -appearance in serpentine form-- - - ----a beauteous wreath with melancholy eyes-- - -her dialogue with Hermes, the _Star of Lethe_, as he is called by one of -these prodigal phrases which Mr. Keats abounds in, which are each a poem -in a word, and which in this instance lays open to us at once, like a -picture, all the dim regions and their inhabitants, and the sudden -coming of a celestial among them; the charming of her into woman's shape -again by the God; her marriage with the beautiful Lycius; her magic -palace, which those who knew the street, and remembered it complete from -childhood, never remembered to have seen before; the few Persian mutes, -her attendants, - - ----who that same year - Were seen about the markets: none knew where - They could inhabit;---- - -the high-wrought splendours of the nuptial bower, with the fading of the -whole pageantry, Lamia, and all, away, before the glance of -Apollonius,--are all that fairy land can do for us. They are for younger -impressibilities. To _us_ an ounce of feeling is worth a pound of fancy; -and therefore we recur again, with a warmer gratitude, to the story of -Isabella and the pot of basil, and those never-cloying stanzas which we -have cited, and which we think should disarm criticism, if it be not in -its nature cruel; if it would not deny to honey its sweetness, nor to -roses redness, nor light to the stars in Heaven; if it would not bay the -moon out of the skies, rather than acknowledge she is fair. - - - - -SIR THOMAS MORE - -(1820) - - -Of the writings of this distinguished character little is remembered at -present beyond his _Utopia_, and some Epigrams. But there is extant a -massive folio of his Theological Works in English, partly Practical -Divinity, but for the greater part Polemic, against the grand Lutheran -Heresy, just then beginning to flower. From these I many years ago made -some extracts, rejecting only the antiquated orthography, (they being -intended only for my own amusement) except in some instances of proper -names, &c. I send them you as I find them, thinking that some of your -readers may consider them as curious. The first is from a Tract against -Tyndale, called the _Confutation of Tyndale's Answer_.[40] The author of -_Religio Medici_ somewhere says, "his conscience would give him the lye, -if she should say that he absolutely detested or hated any essence _but -the Devil_." Whether Browne was not out in his metaphysics, when he -supposed himself capable of hating, that is, _entertaining a personal -aversion to_, a being so abstracted, or such a Concrete of all -irreconcileable abstractions rather, as usually passes for the meaning -of that name, I contend not; but that the same hatred in kind, which he -professed against our great spiritual enemy, was in downright earnest -cultivated and defended by More against that portentous phenomenon in -those times, a _Heretic_, from his speeches against Luther and Tyndale -cannot for a moment be doubted. His account of poor Hytton which follows -(a reformado priest of the day) is penned with a wit and malice -hyper-satanic. It is infinitely diverting in the midst of its diabolism, -if it be not rather, what Coleridge calls, - - Too wicked for a smile, too foolish for a tear. - - [40] To some foregone Tract of More's, of which I have lost the - title. - - ----"now to the intent that ye may somewhat see what good Christian - faith Sir Thomas Hytton was of, this new saint of Tindale's - canonization, in whose burning Tindale so gaily glorieth, and which - hath his holiday so now appointed to him, that St. Polycarpus must - give him place in the Calendar, I shall somewhat show you what - wholesome heresies this holy martyr held. First ye shall understand, - that he was a priest, and falling to Luther's sect, and after that - to the sect of Friar Huskin and Zwinglius, cast off matins and mass, - and all divine service, and so became an apostle, sent to and fro, - between our English heretics beyond the sea, and such as were here - at home. Now happed it so, that after he had visited here his holy - congregations in divers corners and luskes lanes, and comforted them - in the Lord to stand stiff with the devil in their errors and - heresies, as he was going back again at Gravesend, _God considering - the great labour that he had taken already, and determining to bring - his business to his well-deserved end, gave him suddenly such a - favour and so great a grace in the visage, that every man that - beheld him took him for a thief_. For whereas there had been certain - linen clothes pilfered away that were hanging on an hedge, and Sir - Thomas Hytton was walking not far off _suspiciously in the - meditation of his heresies_: the people doubting that the beggarly - knave had stolen the clouts, fell in question with him and searched - him, and so found they certain letters secretly conveyed in his - coat, written from evangelical brethren here unto the evangelical - heretics beyond the sea. And upon those letters founden, he was with - his letters brought before the most Rev. Father in God the - Archbishop of Canterbury, and afterward as well by his Lordship as - by the Rev. Father the Bishop of Rochester examined, and after for - his abominable heresies delivered to the secular hands and burned." - -What follows (from the same Tract) is _mildened_ a little by the -introduction of the name of Erasmus, More's intimate friend; though by -the sting in the rear of it, it is easy to see, that it was to a little -temporising only, and to some thin politic partitions from these -Reformers, that Erasmus owed his exemption from the bitter anathemas -More had in store for them. The _love_ almost make the _hate_ more -shocking by the contrast! - - ----"Then he (Tyndale) asketh me why I have not contended with - Erasmus, whom he calleth my darling, of all this long while, for - translating of this word _ecclesia_ into this word _congregatio_. - And then he cometh forth with his feat proper taunt, that I favour - him of likelihood for making of his Book of MORIA in my house. There - had he hit me, lo! save for lack of a little salt. I have not - contended with Erasmus my darling, because I found no such malicious - intent with Erasmus my darling, as I find with Tyndale. For had I - found with Erasmus my darling the shrewd intent and purpose, that I - find in Tyndale, Erasmus my darling should be no more my darling. - But I find in Erasmus my darling, that he detesteth and abhorreth - the errors and heresies, that Tyndale plainly teacheth and abideth - by, and therefore Erasmus my darling shall be my dear darling still. - And surely if Tyndale had either never taught them, or yet had the - grace to revoke them, then should Tyndale be my dear darling too. - But while he holdeth such heresies still, I cannot take for my - darling him that the devil taketh for his darling." - -The next extract is from a "Dialogue concerning Heresies," and has -always struck me as a master-piece of eloquent logic, and something in -the manner of Burke, when he is stripping a sophism _sophistically_; as -he treats Paine, and others _passim_. - - ----"And not to be of the foolish mind that Luther is, which wished - in a sermon of his, that he had in his hand all the pieces of the - holy cross, and saith that, if he so had, he would throw them there - as never sun should shine on them. And for what worshipful reason - would the wretch do such villainy to the cross of Christ? because, - as he saith, that there is so much gold now bestowed about the - garnishing of the pieces of the cross, that there is none left for - poor folk. Is not this an high reason? as though all the gold, that - is now bestowed about the pieces of the holy cross, would not have - failed to have been given to poor men, if they had not been bestowed - about the garnishing of the cross. And as though there were nothing - lost, but that is bestowed about Christ's cross. Take all the gold, - that is spent about all the pieces of Christ's cross through - Christendom (albeit many a good Christen prince, and other goodly - people, hath honourably garnished many pieces thereof), yet, if all - the gold were gathered together, it would appear a poor portion, in - comparison of the gold that is bestowed upon cups. What speak we of - cups? in which the gold, albeit that it be not given to poor men, - yet is it saved, and may be given in alms when men will, _which they - never will_; how small a portion, ween we, were the gold about all - the pieces of Christ's cross, if it were compared with the gold that - is _quite cast away_ about the gilting of knives, swords, spurs, - arras, and painted clothes: and (as though these things could not - consume gold fast enough) the gilting of posts, and whole roofs, not - only in palaces of princes and great prelates, but also many right - mean men's houses. And yet, among all these things, could Luther spy - no gold that _grievously glittered in his bleared eyes_, but only - about the cross of Christ.--For that gold, if it were thence, the - wise man weeneth, it would be straight given to poor men, and that - where he daily see'th, that such as have their purse full of gold, - give to the poor not one piece thereof; but, if they give ought, - they ransack the bottom among all the gold, to seek out here an - halfpenny, or _in his country_ a brass penny whereof four make a - farthing: _such goodly causes find they, that pretend holiness for - the colour of their cloaked heresies_." [Book I., Chapter 2.] - -I subjoin from the same "Dialogue" More's cunning defence of Miracles -done at Saints' shrines, on Pilgrimages, &c. all which he defends, as he -was bound by holy church to do, most stoutly. The _manner_ of it is arch -and surprising, and the narration infinitely naive; the _matter_ is the -old fallacy of confounding miracles (things happening out of nature) -with natural things, the grounds of which we cannot explain. In this -sense every thing is a miracle, and nothing is. - - ----"And first if men should tell you, that they saw before an image - of the crucifix a dead man raised to life, ye would much marvel - thereof, and so might ye well; yet could I tell you somewhat that I - have seen myself, that methinketh as great marvel, but I have no - lust to tell you, because that ye be so circumspect and ware in - belief of any miracles, that ye would not believe it for me, but - mistrust me for it. - - "Nay, Sir (quod he), in good faith, if a thing seemed to me never so - far unlikely, yet if ye would earnestly say that yourself have seen - it, I neither would nor could mistrust it. - - "Well (quod I), then ye may make me the bolder to tell ye. And yet - will I tell you nothing, but that I would, if need were, find you - good witness to prove it. - - "It shall not need, Sir (quod he), but I beseech you let me hear it. - - "Forsooth (quod I), because we speak of a man raised from death to - life. There was in the parish of St. Stephen's in Walbrook, in - London, where I dwelled before I come to Chelsith, a man and a - woman, which are yet quick and quething, and young were they both. - The eldest I am sure passeth not twenty-four. It happed them, as - doth among folk, the one to cast the mind to the other. And after - many lets, for the maiden's mother was much against it, at last they - came together, and were married in St. Stephen's church, which is - not greatly famous for any miracles, but yet yearly on St. Stephen's - day it is somewhat sought unto and visited with folk's devotion. But - now short tale to make, this young woman (as manner is in brides ye - wot well) was at night brought to bed with honest women. And then - after that went the bridegroom to bed, and every body went their - ways, and left them twain there alone. And the same night, yet abide - let me not lie, now in faith to say the truth I am not very sure of - the time, but surely as it appeared afterward, it was of likelihood - the same night, or some other time soon after, except it happened a - little before. - - "No force for the time (quod he). - - "Truth (quod I), and as for the matter, all the parish will testify - for truth, the woman was known for so honest. But for the - conclusion, the seed of them twain turned in the woman's body, first - into blood, and after into shape of man-child. And then waxed quick, - and she great therewith. And was within the year delivered of a fair - boy, and forsooth it was not then (for I saw it myself) passing the - length of a foot. And I am sure he has grown now an inch longer than - I. - - "How long is it ago? (quod he). - - "By my faith (quod I) about twenty-one years. - - "Tush! (quod he), this is a worthy miracle! - - "In good faith (quod I), never wist I that any man could tell that - he had any other beginning. And methinketh that this is as great a - miracle as the raising of a dead man." [Book I., Chapter 10.] - -Diabolical Possession was a rag of the old abomination, which this -Contunder of Heresies thought himself obliged no less to wrap tightly -about the loins of his faith, than any of the _splendiores panni_ of the -old red Harlot. But (read with allowance for the belief of the times) -the narrative will be found affecting, particularly in what relates to -the parents of the damsel, "rich, and sore abashed." - - ----"Amongst which (_true miracles_) I durst boldly tell you for - one, the wonderful work of God, that was within these few years - wrought, in the house of a right worshipful knight, Sir Roger - Wentworth, upon divers of his children, and specially one of his - daughters, a very fair young gentlewoman of twelve years of age, in - marvellous manner vexed and tormented by our ghostly enemy the - devil, her mind alienated and raving with despising and blasphemy of - God, and hatred of all hallowed things, with knowledge and - perceiving of the hallowed from the unhallowed, all were she nothing - warned thereof. And after that moved in her own mind, and monished - by the will of God, to go to our Lady of Ippiswitche. In the way of - which pilgrimage, she prophesied and told many things done and said - at the same time in other places, which were proved true, and many - things said, lying in her trance, of such wisdom and learning, that - right cunning men highly marvelled to hear of so young an unlearned - maiden, when herself wist not what she said, such things uttered and - spoken, as well learned men might have missed with a long study, and - finally being brought and laid before the Image of our Blessed Lady, - was there in the sight of many worshipful people so grievously - tormented, and in face, eyen, look and countenance, so griesly - changed, and her mouth drawn aside, and her eyen laid out upon her - cheeks, that it was a terrible sight to behold. And after many - marvellous things at the same time shewed upon divers persons by the - devil through God's sufferance, as well all the remnant as the - maiden herself, in the presence of all the company, restored to - their good state perfectly cured and suddenly. And in this matter no - pretext of begging, no suspicion of feigning? no possibility of - counterfeiting, no simpleness in the seers, her father and mother - right honourable and rich, _sore abashed to see such chances in - their children_, the witnesses great number, and many of great - worship, wisdom and good experience, the maid herself too young to - feign [and the fashion itself too strange for any man to feign], - and the end of the matter virtuous, the virgin so moved in her mind - with the miracle, that she forthwith for aught her father could do, - forsook the world, and professed religion in a very good and godly - company at the Mynoresse, where she hath lived well and graciously - ever since." [Book I., Chapter 16.] - -I shall trouble you with one Excerpt more, from a "Dialogue of Comfort -against Tribulation;" because the style of it is solemn and weighty; and -because it was written by More in his last imprisonment in the Tower, -preparatory to his sentence. After witnessing his treatment of Sir John -Hytton, and his brethren, we shall be inclined to mitigate some of our -remorse, that More should have suffered death himself _for conscience -sake_. The reader will not do this passage justice, if he do not read it -as part of a sermon; and as putting himself into the feelings of an -auditory of More's Creed and Times. - - ----"But some men now when this calling of God [any tribulation] - causeth them to be sad, they be loth to leave their sinful lusts - that hang in their hearts, and specially if they have any such kind - of living, as they must needs leave off, or fall deeper in sin: or - if they have done so many great wrongs, that they have many 'mends - to make, that must (if they follow God) 'minish much their money, - then are these folks (alas) woefully bewrapped, for God pricketh - upon them of his great goodness still, and the grief of this great - pang pincheth them at the heart, and of wickedness they wry away, - and fro this tribulation they turn to their flesh for help, and - labour to shake off this thought, and then they mend their pillow, - and lay their head softer, and assay to sleep; and when that will - not be, then they find a talk awhile with them that lie by them. If - that cannot be neither, then they lie and long for day, and then get - them forth about their worldly wretchedness, the matter of their - prosperity, the self-same sinful things with which they displease - God most, and at length with many times using this manner, God - utterly casteth them off. And then they set nought neither by God - nor Devil. * * * But alas! when death cometh, then cometh again - their sorrow, then will no soft bed serve, nor no company make him - merry, then must he leave his outward worship and comfort of his - glory, and lie panting in his bed as if he were on a pine-bank, then - cometh his fear of his evil life and his dreadful death. Then cometh - the torment, his cumbered conscience and fear of his heavy judgment. - Then the devil draweth him to despair with imagination of hell, and - suffereth him not then to take it for a fable. And yet if he do, - then findeth it the wretch no fable. * * * Some have I seen even in - their last sickness set up in their death-bed underpropped with - pillows take their play-fellows to them, and comfort themselves with - cards, and this they said did ease them well to put fantasies out of - their heads; and what fantasies trow you? such as I told you right - now of, their own lewd life and peril of their soul, of heaven and - of hell that irked them to think of, and therefore cast it out with - cards' play as long as ever thy might, till the pure pangs of death - pulled their heart fro their play, and put them in the case they - could not reckon their game. And then left them their gameners, and - slily slunk away, and long was it not ere they galped up the ghost. - And what game they came then to, that God knoweth and not I. I pray - God it were good, but I fear it very sore." - - * * * *. - - - - -THE CONFESSIONS OF H. F. V. H. DELAMORE, ESQ. - -(1821) - - SACKVILLE-STREET, _25th March, 1821_. - - -Mr. Editor,--A correspondent in your last number,[41] blesses his stars, -that he was never yet in the pillory; and, with a confidence which the -uncertainty of mortal accidents but weakly justifies, goes on to predict -that he never shall be. Twelve years ago, had a Sibyl prophesied to me, -that I should live to be set in a worse place, I should have struck her -for a lying beldam. There are degradations below that which he speaks -of. - - [41] Elia:--Chapter on Ears. - -I come of a good stock, Mr. Editor. The Delamores are a race singularly -tenacious of their honour; men who, in the language of Edmund Burke, -feel a stain like a wound. My grand uncle died of a fit of the sullens -for the disgrace of a public whipping at Westminster. He had not then -attained his fourteenth year. Would I had died young! - -For more than five centuries, the current of our blood hath flowed -unimpeachably. And must it stagnate now? - -Can a family be tainted backwards?--can posterity purchase disgrace for -their progenitors?--or doth it derogate from the great Walter of our -name, who received the sword of knighthood in Cressy field, that one of -his descendants once sate * * * * * * * * * * *? - -Can an honour, fairly achieved in _quinto Edwardi Tertii_, be reversed -by a slip _in quinquagesimo Georgii Tertii_?--how stands the law?--what -_dictum_ doth the college deliver?--O Clarencieux! O Norroy! - -Can a reputation, gained by hard watchings on the cold ground, in a suit -of mail, be impeached by hard watchings on the cold ground in other -circumstances--was the endurance equal?--why is the guerdon so -disproportionate? - -A priest mediated the ransom of the too valorous Reginald, of our house, -captived in Lord Talbot's battles. It was a clergyman, who by his -intercession abridged the period of my durance. - -Have you touched at my wrongs yet, Mr. Editor?--or must I be explicit as -to my grievance? - -Hush, my heedless tongue. - -Something bids me--"Delamore, be ingenuous." - -Once then, and only once---- - -Star of my nativity, hide beneath a cloud, while I reveal it! - -Ancestors of Delamore, lie low in your wormy beds, that no posthumous -hearing catch a sound! - -Let no eye look over thee, while thou shalt peruse it, reader! - -Once---- - -these legs, with Kent in the play, though for far less ennobling -considerations, did wear "cruel garters." - -Yet I protest it was but for a thing of nought--a fault of youth, and -warmer blood--a calendary inadvertence I may call it--or rather a -temporary obliviousness of the day of the week--timing my Saturnalia -amiss.---- - -Streets of Barnet, infamous for civil broils, ye saw my shame!--did not -your Red Rose rise again to dye my burning cheek? - -It was but for a pair of minutes, or so--yet I feel, I feel, that the -gentry of the Delamores is extinguished for ever.---- - -Try to forget it, reader.---- - - (Signed) HENRY FRANCIS VERE HARRINGTON - - DELAMORE. - - - - -THE GENTLE GIANTESS - -(1822) - - -The widow Blacket, of Oxford, is the largest female I ever had the -pleasure of beholding. There may be her parallel upon the earth, but -surely I never saw it. I take her to be lineally descended from the -maid's aunt of Brainford, who caused Master Ford such uneasiness. She -hath Atlantean shoulders; and, as she stoopeth in her gait--with as few -offences to answer for in her own particular as any of Eve's -daughters--her back seems broad enough to bear the blame of all the -peccadillos that have been committed since Adam. She girdeth her -waist--or what she is pleased to esteem as such--nearly up to her -shoulders, from beneath which, that huge dorsal expanse, in mountainous -declivity, emergeth. Respect for her alone preventeth the idle boys, who -follow her about in shoals, whenever she cometh abroad, from getting up -and riding.--But her presence infallibly commands a reverence. She is -indeed, as the Americans would express it, something awful. Her person -is a burthen to herself, no less than to the ground which bears her. To -her mighty bone, she hath a pinguitude withal, which makes the depth of -winter to her the most desirable season. Her distress in the warmer -solstice is pitiable. During the months of July and August, she usually -renteth a cool cellar, where ices are kept, whereinto she descendeth -when Sirius rageth. She dates from a hot Thursday--some twenty-five -years ago. Her apartment in summer is pervious to the four winds. Two -doors, in north and south direction, and two windows, fronting the -rising and the setting sun, never closed, from every cardinal point, -catch the contributory breezes. She loves to enjoy what she calls a -quadruple draught. That must be a shrewd zephyr, that can escape her. I -owe a painful face-ach, which oppresses me at this moment, to a cold -caught, sitting by her, one day in last July, at this receipt of -coolness. Her fan in ordinary resembleth a banner spread, which she -keepeth continually on the alert to detect the least breeze. She -possesseth an active and gadding mind, totally incommensurate with her -person. No one delighteth more than herself in country exercises and -pastimes. I have passed many an agreeable holiday with her in her -favourite park at Woodstock. She performs her part in these delightful -ambulatory excursions by the aid of a portable garden chair. She setteth -out with you at a fair foot gallop, which she keepeth up till you are -both well breathed, and then she reposeth for a few seconds. Then she is -up again, for a hundred paces or so, and again resteth--her movement, on -these sprightly occasions, being something between walking and flying. -Her great weight seemeth to propel her forward, ostrich-fashion. In this -kind of relieved marching I have traversed with her many scores of acres -on these well-wooded and well-watered domains. Her delight at Oxford is -in the public walks and gardens, where, when the weather is not too -oppressive, she passeth much of her valuable time. There is a bench at -Maudlin, or rather, situated between the frontiers of that and -* * * * * *'s college--some litigation latterly, about repairs, has -vested the property of it finally in * * * * * *'s--where at the hour of -noon she is ordinarily to be found sitting--so she calls it by -courtesy--but in fact, pressing and breaking of it down with her -enormous settlement; as both those Foundations, who, however, are -good-natured enough to wink at it, have found, I believe, to their cost. -Here she taketh the fresh air, principally at vacation times, when the -walks are freest from interruption of the younger fry of students. Here -she passeth her idle hours, not idly, but generally accompanied with a -book--blest if she can but intercept some resident Fellow (as usually -there are some of that brood left behind at these periods); or stray -Master of Arts (to most of them she is better known than their dinner -bell); with whom she may confer upon any curious topic of literature. I -have seen these shy gownsmen, who truly set but a very slight value upon -female conversation, cast a hawk's eye upon her from the length of -Maudlin grove, and warily glide off into another walk--true monks as -they are, and ungently neglecting the delicacies of her polished -converse, for their own perverse and uncommunicating solitariness! -Within doors her principal diversion is music, vocal and instrumental, -in both which she is no mean professor. Her voice is wonderfully fine; -but till I got used to it, I confess it staggered me. It is for all the -world like that of a piping bulfinch, while from her size and stature -you would expect notes to drown the deep organ. The shake, which most -fine singers reserve for the close or cadence, by some unaccountable -flexibility, or tremulousness of pipe, she carrieth quite through the -composition; so that her time, to a common air or ballad, keeps double -motion, like the earth--running the primary circuit of the tune, and -still revolving upon its own axis. The effect, as I said before, when -you are used to it, is as agreeable as it is altogether new and -surprising. The spacious apartment of her outward frame lodgeth a soul -in all respects disproportionate. Of more than mortal make, she evinceth -withal a trembling sensibility, a yielding infirmity of purpose, a quick -susceptibility to reproach, and all the train of diffident and blushing -virtues, which for their habitation usually seek out a feeble frame, an -attenuated and meagre constitution. With more than man's bulk, her -humours and occupations are eminently feminine. She sighs--being six -foot high. She languisheth--being two feet wide. She worketh slender -sprigs upon the delicate muslin--her fingers being capable of moulding a -Colossus. She sippeth her wine out of her glass daintily--her capacity -being that of a tun of Heidelburg. She goeth mincingly with those feet -of hers--whose solidity need not fear the black ox's pressure. Softest, -and largest of thy sex, adieu! by what parting attribute may I salute -thee--last and best of the Titanesses--Ogress, fed with milk instead of -blood--not least, or least handsome, among Oxford's stately -structures--Oxford, who, in its deadest time of vacation, can never -properly be said to be empty, having thee to fill it. - - ELIA. - - - - -LETTER TO AN OLD GENTLEMAN WHOSE EDUCATION HAS BEEN NEGLECTED - -_To the Editor of the London Magazine_ - -(1823) - - -Dear Sir,--I send you a bantering Epistle to an Old Gentleman whose -Education is supposed to have been Neglected. Of course, it was -_suggested_ by some Letters of your admirable Opium-Eater; the -discontinuance of which has caused so much regret to myself in common -with most of your readers. You will do me injustice by supposing, that -in the remotest degree it was my intention to ridicule those Papers. The -fact is, the most serious things may give rise to an innocent burlesque; -and the more serious they are, the fitter they become for that purpose. -It is not to be supposed, that Charles Cotton did not entertain a very -high regard for Virgil, notwithstanding he travestied that Poet. -Yourself can testify the deep respect I have always held for the -profound learning and penetrating genius of our friend. Nothing upon -earth would give me greater pleasure than to find that he has not lost -sight of his entertaining and instructive purpose. - - I am, dear Sir, yours and _his_ sincerely, - - ELIA. - - -MY DEAR SIR,--The question which you have done me the honour to propose -to me, through the medium of our common friend Mr. Grierson, I shall -endeavour to answer with as much exactness as a limited observation and -experience can warrant. - -You ask--or rather, Mr. Grierson in his own interesting language asks -for you--"Whether a person at the age of sixty-three, with no more -proficiency than a tolerable knowledge of most of the characters of the -English alphabet at first sight amounts to, by dint of persevering -application, and good masters,--a docile and ingenuous disposition on -the part of the pupil always pre-supposed--may hope to arrive, within a -presumable number of years, at that degree of attainments, which shall -entitle the possessor to the character, which you are on so many -accounts justly desirous of acquiring, of a _learned man_." - -This is fairly and candidly stated,--only I could wish that on one point -you had been a little more explicit. In the mean time, I will take it -for granted, that by a "knowledge of the alphabetic characters," you -confine your meaning to the single powers only, as you are silent on the -subject of the diphthongs, and harder combinations. - -Why truly, Sir, when I consider the vast circle of sciences--it is not -here worth while to trouble you with the distinction between learning -and science--which a man must be understood to have made the tour of in -these days, before the world will be willing to concede to him the title -which you aspire to, I am almost disposed to reply to your inquiry by a -direct answer in the negative. - -However, where all cannot be compassed, a great deal that is truly -valuable may be accomplished. I am unwilling to throw out any remarks -that should have a tendency to damp a hopeful genius; but I must not in -fairness conceal from you, that you have much to do. The consciousness -of difficulty is sometimes a spur to exertion. Rome--or rather, my dear -Sir, to borrow an illustration from a place, as yet more familiar to -you--Rumford--Rumford--was not built in a day. - -Your mind as yet, give me leave to tell you, is in the state of a sheet -of white paper. We must not blot or blur it over too hastily. Or, to use -an opposite simile, it is like a piece of parchment all be-scrawled and -be-scribbled over with characters of no sense or import, which we must -carefully erase and remove, before we can make way for the authentic -characters or impresses, which are to be substituted in their stead by -the corrective hand of science. - -Your mind, my dear Sir, again resembles that same parchment, which we -will suppose a little hardened by time and disuse. We may apply the -characters, but are we sure that the ink will sink? - -You are in the condition of a traveller, that has all his journey to -begin. And again, you are worse off than the traveller which I have -supposed--for you have already lost your way. - -You have much to learn, which you have never been taught; and more, I -fear, to unlearn, which you have been taught erroneously. You have -hitherto, I dare say, imagined, that the sun moves round the earth. When -you shall have mastered the true solar system, you will have quite a -different theory upon that point, I assure you. I mention but this -instance. Your own experience, as knowledge advances, will furnish you -with many parallels. - -I can scarcely approve of the intention, which Mr. Grierson informs me -you had contemplated, of entering yourself at a common seminary, and -working your way up from the lower to the higher forms with the -children. I see more to admire in the modesty, than in the expediency, -of such a resolution. I own I cannot reconcile myself to the spectacle -of a gentleman at your time of life seated, as must be your case at -first, below a Tyro of four or five--for at that early age the rudiments -of education usually commence in this country. I doubt whether more -might not be lost in the point of fitness, than would be gained in the -advantages which you propose to yourself by this scheme. - -You say, you stand in need of emulation; that this incitement is no -where to be had but at a public school; that you should be more sensible -of your progress by comparing it with the daily progress of those around -you. But have you considered the nature of emulation; and how it is -sustained at those tender years, which you would have to come in -competition with? I am afraid you are dreaming of academic prizes and -distinctions. Alas! in the university, for which you are preparing, the -highest medal would be a silver penny, and you must graduate in nuts and -oranges. - -I know that Peter, the Great Czar--or Emperor--of Muscovy, submitted -himself to the discipline of a dock-yard at Deptford, that he might -learn, and convey to his countrymen, the noble art of shipbuilding. You -are old enough to remember him, or at least to talk about him. I call to -mind also other great princes, who, to instruct themselves in the -theory and practice of war, and set an example of subordination to their -subjects, have condescended to enrol themselves as private soldiers; -and, passing through the successive ranks of corporal, quarter-master, -and the rest, have served their way up to the station, at which most -princes are willing enough to set out--of General and Commander-in-Chief -over their own forces. But--besides that there is oftentimes great sham -and pretence in their show of mock humility--the competition which they -stooped to was with their co-evals, however inferior to them in birth. -Between ages so very disparate, as those which you contemplate, I fear -there can no salutary emulation subsist. - -Again, in the other alternative, could you submit to the ordinary -reproofs and discipline of a day-school? Could you bear to be corrected -for your faults? Or how would it look to see you put to stand, as must -be the case sometimes, in a corner? - -I am afraid the idea of a public school in your circumstances must be -given up. - -But is it impossible, by dear Sir, to find some person of your own -age--if of the other sex, the more agreeable perhaps--whose information, -like your own, has rather lagged behind their years, who should be -willing to set out from the same point with yourself, to undergo the -same tasks--thus at once inciting and sweetening each other's labours in -a sort of friendly rivalry. Such a one, I think, it would not be -difficult to find in some of the western parts of this island--about -Dartmoor for instance. - -Or what if, from your own estate--that estate which, unexpectedly -acquired so late in life, has inspired into you this generous thirst -after knowledge, you were to select some elderly peasant, that might -best be spared from the land; to come and begin his education with you, -that you might till, as it were, your minds together--one, whose heavier -progress might invite, without a fear of discouraging, your emulation? -We might then see--starting from an equal post--the difference of the -clownish and the gentle blood. - -A private education then, or such a one as I have been describing, being -determined on, we must in the next place look out for a preceptor:--for -it will be some time before either of you, left to yourselves, will be -able to assist the other to any great purpose in his studies. - -And now, my dear Sir, if in describing such a tutor as I have imagined -for you, I use a style a little above the familiar one in which I have -hitherto chosen to address you, the nature of the subject must be my -apology. _Difficile est de scientiis inscienter loqui_, which is as much -as to say that "in treating of scientific matters it is difficult to -avoid the use of scientific terms." But I shall endeavour to be as plain -as possible. I am not going to present you with the _ideal_ of a -pedagogue, as it may exist in my fancy, or has possibly been realized in -the persons of Buchanan and Busby. Something less than perfection will -serve our turn. The scheme which I propose in this first or introductory -letter has reference to the first four or five years of your education -only; and in enumerating the qualifications of him that should undertake -the direction of your studies, I shall rather point out the _minimum_, -or _least_, that I shall require of him, than trouble you in the search -of attainments neither common nor necessary to our immediate purpose. - -He should be a man of deep and extensive knowledge. So much at least is -indispensable. Something older than yourself, I could wish him, because -years add reverence. - -To his age and great learning, he should be blest with a temper and a -patience, willing to accommodate itself to the imperfections of the -slowest and meanest capacities. Such a one in former days Mr. Hartlib -appears to have been, and such in our days I take Mr. Grierson to be; -but our friend, you know, unhappily has other engagements. I do not -demand a consummate grammarian; but he must be a thorough master of -vernacular orthography, with an insight into the accentualities and -punctualities of modern Saxon, or English. He must be competently -instructed (or how shall he instruct you?) in the tetralogy, or first -four rules, upon which not only arithmetic, but geometry, and the pure -mathematics themselves, are grounded. I do not require that he should -have measured the globe with Cook, or Ortelius, but it is desirable that -he should have a general knowledge (I do not mean a very nice or -pedantic one) of the great division of the earth into four parts, so as -to teach you readily to name the quarters. He must have a genius capable -in some degree of soaring to the upper element, to deduce from thence -the not much dissimilar computation of the cardinal points, or hinges, -upon which those invisible phenomena, which naturalists agree to term -_winds_, do perpetually shift and turn. He must instruct you, in -imitation of the old Orphic fragments (the mention of which has possibly -escaped you), in numeric and harmonious responses, to deliver the number -of solar revolutions, within which each of the twelve periods, into -which the _Annus Vulgaris_, or common year, is divided, doth usually -complete and terminate itself. The intercalaries, and other subtle -problems, he will do well to omit, till riper years, and course of -study, shall have rendered you more capable thereof. He must be capable -of embracing all history, so as from the countless myriads of individual -men, who have peopled this globe of earth--_for it is a globe_--by -comparison of their respective births, lives, deaths, fortunes, conduct, -prowess, &c. to pronounce, and teach you to pronounce, dogmatically and -catechetically, who was the richest, who was the strongest, who was the -wisest, who was the meekest man, that ever lived; to the facilitation of -which solution, you will readily conceive, a smattering of biography -would in no inconsiderable degree conduce. Leaving the dialects of men -(in one of which I shall take leave to suppose you by this time at least -superficially instituted), you will learn to ascend with him to the -contemplation of that unarticulated language, which was before the -written tongue; and, with the aid of the elder Phrygian or Æsopic key, -to interpret the sounds by which the animal tribes communicate their -minds--evolving moral instruction with delight from the dialogue of -cocks, dogs, and foxes. Or marrying theology with verse, from whose -mixture a beautiful and healthy offspring may be expected, in your own -native accents (but purified) you will keep time together to the -profound harpings of the more modern or Wattsian hymnics. - -Thus far I have ventured to conduct you to a "hill-side, whence you may -discern the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious -indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of -goodly prospects and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of -Orpheus was not more charming."[42] - -With my best respects to Mr. Grierson, when you see him, - - I remain, dear Sir, your obedient servant, - - ELIA. - - _April 1, 1823._ - - [42] Milton's Tractate on Education, addressed to Mr. Hartlib. - - - - -RITSON _VERSUS_ JOHN SCOTT THE QUAKER - -(1823) - - Critics I read on other men, - And Hypers upon them again.--_Prior._ - - -I have in my possession Scott's "Critical Essays on some of the Poems of -several English Poets,"--a handsome octavo, bought at the sale of -Ritson's books; and enriched (or deformed, as some would think it) with -MS. annotations in the handwriting of that redoubted Censor. I shall -transcribe a few, which seem most characteristic of both the -writers--Scott, feeble, but amiable--Ritson, coarse, caustic, clever; -and, I am to suppose, not amiable. But they have proved some amusement -to me; and, I hope, will produce some to the reader, this rainy season, -which really damps a gentleman's wings for any original flight, and -obliges him to ransack his shelves, and miscellaneous reading, to -furnish an occasional or make-shift paper. If the sky clears up, and the -sun dances this Easter (as they say he is wont to do), the town may be -troubled with something more in his own way the ensuing month from its -poor servant to command. - - ELIA. - - -DYER'S RUINS OF ROME - - ----The pilgrim oft - At dead of night 'mid his oraison hears - Aghast the voice of time disparting towers, - Tumbling all precipitate down-dashed, - Rattling around, loud-thund'ring to the moon; - While murmurs sooth each awful interval - Of ever-falling waters. - - -_Scott_ - -There is a very bold transposition in this passage. A superficial -reader, not attending to the sense of the epithet _ever_, might be ready -to suppose that the _intervals_ intended were those between the _falling -of the waters_, instead of those between the _falling of the towers_. - - -_Ritson_ - -A beauty, as in Thomson's Winter-- - - ----Cheerless towns, far distant, never blest, - Save when its annual course the caravan - Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay, - With news of human kind.[43] - ----Where the broad-bosom'd hills, - Swept with perpetual clouds, of Scotland rise, - Me fate compels to tarry. - -A superficial person--Mr. Scott, for instance, would be apt to connect -the last clause in this period with the line foregoing--"bends to the -coast of Cathay with news," &c. But has a reader nothing to do but to -sit passive, while the connexion is to glide into his ears like oil? - - [43] May I have leave to notice an instance of the same agreeable - discontinuity in my friend Lloyd's admirable poem on Christmas? - - -DENHAM'S COOPER'S HILL - - The stream is so transparent, pure, and clear, - That, had the self-enamour'd youth gaz'd here, - So fatally deceived he had not been, - While he the bottom, not his face had seen. - - -_Scott_ - -The last two lines have more music than Denham's can possibly boast. - - -_Ritson_ - -May I have leave to conjecture, that in the very last line of all, the -word "the" has erroneously crept in? I am persuaded that the poet wrote -"his." To my mind, at least, this reading, in a surprising degree, -heightens the idea of the extreme clearness and transparency of the -stream, where a man might see _more than his face_ (as it were) in it. - - -COLLINS'S ORIENTAL ECLOGUES - -_Scott_ - -The second of these little pieces, called Hassan, or the Camel Driver, -is of superior character. This poem contradicts history in one principal -instance; the merchants of the east travel in numerous caravans, but -Hassan is introduced travelling alone in the desart. But this -circumstance detracts little from our author's merit; adherence to -historical fact is _seldom_ required in poetry. - - -_Ritson_ - -It is _always_, where the poet unnecessarily transports you to the ends -of the world. If he must plague you with exotic scenery, you have a -right to exact strict local imagery and costume. Why must I learn -Arabic, to read nothing after all but Gay's Fables in another language? - - -_Scott_ - -Abra is introduced in a grove, wreathing a flowery chaplet for her hair. -Shakspeare himself could not have devised a more natural and pleasing -incident, than that of the monarch's attention being attracted by her -song: - - Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray, - By love conducted from the chace away. - Among the vocal vales he heard her song---- - - -_Ritson_ - -Ch--t? - - - * * * * * - - O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny, - No longer friendly to my life, to fly---- - - -_Scott_ - -From the pen of Cowley, such an observation as Secander's, "that his -feet were no longer friendly to his life," might have been expected; but -Collins rarely committed such violations of simplicity. - - -_Ritson_ - -Pen of Cowley! impudent goose-quill, how darest thou guess what Cowley -would have written? - - -GRAY'S CHURCH-YARD ELEGY - - Save where the beetle wheels---- - - -_Scott_ - -The beetle was introduced in poetry by Shakspeare * * *. Shakspeare has -made the most of his description; indeed, far too much, considering the -occasion: - - ----to black Hecate's summons - The shard-born beetle with his drowsy hum - Hath rung night's yawning peal.---- - -The imagination must be indeed fertile, which could produce this -ill-placed exuberance of imagery. The poet, when composing this passage, -must have had in his mind all the remote ideas of Hecate, a heathen -Goddess, of a beetle, of night, of a peal of bells, and of that action -of the muscles, commonly called a gape or yawn. - - -_Ritson_ - -Numbscull! that would limit an infinite head by the square contents of -thy own numbscull. - - -_Scott_ - -The great merit of a poet is not, like Cowley, Donne, and Denham, to say -what no man but himself has thought, but what every man besides himself -has thought; but no man expressed, or, at least, expressed so well. - - -_Ritson_ - -In other words, all _that_ is poetry, which Mr. Scott has thought, as -well as the poet; but _that_ cannot be poetry, which was not obvious to -Mr. Scott, as well as to Cowley, Donne, and Denham. - - -_Scott_ - -Mr. Mason observes of the language in this part [the Epitaph], that it -has a Doric delicacy. It has, indeed, what I should rather term a _happy -rusticity_. - - -_Ritson_ - - Come, see - Rural felicity. - - -GOLDSMITH'S DESERTED VILLAGE - - No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, - But all the bloomy flush of life is fled-- - All but yon widow'd solitary thing, - That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; - She, wretched matron, forced, in age, for bread, - To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, - - -_Scott_ - -Our author's language, in this place, is very defective in correctness. -After mentioning the general privation of the "bloomy flush of life," -the exceptionary "all but" includes, as part of that "bloomy flush," an -aged decrepit matron; that is to say, in plain prose, "the bloomy flush -of life is all fled but one old woman." - - -_Ritson_ - -Yet Milton could write: - - Far from all resort of mirth, - Save the cricket on the hearth, - Or the bell-man's drowsy charm-- - -and I dare say he was right. O never let a quaker, or a woman, try their -hand at being witty, any more than a Tom Brown affect to speak by the -spirit! - - -_Scott_ - -----Aaron Hill, who, although, in general, a bombastic writer, produced -some pieces of merit, particularly the Caveat, an allegorical satire on -Pope. - - -_Ritson_ - -Say rather his verses on John Dennis, beginning "Adieu, unsocial -excellence!" which are implicitly a finer satire on Pope than twenty -Caveats. All that Pope could or did say against Dennis, is there -condensed; and what he should have said, and did not, for him, is there -too.[44] - - [44] - - ON THE DEATH OF MR. DENNIS - - Adieu, unsocial excellence! at last - Thy foes are vanquish'd, and thy fears are past: - Want, the grim recompense of truth like thine, - Shall now no longer dim thy destined shrine. - The impatient envy, the disdainful air, - The front malignant, and the captious stare, - The furious petulance, the jealous start, - The mist of frailties that obscured thy heart-- - Veil'd in thy grave shall unremember'd lie; - For these were parts of Dennis born to die. - But there's a nobler deity behind; - His reason dies not, and has friends to find: - - - - -THOMSON'S SEASONS - -_Address to the Angler to spare the young fish_ - - If yet too young, and easily deceived, - A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, - Him, piteous of his youth, and the short space - He has enjoy'd the vital light of heaven, - Soft disengage, and back into the stream - The speckled infant throw.---- - - -_Scott_ - -The praise bestowed on a preceding passage, cannot be justly given to -this. There is in it an attempt at dignity above the occasion. Pathos -seems to have been intended, but affectation only is produced. - - -_Ritson_ - -It is not affectation, but it is the mock heroic of pathos, introduced -purposely and wisely to attract the reader to a proposal, which from the -unimportance of the subject--a poor little fish--might else have escaped -his attention--as children learn, or may learn, humanity to animals from -the mock romantic "Perambulations of a Mouse." - - -HAYMAKING - - ----Infant hands - Trail the long rake; or, with the fragrant load - O'er-charged, amid the kind oppression roll. - - -_Scott_ - -"Kind oppression" is a phrase of that sort, which one scarcely knows -whether to blame or praise: it consists of two words, directly opposite -in their signification; and yet, perhaps, no phrase whatever could have -better conveyed the idea of an easy uninjurious weight-- - - -_Ritson_ - ---and yet he does not know whether to blame or praise it! - - Though here revenge and pride withheld his praise, - No wrongs shall reach him through his future days; - The rising ages shall redeem his name, - And nations read him into lasting fame. - - In his defects untaught, his labour'd page - Shall the slow gratitude of Time engage. - Perhaps some story of his pitied woe, - Mix'd in faint shades, may with his memory go, - To touch fraternity with generous shame, - And backward cast an unavailing blame - On times too cold to taste his strength of art, - Yet warm contemners of too weak a heart. - Rest in thy dust, contented with thy lot, - Thy good remember'd, and thy bad forgot. - * * * * * * * - - -SHEEP-SHEARING - - ----By many a dog - Compell'd---- - * * * * * - - The clamour much of men, and boys, and dogs---- - * * * * * - - -_Scott_ - -The mention of _dogs_ twice was superfluous; it might have been easily -avoided. - - -_Ritson_ - -Very true--by mentioning them only once. - - -_Scott_ - -Nature is rich in a variety of minute but striking circumstances; some -of which engage the attention of one observer, and some that of another. - - -_Ritson_ - -This lover of truth never uttered a truer speech. Give me a lie wth a -spirit in it. - - - * * * * * - - Air, earth, and ocean, smile immense.---- - - -_Scott_ - -The bombastic "immense smile of air, &c.," better omitted. - - -_Ritson_ - -Qute Miltonic--"enormous bliss"--and both, I presume, alike _caviare_ to -the Quaker. - - * * * * * - - He comes! he comes! in every breeze the power - Of philosophic melancholy comes! - His near approach, the sudden-starting tear, - The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, - The soften'd feature, and the beating heart, - Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. - - -_Scott_ - -This fine picture is greatly injured by a few words. The power should -have been said to come "upon the breeze;" not "in every breeze;" an -expression which indicates a multiplicity of approaches. If he came "in -every breeze," he must have been always coming-- - - -_Ritson_ - ---and so he was. - - - * * * * * - - ----The branching Oronoque - Rolls a brown deluge, and the native drives - To dwell aloft on life-sufficing trees, - At once his dome, his robe, his food, and arms. - Swell'd by a thousand streams, impetuous hurl'd - From all the roaring Andes, huge descends - The mighty Orellana. _Scarce the Muse - Dares stretch her wing_ o'er this enormous mass - Of rushing water: _scarce she dares attempt_ - The sea-like Plata; to whose dread expanse, - Continuous depth, and wond'rous length of course, - Our floods are rills. With unabated force - In silent dignity they sweep along, - And traverse realms unknown, and blooming wilds, - And fruitful desarts, worlds of solitude, - Where the sun smiles, and seasons teem, in vain, - Unseen and unenjoy'd. Forsaking these, - O'er peopled plains they fair-diffusive flow, - And many a nation feed, and circle safe - In their fair bosom many a happy isle, - The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturb'd - By Christian crimes, and Europe's cruel sons. - Thus pouring on, they proudly seek the deep, - Whose vanquish'd tide, recoiling from the shock, - Yields to this liquid weight of half the globe, - And Ocean trembles for his green domain. - - -_Scott_ - -Poets not unfrequently aim at aggrandising their subject, by avowing -their inability to describe it. This is a puerile and inadequate -expedient. Thomson has here, perhaps inadvertently, descended to this -feeble art of exaggeration. - - -_Ritson_ - -A magnificent passage, in spite of Duns Scotus! The poet says not a word -about his "inability to describe," nor seems to be thinking about his -readers at all. He is confessing his own feelings, awe-struck with the -contemplation of such o'erwhelming objects; in the same spirit with -which he designates the den of the "green serpent" in another place-- - - --Which ev'n imagination fears to tread---- - - - * * * * * - - ----A dazzling deluge reigns, and all - From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.---- - - -_Scott_ - -From pole to pole, strictly speaking, is improper. _The poet_ meant, -"from one part of the horizon to the other." - - -_Ritson_ - -From _his_ pole to _thy_ pole was a more downward declension than "from -the centre thrice," &c. - - _Ohe! jam satis_. - - - - -LETTER OF ELIA TO ROBERT SOUTHEY - -(1823) - - -Sir,--You have done me an unfriendly office, without perhaps much -considering what you were doing. You have given an ill name to my poor -Lucubrations. In a recent Paper on Infidelity, you usher in a -conditional commendation of them with an exception; which, preceding the -encomium, and taking up nearly the same space with it, must impress your -readers with the notion, that the objectionable parts in them are at -least equal in quantity to the pardonable. The censure is in fact the -criticism; the praise--a concession merely. Exceptions usually follow, -to qualify praise or blame. But there stands your reproof, in the very -front of your notice, in ugly characters, like some bugbear, to frighten -all good Christians from purchasing. Through you I am become an object -of suspicion to preceptors of youth, and fathers of families. "_A book, -which wants only a sounder religious feeling to be as delightful as it -is original._" With no further explanation, what must your readers -conjecture, but that my little volume is some vehicle for heresy or -infidelity? The quotation, which you honour me by subjoining, oddly -enough, is of a character, which bespeaks a temperament in the writer -the very reverse of _that_ your reproof goes to insinuate. Had you been -taxing me with superstition, the passage would have been pertinent to -the censure. Was it worth your while to go so far out of your way to -affront the feelings of an old friend, and commit yourself by an -irrelevant quotation, for the pleasure of reflecting upon a poor child, -an exile at Genoa? - -I am at a loss what particular Essay you had in view (if my poor -ramblings amount to that appellation) when you were in such a hurry to -thrust in your objection, like bad news, foremost.--Perhaps the Paper on -"Saying Graces" was the obnoxious feature. I have endeavoured there to -rescue a voluntary duty--good in place, but never, as I remember, -literally commanded--from the charge of an undecent formality. Rightly -taken, Sir, that Paper was not against Graces, but Want of Grace; not -against the ceremony, but the carelessness and slovenliness so often -observed in the performance of it. - -Or was it _that_ on the "New Year"--in which I have described the -feelings of the merely natural man, on a consideration of the amazing -change, which is supposable to take place on our removal from this -fleshly scene?--If men would honestly confess their misgivings (which -few men will) there are times when the strongest Christians of us, I -believe, have reeled under questionings of such staggering obscurity. I -do not accuse you of this weakness. There are some who tremblingly reach -out shaking hands to the guidance of Faith--Others who stoutly venture -into the dark (their Human Confidence their leader, whom they mistake -for Faith); and, investing themselves beforehand with Cherubic wings, as -they fancy, find their new robes as familiar, and fitting to their -supposed growth and stature in godliness, as the coat they left off -yesterday--Some whose hope totters upon crutches--Others who stalk into -futurity upon stilts. - -The contemplation of a Spiritual World,--which, without the addition of -a misgiving conscience, is enough to shake some natures to their -foundation--is smoothly got over by others, who shall float over the -black billows, in their little boat of No-Distrust, as unconcernedly as -over a summer sea. The difference is chiefly constitutional. - -One man shall love his friends and his friends' faces; and, under the -uncertainty of conversing with them again, in the same manner and -familiar circumstances of sight, speech, &c., as upon earth--in a moment -of no irreverent weakness--for a dream-while--no more--would be almost -content, for a reward of a life of virtue (if he could ascribe such -acceptance to his lame performances), to take up his portion with those -he loved, and was made to love, in this good world, which he -knows--which was created so lovely, beyond his deservings. Another, -embracing a more exalted vision--so that he might receive indefinite -additaments of power, knowledge, beauty, glory, &c.--is ready to forego -the recognition of humbler individualities of earth, and the old -familiar faces. The shapings of our heavens are the modifications of our -constitution; and Mr. Feeble Mind, or Mr. Great Heart, is born in every -one of us. - -Some (and such have been accounted the safest divines) have shrunk from -pronouncing upon the final state of any man; nor dare they pronounce the -case of Judas to be desperate. Others (with stronger optics), as plainly -as with the eye of flesh, shall behold a _given king_ in bliss, and a -_given chamberlain_ in torment; even to the eternising of a cast of the -eye in the latter, his own self-mocked and good-humouredly-borne -deformity on earth, but supposed to aggravate the uncouth and hideous -expression of his pangs in the other place. That one man can presume so -far, and that another would with shuddering disclaim such confidences, -is, I believe, an effect of the nerves purely. - -If in either of these Papers, or elsewhere, I have been betrayed into -some levities--not affronting the sanctuary, but glancing perhaps at -some of the out-skirts and extreme edges, the debateable land between -the holy and the profane regions--(for the admixture of man's -inventions, twisting themselves with the name of religion itself, has -artfully made it difficult to touch even the alloy, without, in some -men's estimation, soiling the fine gold)--If I have sported within the -purlieus of serious matter--it was, I dare say, a humour--be not -startled, Sir--which I have unwittingly derived from yourself. You have -all your life been making a jest of the Devil. Not of the scriptural -meaning of that dark essence--personal or allegorical; for the nature is -no where plainly delivered. I acquit you of intentional irreverence. But -indeed you have made wonderfully free with, and been mighty pleasant -upon, the popular idea and attributes of him. A noble Lord, your brother -Visionary, has scarcely taken greater liberties with the material keys, -and merely Catholic notion of St. Peter.--You have flattered him in -prose: you have chanted him in goodly odes. You have been his Jester; -Volunteer Laureat, and self-elected Court Poet to Beëlzebub. - -You have never ridiculed, I believe, what you thought to be religion, -but you are always girding at what some pious, but perhaps mistaken -folks, think to be so. For this reason I am sorry to hear, that you are -engaged upon a life of George Fox. I know you will fall into the error -of intermixing some comic stuff with your seriousness. The Quakers -tremble at the subject in your hands. The Methodists are shy of you, -upon account of _their_ founder. But, above all, our Popish brethren are -most in your debt. The errors of that church have proved a fruitful -source to your scoffing vein. Their Legend has been a Golden one to you. -And here, your friends, Sir, have noticed a notable inconsistency. To -the imposing rites, the solemn penances, devout austerities of that -communion; the affecting though erring piety of their hermits; the -silence and solitude of the Chartreux--their crossings, their holy -waters--their Virgin, and their saints--to these, they say, you have -been indebted for the best feelings, and the richest imagery, of your -Epic poetry. You have drawn copious drafts upon Loretto. We thought at -one time you were going post to Rome--but that in the facetious -commentaries, which it is your custom to append so plentifully, and -(some say) injudiciously, to your loftiest performances in this kind, -you spurn the uplifted toe, which you but just now seemed to court; -leave his holiness in the lurch; and show him a fair pair of Protestant -heels under your Romish vestment. When we think you already at the -wicket, suddenly a violent cross wind blows you transverse-- - - ten thousand leagues awry. - Then might we see - Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost - And flutter'd into rags; then reliques, beads, - Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, - The sport of winds. - -You pick up pence by showing the hallowed bones, shrine, and crucifix; -and you take money a second time by exposing the trick of them -afterwards. You carry your verse to Castle Angelo for sale in a morning; -and, swifter than a pedlar can transmute his pack, you are at Canterbury -with your prose ware before night. - -Sir, is it that I dislike you in this merry vein? The very reverse. No -countenance becomes an intelligent jest better than your own. It is your -grave aspect, when you look awful upon your poor friends, which I would -deprecate. - -In more than one place, if I mistake not, you have been pleased to -compliment me at the expence of my companions. I cannot accept your -compliment at such a price. The upbraiding a man's poverty naturally -makes him look about him, to see whether he be so poor indeed as he is -presumed to be. You have put me upon counting my riches. Really, Sir, I -did not know I was so wealthy in the article of friendships. There -is----, and----, whom you never heard of, but exemplary characters both, -and excellent church-goers; and N., mine and my father's friend for -nearly half a century; and the enthusiast for Wordsworth's poetry, T. N. -T., a little tainted with Socinianism, it is to be feared, but constant -in his attachments, and a capital critic; and----, a sturdy old -Athanasian, so that sets all to rights again; and W., the light, and -warm-as-light hearted, Janus of the London; and the translator of Dante, -still a curate, modest and amiable C.; and Allan C., the large-hearted -Scot; and P----r, candid and affectionate as his own poetry; and A----p, -Coleridge's friend; and G----n, his more than friend; and Coleridge -himself, the same to me still, as in those old evenings, when we used to -sit and speculate (do you remember them, Sir?) at our old Salutation -tavern, upon Pantisocracy and golden days to come on earth; and W----th, -(why, Sir, I might drop my rent-roll here; such goodly farms and manors -have I reckoned up already. In what possessions has not this last name -alone estated me!--but I will go on)--and M., the noble-minded kinsman, -by wedlock, of W----th; and H. C. R., unwearied in the offices of a -friend; and Clarkson, almost above the narrowness of that relation, yet -condescending not seldom heretofore from the labours of his -world-embracing charity to bless my humble roof; and the gall-less and -single-minded Dyer; and the high-minded associate of Cook, the veteran -Colonel, with his lusty heart still sending cartels of defiance to old -Time; and, not least, W. A., the last and steadiest left to me of that -little knot of whist-players, that used to assemble weekly, for so many -years, at the Queen's Gate (you remember them, Sir?) and called Admiral -Burney friend. - -I will come to the point at once. I believe you will not make many -exceptions to my associates so far. But I have purposely omitted some -intimacies, which I do not yet repent of having contracted, with two -gentlemen, diametrically opposed to yourself in principles. You will -understand me to allude to the authors of Rimini and of the Table Talk. -And first, of the former.---- - -It is an error more particularly incident to persons of the correctest -principles and habits, to seclude themselves from the rest of mankind, -as from another species; and form into knots and clubs. The best people, -herding thus exclusively, are in danger of contracting a narrowness. -Heat and cold, dryness and moisture, in the natural world, do not fly -asunder, to split the globe into sectarian parts and separations; but -mingling, as they best may, correct the malignity of any single -predominance. The analogy holds, I suppose, in the moral world. If all -the good people were to ship themselves off to Terra Incognitas, what, -in humanity's name, is to become of the refuse? If the persons, whom I -have chiefly in view, have not pushed matters to this extremity yet, -they carry them as far as they can go. Instead of mixing with the -infidel and the freethinker--in the room of opening a negociation, to -try at least to find out at which gate the error entered--they huddle -close together, in a weak fear of infection, like that pusillanimous -underling in Spenser-- - - This is the wandering wood, this Error's den; - A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: - Therefore, I reed, beware. Fly, fly, quoth then - The fearful Dwarf, - -and, if they be writers in orthodox journals--addressing themselves -only to the irritable passions of the unbeliever--they proceed in a safe -system of strengthening the strong hands, and confirming the valiant -knees; of converting the already converted, and proselyting their own -party. I am the more convinced of this from a passage in the very -Treatise which occasioned this letter. It is where, having recommended -to the doubter the writings of Michaelis and Lardner, you ride -triumphant over the necks of all infidels, sceptics, and dissenters, -from this time to the world's end, upon the wheels of two unanswerable -deductions. I do not hold it meet to set down, in a Miscellaneous -Compilation like this, such religious words as you have thought fit to -introduce into the pages of a petulant Literary Journal. I therefore beg -leave to substitute _numerals_, and refer to the Quarterly Review (for -July) for filling of them up. "Here," say you, "as in the history of 7, -if these books are authentic, the events which they relate must be true; -if they were written by 8, 9 is 10 and 11." Your first deduction, if it -means honestly, rests upon two identical propositions; though I suspect -an unfairness in one of the terms, which this would not be quite the -proper place for explicating. At all events _you_ have no cause to -triumph; you have not been proving the premises, but refer for -satisfaction therein to very long and laborious works, which may well -employ the sceptic a twelvemonth or two to digest, before he can -possibly be ripe for your conclusion. When he has satisfied himself -about the premises, he will concede to you the inference, I dare say, -most readily.--But your latter deduction, _viz_. that because 8 has -written a book concerning 9, therefore 10 and 11 was certainly his -meaning, is one of the most extraordinary conclusions _per saltum_ that -I have had the good fortune to meet with. As far as 10 is verbally -asserted in the writings, all sects must agree with you; but you cannot -be ignorant of the many various ways in which the doctrine of the -* * * * * * * * * has been understood, from a low figurative expression -(with the Unitarians) up to the most mysterious actuality; in which -highest sense alone you and your church take it. And for 11, that there -is _no other possible conclusion_--to hazard this in the face of so many -thousands of Arians and Socinians, &c., who have drawn so opposite a -one, is such a piece of theological hardihood, as, I think, warrants me -in concluding that, when you sit down to pen theology, you do not at all -consider your opponents; but have in your eye, merely and exclusively, -readers of the same way of thinking with yourself, and therefore have no -occasion to trouble yourself with the quality of the logic, to which you -treat them. - -Neither can I think, if you had had the welfare of the poor child--over -whose hopeless condition you whine so lamentably and (I must think) -unseasonably--seriously at heart, that you could have taken the step of -sticking him up by name--T. H. is as good as _naming_ him--to perpetuate -an outrage upon the parental feelings, as long as the Quarterly Review -shall last.--Was it necessary to specify an individual case, and give to -Christian compassion the appearance of personal attack? Is this the way -to conciliate unbelievers, or not rather to widen the breach -irreparably? - -I own I could never think so considerably of myself as to decline the -society of an agreeable or worthy man upon difference of opinion only. -The impediments and the facilitations to a sound belief are various and -inscrutable as the heart of man. Some believe upon weak principles. -Others cannot feel the efficacy of the strongest. One of the most -candid, most upright, and single-meaning men, I ever knew, was the late -Thomas Holcroft. I believe he never said one thing and meant another, in -his life; and, as near as I can guess, he never acted otherwise than -with the most scrupulous attention to conscience. Ought we to wish the -character false, for the sake of a hollow compliment to Christianity? - -Accident introduced me to the acquaintance of Mr. L. H.--and the -experience of his many friendly qualities confirmed a friendship between -us. You, who have been misrepresented yourself, I should hope, have not -lent an idle ear to the calumnies which have been spread abroad -respecting this gentleman. I was admitted to his household for some -years, and do most solemnly aver that I believe him to be in his -domestic relations as correct as any man. He chose an ill-judged subject -for a poem; the peccant humours of which have been visited on him -tenfold by the artful use, which his adversaries have made, of an -_equivocal term_. The subject itself was started by Dante, but better -because brieflier treated of. But the crime of the Lovers, in the -Italian and the English poet, with its aggravated enormity of -circumstance, is not of a kind (as the critics of the latter well knew) -with those conjunctions, for which Nature herself has provided no -excuse, because no temptation.--It has nothing in common with the black -horrors, sung by Ford and Massinger. The familiarising of it in tale or -fable may be for that reason incidentally more contagious. In spite of -Rimini, I must look upon its author as a man of taste, and a poet. He is -better than so, he is one of the most cordial-minded men I ever knew, -and matchless as a fire-side companion. I mean not to affront or wound -your feelings when I say that, in his more genial moods, he has often -reminded me of you. There is the same air of mild dogmatism--the same -condescending to a boyish sportiveness--in both your conversations. His -hand-writing is so much the same with your own, that I have opened more -than one letter of his, hoping, nay, not doubting, but it was from you, -and have been disappointed (he will bear with my saying so) at the -discovery of my error. L. H. is unfortunate in holding some loose and -not very definite speculations (for at times I think he hardly knows -whither his premises would carry him) on marriage--the tenets, I -conceive, of the Political Justice, carried a little further. For any -thing I could discover in his practice, they have reference, like those, -to some future possible condition of society, and not to the present -times. But neither for these obliquities of thinking (upon which my own -conclusions are as distant as the poles asunder)--nor for his political -asperities and petulancies, which are wearing out with the heats and -vanities of youth--did I select him for a friend; but for qualities -which fitted him for that relation. I do not know whether I flatter -myself with being the occasion, but certain it is, that, touched with -some misgivings for sundry harsh things which he had written aforetime -against our friend C.,--before he left this country he sought a -reconciliation with that gentleman (himself being his own introducer), -and found it. - -L. H. is now in Italy; on his departure to which land with much regret I -took my leave of him and of his little family--seven of them, Sir, with -their mother--and as kind a set of little people (T. H. and all), as -affectionate children, as ever blessed a parent. Had you seen them, Sir, -I think you could not have looked upon them as so many little -Jonases--but rather as pledges of the vessel's safety, that was to bear -such a freight of love. - -I wish you would read Mr. H.'s lines to that same T. H., "six years old, -during a sickness:" - - Sleep breaks [breathes] at last from out thee, - My little patient boy-- - -(they are to be found on the 47th page of "Foliage")--and ask yourself -how far they are out of the spirit of Christianity. I have a letter from -Italy, received but the other day, into which L. H. has put as much -heart, and as many friendly yearnings after old associates, and native -country, as, I think, paper can well hold. It would do you no hurt to -give that the perusal also. - -From the _other gentleman_ I neither expect nor desire (as he is well -assured) any such concessions as L. H. made to C. What hath soured him, -and made him to suspect his friends of infidelity towards him, when -there was no such matter, I know not. I stood well with him for fifteen -years (the proudest of my life), and have ever spoke my full mind of him -to some, to whom his panegyric must naturally be least tasteful. I never -in thought swerved from him, I never betrayed him, I never slackened in -my admiration of him, I was the same to him (neither better nor worse) -though he could not see it, as in the days when he thought fit to trust -me. At this instant, he may be preparing for me some compliment, above -my deserts, as he has sprinkled many such among his admirable books, for -which I rest his debtor; or, for any thing I know, or can guess to the -contrary, he may be about to read a lecture on my weaknesses. He is -welcome to them (as he was to my humble hearth), if they can divert a -spleen, or ventilate a fit of sullenness. I wish he would not quarrel -with the world at the rate he does; but the reconciliation must be -effected by himself, and I despair of living to see that day. But, -protesting against much that he has written, and some things which he -chooses to do; judging him by his conversation, which I enjoyed so long, -and relished so deeply; or by his books, in those places where no -clouding passion intervenes--I should belie my own conscience, if I said -less, than that I think W. H. to be, in his natural and healthy state, -one of the wisest and finest spirits breathing. So far from being -ashamed of that intimacy, which was betwixt us, it is my boast that I -was able for so many years to have preserved it entire; and I think I -shall go to my grave without finding, or expecting to find, such another -companion. But I forget my manners--you will pardon me, Sir--I return to -the correspondence.---- - -Sir, you were pleased (you know where) to invite me to a compliance with -the wholesome forms and doctrines of the Church of England. I take your -advice with as much kindness, as it was meant. But I must think the -invitation rather more kind than seasonable. I am a Dissenter. The last -sect, with which you can remember me to have made common profession, -were the Unitarians. You would think it not very pertinent, if (fearing -that all was not well with you), I were gravely to invite you (for a -remedy) to attend with me a course of Mr. Belsham's Lectures at Hackney. -Perhaps I have scruples to some of your forms and doctrines. But if I -come, am I secure of civil treatment?--The last time I was in any of -your places of worship was on Easter Sunday last. I had the satisfaction -of listening to a very sensible sermon of an argumentative turn, -delivered with great propriety, by one of your bishops. The place was -Westminster Abbey. As such religion, as I have, has always acted on me -more by way of sentiment than argumentative process, I was not -unwilling, after sermon ended, by no unbecoming transition, to pass over -to some serious feelings, impossible to be disconnected from the sight -of those old tombs, &c. But, by whose order I know not, I was debarred -that privilege even for so short a space as a few minutes; and turned, -like a dog or some profane person, out into the common street; with -feelings, which I could not help, but not very genial to the day or the -discourse. I do not know that I shall ever venture myself again into one -of your Churches. - -You had your education at Westminster; and doubtless among those dim -aisles and cloisters, you must have gathered much of that devotional -feeling in those young years, on which your purest mind feeds still--and -may it feed! The antiquarian spirit, strong in you, and gracefully -blending ever with the religious, may have been sown in you among those -wrecks of splendid mortality. You owe it to the place of your education; -you owe it to your learned fondness for the architecture of your -ancestors; you owe it to the venerableness of your ecclesiastical -establishment, which is daily lessened and called in question through -these practices--to speak aloud your sense of them; never to desist -[from] raising your voice against them, till they be totally done away -with and abolished; till the doors of Westminster Abbey be no longer -closed against the decent, though low-in-purse, enthusiast, or blameless -devotee, who must commit an injury against his family economy, if he -would be indulged with a bare admission within its walls. You owe it to -the decencies, which you wish to see maintained in its impressive -services, that our Cathedral be no longer an object of inspection to the -poor at those times only, in which they must rob from their attendance -on the worship every minute which they can bestow upon the fabrick. In -vain the public prints have taken up this subject, in vain such poor -nameless writers as myself express their indignation. A word from you, -Sir--a hint in your Journal--would be sufficient to fling open the doors -of the Beautiful Temple again, as we can remember them when we were -boys. At that time of life, what would the imaginative faculty (such as -it is) in both of us, have suffered, if the entrance to so much -reflection had been obstructed by the demand of so much silver!--If we -had scraped it up to gain an occasional admission (as we certainly -should have done) would the sight of those old tombs have been as -impressive to us (while we had been weighing anxiously prudence against -sentiment) as when the gates stood open, as those of the adjacent Park; -when we could walk in at any time, as the mood brought us, for a shorter -or longer time, as _that_ lasted? Is the being shown over a place the -same as silently for ourselves detecting the genius of it? In no part of -our beloved Abbey now can a person find entrance (out of service time) -under the sum of _two shillings_. The rich and the great will smile at -the anticlimax, presumed to lie in these two short words. But you can -tell them, Sir, how much quiet worth, how much capacity for enlarged -feeling, how much taste and genius, may coexist, especially in youth, -with a purse incompetent to this demand.--A respected friend of ours, -during his late visit to the metropolis, presented himself for admission -to Saint Paul's. At the same time a decently clothed man, with as decent -a wife, and child, were bargaining for the same indulgence. The price -was only two-pence each person. The poor but decent man hesitated, -desirous to go in; but there were three of them, and he turned away -reluctantly. Perhaps he wished to have seen the tomb of Nelson. Perhaps -the Interior of the Cathedral was his object. But in the state of his -finances, even sixpence might reasonably seem too much. Tell the -Aristocracy of the country (no man can do it more impressively); -instruct them of what value these insignificant pieces of money, these -minims to their sight, may be to their humbler brethren. Shame these -Sellers out of the Temple. Show the poor, that you can sometimes think -of them in some other light than as mutineers and mal-contents. -Conciliate them by such kind methods to their superiors, civil and -ecclesiastical. Stop the mouths of the railers; and suffer your old -friends, upon the old terms, again to honour and admire you. Stifle not -the suggestions of your better nature with the stale evasion, that an -indiscriminate admission would expose the Tombs to violation. Remember -your boy-days. Did you ever see, or hear, of a mob in the Abbey, while -it was free to all? Did the rabble come there, or trouble their heads -about such speculations? It is all that you can do to drive them into -your churches; they do not voluntarily offer themselves. They have, -alas! no passion for antiquities; for tomb of king or prelate, sage or -poet. If they had, they would be no longer the rabble. - -For forty years that I have known the Fabrick, the only well-attested -charge of violation adduced, has been--a ridiculous dismemberment -committed upon the effigy of that amiable spy Major André. And is it for -this--the wanton mischief of some school-boy, fired perhaps with raw -notions of Transatlantic Freedom--or the remote possibility of such a -mischief occurring again, so easily to be prevented by stationing a -constable within the walls, if the vergers are incompetent to the -duty--is it upon such wretched pretences, that the people of England are -made to pay a new Peter's Pence, so long abrogated; or must content -themselves with contemplating the ragged Exterior of their Cathedral? -The mischief was done about the time that you were a scholar there. Do -you know any thing about the unfortunate relic?--can you help us in this -emergency to find the nose?--or can you give Chantry a notion (from -memory) of its pristine life and vigour? I am willing for peace' sake to -subscribe my guinea towards a restoration of the lamented feature. - - I am, Sir, - - Your humble servant, - - ELIA. - - - - -GUY FAUX - -(1811 and 1823) - - -A very ingenious and subtle writer, whom there is good reason for -suspecting to be an Ex-Jesuit, not unknown at Douay some five-and-twenty -years since (he will not obtrude himself at M----th again in a hurry), -about a twelvemonth back, set himself to prove the character of the -Powder Plot conspirators to have been that of heroic self-devotedness -and true Christian martyrdom. Under the mask of Protestant candour, he -actually gained admission for his treatise into a London weekly paper, -not particularly distinguished for its zeal towards either religion. -But, admitting Catholic principles, his arguments are shrewd and -incontrovertible. He says-- - - Guy Faux was a fanatic, but he was no hypocrite. He ranks among - _good haters_. He was cruel, bloody-minded, reckless of all - considerations but those of an infuriated and bigoted faith; but he - was a true son of the Catholic Church, a martyr and a confessor, - for all that. He who can prevail upon himself to devote his life - for a cause, however we may condemn his opinions or abhor his - actions, vouches at least for the honesty of his principles and the - disinterestedness of his motives. He may be guilty of the worst - practices, but he is capable of the greatest. He is no longer a - slave, but free. The contempt of death is the beginning of virtue. - The hero of the Gunpowder-Plot was, if you will, a fool, a madman, - an assassin; call him what names you please: still he was neither - knave nor coward. He did not propose to blow up the Parliament and - come off scot-free, himself; he showed that he valued his own life - no more than theirs in such a cause--where the integrity of the - Catholic faith and the salvation of perhaps millions of souls was - at stake. He did not call it a murder, but a sacrifice which he was - about to achieve: he was armed with the Holy Spirit and with fire: - he was the Church's chosen servant and her blessed martyr. He - comforted himself as "the best of cut-throats." How many wretches - are there who would have undertaken to do what he intended for a - sum of money, if they could have got off with impunity! How few are - there who would have put themselves in Guy Faux's situation to save - the universe! Yet in the latter case we affect to be thrown into - greater consternation than at the most unredeemed acts of villany, - as if the absolute disinterestedness of the motive doubled the - horror of the deed! The cowardice and selfishness of mankind are in - fact shocked at the consequences to themselves (if such examples - are held up for imitation,) and they make a fearful outcry against - the violation of every principle of morality, lest they too should - be called on for any such tremendous sacrifices--lest they in their - turn should have to go on the forlorn hope of extra-official duty. - _Charity begins at home_, is a maxim that prevails as well in the - courts of conscience as in those of prudence. We would be thought - to shudder at the consequences of crime to others, while we tremble - for them to ourselves. We talk of the dark and cowardly assassin; - and this is well, when an individual shrinks from the face of an - enemy, and purchases his own safety by striking a blow in the dark: - but how the charge of cowardly can be applied to the public - assassin, who, in the very act of destroying another, lays down his - life as the pledge and forfeit of his sincerity and boldness, I am - at a loss to devise. There may be barbarous prejudice, rooted - hatred, unprincipled treachery, in such an act; but he who resolves - to take all the danger and odium upon himself, can no more be - branded with cowardice, than Regulus devoting himself for his - country, or Codrus leaping into the fiery gulf. A wily Father - Inquisitor, coolly and with plenary authority condemning hundreds - of helpless, unoffending victims, to the flames or to the horrors - of a living tomb, while he himself would not suffer a hair of his - head to be hurt, is to me a character without any qualifying trait - in it. Again; the Spanish conqueror and hero, the favourite of his - monarch, who enticed thirty thousand poor Mexicans into a large - open building, under promise of strict faith and cordial good-will, - and then set fire to it, making sport of the cries and agonies of - these deluded creatures, is an instance of uniting the most - hardened cruelty with the most heartless selfishness. His plea was - keeping no faith with heretics: this was Guy Faux's too; but I am - sure at least that the latter kept faith with himself: he was in - earnest in his professions. _His_ was not gay, wanton, unfeeling - depravity; he did not murder in sport; it was serious work that he - had taken in hand. To see this arch-bigot, this heart-whole - traitor, this pale miner in the infernal regions, skulking in his - retreat with his cloak and dark lanthorn, moving cautiously about - among his barrels of gunpowder loaded with death, but not yet ripe - for destruction, regardless of the lives of others, and more than - indifferent to his own, presents a picture of the strange - infatuation of the human understanding, but not of the depravity of - the human will, without an equal. There were thousands of pious - Papists privy to and ready to applaud the deed when done:--there - was no one but our old fifth-of-November friend, who still flutters - in rags and straw on the occasion, that had the courage to attempt - it. In him stern duty and unshaken faith prevailed over natural - frailty. - -It is impossible, upon Catholic principles, not to admit the force of -this reasoning; we can only not help smiling (with the writer) at the -simplicity of the gulled editor, swallowing the dregs of Loyola for the -very quintessence of sublimated reason in England at the commencement of -the nineteenth century. We will just, as a contrast, show what we -Protestants (who are a party concerned) thought upon the same subject, -at a period rather nearer to the heroic project in question. - -The Gunpowder Treason was the subject which called forth the earliest -specimen which is left us of the pulpit eloquence of Jeremy Taylor. When -he preached the Sermon on that anniversary, which is printed at the end -of the folio edition of his Sermons, he was a young man just commencing -his ministry, under the auspices of Archbishop Laud. From the learning, -and maturest oratory, which it manifests, one should rather have -conjectured it to have proceeded from the same person after he was -ripened by time into a Bishop and Father of the Church.--"And, really, -these _Romano-barbari_ could never pretend to any precedent for an act -so barbarous as theirs. Adramelech, indeed, killed a king, but he spared -the people; Haman would have killed the people, but spared the king; but -that both king and people, princes and judges, branch and rush and root, -should die at once (as if Caligula's wish were actuated, and all England -upon one head), was never known till now, that all the malice of the -world met in this as in a centre. The Sicilian even-song, the matins of -St. Bartholomew, known for the pitiless and damned massacres, were but -[Greek: kapnou skias onar], the dream of the shadow of smoke, if -compared with this great fire. _In tam occupato sæculo fabulas vulgares -nequitia non invenit._ This was a busy age; Herostratus must have -invented a more sublimed malice than the burning of one temple, or not -have been so much as spoke of since the discovery of the powder treason. -But I must make more haste, I shall not else climb the sublimity of this -impiety. Nero was sometimes the _populare odium_, was popularly hated, -and deserved it too, for he slew his master, and his wife, and all his -family, once or twice over,--opened his mother's womb,--fired the city, -laughed at it, slandered the Christians for it; but yet all these were -but _principia malorum_, the very first rudiments of evil. Add, then, to -these, Herod's master-piece at Ramah, as it was deciphered by the tears -and sad threnes of the matrons in an universal mourning for the loss of -their pretty infants; yet this of Herod will prove but an infant -wickedness, and that of Nero the evil but of one city. I would willingly -have found out an example, but see I cannot; should I put into the scale -the extract of all the old tyrants famous in antique stories,-- - - Bistonii stabulum regis, Busiridis aras, - Antiphatæ mensas, et Taurica regna Thoantis;-- - -should I take for true story the highest cruelty as it was fancied by -the most hieroglyphical Egyptian, this alone would weigh them down, as -if the Alps were put in a scale against the dust of a balance. For had -this accursed treason prospered, we should have had the whole kingdom -mourn for the inestimable loss of its chiefest glory, its life, its -present joy, and all its very hopes for the future. For such was their -destined malice, that they would not only have inflicted so cruel a -blow, but have made it incurable, by cutting off our supplies of joy, -the whole succession of the Line Royal. Not only the vine itself, but -all the _gemmulæ_, and the tender olive branches, should either have -been bent to their intentions, and made to grow crooked, or else been -broken. - -"And now, after such a sublimity of malice, I will not instance in the -sacrilegious ruin of the neighbouring temples, which needs must have -perished in the flame,--nor in the disturbing the ashes of our intombed -kings, devouring their dead ruins like sepulchral dogs,--these are but -minutes, in respect of the ruin prepared for the living temples:-- - - Stragem sed istam non tulit - Christus cadentum Principum - Impune, ne forsan sui - Patris periret fabrica. - Ergo quæ poterit lingua retexere - Laudes, Christe, tuas, qui domitum struis - Infidum populum cum Duce perfido!" - -In such strains of eloquent indignation did Jeremy Taylor's young -oratory inveigh against that stupendous attempt, which he truly says had -no parallel in ancient or modern times. A century and a half of European -crimes has elapsed since he made the assertion, and his position remains -in its strength. He wrote near the time in which the nefarious project -had like to have been completed. Men's minds still were shuddering from -the recentness of the escape. It must have been within his memory, or -have been sounded in his ears so young by his parents, that he would -seem, in his maturer years, to have remembered it. No wonder then that -he describes it in words that burn. But to us, to whom the tradition has -come slowly down, and has had time to cool, the story of Guido Vaux -sounds rather like a tale, a fable, and an invention, than true history. -It supposes such gigantic audacity of daring, combined with such more -than infantile stupidity in the motive,--such a combination of the fiend -and the monkey,--that credulity is almost swallowed up in contemplating -the singularity of the attempt. It has accordingly, in some degree, -shared the fate of fiction. It is familiarized to us in a kind of -serio-ludicrous way, like the story of _Guy of Warwick_, or _Valentine -and Orson_. The way which we take to perpetuate the memory of this -deliverance is well adapted to keep up this fabular notion. Boys go -about the streets annually with a beggarly scarecrow dressed up, which -is to be burnt, indeed, at night, with holy zeal; but, meantime, they -beg a penny for _poor Guy_: this periodical petition, which we have -heard from our infancy,--combined with the dress and appearance of the -effigy, so well calculated to move compassion,--has the effect of quite -removing from our fancy the horrid circumstances of the story which is -thus commemorated; and in _poor Guy_ vainly should we try to recognize -any of the features of that tremendous madman in iniquity, Guido Vaux, -with his horrid crew of accomplices, that sought to emulate earthquakes -and bursting volcanoes in their more than mortal mischief. - -Indeed, the whole ceremony of burning Guy Faux, or _the Pope_, as he is -indifferently called, is a sort of _Treason Travestie_, and admirably -adapted to lower our feelings upon this memorable subject. The printers -of the little duodecimo _Prayer Book_, printed by T. Baskett,[45] in -1749, which has the effigy of his sacred Majesty George II. piously -prefixed, have illustrated the service (a very fine one in itself) which -is appointed for the Anniversary of this Day, with a print, which it is -not very easy to describe, but the contents appear to be these:--The -scene is a room, I conjecture, in the king's palace. Two persons,--one -of whom I take to be James himself, from his wearing his hat while the -other stands bareheaded,--are intently surveying a sort of speculum, or -magic mirror, which stands upon a pedestal in the midst of the room, in -which a little figure of Guy Faux with his dark lantern approaching the -door of the Parliament House is made discernible by the light proceeding -from a _great eye_ which shines in from the topmost corner of the -apartment, by which eye the pious artist no doubt meant to designate -Providence. On the other side of the mirror, is a figure doing -something, which puzzled me when a child, and continues to puzzle me -now. The best I can make of it is, that it is a conspirator busy laying -the train,--but then, why is he represented in the king's -chamber?--Conjecture upon so fantastical a design is vain, and I only -notice the print as being one of the earliest graphic representations -which woke my childhood into wonder, and doubtless combined with the -mummery before-mentioned, to take off the edge of that horror which the -naked historical mention of Guido's conspiracy could not have failed of -exciting. - - [45] The same, I presume, upon whom the clergyman in the song of the - _Vicar and Moses_, not without judgment, passes this memorable - censure-- - - Here, Moses, the King:-- - 'Tis a scandalous thing - That this Baskett should print for the Crown. - -Now that so many years are past since that abominable machination was -happily frustrated, it will not, I hope, be considered a profane -sporting with the subject, if we take no very serious survey of the -consequences that would have flowed from this plot if it had had a -successful issue. The first thing that strikes us, in a selfish point of -view, is the material change which it must have produced in the course -of the nobility. All the ancient peerage being extinguished, as it was -intended, at one blow, the _Red-Book_ must have been closed for ever, or -a new race of peers must have been created to supply the deficiency; as -the first part of this dilemma is a deal too shocking to think of, what -a fund of mouth-watering reflections does this give rise to in the -breast of us plebeians of A.D. 1823. Why you or I, reader, might have -been Duke of ---- or Earl of ----: I particularize no titles, to avoid -the least suspicion of intention to usurp the dignities of the two -noblemen whom I have in my eye:--but a feeling more dignified than envy -sometimes excites a sigh, when I think how the posterity of Guido's -Legion of Honour (among whom you or I might have been) might have rolled -down "dulcified," as Burke expresses it, "by an exposure to the -influence of heaven in a long flow of generations, from the hard, -acidulous, metallic tincture of the spring."[46] What new orders of -merit, think you, this English Napoleon would have chosen? Knights of -the Barrel, or Lords of the Tub, Grand Almoners of the Cellar, or -Ministers of Explosion. We should have given the Train _couchant_, and -the Fire _rampant_ in our arms; we should have quartered the dozen white -matches in our coats;--the Shallows would have been nothing to us. - - [46] Letter to a Noble Lord. - -Turning away from these mortifying reflections, let us contemplate its -effects upon the _other house_, for they were all to have gone -together,--King, Lords, Commons.---- - -To assist our imagination, let us take leave to suppose,--and we do it -in the harmless wantonness of fancy,--to suppose that the tremendous -explosion had taken place in our days;--we better know what a House of -Commons is in our days, and can better estimate our loss;--let us -imagine, then, to ourselves, the United Members sitting in full conclave -above--Faux just ready with his train and matches below; in his hand a -"reed tipt with fire"--he applies the fatal engine---- - -To assist our notions still further, let us suppose some lucky dog of a -reporter, who had escaped by miracle upon some plank of St. Stephen's -benches, and came plump upon the roof of the adjacent Abbey, from whence -descending, at some neighbouring coffee-house, first wiping his clothes -and calling for a glass of lemonade, he sits down and reports what he -had heard and seen (quorum pars magna fuit) for the _Morning Post_ or -the _Courier_,--we can scarcely imagine him describing the event in any -other words but some such as these:-- - -"A _Motion_ was put and carried, That this House do _adjourn_: That the -Speaker do _quit the Chair_. The House ROSE amid clamours for Order." - -In some such way the event might most technically have been conveyed to -the public. But a poetical mind, not content with this dry method of -narration, cannot help pursuing the effects of this tremendous blowing -up, this adjournment in the air _sine die_. It sees the benches -mount,--the Chair first, and then the benches, and first the Treasury -Bench, hurried up in this nitrous explosion; the Members, as it were, -pairing off; Whigs and Tories taking their friendly apotheosis together, -(as they did their sandwiches below in Bellamy's room). Fancy, in her -flight, keeps pace with the aspiring legislators, she sees the awful -seat of order mounting till it becomes finally fixed a constellation, -next to Cassiopeia's chair,--the wig of him that sat in it taking its -place near Berenice's curls. St. Peter, at Heaven's wicket,--no, not St. -Peter,--St. Stephen, with open arms, receives his own.---- - -While Fancy beholds these celestial appropriations, Reason, no less -pleased, discerns the mighty benefit which so complete a renovation must -produce below. Let the most determined foe to corruption, the most -thorough-paced redresser of abuses, try to conceive a more absolute -purification of the House than this was calculated to produce;--why, -Pride's Purge was nothing to it;--the whole borough-mongering system -would have been got rid of, fairly _exploded_;--with it, the senseless -distinctions of party must have disappeared; faction must have vanished; -corruption have expired in air. From Hundred, Tything, and Wapentake, -some new Alfred would have convened, in all its purity, the primitive -Wittenagemot,--fixed upon a basis of property or population, permanent -as the poles---- - -From this dream of universal restitution, Reason and Fancy with -difficulty awake to view the real state of things. But, blessed be -Heaven, St. Stephen's walls are yet standing, all her seats firmly -secured; nay, some have doubted (since the Septennial Act) whether -gunpowder itself, or any thing short of a _Committee above stairs_, -would be able to shake any one member from his seat;--that great and -final improvement to the Abbey, which is all that seems wanting,--the -removing Westminster-hall and its appendages, and letting in the view of -the Thames,--must not be expected in our days. Dismissing, therefore, -all such speculations as mere tales of a tub, it is the duty of every -honest Englishman to endeavour, by means less wholesale than Guido's, to -ameliorate, without extinguishing, Parliaments; to hold the _lantern_ to -the dark places of corruption; to apply the _match_ to the rotten parts -of the system only; and to wrap himself up, not in the muffling mantle -of conspiracy, but in the warm, honest _cloak_ of integrity and -patriotic intention. - - ELIA. - - - - -NUGÆ CRITICÆ - -ON A PASSAGE IN "THE TEMPEST" - -(1823) - - -As long as I can remember the play of the Tempest, one passage in it has -always set me upon wondering. It has puzzled me beyond measure. In vain -I strove to find the meaning of it. I seemed doomed to cherish infinite -hopeless curiosity. - -It is where Prospero, relating the banishment of Sycorax from Argier, -adds-- - - --For one thing that she did - They would not take her life-- - -how have I pondered over this, when a boy! how have I longed for some -authentic memoir of the witch to clear up the obscurity!--Was the story -extant in the Chronicles of Algiers? Could I get at it by some fortunate -introduction to the Algerine ambassador? Was a voyage thither -practicable? The Spectator (I knew) went to Grand Cairo, only to measure -a pyramid. Was not the object of my quest of at least as much -importance?--The blue-eyed hag--could _she_ have done any thing good or -meritorious? might that Succubus relent? then might there be hope for -the devil. I have often admired since, that none of the commentators -have boggled at this passage--how they could swallow this camel--such a -tantalising piece of obscurity, such an abortion of an anecdote. - -At length I think I have lighted upon a clue, which may lead to show -what was passing in the mind of Shakspeare when he dropped this -imperfect rumour. In the "accurate description of Africa, by John Ogilby -(Folio), 1670," page 230, I find written, as follows. The marginal title -to the narrative is-- - - _Charles the Fifth besieges Algier_ - - In the last place, we will briefly give an Account of the Emperour - _Charles_ the Fifth, when he besieg'd this City; and of the great - Loss he suffer'd therein. - - This Prince in the Year One thousand five hundred forty one, having - Embarqued upon the Sea an Army of Twenty two thousand Men aboard - Eighteen Gallies, and an hundred tall Ships, not counting the - Barques and Shallops, and other small Boats, in which he had - engaged the principal of the _Spanish_ and _Italian_ Nobility, with - a good number of the Knights of _Maltha_; he was to Land on the - Coast of _Barbary_, at a Cape call'd _Matifou_. From this place - unto the City of _Algier_ a flat Shore or Strand extends it self - for about four Leagues, the which is exceeding favourable to - Gallies. There he put ashore with his Army, and in a few days - caused a Fortress to be built, which unto this day is call'd _The - Castle of the Emperor_. - - In the meantime the City of _Algier_ took the Alarm, having in it - at that time but Eight hundred _Turks_, and Six thousand _Moors_, - poorspirited men, and unexercised in Martial affairs; besides it - was at that time Fortifi'd onely with Walls, and had no Out-works: - Insomuch that by reason of its weakness, and the great Forces of - the Emperour, it could not in appearance escape taking. In fine, it - was Attaqued with such Order, that the Army came up to the very - Gates, where _the Chevalier de Sauignac_, a _Frenchman_ by Nation, - made himself remarkable above all the rest, by the miracles of his - Valour. For having repulsed the _Turks_, who having made a Sally at - the Gate call'd _Babason_, and there desiring to enter along with - them, when he saw that they shut the Gate upon him, he ran his - Ponyard into the same, and left it sticking deep therein. They next - fell to Battering the City by the Force of Cannon; which the - Assailants so weakened, that in that great extremity the Defendants - lost their Courage, and resolved to surrender. - - But as they were thus intending, there was a Witch of the Town, - whom the History doth not name, which went to seek out _Assam Aga_, - that Commanded within, and pray'd him to make it good yet nine Days - longer, with assurance, that within that time he should infallibly - see _Algier_ delivered from that Siege, and the whole Army of the - Enemy dispersed, so that _Christians_ should be as cheap as Birds. - In a word, the thing did happen in the manner as foretold; for upon - the Twenty first day of _October_ in the same Year, there fell a - continual Rain upon the Land, and so furious a Storm at Sea, that - one might have seen Ships hoisted into the Clouds, and in one - instant again precipitated into the bottom of the Water: insomuch - that that same dreadful Tempest was followed with the loss of - fifteen Gallies, and above an hundred other Vessels; which was the - cause why the Emperour, seeing his Army wasted by the bad Weather, - pursued by Famine, occasioned by wrack of his Ships, in which was - the greatest part of his Victuals and Ammunition, he was - constrain'd to raise the Siege, and set Sail for _Sicily_, whither - he Retreated with the miserable Reliques of his Fleet. - - In the mean time that Witch being acknowledged the Deliverer of - _Algier_, was richly remunerated, and the Credit of her Charms - authorized. So that ever since Witchcraft hath been very freely - tolerated; of which the Chief of the Town, and even those who are - esteem'd to be of greatest Sanctity among them, such as are the - Marabou's, a Religious Order of their Sect, do for the most part - make Profession of it, under a goodly Pretext of certain - Revelations which they say they have had from their Prophet - _Mahomet_. - - And hereupon those of _Algier_, to palliate the shame and the - reproaches that are thrown upon them for making use of a Witch in - the danger of this Siege, do say, that the loss of the Forces of - _Charles_ V., was caused by a Prayer of one of their _Marabou's_, - named _Cidy Utica_, which was at that time in great Credit, not - under the notion of a _Magitian_, but for a person of a holy life. - Afterwards in remembrance of their success, they have erected unto - him a small mosque without the _Babason_ Gate, where he is buried, - and in which they keep sundry Lamps burning in honour of him: nay - they sometimes repair thither to make their _Sala_, for a testimony - of greater Veneration. - -Can it be doubted for a moment, that the dramatist had come fresh from -reading some _older narrative_ of this deliverance of Algier by a witch, -and transferred the merit of the deed to his Sycorax, exchanging only -the "rich remuneration," which did not suit his purpose, to the simple -pardon of her life? Ogilby wrote in 1670; but the authorities to which -he refers for his Account of Barbary are--Johannes de Leo, or -Africanus--Louis Marmol--Diego de Haedo--Johannes Gramaye--Bræves--Cel. -Curio--and Diego de Torres--names totally unknown to me--and to which I -beg leave to refer the curious reader for his fuller satisfaction. - - L. - - - - -ORIGINAL LETTER OF JAMES THOMSON - -(1824) - - -The following very interesting letter has been recovered from oblivion, -or at least from neglect, by our friend Elia, and the public will no -doubt thank him for the deed. It is without date or superscription in -the manuscript, which (as our contributor declares) was in so -"fragmentitious" a state as to perplex his transcribing faculties in the -extreme. The poet's love of nature is quite evident from one part of it; -and the "poetical posture of his affairs" from another. Whether regarded -as elucidating the former or the latter, it is a document not a little -calculated to excite the attention of the curious as well as the -critical. We could ourselves write an essayful of conjectures from the -grounds it affords both with respect to the author's poems and his -pride. But we must take another opportunity, or leave it to his next -biographer. - - DEAR SIR, - -I would chide you for the slackness of your correspondence; but having -blamed you wrongeously[47] last time, I shall say nothing till I hear -from you, which I hope will be soon. - - [47] _Sic in MS._ - -There's a little business I would communicate to you before I come to -the more entertaining part of our correspondence. - -I'm going (hard task) to complain, and beg your assistance. When I came -up here I brought very little money along with me; expecting some more -upon the selling of Widehope, which was to have been sold that day my -mother was buried. Now it is unsold yet, but will be disposed of as soon -as can be conveniently done; though indeed it is perplexed with some -difficulties. I was a long time living here at my own charges, and you -know how expensive that is; this, together with the furnishing of myself -with clothes, linen, one thing and another, to fit me for any business -of this nature here, necessarily obliged me to contract some debts. -Being a stranger, it is a wonder how I got any credit; but I cannot -expect it will be long sustained, unless I immediately clear it. Even -now, I believe it is at a crisis--my friends have no money to send me, -till the land is sold; and my creditors will not wait till then. You -know what the consequence would be. Now the assistance I would beg of -you, and which I know, if in your power, you will not refuse me, is a -letter of credit on some merchant, banker, or such like person in -London, for the matter of twelve pounds; till I get money upon the -selling of the land, which I am at last certain of, if you could either -give it me yourself, or procure it: though you owe it not to my merit, -yet you owe it to your own nature, which I know so well as to say no -more upon the subject: only allow me to add, that when I first fell upon -such a project, (the only thing I have for it in my present -circumstances,) knowing the selfish inhumane temper of the generality of -the world, you were the first person that offered to my thoughts, as one -to whom I had the confidence to make such an address. - - * * * * * - -Now I imagine you are seized with a fine romantic kind of melancholy on -the fading of the year--now I figure you wandering, philosophical and -pensive, amidst brown withered groves; whilst the leaves rustle under -your feet, the sun gives a farewell parting gleam, and the birds-- - - Stir the faint note, and but attempt to sing. - -Then again, when the heavens wear a more gloomy aspect, the winds -whistle and the waters spout, I see you in the well-known cleugh, -beneath the solemn arch of tall, thick, embowering trees, listening to -the amusing lull of the many steep, moss-grown cascades; while deep, -divine contemplation, the genius of the place, prompts each swelling, -awful thought. I am sure you would not resign your place in that scene -at an easy rate:--None ever enjoyed it to the height you do, and you are -worthy of it. There I walk in spirit, and disport in its beloved gloom. -This country I am in is not very entertaining; no variety but that of -woods, and them we have in abundance. But where is the living stream? -the airy mountain? or the hanging rock? with twenty other things that -elegantly please the lover of Nature. Nature delights me in every form. -I am just now painting her in her most luxurious dress; for my own -amusement, describing winter as it presents itself. After my first -proposal of the subject-- - - I sing of winter, and his gelid reign; - Nor let a ryming insect of the spring - Deem it a barren theme, to me 'tis full - Of manly charms: to me, who court the shade, - Whom the gay seasons suit not, and who shun - The glare of summer. Welcome, kindred glooms! - Drear awful wintry horrors, welcome all! &c. - -After this introduction, I say, which insists for a few lines further, I -prosecute the purport of the following ones:-- - - Nor can I, O departing Summer! choose - But consecrate one pitying line to you: - Sing your last temper'd days and sunny balms, - That cheer the spirits and serene the soul. - -Then terrible floods, and high winds, that usually happen about this -time of the year, and have already happened here (I wish you have not -felt them too dreadfully); the first produced the enclosed lines; the -last are not completed. Mr. Rickleton's poem on Winter, which I still -have, first put the design into my head--in it are some masterly strokes -that awakened me--being only a present amusement, it is ten to one but I -drop it whenever another fancy comes across. I believe it had been much -more for your entertainment, if in this letter I had cited other people -instead of myself; but I must refer that till another time. If you have -not seen it already, I have just now in my hands an original of Sir -Alexander Brands (the crazed Scots knight of the woeful countenance), -you would relish. I believe it might make Mis[48] John catch hold of his -knees, which I take in him to be a degree of mirth, only inferior, to -fall back again with an elastic spring. It is very [here a word is -waggishly obliterated] printed in the Evening Post: so, perhaps you have -seen these panegyrics of our declining bard; one on the Princess's -birth-day; the other on his Majesty's, in [obliterated] cantos, they are -written in the spirit of a complicated craziness. I was lately in London -a night, and in the old play-house saw a comedy acted, called Love makes -a Man, or the Fop's Fortune, where I beheld Miller and Cibber shine to -my infinite entertainment. In and about London this month of September, -near a hundred people have died by accident and suicide. There was one -blacksmith tired of the hammer, who hung himself, and left written -behind him this concise epitaph:-- - - I, Joe Pope, - Lived without hope - And died by a rope. - -Or else some epigrammatic Muse has belied him. - -Mr. Muir has ample fund for politics in the present posture of affairs, -as you will find by the public news. I should be glad to know that great -minister's frame just now. Keep it to yourself--you may whisper it too -in Mis John's ear. Far otherwise is his lately mysterious brother, Mr. -Tait, employed. Started a superannuated fortune, and just now upon the -full scent. It is comical enough to see him amongst the rubbish of his -controversial divinity and politics, furbishing up his antient rusty -gallantry. - - Yours, sincerely, J. T. - -Remember me to all friends, Mr. Rickle, Mis John, Br. John, &c. - - [48] _Mas?_ - - - - -BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OF MR. LISTON - -(1825) - - -The subject of our Memoir is lineally descended from Johan De L'Estonne -(see Doomesday Book, where he is so written) who came in with the -Conqueror, and had lands awarded him at Lupton Magna, in Kent. His -particular merits or services, Fabian, whose authority I chiefly follow, -has forgotten, or perhaps thought it immaterial, to specify. Fuller -thinks that he was standard-bearer to Hugo De Agmondesham, a powerful -Norman Baron, who was slain by the hand of Harold himself at the fatal -battle of Hastings. Be this as it may, we find a family of that name -flourishing some centuries later in that county. John Delliston, Knight, -was high sheriff for Kent, according to Fabian, _quinto Henrici Sexti_; -and we trace the lineal branch flourishing downwards--the orthography -varying, according to the unsettled usage of the times, from Delleston -to Leston, or Liston, between which it seems to have alternated, till, -in the latter end of the reign of James I, it finally settled into the -determinate and pleasing dissyllabic arrangement which it still retains. -Aminadab Liston, the eldest male representative of the family of that -day, was of the strictest order of Puritans. Mr. Foss, of Pall Mall, has -obligingly communicated to me an undoubted tract of his, which bears the -initials only, A. L. and is entitled, "the Grinning Glass: or Actor's -Mirrour, wherein the vituperative Visnomy of vicious Players for the -Scene is as virtuously reflected back upon their mimetic Monstrosities -as it has viciously (hitherto) vitiated with its vile Vanities her -Votarists." A strange title, but bearing the impress of those -absurdities with which the title pages of that pamphlet-spawning age -abounded. The work bears date 1617. It preceded the Histriomastix by -fifteen years; and as it went before it in time, so it comes not far -short of it in virulence. It is amusing to find an ancestor of Liston's -thus bespattering the players at the commencement of the seventeenth -century. "Thinketh He (the actor), with his costive countenances, to wry -a sorrowing soul out of her anguish, or by defacing the divine -denotement of destinate dignity (daignely described in the face humane -and no other) to reinstamp the Paradice-plotted similitude with a novel -and naughty approximation (not in the first intention) to those abhorred -and ugly God-forbidden correspondences, with flouting Apes' jeering -gibberings, and Babion babbling-like, to hoot out of countenance all -modest measure, as if our sins were not sufficing to stoop our backs -without He wresting and crooking his members to mistimed mirth (rather -malice) in deformed fashion, leering when he should learn, prating for -praying, goggling his eyes (better upturned for grace), whereas in -Paradice (if we can go thus high for His profession) that devilish -Serpent appeareth his undoubted Predecessor, first induing a mask like -some roguish roistering Roscius (I spit at them all) to beguile with -Stage shows the gaping Woman, whose Sex hath still chiefly upheld these -Mysteries, and are voiced to be the chief Stage-haunters, where, as I am -told, the custom is commonly to mumble (between acts) apples, not -ambiguously derived from that pernicious Pippin (worse in effect than -the Apples of Discord) whereas sometimes the hissing sounds of -displeasure, as I hear, do lively reintonate that snake-taking-leave, -and diabolical goings off, in Paradice." - -The puritanic effervescence of the early Presbyterians appears to have -abated with time, and the opinions of the more immediate ancestors of -our subject to have subsided at length into a strain of moderate -Calvinism. Still a tincture of the old leaven was to be expected among -the posterity of A. L. - -Our hero was an only son of Habakuk Liston, settled as an Anabaptist -minister upon the patrimonial soil of his ancestors. A regular -certificate appears, thus entered in the church book at Lupton Magna. -"_Johannes, filius Habakuk et Rebeccæ Liston, Dissentientium, natus -quinto Decembri, 1780, baptizatus sexto Februarii sequentis; Sponsoribus -J. et W. Woollaston, unâ cum Maria Merryweather._" The singularity of an -Anabaptist minister conforming to the child rites of the church, would -have tempted me to doubt the authenticity of this entry, had I not been -obliged with the actual sight of it, by the favour of Mr. Minns, the -intelligent and worthy parish clerk of Lupton. Possibly some expectation -in point of worldly advantages from some of the sponsors, might have -induced this unseemly deviation, as it must have appeared, from the -practice and principles of that generally rigid sect. The term -_Dissentientium_ was possibly intended by the orthodox clergyman as a -slur upon the supposed inconsistency. What, or of what nature, the -expectations we have hinted at, may have been, we have now no means of -ascertaining. Of the Wollastons no trace is now discoverable in the -village. The name of Merryweather occurs over the front of a grocer's -shop at the western extremity of Lupton. - -Of the infant Liston we find no events recorded before his fourth year, -in which a severe attack of the measles bid fair to have robbed the -rising generation of a fund of innocent entertainment. He had it of the -confluent kind, as it is called, and the child's life was for a week or -two despaired of. His recovery he always attributes (under Heaven) to -the humane interference of one Doctor Wilhelm Richter, a German empiric, -who, in this extremity, prescribed a copious diet of _Saur Kraut_, which -the child was observed to reach at with avidity, when other food -repelled him; and from this change of diet his restoration was rapid and -complete. We have often heard him name the circumstance with gratitude; -and it is not altogether surprising, that a relish for this kind of -aliment, so abhorrent and harsh to common English palates, has -accompanied him through life. When any of Mr. Liston's intimates invite -him to supper, he never fails of finding, nearest to his knife and fork, -a dish of _Saur Kraut_. - -At the age of nine we find our subject under the tuition of the Rev. Mr. -Goodenough (his father's health not permitting him probably to instruct -him himself), by whom he was inducted into a competent portion of Latin -and Greek, with some mathematics, till the death of Mr. Goodenough, in -his own seventieth, and Master Liston's eleventh year, put a stop for -the present to his classical progress. - -We have heard our hero with emotions, which do his heart honour, -describe the awful circumstances attending the decease of this worthy -old gentleman. It seems they had been walking out together, master and -pupil, in a fine sunset, to the distance of three quarters of a mile -west of Lupton, when a sudden curiosity took Mr. Goodenough to look down -upon a chasm, where a shaft had been lately sunk in a mining speculation -(then projecting, but abandoned soon after, as not answering the -promised success, by Sir Ralph Shepperton, Knight, and member for the -county). The old clergyman leaning over, either with incaution, or -sudden giddiness (probably a mixture of both), suddenly lost his -footing, and, to use Mr. Liston's phrase, disappeared; and was -doubtless broken into a thousand pieces. The sound of his head, &c. -dashing successively upon the projecting masses of the chasm, had such -an effect upon the child, that a serious sickness ensued, and even for -many years after his recovery he was not once seen so much as to smile. - -The joint death[s] of both his parents, which happened not many months -after this disastrous accident, and were probably (one or both of them) -accelerated by it, threw our youth upon the protection of his maternal -great aunt, Mrs. Sittingbourn. Of this aunt we have never heard him -speak but with expressions amounting almost to reverence. To the -influence of her early counsels and manners, he has always attributed -the firmness with which, in maturer years, thrown upon a way of life, -commonly not the best adapted to gravity and self-retirement, he has -been able to maintain a serious character, untinctured with the levities -incident to his profession. Ann Sittingbourn (we have seen her portrait -by Hudson) was stately, stiff, tall, with a cast of features strikingly -resembling the subject of this memoir. Her estate in Kent was spacious -and well-wooded; the house, one of those venerable old mansions which -are so impressive in childhood, and so hardly forgotten in succeeding -years. In the venerable solitudes of Charnwood, among thick shades of -the oak and beech (this last his favourite tree), the young Liston -cultivated those contemplative habits which have never entirely deserted -him in after years. Here he was commonly in the summer months to be met -with, with a book in his hand--not a play-book--meditating. Boyle's -Reflections was at one time the darling volume, which in its turn was -superseded by Young's Night Thoughts, which has continued its hold upon -him through life. He carries it always about him; and it is no uncommon -thing for him to be seen, in the refreshing intervals of his occupation, -leaning against a side scene, in a sort of Herbert of Cherbury posture, -turning over a pocket edition of his favourite author. - -But the solitudes of Charnwood were not destined always to obscure the -path of our young hero. The premature death of Mrs. Sittingbourn, at the -age of 70, occasioned by incautious burning of a pot of charcoal in her -sleeping chamber, left him in his 19th year nearly without resources. -That the stage at all should have presented itself as an eligible scope -for his talents, and, in particular, that he should have chosen a line -so foreign to what appears to have been his turn of mind, may require -some explanation. - -At Charnwood then we behold him thoughtful, grave, ascetic. From his -cradle averse to flesh meats, and strong drink; abstemious even beyond -the genius of the place; and almost in spite of the remonstrances of his -great aunt, who, though strict, was not rigid; water was his habitual -drink, and his food little beyond the mast, and beech nuts, of his -favourite groves. It is a medical fact, that this kind of diet, however -favourable to the contemplative powers of the primitive hermits, &c., is -but ill adapted to the less robust minds and bodies of a later -generation. Hypochondria almost constantly ensues. It was so in the case -of the young Liston. He was subject to sights, and had visions. Those -arid beech nuts, distilled by a complexion naturally adust, mounted into -an occiput, already prepared to kindle by long seclusion, and the -fervour of strict Calvinistic notions. In the glooms of Charnwood he was -assailed by illusions, similar in kind to those which are related of the -famous Anthony of Padua. Wild antic faces would ever and anon protrude -themselves upon his _sensorium_. Whether he shut his eyes, or kept them -open, the same illusions operated. The darker and more profound were his -cogitations, the droller and more whimsical became the apparitions. They -buzzed about him thick as flies, flapping at him, flouting him, hooting -in his ear, yet with such comic appendages, that what at first was his -bane, became at length his solace; and he desired no better society than -that of his merry phantasmata. We shall presently find in what way this -remarkable phenomenon influenced his future destiny. - -On the death of Mrs. Sittingbourn, we find him received into the family -of Mr. Willoughby, an eminent Turkey merchant, resident in Birchin-lane, -London. We lose a little while here the chain of his history; by what -inducements this gentleman was determined to make him an inmate of his -house. Probably he had had some personal kindness for Mrs. Sittingbourn -formerly; but however it was, the young man was here treated more like a -son than a clerk, though he was nominally but the latter. Different -avocations, the change of scene, with that alternation of business and -recreation, which in its greatest perfection is to be had only in -London, appear to have weaned him in a short time from the -hypochondriacal affections which had beset him at Charnwood. In the -three years which followed his removal to Birchin-lane, we find him -making more than one voyage to the Levant, as chief factor for Mr. -Willoughby, at the Porte. We could easily fill our biography with the -pleasant passages which we have heard him relate as having happened to -him at Constantinople, such as his having been taken up on suspicion of -a design of penetrating the seraglio, &c.; but, with the deepest -convincement of this gentleman's own veracity, we think that some of the -stories are of that whimsical, and others of that romantic nature, -which, however diverting, would be out of place in a narrative of this -kind, which aims not only at strict truth, but at avoiding the very -appearance of the contrary. - -We will now bring him over the seas again, and suppose him in the -counting-house in Birchin-lane, his protector satisfied with the returns -of his factorage, and all going on so smoothly that we may expect to -find Mr. Liston at last an opulent merchant upon 'Change, as it is -called. But see the turns of destiny! Upon a summer's excursion into -Norfolk, in the year 1801, the accidental sight of pretty Sally Parker, -as she was called (then in the Norwich company), diverted his -inclinations at once from commerce; and he became, in the language of -common-place biography, stage-struck. Happy for the lovers of mirth was -it, that our hero took this turn; he might else have been to this hour -that unentertaining character, a plodding London merchant. - -We accordingly find him shortly after making his _debut_, as it is -called, upon the Norwich boards, in the season of that year, being then -in the 22d year of his age. Having a natural bent to tragedy, he chose -the part of Pyrrhus in the Distressed Mother, to Sally Parker's -Hermione. We find him afterwards as Barnwell, Altamont, Chamont, &c.; -but, as if nature had destined him to the sock, an unavoidable infirmity -absolutely discapacitated him for tragedy. His person at this latter -period, of which I have been speaking, was graceful, and even -commanding; his countenance set to gravity; he had the power of -arresting the attention of an audience at first sight almost beyond any -other tragic actor. But he could not hold it. To understand this -obstacle we must go back a few years to those appalling reveries at -Charnwood. Those illusions, which had vanished before the dissipation -of a less recluse life, and more free society, now in his solitary -tragic studies, and amid the intense calls upon feeling incident to -tragic acting, came back upon him with tenfold vividness. In the midst -of some most pathetic passage, the parting of Jaffier with his dying -friend, for instance, he would suddenly be surprised with a fit of -violent horse laughter. While the spectators were all sobbing before him -with emotion, suddenly one of those grotesque faces would peep out upon -him, and he could not resist the impulse. A timely excuse once or twice -served his purpose, but no audiences could be expected to bear -repeatedly this violation of the continuity of feeling. He describes -them (the illusions) as so many demons haunting him, and paralysing -every effect. Even now, I am told, he cannot recite the famous soliloquy -in Hamlet, even in private, without immoderate bursts of laughter. -However, what he had not force of reason sufficient to overcome, he had -good sense enough to turn into emolument, and determined to make a -commodity of his distemper. He prudently exchanged the buskin for the -sock, and the illusions instantly ceased; or, if they occurred for a -short season, by their very co-operation added a zest to his comic vein; -some of his most catching faces being (as he expresses it) little more -than transcripts and copies of those extraordinary phantasmata. - -We have now drawn out our hero's existence to the period when he was -about to meet for the first time the sympathies of a London audience. -The particulars of his success since have been too much before our eyes -to render a circumstantial detail of them expedient. I shall only -mention that Mr. Willoughby, his resentments having had time to subside, -is at present one of the fastest friends of his old renegado factor; and -that Mr. Liston's hopes of Miss Parker vanishing along with his -unsuccessful suit to Melpomene, in the autumn of 1811 he married his -present lady, by whom he has been blest with one son, Philip; and two -daughters, Ann, and Angustina [ ? Augustina]. - - - - -A VISION OF HORNS - -(1825) - - -My thoughts had been engaged last evening in solving the problem, why in -all times and places the _horn_ has been agreed upon as the symbol, or -honourable badge, of married men. Moses' horn, the horn of Ammon, of -Amalthea, and a cornucopia of legends besides, came to my recollection, -but afforded no satisfactory solution, or rather involved the question -in deeper obscurity. Tired with the fruitless chase of inexplicant -analogies, I fell asleep, and dreamed in this fashion. - -Methought certain scales or films fell from my eyes, which had hitherto -hindered these little tokens from being visible. I was somewhere in the -Cornhill (as it might be termed) of some Utopia. Busy citizens jostled -each other, as they may do in our streets, with care (the care of making -a penny) written upon their foreheads; and _something else_, which is -rather imagined, than distinctly imaged, upon the brows of my own -friends and fellow-townsmen. - -In my first surprise I supposed myself gotten into some forest--Arden, -to be sure, or Sherwood; but the dresses and deportment, all civic, -forbade me to continue in that delusion. Then a scriptural thought -crossed me (especially as there were nearly as many Jews as Christians -among them), whether it might not be the children of Israel going up to -besiege Jericho. I was undeceived of both errors by the sight of many -faces which were familiar to me. I found myself strangely (as it will -happen in dreams) at one and the same time in an unknown country, with -known companions. I met old friends, not with new faces, but with their -old faces oddly adorned in front, with each man a certain corneous -excrescence. Dick Mitis, the little cheesemonger in St. * * * *'s -Passage, was the first that saluted me, with his hat off--you know -Dick's way to a customer--and, I not being aware of him, he thrust a -strange beam into my left eye, which pained and grieved me exceedingly; -but, instead of apology, he only grinned and fleered in my face, as much -as to say, "it is the custom of the country," and passed on. - -I had scarce time to send a civil message to his lady, whom I have -always admired as a pattern of a wife,--and do indeed take Dick and her -to be a model of conjugal agreement and harmony,--when I felt an ugly -smart in my neck, as if something had gored it behind, and turning -round, it was my old friend and neighbour, Dulcet, the confectioner, -who, meaning to be pleasant, had thrust his protuberance right into my -nape, and seemed proud of his power of offending. - -Now I was assailed right and left, till in my own defence I was obliged -to walk sideling and wary, and look about me, as you guard your eyes in -London streets; for the horns thickened, and came at me like the ends of -umbrellas poking in one's face. - -I soon found that these towns-folk were the civillest best-mannered -people in the world, and that if they had offended at all, it was -entirely owing to their blindness. They do not know what dangerous -weapons they protrude in front, and will stick their best friends in the -eye with provoking complacency. Yet the best of it is, they can see the -beams on their neighbours' foreheads, if they are as small as motes, but -their own beams they can in no wise discern. - -There was little Mitis, that I told you I just encountered--he has -simply (I speak of him at home in his own shop) the smoothest forehead -in his own conceit--he will stand you a quarter of an hour together -contemplating the serenity of it in the glass, before he begins to shave -himself in a morning--yet you saw what a desperate gash he gave me. - -Desiring to be better informed of the ways of this extraordinary people, -I applied myself to a fellow of some assurance, who (it appeared) acted -as a sort of interpreter to strangers--he was dressed in a military -uniform, and strongly resembled Colonel----, of the guards;--and "pray, -Sir," said I, "have all the inhabitants of your city these troublesome -excrescences? I beg pardon, I see you have none. You perhaps are -single." "Truly, Sir," he replied with a smile, "for the most part we -have, but not all alike. There are some, like Dick, that sport but one -tumescence. Their ladies have been tolerably faithful--have confined -themselves to a single aberration or so--these we call Unicorns. Dick, -you must know, is my Unicorn. [He spoke this with an air of invincible -assurance.] Then we have Bicorns, Tricorns, and so on up to Millecorns. -[Here me-thought I crossed and blessed myself in my dream.] Some again -we have--there goes one--you see how happy the rogue looks--how he walks -smiling, and perking up his face, as if he thought himself the only man. -He is not married yet, but on Monday next he leads to the altar the -accomplished widow Dacres, relict of our late sheriff." - -"I see, Sir," said I, "and observe that he is happily free from the -national _goitre_ (let me call it), which distinguishes most of your -countrymen." - -"Look a little more narrowly," said my conductor. - -I put on my spectacles, and observing the man a little more diligently, -above his forehead I could mark a thousand little twinkling shadows -dancing the horn-pipe, little hornlets and rudiments of horn, of a soft -and pappy consistence (for I handled some of them), but which, like -coral out of water, my guide informed me would infallibly stiffen and -grow rigid within a week or two from the expiration of his bachelorhood. - -Then I saw some horns strangely growing out behind, and my interpreter -explained these to be married men, whose wives had conducted themselves -with infinite propriety since the period of their marriage, but were -thought to have antedated their good men's titles, by certain liberties -they had indulged themselves in, prior to the ceremony. This kind of -gentry wore their horns backwards, as has been said, in the fashion of -the old pig-tails; and as there was nothing obtrusive or ostentatious in -them, nobody took any notice of it. - -Some had pretty little budding antlers, like the first essays of a young -faun. These, he told me, had wives, whose affairs were in a hopeful way, -but not quite brought to a conclusion. - -Others had nothing to show, only by certain red angry marks and -swellings in the foreheads, which itched the more they kept rubbing and -chafing them; it was to be hoped that something was brewing. - -I took notice that every one jeered at the rest, only none took notice -of the sea-captains; yet these were as well provided with their tokens -as the best among them. This kind of people, it seems, taking their -wives upon so contingent tenures, their lot was considered as nothing -but natural,--so they wore their marks without impeachment, as they -might carry their cockades, and nobody respected them a whit the less -for it. - -I observed, that the more sprouts grew out of a man's head, the less -weight they seemed to carry with them; whereas, a single token would now -and then appear to give the wearer some uneasiness. This shows that use -is a great thing. - -Some had their adornings gilt, which needs no explanation; while others, -like musicians, went sounding theirs before them--a sort of music which -I thought might very well have been spared. - -It was pleasant to see some of the citizens encounter between -themselves; how they smiled in their sleeves at the shock they received -from their neighbour, and none seemed conscious of the shock which their -neighbour experienced in return. - -Some had great corneous stumps, seemingly torn off and bleeding. These, -the interpreter warned me, were husbands who had retaliated upon their -wives, and the badge was in equity divided between them. - -While I stood discerning these things, a slight tweak on my cheek -unawares, which brought tears into my eyes, introduced to me my friend -Placid, between whose lady and a certain male cousin, some idle -flirtations I remember to have heard talked of; but that was all. He saw -he had somehow hurt me, and asked my pardon with that round unconscious -face of his, and looked so tristful and contrite for his no-offence, -that I was ashamed for the man's penitence. Yet I protest it was but a -scratch. It was the least little hornet of a horn that could be framed. -"Shame on the man," I secretly exclaimed, "who could thrust so much as -the value of a hair into a brow so unsuspecting and inoffensive. What -then must they have to answer for, who plant great, monstrous, -timber-like, projecting antlers upon the heads of those whom they call -their friends, when a puncture of this atomical tenuity made my eyes to -water at this rate. All the pincers at Surgeons' Hall cannot pull out -for Placid that little hair." - -I was curious to know what became of these frontal excrescences, when -the husbands died; and my guide informed me that the chemists in their -country made a considerable profit by them, extracting from them certain -subtle essences:--and then I remembered, that nothing was so efficacious -in my own for restoring swooning matrons, and wives troubled with the -vapours, as a strong sniff or two at the composition, appropriately -called hartshorn--far beyond _sal volatile_. - -Then also I began to understand, why a man, who is the jest of the -company, is said to be the butt--as much as to say, such a one butteth -with the horn. - -I inquired if by no operation these wens were ever extracted; and was -told, that there was indeed an order of dentists, whom they call -canonists in their language, who undertook to restore the forehead to -its pristine smoothness; but that ordinarily it was not done without -much cost and trouble; and when they succeeded in plucking out the -offending part, it left a painful void, which could not be filled up; -and that many patients who had submitted to the excision, were eager to -marry again, to supply with a good second antler the baldness and -deformed gap left by the extraction of the former, as men losing their -natural hair substitute for it a less becoming periwig. - -Some horns I observed beautifully taper, smooth, and (as it were) -flowering. These I understand were the portions brought by handsome -women to their spouses; and I pitied the rough, homely, unsightly -deformities on the brows of others, who had been deceived by plain and -ordinary partners. Yet the latter I observed to be by far the most -common--the solution of which I leave to the natural philosopher. - -One tribute of married men I particularly admired at, who, instead of -horns, wore, engrafted on their forehead, a sort of hornbook. "This," -quoth my guide, "is the greatest mystery in our country, and well worth -an explanation. You must know that all infidelity is not of the senses. -We have as well intellectual, as material, wittols. These, whom you see -decorated with the Order of the Book--are triflers, who encourage about -their wives' presence the society of your men of genius (their good -friends, as they call them)--literary disputants, who ten to one -out-talk the poor husband, and commit upon the understanding of the -woman a violence and estrangement in the end, little less painful than -the coarser sort of alienation. Whip me these knaves--[my conductor here -expressed himself with a becoming warmth]--whip me them, I say, who with -no excuse from the passions, in cold blood seduce the minds, rather than -the persons, of their friends' wives; who, for the tickling pleasure of -hearing themselves prate, dehonestate the intellects of married women, -dishonouring the husband in what should be his most sensible part. If I -must be ---- [here he used a plain word] let it be by some honest sinner -like myself, and not by one of these gad-flies, these debauchers of the -understanding, these flattery-buzzers." He was going on in this manner, -and I was getting insensibly pleased with my friend's manner (I had been -a little shy of him at first), when the dream suddenly left me, -vanishing--as Virgil speaks--through the gate of Horn. - - ELIA. - - - - -THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT[49] - -(1825) - - - Nought but a blank remains, a dead void space, - A step of life that promised such a race.--DRYDEN. - -Napoleon has now sent us back from the grave sufficient echoes of his -living renown: the twilight of posthumous fame has lingered long enough -over the spot where the sun of his glory set, and his name must at -length repose in the silence, if not in the darkness of night. In this -busy and evanescent scene, other spirits of the age are rapidly snatched -away, claiming our undivided sympathies and regrets, until in turn they -yield to some newer and more absorbing grief. Another name is now added -to the list of the mighty departed, a name whose influence upon the -hopes and fears, the fates and fortunes of our countrymen, has rivalled, -and perhaps eclipsed that of the defunct "child and champion of -Jacobinism," while it is associated with all the sanctions of legitimate -government, all the sacred authorities of social order and our most holy -religion. We speak of one, indeed, under whose warrant heavy and -incessant contributions were imposed upon our fellow-citizens, but who -exacted nothing without the signet and the sign manual of most devout -Chancellors of the Exchequer. Not to dally longer with the sympathies of -our readers, we think it right to premonish them that we are composing -an epicedium upon no less distinguished a personage than the Lottery, -whose last breath, after many penultimate puffs, has been sobbed forth -by sorrowing contractors, as if the world itself were about to be -converted into a blank. There is a fashion of eulogy, as well as of -vituperation; and though the Lottery stood for some time in the latter -predicament, we hesitate not to assert that "_multis ille bonis flebilis -occidit_." Never have we joined in the senseless clamour which condemned -the only tax whereto we became voluntary contributors, the only resource -which gave the stimulus without the danger or infatuation of gambling, -the only alembic which in these plodding days sublimised our -imaginations, and filled them with more delicious dreams than ever -flitted athwart the sensorium of Alnaschar. - - [49] Since writing this article, we have been informed that the - object of our funeral-oration is not definitively dead, but only - moribund. So much the better; we shall have an opportunity of - granting the request made to Walter by one of the children in the - wood, and "kill him two times." The Abbé de Vertot having a siege to - write, and not receiving the materials in time, composed the whole - from his invention: shortly after its completion, the expected - documents arrived, when he threw them aside, exclaiming--"You are of - no use to me now; I have carried the town." - -Never can the writer forget when, as a child, he was hoisted upon a -servant's shoulder in Guildhall, and looked down upon the installed and -solemn pomp of the then drawing Lottery. The two awful cabinets of iron, -upon whose massy and mysterious portals, the royal initials were -gorgeously emblazoned, as if after having deposited the unfulfilled -prophecies within, the King himself had turned the lock and still -retained the key in his pocket;--the blue-coat boy, with his naked arm, -first converting the invisible wheel, and then diving into the dark -recess for a ticket;--the grave and reverend faces of the commissioners -eyeing the announced number;--the scribes below calmly committing it to -their huge books;--the anxious countenances of the surrounding populace, -while the giant figures of Gog and Magog, like presiding deities, looked -down with a grim silence upon the whole proceeding,--constituted -altogether a scene, which combined with the sudden wealth supposed to be -lavished from those inscrutable wheels, was well calculated to impress -the imagination of a boy with reverence and amazement. Jupiter, seated -between the two fatal urns of good and evil, the blind Goddess with her -cornucopia, the Parcæ wielding the distaff, the thread of life, and the -abhorred shears, seemed but dim and shadowy abstractions of mythology, -when I had gazed upon an assemblage exercising, as I dreamt, a not less -eventful power, and all presented to me in palpable and living -operation. Reason and experience, ever at their old spiteful work of -catching and destroying the bubbles which youth delighted to follow, -have indeed dissipated much of this illusion, but my mind so far -retained the influence of that early impression, that I have ever since -continued to deposit my humble offerings at its shrine whenever the -ministers of the Lottery went forth with type and trumpet to announce -its periodical dispensations; and though nothing has been doled out to -me from its undiscerning coffers but blanks, or those more vexatious -tantalizers of the spirit, denominated small prizes, yet do I hold -myself largely indebted to this most generous diffuser of universal -happiness. Ingrates that we are! are we to be thankful for no benefits -that are not palpable to sense, to recognise no favours that are not of -marketable value, to acknowledge no wealth unless it can be counted with -the five fingers? If we admit the mind to be the sole depositary of -genuine joy, where is the bosom that has not been elevated into a -temporary elysium by the magic of the Lottery? Which of us has not -converted his ticket, or even his sixteenth share of one, into a -nest-egg of Hope, upon which he has sate brooding in the secret -roosting-places of his heart, and hatched it into a thousand fantastical -apparitions? - -What a startling revelation of the passions if all the aspirations -engendered by the Lottery could be made manifest! Many an impecuniary -epicure has gloated over his locked-up warrant for future wealth, as a -means of realising the dream of his namesake in the Alchemist,-- - - "My meat shall all come in in Indian shells, - Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded - With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths and rubies; - The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels - Boil'd i' the spirit of Sol, and dissolved in pearl, - (Apicius' diet 'gainst the epilepsy;) - And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber, - Headed with diamant and carbuncle.---- - My footboy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons, - Knots, godwits, lampreys; I myself will have - The beards of barbels served:--instead of salads - Oil'd mushrooms, and the swelling unctuous paps - Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, - Dress'd with an exquisite and poignant sauce, - For which I'll say unto my cook-'There's gold, - Go forth, and be a knight!'" - -Many a doating lover has kissed the scrap of paper whose promissory -shower of gold was to give up to him his otherwise unattainable Danaë: -Nimrods have transformed the same narrow symbol into a saddle, by which -they have been enabled to bestride the backs of peerless hunters; while -nymphs have metamorphosed its Protean form into - - "Rings, gaudes, conceits, - Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats," - -and all the braveries of dress, to say nothing of the obsequious -husband, the two-footman'd carriage, and the opera-box. By the simple -charm of this numbered and printed rag, gamesters have, for a time at -least, recovered their losses, spendthrifts have cleared off mortgages -from their estates, the imprisoned debtor has leapt over his lofty -boundary of circumscription and restraint, and revelled in all the joys -of liberty and fortune; the cottage-walls have swelled out into more -goodly proportion than those of Baucis and Philemon; poverty has tasted -the luxuries of competence, labour has lolled at ease in a perpetual -arm-chair of idleness, sickness has been bribed into banishment, life -has been invested with new charms, and death deprived of its former -terrors. Nor have the affections been less gratified than the wants, -appetites, and ambitions of mankind. By the conjurations of the same -potent spell, kindred have lavished anticipated benefits upon one -another, and charity upon all. Let it be termed a delusion; a fool's -paradise is better than the wise man's Tartarus: be it branded as an -Ignis fatuus, it was at least a benevolent one, which instead of -beguiling its followers into swamps, caverns, and pitfalls, allured them -on with all the blandishments of enchantment to a garden of Eden, an -ever-blooming elysium of delight. True, the pleasures it bestowed were -evanescent, but which of our joys are permanent? and who so -inexperienced as not to know that anticipation is always of higher -relish than reality, which strikes a balance both in our sufferings and -enjoyments. "The fear of ill exceeds the ill we fear," and fruition, in -the same proportion, invariably falls short of hope. "Men are but -children of a larger growth," who may amuse themselves for a long time -in gazing at the reflection of the moon in the water, but, if they jump -in to grasp it, they may grope for ever, and only get the farther from -their object. He is the wisest who keeps feeding upon the future, and -refrains as long as possible from undeceiving himself, by converting -his pleasant speculations into disagreeable certainties. - -The true mental epicure always purchased his ticket early, and postponed -enquiry into its fate to the last possible moment, during the whole of -which intervening period he had an imaginary twenty thousand locked up -in his desk,--and was not this well worth all the money? Who would -scruple to give twenty pounds interest for even the ideal enjoyment of -as many thousands during two or three months? "_Crede quod habes, et -habes_," and the usufruct of such a capital is surely not dear at such a -price. Some years ago, a gentleman in passing along Cheapside saw the -figures 1069, of which number he was the sole proprietor, flaming on the -window of a lottery-office as a capital prize. Somewhat flurried by this -discovery, not less welcome than unexpected, he resolved to walk round -St. Paul's that he might consider in what way to communicate the happy -tidings to his wife and family; but upon repassing the shop, he observed -that the number was altered to 10,069, and upon enquiry, had the -mortification to learn that his ticket was a blank, and had only been -stuck up in the window by a mistake of the clerk. This effectually -calmed his agitation, but he always speaks of himself as having once -possessed twenty thousand pounds, and maintains that his ten minutes' -walk round St. Paul's was worth ten times the purchase-money of the -ticket. A prize thus obtained has moreover this special advantage;--it -is beyond the reach of fate, it cannot be squandered, bankruptcy cannot -lay siege to it, friends cannot pull it down, nor enemies blow it up; it -bears a charmed life, and none of woman born can break its integrity, -even by the dissipation of a single fraction. Show me the property in -these perilous times that is equally compact and impregnable. We can no -longer become enriched for a quarter of an hour; we can no longer -succeed in such splendid failures; all our chances of making such a miss -have vanished with the last of the Lotteries. - -Life will now become a flat, prosaic routine of matter-of-fact, and -sleep itself, erst so prolific of numerical configurations and -mysterious stimulants to lottery adventure, will be disfurnished of its -figures and figments. People will cease to harp upon the one lucky -number suggested in a dream, and which forms the exception, while they -are scrupulously silent upon the ten thousand falsified dreams which -constitute the rule. Morpheus will stifle Cocker with a handful of -poppies, and our pillows will be no longer haunted by the book of -numbers. - -And who, too, shall maintain the art and mystery of puffing in all its -pristine glory when the lottery professors shall have abandoned its -cultivation? They were the first, as they will assuredly be the last, -who fully developed the resources of that ingenious art; who cajoled and -decoyed the most suspicious and wary reader into a perusal of their -advertisements by devices of endless variety and cunning: who baited -their lurking schemes with midnight murders, ghost stories, crim-cons, -bon-mots, balloons, dreadful catastrophes, and every diversity of joy -and sorrow to catch newspaper-gudgeons. Ought not such talents to be -encouraged? Verily the abolitionists have much to answer for! - -And now, having established the felicity of all those who gained -imaginary prizes, let us proceed to show that the equally numerous class -who were presented with real blanks, have not less reason to consider -themselves happy. Most of us have cause to be thankful for that which is -bestowed, but we have all, probably, reason to be still more grateful -for that which is withheld, and more especially for our being denied the -sudden possession of riches. In the Litany indeed, we call upon the Lord -to deliver us "in all time of our wealth;" but how few of us are sincere -in deprecating such a calamity! Massinger's Luke, and Ben Jonson's Sir -Epicure Mammon, and Pope's Sir Balaam, and our own daily observation, -might convince us that the devil "now tempts by making rich, not making -poor." We may read in the Guardian a circumstantial account of a man who -was utterly ruined by gaining a capital prize:--we may recollect what -Dr. Johnson said to Garrick, when the latter was making a display of his -wealth at Hampton Court,--"Ah, David! David! these are the things that -make a death-bed terrible;"--we may recall the Scripture declaration, as -to the difficulty a rich man finds in entering into the Kingdom of -Heaven, and combining all these denunciations against opulence, let us -heartily congratulate one another upon our lucky escape from the -calamity of a twenty or thirty thousand pound prize! The fox in the -fable, who accused the unattainable grapes of sourness, was more of a -philosopher than we are generally willing to allow. He was an adept in -that species of moral alchemy, which turns every thing to gold, and -converts disappointment itself into a ground of resignation and -content. Such we have shown to be the great lesson inculcated by the -Lottery when rightly contemplated; and if we might parody M. de -Chateaubriand's jingling expression,--"_le Roi est mort, vive le Roi_," -we should be tempted to exclaim, "The Lottery is no more--long live the -Lottery!" - - - - -UNITARIAN PROTESTS - -IN A LETTER TO A FRIEND OF THAT PERSUASION NEWLY MARRIED - -(1825) - - -Dear M----, Though none of your acquaintance can with greater sincerity -congratulate you upon this happy conjuncture than myself, one of the -oldest of them, it was with pain I found you, after the ceremony, -depositing in the vestry-room what is called a Protest. I thought you -superior to this little sophistry. What, after submitting to the service -of the Church of England--after consenting to receive a boon from her, -in the person of your amiable consort--was it consistent with sense, or -common good manners, to turn round upon her, and flatly taunt her with -false worship? This language is a little of the strongest in your books -and from your pulpits, though there it may well enough be excused from -religious zeal and the native warmth of nonconformity. But at the -altar--the Church of England altar--adopting her forms and complying -with her requisitions to the letter--to be consistent, together with the -practice, I fear, you must drop the language of dissent. You are no -longer sturdy Non Cons; you are there Occasional Conformists. You submit -to accept the privileges communicated by a form of words, exceptionable, -and perhaps justly, in your view; but, so submitting, you have no right -to quarrel with the ritual which you have just condescended to owe an -obligation to. They do not force you into their churches. You come -voluntarily, knowing the terms. You marry in the name of the Trinity. -There is no evading this by pretending that you take the formula with -your own interpretation, (and so long as you can do this, where is the -necessity of Protesting?): for the meaning of a vow is to be settled by -the sense of the imposer, not by any forced construction of the taker: -else might all vows, and oaths too, be eluded with impunity. You marry -then essentially as Trinitarians; and the altar no sooner satisfied -than, hey presto, with the celerity of a juggler, you shift habits, and -proceed pure Unitarians again in the vestry. You cheat the Church out of -a wife, and go home smiling in your sleeves that you have so cunningly -despoiled the Egyptians. In plain English, the Church has married you in -the name of so and so, assuming that you took the words in her sense, -but you outwitted her; you assented to them in your sense only, and took -from her what, upon a right understanding, she would have declined to -give you. - -This is the fair construction to be put upon all Unitarian marriages as -at present contracted; and as long as you Unitarians could salve your -consciences with the equivoque, I do not see why the Established Church -should have troubled herself at all about the matter. But the Protesters -necessarily see further. They have some glimmerings of the deception; -they apprehend a flaw somewhere; they would fain be honest, and yet they -must marry notwithstanding; for honesty's sake, they are fain to -dishonestate themselves a little. Let me try the very words of your own -Protest, to see what confessions we can pick out of them. - -"As Unitarians therefore we (you and your newly espoused bride) most -solemnly protest against the service (which yourselves have just -demanded) because we are thereby called upon, not only tacitly to -acquiesce, but to profess a belief in a doctrine which is a dogma, as we -believe, totally unfounded." But do you profess that belief during the -ceremony; or are you only called upon for the profession but do not make -it? If the latter, then you fall in with the rest of your more -consistent brethren, who waive the Protest; if the former, then, I fear, -your Protest cannot save you. - -Hard and grievous it is, that in any case an institution so broad and -general as the union of man and wife should be so cramped and straitened -by the hands of an imposing hierarchy, that to plight troth to a lovely -woman a man must be necessitated to compromise his truth and faith to -Heaven; but so it must be, so long as you chuse to marry by the forms -of the Church over which that hierarchy presides. - -Therefore, say you, we Protest. O poor and much fallen word Protest! It -was not so that the first heroic reformers protested. They departed out -of Babylon once for good and all; they came not back for an occasional -contact with her altars; a dallying, and then a protesting against -dalliance; they stood not shuffling in the porch, with a Popish foot -within, and its lame Lutheran fellow without, halting betwixt. These -were the true Protestants. You are--Protesters. - -Besides the inconsistency of this proceeding, I must think it a piece of -impertinence--unseasonable at least, and out of place, to obtrude these -papers upon the officiating clergyman--to offer to a public functionary -an instrument which by the tenor of his function he is not obliged to -accept, but, rather, he is called upon to reject. Is it done in his -clerical capacity? he has no power of redressing the grievance. It is to -take the benefit of his ministry and then insult him. If in his capacity -of fellow Christian only, what are your scruples to him, so long as you -yourselves are able to get over them, and do get over them by the very -fact of coming to require his services? The thing you call a Protest -might with just as good a reason be presented to the churchwarden for -the time being, to the parish clerk, or the pew opener. - -The Parliament alone can redress your grievance, if any. Yet I see not -how with any grace your people can petition for relief, so long as, by -the very fact of your coming to Church to be married, they do _bonâ -fide_ and strictly relieve themselves. The Upper House, in particular, -is not unused to these same things called Protests, among themselves. -But how would this honorable body stare to find a noble Lord conceding a -measure, and in the next breath, by a solemn Protest disowning it. A -Protest there is a reason given for non-compliance, not a subterfuge for -an equivocal occasional compliance. It was reasonable in the primitive -Christians to avert from their persons, by whatever lawful means, the -compulsory eating of meats which had been offered unto idols. I dare say -the Roman Prefects and Exarchats had plenty of petitioning in their -days. But what would a Festus, or Agrippa, have replied to a petition to -that effect, presented to him by some evasive Laodicean, with the very -meat between his teeth, which he had been chewing voluntarily rather -than abide the penalty? Relief for tender consciences means nothing, -where the conscience has previously relieved itself; that is, has -complied with the injunctions which it seeks preposterously to be rid -of. Relief for conscience there is properly none, but what by better -information makes an act appear innocent and lawful, with which the -previous conscience was not satisfied to comply. All else is but relief -from penalties, from scandal incurred by a complying practice, where the -conscience itself is not fully satisfied. - -But, say you, we have hard measure; the Quakers are indulged with the -liberty denied to us. They have [? are]; and dearly they have earned it. -You have come in (as a sect at least) in the cool of the evening; at the -eleventh hour. The Quaker character was hardened in the fires of -persecution in the seventeenth century; not quite to the stake and -faggot, but little short of that; they grew up and thrived against -noisome prisons, cruel beatings, whippings, stockings. They have since -endured a century or two of scoffs, contempts; they have been a -bye-word, and a nay-word; they have stood unmoved: and the consequence -of long conscientious resistance on one part is invariably, in the end, -remission on the other. The legislature, that denied you the tolerance, -which I do not know that at that time you even asked, gave them the -liberty which, without granting, they would have assumed. No penalties -could have driven them into the Churches. This is the consequence of -entire measures. Had the early Quakers consented to take oaths, leaving -a Protest with the clerk of the court against them in the same breath -with which they had taken them, do you in your conscience think that -they would have been indulged at this day in their exclusive privilege -of Affirming? Let your people go on for a century or so, marrying in -your own fashion, and I will warrant them before the end of it the -legislature will be willing to concede to them more than they at present -demand. - -Either the institution of marriage depends not for its validity upon -hypocritical compliances with the ritual of an alien Church; and then I -do not see why you cannot marry among yourselves, as the Quakers, -without their indulgence, would have been doing to this day; or it does -depend upon such ritual compliance, and then in your Protests you offend -against a divine ordinance. I have read in the Essex-street Liturgy a -form for the celebration of marriage. Why is this become a dead letter? -O! it has never been legalised; that is to say, in the law's eye it is -no marriage. But do you take upon you to say, in the view of the gospel -it would be none? Would your own people at least look upon a couple so -paired, to be none? But the case of dowries, alimonies, inheritances, -&c. which depend for their validity upon the ceremonial of the Church by -law established--are these nothing? That our children are not legally -_Filii Nullius_--is this nothing? I answer, nothing; to the preservation -of a good conscience, nothing; to a consistent Christianity, less than -nothing. Sad worldly thorns they are indeed, and stumbling blocks, well -worthy to be set out of the way by a legislature calling itself -Christian; but not likely to be removed in a hurry by any shrewd -legislators, who perceive that the petitioning complainants have not so -much as bruised a shin in the resistance; but, prudently declining the -briars and the prickles, nestle quietly down in the smooth two-sided -velvet of a Protesting Occasional Conformity.--I am, dear sir, - - With much respect, yours, &c. - - ELIA. - - - - -AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MR. MUNDEN - -_In a letter to the Editor_ - -(1825) - - -Hark'ee, Mr. Editor. A word in your ear. They tell me you are going to -put me in print--in print, Sir. To publish my life. What is my life to -you, Sir? What is it to you whether I ever lived at all? My life is a -very good life, Sir. I am insured at the Pelican, Sir. I am threescore -years and six--six; mark me, Sir: but I can play Polonius, which, I -believe, few of your corre--correspondents can do, Sir. I suspect -tricks, Sir: I smell a rat; I do, I do. You would cog the die upon us; -you would, you would, Sir. But I will forestall you, Sir. You would be -deriving me from William the Conqueror, with a murrain to you. It is no -such thing, Sir. The town shall know better, Sir. They begin to smoke -your flams, Sir. Mr. Liston may be born where he pleases, Sir; but I -will not be born at Lup--Lupton Magna, for any body's pleasure, Sir. My -son and I have looked over the great map of Kent together, and we can -find no such place as you would palm upon us, Sir; palm upon us, I say. -Neither Magna nor Parva, as my son says, and he knows Latin, Sir; Latin. -If you write my life true, Sir, you must set down, that I, Joseph -Munden, comedian, came into the world upon Allhallows' day, Anno Domini, -1759--1759; no sooner nor later, Sir: and I saw the first light--the -first light, remember, Sir, at Stoke Pogis--Stoke Pogis, comitatu Bucks, -and not at Lup--Lup[ton] Magna, which I believe to be no better than -moonshine--moonshine; do you mark me, Sir? I wonder you can put such -flim flams upon us, Sir; I do, I do. It does not become you, Sir; I say -it--I say it. And my father was an honest tradesman, Sir: he dealt in -malt and hops, Sir, and was a Corporation man, Sir, and of the Church of -England, Sir, and no Presbyterian; nor Ana--Anabaptist, Sir, however you -may be disposed to make honest people believe to the contrary, Sir. Your -bams are found out, Sir. The town will be your stale puts no longer, -Sir; and you must not send us jolly fellows, Sir--we that are comedians, -Sir,--you must not send us into groves and Char--Charnwoods, a moping, -Sir. Neither Charns, nor charnel houses, Sir. It is not our -constitutions, Sir. I tell it you--I tell it you. I was a droll dog from -my cradle. I came into the world tittering, and the midwife tittered, -and the gossips spilt their caudle with tittering. And when I was -brought to the font, the parson could not christen me for tittering. So -I was never more than half baptized. And when I was little Joey, I made -'em all titter; there was not a melancholy face to be seen in Pogis. -Pure nature, Sir. I was born a comedian. Old Screwup, the undertaker, -could tell you, Sir, if he were living. Why, I was obliged to be locked -up every time there was to be a funeral at Pogis. I was--I was, Sir. I -used to _grimace_, at the mutes, as he called it, and put 'em out with -my mops and my mows, till they couldn't stand at a door for me. And when -I was locked up, with nothing but a cat in my company, I followed my -bent with trying to make her laugh, and sometimes she would, and -sometimes she would not. And my schoolmaster could make nothing of me: -I had only to thrust my tongue in my cheek--in my cheek, Sir--and the -rod dropped from his finger: and so my education was limited, Sir. And I -grew up a young fellow, and it was thought convenient to enter me upon -some course of life that should make me serious; but it wouldn't do, -Sir. And I was articled to a drysalter. My father gave forty pounds -premium with me, Sir. I can show the indent--dent--dentures, Sir. But I -was born to be a comedian, Sir: so I ran away, and listed with the -players, Sir; and I topt my parts at Amersham and Gerrard's Cross, and -played my own father to his face, in his own town of Pogis, in the part -of Gripe, when I was not full seventeen years of age, and he did not -know me again, but he knew me afterwards; and then he laughed, and I -laughed, and, what is better, the drysalter laughed, and gave me up my -articles for the joke's sake: so that I came into court afterwards with -clean hands--with clean hands--do you see, Sir? - -[Here the manuscript becomes illegible for two or three sheets onwards, -which we presume to be occasioned by the absence of Mr. Munden, jun. who -clearly transcribed it for the press thus far. The rest (with the -exception of the concluding paragraph, which seemingly is resumed in the -first hand writing) appears to contain a confused account of some -lawsuit, in which the elder Munden was engaged; with a circumstantial -history of the proceedings on a case of Breach of Promise of Marriage, -made to or by (we cannot pick out which) Jemima Munden, spinster, -probably the comedian's cousin, for it does not appear he had any -sister; with a few dates, rather better preserved, of this great actor's -engagements--as "Cheltenham (spelt Cheltnam) 1776;" "Bath, 1779;" -"London, 1789;" together with stage anecdotes of Messrs. Edwin, Wilson, -Lee Lewis, &c. over which we have strained our eyes to no purpose, in -the hope of presenting something amusing to the public. Towards the end -the manuscript brightens up a little, as we have said, and concludes in -the following manner.] - -----stood before them for six and thirty years, [we suspect that Mr. -Munden is here speaking of his final leave-taking of the stage] and to -be dismissed at last. But I was heart-whole, heart-whole to the last, -Sir. What though a few drops did course themselves down the old -veteran's cheeks; who could help it, Sir? I was a giant that night, -Sir; and could have played fifty parts, each as arduous as Dozy. My -faculties were never better, Sir. But I was to be laid upon the shelf. -It did not suit the public to laugh with their old servant any longer, -Sir. [Here some moisture has blotted a sentence or two.] But I can play -Polonius still, Sir; I can, I can. - - Your servant, Sir, - - JOSEPH MUNDEN. - - - - -THE "LEPUS" PAPERS - -(1825) - - -I.--MANY FRIENDS - -Unfortunate is the lot of that man, who can look round about the wide -world, and exclaim with truth, _I have no friend_! Do you know any such -lonely sufferer? For mercy sake send him to me. I can afford him plenty. -He shall have them good, cheap. I have enough and to spare. Truly -society is the balm of human life. But you may take a surfeit from -sweetest odours administered to satiety. Hear my case, dear VARIORUM, -and pity me. I am an elderly gentleman--not old--a sort of -middle-aged-gentleman-and-a-half--with a tolerable larder, cellar, &c.; -and a most unfortunately easy temper for the callous front of -impertinence to try conclusions on. My day times are entirely engrossed -by the business of a public office, where I am any thing but alone from -nine till five. I have forty fellow-clerks about me during those hours; -and, though the human face be divine, I protest that so many human faces -seen every day do very much diminish the homage I am willing to pay to -that divinity. It fares with these divine resemblances as with a -Polytheism. Multiply the object and you infallibly enfeeble the -adoration. "What a piece of work is Man! how excellent in faculty," &c. -But a great many men together--a hot huddle of rational -creatures--Hamlet himself would have lowered his contemplation a peg or -two in my situation. _Tædet me harum quotidianarum formarum._ I go home -every day to my late dinner, absolutely famished and face-sick. I am -sometimes fortunate enough to go off unaccompanied. The relief is -restorative like sleep; but far oftener, alas! some one of my fellows, -who lives _my way_ (as they call it) does me the sociality of walking -with me. He sees me to the door; and now I figure to myself a snug -fire-side--comfortable meal--a respiration from the burthen of -society--and the blessedness of a single knife and fork. I sit down to -my solitary mutton, happy as Adam when a bachelor. I have not swallowed -a mouthful, before a startling ring announces the visit of a _friend_. -O! for an everlasting muffle upon that appalling instrument of torture! -A knock makes me nervous; but a ring is a positive fillip to all the -sour passions of my nature:--and yet such is my effeminacy of -temperament, I neither tie up the one nor dumbfound the other. But these -accursed friends, or fiends, that torture me thus! They come in with a -full consciousness of their being unwelcome--with a sort of grin of -triumph over your weakness. My soul sickens within when they enter. I -can scarcely articulate a "how d'ye." My digestive powers fail. I have -enough to do to maintain them in any healthiness when alone. Eating is a -solitary function; you may drink in company. Accordingly the bottle soon -succeeds; and such is my infirmity, that the reluctance soon subsides -before it. The visitor becomes agreeable. I find a great deal that is -good in him; wonder I should have felt such aversion on his first -entrance; we get chatty, conversible; insensibly comes midnight; and I -am dismissed to the cold bed of celibacy (the only place, alas! where I -am suffered to be alone) with the reflection that another day has gone -over my head without the possibility of enjoying my own free thoughts in -solitude even for a solitary moment. O for a Lodge in some vast -wilderness! the den of those Seven Sleepers (conditionally the other six -were away)--a _Crusoe_ solitude! - -What most disturbs me is, that my chief annoyers are mostly young men. -Young men, let them think as they please, are no company _singly_ for a -gentleman of my years. They do mighty well in a mixed society, and where -there are females to take them off, as it were. But to have the load of -one of them to one's own self for successive hours conversation is -unendurable. - -There was my old friend Captain Beacham--he died some six years since, -bequeathing to my friendship three stout young men, his sons, and seven -girls, the tallest in the land. Pleasant, excellent young women they -were, and for their sakes I did, and could endure much. But they were -too tall. I am superstitious in that respect, and think that to a just -friendship, something like proportion in stature as well as mind is -desirable. Now I am five feet and a trifle more. Each of these young -women rose to six, and one exceeded by two inches. The brothers are -proportionably taller. I have sometimes taken the altitude of this -friendship; and on a modest computation I may be said to have known at -one time a whole furlong of Beachams. But the young women are married -off, and dispersed among the provinces. The brothers are left. Nothing -is more distasteful than these relics and parings of past -friendships--unmeaning records of agreeable hours flown. There are three -of them. If they hunted in triples, or even couples, it were something; -but by a refinement of persecution, they contrive to come singly; and so -spread themselves out into three evenings molestation in a week. Nothing -is so distasteful as the sight of their long legs, couched for -continuance upon my fender. They have been mates of Indiamen; and one of -them in particular has a story of a shark swallowing a boy in the bay of -Calcutta. I wish the shark had swallowed _him_. Nothing can be more -useless than their conversation to me, unless it is mine to them. We -have no ideas (save of eating and drinking) in common. The shark story -has been told till it cannot elicit a spark of attention; but it goes on -just as usual. When I try to introduce a point of literature, or common -life, the mates gape at me. When I fill a glass, they fill one too. Here -is sympathy. And for this poor correspondency of having a gift of -swallowing and retaining liquor in common with my fellow-creatures, I am -to be tied up to an ungenial intimacy, abhorrent from every sentiment, -and every sympathy besides. But I cannot break the bond. They are sons -of my old friend. - - LEPUS - - -II.--READERS AGAINST THE GRAIN - -No one can pass through the streets, alleys, and blindest thoroughfares -of this Metropolis, without surprise at the number of shops opened -everywhere for the sale of cheap publications--not blasphemy and -sedition--nor altogether flimsy periodicals, though the latter abound to -a surfeit--but I mean fair re-prints of good old books. Fielding, -Smollett, the Poets, Historians, are daily becoming accessible to the -purses of poor people. I cannot behold this result from the enlargement -of the reading public without congratulations to my country. But as -every blessing has its wrong side, it is with aversion I behold -springing up with this phenomenon a race of _Readers against the grain_. -Young men who thirty years ago would have been play-goers, -punch-drinkers, cricketers, &c. with one accord are now--Readers!--a -change in some respects, perhaps, salutary; but I liked the old way -best. Then people read because they liked reading. He must have been -indigent indeed, and, as times went then, probably unable to enjoy a -book, who from one little circulating library or another (those -slandered benefactions to the public) could not pick out an odd volume -to satisfy the intervals of the workshop and the desk. Then if a man -told you that he "loved reading mightily, but had no books," you might -be sure that in the first assertion at least he was mistaken. Neither -had he, perhaps, the materials that should enliven a punch-bowl in his -own cellar; but if the rogue loved his liquor, he would quickly find out -where the arrack, the lemons, and the sugar dwelt--he would speedily -find out the circulating shop for them. I will illustrate this from my -own observation. It may detract a little from the gentility of your -columns when I tell your Readers that I am--what I hinted at in my -last--a Bank Clerk. Three and thirty years ago, when I took my first -station at the desk, out of as many fellows in office one or two there -were that had read a little. One could give a pretty good account of the -_Spectator_. A second knew _Tom Jones_. A third recommended -_Telemachus_. One went so far as to quote _Hudibras_, and was looked on -as a phenomenon. But the far greater number neither cared for books, nor -affected to care. They were, as I said, in their leisure hours, -cricketers, punch-drinkers, play-goers, and the rest. Times are altered -now. We are all readers; our young men are split up into so many -book-clubs, knots of literati; we criticise; we read the _Quarterly_ and -_Edinburgh_, I assure you; and instead of the old, honest, unpretending -illiterature so becoming to our profession--we read and _judge_ of -every thing. I have something to do in these book-clubs, and know the -trick and mystery of it. Every new publication that is likely to make a -noise, must be had at any rate. By some they are devoured with avidity. -These would have been readers in the old time I speak of. The only loss -is, that for the good old reading of Addison or Fielding's days is -substituted that never-ending flow of thin novelties which are kept up -like a ball, leaving no possible time for better things, and threatening -in the issue to bury or sweep away from the earth the memory of their -nobler predecessors. We read to say that we have read. No reading can -keep pace with the writing of this age, but we pant and toil after it as -fast as we can. I smile to see an honest lad, who ought to be at -trap-ball, laboring up hill against this giant load, taking his toil for -a pleasure, and with that utter incapacity for reading which _betrays -itself by a certain silent movement of the lips when the reader reads to -himself_, undertaking the infinite contents of fugitive poetry, or -travels, what not--to see them with their snail pace undertaking so vast -a journey as might make faint a giant's speed; keeping a volume, which a -real reader would get through in an hour, three, four, five, six days, -and returning it with the last leaf but one folded down. These are your -readers against the grain, who yet _must_ read or be thought nothing -of--who, crawling through a book with tortoise-pace, go creeping to the -next Review to learn what they shall say of it. Upon my soul, I pity the -honest fellows mightily. The self-denials of virtue are nothing to the -patience of these self tormentors. If I hate one day before another, it -is the accursed first day of the month, when a load of periodicals is -ushered in and distributed to feed the reluctant monster. How it gapes -and takes in its prescribed diet, as little savoury as that which Daniel -ministered to that Apocryphal dragon, and not more wholesome! Is there -no stopping the eternal wheels of the Press for a half century or two, -till the nation recover its senses? Must we _magazine_ it and _review_ -[it] at this sickening rate for ever? Shall we never again read to be -_amused_? but to judge, to criticise, to talk about it and about it? -Farewel, old honest delight taken in books not quite contemporary, -before this plague-token of modern endless novelties broke out upon -us--farewel to reading for its own sake! - -Rather than follow in the train of this insatiable monster of modern -reading, I would forswear my spectacles, play at put, mend pens, kill -fleas, stand on one leg, shell peas, or do whatsoever ignoble diversion -you shall put me to. Alas! I am hurried on in the vortex. I die of new -books, or the everlasting talk about them. I faint of Longman's. I -sicken of the Constables. Blackwood and Cadell have me by the throat. - -I will go and relieve myself with a page of honest John Bunyan, or Tom -Brown. Tom anybody will do, so long as they are not of this whiffling -century. - - Your Old-fashioned Correspondent, - - LEPUS. - - -III.--MORTIFICATIONS OF AN AUTHOR - -If you have a son or daughter inclinable to the folly of Authorship, -pray warn them by my example of the mortifications which are the -constant attendants upon it. I do not advert to the trite instances of -unfair and malignant reviewing, though that is not nothing--but to the -mortifications they may expect from their friends and common -acquaintance. I have been a dabler this way, and cannot resist flinging -out my thoughts occasionally in periodical publications. I was the chief -support of the * * * * * * * * * Magazine while it lasted, under the -signature of OLINDO. All my friends guessed, or rather knew, who OLINDO -was; but I never knew one who did not take a pleasure in affecting to be -ignorant of it. One would ask me, whether I had read that clever article -in the * * * * * * * * * Magazine of this month (and here I began to -prick up my ears) signed "ZEKIEL HOMESPUN."--(Then my ears would flap -down again.)--Another would praise the verses of "X. Y. Z.;" a third -stood up for the "Gipsy Stranger;" a long rambling tale in prose, with -all the lengthiness, and none of the fine-heartedness and gush of soul -of A----n C----m to recommend it. But never in a single instance was -Olindo ever hinted at. I have sifted, I have pumped them (as the vulgar -phrase is) till my heart ached, to extort a pittance of acknowledgment. -I have descended to arts below any animal but _an Author_, who is -veritably the meanest of Heaven's creatures, and my vanity has returned -upon myself ungratified, to choke me. When I could bear their silence -no longer and have ventured to ask them how they liked "such a Paper;" a -cold, "O! was that yours?" is the utmost I ever obtained from them. A -fellow sits at my desk this morning, spelling _The New Times_ over from -head to tail, and I know that he will purposely skip over this article, -because he suspects me to be LEPUS. So confident am I of this, and of -his deliberate purpose to torment me, that I have a great mind to give -you his character--knowing that he will not read it--but I forbear him -at present. They have two ways of doing it. "The * * * * * * * * * -Magazine is very sprightly this month, Anticlericus has some good hits, -the Old Baker is capital," and so forth. Or the same Magazine is -"unusually dull this month," especially when Olindo happens to have an -article better or longer than usual. I publish a book now and then. In -the very nick of its novelty, the honey moon, as it were--when with -pride I have placed my bantling on my own shelves in company with its -betters, a friend will drop in, and ask me if I have anything new; then, -carefully eluding mine, he will take down _The Angel of the World_, or -_Barry Cornwall_, and beg me to lend it him. "He is particularly careful -of new books." But he never borrows _me_. To one Lady I lent a little -Novel of mine, a thing of about two hours' reading at most, and she -returned it after five weeks' keeping, with an apology that she had "so -small time for reading." I found it doubled down at the last leaf but -one--just at the crisis of what I conceived to be a very affecting -catastrophe. O if you _write_, dear Reader, keep the secret inviolable -from your most familiar friends. Do not let your own father, brother, or -your uncle, know it: not even your wife. I know a Lady who prides -herself upon "not reading any of her husband's publications," though she -swallows all the trash she can pick up besides; and yet her husband in -the world's eye is a very respectable author, and has written some -Novels in particular that are in high estimation. Write--and all your -friends will hate you--all will suspect you. Are you happy in drawing a -character? Shew it not for yours. Not one of your acquaintance but will -surmise that you meant him or her--no matter how discordant from their -own. Let it be diametrically different, their fancy will extract from it -some lines of a likeness. I lost a friend--a most valuable one, by -shewing him a whimsical draught of a miser. He himself is remarkable for -generosity, even to carelessness in money matters; but there was an -expression in it, out of Juvenal, about an attic--a place where pigeons -are fed; and my friend kept pigeons. All the waters in the Danube cannot -wash it out of his pate to this day, but that in my miser I was making -reflections upon _him_. To conclude, no creature is so craving after -applause, and so starved and famished for it, as an author: none so -pitiful, and so little pitied. He sets himself up _prima facie_ as -something different from his brethren, and they never forgive him. 'Tis -the fable of the little birds hooting at the bird of Pallas. - - LEPUS. - - -IV.--TOM PRY - -My friend TOM PRY is a kind, warm-hearted fellow, with no one failing in -the world but an excess of the passion of _Curiosity_. He knows every -body's name, face, and domestic affairs. He scents out a match three -months before the parties themselves are quite agreed about it. Like the -man in the play, _homo est_ and no human interest escapes him. I have -sometime wondered how he gets all his information. Mere inquisitiveness -would not do his business. Certainly the bodily make has much to do with -the character. The auricular organs in my friend Tom do not lie flapping -against his head as with common mortals, but they perk up like those of -a hare at form. The lowest sound cannot elude him. Every parlour and -drawing-room is to him a whispering gallery. His own name, pronounced in -the utmost compression of susurration, they say, he catches at a quarter -furlong interval. I suspect sometimes that the faculty of hearing with -him is analogous to the scent in some animals. He seems hung round with -ears, like the pagan emblem of Fame, and to imbibe sounds at every pore. -You cannot take a walk of business or pleasure, but you are taxed with -it by him next morning, with some shrewd guess at the purpose of it. You -dread him as you would an inquisitor, or the ubiquitarian power of the -old Secret Tribunal. He is the bird of the air, who sees the matter. He -has lodgings at a corner house, which looks out four ways; and though -you go a round about way to evade his investigation, you are somehow -seen notwithstanding. He sees at multiplied angles. He is a sort of -second memory to all his friends, an excellent refresher to a dull or -obvious conscience; for he can repeat to you at any given time all that -ever you have done in your life. He should have been a death-bed -confessor. His appetite for information is omnivorous. To get at the -_name_ only of a stranger whom he passes in the street, he counts a -God-send; what further he can pick up is a luxury. His friends joke with -him about his innocent propensity, but the bent of nature is too deeply -burned in to be removed with such forks. _Usque recurrit_. I myself in -particular had been rallying him pretty sharply one day upon the foible, -and it seemed to impress him a little. He asked no more questions that -morning. But walking with him in St. James's Park in the evening, we met -an old Gentleman unknown to him, who bowed to me. I could see that Tom -kept his passion within with great struggles. Silence was observed for -ten minutes, and I was congratulating myself on my friend's mastery over -this inordinate appetite of knowing every thing, when we had not past -the Queen's gate a pace or two, but the fire burnt within him, and he -said, as if with indifference, "By the way, who was that friend of yours -who bowed to you just now?" He has a place in the Post-office, which I -think he chose for the pleasure of reading superscriptions. He is too -honorable a man, I am sure, to get clandestinely at the contents of a -letter not addressed to him, but the outside he cannot resist. It -tickles him. He plays about the flame, as it were; contents himself with -a superficial caress, when he can get at nothing more substantial. He -has a handsome seal, which he keeps to proffer to such of his friends as -have not one in readiness, when they would fold up an epistle; nay, he -will seal it for you, and pays himself by discovering the direction. As -I have no directionary secrets, I generally humour him with pretending -to have left my seal at home (though I carry a rich gold one, which was -my grandfather's, always about me), to gratify his harmless inclination. -He is the cleverest of sealing a letter of any man I ever knew, and -turns out the cleanest impressions. It is a neat but slow operation with -him--he has so much more time to drink in the direction. With all this -curiosity, he is the finest tempered fellow in the world. You may banter -him from morning to night, but never ruffle his temper. We sometimes -raise reports to mislead him, as that such a one is going to be married -next month, &c.; but he has an instinct, as I called it before, which -prevents his yielding to the imposition. He distinguishes _at hearing_ -between giddy rumour and steady report. He listens with dignity, and his -prying is without credulity. - - LEPUS. - - -V.--TOM PRY'S WIFE - -You say you were diverted with my description of the "Curious Man." Tom -is in some respects an amusing character enough, but then it is by no -means uncommon. But what power of words can paint Tom's wife? My pencil -faulters while I attempt it. But I am ambitious that the portraits -should hang side by side: they may set off one another. Tom's passion -for knowledge in the _pursuit_ is intense and restless, but when -satisfied it sits down and seeks no further. He must know all about -every thing, but his desires terminate in mere science. Now as far as -the _pure mathematics_, as they are called, transcend the _practical_, -so far does Tom's curiosity, to my mind, in elegance and -disinterestedness, soar above the craving, gnawing, _mercenary_ (if I -may so call it) inquisitiveness of his wife. - -Mrs. Priscilla Pry must not only know all about your private concerns, -but be as deeply concerned herself for them: she will pluck at the very -heart of your mystery. She must anatomise and skin you, absolutely lay -your feelings bare. Her passions are reducible to two, but those are -stronger in her than in any human creature--_pity_ and _envy_. I will -try to illustrate it. She has intimacy with two families--the Grimstones -and the Gubbins's. The former are sadly pinched to live, the latter are -in splendid circumstances: the former tenant an obscure third floor in -Devereux Court, the latter occupy a stately mansion in May-fair. I have -accompanied her to both these domiciles. She will burst into the -incommodious lodging of poor Grimstone and his wife at some unseasonable -hour, when they are at their meagre dinner, with a "Bless me! what a -dark passage you have! I could hardly find my way up stairs! Isn't there -a drain somewhere? Well, I like to see you at your _little_ bit of -mutton!" But her treat is to catch them at a meal of solitary potatoes. -Then does her sympathy burgeon, and bud out into a thousand flowers of -rhetorical pity and wonder; and it is trumpeted out afterwards to all -her acquaintance, that the poor Grimstones were "making a dinner -without flesh yesterday." The word _poor_ is her favorite; the word (on -my conscience) is endeared to her beyond any monosyllable in the -language. Poverty, in the tone of her compassion, is somehow doubled; it -is emphatically what a dramatist, with some licence, has called _poor -poverty_. It is stark-naked _indigence_, and never in her mind connected -with any mitigating circumstances of self-respect and independence in -the owner, which give to poverty a dignity. It is an object of pure -pity, and nothing else. This is her first way. Change we the scene to -May-fair and the Gubbins's. Suppose it a morning call:-- - -"Bless me!--(for she equally blesses herself against want and -abundance)--what a style you _do_ live in! what elegant curtains! You -must have a great income to afford all these things. I wonder you can -ever visit such poor folks as we!"--with more to the same purpose, which -I must cut short, not to be tedious. She pumps all her friends to know -the exact income of all her friends. Such a one must have a great -salary. Do you think he has as much as eight hundred a year--seven -hundred and fifty perhaps? A wag once told her I had fourteen -hundred--(Heaven knows we Bank Clerks, though with no reason to -complain, in few cases realise that luxury)--and the fury of her wonder, -till I undeceived her, nearly worked her spirits to a fever. Now Pry is -equally glad to get at his friends' circumstances; but his curiosity is -disinterested, as I said, and passionless. No emotions are consequent -upon the satisfaction of it. He is a philosopher who loves knowledge for -its own sake; she is not content with a _lumen siccum_ (dry knowledge, -says Bacon, is best); the success of her researches is nothing, but as -it feeds the two main springs between which her soul is kept in -perpetual conflict--Pity, and Envy. - - LEPUS. - - -VI.--A CHARACTER - -A desk at the Bank of England is _prima facie_ not the point in the -world that seems best adapted for an insight into the characters of men; -yet something may be gleaned from the barrenest soil. There is EGOMET, -for instance. By the way, how pleasant it is to string up one's -acquaintance thus, in the grumbler's corner of some newspaper, and for -them to know nothing at all about it; nay, for them to read their own -characters and suspect nothing of the matter. Blessings on the writer -who first made use of Roman names. It is only calling Tomkins--Caius; -and Jenkins--Titus; or whipping Hopkins upon the back of Scævola, and -you have the pleasure of executing sentence with no pain to the -offender. This hanging in effigy is delightful; it evaporates the spleen -without souring the blood, and is altogether the most gentlemanly piece -of Jack-Ketchery imaginable. - -EGOMET, then, has been my desk-fellow for thirty years. He is a -remarkable species of selfishness. I do not mean that he is attentive to -his own gain; I acquit him of that common-place manifestation of the -foible. I shoot no such small deer. But his sin is a total absorption of -mind in things relating to himself--_his_ house--_his_ horse--_his_ -stable--_his_ gardener, &c. Nothing that concerns himself can he imagine -to be indifferent to you.--He does my sympathy too much honour. The -worst is, he takes no sort of interest whatever in _your_ horse, house, -stable, gardener, &c. If you begin a discourse about your own household -economy and small matters, he treats it with the most mortifying -indifference. He has discarded all pronouns for the first-personal. His -inattention, or rather aversion, to hear, is no more than what is a -proper return to a self-important babbler of his own little concerns; -but then, if he will not give, why should he expect to receive, a -hearing? "There is no reciprocity in this." - -There is an egotism of vanity; but his is not that species either. He is -not vain of any talent, or indeed properly of any thing he possesses; -but his doings and sayings, his little pieces of good or ill luck, the -sickness of his maid, the health of his pony, the question whether he -shall ride or walk home to-day to Clapham, the shape of his hat or make -of his boot; his poultry, and how many eggs they lay daily--are the -never-*ending topics of his talk. _Your_ goose might lay golden eggs -without exciting in him a single curiosity to hear about it. - -He is alike throughout; his large desk, which abuts on mine--_nimium -vicini_, alas! is a vast lumber chest composed of every scrap of most -insignificant paper, even to dinner invitation cards, every fragment -that has been addressed to him, or in any way has concerned himself. My -elbow aches with being perpetually in the way of his sudden jerking it -up, which he does incessantly to hunt for some worthless scrap of the -least possible self-reference; this he does without notice, and without -ceremony. I should like to make a bonfire of the ungainful mass--but I -should not like it either; with it would fall down at once all the -structure of his pride--his fane of Diana, his treasure, his calling, -the business he came into the world to do. - -I said before, he is not avaricious--not egotistical in the vain sense -of the word either; herefore the term selfishness, or egotism, is -improperly applied to his distemper; it is the sin of self-fullness. -Neither is himself, properly speaking, an object of his contemplation at -all; it is the things, which belong or refer to himself. His -conversation is one entire soliloquy; or it may be said to resemble -Robinson Crusoe's self-colloquies in his island: you are the parrot -sitting by. Begin a story, however modest, of your own concerns -(something of real interest perhaps), and the little fellow contracts -and curls up into his little self immediately, and, with shut ears, sits -unmoved, self-centred, as remote from your joys or sorrows as a Pagod or -a Lucretian Jupiter. - - LEPUS. - - - - -REFLECTIONS IN THE PILLORY - -(1825) - - -[About the year 18--, one R----d, a respectable London merchant (since -dead), stood in the pillory for some alleged fraud upon the Revenue. -Among his papers were found the following "Reflections," which we have -obtained by favour of our friend Elia, who knew him well, and had heard -him describe the train of his feelings upon that trying occasion almost -in the words of the MS. Elia speaks of him as a man (with the exception -of the peccadillo aforesaid) of singular integrity in all his private -dealings, possessing great suavity of manner, with a certain turn for -humour. As our object is to present human nature under every possible -circumstance, we do not think that we shall sully our pages by inserting -it.--_Editor_.] - - _Scene, opposite the Royal Exchange_ - - _Time, Twelve to One, Noon_ - -Ketch, my good fellow, you have a neat hand. Prithee, adjust this new -collar to my neck, gingerly. I am not used to these wooden cravats. -There, softly, softly. That seems the exact point between ornament and -strangulation. A thought looser on this side. Now it will do. And have a -care in turning me, that I present my aspect due vertically. I now face -the orient. In a quarter of an hour I shift southward--do you mind?--and -so on till I face the east again, travelling with the sun. No -half-points, I beseech you; N.N. by W. or any such elaborate niceties. -They become the shipman's card, but not this mystery. Now leave me a -little to my own reflections. - -Bless us, what a company is assembled in honour of me! How grand I stand -here! I never felt so sensibly before the effect of solitude in a crowd. -I muse in solemn silence upon that vast miscellaneous rabble in the pit -there. From my private box I contemplate with mingled pity and wonder -the gaping curiosity of those underlings. There are my Whitechapel -supporters. Rosemary Lane has emptied herself of the very flower of her -citizens to grace my show. Duke's place sits desolate. What is there in -my face, that strangers should come so far from the east to gaze upon -it? [_Here an egg narrowly misses him._] That offering was well meant, -but not so cleanly executed. By the tricklings, it should not be either -myrrh or frankincence. Spare your presents, my friends; I am no-ways -mercenary. I desire no missive tokens of your approbation. I am past -those valentines. Bestow these coffins of untimely chickens upon mouths -that water for them. Comfort your addle spouses with them at home, and -stop the mouths of your brawling brats with such Olla Podridas; they -have need of them. [_A brick is let fly._] Discase not, I pray you, nor -dismantle your rent and ragged tenements, to furnish me with -architectural decorations, which I can excuse. This fragment might have -stopped a flaw against snow comes. [_A coal flies._] Cinders are dear, -gentlemen. This nubbling might have helped the pot boil, when your dirty -cuttings from the shambles at three ha'-pence a pound shall stand at a -cold simmer. Now, south about, Ketch. I would enjoy australian -popularity. - -What my friends from over the water! Old benchers--flies of a -day--ephemeral Romans--welcome! Doth the sight of me draw souls from -limbo? Can it dispeople purgatory--ha! - -What am I, or what was my father's house, that I should thus be set up a -spectacle to gentlemen and others? Why are all faces, like Persians at -the sun-rise, bent singly on mine alone? It was wont to be esteemed an -ordinary visnomy, a quotidian merely. Doubtless, these assembled myriads -discern some traits of nobleness, gentility, breeding, which hitherto -have escaped the common observation--some intimations, as it were, of -wisdom, valour, piety, and so forth. My sight dazzles; and, if I am not -deceived by the too familiar pressure of this strange neckcloth that -envelopes it, my countenance gives out lambent glories. For some painter -now to take me in the lucky point of expression!--the posture so -convenient--the head never shifting, but standing quiescent in a sort of -natural frame. But these artizans require a westerly aspect. Ketch, turn -me. - -Something of St. James's air in these my new friends. How my prospects -shift, and brighten! Now if Sir Thomas Lawrence be any where in that -group, his fortune is made for ever. I think I see some one taking out a -crayon. I will compose my whole face to a smile, which yet shall not so -predominate, but that gravity and gaiety shall contend as it were--you -understand me? I will work up my thoughts to some mild rapture--a gentle -enthusiasmus--which the artist may transfer in a manner warm to the -canvass. I will inwardly apostrophize my tabernacle. - -Delectable mansion, hail! House, not made of every wood! Lodging, that -pays no rent; airy and commodious; which, owing no window tax, art yet -all casement, out of which men have such pleasure in peering and -overlooking, that they will sometimes stand an hour together to enjoy -thy prospects! Cell, recluse from the vulgar! Quiet retirement from the -great Babel, yet affording sufficient glimpses into it! Pulpit, that -instructs without note or sermon-book, into which the preacher is -inducted without tenth or first fruit! Throne, unshared and single, that -disdainest a Brentford competitor! Honour without co-rival! Or hearest -thou rather, magnificent theatre in which the spectator comes to see and -to be seen? From thy giddy heights I look down upon the common herd, -who stand with eyes upturned as if a winged messenger hovered over them; -and mouths open, as if they expected manna. I feel, I feel, the true -Episcopal yearnings. Behold in me, my flock, your true overseer! What -though I cannot lay hands, because my own are laid, yet I can mutter -benedictions. True _otium cum dignitate_! Proud Pisgah eminence! -Pinnacle sublime! O Pillory, 'tis thee I sing! Thou younger brother to -the gallows, without his rough and Esau palms; that with ineffable -contempt surveyest beneath thee the grovelling stocks, which claims -presumptuously to be of thy great race. Let that low wood know, that -thou art far higher born! Let that domicile for groundling rogues and -base earth-kissing varlets envy thy preferment, not seldom fated to be -the wanton baiting-house, the temporary retreat, of poet and of patriot. -Shades of Bastwick and of Prynne hover over thee--Defoe is there, and -more greatly daring Shebbeare--from their (little more elevated) -stations they look down with recognitions. Ketch, turn me. - -I now veer to the north. Open your widest gates, thou proud Exchange of -London, that I may look in as proudly! Gresham's wonder, hail! I stand -upon a level with all your kings. They, and I, from equal heights, with -equal superciliousness, o'er-look the plodding, money-hunting tribe -below; who, busied in their sordid speculations, scarce elevate their -eyes to notice your ancient, or my recent, grandeur. The second Charles -smiles on me from three pedestals?[50] He closed the Exchequer: I -cheated the Excise. Equal our darings, equal be our lot. - - [50] A statue of Charles II. by the elder Cibber, adorns the front - of the Exchange. He stands also on high, in the train of his crowned - ancestors, in his proper order, _within_ that building. But the - merchants of London, in a superfœtation of loyalty, have, within a - few years, caused to be erected another effigy of him on the ground - in the centre of the interior. We do not hear that a fourth is in - contemplation.--_Editor_. - -Are those the quarters? 'tis their fatal chime. That the ever-winged -hours would but stand still! but I must descend, descend from this dream -of greatness. Stay, stay, a little while, importunate hour hand! A -moment or two, and I shall walk on foot with the undistinguished many. -The clock speaks one. I return to common life. Ketch, let me out. - - - - -THE LAST PEACH - -(1825) - - -I am the miserablest man living. Give me counsel, dear Editor. I was -bred up in the strictest principles of honesty, and have passed my life -in punctual adherence to them. Integrity might be said to be ingrained -in our family. Yet I live in constant fear of one day coming to the -gallows. - -Till the latter end of last autumn I never experienced these feelings of -self-mistrust which ever since have embittered my existence. From the -apprehension of that unfortunate man whose story began to make so great -an impression upon the public about that time, I date my horrors. I -never can get it out of my head that I shall some time or other commit a -forgery, or do some equally vile thing. To make matters worse I am in a -banking-house. I sit surrounded with a cluster of bank-notes. These were -formerly no more to me than meat to a butcher's dog. They are now as -toads and aspics. I feel all day like one situated amidst gins and -pit-falls. Sovereigns, which I once took such pleasure in counting out, -and scraping up with my little thin tin shovel (at which I was the most -expert in the banking-house), now scald my hands. When I go to sign my -name I set down that of another person, or write my own in a counterfeit -character. I am beset with temptations without motive. I want no more -wealth than I possess. A more contented being than myself, as to money -matters, exists not. What should I fear? - -When a child I was once let loose, by favour of a Nobleman's gardener, -into his Lordship's magnificent fruit garden, with free leave to pull -the currants and the gooseberries; only I was interdicted from touching -the wall fruit. Indeed, at that season (it was the end of Autumn) there -was little left. Only on the South wall (can I forget the hot feel of -the brickwork?) lingered the one last peach. Now peaches are a fruit I -always had, and still have, an almost utter aversion to. There is -something to my palate singularly harsh and repulsive in the flavour of -them. I know not by what demon of contradiction inspired, but I was -haunted by an irresistible desire to pluck it. Tear myself as often as I -would from the spot, I found myself still recurring to it, till, -maddening with desire (desire I cannot call it), with wilfulness -rather--without appetite--against appetite, I may call it--in an evil -hour I reached out my hand, and plucked it. Some few rain drops just -then fell; the sky (from a bright day) became overcast; and I was a type -of our first parents, after the eating of that fatal fruit. I felt -myself naked and ashamed; stripped of my virtue, spiritless. The downy -fruit, whose sight rather than savour had tempted me, dropt from my -hand, never to be tasted. All the commentators in the world cannot -persuade me but that the Hebrew word in the second chapter of Genesis, -translated apple, should be rendered peach. Only this way can I -reconcile that mysterious story. - -Just such a child at thirty am I among the cash and valuables, longing -to pluck, without an idea of enjoyment further. I cannot reason myself -out of these fears: I dare not laugh at them. I was tenderly and -lovingly brought up. What then? Who that in life's entrance had seen the -babe F----, from the lap stretching out his little fond mouth to catch -the maternal kiss, could have predicted, or as much as imagined, that -life's very different exit? The sight of my own fingers torments me; -they seem so admirably constructed for ---- pilfering. Then that jugular -vein, which I have in common----; in an emphatic sense may I say with -David, I am "fearfully made." All my mirth is poisoned by these unhappy -suggestions. If, to dissipate reflection, I hum a tune, it changes to -the "Lamentations of a Sinner." My very dreams are tainted. I awake with -a shocking feeling of my hand in some pocket. - -Advise with me, dear Editor, on this painful heart-malady. Tell me, do -you feel any thing allied to it in yourself? do you never feel an -itching, as it were--a _dactylomania_--or am I alone? You have my honest -confession. My next may appear from Bow-street. - - SUSPENSURUS. - - - - -"ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE" - -(1825) - - -The Odes and Addresses are Thirteen in number. The metre is happily -varied from the familiar epistolary verse to the Eton College stanza, -and loftier parodies of Gray, &c. Among the Great People addressed -are--Graham the Aeronaut, Mr. McAdam, Mrs. Fry, Martin of Galway, R. W. -Elliston, Esq., &c. &c. from which the reader may gather that the -Addresses are not mere unqualified or fulsome dedications. They have, in -fact, a fund of fun. They remind us of Peter Pindar, and sometimes of -Colman; they have almost as much humour, and they have rather more wit. -A too great aim at brilliancy is their excess. We do not think that in -any work there can be too much brilliancy _of the same kind_. We are not -of opinion with those critics who condemn Cowley for excess of wit. We -could have borne with a double portion of it, and have never cried -"Hold." What we allude to is a mixture of _incompatible_ kinds; the -perpetual recurrence of _puns_ in these little effusions of humour; puns -uncalled for, and perfectly gratuitous, a sort of make-weight; puns, -which, if _missed_, leave the sense and the drollery full and perfect -without them. You may read any one of the addresses, and not catch a -quibble in it, and it shall be just as good, nay better; for the -addition of said quibble only serves to puzzle with an unnecessary -double meaning. A pun is good when it can rely on its single self; but, -called in as an accessory, it weakens--unless it _makes_ the humour, it -_enfeebles_ it. All this critical prosing is not quite a fair -introduction to the pleasant specimen we subjoin, from the pleasantest -_morceau_ in the volume, which we throw upon the taste of our -pantomime-going readers, with a hearty confidence in their sympathies. -The subject is no less a one than their and our Joe--the immortal -Grimaldi. - - Joseph! they say thou'st left the stage. - To toddle down the hill of life, - And taste the flannell'd ease of age, - Apart from pantomimic strife-- - - * * * * * - - Ah, where is now thy rolling head! - Thy winking, reeling, _drunken_ eyes, - (As old Catullus would have said,) - Thy oven-mouth, that swallow'd pies-- - Enormous hunger--monstrous drowth!-- - Thy pockets greedy as thy mouth! - - Ah, where thy ears, so often cuff'd!-- - Thy funny, flapping, filching hands!-- - Thy partridge body, always stuff'd - With waifs, and strays, and contrabands!-- - Thy _foot_--like Berkeley's _Foote_--for why? - 'Twas often made to _wipe an eye_! =X= - - Ah, where thy legs--that witty pair! - For "great wits jump"--and so did they! - Lord! how they leap'd in lamp-light air! - Caper'd--and bounc'd--and strode away!-- - That years should tame the legs--alack! - I've seen spring thro' an Almanack! - - But bounds will have their bound =X=--the shocks - Of Time will cramp the nimblest toes: - And those that frisk'd in silken clocks - May look to limp in fleecy hose-- - - * * * * * - - And gout, that owns no odds between - The toe of Czar and toe of Clown, - Will visit--but I did not mean - To moralize, though I am grown - Thus sad.--Thy going seem'd to beat - A muffled drum for Fun's retreat! - - * * * * * - - Oh, how will thy departure cloud - The lamp-light of the little breast! - The Christmas child will grieve aloud - To miss his broadest friend and best,-- - - * * * * * - - For who like thee could ever stride! - Some dozen paces to the mile!-- - The motley, medley _coach_ provide-- - Or like Joe Frankenstein compile - The _vegetable man_ complete!-- - A proper _Covent Garden_ feat! - - Or, who like thee could ever drink, - Or eat,--swill, swallow--bolt--and choke! - Nod, weep, and hiccup--sneeze and wink?-- - Thy very yawn was quite a joke! - Tho' Joseph, Junior, acts not ill, - "There's no Fool like the old Fool" still! - -All that is descriptive here is excellent. It seems to us next in merit -to some of Cibber's dramatic comic portraitures, Joe, the absolute Joe, -lives again in every line. We have just set our mark X against two puns -to exemplify our foregoing remarks. The first of them is a positive stop -to the current of our joyous feelings. What possible analogy, or -contrast even, can there be between a comic gesture of Grimaldi, and the -serious misfortunes of the lady, except in verbal sound purely? The -sound is good, because the humour lies in the pun, and moreover has -reference to Milton's - - ----at one bound - High over leaps all bounds. - -A pun is a humble companion to wit, but disdains to be a train-bearer -merely. But these poems are rich in fancies, which, in truth, needed not -such aid. - - - - -THE RELIGION OF ACTORS - -(1826) - - -The world has hitherto so little troubled its head with the points of -doctrine held by a community, which contributes in other ways so largely -to its amusement, that, before the late mischance of a celebrated tragic -actor, it scarce condescended to look into the practice of any -individual player, much less to inquire into the hidden and abscondite -springs of his actions. Indeed it is with some violence to the -imagination that we conceive of an actor as belonging to the relations -of private life, so closely do we identify these persons in our mind -with the characters which they assume upon the stage. How oddly does it -sound, when we are told that the late Miss Pope, for instance--that is -to say, in our notion of her, _Mrs. Candour_--was a good daughter, an -affectionate sister, and exemplary in all the parts of domestic life! -With still greater difficulty can we carry our notions to church, and -conceive of Liston, kneeling upon a hassock; or Munden uttering a pious -ejaculation, "making mouths at the invisible event." But the times are -fast improving; and, if the process of sanctity begun under the happy -auspices of the present licenser go on to its completion, it will be as -necessary for a comedian to give an account of his faith, as of his -conduct. Fawcett must study the five points; and Dicky Suett, if he were -alive, would have to rub up his catechism. Already the effects of it -begin to appear. A celebrated performer has thought fit to oblige the -world with a confession of his faith; or, BR----'S RELIGIO DRAMATICI. -This gentleman, in his laudable attempt to shift from his person the -obloquy of Judaism, with the forwardness of a new convert, in trying to -prove too much, has, in the opinion of many, proved too little. A simple -declaration of his Christianity was sufficient; but, strange to say, his -apology has not a word about it. We are left to gather it from some -expressions which imply that he is a Protestant; but we did not wish to -inquire into the niceties of his orthodoxy. To his friends of the _old -persuasion_ the distinction was impertinent; for what cares Rabbi Ben -Kimchi for the differences which have split our novelty? To the great -body of Christians that hold the Pope's supremacy--that is to say, to -the major part of the Christian world--his religion will appear as much -to seek as ever. But perhaps he conceived that all Christians are -Protestants, as children and the common people call all that are not -animals, Christians. The mistake was not very considerable in so young a -proselyte; or he might think the general (as logicians speak) involved -in the particular. All Protestants are Christians; but I am a -Protestant; _ergo_, &c. as if a marmoset, contending to be a man, -overleaping that term as too generic and vulgar, should at once roundly -proclaim himself to be a gentleman. The argument would be, as we say, -_ex abundanti_. From whichever cause this _excessus in terminis_ -proceeded, we can do no less than congratulate the general state of -Christendom upon the accession of so extraordinary a convert. Who was -the happy instrument of the conversion, we are yet to learn: it comes -nearest to the attempt of the late pious Doctor Watts to christianize -the Psalms of the Old Testament. Something of the old Hebrew raciness is -lost in the transfusion; but much of its asperity is softened and pared -down in the adaptation. The appearance of so singular a treatise at this -conjuncture has set us upon an inquiry into the present state of -religion upon the stage generally. By the favour of the churchwardens of -Saint Martin's in the Fields, and Saint Paul's Covent-Garden, who have -very readily, and with great kindness, assisted our pursuit, we are -enabled to lay before the public the following particulars.--Strictly -speaking, neither of the two great bodies is collectively a religious -institution. We had expected to have found a chaplain among them, as at -Saint Stephen's, and other court establishments; and were the more -surprised at the omission, as the last [? late] Mr. Bengough, at the one -house, and Mr. Powell at the other, from a gravity of speech and -demeanour, and the habit of wearing black at their first appearances in -the beginning of _fifth_, or the conclusion of _fourth acts_, so -eminently pointed out their qualifications for such office. These -corporations then being not properly congregational, we must seek the -solution of our question in the tastes, attainments, accidental -breeding, and education of the individual members of them. As we were -prepared to expect, a majority at both houses adhere to the religion of -the church established, only that at one of them a pretty strong leaven -of Catholicism is suspected: which, considering the notorious education -of the manager at a foreign seminary, is not so much to be wondered at. -Some have gone so far as to report that Mr. T----y, in particular, -belongs to an order lately restored on the Continent. We can contradict -this: that gentleman is a member of the Kirk of Scotland; and his name -is to be found, much to his honour, in the list of Seceders from the -congregation of Mr. Fletcher. While the generality, as we have said, are -content to jog on in the safe trammels of national orthodoxy, symptoms -of a sectarian spirit have broken out in quarters where we should least -have looked for it. Some of the ladies at both houses are deep in -controverted points. Miss F----e, we are credibly informed, is a _sub_, -and Madame V---- a _supra_-lapsarian. - -Mr. Pope is the last of the exploded sect of the Ranters. Mr. Sinclair -has joined the Shakers. Mr. Grimaldi, Senior, after being long a Jumper, -has lately fallen into some whimsical theories respecting the Fall of -Man; which he understands, not of an allegorical, but a _real tumble_, -by which the whole body of humanity became, as it were, lame to the -performance of good works. Pride he will have to be--nothing but a -stiff-neck; irresolution--the nerves shaken; an inclination to sinister -paths--crookedness of the joints; spiritual deadness--a paralysis; want -of charity--a contraction in the fingers; despising of government--a -broken head; the plaister--a sermon; the lint to bind it up--the text; -the probers--the preachers; a pair of crutches--the old and new law; a -bandage--religious obligation: a fanciful mode of illustration derived -from the accidents and habits of his past calling _spiritualised_, -rather than from any accurate acquaintance with the Hebrew text, in -which report speaks him but a raw scholar.--Mr. Elliston, from all that -we can learn, has his religion yet to choose; though some think him a -Mu[g]gletonian. - - - - -A POPULAR FALLACY - -(1826) - - -_That a deformed person is a lord_.--After a careful perusal of the most -approved works that treat of nobility, and of its origin, in these -realms in particular, we are left very much in the dark as to the -original patent, in which this branch of it is recognised. Neither -Camden in his "Etymologie and Original of Barons," nor Dugdale in his -"Baronage of England," nor Selden (a more exact and laborious enquirer -than either) in his "Titles of Honour," afford[s] a glimpse of -satisfaction upon the subject. There is an heraldic term, indeed, which -seems to imply gentility, and the right to coat armour, (but nothing -further) in persons thus qualified. But the _sinister bend_ is more -probably interpreted, by the best writers on this science, of some -irregularity of birth, than of bodily conformation. Nobility is either -hereditary, or by creation, commonly called patent. Of the former kind, -the title in question cannot be, seeing that the notion of it is limited -to a personal distinction, which does not necessarily follow in the -blood. Honours of this nature, as Mr. Anstey very well observes, descend -moreover in a _right line_. It must be by patent then, if any thing. But -who can show it? How comes it to be dormant? Under what king's reign is -it pretended? Among the grounds of nobility cited by the learned Mr. -Ashmole, after "Services in the Field or in the Council Chamber," he -judiciously sets down "Honours conferred by the sovereign out of mere -benevolence, or as favouring one subject rather than another, for some -likeness or conformity observed (or but supposed) in him to the royal -nature;" and instances the graces showered upon Charles Brandon, who "in -his goodly person being thought not a little to favour the port and -bearing of the king's own majesty, was by that sovereign, King Henry the -Eighth, for some or one of these respects, highly promoted and -preferred." Here, if any where, we thought we had discovered a clue to -our researches. But after a painful investigation of the rolls and -records under the reign of Richard the Third, or Richard Crouchback, as -he is more usually designated in the chronicles, from a traditionary -stoop, or gibbosity in that part,--we do not find that that monarch -conferred any such lordships, as are here pretended, upon any subject, -or subjects, on a simple plea of "conformity" in that respect to the -"royal nature." The posture of affairs in those tumultuous times, -preceding the battle of Bosworth, possibly left him at no leisure to -attend to such niceties. Further than his reign we have not extended our -enquiries; the kings of England who preceded, or followed him, being -generally described by historians to have been of straight and clean -limbs, the "natural derivative (says Daniel[51]) of high blood, if not -its primitive recommendation to such ennoblement, as denoting strength -and martial prowess--the qualities set most by in that fighting age." -Another motive, which inclines us to scruple the validity of this claim, -is the remarkable fact, that none of the persons, in whom the right is -supposed to be vested, do ever insist upon it themselves. There is no -instance of any of them "sueing his patent," as the law-books call it; -much less of his having actually stepped up into his proper seat, as, so -qualified, we might expect that some of them would have had the spirit -to do, in the House of Lords. On the contrary, it seems to be a -distinction thrust upon them. "Their title of Lord (says one of their -own body, speaking of the common people) I never much valued, and now I -entirely despise: and yet they will force it upon me as an honour which -they have a right to bestow, and which I have none to refuse."[52] Upon -a dispassionate review of the subject, we are disposed to believe that -there is no right to the peerage incident to mere bodily configuration; -that the title in dispute is merely honorary, and depending upon the -breath of the common people; which in these realms is so far from the -power of conferring nobility, that the ablest constitutionalists have -agreed in nothing more unanimously, than in the maxim that the King is -the sole fountain of honour. - - [51] History of England, "Temporibus Edwardi Primi et sequentibus." - - [52] Hay on Deformity. - - - - -REMINISCENCES OF JUKE JUDKINS, ESQ., OF BIRMINGHAM - -(1826) - - -I am the only son of a considerable brazier in Birmingham, who dying in -1803, left me successor to the business, with no other incumbrance than -a sort of rent-charge, which I am enjoined to pay out of it, -ninety-three pounds sterling _per annum_ to his widow, my mother; and -which the improving state of the concern, I bless God, has hitherto -enabled me to discharge with punctuality. (I say, I am enjoined to pay -the said sum, but not strictly obligated; that is to say, as the will is -worded, I believe the law would relieve me from the payment of it; but -the wishes of a dying parent should in some sort have the effect of -law.) So that though the annual profits of my business, on an average of -the last three or four years, would appear to an indifferent observer, -who should inspect my shop-books, to amount to the sum of one thousand -three hundred and three pounds, odd shillings, the real proceeds in that -time have fallen short of that sum to the amount of the aforesaid -payment of ninety-three pounds sterling annually. - -I was always my father's favourite. He took a delight to the very last -in recounting the little sagacious tricks, and innocent artifices, of my -childhood. One manifestation thereof I never heard him repeat without -tears of joy trickling down his cheeks. It seems that when I quitted the -parental roof (August 27th, 1788,) being then six years and not quite a -month old, to proceed to the Free School at Warwick, where my father was -a sort of trustee, my mother--as mothers are usually provident on these -occasions--had stuffed the pockets of the coach, which was to convey me -and six more children of my own growth, that were going to be entered -along with me at the same seminary, with a prodigious quantity of -gingerbread, which I remember my father said was more than was needed; -and so indeed it was, for if I had been to eat it all myself, it would -have got stale and mouldy before it had been half spent. The -consideration whereof set me upon my contrivances how I might secure to -myself as much of the gingerbread as would keep good for the next two or -three days, and yet none of the rest in a manner be wasted. I had a -little pair of pocket compasses which I usually carried about me for the -purpose of making draughts and measurements, at which I was always very -ingenious, of the various engines and mechanical inventions, in which -such a town as Birmingham abounded. By the means of these, and a small -penknife, which my father had given me, I cut out the one half of the -cake, calculating that the remainder would reasonably serve my turn, and -subdividing it into many little slices, which were curious to see for -the neatness and niceness of their proportion, I sold it out in so many -pennyworths to my young companions, as served us all the way to Warwick, -which is a distance of some twenty miles from this town; and very merry, -I assure you, we made ourselves with it, feasting all the way. By this -honest stratagem I put double the prime cost of the gingerbread into my -purse, and secured as much as I thought would keep good and moist for my -next two or three days eating. When I told this to my parents on their -first visit to me at Warwick, my father (good man) patted me on the -cheek, and stroked my head, and seemed as if he could never make enough -of me; but my mother unaccountably burst into tears, and said "it was a -very niggardly action," or some such expression, and that "she would -rather it would please God to take me,"--meaning, God help me, that I -should die--"than that she should live to see me grow up a _mean -man_"--which shows the difference of parent from parent, and how some -mothers are more harsh and intolerant to their children than some -fathers; when we might expect quite the contrary. My father, however, -loaded me with presents from that time, which made me the envy of my -schoolfellows. As I felt this growing disposition in them, I naturally -sought to avert it by all the means in my power; and from that time I -used to eat my little packages of fruit, and other nice things, in a -corner so privately, that I was never found out. Once, I remember, I had -a huge apple sent me, of that sort which they call _cats' heads_. I -concealed this all day under my pillow; and at night, but not before I -had ascertained that my bedfellow was sound asleep, which I did by -pinching him rather smartly two or three times, which he seemed to -perceive no more than a dead person, though once or twice he made a -motion as if he would turn, which frightened me--I say, when I had made -all sure, I fell to work upon my apple; and though it was as big as an -ordinary man's two fists, I made shift to get through it before it was -time to get up; and a more delicious feast I never made,--thinking all -night what a good parent I had (I mean my father) to send me so many -nice things, when the poor lad that lay by me had no parent or friend in -the world to send him any thing nice; and thinking of his desolate -condition, I munched and munched as silently as I could, that I might -not set him a longing if he overheard me: and yet for all this -considerateness, and attention to other people's feelings, I was never -much a favourite with my school-fellows, which I have often wondered at, -seeing that I never defrauded any one of them of the value of a -halfpenny, or told stories of them to their master, as some little lying -boys would do, but was ready to do any of them all the services in my -power, that were consistent with my own well doing. I think nobody can -be expected to go further than that. But I am detaining my reader too -long in the recording of my juvenile days. It is time that I should go -forward to a season when it became natural that I should have some -thoughts of marrying, and, as they say, settling in the world. -Nevertheless my reflections on what I may call the boyish period of my -life may have their use to some readers. It is pleasant to trace the man -in the boy; to observe shoots of generosity in those young years, and to -watch the progress of liberal sentiments, and what I may call a genteel -way of thinking, which is discernible in some children at a very early -age, and usually lays the foundation of all that is praiseworthy in the -manly character afterwards. - -With the warmest inclinations towards that way of life, and a serious -conviction of its superior advantages over a single one, it has been the -strange infelicity of my lot, never to have entered into the respectable -estate of matrimony. Yet I was once very near it. I courted a young -woman in my twenty-seventh year--for so early I began to feel symptoms -of the tender passion! She was well to do in the world, as they call it; -but yet not such a fortune as, all things considered, perhaps I might -have pretended to. It was not my own choice altogether; but my mother -very strongly pressed me to it. She was always putting it to me, that "I -had comings in sufficient, that I need not stand upon a portion." Though -the young woman, to do her justice, had considerable expectations, which -yet did not quite come up to my mark, as I told you before. She had this -saying always in her mouth, that "I had money enough, that it was time I -enlarged my housekeeping, and to show a spirit befitting my -circumstances." In short, what with her importunities, and my own -desires _in part_ co-operating--for, as I said, I was not yet quite -twenty-seven--a time when the youthful feelings may be pardoned, if they -show a little impetuosity--I resolved, I say, upon all these -considerations, to set about the business of courting in right earnest. -I was a young man then; and having a spice of romance in my character -(as the reader has doubtless observed long ago), such as that sex is apt -to be taken with, I had reason in no long time to think my addresses -were any thing but disagreeable. - -Certainly the happiest part of a young man's life is the time when he is -going a courting. All the generous impulses are then awake, and he feels -a double existence in participating his hopes and wishes with another -being. Return yet again for a brief moment, ye visionary -views--transient enchantments! ye moonlight rambles with Cleora in the -Silent Walk at Vauxhall--(N.B. about a mile from Birmingham, and -resembling the gardens of that name near London, only that the price of -admission is lower)--when the nightingale has suspended her notes in -June to listen to our loving discourses, while the moon was overhead -(for we generally used to take our tea at Cleora's mother's before we -set out, not so much to save expenses, as to avoid the publicity of a -repast in the gardens, coming in much about the time of half-price, as -they call it)--ye soft intercommunions of soul, when exchanging mutual -vows we prattled of coming felicities! The loving disputes we have had -under those trees, when this house (planning our future settlement) was -rejected, because though cheap it was dull; and the other house was -given up, because though agreeably situated it was too high-rented--one -was too much in the heart of the town, another was too far from -business. These minutiæ will seem impertinent to the aged and the -prudent. I write them only to the young. Young lovers, and passionate as -being young (such were Cleora and I then) alone can understand me. After -some weeks wasted, as I may now call it, in this sort of amorous -colloquy, we at length fixed upon the house in the High-street, No. 203, -just vacated by the death of Mr. Hutton of this town, for our future -residence. I had till that time lived in lodgings (only renting a shop -for business) to be near to my mother; near I say, not in the same house -with her, for that would have been to introduce confusion into our -housekeepings, which it was desirable to keep separate. O, the loving -wrangles, the endearing differences, I had with Cleora, before we could -quite make up our minds to the house that was to receive us--I -pretending for argument sake that the rent was too high, and she -insisting that the taxes were moderate in proportion; and love at last -reconciling us in the same choice. I think at that time, moderately -speaking, she might have had any thing out of me for asking. I do not, -nor shall ever regret that my character at that time was marked with a -tinge of prodigality. Age comes fast enough upon us, and in its good -time will prune away all that is inconvenient in these excesses. Perhaps -it is right that it should do so. Matters, as I said, were ripening to a -conclusion between us, only the house was yet not absolutely taken--some -necessary arrangements, which the ardour of my youthful impetuosity -could hardly brook at that time (love and youth will be -precipitate)--some preliminary arrangements, I say, with the landlord -respecting fixtures--very necessary things to be considered in a young -man about to settle in the world, though not very accordant with the -impatient state of my then passions--some obstacles about the valuation -of the fixtures, had hitherto precluded (and I shall always think -providentially) my final closes with his offer, when one of those -accidents, which, unimportant in themselves, often arise to give a turn -to the most serious intentions of our life, intervened, and put an end -at once to my projects of wiving and of housekeeping. I was never much -given to theatrical entertainments; that is, at no time of my life was I -ever what they call a regular play-goer; but on some occasion of a -benefit-night, which was expected to be very productive, and indeed -turned out so, Cleora expressing a desire to be present, I could do no -less than offer, as I did very willingly, to 'squire her and her mother -to the pit. At that time it was not customary in our town for -tradesfolk, except some of the very topping ones, to sit as they now do -in the boxes. At the time appointed I waited upon the ladies, who had -brought with them a young man, a distant relation, whom it seems they -had invited to be of the party. This a little disconcerted me, as I had -about me barely silver enough to pay for our three selves at the door, -and did not at first know that their relation had proposed paying for -himself. However, to do the young man justice, he not only paid for -himself, but for the old lady besides, leaving me only to pay for two, -as it were. In our passage to the theatre, the notice of Cleora was -attracted to some orange wenches that stood about the doors vending -their commodities. She was leaning on my arm, and I could feel her every -now and then giving me a nudge, as it is called, which I afterwards -discovered were hints that I should buy some oranges. It seems it is a -custom at Birmingham, and perhaps in other places, when a gentleman -treats ladies to the play,--especially when a full night is expected, -and that the house will be inconveniently warm, to provide them with -this kind of fruit, oranges being esteemed for their cooling property. -But how could I guess at that, never having treated ladies to a play -before, and being, as I said, quite a novice at these kind of -entertainments? At last she spoke plain out, and begged that I would buy -some of "those oranges," pointing to a particular barrow. But when I -came to examine the fruit, I did not think that the quality of it was -answerable to the price. In this way I handled several baskets of them, -but something in them all displeased me. Some had thin rinds, and some -were plainly over ripe, which is as great a fault as not being ripe -enough, and I could not (what they call) make a bargain. While I stood -haggling with the women, secretly determining to put off my purchase -till I should get within the theatre, where I expected we should have -better choice, the young man, the cousin, who it seems had left us -without my missing him, came running to us with his pockets stuffed out -with oranges, inside and out, as they say. It seems, not liking the look -of the barrow fruit, any more than myself, he had slipped away to an -eminent fruiterer's about three doors distant, which I never had the -sense to think of, and had laid out a matter of two shillings in some of -the best St. Michael's, I think, I ever tasted. What a little hinge, as -I said before, the most important affairs in life may turn upon! The -mere inadvertence to the fact that there was an eminent fruiterer's -within three doors of us, though we had just passed it without the -thought once occurring to me, which he had taken advantage of, lost me -the affections of my Cleora. From that time she visibly cooled towards -me, and her partiality was as visibly transferred to this cousin. I was -long unable to account for this change in her behaviour, when one day -accidentally discoursing of oranges to my mother alone, she let drop a -sort of reproach to me, as if I had offended Cleora by my _nearness_, as -she called it, that evening. Even now, when Cleora has been wedded some -years to that same officious relation, as I may call him, I can hardly -be persuaded that such a trifle could have been the motive to her -inconstancy; for could she suppose that I would sacrifice my dearest -hopes in her to the paltry sum of two shillings, when I was going to -treat her to the play, and her mother too (an expense of more than four -times that amount), if the young man had not interfered to pay for the -latter, as I mentioned? But the caprices of the sex are past finding -out; and I begin to think my mother was in the right; for doubtless -women know women better than we can pretend to know them. - - ELIA. - - - - -CONTRIBUTIONS TO HONE'S _EVERY-DAY BOOK_ AND _TABLE BOOK_ - -(1825-1827) - - -I.--REMARKABLE CORRESPONDENT - -(1825) - -_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_ - -Sir,--I am the youngest of Three hundred and sixty-six brethren--there -are no fewer of us--who have the honour, in the words of the good old -Song, to call the Sun our Dad. You have done the rest of our family the -favour of bestowing an especial compliment upon each member of it -individually--I mean, as far as you have gone; for it will take you some -time before you can make your bow all round--and I have no reason to -think that it is your intention to neglect any of us but poor Me. Some -you have hung round with flowers; others you have made fine with -martyrs' palms and saintly garlands. The most insignificant of us you -have sent away pleased with some fitting apologue, or pertinent story. -What have I done, that you dismiss me without mark or attribute? What -though I make my public appearance seldomer than the rest of my -brethren? I thought that angels' visits had been accounted the more -precious for their very rarity. Reserve was always looked upon as -dignified. I am seen but once, for four times that my brethren obtrude -themselves; making their presence cheap and contemptible, in comparison -with the state which I keep. - -Am I not a Day (when I do come) to all purposes as much as any of them. -Decompose me, anatomise me; you will find that I am constituted like the -rest. Divide me into twenty-four, and you shall find that I cut up into -as many goodly hours (or main limbs) as the rest. I too have my arteries -and pulses, which are the minutes and the seconds. - -It is hard to be dis-familied thus, like Cinderella in her rags and -ashes, while her sisters flaunted it about in cherry-coloured ribbons -and favors. My brethren forsooth are to be dubbed; one, _Saint_ Day; -another, _Pope_ Day; a third, _Bishop_ Day; the least of them is -_Squire_ Day, or _Mr._ Day, while I am--plain Day. Our house, Sir, is a -very ancient one, and the least of us is too proud to put up with an -indignity. What though I am but a younger brother in some sense--for the -youngest of my brethren is by some thousand years my senior--yet I bid -fair to inherit as long as any of them, while I have the Calendar to -show; which, you must understand, is our Title Deeds. - -Not content with slurring me over with a bare and naked acknowledgement -of my occasional visitation in prose, you have done your best to deprive -me of my verse-honours. In column 310 of your Book, you quote an antique -scroll, leaving out the last couplet, as if on purpose to affront me. -"Thirty days hath September"--so you transcribe very faithfully for four -lines, and most invidiously suppress the exceptive clause:-- - - Except in Leap Year, that's the time - When February's days hath twenty and-- - -I need not set down the rhyme which should follow; I dare say you know -it very well, though you were pleased to leave it out. These indignities -demand reparation. While you have time, it will be well for you to make -the _amende honorable_. Ransack your stores, learned Sir, I pray of you, -for some attribute, biographical, anecdotical, or floral, to invest me -with. Did nobody die, or nobody flourish--was nobody born--upon any of -my periodical visits to this globe? does the world stand still as often -as I vouchsafe to appear? Am I a blank in the Almanac? alms for -oblivion? If you do not find a flower at least to grace me with (a -Forget Me Not would cheer me in my present obscurity), I shall prove the -worst Day to you you ever saw in your life; and your Work, instead of -the Title it now vaunts, must be content (every fourth year at least) to -go by the lame appellation of - -The Every-Day--but--one--Book. - - Yours, as you treat me, - - TWENTY NINTH OF FEBRUARY. - - -II.--CAPTAIN STARKEY - -(1825) - -_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_ - -DEAR SIR, - -I read your account of this unfortunate Being, and his forlorn piece of -self-history, with that smile of half-interest which the Annals of -Insignificance excite, till I came to where he says "I was bound -apprentice to Mr. William Bird, an eminent writer and Teacher of -languages and Mathematics," &c.--when I started as one does on the -recognition of an old acquaintance in a supposed stranger. This then was -that Starkey of whom I have heard my Sister relate so many pleasant -anecdotes; and whom, never having seen, I yet seem almost to remember. -For nearly fifty years she had lost all sight of him--and behold the -gentle Usher of her youth, grown into an aged Beggar, dubbed with an -opprobrious title, to which he had no pretensions; an object, and a May -game! To what base purposes may we not return! What may not have been -the meek creature's sufferings--what his wanderings--before he finally -settled down in the comparative comfort of an old Hospitaller of the -Almonry of Newcastle? And is poor Starkey dead?---- - -I was a scholar of that "eminent writer" that he speaks of; but Starkey -had quitted the school about a year before I came to it. Still the odour -of his merits had left a fragrancy upon the recollection of the elder -pupils. The school-room stands where it did, looking into a discoloured -dingy garden in the passage leading from Fetter Lane into Bartlett's -Buildings. It is still a School, though the main prop, alas! has fallen -so ingloriously; and bears a Latin inscription over the entrance in the -Lane, which was unknown in our humbler times. Heaven knows what -"languages" were taught in it then; I am sure that neither my Sister nor -myself brought any out of it, but a little of our native English. By -"mathematics," reader, must be understood "cyphering." It was in fact a -humble day-school, at which reading and writing were taught to us boys -in the morning, and the same slender erudition was communicated to the -girls, our sisters, &c. in the evening. Now Starkey presided, under -Bird, over both establishments. In my time, Mr. Cook, now or lately a -respectable Singer and Performer at Drury-lane Theatre, and Nephew to -Mr. Bird, had succeeded to him. I well remember Bird. He was a squat, -corpulent, middle-sized man, with something of the gentleman about him, -and that peculiar mild tone--especially while he was inflicting -punishment--which is so much more terrible to children, than the -angriest looks and gestures. Whippings were not frequent; but when they -took place, the correction was performed in a private room adjoining, -whence we could only hear the plaints, but saw nothing. This heightened -the decorum and the solemnity. But the ordinary public chastisement was -the bastinado, a stroke or two on the palm with that almost obsolete -weapon now--the ferule. A ferule was a sort of flat ruler, widened at -the inflicting end into a shape resembling a pear,--but nothing like so -sweet--with a delectable hole in the middle, to raise blisters, like a -cupping-glass. I have an intense recollection of that disused instrument -of torture--and the malignancy, in proportion to the apparent mildness, -with which its strokes were applied. The idea of a rod is accompanied -with something ludicrous; but by no process can I look back upon this -blister-raiser with any thing but unmingled horror.--To make him look -more formidable--if a pedagogue had need of these heightenings--Bird -wore one of those flowered Indian gowns, formerly in use with -schoolmasters; the strange figures upon which we used to interpret into -hieroglyphics of pain and suffering. But boyish fears apart--Bird I -believe was in the main a humane and judicious master. - -O, how I remember our legs wedged in to those uncomfortable sloping -desks, where we sat elbowing each other--and the injunctions to attain a -free hand, unattainable in that position; the first copy I wrote after, -with its moral lesson "Art improves Nature;" the still earlier pothooks -and the hangers some traces of which I fear may yet be apparent in this -manuscript; the truant looks side-long to the garden, which seemed a -mockery of our imprisonment; the prize for best spelling, which had -almost turned my head, and which to this day I cannot reflect upon -without a vanity, which I ought to be ashamed of--our little leaden -inkstands, not separately subsisting, but sunk into the desks; the -bright, punctually-washed morning fingers, darkening gradually with -another and another ink-spot: what a world of little associated -circumstances, pains and pleasures mingling their quotas of pleasure, -arise at the reading of those few simple words--"Mr. William Bird, an -eminent Writer and Teacher of languages and mathematics in Fetter Lane, -Holborn!" - -Poor Starkey, when young, had that peculiar stamp of old-fashionedness -in his face, which makes it impossible for a beholder to predicate any -particular age in the object. You can scarce make a guess between -seventeen and seven and thirty. This antique cast always seems to -promise ill-luck and penury. Yet it seems, he was not always the abject -thing he came to. My Sister, who well remembers him, can hardly forgive -Mr. Thomas Ranson for making an etching so unlike her idea of him, when -he was a youthful teacher at Mr. Bird's school. Old age and poverty--a -life-long poverty she thinks, could at no time have so effaced the marks -of native gentility, which were once so visible in a face, otherwise -strikingly ugly, thin, and care-worn. From her recollections of him, she -thinks that he would have wanted bread, before he would have begged or -borrowed a halfpenny. If any of the girls (she says) who were my -school-fellows should be reading, through their aged spectacles, tidings -from the dead of their youthful friend Starkey, they will feel a pang, -as I do, at ever having teased his gentle spirit. They were big girls, -it seems, too old to attend his instructions with the silence necessary; -and however old age, and a long state of beggary, seem to have reduced -his writing faculties to a state of imbecility, in those days, his -language occasionally rose to the bold and figurative, for when he was -in despair to stop their chattering, his ordinary phrase was, "Ladies, -if you will not hold your peace, not all the powers in heaven can make -you." Once he was missing for a day or two; he had run away. A little -old unhappy-looking man brought him back--it was his father--and he did -no business in the school that day, but sate moping in a corner, with -his hands before his face; and the girls, his tormentors, in pity for -his case, for the rest of that day forbore to annoy him. I had been -there but a few months (adds she) when Starkey, who was the chief -instructor of us girls, communicated to us as a profound secret, that -the tragedy of "Cato" was shortly to be acted by the elder boys, and -that we were to be invited to the representation. That Starkey lent a -helping hand in fashioning the actors, she remembers; and but for his -unfortunate person, he might have had some distinguished part in the -scene to enact; as it was, he had the arduous task of prompter assigned -to him, and his feeble voice was heard clear and distinct, repeating the -text during the whole performance. She describes her recollection of the -cast of characters even now with a relish. Martia, by the handsome Edgar -Hickman, who afterwards went to Africa, and of whom she never afterwards -heard tidings,--Lucia, by Master Walker, whose sister was her particular -friend; Cato, by John Hunter, a masterly declaimer, but a plain boy, and -shorter by the head than his two sons in the scene, &c. In conclusion, -Starkey appears to have been one of those mild spirits, which, not -originally deficient in understanding, are crushed by penury into -dejection and feebleness. He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not -an ornament to Society, if Fortune had taken him into a very little -fostering, but wanting that, he became a Captain--a by-word--and lived, -and died, a broken bulrush. - - C. L. - - -III.--TWELFTH OF AUGUST - -(1825) - -_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_ - -THE HUMBLE PETITION OF AN UNFORTUNATE DAY - -Sir, - -I am a wronged _Day_. I appeal to you as the general patron of the -family of the _Days_. The candour with which you attended to the -expostulations of a poor relative of ours--a sort of cousin thrice -removed[53]--encourages me to hope that you will listen to the complaint -of a _Day_ of rather more consequence. I am the _Day_, Sir, upon which -it pleased the course of nature that your gracious Sovereign should be -born. As such, before his Accession, I was always observed and honoured. -But since that happy event, in which naturally none had a greater -interest than myself, a flaw has been discovered in my title. My lustre -has been eclipsed, and--to use the words of one of your own poets,-- - - I fade into the light of common _day_. - - [53] Twenty-ninth _day_ of February [see page 349]. - -It seems, that about that time, an Impostor crept into Court, who has -the effrontery to usurp my honours, and to style herself the -_King's-birth-Day_, upon some shallow pretence that, being _St. -George's-Day_, she must needs be _King-George's-Day_ also. -_All-Saints-Day_ we have heard of, and _All-Souls-Day_ we are willing to -admit; but does it follow that this foolish _Twenty-third of April_ must -be _All-George's-Day_, and enjoy a monopoly of the whole name from -George of Cappadocia to George of Leyden, and from George-a-Green down -to George Dyer? - -It looks a little oddly that I was discarded not long after the -dismission of a set of men and measures, with whom I have nothing in -common. I hope no whisperer has insinuated into the ears of Royalty, as -if I were any thing Whiggishly inclined, when, in my heart, I abhor all -these kind of Revolutions, by which I am sure to be the greatest -sufferer. - -I wonder my shameless Rival can have the face to let the Tower and Park -Guns proclaim so many big thundering fibs as they do, upon her -Anniversary--making your Sovereign too to be older than he is, by an -hundred and odd _days_, which is no great compliment one would think. -Consider if this precedent for ante-dating of Births should become -general, what confusion it must make in Parish Registers; what crowds of -young heirs we should have coming of age before they are one-and-twenty, -with numberless similar grievances. If these chops and changes are -suffered, we shall have _Lord-Mayor's-Day_ eating her custard -unauthentically in May, and _Guy Faux_ preposterously blazing twice over -in the Dog-_days_. - -I humbly submit, that it is not within the prerogatives of Royalty -itself, to be born twice over. We have read of the supposititious births -of Princes, but where are the evidences of this first Birth? why are not -the nurses in attendance, the midwife, &c. produced?--the silly story -has not so much as a Warming Pan to support it. - -My legal advisers, to comfort me, tell me that I have the right on my -side; that I am the true Birth-_Day_, and the other _Day_ is only kept. -But what consolation is this to me, as long as this naughty-_kept -creature_ keeps me out of my dues and privileges? - -Pray take my unfortunate case into your consideration, and see that I am -restored to my lawful Rejoicings, Firings, Bon-Firings, Illuminations, -&c. - -And your Petitioner shall ever pray, - - _Twelfth Day of August_. - - -IV.--THE ASS - -(1825) - -_For Hone's Every-Day Book_ - -Mr. Collier, in his "Poetical Decameron" (Third Conversation) notices a -Tract, printed in 1595, with the author's initials only, A. B., entitled -"The Noblenesse of the Asse: a work rare, learned, and excellent." He -has selected the following pretty passage from it. "He (the Ass) -refuseth no burthen, he goes whither he is sent without any -contradiction. He lifts not his foote against any one; he bytes not; he -is no fugitive, nor malicious affected. He doth all things in good sort, -and to his liking that hath cause to employ him. If strokes be given -him, he cares not for them; and, as our modern poet singeth, - - 'Thou wouldst (perhaps) he should become thy foe, - And to that end dost beat him many times; - He cares not for himselfe, much lesse thy blow.'"[54] - - [54] Who this modern poet was, says Mr. C., is a secret worth - discovering.--The wood-cut on the title of the Pamphlet is--an Ass - with a wreath of laurel round his neck. - -Certainly Nature, foreseeing the cruel usage which this useful servant -to man should receive at man's hand, did prudently in furnishing him -with a tegument impervious to ordinary stripes. The malice of a child, -or a weak hand, can make feeble impressions on him. His back offers no -mark to a puny foeman. To a common whip or switch his hide presents an -absolute insensibility. You might as well pretend to scourge a -school-boy with a tough pair of leather breeches on. His jerkin is well -fortified. And therefore the Costermongers "between the years 1790 and -1800" did more politicly than piously in lifting up a part of his upper -garment. I well remember that beastly and bloody custom. I have often -longed to see one of those refiners in discipline himself at the cart's -tail, with just such a convenient spot laid bare to the tender mercies -of the whipster. But since Nature has resumed her rights, it is to be -hoped, that this patient creature does not suffer to extremities; and -that to the savages who still belabour his poor carcase with their blows -(considering the sort of anvil they are laid upon) he might in some -sort, if he could speak, exclaim with the philosopher, "Lay on: you beat -but upon the case of Anaxarchus." - -Contemplating this natural safeguard, this fortified exterior, it is -with pain I view the sleek, foppish, combed and curried, person of this -animal, as he is transmuted and disnaturalized at Watering Places, &c. -where they affect to make a palfrey of him. Fie on all such -sophistications!--It will never do, Master Groom. Something of his -honest shaggy exterior will still peep up in spite of you--his good, -rough, native, pineapple coating. You cannot "refine a scorpion into a -fish, though you rince it and scour it with ever so cleanly -cookery."[55] - - [55] Milton: _from memory_. - -The modern poet, quoted by A. B., proceeds to celebrate a virtue, for -which no one to this day had been aware that the Ass was remarkable. - - One other gift this beast hath as his owne, - Wherewith the rest could not be furnished; - On man himselfe the same was not bestowne, - To wit--on him is ne'er engendered - The hatefull vermine that doth teare the skin - And to the bode [body] doth make his passage in. - -And truly when one thinks on the suit of impenetrable armour with which -Nature (like Vulcan to another Achilles) has provided him, these subtle -enemies to _our_ repose, would have shown some dexterity in getting into -_his_ quarters. As the bogs of Ireland by tradition expel toads and -reptiles, he may well defy these small deer in his fastnesses. It seems -the latter had not arrived at the exquisite policy adopted by the human -vermin "between 1790 and 1800." - -But the most singular and delightful gift of the Ass, according to the -writer of this pamphlet, is his _voice_; the "goodly, sweet, and -continual brayings" of which, "whereof they forme a melodious and -proportionable kinde of musicke," seem to have affected him with no -ordinary pleasure. "Nor thinke I," he adds, "that any of our immoderne -musitians can deny, but that their song is full of exceeding pleasure to -be heard; because therein is to be discerned both concord, discord, -singing in the meane, the beginning to sing in large compasse, then -following on to rise and fall, the halfe note, whole note, musicke of -five voices, firme singing by four voices, three together or one voice -and a halfe. Then their variable contrarieties amongst them, when one -delivers forth a long tenor, or a short, the pausing for time, breathing -in measure, breaking the minim or very least moment of time. Last of all -to heare the musicke of five or six voices chaunged to so many of Asses, -is amongst them to heare a song of world without end." - -There is no accounting for ears; or for that laudable enthusiasm with -which an Author is tempted to invest a favourite subject with the most -incompatible perfections. I should otherwise, for my own taste, have -been inclined rather to have given a place to these extraordinary -musicians at that banquet of nothing-less-than-sweet-sounds, imagined by -old Jeremy Collier (Essays, 1698; Part. 2.--On Music.) where, after -describing the inspirating effects of martial music in a battle, he -hazards an ingenious conjecture, whether a sort of _Anti-music_ might -not be invented, which should have quite the contrary effect of "sinking -the spirits, shaking the nerves, curdling the blood, and inspiring -despair, and cowardice and consternation." "Tis probable" he says, "the -roaring of lions, the warbling of cats and screech-owls, together with a -mixture of the howling of dogs, judiciously imitated and compounded, -might go a great way in this invention." The dose, we confess, is pretty -potent, and skilfully enough prepared. But what shall we say to the Ass -of Silenus (quoted by TIMS), who, if we may trust to classic lore, by -his own proper sounds, without thanks to cat or screech-owl, dismaid and -put to rout a whole army of giants? Here was _Anti-music_ with a -vengeance; a whole _Pan-Dis-Harmonicon_ in a single lungs of leather! - -But I keep you trifling too long on this Asinine subject. I have already -past the _Pons Asinorum_, and will desist, remembering the old pedantic -pun of Jem Boyer, my schoolmaster:-- - -Ass _in præsenti_ seldom makes a WISE MAN _in futuro_. - - C. L. - - -V.--IN RE SQUIRRELS - -(1825) - -_For the Every-Day Book_ - -What is gone with the Cages with the climbing Squirrel and bells to -them, which were formerly the indispensable appendage to the outside of -a Tinman's shop, and were in fact the only Live Signs? One, we believe, -still hangs out on Holborn; but they are fast vanishing with the good -old modes of our ancestors. They seem to have been superseded by that -still more ingenious refinement of modern humanity--the Tread-mill; in -which _human_ Squirrels still perform a similar round of ceaseless, -improgressive clambering; which must be nuts to them. - -We almost doubt the fact of the teeth of this creature being so purely -orange-coloured, as Mr. Urban's correspondent gives out. One of our old -poets--and they were pretty sharp observers of nature--describes them as -brown. But perhaps the naturalist referred to meant "of the colour of -the Maltese orange,"[56] which is rather more obfuscated than your fruit -of Seville, or Saint Michael's; and may help to reconcile the -difference. We cannot speak from observation, but we remember at school -getting our fingers into the orangery of one of these little gentry (not -having a due caution of the traps set there), and the result proved -sourer than lemons. The Author of the Task somewhere speaks of their -anger as being "insignificantly fierce," but we found the demonstration -of it on this occasion quite as significant as we desired; and have not -been disposed since to look any of these "gift horses" in the mouth. -Maiden aunts keep these "small deer" as they do parrots, to bite -people's fingers, on purpose to give them good advice "not to venture so -near the cage another time." As for their "six quavers divided into -three quavers and a dotted crotchet," I suppose, they may go into Jeremy -Bentham's next budget of Fallacies, along with the "melodious and -proportionable kinde of musicke," recorded in your last number of -another highly gifted animal [see page 358]. - - C. L. - - [56] Fletcher in the "Faithful Shepherdess."--The Satyr offers to - Clorin, - - --grapes whose lusty blood - Is the learned Poet's good, - Sweeter yet did never crown - The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown - Than the _squirrels' teeth_ that crack them.---- - - -VI.--AN APPEARANCE OF THE SEASON - -(1826) - -Apology will scarcely be required for introducing a character, who at -this season of the year comes forth in renovated honours, and may aptly -be termed one of its _ever-blues_--not a peculiar of either Farringdons, -nor him of Cripplegate, or St. Giles in the Fields, or of any ward or -precinct within the bills: not this or that "good man"--but the -_universal parish beadle_. "How Christmas and consolatory he looks! how -redolent of good cheer is he! He is a cornucopia--an abundance. What -pudding sleeves!--what a collar, red, and like a beef steak, is his! He -is a walking refreshment! He looks like a whole parish, full, -important--but untaxed. The children of charity gaze at him with a -modest smile. The straggling boys look on him with confidence. They do -not pocket their marbles. They do not fly from their familiar gutter. -This is a red letter day; and the cane is reserved for to-morrow." - -For the pleasant verbal description we are indebted to an agreeable -writer in the "London Magazine;"[57] his corporal lineaments are -"borrowed" (with permission) from a new caricature,[58] if it may be -given so low a name, wherein this figure stands out, the very gem and -jewel, in a grouping of characters of all sorts and denominations -assembled with "infinite fancy" and "fun," to illustrate the designer's -views of the age. It is a graphic satire of character rather than -caricatura; mostly of class-characters, not persons; wherein the -ridicule bears heavily, but is broad and comprehensive enough to shift -from one neighbour to another. - - [57] For Dec., 1822. - - [58] The Progress of Cant; designed and etched by one of the authors - of "Odes and Addresses to Great People;" and published by T. - Maclean, Haymarket, L. Relfe, Cornhill; and Dickenson, New - Bond-Street. - - -VII.--THE MONTHS - -(1826) - -_For the Every-Day Book_ - -Rummaging over the contents of an old stall at a half _book_, half _old -iron shop_, in an alley leading from Wardour-street to Soho-square -yesterday, I lit upon a ragged duodecimo, which had been the strange -delight of my infancy, and which I had lost sight of for more than forty -years:--the "QUEEN-LIKE CLOSET, or RICH CABINET:" written by Hannah -Woolly, and printed for R. C. & T. S. 1681; being an abstract of -receipts in cookery, confectionary, cosmetics, needlework, morality, and -all such branches of what were then considered as female -accomplishments. The price demanded was sixpence, which the owner (a -little squab duodecimo of a character himself) enforced with the -assurance that his "own mother should not have it for a farthing less." -On my demurring at this extraordinary assertion, the dirty little vendor -reinforced his assertion with a sort of oath, which seemed more than the -occasion demanded: "and now (said he) I have put my soul to it." Pressed -by so solemn an asseveration, I could no longer resist a demand which -seemed to set me, however unworthy, upon a level with his dearest -relations; and depositing a tester, I bore away the tattered prize in -triumph. I remembered a gorgeous description of the twelve months of the -year, which I thought would be a fine substitute for those poetical -descriptions of them which your _Every-Day Book_ had nearly exhausted -out of Spenser. This will be a treat, thought I, for friend HONE. To -memory they seemed no less fantastic and splendid than the other. But, -what are the mistakes of childhood!--on reviewing them, they turned out -to be only a set of common-place receipts for working the seasons, -months, heathen gods and goddesses, &c. in _samplars_! Yet as an -instance of the homely occupations of our great-grandmothers, they may -be amusing to some readers: "I have seen," says the notable Hannah -Woolly, "such Ridiculous things done in work, as it is an abomination to -any Artist to behold. As for Example: You may find in some Pieces, -_Abraham_ and _Sarah_, and many other Persons of Old time, Cloathed, as -they go now a-daies, and truly sometimes worse; for they most resemble -the Pictures on Ballads. Let all Ingenious Women have regard, that when -they work any Image, to represent it aright. First, let it be Drawn -well, and then observe the Directions which are given by Knowing Men. I -do assure you, I never durst work any Scripture-Story without informing -my self from the Ground of it: nor any other Story, or single Person, -without informing my self both of the Visage and Habit; As followeth. - -"If you work _Jupiter, the Imperial feigned god_, He must have long -Black-Curled-hair, a Purple Garment trimmed with Gold, and sitting upon -a Golden Throne, with bright yellow Clouds about him." - - -The Twelve Months of the Year - -_March:_ - -Is drawn in Tawny, with a fierce aspect, a Helmet upon his head, and -leaning on a Spade, and a Basket of Garden Seeds in his Left hand, and -in his Right hand the Sign of _Aries_; And Winged. - -_April._ - -A Young Man in Green, with a Garland of Mirtle, and Hawthorn-Buds; -Winged; in one hand Primroses and Violets, in the other the Sign -_Taurus_. - -_May._ - -With a sweet and lovely Countenance, clad in a Robe of White and Green, -embroidered with several Flowers, upon his Head a garland of all manner -of Roses; on the one hand a Nightingale, in the other a Lute. His Sign -must be _Gemini_. - -_June._ - -In a Mantle of dark Grass-green, upon his Head a garland of Bents, -Kings-Cups, and Maiden-hair; in his Left hand an Angle, with a box of -Cantharides, in his Right, the Sign _Cancer_, and upon his arms a Basket -of seasonable Fruits. - -_July._ - -In a Jacket of light Yellow, eating Cherries; with his Face and Bosom -Sun-burnt; on his Head a wreath of Centaury and wild Tyme; a Seith on -his shoulder, and a Bottle at his girdle: carrying the Sign _Leo_. - -_August._ - -A Young Man of fierce and Cholerick aspect, in a Flame-coloured Garment; -upon his Head a garland of Wheat and Rye, upon his Arm a Basket of all -manner of ripe Fruits, at his Belt a Sickle. His Sign _Virgo_. - -_September._ - -A merry and cheerful Countenance, in a Purple Robe, upon his Head a -Wreath of red and white Grapes, in his Left hand a handful of Oats, -withal carrying a Horn of Plenty, full of all manner of ripe-Fruits, in -his Right hand the Sign _Libra_. - -_October._ - -In a Garment of Yellow and Carnation, upon his head a garland of -Oak-leaves with Akorns, in his Right hand the Sign _Scorpio_, in his -Left hand a Basket of Medlars, Services, and Chesnuts; and any other -Fruits then in Season. - -_November._ - -In a Garment of Changeable Green and Black upon his Head, a garland of -Olives with the Fruit in his Left hand, Bunches of Parsnips and Turnips -in his Right. His Sign _Sagittarius_. - -_December._ - -A horrid and fearful aspect, clad in Irish-Rags, or coarse Freez girt -unto him, upon his Head three or four Night-Caps, and over them a -Turkish Turbant; his Nose red, his Mouth and Beard clog'd with Isicles, -at his back a bundle of Holly, Ivy or Misletoe, holding in fur'd Mittens -the Sign of _Capricornus_. - -_January._ - -Clad all in White, as the Earth looks with the Snow, blowing his Nails; -in his Left Arm a Billet, the Sign _Aquarius_ standing by his side. - -_February._ - -Cloathed in a dark Skie-colour, carrying in his Right hand the Sign -_Pisces_. - -The following receipt, "_To dress up a Chimney very fine for the Summer -time, as I have done many, and they have been liked very well_" may not -be unprofitable to the house-wives of this century. - -"First, take a pack-thred, and fasten it even to the inner part of the -Chimney, so high as that you can see no higher as you walk up and down -the House; you must drive in several Nails to hold up all your work; -then get good store of old green Moss from Trees, and melt an equal -proportion of Bees-wax and Rosin together, and while it is hot, dip the -wrong ends of the Moss in it, and presently clap it upon your -pack-thred, and press it down hard with your hand; you must make hast, -else it will cool before you can fasten it, and then it will fall down; -do so all round where the pack-thred goes, and the next row you must -joyn to that so that it may seem all in one; thus do till you have -finished it down to the bottom: then take some other kind of Moss, of a -whitish-colour and stiff, and of several sorts or kinds, and place that -upon the other, here and there carelessly, and in some places put a good -deal, and some a little; then any kind of fine Snail-shells, in which -the Snails are dead, and little Toad stools, which are very old, and -look like Velvet, or _any other thing that is old and pretty_; place it -here and there as your fancy serves, and fasten all with Wax and Rosin. -Then for the Hearth of your Chimney, you may lay some Orpan-Sprigs in -order all over, and it will grow as it lies; and according to the -Season, get what flowers you can, and stick in as if they grew, and a -few sprigs of Sweet-Bryer: the Flowers you must renew every Week; but -the Moss will last all the Summer, till it will be time to make a fire; -and the Orpan will last near two Months. A Chimney thus done doth grace -a Room exceedingly." - -One phrase in the above should particularly recommend it to such of your -female readers, as, in the nice language of the day, have done growing -some time: "little toad stools, &c. and any thing that is _old and -pretty_." Was ever antiquity so smoothed over? The culinary recipes have -nothing remarkable in them, besides the costliness of them. Every thing -(to the meanest meats) is sopped in claret, steeped in claret, basted -with claret, as if claret were as cheap as ditch water. I remember Bacon -recommends opening a turf or two in your garden-walks, and pouring into -each a bottle of claret, to recreate the sense of smelling, being no -less grateful than beneficial. We hope the chancellor of the exchequer -will attend to this in his next reduction of French wines, that we may -once more water our gardens with right Bordeaux. The medical recipes are -as whimsical as they are cruel. Our ancestors were not at all effeminate -on this head. Modern sentimentalists would shrink at a cock plucked and -bruised in a mortar alive, to make a cullis; or a live mole baked in an -oven (_be sure it be alive_) to make a powder for consumption.--But the -whimsicalest of all are the directions to servants--(for this little -book is a compendium of all duties,)--the footman is seriously -admonished not to stand lolling against his master's chair, while he -waits at table; for "to lean on a Chair when they wait, is a particular -favour shown to any superior Servant, as the Chief Gentleman, or the -Waiting Woman when she rises from the Table." Also he must not "hold the -Plates before his mouth to be defiled with his Breath, nor touch them on -the right (inner) side." Surely Swift must have seen this little -treatise. - - C. L. - -Hannah concludes with the following address, by which the self-estimate -which she formed of her usefulness, may be calculated:-- - - _Ladies_, I hope you're pleas'd, and so shall I, - If what I've Writ, you may be gainers by: - If not; it is your fault, it is not mine, - Your benefit in this I do design. - Much labour and much time it hath me cost, - Therefore I beg, let none of it be lost. - The Mony you shall pay for this my Book, - You'l not repent of, when in it you look. - No more at present to you I shall say, - But wish you all the happiness I may. - - H. W. - - -VIII.--REMINISCENCE OF SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN - -(1826) - -_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_ - -To your account of sir Jeffery Dunstan in columns 829-30 (where, by an -unfortunate Erratum the effigies of _two Sir Jefferys_ appear, when the -uppermost figure is clearly meant for sir Harry Dimsdale) you may add, -that the writer of this has frequently met him in his latter days, about -1790 or 1791, returning in an evening, after his long day's itinerancy, -to his domicile--a wretched shed in the most beggarly purlieu of Bethnal -Green, a little on this side the Mile-end Turnpike. The lower figure in -that leaf most correctly describes his then appearance, except that no -graphic art can convey an idea of the general squalor of it, and of his -bag (his constant concomitant) in particular. Whether it contained "old -wigs" at that time I know not, but it seemed a fitter repository for -bones snatched out of kennels, than for any part of a Gentleman's dress -even at second hand. - -The Ex-member for Garrat was a melancholy instance of a great man whose -popularity is worn out. He still carried his sack, but it seemed a part -of his identity rather than an implement of his profession; a badge of -past grandeur; could any thing have divested him of _that_, he would -have shown a "poor forked animal" indeed. My life upon it, it contained -no curls at the time I speak of. The most decayed and spiritless -remnants of what was once a peruke would have scorned the filthy case; -would absolutely have "burst its cearments." No, it was empty, or -brought home bones, or a few cinders possibly. A strong odour of burnt -bones, I remember, blended with the scent of horse-flesh seething into -dog's meat, and only relieved a little by the breathings of a few brick -kilns, made up the atmosphere of the delicate suburban spot, which this -great man had chosen for the last scene of his earthly vanities. The cry -of "old wigs" had ceased with the possession of any such fripperies; his -sack might have contained not unaptly a little mould to scatter upon -that grave, to which he was now advancing; but it told of vacancy and -desolation. His quips were silent too, and his brain was empty as his -sack; he slank along, and seemed to decline popular observation. If a -few boys followed him, it seemed rather from habit, than any expectation -of fun. - - Alas! how changed from _him_, - The life of humour, and the soul of whim, - Gallant and gay on Garrat's hustings proud. - -But it is thus that the world rewards its favourites in decay. What -faults he had, I know not. I have heard something of a peccadillo or so. -But some little deviation from the precise line of rectitude, might have -been winked at in so tortuous and stigmatic a frame. Poor Sir Jeffery! -it were well if some M.P.'s in earnest had passed their parliamentary -existence with no more offences against integrity, than could be laid to -thy charge! A fair dismissal was thy due, not so unkind a degradation; -some little snug retreat, with a bit of green before thine eyes, and not -a burial alive in the fetid beggaries of Bethnal. Thou wouldst have -ended thy days in a manner more appropriate to thy pristine dignity, -installed in munificent mockery (as in mock honours you had lived)--a -Poor Knight of Windsor! - -Every distinct place of public speaking demands an oratory peculiar to -itself. The forensic fails within the walls of St. Stephen. Sir Jeffery -was a living instance of this, for in the flower of his popularity an -attempt was made to bring him out upon the stage (at which of the winter -theatres I forget, but I well remember the anecdote) in the part of -_Doctor Last_. The announcement drew a crowded house; but -notwithstanding infinite tutoring--by Foote, or Garrick, I forget -which--when the curtain drew up, the heart of Sir Jeffery failed, and he -faultered on, and made nothing of his part, till the hisses of the house -at last in very kindness dismissed him from the boards. Great as his -parliamentary eloquence had shown itself; brilliantly as his off-hand -sallies had sparkled on a hustings; they here totally failed him. -Perhaps he had an aversion to borrowed wit; and, like my Lord -Foppington, disdained to entertain himself (or others) with the forced -products of another man's brain. Your man of quality is more diverted -with the natural sprouts of his own. - - C. L. - - -IX--MRS. GILPIN RIDING TO EDMONTON - -(1827) - - Then Mrs. Gilpin sweetly said - Unto her children three, - "I'll clamber o'er this style so high, - And you climb after me." - - But having climb'd unto the top, - She could no further go, - But sate, to every passer by - A spectacle and show. - - Who said "Your spouse and you this day - Both show your horsemanship, - And if you stay till he comes back, - Your horse will need no whip." - -[Illustration] - -The sketch, here engraved, (probably from the poet's friend Romney,) was -found with the above three stanzas in the hand-writing of Cowper, among -the papers of the late Mrs. Unwin. It is to be regretted that no more -was found of this little _Episode_, as it evidently was intended to be, -to the "Diverting History of Johnny Gilpin." It is to be supposed that -Mrs. Gilpin, in the interval between dinner and tea, finding the time to -hang upon her hands, during her husband's involuntary excursion, rambled -out with the children into the fields at the back of the Bell, (as what -could be more natural?) and at one of those high aukward styles, for -which Edmonton is so proverbially famed, the embarrassment represented, -so mortifying to a substantial City Madam, might have happened; a -predicament, which leaves her in a state, which is the very Antipodes to -that of her too loco-motive husband; in fact she rides a restive -horse.--Now I talk of Edmonton styles, I must speak a little about those -of Enfield, its next neighbour, which are so ingeniously -contrived--every rising bar to the top becoming more protuberant than -the one under it--that it is impossible for any Christian climber to get -over, without bruising his (or her) shins as many times as there are -bars. These inhospitable invitations to a flayed skin, are planted so -thickly too, and are so troublesomely importunate at every little -paddock here, that this, with more propriety than Thebes of old, might -be entitled Hecatompolis: the Town of the Hundred Gates, or _styles_. - - A SOJOURNER AT ENFIELD. - - July 16, 1827. - - -X.--THE DEFEAT OF TIME; - -OR, A TALE OF THE FAIRIES - -(1827) - -Titania, and her moonlight Elves, were assembled under the canopy of a -huge oak, that served to shelter them from the moon's radiance, which, -being now at her full noon, shot forth intolerable rays--intolerable, I -mean, to the subtil texture of their little shadowy bodies--but -dispensing an agreeable coolness to us grosser mortals. An air of -discomfort sate upon the Queen, and upon her Courtiers. Their tiny -friskings and gambols were forgot; and even Robin Goodfellow, for the -first time in his little airy life, looked grave. For the Queen had had -melancholy forebodings of late, founded upon an ancient Prophecy, laid -up in the records of Fairy Land, that the date of Fairy existence -should be _then_ extinct, when men should cease to believe in them. And -she knew how that the race of the Nymphs, which were her predecessors, -and had been the Guardians of the sacred floods, and of the silver -fountains, and of the consecrated hills and woods, had utterly -disappeared before the chilling touch of man's incredulity; and she -sighed bitterly at the approaching fate of herself and of her subjects, -which was dependent upon so fickle a lease, as the capricious and ever -mutable faith of man. When, as if to realise her fears, a melancholy -shape came gliding in, and _that_ was--TIME, who with his intolerable -scythe mows down Kings and Kingdoms; at whose dread approach the Fays -huddled together, as a flock of timorous sheep, and the most courageous -among them crept into acorn cups, not enduring the sight of that -ancientest of Monarchs. Titania's first impulse was to wish the presence -of her false Lord, King Oberon, who was far away, in the pursuit of a -strange Beauty, a Fay of Indian Land--that with his good lance and -sword, like a faithful knight and husband, he might defend her against -TIME. But she soon checked that thought as vain, for what could the -prowess of the mighty Oberon himself, albeit the stoutest Champion in -Fairy Land, have availed against so huge a Giant, whose bald top touched -the skies. So in the mildest tone she besought the Spectre, that in his -mercy he would overlook, and pass by, her small subjects, as too -diminutive and powerless to add any worthy trophy to his renown. As she -besought him to employ his resistless strength against the ambitious -Children of Men, and to lay waste their aspiring works, to tumble down -their towers and turrets, and the Babels of their pride, fit objects of -his devouring Scythe, but to spare her and her harmless race, who had no -existence beyond a dream; frail objects of a creed; that lived but in -the faith of the believer. And with her little arms, as well as she -could, she grasped the stern knees of TIME, and waxing speechless with -fear, she beckoned to her chief attendants, and Maids of Honour, to come -forth from their hiding places, and to plead the Plea of the Fairies. -And one of those small delicate creatures came forth at her bidding, -clad all in white like a Chorister, and in a low melodious tone, not -louder than the hum of a pretty bee--when it seems to be demurring -whether it shall settle upon this sweet flower or that, before it -settles--set forth her humble Petition. "We Fairies," she said, "are the -most inoffensive race that live, and least deserving to perish. It is -we that have the care of all sweet melodies, that no discords may offend -the Sun, who is the great Soul of Music. We rouse the lark at morn; and -the pretty Echos, which respond to all the twittering quire, are of our -making. Wherefore, great King of Years, as ever you have loved the music -which is raining from a morning cloud, sent from the messenger of day, -the Lark, as he mounts to Heaven's gate, beyond the ken of mortals; or -if ever you have listened with a charmed ear to the Night Bird, that - - in the flowery spring, - Amidst the leaves set, makes the thickets ring - Of her sour sorrows, sweeten'd with her song: - -spare our tender tribes; and we will muffle up the sheep-bell for thee, -that thy pleasure take no interruption, whenever thou shall listen unto -Philomel." - -And TIME answered, that "he had heard that song too long; and he was -even wearied with that ancient strain, that recorded the wrongs of -Tereus. But if she would know in what music TIME delighted, it was, when -sleep and darkness lay upon crowded cities, to hark to the midnight -chime, which is tolling from a hundred clocks, like the last knell over -the soul of a dead world; or to the crush of the fall of some age-worn -edifice, which is as the voice of himself when he disparteth kingdoms." - -A second female Fay took up the Plea, and said, "We be the handmaids of -the Spring, and tend upon the birth of all sweet buds; and the pastoral -cowslips are our friends, and the pansies; and the violets, like nuns; -and the quaking hare-bell is in our wardship; and the Hyacinth, once a -fair youth, and dear to Phœbus." - -Then TIME made answer, in his wrath striking the harmless ground with -his hurtful scythe, that "they must not think that he was one that cared -for flowers, except to see them wither, and to take her beauty from the -rose." - -And a third Fairy took up the Plea, and said, "We are kindly Things; and -it is we that sit at evening, and shake rich odours from sweet bowers -upon discoursing lovers, that seem to each other to be their own sighs; -and we keep off the bat, and the owl, from their privacy, and the -ill-boding whistler; and we flit in sweet dreams across the brains of -infancy, and conjure up a smile upon its soft lips to beguile the -careful mother, while its little soul is fled for a brief minute or two -to sport with our youngest Fairies." - -Then SATURN (which is TIME) made answer, that "they should not think -that he delighted in tender Babes, that had devoured his own, till -foolish Rhea cheated him with a Stone, which he swallowed, thinking it -to be the infant Jupiter." And thereat in token he disclosed to view his -enormous tooth, in which appeared monstrous dints, left by that -unnatural meal; and his great throat, that seemed capable of devouring -up the earth and all its inhabitants at one meal. "And for Lovers," he -continued, "my delight is, with a hurrying hand to snatch them away from -their love-meetings by stealth at nights, and to ravish away hours from -them like minutes whilst they are together, and in absence to stand like -a motionless statue, or their leaden Planet of mishap (whence I had my -name), till I make their minutes seem ages." - -Next stood up a male fairy, clad all in green, like a forester, or one -of Robin Hood's mates, and doffing his tiny cap, said, "We are small -foresters, that live in woods, training the young boughs in graceful -intricacies, with blue snatches of the sky between; we frame all shady -roofs and arches rude; and sometimes, when we are plying our tender -hatches, men say, that the tapping wood-pecker is nigh: and it is we -that scoop the hollow cell of the squirrel; and carve quaint letters -upon the rinds of trees, which in sylvan solitudes sweetly recall to the -mind of the heat-oppressed swain, ere he lies down to slumber, the name -of his Fair One, Dainty Aminta, Gentle Rosalind, or Chastest Laura, as -it may happen." - -SATURN, nothing moved with this courteous address, bade him be gone, or -"if he would be a woodman, to go forth, and fell oak for the Fairies' -coffins, which would forthwith be wanting. For himself, he took no -delight in haunting the woods, till their golden plumage (the yellow -leaves) were beginning to fall, and leave the brown black limbs bare, -like Nature in her skeleton dress." - -Then stood up one of those gentle Fairies, that are good to Man, and -blushed red as any rose, while he told a modest story of one of his own -good deeds. "It chanced upon a time," he said, "that while we were -looking cowslips in the meads, while yet the dew was hanging on the -buds, like beads, we found a babe left in its swathing clothes--a -little sorrowful deserted Thing; begot of Love, but begetting no love -in others; guiltless of shame, but doomed to shame for its parents' -offence in bringing it by indirect courses into the world. It was pity -to see the abandoned little orphan, left to the world's care by an -unnatural mother, how the cold dew kept wetting its childish coats; and -its little hair, how it was bedabbled, that was like gossamer. Its -pouting mouth, unknowing how to speak, lay half opened like a rose-lipt -shell, and its cheek was softer than any peach, upon which the tears, -for very roundness, could not long dwell, but fell off, in clearness -like pearls, some on the grass, and some on his little hand, and some -haply wandered to the little dimpled well under his mouth, which Love -himself seemed to have planned out, but less for tears than for -smilings. Pity it was, too, to see how the burning sun scorched its -helpless limbs, for it lay without shade, or shelter, or mother's -breast, for foul weather or fair. So having compassion on its sad -plight, my fellows and I turned ourselves into grasshoppers, and swarmed -about the babe, making such shrill cries, as that pretty little chirping -creature makes in its mirth, till with our noise we attracted the -attention of a passing rustic, a tender-hearted hind, who wondering at -our small but loud concert, strayed aside curiously, and found the babe, -where it lay on the remote grass, and taking it up, lapt it in his -russet coat, and bore it to his cottage, where his wife kindly nurtured -it, till it grew up a goodly personage. How this Babe prospered -afterwards, let proud London tell. This was that famous Sir Thomas -Gresham, who was the chiefest of her Merchants, the richest, the wisest. -Witness his many goodly vessels on the Thames, freighted with costly -merchandise, jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, and silks of -Samarcand. And witness more than all, that stately Bourse (or Exchange) -which he caused to be built, a mart for merchants from East and West, -whose graceful summit still bears, in token of the Fairies' favours, his -chosen crest, the Grasshopper. And, like the Grasshopper, may it please -you, great King, to suffer us also to live, partakers of the green -earth!" - -The Fairy had scarce ended his Plea, when a shrill cry, not unlike the -Grasshopper's, was heard. Poor Puck--or Robin Goodfellow, as he is -sometimes called--had recovered a little from his first fright, and in -one of his mad freaks had perched upon the beard of old TIME, which was -flowing, ample, and majestic, and was amusing himself with plucking at a -hair, which was indeed so massy, that it seemed to him that he was -removing some huge beam of timber rather than a hair; which TIME by some -ill chance perceiving, snatched up the Impish Mischief with his great -hand, and asked "What it was?" - -"Alas!" quoth Puck, "A little random Elf am I, born in one of Nature's -sports, a very weed, created for the simple sweet enjoyment of myself, -but for no other purpose, worth, or need, that ever I could learn. 'Tis -I, that bob the Angler's idle cork, till the patient man is ready to -breathe a curse. I steal the morsel from the Gossip's fork, or stop the -sneezing Chanter in mid Psalm; and when an infant has been born with -hard or homely features, mothers say, that I changed the child at nurse; -but to fulfil any graver purpose I have not wit enough, and hardly the -will. I am a pinch of lively dust to frisk upon the wind, a tear would -make a puddle of me, and so I tickle myself with the lightest straw, and -shun all griefs that might make me stagnant. This is my small -philosophy." - -Then TIME, dropping him on the ground, as a thing too inconsiderable for -his vengeance, grasped fast his mighty Scythe; and now not Puck alone, -but the whole State of Fairies had gone to inevitable wreck and -destruction, had not a timely Apparition interposed, at whose boldness -TIME was astounded, for he came not with the habit, or the forces, of a -Deity, who alone might cope with TIME, but as a simple Mortal, clad as -you might see a Forester, that hunts after wild coneys by the cold -moonshine; or a Stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold. But by the -golden lustre in his eye, and the passionate wanness in his cheek, and -by the fair and ample space of his forehood [forehead], which seemed a -palace framed for the habitation of all glorious thoughts, he knew that -this was his great Rival, who had power given him to rescue whatsoever -victims Time should clutch, and to cause them to live for ever in his -immortal verse. And muttering the name of SHAKSPEARE, TIME spread his -Roc-like wings, and fled the controuling presence. And the liberated -Court of the Fairies, with Titania at their head, flocked around the -gentle Ghost, giving him thanks, nodding to him, and doing him -curtesies, who had crowned them henceforth with a permanent existence, -to live in the minds of men, while verse shall have power to charm, or -Midsummer moons shall brighten. - - * * * * * - -What particular endearments passed between the Fairies and their Poet, -passes my pencil to delineate; but if you are curious to be informed, I -must refer you, gentle reader, to the "Plea of the [Midsummer] Fairies," -a most agreeable Poem, lately put forth by my friend, Thomas Hood: of -the first half of which the above is nothing but a meagre, and a harsh, -prose-abstract. Farewell. - - ELIA. - - _The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo._ - - - - -AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH - -(1827) - - -Charles Lamb born in the Inner Temple 10 Feb. 1775 educated in Christ's -Hospital afterwards a clerk in the Accountants office East India House -pensioned off from that service 1825 after 33 years service, is now a -Gentleman at large, can remember few specialities in his life worth -noting except that he once caught a swallow flying (_teste suâ manu_); -below the middle stature, cast of face slightly Jewish, with no Judaic -tinge in his complexional religion; stammers abominably and is therefore -more apt to discharge his occasional conversation in a quaint aphorism -or a poor quibble than in set and edifying speeches; has consequently -been libelled as a person always aiming at wit, which, as he told a dull -fellow that charged him with it, is at least as good as aiming at -dulness; a small eater but not drinker; confesses a partiality for the -production of the juniper berry, was a fierce smoker of Tobacco, but may -be resembled to a volcano burnt out, emitting only now and then a casual -puff. Has been guilty of obtruding upon the Public a Tale in Prose, -called Rosamund Gray, a Dramatic Sketch named John Woodvil, a Farewell -Ode to Tobacco, with sundry other Poems and light prose matter, -collected in Two slight crown Octavos and pompously christened his -Works, tho' in fact they were his Recreations and his true works may be -found on the shelves of Leadenhall Street, filling some hundred Folios. -He is also the true Elia whose Essays are extant in a little volume -published a year or two since; and rather better known from that name -without a meaning, than from anything he has done or can hope to do in -his own. He also was the first to draw the Public attention to the old -English Dramatists in a work called "Specimens of English Dramatic -Writers who lived about the time of Shakspeare," published about 15 -years since. In short all his merits and demerits to set forth would -take to the end of Mr. Upcott's book and then not be told truly. He -died[59] 18---- much lamented. - -Witness his hand, CHARLES LAMB. - -10th Apr 1827. - - [59] To any Body--Please to fill up these blanks. - - - - -SHAKSPEARE'S IMPROVERS - -(1828) - - -_To the Editor of The Spectator_ - -Sir,--Partaking in your indignation at the sickly stuff interpolated by -Tate in the genuine play of _King Lear_, I beg to lay before you certain -kindred enormities that you may be less aware of, which that co-dilutor -of Sternhold and Hopkins,[60] with his compeers, were suffered--nay, -encouraged--by an English public of a century and a half ago, to -perpetrate upon the dramas of Shakspeare. I speak from imperfect -recollection of one of these _new versions_ which I have seen, namely, -_Coriolanus_--by the same hand which touched up _King Lear_; in which -he, the said Nahum, not deeming his author's catastrophe enough -striking, makes _Aufidius_ (if my memory fail me not) violate the -person of the wife, and mangle the body of the little son, of his Roman -rival! Shadwell, another improver, in _his_ version of _Timon of -Athens_, a copy of which (167-7/8) is lying before me, omits the -character of _Flavius_, the kind-hearted Steward--that fine exception to -the air of general perfidy in the play, which would else be too -oppressive to reader or spectator; and substitutes for it a _kind -female_, who is supposed to be attached to _Timon_ to the last: thus -making the moral of the piece to consist in showing--not the hollowness -of friendships conciliated by a mere undistinguishing prodigality, -but--the superiority of woman's love to the friendships of men. -_Evandra_ too has a rival in the affections of the noble Athenian. So -impossible did these blockheads imagine it to be, to interest the -feelings of an audience without an _intrigue_, that the misanthrope -_Timon_ must whine, and the daughterly _Cordelia_ must whimper, their -love affections, before they could hope to touch the gentle hearts in -the boxes! Had one of these gentry taken in hand to improve the fine -Scriptural story of Joseph and his Brethren, we should have had a love -passion introduced, to make the mere _fraternal interest_ of the piece -go down--an episode of the amours of Reuben, or Issachar, with the fair -Mizraim of Egypt.--Thus _Evandra_ closes the eyes of Shadwell's dying -_Timon_; who, it seems, has poisoned himself. - - [60] New Version of the Singing Psalms, by Nahum Tate, and Nicholas - Brady. - - _Evan._ Oh my dear Lord! why do you stoop and bend - Like flowers o'ercharged with dew, whose yielding stalks - Cannot support them? - _Timon._ So now my weary pilgrimage on earth - Is almost finish'd! Now, my best Evandra, - I charge thee by our loves, our mutual loves, - Live, and live happy after me; and if - A thought of Timon comes into thy mind, - And brings a tear from thee-- - (_What then? why then_) - --let some diversion - Banish it.-- - -And so, after some more drivel of the same stamp, the noble _Timon_ -dies. And was not this a dainty dish to set before an audience of the -Duke's Theatre in the year 167-7/8? Yet Betterton then acted _Timon_, -and his wife _Evandra_. - -I now come to the London acting edition of _Macbeth_ of the same date, -1678 (played, if I remember, by the same players, at the same house); -from which I made a few rough extracts, when I visited the British -Museum for the sake of selecting from the "Garrick Plays." As I can -scarcely expect to be believed upon my own word, as to what our -ancestors at that time were willing to accept for Shakspeare, I refer -the reader to that collection to verify my report. Who the improver was -in this instance, we are left to guess, for the title-page leaves us to -conjecture. Possibly the players, each one separately, contributed his -new reading, which was silently adopted. Flesh and blood could not at -this time of day submit to a thorough perusal of the thing; but, from a -glance or two of casual inspection, I am enabled to lay before the -reader a few flowers. In one of the lyric parts, _Hecate_ is made to -say-- - - ----on a corner of the moon - A drop my _spectacles_ have found. - I'll catch it. - -_Hecate_, the solemn president of classic enchantments, thence adopted -into the romantic--the tri-form Hecate--wearing spectacles to assist old -sight!--(No. 4 or No. 5, as the opticians class them, is not said)--one -may as well fancy Cerberus in a bran new collar, or the "dreaded name of -Demogorgon" in jack-boots. Among the "ingredients of the caldron," is -enumerated, not a tiger's, but--what reader?-- - - ----a _Dutchman's_ chawdron! - -We were about that time engaged in a war with Holland.--Again, _Macduff_ -being about to journey across the heath--the "blasted heath"--answers -his lady, who courteously demands of him, "Are you a-foot?"-- - - Knowing the way to be both short and easy, - And that the _chariot_ did attend me here, - I have adventured---- - -From which we may infer, that the Thane of Fife lived as a nobleman -ought to do, and--kept a carriage. Again, the same nobleman, on the -morning after _Duncan's_ murder, says:--"Rising this morning early, I -went to look out of my window. I could scarce see further than my -breath." And indeed the original author informs us, that it had been a -"rough night;" so that the improver does not wander far from his text. -The exquisite familiarity of this prose patch was doubtlessly intended -by the improver to break the tiresome monotony of Shakspeare's blank -verse. In conclusion, _Lady Macbeth_ is brought in _repentant_, and -counselling her husband to give up the crown for conscience -sake!--_Item_, she sees a ghost, which is all the time invisible to him. -Such was the _Macbeth_ which Betterton acted, and a contemporary -audience took on trust for Shakspeare's. - - C. L. - - - - -SATURDAY NIGHT - -(1829) - - -There is a Saturday Night--I speak not to the admirers of -Burns--erotically or theologically considered; HIS of the "Cotter's" may -be a very charming picture, granting it to be but half true. Nor speak I -now of the Saturday Night at Sea, which Dibdin hath dressed up with a -gusto more poignant to the mere nautical palate of un-Calvanized South -Britons. Nor that it is marketing night with the pretty tripping -Servant-maids all over London, who, with judicious and economic eye, -select the white and well-blown fillet, that the blue-aproned contunder -of the calf can safely recommend as "prime veal," and which they are to -be sure not to over-brown on the morrow. Nor speak I of the hard-handed -Artisan, who on this night receives the pittance which is to furnish the -neat Sabbatical dinner--not always reserved with Judaical rigor for that -laudable purpose, but broken in upon, perchance, by inviting pot of ale, -satisfactory to the present orifice. These are alleviatory, -care-consoling. But the Hebdomadal Finale which I contemplate hath -neither comfort nor alleviation in it; I pronounce it, from memory, -altogether punitive, and to be abhorred. It is--Saturday Night to the -School-boy! - -Cleanliness, saith some sage man, is next to Godliness. It may be; but -how it came to sit so very near, is the marvel. Methinks some of the -more human virtues might have put in for a place before it. -Justice--Humanity--Temperance--are positive qualities; the courtesies -and little civil offices of life, had I been Master of the Ceremonies to -that Court, should have sate above the salt in preference to a mere -negation. I confess there is something wonderfully refreshing, in warm -countries, in the act of ablution. Those Mahometan washings--how cool to -the imagination! but in all these superstitions, the action itself, if -not the duty, is voluntary. But to be washed perforce; to have a -detestable flannel rag soaked in hot water, and redolent of the very -coarsest coarse soap, ingrained with hard beads for torment, thrust into -your mouth, eyes, nostrils--positively Burking you, under pretence of -cleansing--substituting soap for dirt, the worst dirt of the two--making -your poor red eyes smart all night, that they might look out brighter on -the Sabbath morn, for their clearness was the effect of pain more than -cleanliness.--Could this be true religion? - -The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. I am always disposed to add, -so are those of Grandmothers. _Mine_--the Print has made her look rather -too young--had never-failing pretexts of tormenting children for their -good. I was a chit then; and I well remember when a fly had got into a -corner of my eye, and I was complaining of it to her, the old Lady -deliberately pounded two ounces or more of the finest loaf sugar that -could be got, and making me hold open the eye as wide as I could--all -innocent of her purpose--she blew from delicate white paper, with a full -breath, the whole saccharine contents into the part afflicted, saying, -"There, now the fly is out." 'Twas most true--a legion of blue-bottles, -with the prince of flies at their head, must have dislodged with the -torrent and deluge of tears which followed. I kept my own counsel, and -my fly in my eye when I had got one, in future, without troubling her -dulcet applications for the remedy. Then her medicine-case was a perfect -magazine of tortures for infants. She seemed to have no notion of the -comparatively tender drenches which young internals require--her potions -were any thing but milk for babes. Then her sewing up of a cut -finger--pricking a whitloe before it was ripe, because she could not see -well,--with the aggravation of the pitying tone she did it in. - -But of all her nostrums--rest her soul--nothing came up to the Saturday -Night's flannel--that rude fragment of a Witney blanket--Wales spins -none so coarse--thrust into the corners of a weak child's eye with soap -that might have absterged an Ethiop, whitened the hands of Duncan's -She-murderer, and scowered away Original Sin itself. A faint image of -my penance you see in the Print--but the Artist has sunk the -flannel--the Age, I suppose, is too nice to bear it: and he has faintly -shadowed the expostulatory suspension of the razor-strap in the hand of -my Grandfather, when my pains and clamours had waxed intolerable. Peace -to the Shades of them both! and if their well-meaning souls had need of -cleansing when they quitted earth, may the process of it have been -milder than that of my old Purgatorial Saturday Night's path to the -Sabbatical rest of the morrow! - - NEPOS. - - - - -ESTIMATE OF DE FOE'S SECONDARY NOVELS - -(1829) - - -It has happened not seldom that one work of some author has so -transcendantly surpassed in execution the rest of his compositions, that -the world has agreed to pass a sentence of dismissal upon the latter, -and to consign them to total neglect and oblivion. It has done wisely in -this, not to suffer the contemplation of excellencies of a lower -standard to abate, or stand in the way of the pleasure it has agreed to -receive from the master-piece. - -Again it has happened, that from no inferior merit of execution in the -rest, but from superior good fortune in the choice of its subject, some -single work shall have been suffered to eclipse, and cast into shade the -deserts of its less fortunate brethren. This has been done with more or -less injustice in the case of the popular allegory of Bunyan, in which -the beautiful and scriptural image of a pilgrim or wayfarer (we are all -such upon earth), addressing itself intelligibly and feelingly to the -bosoms of all, has silenced, and made almost to be forgotten, the more -awful and scarcely less tender beauties of the "Holy War made by Shaddai -upon Diabolus," of the same author; a romance less happy in its subject, -but surely well worthy of a secondary immortality. But in no instance -has this excluding partiality been exerted with more unfairness than -against what may be termed the secondary novels or romances of De Foe. - -While all ages and descriptions of people hang delighted over the -"Adventures of Robinson Crusoe," and shall continue to do so we trust -while the world lasts, how few comparatively will bear to be told, that -there exist other fictitious narratives by the same writer--four of them -at least of no inferior interest, except what results from a less -felicitous choice of situation. Roxana--Singleton--Moll -Flanders--Colonel Jack--are all genuine offspring of the same father. -They bear the veritable impress of De Foe. An unpractised midwife that -would not swear to the nose, lip, forehead, and eye, of every one of -them! They are in their way as full of incident, and some of them every -bit as romantic; only they want the uninhabited Island, and the charm -that has bewitched the world, of the striking solitary situation. - -But are there no solitudes out of the cave and the desert? or cannot the -heart in the midst of crowds feel frightfully alone? Singleton, on the -world of waters, prowling about with pirates less merciful than the -creatures of any howling wilderness; is he not alone, with the faces of -men about him, but without a guide that can conduct him through the -mists of educational and habitual ignorance; or a fellow-heart that can -interpret to him the new-born yearnings and aspirations of unpractised -penitence? Or when the boy Colonel Jack, in the loneliness of the heart -(the worst solitude), goes to hide his ill-purchased treasure in the -hollow tree by night, and miraculously loses, and miraculously finds it -again--whom hath he there to sympathise with him? or of what sort are -his associates? - -The narrative manner of De Foe has a naturalness about it, beyond that -of any other novel or romance writer. His fictions have all the air of -true stories. It is impossible to believe, while you are reading them, -that a real person is not narrating to you every where nothing but what -really happened to himself. To this, the extreme _homeliness_ of their -style mainly contributes. We use the word in its best and heartiest -sense--that which comes _home_ to the reader. The narrators everywhere -are chosen from low life, or have had their origin in it; therefore they -tell their own tales, (Mr. Coleridge has anticipated us in this remark,) -as persons in their degree are observed to do, with infinite repetition, -and an overacted exactness, lest the hearer should not have minded, or -have forgotten, some things that had been told before. Hence the -emphatic sentences marked in the good old (but deserted) Italic type; -and hence, too, the frequent interposition of the reminding old -colloquial parenthesis, "I say"--"mind"--and the like, when the -story-teller repeats what, to a practised reader, might appear to have -been sufficiently insisted upon before: which made an ingenious critic -observe, that his works, in this kind, were excellent reading for the -kitchen. And, in truth, the heroes and heroines of De Foe, can never -again hope to be popular with a much higher class of readers, than that -of the servant-maid or the sailor. Crusoe keeps its rank only by tough -prescription; Singleton, the pirate--Colonel Jack, the thief--Moll -Flanders, both thief and harlot--Roxana, harlot and something -worse--would be startling ingredients in the bill of fare of modern -literary delicacies. But, then, what pirates, what thieves, and what -harlots is _the thief_, _the harlot_, and _the pirate_ of De Foe? We -would not hesitate to say, that in no other book of fiction, where the -lives of such characters are described, is guilt and delinquency made -less seductive, or the suffering made more closely to follow the -commission, or the penitence more earnest or more bleeding, or the -intervening flashes of religious visitation, upon the rude and -uninstructed soul, more meltingly and fearfully painted. They, in this, -come near to the tenderness of Bunyan; while the livelier pictures and -incidents in them, as in Hogarth or in Fielding, tend to diminish that -"fastidiousness to the concerns and pursuits of common life, which an -unrestrained passion for the ideal and the sentimental is in danger of -producing." - - - - -CLARENCE SONGS - -(1830) - -_To the Editor of The Spectator_ - - -Sir,--You have a question in your paper, what songs, and whether any of -any value, were written upon Prince WILLIAM, our present Sovereign. Can -it have escaped you, that the very popular song and tune of "Sweet lass -of Richmond Hill" had reference to a supposed partiality of that Prince -for a lass of Richmond? I have heard who she was, but now forget. I -think it was a damsel of quality. I remember, when I was a schoolboy at -Christ's Hospital, about eight-and-forty years since, having had my -hearing stunned with the burthen (which alone I retain) of some ballad -in praise and augury of the Princely Midshipman:-- - - "He's royal, he's noble, he's chosen by _me_,[61] - Britain's Isle to protect, and reign Lord of the Sea!" - -and my old ears yet ring with it. - - [61] It is Neptune who predicts this. - -Allusions to the same personage were at that time rife in innumerable -ballads, under the notion of a _sweet William_; but the ballads are -obliterated. The song of "Sweet William Taylor, walking with his lady -gay"--from the identity of names, I suppose--usually followed the -Neptunian song. The late TOM SHERIDAN bears away the credit of this. But -was it possible he could have been the author of it in 1782 or 1783? -Perhaps he made it his own by communicating a deeper tinge of vulgarity -to it, exchanging "William" for "Billy." I think the rogue snugged it in -as his own, hoping it was a forgotten ditty. - - C. L. - - -CLARENCE SONGS.--No. II - - -Sir,--A friend has just reminded me of a ballad made on occasion of some -shipboard scrape into which our Royal Midshipman had fallen; in which, -with a _romantic licence_, the rank of the young sailor is supposed to -have been unknown, and a corporal infliction about to have been put into -execution. This is all he can recover of it. He was - - ----"order'd to undress, Sir! - But very soon they did espy - The star upon his breast, Sir: - And on their knees they soon did fall, - And all for mercy soon did call." - -The burden was "Long live Duke William," or something to that effect. So -you see, his Majesty has enjoyed his laureats by anticipation. - - C. L. - -I know the town swarmed with these Clarence songs in the heyday of his -young popularity. Where are they? - - - - -RECOLLECTIONS OF A LATE ROYAL ACADEMICIAN - -(1831) - - -What Apelles was to the _Grecian Alexander_, the same to the _Russian_ -was the late G---- D----. None but Apelles might attempt the lineaments -of the world's conqueror; none but our Academician could have done -justice to the lines of the Czar, and his Courtiers. There they hang, -the labour of ten plodding years, in an endless gallery, erected for the -nonce, in the heart of Imperial Petersburgh--eternal monuments of -barbarian taste submitting to half-civilized cunning--four hundred -fierce Half-Lengths, all male, and all military; like the pit in a -French theatre, or the characters in Timon as it was last acted, with -never a woman among them. Chaste sitters to Vandyke, models of grace and -womanhood; and thou Dame Venetia Digby, fairest among thy fair compeers -at Windsor, hide your pure pale cheeks, and cool English beauties, -before this suffocating horde of Scythian riflers, this male chaos! Your -cold oaken frames shall wane before the gorgeous buildings, - - With Tartar faces thronged, and horrent uniforms. - -One emperor contended for the monopoly of the _ancient_; two were -competitors at once for the pencil of the _modern Apelles_. The Russian -carried it against the Haytian by a single length. And if fate, as it -was at one time nearly arranged, had wafted D. to the shores of -Hayti--with the same complacency in his art, with which he persisted in -daubing in, day after day, his frozen Muscovites, he would have sate -down for life to smutch in upon canvass the faces of blubber-lipped -sultanas, or the whole male retinue of the dingy court of Christophe. -For in truth a choice of subjects was the least of D.'s care. A Goddess -from Cnidus, or from the Caffre coast, was equal to him; Lot, or Lot's -wife; the charming widow H., or her late husband. - -My acquaintance with D. was in the outset of his art, when the graving -tools, rather than the pencil, administered to his humble wants. Those -implements, as is well known, are not the most favourable to the -cultivation of that virtue, which is esteemed next to godliness. He -might "wash his hands in innocency," and so metaphorically "approach an -altar;" but his material puds were any thing but fit to be carried to -church. By an ingrained economy in soap--if it was not for pictorial -effect rather--he would wash (on Sundays) the inner oval, or portrait, -as it may be termed, of his countenance, leaving the unwashed temples to -form a natural black frame round a picture, in which a dead white was -the predominant colour. This, with the addition of green spectacles, -made necessary by the impairment, which his graving labours by day and -night (for he was ordinarily at them for sixteen hours out of the -twenty-four) had brought upon his visual faculties, gave him a singular -appearance, when he took the air abroad; in so much, that I have seen a -crowd of young men and boys following him along Oxford-street with -admiration, not without shouts; even as the Youth of Rome, we read in -Vasari, followed the steps of Raphael with acclamations for his genius, -and for his beauty, when he proceeded from his work-shop to chat with -Cardinals and Popes at the Vatican. - -The family of D. were not at this time in affluent circumstances. His -father, a clever artist, had outlived the style of art, in which he -excelled most of his contemporaries. He, with the father of the -celebrated Morland, worked for the shop of Carrington and Bowles, which -exists still for the poorer sort of caricatures, on the North side of -St. Paul's Church Yard. They did clever things in colours. At an inn in -Reading a screen is still preserved, full of their labours; but the -separate portions of either artist are now undistinguishable. I remember -a Mother teaching her Child to read (B. Barton has a copy of it); a -Laundress washing; a young Quaker, a beautiful subject. But the flower -of their forgotten productions hangs still at a public house on the left -hand, as thou arrivest, Reader, from the now Highgate archway, at the -foot of the descent where Crouch End begins, on thy road to green -Hornsey. Turn in, and look at it, for the sight is well worth a cup of -excusatory cyder. In the parlour to the right you will find it--an -antiquated subject--a Damsel sitting at her breakfast table in a gown of -the flowered chintz of our grandmothers, with a tea-service before her -of the _same pattern_. The effect is most delicate. Why have these -harmonies--these _agrémens_--no place in the works of modern art? - -With such niceties in his calling D. did not much trouble his head, but, -after an ineffectual experiment to reconcile his eye-sight with his -occupation, boldly quitted it, and dashed into the beaten road of -common-place portraiture in oil. The Hopners, and the Lawrences, were -his Vandykes, and his Velasquezes; and if he could make any thing like -them, he insured himself immortality. With such guides he struggled on -through laborious nights and days, till he reached the eminence he aimed -at--of mediocrity. Having gained that summit, he sate down contented. If -the features were but cognoscible, no matter whether the flesh resembled -flesh, or oilskin. For the thousand tints--the grains--which in life -diversify the nose, the chin, the cheek--which a Reynolds can but -coarsely counterfeit--he cared nothing at all about them. He left such -scrupulosities to opticians and anatomists. If the features were but -there, the character of course could not be far off. A lucky hit which -he made in painting the _dress_ of a very dressy lady--Mrs. W--e--, -whose handsome countenance also, and tall elegance of shape, were too -palpable entirely to escape under any masque of oil, with which even D. -could overlay them--brought to him at once, an influx of sitters, which -almost rivalled the importunate calls upon Sir Thomas. A portrait, he -_did_ soon after, of the Princess Charlotte, clenched his fame. He -proceeded Academician. At that memorable conjuncture of time it pleased -the Allied Sovereigns to visit England. - -I called upon D. to congratulate him upon a crisis so doubly eventful. -His pleasant housekeeper seemed embarrassed; owned that her master was -alone. But could he be spoken with? With some importunity I prevailed -upon her to usher me up into his painting-room. It was in Newman-street. -At his easel stood D., with an immense spread of canvas before him, and -by his side a--live Goose. I enquired into this extraordinary -combination. Under the rose he informed me, that he had undertaken to -paint a transparency for Vauxhall, against an expected visit of the -Allied Sovereigns to that place. I smiled at an engagement so -derogatory to his new-born honours; but a contempt of small gains was -never one of D.'s foibles. My eyes beheld crude forms of warriors, -kings, rising under his brush upon this interminable stretch of cloth. -The Wolga, the Don, and the Nieper, were there, or their representative -River Gods; and Father Thames clubbed urns with the Vistula. Glory with -her dazzling Eagle was not absent, nor Fame, nor Victory. The shade of -Rubens might have evoked the mighty allegories. But what was the Goose? -He was evidently _sitting_ for a something. - -D. at last informed me, that having fixed upon a group of rivers, he -could not introduce the Royal Thames without his _swans_. That he had -enquired the price of a live swan, and it being more than he was -prepared to give for it, he had bargained with the poulterer for the -_next thing to it_; adding significantly, that it would do to roast, -after it had served its turn to paint swans by. _Reader, this is a true -story._ - -So entirely devoid of imagination, or any feeling for his high art, was -this _Painter_, that for the few historical pictures he attempted, any -sitter might sit for any character. He took once for a subject _The -Infant Hercules_. Did he chuse for a model some robust antique? No. He -did not even pilfer from Sir Joshua, who was nearer to his own size. But -from a _show_ he hired to sit to him a child in years indeed, (though no -Infant,) but in fact a precocious _Man_, or human portent, that was -disgustingly exhibiting at that period; a thing to be strangled. From -this he formed _his_ Infant Hercules. In a scriptural flight he next -attempted a Sampson in the lap of Dalilah. A Dalilah of some sort was -procureable for love or money, but who should stand for the Jewish -Hercules? He hired a tolerably stout porter, with a thickish head of -hair, curling in yellowish locks, but lithe--much like a wig. And these -were the robust strengths of Sampson. - -I once was a witness to a _family scene_ in his painting closet, which I -had entered rather abruptly, and but for his encouragement, should as -hastily have retreated. He stood with displeased looks eyeing a female -relative--whom I had known under happier auspices--that was kneeling at -his feet with a baby in her arms, with her eyes uplifted and suppliant. -Though I could have previously sworn to the virtue of Miss ----, yet -casual slips have been known. There are such things as families -disgraced, where least you would have expected it. The child _might_ be -----; I had heard of no wedding--I was the last person to pry into -family secrets--when D. relieved my uneasy cogitations by explaining, -that the innocent, good-humoured creature before me (such as she ever -was, and is now that she is married) with a baby borrowed from the -public house, was acting Andromache to _his_ Ulysses, for the purpose of -transferring upon canvas a tender situation from the Troades of Seneca. - -On a subsequent occasion I knocked at D.'s door. I had chanced to have -been in a dreamy humour previously. I am not one that often poetises, -but I had been musing--coxcombically enough in the heart of -Newman-street, Oxford Road--upon Pindus, and the Aonian Maids. The Lover -of Daphne was in my mind--when, answering to my summons, the door -opened, and there stood before me, laurel-crowned, the God himself, -unshorn Apollo. I was beginning to mutter apologies to the Celestial -Presence--when on the thumb of the right hand of the Delian (his left -held the harp) I spied a pallet, such as painters carry, which -immediately reconciled me to the whimsical transformation of my old -acquaintance--with his own face, certainly any other than -Grecianesque--into a temporary image of the oracle-giver of Delphos. To -have impersonated the Ithacan was little; he had been just sitting for a -God.--It would be no incurious enquiry to ascertain what the _minimum_ -of the faculty of imagination, ever supposed essential to painters along -with poets, is, that, in these days of complaints of want of patronage -towards the fine arts, suffices to dub a man a R----l A----n. - -Not only had D. no imagination to guide him in the treatment of such -subjects, but he had no relish for high art in the productions of the -great masters. He turned away from them as from something foreign and -irrelative to him, and his calling. He knew he had neither part nor -portion in them. Cozen him into the Stafford or the Angerstein Gallery, -he involuntarily turned away from the Baths of Diana--the Four Ages of -Guercino--the Lazarus of Piombo--to some petty piece of _modern art_ -that had been inconsistently thrust into the collection through favour. -On that he would dwell and pore, blind as the dead to the delicacies -that surrounded him. There he might learn something. There he might -pilfer a little. There was no grappling with Titian, or Angelo. - -The narrowness of his domestic habits to the very last, was the -consequence of his hard bringing up, and unexpected emergence into -opulence. While rolling up to the ears in Russian rubles, a penny was -still in his eyes the same important thing, which it had with some -reason seemed to be, when a few shillings were his daily earnings. When -he visited England a short time before his death, he reminded an artist -of a commission, which he had executed for him in Russia, the package of -which was "still unpaid." At this time he was not unreasonably supposed -to have realized a sum little short of half a million sterling. What -became of it was never known; what gulf, or what Arctic _vorago_, sucked -it in, his acquaintance in those parts have better means of guessing, -than his countrymen. It is certain that few of the latter were any thing -the better for it. - -It was before he expatriated himself, but subsequently to his -acquisition of pictorial honours in this country, that he brought home -two of his brother Academicians to dine with him. He had given no orders -extraordinary to his housekeeper. He trusted, as he always did, to her -providing. She was a shrewd lass, and knew, as we say, a bit of her -master's mind. - -It had happened that on the day before, D. passing near Clare Market by -one of those open shambles, where tripe and cow-heel are exposed for -sale, his eye was arrested by the sight of some tempting flesh _rolled -up_. It is a part of the intestines of some animal, which my olfactory -sensibilities never permitted me to stay long enough to enquire the name -of. D. marked the curious involutions of the unacquainted luxury; the -harmony of its colours--a _sable vert_--pleased his eye; and, warmed -with the prospect of a new flavour, for a few farthings he bore it off -in triumph to his housekeeper. It so happened that his day's dinner was -provided, so the cooking of the novelty was for that time necessarily -suspended. - -Next day came. The hour of dinner approached. His visitors, with no very -romantic anticipations, expected a plain meal at least; they were -prepared for no new dainties; when, to the astonishment of them, and -almost of D. himself, the purchase of the preceding day was served up -piping hot--the cook declaring, that she did not know well what it was, -for "her master always marketed." His guests were not so happy in their -ignorance. They kept dogs. - -I will do D. the justice to say, that on such occasions he took what -happened in the best humour possible. He had no _false modesty_--though -I have generally observed, that persons, who are quite deficient in that -_mauvais[e] honte_, are seldom over-troubled with the quality itself, of -which it is the counterfeit. - -By what arts, with _his_ pretensions, D. contrived to wriggle himself -into a seat in the Academy, I am not acquainted enough with the -intrigues of that body (more involved than those of an Italian conclave) -to pronounce. It is certain, that neither for love to him, nor out of -any respect to his talents, did they elect him. Individually he was -obnoxious to them all. I have heard that, in his passion for attaining -this object, he went so far as to go down upon his knees to some of the -members, whom he thought least favourable, and beg their suffrage with -many tears. - -But _death_, which extends the measure of a man's stature to appearance; -and _wealth_, which men worship in life and death, which makes giants of -punies, and embalms insignificance; called around the exequies of this -pigmy Painter the rank, the riches, the fashion of the world. By -Academic hands his pall was borne; by the carriages of nobles of the -land, and of ambassadors from foreign powers, his bier was followed; and -St. Paul's (O worthy casket for the shrine of such a Zeuxis) now -holds--ALL THAT WAS MORTAL OF G. D. - - - - -THE LATIN POEMS OF VINCENT BOURNE - -(1831) - - -A complete translation of these poems is a desideratum in our -literature. Cowper has done _one_ at least, out of the four which he has -given us, with a felicity almost unapproachable. Few of our readers can -be ignorant of the delightful lines beginning with:-- - - "There is bird, which by its coat----" - -A recent writer has lately added nine more to the number; we wish he -would proceed with the remainder, for of all modern Latinity, that of -Vincent Bourne is the most to our taste. He is "so Latin," and yet "so -English" all the while. In diction worthy of the Augustan age, he -presents us with no images that are not familiar to his countrymen. His -topics are even closelier drawn; they are not so properly English, as -_Londonish_. From the streets, and from the alleys, of his beloved -metropolis he culled his objects, which he has invested with an -Hogarthian richness of colouring. No town picture by that artist can go -beyond his BALLAD-SINGERS; Gay's TRIVIA alone, in verse, comes up to the -life and humour of it. - - Quæ septem vicos conterminat una columna, - Consistunt nymphæ Sirenum ex agmine binæ; - Stramineum capiti tegimen, collumque per omne - Ingentes electri orbes: utrique pependit - Crustato vestis cœno, limoque rigescens - Crure usque a medio calcem defluxit ad imum. - Exiguam secum pendentem ex ubere natam - Altera; venales dextrâ tulit altera chartas. - His vix dispositis, pueri innuptæque puellæ - Accurrunt: sutor primus, cui lorea vitta - Impediit crines, humili, quæ proxima stabat, - Proruit è cellâ, chartas, si forte placerent, - Empturus; namque ille etiam se carmine multo - Oblectat, longos solus quo rite labores - Diminuit, fallitque hybernæ tædia noctis. - Collecti murmur sensim increbrescere vulgi - Auditi, et excurrit nudis ancilla lacertis. - Incudem follesque et opus fabrile relinquens, - Se densæ immiscet plebi niger ora Pyracmon. - It juxta, depressum ingens cui mantica tergum - Incurvat, tardo passu; simul ille coronam - Aspectat vulgi, spe carminis arrigit aures; - Statque moræ patiens, humeris nec pondera sentit. - Sic ubi Tartareum Regem Rhodopeïus Orpheus - Threiciis studuit fidibus mulcere, laboris - Immemor, Æolides stupuit modulamina plectri, - Nec sensit funesti onera incumbentia saxi. - Sæbe interventus rhedæ crepitantis, ab illo - Vicorum, ant illo, stipantem hinc inde catervam - Dividit; at rursus coëunt, ubi transiit illa, - Ut coëunt rursus, puppis quas dividit, undæ. - - Canticulæ interea narraverat argumentum - Altera Sirenum, infidi perjuria nautæ, - Deceptamque dolo nympham; tum flebile carmen - Flebilibus movit numeris, quos altera versu - Alterno excepit: patulis stant rictibus omnes: - Dextram ille acclinat, lævam ille attentius aurem, - Promissum carmen captare paratus hiatu. - Longa referre mora est, animum quâ vicerit arte - Virgineum juvenis. Jam poscunt undique chartas - Protensæ emptorum dextræ, quas illa vel illa - Distribuit, cantatque simul: neque ferreus iste - Est usquam auditor, dulcis cui lene camæna - Non adhibet tormentum, et furtivum elicit assem. - Stat medios inter baculoque innititur Irus; - Nec tamen hic loculo parcit, sed prodigus æris - Emptor adest, solvit pretium, carmenque requirit. - Fors juxta adstabat vetula iracundior æquo; - Quæ loculo ex imo invitum, longumque latentem - Depromens vix tandem obolum, Cedo, fœmina, chartam, - Inquit; ut æternum monumentum in pariete figam, - Cum laribus mansurum ipsis, quam credula nymphis - Pectora sint; fraudis quam plena, et perfida nautis. - - * * * * * - - Where seven fair Streets to one tall Column[62] draw, - Two Nymphs have ta'en their stand, in hats of straw; - Their yellower necks huge beads of amber grace, - And by their trade they're of the Sirens' race. - With cloak loose-pinn'd on each, that has been red, - But long with dust and dirt discoloured - Belies its hue; in mud behind, before, - From heel to middle leg becrusted o'er. - One a small infant at the breast does bear; - And one in her right hand her tuneful ware, - Which she would vend. Their station scarce is taken, - When youths and maids flock round. His stall forsaken, - Forth comes a Son of Crispin, leathern-capt, - Prepared to buy a ballad, if one apt - To move his fancy offers. Crispin's sons - Have, from uncounted time, with ale and buns - Cherish'd the gift of _Song_, which sorrow quells; - And, working single in their low-rooft cells, - Oft at the tedium of a winter's night - With anthems warbled in the Muses' spight. - Who now hath caught the alarm? The Servant Maid - Hath heard a buzz at distance; and, afraid - To miss a note, with elbows red comes out. - Leaving his forge to cool, Pyracmon stout - Thrusts in his unwash'd visage. _He_ stands by, - Who the hard trade of Porterage does ply - With stooping shoulders. What cares he? he sees - The assembled ring, nor heeds his tottering knees, - But pricks his ears up with the hopes of song. - So, while the Bard of Rhodope his wrong - Bewail'd to Proserpine on Thracian strings, - The tasks of gloomy Orcus lost their stings, - And stone-vext Sysiphus forgets his load. - Hither and thither from the sevenfold road - Some cart or wagon crosses, which divides - The close-wedged audience; but, as when the tides - To ploughing ships give way, the ship being past, - They re-unite, so these unite as fast. - The older Songstress hitherto has spent - Her elocution in the argument - Of their great Song in prose; to wit, the woes - Which Maiden true to faithless Sailor owes-- - Ah "_Wandering He!_"--which now in loftier verse - Pathetic they alternately rehearse. - All gaping wait the event. This Critic opes - His right ear to the strain. The other hopes - To catch it better with his left. Long trade - It were to tell, how the deluded Maid - A victim fell. And now right greedily - All hands are stretching forth the songs to buy, - That are so tragical; which She, and She, - Deals out, and _sings the while_; nor can there be - A breast so obdurate here, that will hold back - His contribution from the gentle rack - Of Music's pleasing torture. Irus' self, - The staff-propt Beggar, his thin-gotten pelf - Brings out from pouch, where squalid farthings rest, - And boldly claims his ballad with the rest. - An old Dame only lingers. To her purse - The penny sticks. At length, with harmless curse, - "Give me," she cries--"I'll paste it on my wall, - While the wall lasts, to show what ills befal - Fond hearts, seduced from Innocency's way; - How Maidens fall, and Mariners betray." - - [62] Seven Dials. - -In the same style of familiar painting, and replete with the same -images of town life, picturesque as it was comparatively in the -days of Gay, and of Hogarth, are the various Poematia--to the -"Bellman"--"Billinsgate"--the "Law Courts"--the "Licensed -Victualler"--the "Quack"--the "Quaker's Meeting" _cum multis aliis_--of -this most classical of Cockney Poets. In a different strain is the -following piece of tenderness:-- - -IN STATUAM SEPULCHRALEM INFANTIS DORMIENTIS - - Infans venuste, qui sacros dulces agens - In hoc sopores marmore, - Placidissimâ quiete compôstus jaces, - Et inscius culpæ et metûs, - Somno fruaris, docta quem dedit manus - Sculptoris; et somno simul, - Quem nescit artifex vel Ars effingere - Fruaris Innocentiæ. - - * * * * * - - Beautiful Infant, who dost keep - Thy posture here, and sleep'st a marble sleep, - May the repose unbroken be, - Which the fine Artist's hand hath lent to thee! - While thou enjoy'st along with it - That which no Art or Craft could ever hit, - Or counterfeit to moral sense, - The Heav'n-infused sleep of Innocence. - -We have selected these two versions from a little volume lately -published by Mr. Lamb, to which he has strangely given the misnomer of -"Album Verses." - -ALBUM VERSES! why, in the whole collection there are not twenty pages -out of one hundred and fifty (and cast the acrostics in, to swell the -amount) that have the smallest title to come under this denomination. -There is a Tragic Drama, filling up more than a third of the book. The -rest is composed of--Translations from V. Bourne, nine in number--just -so many Verses, and no more, expressly written for Albums--and the rest -might have been written any where. But Mr. L. will be wiser another -time, than to stand Godfather to his own poetry. A sensible Publisher is -always the best names-man on these occasions. - -But if to write in Albums be a sin, Lord help -Wordsworth--Coleridge--Southey--Sir Walter himself--who have not been -always able to resist the solicitations of the fair owners of these -modern nuisances. Southey has owned to some score, and Mr. L.'s offences -in this kind, we have said, do not exceed the number of the Muses. This -may be said even of them, that they are not vague verses--to the Moon, -or to the Nightingale--that will fit any place--but strictly appropriate -to the person that they were intended to gratify; or to the species of -chronicle which they were destined to be recorded in. The Verses to a -"Clergyman's Lady"--to the "Wife of a learned Serjeant"--to a "Young -Quaker"--could have appeared only in an Album, and only in that -particular person's Album they were composed for. - -We are no friend to Albums. We early set our face against them in a -short copy of verses, which we publish only for our own justification. -To the question:-- - -WHAT IS AN ALBUM? - - 'Tis a Book kept by modern young Ladies for show, - Of which their plain Grandmothers nothing did know; - A Medley of Scraps, half verse, and half prose, - And some things not very like either, God knows; - Where wise folk and simple alike do combine, - And you write _your_ nonsense, that I may write _mine_. - Throw in a fine Landscape, to make it complete-- - A Flower-piece--a Foreground--all tinted so neat, - As Nature herself, could she see it, would strike - With envy to think that she ne'er did the like. - Next forget not to stuff it with Autographs plenty, - All writ in a style so genteel, and so dainty, - They no more resemble folk's ord'nary writing, - Than lines, penn'd with pains, do extemp'ral enditing; - Or our every day countenance (pardon the stricture) - The faces we make when we sit for our picture. - Thus you have, dearest--, an Album complete-- - -We forget the rest--but seriously we deprecate with all our powers the -unfeminine practice of this novel species of importunity. We have known -Young Ladies--ay, and of those who have been modest and retiring enough -upon other occasions--in quest of these delicacies, to besiege, and -storm by violence, the closets and privatest retirements of a literary -man, to whom they have had an imperfect, or, perhaps, no introduction at -all. But the disease has gone forth. Like the daughters of the -horseleech in the Proverbs, the requisition of every female now is, -_Contribute, Contribute_. "From the Land's End to the Farthest Thule the -cry has gone out, and who shall resist it? Assuming then, that Album -Verses _will_ be written, where was the harm, if Mr. L. first taught us -how they might be best, and most characteristically written?" - -Amid the vague, dreamy, wordy, _matterless_ Poetry of this empty age, -the verses of such a writer as Bourne (who was a Latin _Prior_) are -invaluable. They fix upon _something_; they ally themselves to common -life and objects; their good nature is a Catholicon, sanative of -coxcombry, of heartlessness, and of fastidiousness. _Vale, Lepidissimum -Caput._ [63] - - [63] Of this writer we only know, that he was an usher some seventy - years since at Westminster School; and that Dr. Johnson (who knew - him) speaks of him always affectionately as "poor Vinny Bourne." - - - - -THE DEATH OF MUNDEN - -(1832) - - -_To the Editor of The Athenæum_ - -Dear Sir,--Your communication to me of the death of Munden made me weep. -Now, Sir, I am not of the melting mood. But, in these serious times, the -loss of half the world's fun is no trivial deprivation. It was my loss -(or _gain_ shall I call it?) in the early time of my play-going, to have -missed all Munden's acting. There was only he, and Lewis at Covent -Garden, while Drury Lane was exuberant with Parsons, Dodd, &c., such a -comic company as, I suppose, the stage never showed. Thence, in the -evening of my life, I had Munden all to myself, more mellowed, richer -perhaps than ever. I cannot say what his change of faces produced in me. -It was not acting. He was not one of my "old actors." It might be [he -was] better. His power was extravagant. I saw him one evening in three -drunken characters. Three Farces were played. One part was _Dosey_--I -forget the rest:--but they were so discriminated, that a stranger might -have seen them all, and not have dreamed that he was seeing the same -actor. I am jealous for the actors who pleased my youth. He was not a -Parsons or a Dodd, but he was more wonderful. He seemed as if he could -_do_ anything. He was not an actor, but something _better_, if you -please. Shall I instance _Old Foresight_, in "Love for Love," in which -Parsons was at once the old man, the astrologer, &c. Munden dropped the -old man, the doater--which makes the character--but he substituted for -it a moon-struck character, a perfect abstraction from this earth, that -looked as if he had newly come down from the planets. Now, _that_ is not -what I call _acting_. It might be better. He was imaginative; he could -impress upon an audience an _idea_--the low one perhaps of a leg of -mutton and turnips; but such was the grandeur and singleness of his -expressions, that that single expression would convey to all his -auditory a notion of all the pleasures they had all received from all -the legs of mutton _and turnips_ they had ever eaten in their lives. -Now, this is not _acting_, nor do I set down Munden amongst my old -actors. He was only a wonderful man, exerting his vivid impressions -through the agency of the stage. In one only thing did I see him -_act_--that is, support a character; it was in a wretched farce, called -"Johnny Gilpin," for Dowton's benefit, in which he did a cockney; the -thing ran but one night; but when I say that Liston's _Lubin Log_ was -nothing to it, I say little; it was transcendant. And here, let me say -of actors--_envious_ actors--that of _Munden_, Liston was used to speak, -almost with the enthusiasm due to the dead, in terms of such allowed -superiority to every actor on the stage, and this at a time when Munden -was gone by in the world's estimation, that it convinced me that -_artists_ (in which term I include poets, painters, &c.), are not so -envious as the world think. I have little time, and therefore enclose a -criticism on Munden's _Old Dosey_ and his general acting, by a -gentleman, who attends less to these things than formerly, but whose -criticism I think masterly. - - C. LAMB. - - - - -THOUGHTS ON PRESENTS OF GAME, &c. - -(1833) - - - "We love to have our friend in the country sitting thus at our - table _by proxy_; to apprehend his presence (though a hundred miles - may be between us) by a turkey, whose goodly aspect reflects to us - his 'plump corpusculum;' to taste him in grouse or woodcock; to - feel him gliding down in the toast peculiar to the latter; to - concorporate him in a slice of Canterbury brawn. This is indeed to - have him within ourselves; to know him intimately; such - participation is methinks _unitive_, as the old theologians phrase - it."--LAST ESSAYS OF ELIA. - -Elia presents his acknowledgments to his "Correspondent unknown," for a -basket of prodigiously fine game. He takes for granted that so amiable a -character must be a reader of the _Athenæum_. Else he had meditated a -notice in _The Times_. Now if this friend had consulted the Delphic -oracle for a present suited to the palate of Elia, he could not have hit -upon a morsel so acceptable. The birds he is barely thankful for; -pheasants are poor _fowls_ disguised in fine feathers. But a hare -roasted hard and brown--with gravy and melted butter!--old Mr. -Chambers, the sensible clergyman in Warwickshire, whose son's -acquaintance has made many hours happy in the life of Elia, used to -allow a pound of Epping to every hare. Perhaps that was over-doing it. -But, in spite of the note of Philomel, who, like some fine poets, that -think no scorn to adopt plagiarisms from a humble brother, reiterates -every spring her cuckoo cry of "Jug, Jug, Jug," Elia pronounces that a -hare, to be truly palated, must be roasted. Jugging sophisticates her. -In _our_ way it eats so "crips," as Mrs. Minikin says. Time was, when -Elia was not arrived at his taste, that he preferred to all luxuries a -roasted Pig. But he disclaims all such green-sickness appetites in -future, though he hath to acknowledge the receipt of many a delicacy in -that kind from correspondents--good, but mistaken men--in consequence of -their erroneous supposition, that he had carried up into mature life the -prepossessions of childhood. From the worthy Vicar of Enfield he -acknowledges a tithe contribution of extraordinary sapor. The ancients -must have loved hares. Else why adopt the word _lepores_ (obviously from -_lepus_) but for some subtle analogy between the delicate flavour of the -latter, and the finer relishes of wit in what we most poorly translate -_pleasantries_. The fine madnesses of the poet are the very decoction of -his diet. Thence is he hare-brained. Harum-scarum is a libellous -unfounded phrase of modern usage. 'Tis true the hare is the most -circumspect of animals, sleeping with her eye open. Her ears, ever -erect, keep them in that wholesome exercise, which conduces them to form -the very tit-bit of the admirers of this noble animal. Noble will I call -her, in spite of her detractors, who from occasional demonstrations of -the principle of self-preservation (common to all animals) infer in her -a defect of heroism. Half a hundred horsemen with thrice the number of -dogs, scour the country in pursuit of puss across three countries; and -because the well-flavoured beast, weighing the odds, is willing to evade -the hue and cry, with her delicate ears shrinking perchance from -discord--comes the grave Naturalist, Linnæus perchance or Buffon, and -gravely sets down the Hare as a--timid animal. Why, Achilles or Bully -Dawson, would have declined the preposterous combat. - -In fact, how light of digestion we feel after a hare! How tender its -processes after swallowing! What chyle it promotes! How etherial! as if -its living celerity were a type of its nimble coursing through the -animal juices. The notice might be longer. It is intended less as a -Natural History of the Hare, than a cursory thanks to the country "good -Unknown." The hare has many friends, but none sincerer than - - ELIA. - - - - -TABLE-TALK BY THE LATE ELIA - -(1833 and 1834) - - -The greatest pleasure I know, is to do a good action by stealth, and to -have it found out by accident. - -'Tis unpleasant to meet a beggar. It is painful to deny him; and, if you -relieve him, it is so much out of your pocket. - -Men marry for fortune, and sometimes to please their fancy; but, much -oftener than is suspected, they consider what the world will say of it; -how such a woman in their friends' eyes will look at the head of a -table. Hence, we see so many insipid beauties made wives of, that could -not have struck the particular fancy of any man, that had any fancy at -all. These I call _furniture wives_; as men buy _furniture pictures_, -because they suit this or that niche in their dining parlours. - -Your universally cried-up beauties are the very last choice which a man -of taste would make. What pleases all, cannot have that individual -charm, which makes this or that countenance engaging to you, and to you -only perhaps, you know not why. What gained the fair Gunnings titled -husbands, who, after all, turned out very sorry wives? Popular repute. - -It is a sore trial when a daughter shall marry against her father's -approbation. A little hard-heartedness, and aversion to a reconcilement, -is almost pardonable. After all, Will Dockwray's way is perhaps the -wisest. His best-loved daughter made a most imprudent match; in fact, -eloped with the last man in the world that her father would have wished -her to marry. All the world said that he would never speak to her -again. For months she durst not write to him, much less come near him. -But, in a casual rencounter, he met her in the streets of Ware;--Ware, -that will long remember the mild virtues of William Dockwray, Esq. What -said the parent to his disobedient child, whose knees faltered under her -at the sight of him? "Ha! Sukey, is it you?" with that benevolent -aspect, with which he paced the streets of Ware, venerated as an angel, -"come and dine with us on Sunday;" then turning away, and again turning -back, as if he had forgotten something, he added, "and Sukey, do you -hear, bring your husband with you." This was all the reproof she ever -heard from him. Need it be added, that the match turned out better for -Susan than the world expected? - -"We read the Paradise Lost as a task," says Dr. Johnson. Nay, rather as -a celestial recreation, of which the dullard mind is not at all hours -alike recipient. "Nobody ever wished it longer;"--nor the moon rounder, -he might have added. Why, 'tis the perfectness and completeness of it, -which makes us imagine that not a line could be added to it, or -diminished from it, with advantage. Would we have a cubit added to the -stature of the Medicean Venus? Do we wish her taller? - - _Lear._ Who are you? - Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight - ... Are you not Kent? - - _Kent._ The same; - Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius? - - _Lear._ He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; - He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten. - - _Kent._ No, my good Lord; I am the very man---- - - _Lear._ I'll see that straight---- - - _Kent._ That from your first of difference and decay, - Have follow'd your sad steps. - - _Lear._ You are welcome hither ... - - _Albany._ He knows not what he says; and vain it is - That we present us to him. - - _Edgar._ Look up, my Lord. - - _Kent._ Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him much. - That would upon the rack of this rough world - Stretch him out longer. - -So ends 'King Lear,' the most stupendous of the Shakspearian dramas; and -Kent, the noblest feature of the conceptions of his divine mind. This -is the magnanimity of authorship, when a writer, having a topic -presented to him, fruitful of beauties for common minds, waives his -privilege, and trusts to the judicious few for understanding the reason -of his abstinence. What a pudder would a common dramatist have raised -here of a reconciliation scene, a perfect recognition, between the -assumed Caius and his master!--to the suffusing of many fair eyes, and -the moistening of cambric handkerchiefs. The old dying king partially -catching at the truth, and immediately lapsing into obliviousness, with -the high-minded carelessness of the other to have his services -appreciated, as one that - - ----served not for gain, - Or follow'd out of form, - -are among the most judicious, not to say heart-touching, strokes in -Shakspeare. - -Allied to this magnanimity it is, where the pith and point of an -argument, the amplification of which might compromise the modesty of the -speaker, is delivered briefly, and, as it were, _parenthetically_; as in -those few but pregnant words, in which the man in the old 'Nut-brown -Maid' rather intimates than reveals his unsuspected high birth to the -woman:-- - - Now understand, to Westmorland, - _Which is my heritage_, - I will you bring, and with a ring, - By way of marriage, - I will you take, and Lady make. - -Turn we to the version of it, ten times diluted, of dear Mat. Prior--in -his own way unequalled, and a poet now-a-days too much neglected--"In -me," quoth Henry, addressing the astounded Emma--with a flourish and an -attitude, as we may conceive:-- - - In me behold the potent Edgar's heir, - Illustrious Earl! him terrible in war, - Let Loire confess. - -And with a deal of skimble-skamble stuff, as Hotspur would term it, -more, presents the Lady with a full and true enumeration of his Papa's -rent-roll in the fat soil by Deva. - -But of all parentheses, (not to quit the topic too suddenly,) commend me -to that most significant one, at the commencement of the old popular -ballad of Fair Rosamund:-- - - When good King Henry ruled this land, - The second of that name, - -Now mark-- - - (Besides the Queen) he dearly loved - A fair and comely dame. - -There is great virtue in this _besides_. - - * * * * * - -Amidst the complaints of the wide spread of infidelity among us, it is -consolatory that a sect is sprung up in the heart of the metropolis, and -is daily on the increase, of teachers of that healing doctrine, which -Pope upheld, and against which Voltaire directed his envenomed wit. We -mean those practical preachers of optimism, or the belief that _Whatever -is is best_--the Cads of Omnibuses; who, from their little back -pulpits--not once in three or four hours, as those proclaimers of "God -and his prophet" in Mussulman countries; but every minute, at the entry -or exit of a brief passenger, are heard, in an almost prophetic tone, to -exclaim--(Wisdom crying out, as it were, in the streets,)--ALL'S RIGHT. - - * * * * * - -Advice is not so commonly thrown away as is imagined. We seek it in -difficulties. But, in common speech, we are apt to confound with it -_admonition_; as when a friend reminds one that drink is prejudicial to -the health, &c. We do not care to be told of that which we know better -than the good man that admonishes. M---- sent to his friend L----, who -is no water-drinker, a twopenny tract 'Against the Use of Fermented -Liquors.' L---- acknowledged the obligation, as far as to _twopence_. -Penotier's advice was the safest after all: - -"I advised him----" - -But I must tell you. The dear, good-meaning, no-thinking creature, had -been dumb-founding a company of us with a detail of inextricable -difficulties, in which the circumstances of an acquaintance of his were -involved. No clue of light offered itself. He grew more and more misty -as he proceeded. We pitied his friend, and thought, - - God help the man so wrapt in error's endless maze: - -when, suddenly brightening up his placid countenance, like one that had -found out a riddle, and looked to have the solution admired, "At last," -said he, "I advised him----" - -Here he paused, and here we were again interminably thrown back. By no -possible guess could any of us aim at the drift of the meaning he was -about to be delivered of. "I advised him," he repeated, "to have some -_advice_ upon the subject." A general approbation followed; and it was -unanimously agreed, that, under all the circumstances of the case, no -sounder or more judicious counsel could have been given. - -A laxity pervades the popular use of words. Parson W---- is not quite so -continent as Diana, yet prettily dissembleth his frailty. Is Parson -W---- therefore a _hypocrite_? I think _not_. Where the concealment of a -vice is less pernicious than the bare-faced publication of it would be, -no additional delinquency is incurred in the secrecy. Parson W---- is -simply an immoral clergyman. But if Parson W---- were to be for ever -haranguing on the opposite virtue,--choosing for his perpetual text, in -preference to all other pulpit topics, the remarkable resistance -recorded in the 39th of Exodus--dwelling, moreover, and dilating upon -it--then Parson W---- might be reasonably suspected of hypocrisy. But -Parson W---- rarely diverteth into such line of argument, or toucheth it -briefly. His ordinary topics are fetched from "obedience to the powers -that are"--"submission to the civil magistrate in all commands that are -not absolutely unlawful;" on which he can delight to expatiate with -equal fervour and sincerity. Again, to _despise_ a person is properly to -_look down_ upon him with none, or the least possible emotion. But when -Clementina, who has lately lost her lover, with bosom heaving, eyes -flashing, and her whole frame in agitation, pronounces, with a peculiar -emphasis, that she "_despises_ the fellow," depend upon it that he is -not quite so despicable in her eyes as she would have us imagine.--One -more instance:--If we must naturalize that portentous phrase, _a -truism_, it were well that we limited the use of it. Every commonplace -or trite observation is not a truism. For example: A good name helps a -man on in the world. This is nothing but a simple truth, however -hackneyed. It has a distinct subject and predicate. But when the thing -predicated is involved in the term of the subject, and so necessarily -involved that by no possible conception they can be separated, then it -becomes a truism, as to say, A good name is a proof of a man's -estimation in the world. We seem to be saying something when we say -nothing. I was describing to F---- some knavish tricks of a mutual -friend of ours. "If he did so and so," was the reply, "he cannot be an -honest man." Here was a genuine truism--truth upon truth--inference and -proposition identical; or rather a dictionary definition usurping the -place of an inference. - - * * * * * - -The vices of some men are magnificent. Compare the amours of Henry the -Eighth and Charles the Second. The Stuart had mistresses--the Tudor -_kept_ wives. - -We are ashamed at sight of a monkey--somehow as we are shy of poor -relations. - -C---- imagined a Caledonian compartment in Hades, where there should be -fire without sulphur. - -Absurd images are sometimes irresistible. I will mention two. An -elephant in a coach-office gravely coming to have his trunk booked;--a -mermaid over a fish-kettle cooking her own tail. - -It is the praise of Shakspeare, with reference to the play-writers, his -contemporaries, that he has so few revolting characters. Yet he has one -that is singularly mean and disagreeable--the King in Hamlet. Neither -has he characters of insignificance, unless the phantom that stalks over -the stage as Julius Cæsar, in the play of that name, may be accounted -one. Neither has he envious characters, excepting the short part of Don -John, in Much Ado about Nothing. Neither has he unentertaining -characters, if we except Parolles, and the little that there is of the -Clown, in All's Well that Ends Well. - -It would settle the dispute, as to whether Shakspeare intended Othello -for a jealous character, to consider how differently we are affected -towards him, and for Leontes in the Winter's Tale. Leontes _is_ that -character. Othello's fault was simply credulity. - -Is it possible that Shakspeare should never have read Homer, in -Chapman's version at least? If he had read it, could he mean to -_travesty_ it in the parts of those big boobies, Ajax and Achilles? -Ulysses, Nestor, and Agamemnon, are true to their parts in the Iliad: -they are gentlemen at least. Thersites, though unamusing, is fairly -deducible from it. Troilus and Cressida are a fine graft upon it. But -those two big bulks---- - -It is a desideratum in works that treat _de re culinariâ_, that we have -no rationale of sauces, or theory of mixed flavours; as to show why -cabbage is reprehensible with roast beef, laudable with bacon; why the -haunch of mutton seeks the alliance of currant jelly, the shoulder -civilly declineth it; why loin of veal (a pretty problem), being itself -unctuous, seeketh the adventitious lubricity of melted butter; and why -the same part in pork, not more oleaginous, abhorreth from it; why the -French bean sympathizes with the flesh of deer; why salt fish points to -parsnip, brawn makes a dead set at mustard; why cats prefer valerian to -hearts-ease, old ladies _vice versâ_--though this is rather travelling -out of the road of the dietetics, and may be thought a question more -curious than relevant;--why salmon (a strong sapor _per se_,) fortifieth -its condition with the mighty lobster sauce, whose embraces are fatal to -the delicater relish of the turbot; why oysters in death rise up against -the contamination of brown sugar, while they are posthumously amorous of -vinegar; why the sour mango and the sweet jam [? yam] by turns court, -and are accepted by, the compliable mutton hash--she not yet decidedly -declaring for either. We are as yet but in the empirical stage of -cookery. We feed ignorantly, and want to be able to give a reason of the -relish that is in us; so that if Nature should furnish us with a new -meat, or be prodigally pleased to restore the phœnix, upon a _given_ -flavour, we might be able to pronounce instantly, on philosophical -principles, what the sauce to it should be--what the curious adjuncts. - - - - -THE DEATH OF COLERIDGE - -IN THE ALBUM OF MR. KEYMER - -(1834) - - -When I heard of the death of Coleridge, it was without grief. It seemed -to me that he long had been on the confines of the next world,--that he -had a hunger for eternity. I grieved then that I could not grieve. But -since, I feel how great a part he was of me. His great and dear spirit -haunts me. I cannot think a thought, I cannot make a criticism on men or -books, without an ineffectual turning and reference to him. He was the -proof and touchstone of all my cogitations. He was a Grecian (or in the -first form) at Christ's Hospital, where I was deputy Grecian; and the -same subordination and deference to him I have preserved through a -life-long acquaintance. Great in his writings, he was greatest in his -conversation. In him was disproved that old maxim, that we should allow -every one his share of talk. He would talk from morn to dewy eve, nor -cease till far midnight, yet who ever would interrupt him,--who would -obstruct that continuous flow of converse, fetched from Helicon or Zion? -He had the tact of making the unintelligible seem plain. Many who read -the abstruser parts of his "Friend" would complain that his works did -not answer to his spoken wisdom. They were identical. But he had a tone -in oral delivery, which seemed to convey sense to those who were -otherwise imperfect recipients. He was my fifty years old friend without -a dissension. Never saw I his likeness, nor probably the world can see -again. I seem to love the house he died at more passionately than when -he lived. I love the faithful Gilmans more than while they exercised -their virtues towards him living. What was his mansion is consecrated to -me a chapel. - - CHS. LAMB. - - EDMONTON, _November 21, 1834_. - - - - -CUPID'S REVENGE - -(_Date unknown_) - - -Leontius, Duke of Lycia, who in times past had borne the character of a -wise and just governor, and was endeared to all ranks of his subjects, -in his latter days fell into a sort of dotage, which manifested itself -in an extravagant fondness for his daughter Hidaspes. This young maiden, -with the Prince Leucippus, her brother, were the only remembrances left -to him of a deceased and beloved consort. For _her_ nothing was thought -too precious. Existence was of no value to him but as it afforded -opportunities of gratifying her wishes. To be instrumental in relieving -her from the least little pain, or grief, he would have lavished his -treasures to the giving away of the one half of his dukedom. - -All this deference on the part of the parent had yet no power upon the -mind of the daughter to move her at any time to solicit any unbecoming -suit, or to disturb the even tenor of her thoughts. The humility and -dutifulness of her carriage seemed to keep pace with his apparent -willingness to release her from the obligations of either. She might -have satisfied her wildest humors and caprices; but in truth no such -troublesome guests found harbor in the bosom of the quiet and unaspiring -maiden. - -Thus far the prudence of the Princess served to counteract any ill -effects which this ungovernable partiality in a parent was calculated to -produce in a less virtuous nature than Hidaspes's; and this foible of -the duke's, so long as no evil resulted from it, was passed over by the -courtiers as a piece of harmless frenzy. - -But upon a solemn day--a sad one as it proved for Lycia--when the -returning anniversary of the Princess's birth was kept with -extraordinary rejoicings, the infatuated father set no bounds to his -folly, but would have his subjects to do homage to her for that day, as -to their natural sovereign; as if he, indeed, had been dead, and she, to -the exclusion of the male succession, was become the rightful ruler of -Lycia. He saluted her by the style of Duchess; and with a terrible oath, -in the presence of his nobles, he confirmed to her the grant of all -things whatsoever that she should demand on that day, and for the six -next following; and if she should ask any thing the execution of which -must be deferred until after his death, he pronounced a dreadful curse -upon his son and successor, if he failed to see to the performance of -it. - -Thus encouraged, the Princess stepped forth with a modest boldness, and, -as if assured of no denial, spake as follows: - -But before we acquaint you with the purport of her speech, we must -premise, that in the land of Lycia, which was at that time pagan, above -all their other gods the inhabitants did in an especial manner adore the -deity who was supposed to have influence in the disposing of people's -affections in _love_. Him, by the name of God Cupid, they feigned to be -a _beautiful boy_, and _winged_, as indeed, between young persons these -frantic passions are usually least under constraint; while the wings -might signify the haste with which these ill-judged attachments are -commonly dissolved, and do indeed go away as lightly as they come, -flying away in an instant to light upon some newer fancy. They painted -him _blindfolded_, because these silly affections of lovers make them -blind to the defects of the beloved object, which every one is -quick-sighted enough to discover but themselves; or because love is for -the most part led blindly, rather than directed by the open eye of the -judgment, in the hasty choice of a mate. Yet, with that inconsistency of -attributes with which the heathen people commonly over-complimented -their deities, this blind love, this Cupid, they figured with a bow and -arrows; and, being sightless, they yet feigned him to be a notable -archer and an unerring marksman. No heart was supposed to be proof -against the point of his inevitable dart. By such incredible fictions -did these poor pagans make a shift to excuse their vanities, and to give -a sanction to their irregular affections, under the notion that love was -irresistible; whereas, in a well-regulated mind, these amorous conceits -either find no place at all, or, having gained a footing, are easily -stifled in the beginning by a wise and manly resolution. - -This frenzy in the people had long been a source of disquiet to the -discreet Princess, and many were the conferences she had held with the -virtuous Prince, her brother, as to the best mode of taking off the -minds of the Lycians from this vain superstition. An occasion, furnished -by the blind grant of the old Duke, their father, seemed now to present -itself. - -The courtiers, then, being assembled to hear the demand which the -Princess should make, began to conjecture, each one according to the -bent of his own disposition, what the thing would be that she should ask -for. One said, "Now surely she will ask to have the disposal of the -revenues of some wealthy province, to lay them out--as was the manner of -Eastern princesses--in costly dresses and jewels becoming a lady of so -great expectancies." Another thought that she would seek an extension of -power, as women naturally love rule and dominion. But the most part were -in hope that she was about to beg the hand of some neighbor prince in -marriage, who, by the wealth and contiguity of his dominions, might add -strength and safety to the realm of Lycia. But in none of these things -was the expectation of these crafty and worldly-minded courtiers -gratified. For Hidaspes, first making lowly obeisance to her father, and -thanking him on bended knees for so great grace conferred upon -her--according to a plan preconcerted with Leucippus--made suit as -follows: - -"Your loving care of me, O princely father, by which in my tenderest age -you made up to me for the loss of a mother at those years when I was -scarcely able to comprehend the misfortune, and your bounties to me ever -since, have left me nothing to ask for myself, as wanting and desiring -nothing. But for the people whom you govern I beg and desire a boon. It -is known to all nations that the men of Lycia are noted for a vain and -fruitless superstition--the more hateful as it bears a show of true -religion, but is indeed nothing more than a self-pleasing and bold -wantonness. Many ages before this, when every man had taken to himself a -trade, as hating idleness far worse than death, some one that gave -himself to sloth and wine, finding himself by his neighbours rebuked for -his unprofitable life, framed to himself a God whom he pretended to obey -in his dishonesty; and, for a name, he called him Cupid. This God of -merely man's creating--as the nature of man is ever credulous of any -vice which takes part with his dissolute conditions--quickly found -followers enough. They multiplied in every age, especially among your -Lycians, who to this day remain adorers of this drowsy Deity, who -certainly was first invented in drink, as sloth and luxury are commonly -the first movers in these idle love-passions. This _winged Boy_--for so -they fancy him--has his sacrifices, his loose Images set up in the land -through all the villages--nay, your own sacred palace is not exempt from -them--to the scandal of sound devotion and dishonour of the true -Deities, which are only they who give good gifts to man--as Ceres, who -gives us corn; the planter of the olive, Pallas; Neptune, who directs -the track of ships over the great ocean, and binds distant lands -together in friendly commerce; the inventor of medicine and music, -Apollo; and the cloud-compelling Thunderer of Olympus. Whereas the gifts -of this idle Deity--if, indeed, he have a being at all out of the brain -of his frantic worshipers, usually prove destructive and pernicious. My -suit, then, is, that this unseemly Idol throughout the land be plucked -down and cast into the fire; and that the adoring of the same may be -prohibited on pain of death to any of your subjects henceforth found so -offending." - -Leontius, startled at this unexpected demand from the Princess, with -tears besought her to ask some wiser thing, and not to bring down upon -herself and him the indignation of so great a God. - -"There is no such God as you dream of," said then Leucippus, boldly, who -had hitherto forborne to second the petition of the Princess; "but a -vain opinion of him has filled the land with love and wantonness. Every -young man and maiden that feel the least desire to one another, dare in -no case to suppress it, for they think it to be Cupid's motion, and that -he is a God!" - -Thus pressed by the solicitations of both his children, and fearing the -oath which he had taken, in an evil hour the misgiving father consented; -and a proclamation was sent throughout all the provinces for the putting -down of the Idol, and the suppression of the established Cupid-worship. - -Notable, you may be sure, was the stir made in all places among the -priests, and among the artificers in gold, in silver, or in marble; who -made a gainful trade, either in serving at the altar or in the -manufacture of the images no longer to be tolerated. The cry was -clamorous as _that_ at Ephesus, when a kindred Idol was in danger; for -"great had been Cupid of the Lycians." Nevertheless the power of the -Duke, backed by the power of his more popular children, prevailed; and -the destruction of every vestige of the old religion was but as the work -of one day throughout the country. - -And now, as the Pagan chronicles of Lycia inform us, the displeasure of -Cupid went out--the displeasure of a great God--flying through all the -dukedom, and sowing evils. But upon the first movers of the profanation -his angry hand lay heaviest, and there was imposed upon them a strange -misery, that all might know that Cupid's revenge was mighty. With his -arrows hotter than plagues, or than his own anger, did he fiercely right -himself; nor could the prayers of a few concealed worshipers, nor the -smoke arising from an altar here and there which had escaped the general -overthrow, avert his wrath, or make him cease from vengeance, until he -had made of the once flourishing country of Lycia a most wretched land. -He sent no famines--he let loose no cruel wild beasts among -them--inflictions, with one or other of which the rest of the Olympian -deities are fabled to have visited the nations under their -displeasure--but took a nearer course of his own, and his invisible -arrows went to the _moral heart_ of Lycia, infecting and filling court -and country with desires of unlawful marriages, unheard-of and monstrous -affections, prodigious and misbecoming unions. - -The symptoms were first visible in the changed bosom of Hidaspes. This -exemplary maiden--whose cold modesty, almost to a failing, had -discouraged the addresses of so many princely suitors that had sought -her hand in marriage--by the venom of this inward pestilence came on a -sudden to cast eyes of affection upon a mean and deformed creature, -Zoilus by name, who was a dwarf, and lived about the palace, the common -jest of the courtiers. In her besotted eyes he was grown a goodly -gentleman. And to her maidens, when any of them reproached him with the -defect of his shape in her hearing, she would reply that, "to them, -indeed, he might appear defective, and unlike a man, as, indeed, no man -was like unto him, for in form and complexion he was beyond painting. He -is like," she said, "to nothing that we have seen; yet he doth resemble -Apollo, as I have fancied him, when, rising in the east, he bestirs -himself, and shakes day-light from his hair." And, overcome with a -passion which was heavier than she could bear, she confessed herself a -wretched creature, and implored forgiveness of God Cupid, whom she had -provoked, and, if possible, that he would grant it to her, that she -might enjoy her love. Nay, she would court this piece of deformity to -his face; and when the wretch, supposing it to be done in mockery, has -said that he could wish himself more ill-shaped than he was, so it could -contribute to make her Grace merry, she would reply, "Oh, think not that -I jest! unless it be a jest not to esteem my life in comparison with -thine--to hang a thousand kisses in an hour upon those lips--unless it -be a jest to vow that I am willing to become your wife, and to take -obedience upon me." And by his "own white hand," taking it in hers--so -strong was the delusion--she besought him to swear to marry her. - -The term had not yet expired of the seven days within which the doting -Duke had sworn to fulfil her will, when, in pursuance of this frenzy, -she presented herself before her father, leading in the dwarf by the -hand, and, in the face of all the courtiers, solemnly demanding his hand -in marriage. And when the apish creature made show of blushing at the -unmerited honour, she, to comfort him, bade him not to be ashamed, for -"in her eyes he was worth a kingdom." - -And now, too late, did the fond father repent him of his dotage. But -when by no importunity he could prevail upon her to desist from her -suit, for his oath's sake he must needs consent to the marriage. But the -ceremony was no sooner, to the derision of all present, performed, than, -with the just feelings of an outraged parent, he commanded the head of -the presumptuous bridegroom to be stricken off, and committed the -distracted princess close prisoner to her chamber, where, after many -deadly swoonings, with intermingled outcries upon the cruelty of her -father, she, in no long time after, died, making ineffectual appeals, to -the last, to the mercy of the offended Power--the Power that had laid -its heavy hand upon her, to the bereavement of her good judgment first, -and, finally, to the extinction of a life that might have proved a -blessing to Lycia. - -Leontius had scarcely time to be sensible of her danger before a fresh -cause for mourning overtook him. His son Leucippus, who had hitherto -been a pattern of strict life and modesty, was stricken with a second -arrow from the Deity, offended for his overturned altars, in which the -prince had been a chief instrument. The God caused his heart to fall -away, and his crazed fancy to be smitten with the excelling beauty of a -wicked widow, by name Bacha. This woman, in the first days of her -mourning for her husband, by her dissembling tears and affected coyness -had drawn Leucippus so cunningly into her snares, that, before she would -grant him a return of love, she extorted from the easy-hearted prince a -contract of marriage, to be fulfilled in the event of his father's -death. This guilty intercourse, which they covered with the name of -marriage, was not carried with such secrecy but that a rumor of it ran -about the palace; and by some officious courtier was brought to the ears -of the old Duke, who, to satisfy himself of the truth, came hastily to -the house of Bacha, where he found his son courting. Taking the Prince -to task roundly, he sternly asked who that creature was that had -bewitched him out of his honor thus. Then Bacha, pretending ignorance of -the Duke's person, haughtily demanded of Leucippus what saucy old man -that was, that without leave had burst into the house of an afflicted -widow to hinder her paying her tears (as she pretended) to the dead. -Then the Duke declaring himself, and threatening her for having -corrupted his son, giving her the reproachful terms of witch and -sorceress, Leucippus mildly answered that he "did her wrong." The bad -woman, imagining that the Prince for very fear would not betray their -secret, now conceived a project of monstrous wickedness, which was no -less than to insnare the father with the same arts which had subdued the -son; that she might no longer be a concealed wife, nor a princess only -under cover, but by a union with the old man become at once the true and -acknowledged Duchess of Lycia. In a posture of humility she confessed -her ignorance of the Duke's quality, but, now she knew it, she besought -his pardon for her wild speeches, which proceeded, she said, from a -distempered head, which the loss of her dear husband had affected. He -might command her life, she told him, which was now of small value to -her. The tears which had accompanied her words, and her mourning weeds -(which, for a blind to the world, she had not yet cast off) heightening -her beauty, gave a credence to her protestations of her innocence. But -the duke continuing to assail her with reproaches, with a matchless -confidence, assuming the air of injured virtue, in a somewhat lofty tone -she replied, that, though he were her sovereign, to whom in any lawful -cause she was bound to submit, yet, if he sought to take away her honor, -she stood up to defy him. _That_, she said, was a jewel dearer than any -he could give her, which so long as she should keep she should esteem -herself richer than all the Princes of the earth that were without it. -If the Prince, his son, knew any thing to her dishonor, let him tell it. -And here she challenged Leucippus before his father to speak the worst -of her. If he would, however, sacrifice a woman's character to please an -unjust humor of the Duke's, she saw no remedy, she said, now _he_ was -dead (meaning her late husband) that with his life would have defended -her reputation. - -Thus appealed to, Leucippus, who had stood a while astonished at her -confident falsehoods, though ignorant of the full drift of them, -considering that not the reputation only, but probably the life of a -woman whom he had so loved, and who had made such sacrifices to him of -love and beauty, depended upon his absolute concealment of their -contract, framed his mouth to a compassionate untruth, and with solemn -asseverations confirmed to his father her assurances of her innocence. -He denied not that with rich gifts he had assailed her virtue, but had -found her relentless to his solicitations; that gold nor greatness had -any power over her. Nay, so far he went on to give force to the -protestations of this artful woman, that he confessed to having offered -marriage to her, which she, who scorned to listen to any second wedlock, -had rejected. - -All this while Leucippus secretly prayed to Heaven to forgive him while -he uttered these bold untruths, since it was for the prevention of a -greater mischief only, and had no malice in it. - -But, warned by the sad sequel which ensued, be thou careful, young -reader, how in any case you tell a lie. Lie not, if any man but ask you, -"How you do?" or "What o'clock it is?" Be sure you make no false excuse -to screen a friend that is most dear to you. Never let the most -well-intended falsehood escape your lips. For Heaven, which is entirely -Truth, will make the seed which you have sown of Untruth to yield -miseries a thousand-fold upon yours, as it did upon the head of the -ill-fated and mistaken Leucippus. - -Leontius, finding the assurances of Bacha so confidently seconded by his -son, could no longer withhold his belief, and, only forbidding their -meeting for the future, took a courteous leave of the lady, presenting -her at the same time with a valuable ring, in recompense, as he said, of -the injustice which he had done her in his false surmises of her -guiltiness. In truth, the surpassing beauty of the lady, with her -appearing modesty, had made no less impression upon the heart of the -fond old Duke than they had awakened in the bosom of his more pardonable -son. His first design was to make her his mistress; to the better -accomplishing of which Leucippus was dismissed from the court, under the -pretext of some honorable employment abroad. In his absence, Leontius -spared no offers to induce her to comply with his purpose. Continually -he solicited her with rich offers, with messages, and by personal -visits. It was a ridiculous sight if it were not rather a sad one, to -behold this second and worse dotage, which by Cupid's wrath had fallen -upon this fantastical _old new lover_. All his occupation now was in -dressing and pranking himself up in youthful attire to please the eyes -of his new mistress. His mornings were employed in the devising of trim -fashions, in the company of tailors, embroiderers, and feather-dressers. -So infatuated was he with these vanities, that when a servant came and -told him that his daughter was dead--even she, whom he had but lately so -highly prized--the words seemed spoken to a deaf person. He either could -not or would not understand them; but, like one senseless, fell to -babbling about the shape of a new hose and doublet. His crutch, the -faithful prop of long aged years, was discarded; and he resumed the -youthful fashion of a sword by his side, when his years wanted strength -to have drawn it. In this condition of folly it was no difficult task -for the widow, by affected pretenses of honour and arts of amorous -denial, to draw in this doting Duke to that which she had all along -aimed at, the offer of his crown in marriage. She was now Duchess of -Lycia! In her new elevation the mask was quickly thrown aside, and the -impious Bacha appeared in her true qualities. She had never loved the -Duke her husband, but had used him as the instrument of her greatness. -Taking advantage of his amorous folly, which seemed to gain growth the -nearer he approached to his grave, she took upon her the whole rule of -Lycia; placing and displacing at her will all the great officers of -state; and filling the court with creatures of her own, the agents of -her guilty pleasures, she removed from the Duke's person the oldest and -trustiest of his dependents. - -Leucippus, who at this juncture was returned from his foreign mission, -was met at once with the news of his sister's death and the strange -wedlock of the old Duke. To the memory of Hidaspes he gave some tears. -But these were swiftly swallowed up in his horror and detestation of the -conduct of Bacha. In his first fury he resolved upon a full disclosure -of all that had passed between him and his wicked step-mother. Again he -thought, by killing Bacha, to rid the world of a monster. But tenderness -for his father recalled him to milder counsels. The fatal secret, -nevertheless, sat upon him like lead, while he was determined to confide -it to no other. It took his sleep away, and his desire of food; and if a -thought of mirth at any time crossed him the dreadful truth would recur -to check it, as if a messenger should have come to whisper to him of -some friend's death! With difficulty he was brought to wish their -Highnesses faint joy of their marriage; and, at the first sight of -Bacha, a friend was fain to hold his wrist hard to prevent him from -fainting. In an interview which after, at her request, he had with her -alone, the bad woman shamed not to take up the subject lightly; to treat -as a trifle the marriage vow that had passed between them; and seeing -him sad and silent, to threaten him with the displeasure of the Duke, -his father, if by words or looks he gave any suspicion to the world of -their dangerous secret. "What had happened," she said, "was by no fault -of hers. People would have thought her mad if she had refused the Duke's -offer. She had used no arts to entrap his father. It was Leucippus's own -resolute denial of any such thing as a contract having passed between -them which had led to the proposal." - -The Prince, unable to extenuate his share of blame in the calamity, -humbly besought her, that "since by his own great fault things had been -brought to their present pass, she would only live honest for the -future; and not abuse the credulous age of the old Duke, as he well knew -she had the power to do. For himself, seeing that life was no longer -desirable to him, if his death was judged by her to be indispensable to -her security, she was welcome to lay what trains she pleased to compass -it, so long as she would only suffer his father to go to his grave in -peace, since _he_ had never wronged her." - -This temperate appeal was lost upon the heart of Bacha, who from that -moment was secretly bent upon effecting the destruction of Leucippus. -Her project was, by feeding the ears of the Duke with exaggerated -praises of his son, to awaken a jealousy in the old man that she -secretly preferred Leucippus. Next, by wilfully insinuating the great -popularity of the Prince (which was no more indeed than the truth) among -the Lycians, to instill subtle fears into the Duke that his son had laid -plots for circumventing his life and throne. By these arts, she was -working upon the weak mind of the Duke almost to distraction, when, at a -meeting, concocted by herself between the Prince and his father, the -latter taking Leucippus soundly to task for these alleged treasons, the -Prince replied only by humbly drawing his sword, with the intention of -laying it at his father's feet, and begging him, since he suspected him, -to sheathe it in his own bosom, for of his life he had been long weary. -Bacha entered at the crisis, and ere Leucippus could finish his -submission, with loud outcries alarmed the courtiers, who, rushing into -the presence, found the Prince, with sword in hand indeed, but with far -other intentions than this bad woman imputed to him, plainly accusing -him of having drawn it upon his father! Leucippus was quickly disarmed; -and the old Duke, trembling between fear and age, committed him to close -prison, from which, by Bacha's aims, he never should have come out alive -but for the interference of the common people, who, loving their Prince, -and equally detesting Bacha, in a simultaneous mutiny, arose and rescued -him from the hands of the officers. - -The court was now no longer a place of living for Leucippus, and, -hastily thanking his countrymen for his deliverance, which in his heart -he rather deprecated than welcomed, as one that wished for death, he -took leave of all court hopes, and, abandoning the palace, betook -himself to a life of penitence in solitudes. - -Not so secretly did he select his place of penance, in a cave among -lonely woods and fastnesses, but that his retreat was traced by Bacha; -who, baffled in her purpose, raging like some she-wolf, dispatched an -emissary of her own to destroy him privately. - -There was residing at the court of Lycia at this time a young maiden, -the daughter of Bacha by her first husband, who had hitherto been -brought up in the obscurity of a poor country abode with an uncle, but -whom Bacha now publicly owned, and had prevailed upon the easy Duke to -adopt as successor to the throne in wrong of the true heir, his -suspected son Leucippus. - -This young creature, Urania by name, was as artless and harmless as her -mother was crafty and wicked. To the unnatural Bacha she had been an -object of neglect and aversion; and for the project of supplanting -Leucippus only had she fetched her out of retirement. The bringing-up of -Urania had been among country hinds and lasses; to tend her flocks or -superintend her neat dairy had been the extent of her breeding. From her -calling she had contracted a pretty rusticity of dialect, which, among -the fine folks of the court, passed for simplicity and folly. She was -the unfittest instrument for an ambitious design that could be chosen, -for her manners in a palace had a tinge still of her old occupation, and -to her mind the lowly shepherdess's life was best. - -Simplicity is oft a match for prudence; and Urania was not so simple but -she understood that she had been sent for to court only in the Prince's -wrong, and in her heart she was determined to defeat any designs that -might be contriving against her brother-in-law. The melancholy bearing -of Leucippus had touched her with pity. This wrought in her a kind of -love, which, for its object, had no further end than the well-being of -the beloved. She looked for no return of it, nor did the possibility of -such a blessing in the remotest way occur to her--so vast a distance she -had imaged between her lowly bringing up and the courtly breeding and -graces of Leucippus. Hers was no raging flame, such as had burned -destructive in the bosom of poor Hidaspes. Either the vindictive God in -mercy had spared this young maiden, or the wrath of the confounding -_Cupid_ was restrained by a Higher Power from discharging the most -malignant of his arrows against the peace of so much innocence. Of the -extent of her mother's malice she was too guileless to have entertained -conjecture; but from hints and whispers, and, above all, from that -tender watchfulness with which a true affection, like Urania's, tends -the safety of its object--fearing even where no cause for fear -subsists--she gathered that some danger was impending over the Prince, -and with simple heroism resolved to countermine the treason. - -It chanced upon a day that Leucippus had been indulging his sad -meditations, in forests far from human converse, when he was struck with -the appearance of a human being, so unusual in that solitude. There -stood before him a seeming _youth_, of delicate appearance, clad in -coarse and peasantly attire. "He was come," he said, "to seek out the -Prince, and to be his poor boy and servant, if he would let him." "Alas! -poor youth," replied Leucippus, "why do you follow me, who am as poor as -you are?" "In good faith," was his pretty answer, "I shall be well and -rich enough if you will but love me." And saying so, he wept. The -Prince, admiring this strange attachment in a boy, was moved with -compassion; and seeing him exhausted, as if with long travel and hunger, -invited him into his poor habitation, setting such refreshments before -him as that barren spot afforded. But by no entreaties could he be -prevailed upon to take any sustenance; and all that day, and for the two -following, he seemed supported only by some gentle flame of love that -was within him. He fed only upon the sweet looks and courteous -entertainment which he received from Leucippus. Seemingly he wished to -die under the loving eyes of his master. "I can not eat," he prettily -said, "but I shall eat to-morrow." "You will be dead by that time," said -Leucippus. "I shall be well then," said he, "since you will not love -me." Then the prince asked him why he sighed so: "To think," was his -innocent reply, "that such a fine man as you should die, and no gay lady -love him." "But you will love me," said Leucippus. "Yes, sure," said he, -"till I die; and when I am in heaven I shall wish for you."--"This is a -love," thought the other, "that I never yet heard tell of: but come, -thou art sleepy, child; go in, and I will sit with thee." Then, from -some words which the poor youth dropped, Leucippus, suspecting that his -wits were beginning to ramble, said, "What portends this?"--"I am not -sleepy," said the youth, "but you are sad. I would that I could do -anything to make you merry. Shall I sing?" But soon, as if recovering -strength, "There is one approaching," he wildly cried out. "Master, look -to yourself--" - -His words were true; for now entered, with provided weapon, the wicked -emissary of Bacha that we told of; and, directing a mortal thrust at the -Prince, the supposed boy, with a last effort, interposing his weak body, -received it in his bosom, thanking the Heavens in death that he had -saved "so good a master." - -Leucippus, having slain the villain, was at leisure to discover, in the -features of his poor servant, the countenance of his devoted -sister-in-law! Through solitary and dangerous ways she had sought him in -that disguise; and, finding him, seems to have resolved upon a voluntary -death by fasting: partly, that she might die in the presence of her -beloved; and partly, that she might make known to him in death the love -which she wanted boldness to disclose to him while living; but chiefly, -because she knew that by her demise all obstacles would be removed that -stood between her Prince and his succession to the throne of Lycia. - -Leucippus had hardly time to comprehend the strength of love in his -Urania when a trampling of horses resounded through his solitude. It was -a party of Lycian horsemen, that had come to seek him, dragging the -detested Bacha in their train, who was now to receive the full penalty -of her misdeeds. Amidst her frantic fury upon the missing of her -daughter the old Duke had suddenly died, not without suspicion of her -having administered poison to him. Her punishment was submitted to -Leucippus, who was now, with joyful acclaims, saluted as the rightful -Duke of Lycia. He, as no way moved with his great wrongs, but -considering her simply as the parent of Urania, saluting her only by the -title of "Wicked Mother," bade her to live. "That Reverend title," he -said, and pointed to the bleeding remains of her child, "must be her -pardon. He would use no extremity against her, but leave her to Heaven." -The hardened mother, not at all relenting at the sad spectacle that lay -before her, but making show of dutiful submission to the young Duke, and -with bended knees, approaching him, suddenly, with a dagger, inflicted a -mortal stab upon him; and, with a second stroke stabbing herself, ended -both their wretched lives. - -Now was the tragedy of Cupid's wrath awfully completed; and, the race of -Leontius failing in the deaths of both his children, the chronicle -relates that, under their new Duke, Ismenus, the offense to the angry -Power was expiated; his statues and altars were, with more magnificence -than ever, re-edified; and he ceased thenceforth from plaguing the land. - -Thus far the Pagan historians relate erring. But from this vain Idol -story a not unprofitable moral may be gathered against the abuse of the -natural, but dangerous, _passion of love_. In the story of Hidaspes we -see the preposterous linking of beauty with deformity; of princely -expectancies with mean and low conditions, in the case of the Prince, -her brother; and of decrepit age with youth in the ill end of their -doting father, Leontius. By their examples we are warned to decline all -_unequal and ill-assorted unions_. - - - - -APPENDIX - - -ESSAYS AND NOTES NOT CERTAIN TO BE LAMB'S, BUT PROBABLY HIS - - - - -SCRAPS OF CRITICISM - -(1822) - - - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid - Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; - Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, - Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre. - - _Gray's Elegy_. - - -There has always appeared to me a vicious mixture of the figurative with -the real in this admired passage. The first two lines may barely pass, -as not bad. But the _hands_ laid in the earth, must mean the identical -five-finger'd organs of the body; and how does this consist with their -occupation of _swaying rods_, unless their owner had been a -schoolmaster; or _waking lyres_, unless he were literally a harper by -profession? Hands that "might have held the plough," would have some -sense, for that work is strictly manual; the others only emblematically -or pictorially so. Kings now-a-days sway no rods, _alias_ sceptres, -except on their coronation day; and poets do not necessarily strum upon -the harp or fiddle, as poets. When we think upon dead cold fingers, we -may remember the honest squeeze of friendship which they returned -heretofore; we cannot but with violence connect their living idea, as -opposed to death, with uses to which they must become metaphorical (i.e. -less real than dead things themselves) before we can so with any -propriety apply them. - - * * * * * - - He saw, but, blasted with excess of light, - Closed his eyes in endless night. - - _Gray's Bard_. - -Nothing was ever more violently distorted, than this material fact of -Milton's blindness having been occasioned by his intemperate studies, -and late hours, during his prosecution of the defence against -Salmasius--applied to the dazzling effects of too much mental vision. -His corporal sight was blasted with corporal occupation; his inward -sight was not impaired, but rather strengthened, by his task. If his -course of studies had turned his brain, there would have been some -fitness in the expression. - - * * * * * - - And since I cannot, I will prove a _villain_, - And hate the idle pleasures of these days. - - _Soliloquy in Richard III_. - -The performers, whom I have seen in this part, seem to mistake the -import of the word which I have marked with italics. Richard does not -mean, that because he is by shape and temper unfitted for a _courtier_, -he is therefore determined to prove, in our sense of the word, a _wicked -man_. The word in Shakspeare's time had not passed entirely into the -modern sense; it was in its passage certainly, and indifferently used as -such; the beauty of a world of words in that age was in their being less -definite than they are now, fixed, and petrified. _Villain_ is here -undoubtedly used for a _churl_, or _clown_, opposed to a _courtier_; and -the incipient deterioration of the meaning gave the use of it in this -place great spirit and beauty. A _wicked man_ does not necessarily hate -_courtly pleasures_; a _clown_ is naturally opposed to them. The mistake -of this meaning has, I think, led the players into that hard literal -conception with which they deliver this passage, quite foreign, in my -understanding, to the bold gay-faced irony of the soliloquy. Richard, -upon the stage, looks round, as if he were literally apprehensive of -some dog snapping at him; and announces his determination of procuring a -looking-glass, and employing a tailor, as if he were prepared to put -both in practice before he should get home--I apprehend "a world of -figures here." - - * * * * * - -_Howell's Letters_. "The Treaty of the Match 'twixt our Prince -[afterwards Charles I.] and the Lady Infanta, is now strongly afoot; she -is a very comely Lady, _rather of a Flemish complexion than Spanish, -fair hair'd_, and carrieth a most pure mixture of red and white in her -Face. She is full and _big-lipp'd, which is held a Beauty rather than a -Blemish or any Excess in the Austrian Family, it being a thing incident -to most of that Race_; she goes now upon 16, and is of a tallness -agreeable to those years." This letter bears date, 5th Jan. 1622. Turn -we now to a letter dated 16th May, 1626. The wind was now changed about, -the Spanish match broken off, and Charles had become the husband of -Henrietta. "I thank you for your late Letter, and the several good -Tidings sent me from Wales. In requital I can send you gallant news, for -we have now a most Noble new Queen of England, who in true Beauty is -beyond the Long-woo'd Infanta; for she was of a _fading Flaxen-hair, -Big-lipp'd_, and somewhat Heavy-eyed; but this Daughter of France, this -youngest Branch of Bourbon (being but in her Cradle when the Great -Henry her Father was put out of the World) is of a more _lovely and -lasting Complexion_, a dark brown; she hath Eyes that sparkle like -Stars; and for her Physiognomy, she may be said to be a Mirror of -Perfection." He hath a rich account, in another letter, of Prince -Charles courting this same Infanta. "There are Comedians once a week -come to the Palace [at Madrid], where under a great Canopy, the Queen -and the Infanta sit in the middle, our Prince and Don Carlos on the -Queen's right hand, the king and the little Cardinal on the Infanta's -left hand. I have seen the Prince have his eyes immovably fixed upon the -Infanta half an hour together in a thoughtful speculative posture, -_which sure would needs be tedious, unless affection did sweeten it_." -Again, of the Prince's final departure from that court. "The king and -his two Brothers accompanied his Highness to the Escurial some twenty -miles off, and would have brought him to the Sea-side, but that the -Queen is big, and hath not many days to go. When the King and he parted, -there past wonderful great Endearments and Embraces _in divers postures_ -between them a long time; and in that place there is a Pillar to be -erected as a monument to Posterity." This scene of royal congées -assuredly gave rise to the popular, or reformed sign (as Ben Jonson -calls it), of _The Salutation_. In the days of Popery, this sign had a -more solemn import. - - - - -THE MISCELLANY - -(1822) - - -THE CHOICE OF A GRAVE - -In Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead, Mary Stuart meets Rizzio, and by -way of reconciling him to the violence he had suffered, says to him, "I -have honoured thy memory so far as to place thee in the tomb of the -Kings of Scotland." "How," says the musician, "my body entombed among -the Scottish Kings?" "Nothing more true," replies the queen. "And I," -says Rizzio, "I have been so little sensible of that good fortune, that, -believe me, this is the first notice I ever had of it." - -I have no sympathy with that feeling, which is now-a-days so much in -fashion, for picking out snug spots to be buried in. What is the meaning -of such fancies? No man thinks or says, that it will be agreeable to his -dead body to be resolved into dust under a willow, or with flowers above -it. No--it is, that while alive he has pleasure in such anticipations -for his coxcomical clay. I do not understand it--there is no _quid pro -quo_ in the business to my apprehension. It will not do to reason upon -of course; but I can't feel about it. I am to blame, I dare say--but I -can only laugh at such under-ground whims. "A good place" in the -church-yard!--the boxes!--a front row! but why? No, I cannot understand -it: I cannot feel _particular_ on such a subject: any part for me, as a -plain man says of a partridge. - - * * * * * - - -WILKS - -It is very pleasing to discover redeeming points in characters that have -been held up to our detestation. The merest trifles are enough, if they -taste but of common humanity. I have never thought very ill of Wilks -since I discovered that he was exceedingly fond of South-Down mutton. -But better than this: "My cherries," he says, "are the prey of the -blackbirds--and they are most welcome." This is a little trait of -character, which, in my mind, covers a multitude of sins. - - * * * * * - - -MILTON - -Milton takes his rank in English literature, according to the station -which has been determined on by the critics. But he is not read like -Lord Byron, or Mr. Thomas Moore. He is not _popular_; nor perhaps will -he ever be. He is known as the Author of "Paradise Lost;" but his -"Paradise Regained," "severe and beautiful," is little known. Who knows -his Arcades? or Samson Agonistes? or half his minor poems? We are -persuaded that, however they may be spoken of with respect, few persons -take the trouble to read them. Even Comus, the child of his youth, his -"florid son, young" Comus--is not well known; and for the little renown -he may possess, he is indebted to the stage. The following lines -(_excepting only the first four_) are not printed in the common editions -of Milton; nor are they generally known to belong to that divine -"Masque;" yet they are in the poet's highest style. We are happy to -bring them before such of our readers as are not possessed of Mr. Todd's -expensive edition of Milton. - - _The Spirit Enters._ - - Before the starry threshold of Jove's court - My mansion is, where those immortal shapes - Of bright aërial spirits live insphered - In regions mild of calm and serene air, - _Amidst th' Hesperian gardens, on whose banks_ - _Bedew'd with nectar and celestial songs,_ - _Eternal roses grow, and hyacinth, - And fruits of golden rind, on whose fair tree_ - _The scaly harness'd dragon ever keeps_ - _His unenchanted eye: around the verge_ - _And sacred limits of this blissful isle,_ - _The jealous ocean, that old river, winds_ - _His far-extended arms, till with steep fall_ - _Half his waste flood the wild Atlantic fills,_ - _And half the slow unfathom'd Stygian pool._ - _But soft, I was not sent to court your wonder_ - _With distant worlds, and strange removed climes._ - _Yet thence I come, and oft from thence behold, &c._ - -Our readers will forgive us for having modernized the spelling. It is -the only liberty that we have taken with our great author's magnificent -passage. - - * * * * * - - -A CHECK TO HUMAN PRIDE - -It is rather an unpleasant fact, that the ugliest and awkwardest of -brute animals have the greatest resemblance to man: the monkey and the -bear. The monkey is ugly too, (so we think,) because he is like man--as -the bear is awkward, because the cumbrous action of its huge paws seems -to be a preposterous imitation of the motions of the human hands. Men -and apes are the only animals that have hairs on the under eye-lid. Let -kings know this. - - - - -COMIC TALES, ETC., - -BY C. DIBDIN THE YOUNGER - -(1825) - - -In this age of hyper-poetic plights, and talent in a frenzy aping -genius, it is consolatory to see a little volume of verse in the good -old sober manner of Queen Ann's days, when verse walked high, rather -than flew, and sought its nutriment upon this diurnal sphere, not rapt -above the moon. To a lover of Chess, who at the same time can relish the -Rape of the Lock, the poem which forms the distinguishing feature of -this volume cannot fail to impart pleasure. It is a mock heroic of -course, descriptive of the Game; and the Homeric parodies are adroit and -numerous. The names of the mortal combatants, Blanc, Blanche, -Croesieroi, Reinelawne, Sir Garderoi, Sir Gardereene, etc. on one side, -with Niger, Nigra, Mitrex, Mitre regina, Sir Rexensor, Sir Reginalde, -etc. on the other, are happily conceived, and the strife thickens to the -conclusion. The Gods and Goddesses are the Games of Chance, or Mixed -Chance, Faro, Whist, Loo, etc. in all their attributes, with old Hazard -for their Jupiter, a fine gruff, grumbling Dice-compeller, whose -dice-box is to him what the awful Homeric chain was to his Prototype. -The soft blandishments of _Joan_, the gentle _Pope_-- - - Intriguing Hebe to the God of Game-- - -wrings from his austere Deity his slow permission for the interference -of the Olympeans in the fight below, and accordingly they range on -either side, as in the Iliad; and by their infusion of passions, -coprices, impulses, peculiar to the nature of their own warfare, -confound and embroil the pure contest of skill through five Cantos very -entertainingly. We confess we are more at home in Hoyle than in -Phillidor; but by the help of the notes, we played the game through -ourselves very tolerably. We subjoin an exquisite simile, with which the -third Canto commences--a description of the Morning, redolent of Swift -and Gay:-- - - Now Morning, yawning, rais'd her from her bed, - Slipp'd on her wrapper blue and 'kerchief red, - And took from Night the key of Sleep's abode-- - For Night within that mansion had bestow'd - The Hours of Day; now, turn and turn about, - Morn takes the key, and lets the Day Hours out; - Laughing they issue from the ebon gate, - And Night walks in. As when, in drowsy state, - Some _watchman_, wed to _one who chars all day_, - Takes to his lodgings door his creeping way; - His Rib, arising, lets him in to sleep, - While she emerges to scrub, dust, and sweep. - - - - -DOG DAYS - -"Now Sirius rages" - -_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_ - -(1825) - - -Sir,--I am one of those unfortunate creatures, who, at this season of -the year, are exposed to the effects of an illiberal prejudice. Warrants -are issued out in form, and whole scores of us are taken up and executed -annually, under an obsolete statute, on what is called suspicion of -lunacy. It is very hard that a sober sensible dog, cannot go quietly -through a village about his business, without having his motions -watched, or some impertinent fellow observing that there is an "odd look -about his eyes." My pulse, for instance, at this present writing, is as -temperate as yours, Mr. Editor, and my head as little rambling, but I -hardly dare to show my face out of doors for fear of these scrutinizers. -If I look up in a stranger's face, he thinks I am going to bite him. If -I go with my eyes fixed upon the ground, they say I have got the mopes, -which is but a short stage from the disorder. If I wag my tail, I am too -lively; if I do not wag it, I am sulky--either of which appearances -passes alike for a prognostic. If I pass a dirty puddle without -drinking, sentence is infallibly pronounced upon me. I am perfectly -swilled with the quantity of ditch-water I am forced to swallow in a -day, to clear me from imputations--a worse cruelty than the water ordeal -of your old Saxon ancestors. If I snap at a bone, I am furious; if I -refuse it, I have got the sullens, and that is a bad symptom. I dare not -bark outright, for fear of being adjudged to rave. It was but yesterday, -that I indulged in a little innocent _yelp_ only, on occasion of a -cart-wheel going over my leg, and the populace was up in arms, as if I -had betrayed some marks of flightiness in my conversation. - -Really our case is one which calls for the interference of the -chancellor. He should see, as in cases of other lunatics, that -commissions are only issued out against proper objects; and not [let] a -whole race be proscribed, because some dreaming Chaldean, two thousand -years ago, fancied a canine resemblance in some star or other, that was -supposed to predominate over addle brains, with as little justice as -Mercury was held to be influential over rogues and swindlers; no -compliment I am sure to either star or planet. Pray attend to my -complaint, Mr. Editor, and speak a good word for us this hot weather. - - Your faithful, though sad dog, - - POMPEY. - - - - -THE PROGRESS OF CANT - -(A REVIEW OF HOOD'S ETCHING) - -(1826) - - -A wicked wag has produced a caricature under this title, in which he -marshalleth all the projected improvements of the age, and maketh them -take their fantastic progress before the eyes of the scorner. It is a -spirited etching, almost as abundant in meaning as in figures, and hath -a reprobate eye to a corner--an Hogarthian vivification of post and -placard. Priests, anti-priests, architects, politicians, reformers, -flaming loyalty-men, high and low, rich and poor, one with another, all -go on "progressing," as the Americans say. Life goes on, at any rate; -and there is so much merriment on all sides, that for our parts, -inclined to improvements as we are, we should be willing enough to join -in the laugh throughout, if the world were as merry as the artist. The -houses are as much to the purpose as the pedestrians. There is the -office of the Peruvian Mining Company, in dismal, dilapidated condition; -a barber's shop, with "Nobody to be shaved during divine service," the -_h_ worn out; two boarding-schools for young ladies and gentlemen, very -neighbourly; and the public-house, called the Angel and Punch-Bowl, by -T. Moore. Among the crowd is a jolly, but vehement, reverend person -holding a flag, inscribed, "The Church in Anger," the _D_ for danger -being hidden by another flag, inscribed, "Converted Jews." Then there is -the Caledonian Chap (_el_ being obstructed in the same way), who holds a -pennon, crying out, "No Theatre!" Purity of Election, with a bludgeon, -very drunk; and, above all, a petty fellow called the Great Unknown, -with his hat over his eyes, and a constable's staff peeping out of his -pocket. Some of the faces and figures are very clever, particularly the -Barber; the Saving-banks man; the Jew Boy picking the pocket; the -Charity Boy and the Beadle. The Beadle is rich from head to foot. -Nathless, we like not to see Mrs. Fry so roasted: we are at a loss to -know why the Blacks deserve to be made Black Devils; and are not aware -that the proposal of an University in London has occasioned, or is -likely to occasion, any sort of cant. However, there is no harm done -where a cause can afford a joke; and where it cannot, the more it is -joked at, the better. - - - - -MR. EPHRAIM WAGSTAFF, HIS WIFE, AND PIPE - - -About the middle of Shoemaker-row, near to Broadway, Blackfriars, there -resided for many years a substantial hardware-man, named Ephraim -Wagstaff. He was short in stature, tolerably well favoured in -countenance, and singularly neat and clean in his attire. Everybody in -the neighbourhood looked upon him as a "warm" old man; and when he died, -the property he left behind him did not bely the preconceived opinion. -It was all personal, amounted to about nineteen thousand pounds; and, as -he was childless, it went to distant relations, with the exception of a -few hundred pounds bequeathed to public charities. - -The family of Ephraim Wagstaff, both on the male and female sides, was -respectable, though not opulent. His maternal grandfather, he used to -say, formed part of the executive government in the reign of George I., -whom he served as petty constable in one of the manufacturing districts -during a long period. The love of office seems not to have been -hereditary in the family; or perhaps the opportunities of gratifying it -did not continue; for, with that single exception, none of his ancestors -could boast of official honours. The origin of the name is doubtful. On -a first view, it seems evidently the conjunction of two names brought -together by marriage or fortune. In the "Tatler" we read about the -_staff_ in a variety of combinations, under one of which the popular -author of that work chose to designate himself, and thereby conferred -immortality on the name of Bickerstaff. Our friend Ephraim was no great -wit, but he loved a joke, particularly if he made it himself; and he -used to say, whenever he heard any one endeavouring to account for his -name, that he believed it originated in the marriage of a Miss Staff to -some Wag who lived near her; and who, willing to show his gallantry, and -at the same time his knowledge of French customs, adopted the fashion of -that sprightly people, by adding her family name to his own. The -conjecture is at least probable, and so we must leave it. - -At the age of fifty-two it pleased heaven to deprive Mr. Wagstaff of his -beloved spouse Barbara. The bereavement formed an era in his history. -Mrs. Wagstaff was an active, strong woman, about ten years older than -himself, and one sure to be missed in any circle wherein she had once -moved. She was indeed no cipher. Her person was tall and bony, her face, -in hue, something between brown and red, had the appearance of having -been scorched. Altogether her qualities were truly commanding. She loved -her own way exceedingly; was continually on the alert to have it; and, -in truth, generally succeeded. Yet such was her love of justice, that -she has been heard to aver repeatedly, that she never (she spoke the -word _never_ emphatically) opposed her husband, but when he was -decidedly in the wrong. Of these occasions, it must also be mentioned, -she generously took upon herself the trouble and responsibility of being -the sole judge. There was one point, however, on which it would seem -that Mr. Wagstaff had contrived to please himself exclusively; although, -how he had managed to resist so effectually the remonstrances and -opposition which, from the structure of his wife's mind he must -necessarily have been doomed to encounter, must ever remain a secret. -The fact was this: Ephraim had a peculiarly strong attachment to a pipe; -his affection for his amiable partner scarcely exceeding that which he -entertained for that lively emblem of so many sage contrivances and -florid speeches, ending like it--in smoke. In the times of his former -wives (for twice before had he been yoked in matrimony) he had indulged -himself with it unmolested. Not so with Mrs. Wagstaff the third. Pipes -and smoking she held in unmitigated abhorrence: but having, by whatever -means, been obliged to submit to their introduction, she wisely avoided -all direct attempts to abate what she called among her friends "the -nuisance;" and, like a skilful general, who has failed of securing -victory, she had recourse to such stratagems as might render it as -little productive as possible to the enemy. Ephraim, aware how matters -stood, neglected no precaution to guard against his wife's -manœuvres--meeting, of course, with various success. Many a time did her -ingenuity contrive an accident, by which his pipe and peace of mind were -at once demolished; and, although there never could be any difficulty in -replacing the former by simply sending out for that purpose, yet he has -confessed, that when he contemplated the possibility of offering too -strong an excitement to the shrill tones of his beloved's voice, (the -only pipe she willingly tolerated,) he waved that proceeding, and -submitted to the sacrifice as much the lesser evil. At length Mrs. -Wagstaff was taken ill, an inflammation on her lungs was found to be her -malady, and that crisis appeared to be fast approaching, when - - The doctor leaves the house with sorrow, - Despairing of his fee to-morrow. - -The foreboding soon proved correct; and, every thing considered, perhaps -it ought not to excite much surprise, that when Ephraim heard from the -physician that there was little or no chance of her recovery, he -betrayed no symptoms of excessive emotion, but mumbling something -unintelligibly, in which the doctor thought he caught the sound of the -words "Christian duty of resignation," he quietly filled an additional -pipe that evening. The next day Mrs. Wagstaff expired, and in due time -her interment took place in the churchyard of St. Ann, Blackfriars, -every thing connected therewith being conducted with the decorum -becoming so melancholy an event, and which might be expected from a man -of Mr. Wagstaff's gravity and experience. The funeral was a walking one -from the near vicinity to the ground; and but for an untimely slanting -shower of rain, no particular inconvenience would have been felt by -those who were assembled on that occasion; that casualty, however, -caused them to be thoroughly drenched; and, in reference to their -appearance, it was feelingly observed by some of the by-standers, that -they had seldom seen so many tears on the faces of mourners.-- - - _To be continued_--(perhaps). - - NEMO. - - - - -REVIEW OF MOXON'S SONNETS - -[SONNETS. BY EDWARD MOXON. (Printed for private circulation only.)] - -(1833) - - -A copy of this unassuming work has fallen in our way. We are critics on -_publications_ only. It is like criticising a domestic conversation, or -a friendly letter, to notice a little book, professedly not meant for -the public eye. But we are pleased, and pleasure will speak out when -discretion whispers it to be still. The author has professional reasons -to be private. With them we have nothing to do, but to say, that if -unabating industry, integrity above his avocation, unparalleled success -for the short time he has entered upon it, are any auguries of success, -this notice of ours will not hinder his calling. We have no parallel for -this mixed character--qualities united seemingly at farthest -variance--except in fine old Humphrey Mosely, the _stationer_ (so were -booksellers termed in the good old times), who, for love only, not for -lucre, ushered into the world the first poems of Waller, the Juvenilia -of Milton, besides a lesser galaxy of the poets of his day, with -_Prefaces_, of his own honest composing, worthy of the strains they -preluded to. Turn, reader, to his introduction to the Minor Poems of -Milton, and say, if that soul, which inspirits it, worked for gain. H. -M. (bibliomanists will gladlier recognise him by his initials) was, in -his day, what we hope E. M. will prove in his, the fosterer of poetry, -not merely the sordid trader in it. We must steal a sonnet or two from -this sealed book, to justify our expectations. The first shall be 'To -the Nightingale:' the originality of the concluding thought, and general -sweetness of the versification, make us, reluctantly almost, give it the -preference. - - Lone midnight-soothing melancholy bird, - That send'st such music to my sleepless soul, - Chaining her faculties in fast controul, - Few listen to thy song; yet I have heard, - When Man and Nature slept, nor aspen stirr'd, - Thy mournful voice, sweet vigil of the sleeping-- - And liken'd thee to some angelic mind, - That sits and mourns for erring mortals weeping. - The genius, not of groves, but of mankind, - Watch at this solemn hour o'er millions keeping. - In Eden's bowers, as mighty poets tell, - Did'st thou repeat, as now, that wailing call-- - Those sorrowing notes might seem, sad Philomel, - Prophetic to have mourn'd of _man_ the _fall_. - -One more, and we have done. We mistake, if a Petrarch-like delicacy is -not to be found in the following:-- - - Methought my Love was dead. O, 'twas a night - Of dreary weeping, and of bitter woe! - Methought I saw her lovely spirit go - With lingering looks into yon star so bright, - Which then assumed such a beauteous light, - That all the fires in heaven compared with this - Were scarce perceptible to my weak sight. - There seem'd henceforth the haven of my bliss; - To that I turn'd with fervency of soul, - And pray'd that morn might never break again, - But o'er me that pure planet still remain. - Alas! o'er it my vows had no controul. - The lone star set: I woke full glad, I deem, - To find my sorrow but a lover's dream! - - - - -NOTES - - -The prose of Lamb's _Works_, 1818, was dedicated to Martin Burney in the -following sonnet:-- - -TO MARTIN CHARLES BURNEY, ESQ. - - Forgive me, BURNEY, if to thee these late - And hasty products of a critic pen, - Thyself no common judge of books and men, - In feeling of thy worth I dedicate. - My _verse_ was offered to an older friend; - The humbler _prose_ has fallen to thy share: - Nor could I miss the occasion to declare, - What spoken in thy presence must offend-- - That, set aside some few caprices wild, - Those humorous clouds that flit o'er brightest days, - In all my threadings of this worldly maze, - (And I have watched thee almost from a child), - Free from self-seeking, envy, low design, - I have not found a whiter soul than thine. - -Martin Burney was the son of Rear-Admiral Burney, who had sailed with -Cook, and was the nephew of Madame D'Arblay. He was a barrister and very -nearly Lamb's contemporary. Both Charles Lamb and his sister had for him -a deep affection, although they made fun of his oddities, many of which -are recorded in the correspondence. Burney lived to attend, and weep -distressingly at, Mary Lamb's funeral in 1847. - -Lamb seems to have meditated a collected edition of his works as early -as 1816, for we find him telling Wordsworth (Sept. 23, 1816), that he -had offered the book to Murray through Barron Field, but that Gifford -had opposed the project successfully. - -Page 1. ROSAMUND GRAY. - -First printed, 1798. Reprinted in the _Works_, 1818. - -_Rosamund Gray_ was published in 1798 by Lee & Hurst under the title _A -Tale of Rosamund Gray and old Blind Margaret_, by Charles Lamb. It then -had this dedication:-- - - THIS TALE - - IS - - INSCRIBED IN FRIENDSHIP - - TO - - MARMADUKE THOMPSON, - - OF - - PEMBROKE HALL, - - CAMBRIDGE. - -Thompson was at Christ's Hospital with Lamb. In the essay on that school -in _Elia_, written in 1820, he is called "mildest of Missionaries" and -the writer's good friend still, but there is no evidence that the -intimacy was actively continued after the early days. - -At the time that _Rosamund Gray_ was written Lamb was twenty-two to -twenty-three. It was his first prose of which we know anything. - -Lamb reprinted the story without the dedication, under the title -_Rosamund Gray, a Tale_, in his _Works_, 1818, the text of which is -followed here. The differences of punctuation are numerous, but the text -is mainly the same. In Chapter VI. (page 14, line 9) the phrase "take a -cup of tea with her," ran, twenty years earlier, "drink a dish"; page -14, line 8 from foot, after "beauties of the season" old Margaret -originally said, "I can still remember them with pleasure, and rejoice -that younger eyes than mine can see and enjoy them. I shall be," etc.; -and at the end of the same chapter (page 16), in the 1798 edition, came -the quaintly particular passage which I have thrown into italics:-- - -"Besides, it was Margaret's bed-time, for she kept very good -hours--indeed, in the distribution of her meals, and sundry other -particulars, she resembled the livers in the antique world, more than -might well beseem a creature of this--_none but Rosamund could get her -mess of broth ready, or put her night caps on--(she wore seven, the -undermost was of flannel)--_ - -"_'You know, love, I can do nothing to help myself--here I must stay till -you return.'_ - -"So the new friends parted for that night--Elinor having made Margaret -promise to give Rosamund leave to come and see her the next day." - -Shelley's praise of _Rosamund Gray_ has often been quoted: writing to -Leigh Hunt, in 1819, he said, "What a lovely thing is _Rosamund Gray_! -How much knowledge of the sweetest and deepest parts of our nature is in -it!" Lamb mentions _Julia de Roubigné_ in the text, and there is little -doubt that he was influenced by Mackenzie's story. The epistolary form -into which _Rosamund Gray_ lapses is maintained throughout in _Julia de -Roubigné_ (1777), and there is a similar intensity of emotion and -suggestion of fatality in both correspondences. There is, however, in -_Julia de Roubigné_ nothing of the sweet simplicity and limpid clarity -of Lamb's earlier chapters; which may be described as his (perhaps -unconscious) contribution to the revolt against convention that -Coleridge and Wordsworth were leading in the same year in the _Lyrical -Ballads_. - -How far Lamb was recording fact in this story we do not know; but the -letters seem to reflect his own frame of mind at that time--following -upon his mother's death and his abandonment of his daydreams with the -fair-haired maid of his sonnets. In this case we have the unusual -spectacle of a masculine writer conveying his feelings through a -feminine medium. But on pages 17-18 Lamb seems to be writing both as -himself and his sister. Compare the passage at the foot of page 17 with -Lamb's letter to Coleridge of October 17, 1796, where he quotes his -sister as saying, "The spirit of my mother seems to descend and smile -upon me," and the last paragraph on page 17 is paraphrased in Lamb's -lines (composed at the same time that he was working on _Rosamund Gray_) -"Written soon after the Preceding Poem," October, 1797. Again, the -second paragraph on page 21 must exactly represent Lamb's hopes and -wishes in connection with his sister at that date. - -Rosamund Gray and her grandmother (if they had any real existence) are -said to have lived in one of the group of cottages called Blenheims, -between Blakesware and Ware, in the days when Lamb visited his -grandmother at Blakesware house. These cottages were pulled down in -1895. But then Lamb's Anna--of the love sonnets--is also said to have -lived at Blenheims; and they cannot possibly be identical. Old Margaret -and Mrs. Field, Lamb's grandmother, may have had some traits in common, -and the description of Blakesware, where Mrs. Field was housekeeper, is -recognisable; but these researches cannot be pursued to any real -purpose. According to a letter to Southey in October, 1798, "nothing but -the first words" of the ballad-- - - An old woman clothed in gray, - Whose daughter was charming and young, - And she was deluded away - By Roger's false flattering tongue-- - -put Lamb "upon scribbling ... _Rosamund_." This is quite conceivably the -case. Whether we are to suppose that Lamb took not only the motive of -his story, but also the word Gray, from this stanza, cannot be said; but -it is generally thought that he found the name Rosamund Gray in a song -thus entitled in his friend Charles Lloyd's _Poems on Various -Occasions_, 1795. There is a suggestion that Lloyd may have had -particular interest in the book in the circumstance that copies exist -bearing the imprint of Pearson, a bookseller at Birmingham, where Lloyd -lived. The Birmingham edition indeed is considered to be the first. -Writing to Southey in May, 1799, Lamb says that _Rosamund_ sells well in -London. - -Old Thomas Billet (page 28) was not the true name of the Widford -innkeeper. It was Clemitson (see the poem "Going or Gone"). Lamb again -used the name Billet, for his father's old Lincoln friend, in "Poor -Relations." Nor was Ben Moxam the name of the Blakesware gardener, but -Ben Carter. The Wilderness was actually the name given to the wood at -the back of Blakesware house. - -On the passage concerning the epitaphs, on pages 29-30, Talfourd wrote: -"The reflections he [Lamb] makes on the eulogistic character of all the -inscriptions are drawn from his own childhood; for when a very little -boy, walking with his sister in a churchyard, he suddenly asked her, -'Mary, where do the naughty people lie?'" - -Southey has a poem, "The Ruined Cottage," among his _English Eclogues_, -which is practically a poetical paraphase of _Rosamund Gray_. I do not -know whether Southey's version was taken from an independent source or -whether it was a compliment to Lamb. Lamb's tale had, however, come -first. - -Finally, it may be remarked that in Barry Cornwall's _Poems_, Galignani, -1829, is a poem entitled "Rosamund Gray," which from the evidence of its -few opening lines was to have been a blank verse adaptation of Lamb's -theme. - - * * * * * - -Page 35. CURIOUS FRAGMENTS. - -_John Woodvil_, 1802, and _Works_, 1818. - -Lamb engaged upon these experiments in the manner of Burton, always a -favourite author with him, at the suggestion of Coleridge. We find him -writing to Manning (March 17, 1800): "He [Coleridge] has lugged me to -the brink of engaging to a newspaper, and has suggested to me, for a -first plan, the forgery of a supposed manuscript of Burton, the -anatomist of melancholy." Writing again to Manning a little later, -probably in April, 1800, Lamb mentions having submitted two imitations -of Burton to Stuart, the editor of the _Morning Post_, and states also -that he has written the lines entitled "Conceipt of Diabolic -Possession"--originally, in the _John Woodvil_ volume, a part of these -"Fragments," but afterwards, in the _Works_, separated from them. In -August, 1800, Lamb tells Coleridge he has written the ballad in the -manner of the "Old and Young Courtier," also originally part of these -"Fragments," and mentions further that Stuart had rejected the proposed -contribution. - -Of Lamb's imitations the first two are most akin to the original in -spirit, but the whole performance is curiously happy and a perfect -illustration of his fellowship with the Elizabethans. Our language -probably contains no more successful impersonation of any author: for -the time being Lamb's mind approximated to that of Burton, while -reserving enough individuality to make a new thing as well as a very -subtle and exact echo. The Burton extracts and the _Letters of Sir John -Falstaff_, written four or five years earlier (in which Lamb certainly -had a hand: see pp. 225 and 491), represent in prose the same devotion -to the Elizabethans that _John Woodvil_ represents in verse. With 1800, -when Lamb was twenty-five, this immediately derivative impulse ceased; -but it is certain that without such interesting exercises in the manner -of his favourite period his ripest work would have been far less rich. - -The differences in text between the 1802 and 1818 editions are very -slight. They are merely changes of punctuation and spelling--some -twenty-four in all--with the exception that on page 39, line 18 "common -sort" was originally "mobbe." Concerning this change Mr. Thomas -Hutchinson, in _The Athenæum_, December 28, 1901, has an interesting -note. Lamb, he says, made it "for the best of good reasons, because in -the meantime he had recollected that to attribute the word _mob_ to the -pen of Robert Burton was to commit a linguistic anachronism. The -earliest known examples of _mob_ occur in Shadwell (1688) and Dryden -(1690), whereas Burton died in January, 1640." I might add that "jokers" -was another anachronism; since, according to the _New English -Dictionary_, its first use is in the works of T. Cooke, 1729. -"Inerudite" and "incomposite" seem to have been Lamb's coinage, but they -are very Burtonian. The _New English Dictionary_ gives Lamb's reference -alone to the word "hebetant," meaning making dull. - -Lamb's affection for Burton was profound. His own copy was a quarto of -1621, which is now, I believe, in America. The following passage from -John Payne Collier's _An Old Man's Diary_ (for 1832) is interesting in -this connection:-- - - This led him [Lamb] to ask me, whether I remembered two or three - passages in his book of books, Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_, - illustrating Shakespeare's notions regarding Witches and Fairies. I - replied that if I had seen them, I did not then recollect them. I - took down the book, the contents of which he knew so well that he - opened upon the place almost immediately: the first passage was - this, respecting Macbeth and Banquo and their meeting with the - three Witches: "And Hector Boethius [relates] of Macbeth and Banco, - two Scottish Lords, that, as they were wandering in woods, had - their fortunes told them by three strange women." I said that I - remembered to have seen that passage quoted, or referred to by more - than one editor of Shakespeare. "Have you seen this quoted," he - inquired, "which relates to fairies? 'Some put our fairies into - this rank, which have been in former times adored with much - superstition, with sweeping their houses and setting of a pail of - clean water, good victuals and the like; and then they should not - be pinched, but find money in their shoes and be fortunate in their - enterprises ... and, Olaus Magnus adds, leave that green circle - which we commonly find in plain fields.' Farther on Burton gives - them the very name assigned to one of them by Shakespeare, for he - adds, 'These have several names in several places: we commonly call - them _Pucks_' (part i., sect. 2), which Ben Jonson degrades to - _Pug_." - - * * * * * - -Page 41. EARLY JOURNALISM. I.--G. F. COOKE'S "RICHARD THE THIRD." - -_Morning Post_, January 4, 1802. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This paper was printed by the late Mr. Dykes Campbell in _The Athenæum_, -August 4, 1888, and was identified by him by means of a then unpublished -letter of Lamb to John Rickman, January 9, 1802. Early in January, 1802, -says Mr. Campbell, "Lamb ceased to contribute dramatic criticism to the -_Morning Post_; the editor wanted the paragraphs to be written on the -night of the performance for next day's paper; and this Lamb could not -manage. He had tried it on one occasion [see below], but found he could -not 'write against time.'" - -Writing to Robert Lloyd at about the same time as this criticism, Lamb -took up the subject again:-- - - "Cooke in 'Richard the Third' is a perfect caricature. He gives you - the _monster_ Richard, but not the _man_ Richard. Shakespear's - bloody character impresses you with awe and deep admiration of his - witty parts, his consummate hypocrisy, and indefatigable - prosecution of purpose. You despise, detest, and loathe the - cunning, vulgar, low and fierce Richard, which Cooke substitutes in - his place. He gives you no other idea than of a vulgar villain, - rejoycing in his being able to over reach, and not possessing that - joy in _silent_ consciousness, but betraying it, like a _poor_ - villain, in sneers and distortions of the face, like a droll at a - country fair: not to add that cunning so self-betraying and manner - so vulgar could never have deceived the politic Buckingham nor the - soft Lady Anne: _both_ bred in courts, would have turned with - disgust from such a fellow. Not but Cooke has _powers_; but not of - discrimination. His manner is strong, coarse, and vigorous, and - well adapted to some characters. But the lofty imagery and high - sentiments and high passions of _Poetry_ come black and - prose-smoked from his prose Lips.... I am possessed with an - admiration of the genuine Richard, his genius, and his mounting - spirit, which no consideration of his cruelties can depress. - Shakespear has not made Richard so black a Monster as is supposed. - Where-ever he is monstrous, it was to conform to vulgar opinion. - But he is generally a Man. Read his most exquisite address to the - Widowed Queen to court her daughter for him--the topics of maternal - feeling, of a deep knowledge of the heart, are such as no monster - could have supplied [see Act IV., Scene 4]. Richard must have - _felt_ before he could feign so well; tho' ambition choked the good - seed. I think it the most finished piece of Eloquence in the - world; of _persuasive_ oratory far above Demosthenes, Burke, or any - man, far exceeding the courtship of Lady Anne." - -George Frederick Cooke who produced "Richard III." at Covent Garden on -October 31, 1801, with great success, lived from 1756-1811. - -I imagine that the following article on another performance of Cooke's, -printed in the _Morning Post_ for January 9, 1802, is also Lamb's, -probably written on the "one occasion" referred to above and the last -that he wrote. No other bears so many signs of his authorship:-- - - - "THEATRE - - "COVENT GARDEN - - "Mr. Cooke performed _Lear_ in the celebrated Tragedy of that name - at this Theatre last night. It is a character little suited to his - talents. In the expression of strong and turbulent passions, he - will always find his forte; but he wants gentleness and softness - for melting and melancholy scenes. Whatever, therefore, may be his - excellence in the ambitious and heroic _Richard_, those who have - duly weighed his peculiar powers could not expect much from his - representation of the broken-hearted _Lear_. No principle can be - more clear, than that cruelty and ingratitude are black in - proportion to the weakness and helplessness of the object on which - they are exercised. The great master of the human heart accordingly - makes this good old King represent himself as a man standing upon - the last verge of life--a man 'eighty years old and upwards.' It is - from turning such a man as this out of doors, and by his ungrateful - children, too, to 'bide the pelting of the pityless storm,' that - the interest principally arises. In this line, so clearly marked by - the poet, Mr. Cooke showed a total want of discrimination. His step - was almost uniformly firm, and his whole deportment too vigorous - for his years. The heart, therefore, could not feel that pity which - the sight of a deserving object, physically unable to contend with - unmerited hardships, never fails to produce. His enunciation also, - which was clear and strong, had none of the tremulousness of feeble - old age, and his voice seldom succeeded in the modulation of tones - sufficiently plaintive and delicate to express the agonies of a - broken heart. The scene where he imprecates a curse upon the - undutiful _Goneril_ was given with energy, but without that anguish - which must wring a parent's bosom in such a situation. The mad - scene with _Edgar_ was also a very imperfect piece of acting, and - few of the beautiful passages with which the piece abounds, - received that excellent colouring and embellishment with which Mr. - Kemble in the same character calls down such plaudits in the other - House. Mr. Cooke having so evidently placed himself in the way of - comparison, this allusion cannot be deemed invidious.--This new - essay should, however, make him slow to venture beyond his depth, - and justifies our apprehension that he does not possess an - elasticity of mind, a pliancy of powers, to enable him to pursue - his rival through all the variety of his characters with the same - success that he encounters him on Bosworth field. - - "Mr. H. Siddons was an excellent _Edgar_; his mad scenes displayed - much chaste and natural acting, and several passages were marked - with beauties peculiarly his own. His representation of the - character would be still more interesting, were he to infuse into - his manner more fondness for his mistress, _Cordelia_, and his - unfortunate father, the _Earl of Gloucester_. Miss Murray, whose - excellence in characters of simple pathos is so well known, was a - most interesting portrait of _Cordelia_. She played the part with - great delicacy and feeling, sweetness and simplicity. - - "Mr. Hull, in _Glo'ster_, was natural and impressive; and Mr. - Waddy, though a little coarse as _Earl of Kent_, was a good picture - of blunt honesty in his humble disguise as _Caius_. The other - characters did not possess much merit, or deserve much notice." - -Page 44. II.--GRAND STATE BED. - -Writing to Rickman about his _Morning Post_ work, in January, 1802, Lamb -says that in addition to certain other things it was he who made the -Lord Mayor's bed. The reference is undoubtedly to this little article on -January 4, 1802. - -Page 44. III.--FABLE FOR TWELFTH DAY. - -On January 6 (Twelfth Night), 1802, this fable was printed in the -_Morning Post_. That Lamb was the author no one need have any doubt -after reading the _Elia_ essay, "Rejoicings on the New Year's Coming of -Age." - -Page 46. IV.--THE LONDONER. - -_Morning Post_. February 1, 1802. _Works_, 1818. - -This paper, although it is included in the _Works_ among "Letters under -assumed signatures, published in _The Reflector_," and although it is -nominally addressed to the editor of that paper, did not, however, -appear in it. It was first printed in the _Morning Post_ for February 1, -1802, during Lamb's brief connection with that paper, the story of which -is told in the note to the essay on "Newspapers" in _Elia_. - -"The Londoner" in the _Morning Post_ differed from the version -subsequently reprinted. See notes to vol. I. of my large edition. - -John Forster, in his memoir of Lamb in the _New Monthly Magazine_ in -1835, has the following passage, which, applying to Lamb's later life -(Forster was only twenty-two when Lamb died), rounds off, with certain -ecstatic passages in the letters, the present London eulogium. The lines -quoted by Forster are from "The Old Familiar Faces":-- - - "We recollect being once sent by her [Mary Lamb] to seek 'Charles,' - who had rambled away from her. We found him in the Temple, looking - up, near Crown-office-row, at the house where he was born. Such was - his ever-touching habit of seeking alliance with the scenes of old - times. They were the dearer to him that distance had withdrawn - them. He wished to pass his life among things gone by yet not - forgotten; we shall never forget the affectionate 'Yes, boy,' with - which he returned our repeating his own striking lines:-- - - "'Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, - Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse.'" - - - -Page 46, line 11. _Great annual feast_. In stating that he was born on -Lord Mayor's Day, Lamb stretched a point. His birthday was February 10. - - * * * * * - -Page 48. CHARACTERS OF DRAMATIC WRITERS CONTEMPORARY WITH SHAKSPEARE. - -_Specimens_, 1808, and _Works_, 1818. - -These notes are abridgments of the notes to Lamb's _Specimens of English -Dramatic Poets_, 1808. The whole work is reproduced in my large edition, -where such annotation as seems desirable may be found. The abridgment is -printed here in order that the text of Lamb's own edition of his -_Works_, 1818, may be preserved. - - * * * * * - -Page 65. ON THE INCONVENIENCES RESULTING FROM BEING HANGED. - -To the circumstance that Leigh Hunt edited _The Reflector_, which was -founded by his brother in 1810 as a literary and political quarterly, -may be attributed in a large measure the beginning of Lamb's career as -an essayist. Leigh Hunt, himself a Christ's Hospitaller, sought his -contributors among old scholars of that school; from whom, as he -remarked in the little note prefixed to the two-volume edition of the -periodical, came "the largest and most entertaining part." Among these -contributors were Lamb, George Dyer, Thomas Barnes, afterwards editor of -_The Times_, Thomes Mitchell, classical scholar, James Scholefield, -afterwards Greek Professor at Cambridge, Hunt himself, and Barron Field, -who, though not actually a Christ's Hospitaller, was through his father, -Henry Field, apothecary to the school, connected with it. - -Until Lamb received Hunt's invitation to let his fancy play to what -extent he would in _The Reflector's_ pages, he had received little or no -encouragement as a writer; and he was naturally so diffident that -without some external impulse he rarely brought himself to do his own -work at all. Between _John Woodvil_ (1802) and the first _Reflector_ -papers (1810) he had written "Mr. H.," performed his share in the -children's books, and compiled the _Dramatic Specimens_: a tale of work -which, considering that it was also a social period, and a busy period -at the India House, is not trifling. But between the last _Reflector_ -paper (1811 or 1812) and the first _Elia_ essay (1820) Lamb seems to -have written nothing save the essays on Christ's Hospital, the -"Confessions of a Drunkard," a few brief notes, reviews and dramatic -criticisms, mainly at the instigation of Leigh Hunt, and some scraps of -verse chiefly for _The Champion_. The world owes a great debt to Leigh -Hunt for discerning Lamb's gifts and allowing him free rein. The comic -letters to _The Reflector_ may not be Lamb at his best, though they are -excellent stepping-stones to that state; but upon the essays on -Shakespeare's tragedies and Hogarth's genius it is doubtful if Lamb -could have improved at any period. - -The _Reflector_ ran only to four numbers, which were very irregularly -issued, and it then ceased. It ran nominally from October 1810 to -December 1811. Crabb Robinson mentions reading No. I. on May 15, 1811. - -Lamb, it may be remarked here, was destined to contribute to yet another -_Reflector_. In 1832 Moxon started a weekly paper of that name in which -part of Lamb's _Elia_ essay on the "Defect of Imagination in Modern -Paintings" was printed. The venture, however, quickly failed, and all -trace of it seems to have vanished. - -Lamb's first _Reflector_ paper was entitled "ON THE INCONVENIENCES -RESULTING FROM BEING HANGED." - -It appeared in No. II., 1811, and was reprinted in the _Works_, 1818. - -He made yet another use of the central idea of this essay. The farce, -"The Pawnbroker's Daughter," written in 1825, turns upon the -resuscitation of a hanged man, Jack Pendulous. - -Page 68, line 6. _Smoke his cravat_. To smoke was old slang for to see, -to notice. East-enders to-day would say "Pipe his necktie!" - -Page 72, line 1. _The solution ... in "Hamlet."_ - - _First Clown._ What is he that builds stronger than either the - mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? - - _Second Clown._ The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a - thousand tenants. - - Act V., Scene I, lines 46-50. - - - -Page 72. _Footnote. "The Spanish Tragedy."_ A play by Thomas Kyd -(1557?-1595?), from which Lamb quoted largely in his _Specimens_, 1808. -This line is in Act III., in Hieronimo's instructions to the painter: -"And then at last, sir, starting, behold a man hanging, and tott'ring, -and tott'ring, as you know the wind will wave a man...." - -Page 72, line 3. _That scene in "Measure for Measure."_ - - _Pompey._ Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged, Master - Barnardine! - - _Abhorson._ What, ho, Barnardine! - - _Bar._ [_Within._] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise - there? What are you? - - _Pom._ Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to - rise and be put to death. - - _Bar._ [_Within._] Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy. - - _Abhor._ Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too. - - _Pom._ Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and - sleep afterwards. - - _Abhor._ Go in to him, and fetch him out. - - _Pom._ He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. - - _Abhor._ Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? - - _Pom._ Very ready, sir. - - Act IV., Scene 3, lines 23-40. - - - -Page 73, line 3. _The Angel in Milton._ - - Made so adorn for they delight the more, - So awful, that with honour thou may'st love - Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise. - - _Paradise Lost_, VIII., 576-578. - -Page 73, line 10. _An ancestor_. This punctilious hero may have been an -ancestor of the Plumers, of Blakesware. See the _Elia_ essay on -"Blakesmoor, in H----shire." - -Page 73, line 7 from foot. _A waistcoat that had been mine_. The clothes -of his clients became the hangman's perquisites. In Lamb's letter to -Bernard Barton concerning Thurtell (January 9, 1824) this subject is -again played with. - -The present essay led to some amusing speculation in the next number of -_The Reflector_, signed M., as to the origin of Jack Ketch. Some of the -questions propounded to Pensilis are almost in Lamb's own manner:-- - - Supposing the race of Ketches to be extinct, what _cross_ does - Pensilis think necessary to re-produce the breed? I have a very - pretty knack myself at guessing what mixtures of different bloods - will generate the ordinary professions of life; as a judge, an - alderman, a bishop, &c., &c. but shall be happy to defer to his - superior knowledge in this particular experiment of the art. Your - correspondent, no doubt, is aware, how many generations it will - frequently take a family, who value themselves upon their exterior, - to wear out any little deformity; as, for instance, a snub nose, or - a long chin. I could mention one noble family, whom it has cost a - dozen intermarriages with the yeomanry, to introduce a stouter pair - of legs among them; and another, which has been obliged to go - through a course of milk-maids, to throw a little colour into their - cheeks. Has your correspondent ever considered in what term of - years a spirit of Ketchicism may be introduced into a family; and - conversely, in how many generations the milk of human kindness may - be instilled into, what Burke would call, a pure, unsophisticated - dephlegmated, defecated _Ketch_? - -Page 74. ON THE DANGER OF CONFOUNDING MORAL WITH PERSONAL DEFORMITY. - -_The Reflector_, No. II. Reprinted in the _Works_, 1818. - -Page 79, line 16. _The tales of our nursery_. In his _Elia_ essay "Dream -Children" Lamb recalls his grandmother's narration of the old story of -the "Children in the Wood." - -Page 79, lines 20-21. _Mrs. Radcliffe ... Mr. Monk Lewis._ The -popularity of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe (1764-1823), whose _Mysteries of -Udolpho_ appeared in 1794, and of Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775-1818), -whose rival exercise in grisly romance, _The Monk_, was published in -1795, was then (1811) still considerable, although on the wane. - - * * * * * - -Page 80. ON THE AMBIGUITIES ARISING FROM PROPER NAMES. - -_The Reflector_, No. II., 1811. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This paper is known to be Lamb's because he tells the story, in much the -same words, in a letter to Wordsworth dated February 1, 1806. The young -man who made the mistake of confusing Spencer and Spenser was a brother -of Coleridge's Mary Evans. The Hon. William Robert Spencer (1769-1834), -the second son of the third Duke of Marlborough, was a Society poet well -enough known in his day--the first decade of the last century. His only -poem that has survived is "Beth Gelert," a ballad often included in -children's poetry books. - -In Lamb's _Letters_ the poet Spenser is usually spelt Spencer. - - * * * * * - -Page 81. ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF HOGARTH. - -_The Reflector_, No. III., 1811. The title there ran: "On the Genius and -Character of Hogarth; with some Remarks on a Passage in the Writings of -the late Mr. Barry." The article was signed L. It was reprinted in the -_Works_, 1818. - -Many of Hogarth's pictures, framed in black, hung round Lamb's -sitting-room in his various homes. In 1817 Mary Lamb, writing to Dorothy -Wordsworth, says that the Hogarths have been taken down from the walls -and pasted into a book, but there is proof that some at any rate were -framed both at Islington and Enfield. - -Hazlitt in his _Sketches of the Principal Picture-galleries in England_, -1824, wrote, "Of the pictures in the _Rake's Progress_ we shall not here -say anything ... because they have already been criticised by a writer, -to whom we could add nothing, in a paper which ought to be read by every -lover of Hogarth and of English genius." The reference was to Lamb's -essay. - -Page 82, line 1. _Old-fashioned house in ----shire_. Lamb refers again -to Blakesware, in Hertfordshire. In a letter to Southey, Oct. 31, 1799, -Lamb mentions the Blakesware Hogarths. This would suggest that Hogarth -was the first artist that he knew, so many of his recollections dating -from the old Hertfordshire days. - -Page 84, line 1. _Kent, or Caius_. See "Table Talk," pages 401-2 of the -present volume, for an amplification of this passage many years later. -Lamb's version of "Lear" in _Tales from Shakespear_, 1807, has similar -praise of Kent. - -Page 84, last line. _Ferdinand Count Fathom_. See Chapter XXVII. of -Smollett's _Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom_, 1754:-- - - When he beheld the white cliffs of Albion, his heart throbbed with - all the joy of a beloved son, who, after a tedious and fatiguing - voyage, reviews the chimnies of his father's house: he surveyed the - neighbouring coast of England with fond and longing eyes, like - another Moses reconnoitring the land of Canaan from the top of - mount Pisgah; and to such a degree of impatience was he inflamed by - the sight, that instead of proceeding to Calais, he resolved to - take his passage directly from Boulogne, even if he should hire a - vessel for the purpose. - -Page 88. _Footnote_. _Somewhere in his [Reynolds'] lectures_. The -passage is in the fourteenth of the _Discourses on Painting_--on -Gainsborough:-- - - After this admirable artist [Hogarth] had spent the greater part of - his life in an active, busy, and, we may add, successful attention - to the ridicule of life; after he had invented a new species of - dramatic painting, in which probably he will never be equalled, and - had stored his mind with infinite materials to explain and - illustrate the domestic and familiar scenes of common life, which - were generally, and ought to have been always, the subject of his - pencil; he very imprudently, or rather presumptuously, attempted - the great historical style, for which his previous habits had by no - means prepared him: he was indeed so entirely unacquainted with the - principles of this style, that he was not even aware that any - artificial preparation was at all necessary. It is to be regretted, - that any part of the life of such a genius should be fruitlessly - employed. Let his failure teach us not to indulge ourselves in the - vain imagination, that by a momentary resolution we can give either - dexterity to the hand, or a new habit to the mind. - -Page 95, line 10. _Children's books_. _The Reflector_ version added, "or -the tale of Carlo the Dog." - -Page 97, line 8 from foot. _With Dr. Swift_. The page opposite the title -of the _Tale of a Tub_ contains a (fictitious) list of "Treatises writ -by the same author." The fifth of these is "A Panegyric upon the World." -It is probable that Lamb had this in mind. - - * * * * * - -Page 101. ON THE CUSTOM OF HISSING AT THE THEATRES. - -_The Reflector_, No. III., 1811. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Lamb omits to say that he joined in the hissing of his farce, "Mr. H.," -on the unhappy night of December 10, 1806. In its ill fortune he seems -always to have taken a kind of humorous sympathetic pride. When he -printed the play at the end of his _Works_, 1818, he prefixed a -quotation from Hazlitt's essay on "Great and Little Things," of which -this is a portion:-- - - Mr. H.---- thou wert DAMNED. Bright shone the morning on the - play-bills that announced thy appearance, and the streets were - filled with the buzz of persons asking one another if they would go - to see Mr. H.----, and answering that they would certainly; but - before night the gaiety, not of the author, but of his friends, and - the town, was eclipsed, for thou wert DAMNED! - -Writing to Manning concerning the play's failure, Lamb said:--"Damn 'em, -how they hissed! It was not a hiss neither, but a sort of a frantic -yell, like a congregation of mad geese, with roaring sometimes, like -bears, mows and mops like apes, sometimes snakes, that hiss'd me into -madness. 'Twas like St. Anthony's temptations. Mercy on us, that God -should give his favourite children, men, mouths to speak with, to -discourse rationally, to promise smoothly, to flatter agreeably, to -encourage warmly, to counsel wisely, to sing with, to drink with, and to -kiss with, and that they should turn them into mouths of adders, bears, -wolves, hyenas, and whistle like tempests, and emit breath through them -like distillations of aspic poison, to asperse and vilify the innocent -labours of their fellow-creatures who are desirous to please them!" - -Page 101, line 3 of essay. _That memorable season_, 1806-1807. Lamb here -exaggerates. It is true that ten new pieces were tried at Drury Lane in -the season mentioned; but five were successful, and Monk Lewis's -"Adelgitha," the only tragedy, could hardly be called a failure. Of the -remaining four plays which failed, Holcroft's "Vindictive Man" was the -most notable. - -Page 101, line 9 of essay. _The Clerk of Chatham_. - - _Cade._ Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a mark to - thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man? - - _Clerk of Chatham._ Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought - up that I can write my name. - - _All._ He hath confessed: away with him! he's a villain and a - traitor. - - _Cade._ Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and ink-horn - about his neck. - - "II. Henry VI.," Act IV., Scene 2, lines 109-117. - -Page 101, line 7 from foot. "_The Vindictive Man_." This was the comedy -by Thomas Holcroft, Lamb's friend, the failure of which occurred a few -nights before that of "Mr. H." Lamb describes the luckless performance -in a letter to Manning dated December 5, 1806. - -Page 102, line 5. "_Our nonsense did not ... suit their nonsense_." From -Burnet's _History of His Own Times_, Vol. II.: "He [Charles II.] told me -he had a chaplain that was a very honest man, but a very great -blockhead, to whom he had given a living in Suffolk, that was full of -that sort of people: he had gone about among them from house to house, -though he could not imagine what he could say to them, for, he said, he -was a very silly fellow, but that he believed his nonsense suited their -nonsense; yet he had brought them all to church: and, in reward of his -diligence, he had given him a bishopric in Ireland." (A note by Swift -states the cleric to be Bishop Woolly of Clonfert.) - -Page 102, line 25. _A Syren Catalani._ Angelica Catalani (1779-1849), -one of the most beautiful of all singers. - -Page 104, line 19. _The O.P. differences._ The O.P.--Old Prices--Riots -raged in 1809. On September 18 of that year the new Covent Garden -Theatre was opened under the management of John Philip Kemble and -Charles Kemble, with a revised price list. The opposition to this -revision was so determined that "Macbeth," with John Philip Kemble as -Macbeth, and Mrs. Siddons as Lady Macbeth, was played practically in -dumb show, and in the end the theatre was closed again for a while. The -battle was waged not only by fists but by pamphlets. After two months' -fighting a compromise was effected. - -Page 105, line 17. _Obstinate, in John Bunyan._ At the beginning of the -_Pilgrim's Progress_. It was not Obstinate, however, but Christian who -put his fingers in his ears. Obstinate pursued and caught him. Lamb made -the same mistake again in some verses to Bernard Barton. - -A club of hissed authors existed in Paris in the 1870's. Flaubert, -Daudet and Zola were members. - - * * * * * - -Page 107. ON BURIAL SOCIETIES; AND THE CHARACTER OF AN UNDERTAKER. - -_Reflector_, No. III., 1811. The letter there begins "Sir." Printed -again in part, in _The Yellow Dwarf_, January 17, 1818. Reprinted in the -_Works_, 1818. - -Page 110. _The following short Essay._ "The Character of an Undertaker" -is, of course, Lamb's own. Sable is the undertaker in Sir Richard -Steele's "Funeral; or, Grief à la Mode," 1702. Two of his remarks run -thus: "There is often nothing more ... deeply Joyful than a Young Widow -in her Weeds and Black Train," and "The poor Dead are deliver'd to my -Custody ... not to do them Honour, but to satisfy the Vanity or Interest -of their Survivors." - - * * * * * - -Page 112. ON THE TRAGEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE. - -Printed in _The Reflector_, No. IV. (1811), under the title "Theatralia, -No. I. On Garrick, and Acting; and the Plays of Shakespeare, considered -with reference to their fitness for Stage-Representation." Reprinted in -the _Works_, 1818. - -At the close of the _Reflector_ article Lamb wrote: "I have hitherto -confined my observation to the Tragic parts of Shakespeare; in some -future Number I propose to extend this inquiry to the Comedies." _The -Reflector_ ending with the fourth number, the project was not carried -out. From time to time, however, throughout his life, Lamb returned -incidentally to Shakespearian criticism, as in several essays in the -present volume, and the _Elia_ essay "The Old Actors," with its masterly -analysis of the character of Malvolio. David Garrick died in 1779, just -before Lamb's fourth birthday. Lamb's father often talked of him. - -Page 113, line 6. _"To paint fair Nature," etc._ These lines on -Garrick's monument, which have been corrected from the stone, were by -Samuel Jackson Pratt (1749-1814), the same author whose _Gleanings_ Lamb -described in a letter to Southey in 1798 as "a contemptible book, a -wretched assortment of vapid feelings." Pratt's lines on Garrick were -chosen in place of a prose epitaph written by Edmund Burke. - -Page 114, line 23. _Mr. K._ John Philip Kemble (1757-1823), who first -appeared as Hamlet in London at Drury Lane, September 30, 1783. - -Page 114, line 24. _Mrs. S._ Mrs. Siddons, John Philip Kemble's sister -(1755-1831). Her regular stage career ended on June 29, 1812, when she -played Lady Macbeth. Her first part in London was Portia on December 29, -1775. Lamb admired her greatly. As early as 1794 he wrote, with -Coleridge's collaboration, a sonnet on the impression which Mrs. Siddons -made upon him. - -Page 118, line 4. _Banks and Lillo._ John Banks, a very inferior -Restoration melodramatist. George Lillo (1693-1739), the author among -other plays of "George Barnwell--The London Merchant; or The History of -George Barnwell," 1731 (mentioned a little later), which held the stage -for a century. The story, the original of which is to be found in the -_Percy Reliques_, tells how George, an apprentice, robs his master and -kills his uncle at the instigation of Millwood, an adventuress. Lamb's -footnote (page 118) refers to the custom, which was of long endurance, -of playing "George Barnwell" in the Christmas and Easter holidays as an -object-lesson to apprentices. - -Page 121, line 25. _The Hills and the Murphys and the Browns._ Dr. John -Hill (1716?-1775), the herbalist, controversialist, and miscellaneous -writer, who quarrelled with Garrick. In _The Reflector_ Lamb had written -the Hooles. It was changed to Hills afterwards. Hoole would be John -Hoole (1727-1803), translator of Tasso and the author of some turgid -tragedies, who had been in his time an India House clerk. Arthur Murphy -(1727-1805), actor and author, who wrote, in addition to many plays and -books, a _Life of Garrick_ (1801). The Rev. John Brown (1715-1766), the -author of "Barbarossa" and "Athelstane," in both of which Garrick acted. - -Page 122, line 8 from foot. _Mr. C._ G. F. Cooke. See above. - -Page 123, line 25. _Glenalvon._ In Home's "Douglas." Lamb wrote an early -poem on this tragedy, which seems to have so dominated his youthful -imagination that when in 1795-1796 he was for a while in confinement he -believed himself at times to be young Norval. - -Page 127, line 12. _A ghost by chandelier light_ ... It should perhaps -be borne in mind that in 1811, and for many years after, the stage was -still lighted by candles, so that the regulation of light, which can be -effected with such nicety on the modern stage, was then impossible. This -is especially to be remembered with regard to such details as the -presentation of the Witches in "Macbeth." It would be simple enough, -with our electric switchboard, to frighten a nervous child in that scene -to-day. - -Page 129, line 3. _Webb._ Webb was a theatrical robemaker at 98 Chancery -Lane. - - * * * * * - -Page 130. SPECIMENS FROM THE WRITINGS OF FULLER. - -_The Reflector_, No. IV., 1812. _Works_, 1818. In _The Reflector_ the -signature Y was appended to the introductory paragraphs. - -Thomas Fuller (1608-1661), the divine and historian. The passages -selected by Lamb are identified in the notes to my large edition, the -references being to _The Holy State_, 1642; _The History of the Worthies -of England_, 1662; _A Pisgah-sight of Palestine and the Confines -thereof, with the Histories of the Old and New Testaments acted -thereon_, 1650; and _The Church History of Britain from the Birth of -Jesus Christ until the year MDCXLVIII._, 1655. Lamb's transcriptions -are, of course, not exact. - -Page 135. _Footnote. Fuller's bird._ Lamb's friend Procter (Barry -Cornwall) was also greatly impressed by this legend. His _English -Songs_, 1832, contains a poem on the subject. - -Page 137. _Footnote. Wickliffe's ashes._ Landor has a passage on this -subject in his poem "On Swift joining Avon near Rugby." Wordsworth's -fine sonnet, in the _Ecclesiastical Sketches_, Part II., may have been -suggested by this very quotation in Lamb's essay:-- - -WICLIFFE - - Once more the Church is seized with sudden fear, - And at her call is Wicliffe disinhumed; - Yea, his dry bones to ashes are consumed, - And flung into the brook that travels near; - Forthwith that ancient Voice which streams can hear, - Thus speaks (that Voice which walks upon the wind, - Though seldom heard by busy human kind)-- - "As thou these ashes, little Brook! wilt bear - Into the Avon, Avon to the tide - Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, - Into main Ocean they, this deed accurst - An emblem yields to friends and enemies - How the bold Teacher's Doctrine, sanctified - By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed." - -When printed in _The Reflector_, in 1812, Lamb's footnote continued -thus:-- - - "We are too apt to indemnify ourselves for some characteristic - excellence we are kind enough to concede to a great author, by - denying him every thing else. Thus Donne and Cowley, by happening - to possess more wit and faculty of illustration than other men, are - supposed to have been incapable of nature or feeling; they are - usually opposed to such writers as Shenstone and Parnel; whereas in - the very thickest of their conceits,--in the bewildering maze of - their tropes and figures, a warmth of soul and generous feeling - shines through, the 'sum' of which 'forty thousand' of those - natural poets, as they are called, 'with all their quantity, could - not make up.'--Without any intention of setting Fuller on a level - with Donne or Cowley, I think the injustice which has been done him - in the denial that he possesses any other qualities than those of a - quaint and conceited writer, is of the same kind as that with which - those two great Poets have been treated." - - * * * * * - -Page 138. EDAX ON APPETITE. - -_The Reflector_, No. IV., 1811. _Works_, 1818. - -Page 138, line 14 from foot. _The best of parents_. Lamb, of course, is -not here autobiographical. His father was no clergyman. - -Page 139, line 21. _Ventri natus_, _etc_. These nicknames may be roughly -translated: _Ventri natus_, glutton-born; _ventri deditus_, -gluttony-dedicated; _vesana gula_, greedy gullet; _escarum gurges_, sink -of eatables; _dapibus indulgens_, feast-lover; _non dans fræna gulæ_, -not curbing the gullet; _sectans lautæ fercula mensæ_, dainty-hunting. - -Page 141, line 15. _Mandeville_. Bernard Mandeville (1670?-1733), whose -_Fable of the Bees_, 1714, was one of Lamb's favourite books. - - * * * * * - -Page 145. _Hospita on the Immoderate Indulgence of the Palate_. - -_The Reflector_, No. IV., 1811. _Works_, 1818. In _The Reflector_ this -letter followed immediately upon that of Edax (see page 138). In his -_Works_ Lamb reversed this order. In _The Reflector_ the following -footnote was appended, signed _Ref._:-- - - To all appearance, the obnoxious visitor of HOSPITA can be no other - than my inordinate friend EDAX, whose misfortunes are detailed, ore - rotundo, in the preceding article. He will of course see the - complaint that is made against him; but it can hardly be any - benefit either to himself or his entertainers. The man's appetite - is not a bad habit but a disease; and if he had not thought proper - to relate his own story, I do not know whether it would have been - altogether justifiable to be so amusing upon such a subject. - -Page 147, second paragraph. _Mr. Malthus_. Thomas Robert Malthus -(1766-1834), author of the _Essay on Population_, 1798. He wrote _On the -High Price of Provisions_ in 1800. - - * * * * * - -Page 148. THE GOOD CLERK, A CHARACTER. - -_The Reflector_, No. IV., 1811. Signed L. B., possibly as the first and -last letters of Lamb. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Page 153, line 12. _As Solomon says_. Defoe seems to be remembering -Proverbs XXII. 7, and possibly Isaiah XXIV. 2. - -Sixteen years later, in 1827, William Hone reprinted "The Good Clerk" in -his _Table Book_, I., columns 562-567. The first half was given under -its own title; the second half under this title, "Defoeana, No. I., The -Tradesman;" followed by a kindred passage from _The Fable of the Bees_, -to which the following note was appended, signed L.:-- - - "We have copied the above from Mandeville's _Fable of the Bees_, - Edition 1725. How far, and in what way, the practice between the - same parties differs at this day, we respectfully leave to our fair - shopping friends, of this present year 1827, to determine." - - * * * * * - -Page 153. MEMOIR OF ROBERT LLOYD. - -_Gentleman's Magazine_, November, 1811. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Robert Lloyd (1778-1811) was a younger brother of Charles Lloyd, for a -while Coleridge's pupil and Lamb's friend of the later nineties, with -whom he collaborated in _Blank Verse,_ 1798. They were sons of Charles -Lloyd, of Birmingham (1748-1828), the Quaker banker, philanthropist, -and, in a quiet private way, a writer of verse (see _Charles Lamb and -the Lloyds_). - -Robert Lloyd first met Lamb in 1797; he was then nineteen years old, an -apprentice at Saffron Walden. He was inclined to morbidness, though not -to the same extent as his brother Charles, and Lamb did what he could to -get more health and contentment into him. In 1799 Robert Lloyd seems to -have left his father's roof in a state of revolt, and to have settled -with Lamb for a while. He returned home, however, and met Manning (who -was then teaching Charles Lloyd mathematics at Cambridge), and, after -drawing from Lamb several fine letters--notably upon Jeremy Taylor, and -that upon Cooke from which I have quoted in the notes above--he passed -out of his life until 1809, when, paying a short visit to London, he saw -the Lambs again several times. - -The autumn of 1811 was a sad one for the Lloyd family. Thomas Lloyd died -on September 12, Caroline on October 15, and Robert on October 26. The -_Gentleman's Magazine_ obituary just mentions Thomas and Caroline, and -passes on to Robert. We know the article to be Lamb's from a letter from -Charles Lloyd to Robert's widow, enclosing the memoir (which Lamb had -sent to him), and adding, "If I loved him for nothing else, I should now -love [Charles Lamb] for the affecting interest that he has taken in the -memory of my dearest Brother and Friend." - - * * * * * - -Page 154. CONFESSIONS OF A DRUNKARD. - -_The Philanthropist_, No. IX., 1813. _Some Enquiries into the Effects of -Fermented Liquors_, 1814; second edition, 1818. _London Magazine_, -August, 1822. _Last Essays of Elia_, second edition, 1835. - -The first appearance of this paper was in a quarterly magazine entitled -_The Philanthropist_; or, _Repository for Hints and Suggestions -calculated to promote the Comfort and Happiness of Man_. Vol. III., No. -IX., 1813. It was there unsigned and addressed "To the Editor of _The -Philanthropist_." The editor of this magazine was William Allen -(1770-1843), the Quaker, and his chief associate was James Mill, the -Father of John Stuart Mill. Lamb's friend, Basil Montagu (1770-1851), -was among the contributors; and another prominent name was that of -Benjamin Meggot Forster (1764-1829), who, like Montagu, opposed capital -punishment, and was zealous in the cause of chimney-sweepers. - -In its original _Philanthropist_ form the essay differs from its later -appearances. Concerning the differences I should like to quote from an -interesting article by Mr. Thomas Hutchinson in _The Athenæum_ of August -16, 1902:-- - - The text of the "Confessions," as it stands in _The - Philanthropist_, bears evident traces of Mill's editorial hand; the - verbal changes smack of those precise and literal modes of thought - and expression which Lamb found so uncongenial in the Scotsman. - "They seemed to have something noble _about_ them," writes Lamb of - the friends of 1801. "But moral qualities are not external to us, - they are resident _in_ us," objects Mill; and so "about" is struck - out and "in" substituted. "Avoid the bottle as you would fly your - greatest destruction," says Lamb. "But," interposes the precisian, - "the idea of _destruction_ does not admit of _more_ or _less_; - besides, 'to fly' is properly a verb intransitive"--and thus the - sentence is rewritten: "... fly _from certain_ destruction." "The - pain of the self-denial is _all one_"--"is _equal_," substitutes - the Scot. "I scarce knew what it was to _ail anything_"--"to have - an ailment," corrects the lover of plain words; and so on. Of the - sixth paragraph of the essay only the opening sentence ("Why should - I hesitate," etc.) is suffered to stand. The rest is - cancelled--doubtless as at variance with Utilitarian views. Again - the close of the fourteenth paragraph ("But he is too hard for us," - etc., onwards) is struck out--either by Mill, as too broadly - implying the existence of the "muckle deil," or by Allen, as too - flippant an allusion to that fearsome personage. Lastly, the second - paragraph is wanting and the third reduced by half, the conclusion - (from "Trample not," etc., on), in which the miracle of the raising - of Lazarus is referred to, being omitted. - -I cannot, however, quite accept Mr. Hutchinson's theory that Lamb wrote -the "Confessions" as a joke at the expense of the seriousness of the -Quaker editor and his Benthamite assistant. Mr. Hutchinson writes: "We -can fancy with what glee the sly humorist, who found the world as it was -so lovable and good to live in, prepared to hoax the fussy John -Amend-All of Plough Court and his fiery lieutenant, James Mill," and he -adds later, "An amusing feature of the 'Confessions' is the -introduction, twice over, of the sacred Benthamite catchword, 'Springs -of Action,' and, once, of its equivalent, the 'Springs of the Will,' a -plausible device to bribe the judgment of the editors." But Lamb's jokes -were always jokes, and it is difficult, sitting down to these -"Confessions" with what anticipation we will of humour or whimsicality, -to rise from them in anything but sadness. They are too real for a -"flam." Of this, however, more below. - -The "Confessions" made their second appearance in Basil Montagu's -collection of arguments in favour of teetotalism--_Some Enquiries into -the Effects of Fermented Liquors_. By a Water Drinker. 1814; and second -edition, 1818. This volume was divided into sections, Lamb's -contribution being ranged under the question, "Do Fermented Liquors -Contribute to Moral Excellence?" Montagu's book was reprinted in 1841, -when Lamb's contribution was acknowledged as from the _Essays of Elia_ -by Charles Lamb (more properly the _Last Essays_). Lamb's "Confessions" -were also reprinted separately in a series of tracts called "Beacon -Lights," in 1854, as being a true statement of their unhappy author's -case, under the title, "Charles Lamb's Confessions." This -misrepresentation led to some correspondence in the press, and the tract -was withdrawn, a new edition being substituted in 1856 with the -harrowing story of poor Hartley Coleridge in the place of Lamb's essay. - -The "Confessions" were reprinted in the _London Magazine_, August, 1822, -under the following circumstances. In the summer of 1822 Lamb and his -sister visited the Kenneys at Versailles--an absence which interrupted -the regular course of the _Elia_ essays. The Editor therefore reprinted -one or two of Lamb's old papers, the first being these "Confessions," -advising his readers of his action in a note in which Lamb's own hand is -plainly apparent. This is the note:-- - - "_Reprints of_ ELIA.--Many are the sayings of _Elia_, painful and - frequent his lucubrations, set forth for the most part (such his - modesty!) without a name, scattered about in obscure periodicals - and forgotten miscellanies. From the dust of some of these, it is - our intention, occasionally, to revive a Tract or two, that shall - seem worthy of a better fate; especially, at a time like the - present, when the pen of our industrious Contributor, engaged in a - laborious digest of his recent Continental Tour, may haply want the - leisure to expatiate in more miscellaneous speculations. We have - been induced, in the first instance, to re-print a Thing, which he - put forth in a friend's volume some years since, entitled the - Confessions of a Drunkard, seeing that Messieurs the Quarterly - Reviewers have chosen to embellish their last dry pages with - fruitful quotations therefrom; adding, from their peculiar brains, - the gratuitous affirmation, that they have reason to believe that - the describer (in his delineations of a drunkard forsooth!) partly - sate for his own picture. The truth is, that our friend had been - reading among the Essays of a contemporary, who has perversely been - confounded with him, a paper in which _Edax_ (or the _Great Eater_) - humorously complaineth of an inordinate appetite; and it struck - him, that a better paper--of deeper interest, and wider - usefulness--might be made out of the imagined experiences of a - _Great Drinker_. Accordingly he set to work, and with that mock - fervor, and counterfeit earnestness, with which he is too apt to - over-realise his descriptions, has given us--a frightful picture - indeed--but no more resembling the man _Elia_, than the fictitious - _Edax_ may be supposed to identify itself with Mr. L., its author. - It is indeed a compound extracted out of his long observations of - the effects of drinking upon all the world about him; and this - accumulated mass of misery he hath centered (as the custom is with - judicious essayists) in a single figure. We deny not that a portion - of his own experiences may have passed into the picture, (as who, - that is not a washy fellow, but must at some times have felt the - after-operation of a too generous cup?)--but then how heightened! - how exaggerated!--how little within the sense of the Review, where - a part, in their slanderous usage, must be understood to stand for - the whole!--but it is useless to expostulate with this Quarterly - slime, brood of Nilus, watery heads with hearts of jelly, spawned - under the sign of Aquarius, incapable of Bacchus, and therefore - cold, washy, spiteful, bloodless.----Elia shall string them up one - day, and show their colours--or rather how colourless and vapid the - whole fry--when he putteth forth his long promised, but - unaccountably hitherto delayed, Confessions of a Water-drinker." - -The remarks in the _Quarterly Review_, to which Lamb very naturally -objected, and which are believed to have been written by Dr. Robert -Gooch (1784-1830), a friend of Southey, had occurred in an article, in -the number for April, 1822, on Reid's _Essays on Hypochondriasis and -other Nervous Affections_. There, in a passage introducing quotations -from Lamb's "Confessions of a Drunkard," the reviewer says:-- - - In a collection of tracts "On the Effects of Spirituous Liquors," - by an eminent living barrister, there is a paper entitled the - "Confessions of a Drunkard," which affords a fearful picture of the - consequences of intemperance, and which we have reason to know is a - true tale. - -It was, we may suppose, as a kind of challenge to this statement that -Lamb authorised the republication of his "Confessions." It cannot be -denied, however, that the circumstantiality of the story gave a handle -to the _Quarterly's_ theory. For example, twelve years before 1813 (when -the essay was probably first written), Lamb had completed his -twenty-sixth year. He was known to have an impediment in his speech. He -was known also to have been in bondage to tobacco. The two sets of -friends (see pp. 156 and 157) correspond to Fenwick, Fell & Co., and the -Burney whist players. - -If a portion of the "Confessions" was true, it was more likely to be -true in 1812-1813 than at any time in Lamb's life. He was then between -thirty-seven and thirty-nine, a critical age. He had apparently -abandoned most of his literary ambition and was beginning the least -productive period of his life; if a man is at all given to seeking -alcoholic stimulant he resorts to it more when his ambition sleeps than -when it is lively. In 1812-1813 Lamb was hard worked at the East India -House; and with the failure of _The Reflector_, to which he was an -important contributor, immediately behind him, the failure of _John -Woodvil_ (in which he had believed) more remotely behind him, his -children's book vein dry, and little but office routine and -disappointment to look forward to, he may conceivably have indulged now -and then, after a festive night with his friends, in some such gloomy -thoughts as are expressed in this essay. Crabb Robinson, indeed, who saw -much of Lamb at this season, records in his unpublished Diary that the -"Confessions" seemed to him sadly true. Robinson, however, was disposed -to be rather a severe judge of any weakness, and we may perhaps discount -such an impression; but the fact remains that among Lamb's friends there -was one who, wishing him all happiness, looked on the "Confessions" in -this way. - -Yet whatever proportion of truth may have been in the "Confessions" when -they were written (possibly when Mary Lamb was ill and hope was with -Lamb at its lowest) Lamb soon recovered. We may feel confident of that. -He remained to the end conscious of the stimulating effect of wine and -spirits and too easily influenced by them, as are so many persons of -sensitive habit and quick imagination: that is all. As Talfourd wrote:-- - - Drinking with him [Lamb], except so far as it cooled a feverish - thirst, was not a sensual but an intellectual pleasure; it lighted - up his fading fancy, enriched his humour, and impelled the - struggling thought or beautiful image into day. - -One of the best proofs of the untruth of the "Confessions" is urged by -Charles Robert Leslie, the painter, and it becomes particularly cogent -when we remember the case of Tommy Bye, described by Lamb in two of his -letters, who was reduced to a paltry income at the East India House as a -punishment for insobriety. Leslie wrote in his _Autobiographical -Recollections_, 1860:-- - - I have noticed that Lamb sometimes did himself injustice by his odd - sayings and actions, and he now and then did the same by his - writings. His "Confessions of a Drunkard" greatly exaggerate any - habits of excess he may ever have indulged. The regularity of his - attendance at the India House, and the liberal manner in which he - was rewarded for that attendance, proved that he never could have - been a drunkard. Well, indeed, would it be for the world if such - extraordinary virtues as he possessed were often found in company - with so very few faults. - -In all modern editions of Lamb the "Confessions of a Drunkard" are -included with the _Last Essays of Elia_. But Lamb did not himself -originally place them there. Apparently his intention was not to reprint -them after their appearance in the _London Magazine_ in 1822. When, -however, the _Last Essays of Elia_ was published, in 1833, the paper -called "A Death-Bed" was objected to by Mrs. Randal Norris, as bearing -too publicly upon her poverty. When, therefore, the next edition was -preparing, "A Death-Bed" was taken out, and the "Confessions" put in its -place, but whether Lamb made the substitution, or whether it was decided -upon after his death, I do not know. - -Page 160. _Footnote. Poor M----._ Probably George Morland, who died a -drunkard in 1804. In _The Life of George Morland_, by George Dawe -(Lamb's "Royal Academician"), we read: "When he [Morland] arose in the -morning his hand trembled so as to render him incapable of guiding the -pencil, until he had recruited his spirits with his fatal remedy." - - * * * * * - -Page 162. RECOLLECTIONS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. - -This article was first printed in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for June, -1813, and in the supplement for that year, under the title "On Christ's -Hospital and the Character of the Christ's Hospital Boys." In that place -it had the following opening, which, having lost its timeliness, was -discarded when in 1818 the essay was printed in the _Works_:-- - - "A great deal has been said about the Governors of this Hospital - abusing their right of presentation, by presenting the children of - opulent parents to the Institution. This may have been the case in - an instance or two; and what wonder, in an establishment - consisting, in town and country, of upwards of a thousand boys! But - I believe there is no great danger of an abuse of this sort ever - becoming very general. There is an old quality in human nature, - which will perpetually present an adequate preventive to this evil. - While the coarse blue coat and the yellow hose shall continue to be - the costume of the school, (and never may modern refinement - innovate upon the venerable fashion!) the sons of the Aristocracy - of this country, cleric or laic, will not often be obtruded upon - this seminary. - - "I own, I wish there was more room for such complaints. I cannot - but think that a sprinkling of the sons of respectable parents - among them has an admirable tendency to liberalize the whole mass; - and that to the great proportion of Clergymen's children in - particular which are to be found among them it is owing, that the - foundation has not long since degenerated into a mere - Charity-school, as it must do, upon the plan so hotly recommended - by some reformists, of recruiting its ranks from the offspring of - none but the very lowest of the people. - - "I am not learned enough in the history of the Hospital to say by - what steps it may have departed from the letter of its original - charter; but believing it, as it is at present constituted, to be a - great practical benefit, I am not anxious to revert to first - principles, to overturn a positive good, under pretence of - restoring something which existed in the days of Edward the Sixth, - when the face of every thing around us was as different as can be - from the present. Since that time the opportunities of instruction - to the very lowest classes (of as much instruction as may be - beneficial and not pernicious to them) have multiplied beyond what - the prophetic spirit of the first suggester of this charity[64] - could have predicted, or the wishes of that holy man have even - aspired to. There are parochial schools, and Bell's and - Lancaster's, with their arms open to receive every son of - ignorance, and disperse the last fog of uninstructed darkness which - dwells upon the land. What harm, then, if in the heart of this - noble City there should be left one receptacle, where parents of - rather more liberal views, but whose time-straitened circumstances - do not admit of affording their children that better sort of - education which they themselves, not without cost to their parents, - have received, may without cost send their sons? For such Christ's - Hospital unfolds her bounty. - - "To comfort, &c." - - [64] "Bishop Ridley, in a Sermon preached before King Edward the - Sixth." - -Concerning this original opening a few words are necessary. Lamb had -found the impetus to write his article in the public charges of -favouritism and the undue distribution of influence, that were made by -Robert Waithman (1764-1833), the reformer, against the governors of -Christ's Hospital, in an open letter to those gentlemen in 1808. The -newspapers naturally had much to say on the question, which was for some -time a prominent one. _The Examiner_, for example, edited by Leigh -Hunt--himself an old Christ's Hospitaller--spoke thus strongly (December -25, 1808): "That hundreds of unfortunate objects have applied in vain -for admission is sufficiently notorious; and that many persons with -abundant means of educating and providing for their children and -relatives have obtained their admission into the School is also equally -well known." The son of the Vicar of Edmonton, Mr. Dawson Warren, and a -boy named Carysfoot Proby, whose father had two livings as well as his -own and his wife's fortune, were the chief scapegoats. - -Coleridge also wrote an article on the subject, which appeared in _The -Courier_--a vigorous denial of Waithman's contention that the Hospital -was intended for the poorest children, and the expression of a wish that -the governors would permit no influence to change its aforetime policy. -At the same time Coleridge expressed disapproval of the admission of -boys whose fathers were in easy circumstances. - -The _Gentleman's Magazine_ version of Lamb's essay had one other -difference from that of 1818. The second paragraph of the essay as it -now stands did not then end at the words "would do well to go a little -out of their way to see" (page 163). At the word "see" was a colon, and -then came this passage:-- - - "let those judge, I say, who have compared this scene with the - abject countenances, the squalid mirth, the broken-down spirit, and - crouching, or else fierce and brutal deportment to strangers, of - the very different sets of little beings who range round the - precincts of common orphan schools and places of charity." - -Lamb's essay was also printed in a quaint little book entitled _A Brief -History of Christ's Hospital from its Foundation by King Edward the -Sixth to the Present Time_, by J. I. W[ilson], published in 1820. It is -there credited to Mr. Charles Lambe. In 1835, it was reissued as a -pamphlet by some of Lamb's schoolfellows and friends "in testimony of -their respect for the author, and of their regard for the Institution." - -Christ's Hospital was founded in 1552 by Edward VI. in response to a -sermon on charity by Ridley; his charge to Ridley being:-- - - To take out of the streets all the fatherless children and other - poor men's children that were not able to keep them, and to bring - them to the late dissolved house of the Greyfriars, which they - devised to be a Hospital for them, where they should have meat, - drink, and clothes, lodging and learning, and officers to attend - upon them. - -Later, this intention was somewhat modified, with the purpose of -benefiting rather the reduced or embarrassed parents than the very poor. - -The London history of the school is now ended. The boys have gone to -Sussex, where, near Horsham, the new buildings have been erected, and -the old Newgate Street structure has been demolished to make room for -offices, warehouses, and an extension of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. - -John Lamb's appeal for his son Charles to be received into Christ's -Hospital is dated March 30, 1781, and it states that the petitioner has -"a Wife and three Children, and he finds it difficult to maintain and -educate his Family without some Assistance." One of the children, John -Lamb jr., then aged nearly eighteen, should, however, have been -practically self-supporting. The presentation was made by Timothy Yeats, -a friend of Samuel Salt, who himself signed the necessary bond for £100 -and made himself responsible for the boy's discharge. Lamb was admitted -July 17, 1782, and clothed October 9, 1782; he remained until November -23, 1789. - -The notes that follow apply solely to the few points in the text that -call for remark. More exhaustive comments on Lamb and Christ's Hospital -will be found in the notes to the _Elia_ essay on the same subject. - -Page 163, line 23. _The old Grey Friars._ This monastery had been -suppressed by Henry VIII. It was reinhabited by the Christ's Hospital -boys; but was in great part destroyed in the Fire of London, the -cloisters alone remaining. The other old part of Christ's Hospital, as -this generation knows it, dates from after the Fire. - -Page 165, line 9 from foot. _Philip Quarll's Island_. One of the -imitations of _Robinson Crusoe_. The full title ran: _The Hermit: or the -unparalleled sufferings and surprising adventures of Mr. Philip Quarll, -an Englishman, who was lately discovered by Mr. Dorrington, a Bristol -Merchant, upon an uninhabited island in the South Seas; where he has -lived above Fifty Years, without any human assistance, still continues -to reside, and will not come away, 1727._ Lamb refers again to these -excursions in his _Elia_ essay on "Newspapers." - -Page 168, line 8 from foot. _The Rev. James Boyer._ Lamb writes more -fully of his old schoolmaster in the _Elia_ essay. Boyer was elected -1776, and retired in 1799, when the governors presented him with a -staff. He died in 1814. - -Page 170, line 4 from foot. _Grecians._ Lamb writes more fully of the -Grecians in his _Elia_ essay. He was himself never more than -Deputy-Grecian. - -Page 171, line 4 from foot. _William Wales._ William Wales was appointed -1776, and died 1798. The King's Boys are now called "Mathemats," i.e., -Members of the Royal Mathematical Foundation for Sea Service. Leigh Hunt -says of William Wales in his _Autobiography_: "He was a good man, of -plain, simple manners, with a heavy large person and a benign -countenance. When he was at Otaheite, the natives played him a trick -while bathing, and stole his small-clothes; which we used to think a -liberty scarcely credible." - -Page 172, line 5 from foot. _Processions ... at Easter._ The boys when -in London visited the Lord Mayor on Easter Tuesday. - -Page 173, line 4. _St. Matthew's day._ September 21. Speech Day is now -at the end of the Summer Term. - -Page 173, line 8. _Barnes ... Markland ... Camden._ Joshua Barnes -(1654-1712), Greek scholar and antiquary; Jeremiah Markland (1693-1776), -Greek scholar; and William Camden (1551-1623), the antiquary--all -Christ's Hospital boys. - -Page 173, line 18. _The carol._ I cannot give the words of this -particular carol. Mr. E. H. Pearce, the latest historian of Christ's -Hospital, tells me that it was probably not a school carol peculiar to -Christ's Hospital, like the Easter anthems (which were composed -annually), but an ordinary Christmas hymn. "An old Crug," _i.e._, Old -Christ's Hospitaller, wrote to _Notes and Queries_, December 22, 1855, -asking if any reader could supply the missing stanzas of a Christmas -carol which the Blue Coat boys used to sing fifty years before. This was -one stanza (from memory):-- - - The wise men of the Eastern globe did spy - A blazing star in the bright glittering sky; - And well they knew it fully did portend, - Christ came to the earth for some great end. - - * * * * * - -Page 174. TABLE-TALK IN "THE EXAMINER." - -In 1813 Leigh Hunt added to his paper, _The Examiner_, a more or less -regular collection of notes under the heading "Table-Talk." At first -they were unsigned, but on May 30 he announced that each contributor -would in future have his own mark. From unmistakable evidence--for -example, the similarity between the "Playhouse Memoranda" on page 184, -and the _Elia_ essay "My First Play"--we may confidently consider Lamb -to be the author of all those pieces signed, like that, ‡, seven of -which are here included. The first contribution thus signed was the note -on "Reynolds and Leonardo da Vinci," on page 174, usually printed in -editions of Lamb's works as "The Reynolds Gallery." - -Lamb had other signatures in _The Examiner_. The Dramatic Criticisms and -Reviews of Books, pages 217 to 234, were signed with four stars; the -notice of "Don Giovanni in London" (see page 215) was signed †, and -"Valentine's Day" (in _Elia_) was signed * * *. - -Page 174. I.--REYNOLDS AND LEONARDO DA VINCI. - -_The Examiner_, June 6, 1813. - -Lamb had very little admiration for Sir Joshua Reynolds. See also his -remarks in the essay on "Hogarth," page 88 for example. - -Page 174, line 1 of essay. _The Reynolds' Gallery._ The exhibition of -142 of Sir Joshua Reynolds' works, held in 1813 at the Shakespeare -Gallery in Pall Mall, afterwards the British Institution. The -Marlborough Club now stands on its site. Reynolds had died in 1792. - -Page 174, line 9 of essay. _Mrs. Anne Clark._ The notorious Mary Anne -Clarke (1776-1852), the mistress of Frederick, Duke of York. After -keeping London society in a state of ferment for some years, by reason -of her disclosures and claims, she was, in 1813, condemned to nine -months' imprisonment for libel. Lamb has a very humorous passage about -this lady in a letter to Manning on March 28, 1809. Reynolds, it need -hardly be said, did not paint her, since, when he died, she was but -sixteen and a nobody.--Kitty Fisher was Catherine Maria Fisher, who died -in 1767, and was painted by Sir Joshua several times. A very notorious -person in her early days; afterwards she married an M.P. - -Page 174, line 7 from foot. _Mrs. Long._ Mrs. Long was Amelia Long, -wife of Charles Long, afterwards first Baron Farnborough.--Reynolds -painted a number of Infant Jupiters and Bacchuses. His "Infant Samuel" -is well known. Few pictures of that time have been more often -reproduced. - -Page 176. II.--[THE NEW ACTING.] - -_The Examiner_, July 18, 1813. - -This note adds still another to Lamb's many remarks on the stage, and -stands as a kind of trial sketch for the papers on "The Old Actors," -which Lamb contributed to the _London Magazine_ nine years later. "The -New Acting" is also noteworthy in containing Lamb's earliest praises of -Miss Kelly, the favourite actress of his later years, of whom he always -wrote so finely. - -Page 176, line 4 of essay. _Parsons and Dodd._ William Parsons -(1736-1795), the comedian. Foresight in Congreve's "Love for Love" was -one of his best parts. James William Dodd (1740?-1796), famous for his -Aguecheek, in "Twelfth Night," which Lamb extols in "The Old Actors." - -Page 176, line 10 of essay. _Bannister and Dowton._ Two actors of a -later generation. John Bannister (1760-1836), whom Lamb admired as -Walter in Morton's "Children in the Wood," left the stage in 1815; -William Dowton (1764-1851), famous as Falstaff, left the stage in 1836. - -Page 176, line 6 from foot. _Russell's Jerry Sneak._ Samuel Thomas -Russell (1769?-1845), celebrated for his Jerry Sneak in Foote's "Mayor -of Garratt." Russell left the stage in 1842. - -Page 177, line 8. _Liston's Lord Grizzle._ John Liston (1776?-1846), the -comedian, whose bogus biography by Lamb will be found at page 292 of -this volume. Lord Grizzle is a character in Fielding's "Tom Thumb." - -Page 177, line 12. _Nicolaus Klimius._ Baron Holberg's _Nicolai Klimii -Iter Subterraneum_ was translated into English under the title _A -Journey to the World Underground_, 1742. It describes the surprising -subterranean adventures of a Norwegian divinity student. - -Page 177, line 19. _Mrs. Mattocks, Miss Pope and Mrs. Jordan._ Isabella -Mattocks (1746-1826), comedienne, took leave of the stage in 1808; Jane -Pope (1742-1818), famous as Audrey in "As You Like It," retired in the -same year; and Dorothea Jordan (1762-1816), the greatest comedienne of -her time, left the London stage in 1814. - -Page 177, line 24. _Mrs. Abingdon ... Mrs. Cibber, etc._ Frances -Abington (1737-1815) left the stage in 1799. Mrs. Susannah Maria Cibber -(1714-1766) and Anne (or Nance) Oldfield (1683-1730) were, of course, -before Lamb's time. - -Page 177, line 25. _Whole artillery of charms._ Lamb is here recalling -Colley Cibber's account of Mrs. Bountiful's Melantha in _Marriage a la -Mode_ in his _Apology_. - -Page 177, line 34. _Miss Kelly._ Lamb's friend, Frances Maria Kelly -(1790-1882), of whom he wrote so much (see pages 217 to 223 of the -present volume, and "Barbara S----" in _Elia_ essays. See also note to -"Miss Kelly at Bath," page 486). - -Page 177, at foot. _The Glovers ... Johnstons ... St. Legers_. Mrs. -Julia Glover (1779-1850), the original Alhadra in Coleridge's "Remorse" -in 1813. Mrs. Johnstone, a well-known Elvira in "Pizarro." She made her -London début in 1797. Mrs. Saint Ledger (_née_ Williams) made her London -début in 1799, and began well, but declined into pantomime. - -Page 178, line 1. _Miss Candour_. Probably a misprint for Mrs. Candour -in "The School for Scandal," a part created by Miss Pope. - -Page 178. III.--[BOOKS WITH ONE IDEA IN THEM.] - -_The Examiner_, July 18, 1813. Reprinted by Leigh Hunt in _The -Indicator_, December 13, 1820, under the title of Table Talk, together -with the notes on "Gray's _Bard_" and "Playhouse Memoranda," on pages -181 and 184 of the present volume. Leigh Hunt thus introduced these -reprints:-- - - It has been a great relief to us during our illness (from which, we - trust, we are now recovering) to find that the re-publication of - some former pieces from other periodical works has not been - disapproved. Being still compelled to make up our numbers in this - way, we have the pleasure of supplying the greater part of the - present one with some Table-Talk, with which a friend entertained - us on a similar occasion a few years ago in _The Examiner_. To the - reader who happens not to be acquainted with them they will be - acceptable for very obvious reasons: those who remember them, will - be glad to read them again; and as for ourselves, besides the other - reasons for being gratified, we feel particular satisfaction in - recalling to the author's memory as well as our own, some genuine - morsels of writing which he appears to have forgotten. - -Page 178, line 11., _Patrick's "Pilgrim." The Parable of the Pilgrim_, -1664, by Simon Patrick, Bishop of Ely (1626-1707), which bears a curious -accidental likeness to Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_. Writing to -Wordsworth, in 1815, Lamb says: "Did you ever read Charron on _Wisdom_ -or Patrick's _Pilgrim_? If neither, you have two great pleasures to -come." The particular passage quoted from Patrick is in one of Lamb's -Commonplace Books. - -Page 178, line 22. _Single-Speech Hamiltons_. William Gerard Hamilton -(1729-1796). He entered Parliament in 1754, and made his famous maiden -speech in 1755. It was not, however, by any means his only speech, -although his nickname still prevails. - -Page 178, line 24. _Killigrew's play_. "The Parson's Wedding," a comedy, -by Thomas Killigrew (1612-1683). Lamb included this speech of the Fine -Lady under the heading Facetiæ in his extracts from the Garrick plays in -Hone's _Table Book_, 1827. - -Page 178, line 32. _Charron on "Wisdom_." Two translations of the Sieur -de Charron, _De la Sagesse_, might have been read by Lamb: Dean -Stanhope's (1697) and Samson Lennard's (1612). Probably it was -Lennard's, since the passage may be found on page 129 of his 1670 -edition, a quarto, and page 145 in the 1640 edition, whereas in Stanhope -it is page 371. Lennard's translation runs thus (Book I., Chap. 39):-- - - The action of planting and making man is shameful, and all the - parts thereof; the congredients, the preparations, the instruments, - and whatsoever serves thereunto is called and accounted shameful; - and there is nothing more unclean, in the whole Nature of man. The - action of destroying and killing him [is] honorable, and that which - serves thereunto glorious: we guild it, we enrich it, we adorn - ourselves with it, we carry it by our sides, in our hands, upon our - shoulders. We disdain to go to the birth of man; every man runs to - see him die, whether it be in his bed, or in some public place, or - in the field. When we go about to make a man, we hide ourselves, we - put out the candle, we do it by stealth. It is a glory and pomp to - unmake a man, to kill himself; we light the candles to see him die, - we execute him at high noon, we sound a trumpet, we enter the - combat, and we slaughter him when the sun is at highest. There is - but one way to beget, to make a man, a thousand and a thousand - means, inventions, arts to destroy him. There is no reward, honour - or recompense assigned to those that know how to encrease, to - preserve human nature; all honour, greatness, riches, dignities, - empires, triumphs, trophies are appointed for those that know how - to afflict, trouble, destroy it. - -Page 178, last line. _What could Pope mean?_ - - What made (say Montaigne, or more sage Charron) - Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon? - - Pope's _Moral Essays_, Ep. I., 87-88. - -It has been held that Pope called Charron more sage because he somewhat -mitigated the excessive fatalism (Pyrrhonism) of Montaigne. - -Page 179. IV.--[A SYLVAN SURPRISE.] - -_The Examiner_, September 12, 1813. Reprinted in _The Indicator_, -January 3, 1821. We know it to be Lamb's by the signature ‡; also from a -sentence in Leigh Hunt's essay on the "Suburbs of Genoa," in _The -Literary Examiner_, August 23, 1823, where, speaking of an expected -sight, he says: "C. L. could not have been more startled when he saw the -chimney-sweeper reclining in Richmond meadows." - -Page 179. V.--[STREET CONVERSATION.] - -_The Examiner_, September 12, 1813. Signed ‡. - -Page 180. VI.--[A TOWN RESIDENCE.] - -_The Examiner_, September 12, 1813. Signed ‡. - -This note is another contribution to Lamb's many remarks on London. -Allsop, in his reminiscences of Lamb in his _Letters, Conversations and -Recollections of S. T. Coleridge_, 1836, remarks:-- - - Somerset House, Whitehall Chapel (the old Banqueting Hall), the - church at Limehouse and the new church at Chelsea, with the Bell - house at Chelsea College, which always reminded him of Trinity - College, Cambridge, were the objects most interesting to him [Lamb] - in London. - -Page 181. VII.--[GRAY'S "BARD."] - -_The Examiner_, September 12, 1813. Signed ‡. Reprinted by Leigh Hunt -under the above title in _The Indicator_, December 13, 1820. In the -Appendix (pages 425-6) will be found other critical comments upon Gray, -which I conjecture to be Lamb's. - -Page 181, line 1 of essay. _The beard of Gray's bard._ - - Loose his beard, and hoary hair - Stream'd like a meteor, to the troubled air. - - _The Bard._ - -Gray himself noted the Miltonic anticipation of this line (see Gosse's -edition, 1884). The lines Lamb quotes are from _Paradise Lost_, I., -lines 536-537. - -Page 181, line 6 of essay. _Heywood's old play._ "The Four 'Prentices of -London," by Thomas Heywood. The speech is that of Turnus respecting the -Persian Sophy. It is copied in one of Lamb's Commonplace Books. - -Page 182. VIII.--[AN AMERICAN WAR FOR HELEN.] - -_The Examiner_, September 26, 1813. Signed ‡. Reprinted under the above -title by Leigh Hunt in _The Indicator_, January 3, 1821. - -Page 182, line 1 of essay. _A curious volume._ Hazlitt's _Handbook to -the Popular, Poetical and Dramatic Literature of Great Britain_, 1867, -gives the title as _Alexandri Fultoni Scoti Epigrammatum Libri Quimque_. -Perth, 1679. 8vo. - -Page 182, line 9. "_The master of a seminary ... at Islington._" This -was the Rev. John Evans, a Baptist minister, whose school was in -Pullin's Row, Islington. Gray's _Elegy_ was published as Lamb indicates -in 1806. The headline covering the first three stanzas is "Interesting -Silence." - -Page 183. IX.--[DRYDEN AND COLLIER.] - -_The Examiner_, September 26, 1813. Signed ‡. - -Page 183, line 3. _Jeremy Collier._ Jeremy Collier (1650-1726), the -nonjuror and controversialist. His _Essays upon Several Moral Subjects_, -Part II., were published in 1697. The passage quoted is from that "On -Musick," the second essay in Part II. I have restored his italics and -capitals. - -Page 183, at foot. "_His genius...._" Collier's words are: "His genius -was jocular, but when disposed he could be very serious." - -Page 184. X.--[PLAYHOUSE MEMORANDA.] - -_The Examiner_, December 19, 1813. Signed ‡. Leigh Hunt reprinted it in -_The Indicator_, December 13, 1820. - -The paper, towards the end, becomes a first sketch for the _Elia_ essay -"My First Play," 1821. As a whole it is hardly less charming than that -essay, while its analysis of the Theatre audience gives it an -independent interest and value. - -Page 185, line 3. _They had come to see Mr. C----._ It was George -Frederick Cooke, of whom Lamb writes in the criticism on page 41, that -they had come to see. Possibly the Cooke they saw was T. P. Cooke -(1786-1864), afterwards famous for his sailor parts; but more probably -an obscure Cooke who never rose to fame. A Mr. Cook played a small part -in Lamb's "Mr. H." in 1806. - -Page 186, line 6. _The system of Lucretius._ Lucretius, in _De Rerum -Natura_, imagined the gods to be above passion or emotion, heedless of -this world's concerns, figures of absolute peace. - -Page 186, line 22. _It was "Artaxerxes."_ An opera by Thomas Augustine -Arne, produced in 1762, founded upon Metastasio's "Artaserse." From the -other particulars of Lamb's early play-going, given in the _Elia_ essay -"My First Play," we know the date of this performance to be December 1, -1780, that being the only occasion in that or the next season when -"Artaxerxes" was followed by "Harlequin's Invasion." But none of the -singers named by Lamb were in the caste on that occasion. "Who played, -or who sang in it, I know not," he says; merely setting down likely and -well-known names at random. As a matter of fact Artaxerxes was played by -Mrs. Baddeley, Arbaces by Miss Pruden, and Mandane by "a young lady." -Mr. Beard was John Beard (1716?-1791), the tenor. Leoni was the -discoverer and instructor of Braham. He made his début in "Artaxerxes" -in 1775. Mrs. Kennedy, formerly Mrs. Farrell, was a contralto. She died -in 1793. - -Page 186, line 10 from foot. _I was, with Uriel._ - - Th' archangel Uriel, one of the sev'n - Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, - Stand ready at command. - - _Paradise Lost_, III., lines 648-650. - -Uriel's station was the sun. See also _Paradise Lost_, III. 160, IV. 577 -and 589, and IX. 60. - - * * * * * - -Page 187. WORDSWORTH'S "EXCURSION." - -The _Quarterly Review_, October, 1814. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Wordsworth's _Excursion_ was published in 1814; and it seems to have -been upon his own suggestion, made, probably, to Southey, who was a -power in the _Quarterly_ office, that Lamb should review it. In his -letter to Wordsworth of August 29, 1814, Lamb expressed a not too ready -willingness. Writing again a little later, when the review was done, he -spoke of "the circumstances of haste and peculiar bad spirits" under -which it was written, viewing it without much confidence; and adding, -"But it must speak for itself, if Gifford and his crew do not put words -in its mouth, which I expect." As Lamb expected, so it happened. Lamb's -next letter, after the publication of the October _Quarterly_ (which -does not seem to have come out until very late in the year), ran thus:-- - -"DEAR WORDSWORTH,--I told you my Review was a very imperfect one. But -what you will see in the Quarterly is a spurious one which Mr. Baviad -Gifford has palm'd upon it for mine. I never felt more vexd in my life -than when I read it. I cannot give you an idea of what he has done to it -out of spite at me because he once sufferd me to be called a lunatic in -his Thing. The _language_ he has alterd throughout. Whatever -inadequateness it had to its subject, it was in point of composition the -prettiest piece of prose I ever writ, and so my sister (to whom alone I -read the MS.) said. That charm if it had any is all gone: more than a -third of the substance is cut away and that not all from one place, but -_passim_, so as to make utter nonsense. Every warm expression is changed -for a nasty cold one. I have not the cursed alteration by me, I shall -never look at it again, but for a specimen I remember--I had said the -Poet of the Excurs^n 'walks thro' common forests as thro' some Dodona or -enchanted wood and every casual bird that flits upon the boughs, like -that miraculous one in Tasso, but in language more piercing than any -articulate sounds, reveals to him far higher lovelays.' It is now -(besides half a dozen alterations in the same half dozen lines) 'but in -language more _intelligent_ reveals to him'--that is one I remember. But -that would have been little, putting his damnd Shoemaker phraseology -(for he was a shoemaker) in stead of mine which has been tinctured with -better authors than his ignorance can comprehend--for I reckon myself a -dab at _Prose_--verse I leave to my betters--God help them, if they are -to be so reviewed by friend and foe as you have been this quarter. I -have read 'It won't do.'[65] But worse than altering words, he has kept -a few members only of the part I had done best which was to explain all -I could of your 'scheme of harmonies' as I had ventured to call it -between the external universe and what within us answers to it. To do -this I had accumulated a good many short passages, rising in length to -the end, weaving in the Extracts as if they came in as a part of the -text, naturally, not obtruding them as specimens. Of this part a little -is left, but so as without conjuration no man could tell what I was -driving it [? at]. A proof of it you may see (tho' not judge of the -whole of the injustice) by these words--I had spoken something about -'natural methodism--' and after follows 'and therefore the tale of -Margaret sh^d have been postponed' (I forget my words, or his words): -now the reasons for postponing it are as deducible from what goes -before, as they are from the 104th psalm. The passage whence I deduced -it, has vanished, but clapping a colon before a _therefore_ is always -reason enough for Mr. Baviad Gifford to allow to a reviewer that is not -himself. I assure you my complaints are founded. I know how sore a word -alterd makes one, but indeed of this Review the whole complexion is -gone. I regret only that I did not keep a copy. I am sure you would have -been pleased with it, because I have been feeding my fancy for some -months with the notion of pleasing you. Its imperfection or -inadequateness in size and method I knew, but for the _writing part_ of -it, I was fully satisfied. I hoped it would make more than atonement. -Ten or twelve distinct passages come to my mind which are gone, and what -is left is of course the worse for their having been there, the eyes are -pulld out and the bleeding sockets are left. I read it at Arch's shop -with my face burning with vexation secretly, with just such a feeling as -if it had been a review written against myself, making false quotations -from me. But I am ashamd to say so much about a short piece. How are -_you_ served! and the labors of years turn'd into contempt by -scoundrels. - -"But I could not but protest against your taking that thing as mine. -Every _pretty_ expression, (I know there were many) every warm -expression, there was nothing else, is vulgarised and frozen--but if -they catch me in their camps again let them spitchcock me. They had a -right to do it, as no name appears to it, and Mr. Shoemaker Gifford I -suppose never waved a right he had since he commencd author. God -confound him and all caitiffs. - - "C. L." - - [65] "This will never do"--the beginning of the review in the - _Edinburgh_.--ED. - -The word "lunatic" refers to the _Quarterly's_ review in December, 1811, -of _The Dramatic Works of John Ford_, by Henry William Weber, Sir Walter -Scott's assistant, where, alluding to the comments on Ford in Lamb's -_Specimens_, quoted by Weber, the reviewer described them as "the -blasphemies of a maniac." See page 57 of this volume for Lamb's actual -remarks on Ford. Southey wrote Gifford a letter of remonstrance, and -Gifford explained that he had used the words without knowledge of Lamb's -history--knowing of him nothing but his name--and adding that he would -have lost his right arm sooner than have written what he did had he -known the circumstances. The late Mr. Dykes Campbell, whose opinion in -such matters was of the weightiest, declined to let Gifford escape with -this apology. Reviewing in _The Athenæum_ for August 25, 1894, a new -edition of Lamb's _Dramatic Specimens_, Mr. Campbell wrote thus:-- - - Had Gifford merely called Lamb a "fool" or a "madman," the epithet - would have been mere "common form" as addressed by the _Quarterly_ - of those days to a wretch who was a friend of other wretches such - as Hunt and Hazlitt; but he went far beyond such common form and - used language of the utmost precision. Weber, wrote Gifford, "has - polluted his pages with the blasphemies of a poor maniac, who it - seems once published some detached scenes from the 'Broken Heart.' - For this unfortunate creature every feeling mind will find an - apology in his calamitous situation." This passage has no meaning - at all if it is not to be taken as a positive statement that Lamb - suffered from chronic mental derangement; yet Gifford when - challenged confessed that when he wrote it he had known absolutely - nothing of Lamb, except his name! It seems to have struck neither - Gifford nor Southey that this was no excuse at all, and something a - good deal worse than no excuse--that even as an explanation it was - not such as an honourable man would have cared to offer. Gifford - added a strongly-worded expression of his feeling of remorse on - learning that his blows had fallen with cruel effect on a sore - place. Both feeling and expression may have been sincere, for, - under the circumstances, only a fiend would be incapable of - remorse. But the excuse or explanation is open to much suspicion, - owing to the fact (revealed in the Murray "Memoirs") that Lamb's - friend Barron Field had been Gifford's collaborator in the - preparation of the article in which the offending passage occurs. - Field was well acquainted with Lamb's personal and family history, - and while the article was in progress the collaborators could - hardly have avoided some exchange of ideas on a subject which - stirred one of them so deeply. Gifford may have said honestly - enough, according to his lights, that only a maniac could have - written the note quoted by Weber, a remark which would naturally - draw from Field some confidences regarding Lamb's history. This is, - of course, pure assumption, but it is vastly more reasonable and - much more likely to be in substantial accordance with the facts - than Gifford's statement that when he called Lamb a poor maniac, - whose calamitous situation offered a sufficient apology for his - blasphemies, he was imaginatively describing a man of whom he knew - absolutely nothing, except that he was "a thoughtless scribbler." - If, as seems only too possible, Gifford deliberately poisoned his - darts, it is also probable that he did not realize what he was - doing. It would be unfair to accept Hazlitt's picture of him as a - true portrait; but Lamb's apology for Hazlitt himself applies with - at least equal force to the first editor of the _Quarterly_. "He - does bad actions without being a bad man." Perhaps it is too - lenient, for though Gifford's attack on Lamb was undoubtedly one of - the bad actions of his life, it was, after all, a matter of - conduct. The apology, whether truthful or the opposite, reveals - deep-seated corruption of principle if not of character. - -Lamb's phrase, "Mr. Shoemaker Gifford," had reason for its existence. -William Gifford (1756-1826) was apprenticed to a shoemaker in 1772. Lamb -later repaid some of his debt in the sonnet "St. Crispin to Mr. -Gifford," which appeared in _The Examiner_, October 3, 1819, and was -reprinted in _The Poetical Recreations of "The Champion"_ in 1822. -Gifford, who was editor of the _Quarterly_ on its establishment in 1809, -held the post until his death, in 1826. - -The original copy of Lamb's review of Wordsworth, Mr. John Murray -informs me, no longer exists. I have collated the extracts with the -first edition of the _Excursion_ and have also corrected the Tasso. - -Page 187, line 3 of essay. _To be called the Recluse._ Wordsworth never -completed this scheme. A fragment called _The Recluse_, Book I., was -published in 1888. - -Page 188, line 7. _Which Thomson so feelingly describes._ This is the -passage, from Thomson's _Seasons_, "Winter," 799-809:-- - - There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, - Barr'd by the hand of Nature from escape, - Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around - Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow; - And heavy-loaded groves; and solid floods, - That stretch'd, athwart the solitary vast, - Their icy horrors to the frozen main; - And cheerless towns far-distant, never bless'd, - Save when its annual course the caravan - Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay, - With news of human-kind. - - - * * * * * - -Page 200. ON THE MELANCHOLY OF TAILORS. - -_The Champion_, December 4, 1814. _Works_, 1818. - -The editor of _The Champion_ was then John Scott, afterwards editor of -the _London Magazine_, which printed Lamb's best work. From a letter -written by Lamb to Scott in 1814 (in the late Dr. Birkbeck Hill's _Talks -about Autographs_, 1896) it seems that he was to contribute more or less -regularly to _The Champion_. Lamb wrote:-- - - "SIR,--Your explanation is perfectly pleasant to me, and I accede - to your proposal most willingly. - - "As I began with the beginning of this month, I will if you please - call upon you for _your part of the engagement_ (supposing I shall - have performed mine) on the 1st of March next, and thence forward - if it suit you quarterly--you will occasionally wink at BRISKETS - and VEINY PIECES. - - "Your Obt. Svt., - - "C. LAMB." - - - -This essay on "Tailors" is, however, the only piece by Lamb that can be -identified, although probably many of the passages from old authors -quoted in _The Champion_ in Scott's time were contributed by Lamb. These -might be the briskets and veiny pieces he refers to. On January 23, -1814, is "A Challenge" of the Learned Dog at Drury Lane which he might -have written; but it is not interesting now. Later, after John Thelwall -took over _The Champion_ in 1818, Lamb contributed various epigrams, -which will be found in Vol. IV. of the present edition. - -Lamb seems to have sent the present essay to Wordsworth, whose reply we -may imagine took the form of an account of certain tailors within his -own experience that did not comply with Lamb's scription; since Lamb's -answer to that letter is the one dated beginning, "Your experience -about tailors seems to be in point blank opposition to Burton [Lamb's -essay is signed 'Burton, Junior']" and so forth. - -When preparing this essay for the _Works_, 1818, Lamb omitted certain -portions. The footnote on page 202 originally continued thus:-- - - "But commend me above all to a shop opposite Middle Row, in - Holborn, where, by the ingenious contrivance of the master taking - in three partners, there is a physical impossibility of the - conversation ever flagging, while 'the four' alternately toss it - from one to the other, and at whatever time you drop in, you are - sure of a discussion: an expedient which Mr. A----m would do well - to think on, for with all the alacrity with which he and his - excellent family are so dexterous to furnish their successive - contributions, I have sometimes known the continuity of the - dialogue broken into, and silence for a few seconds to intervene." - -In connection with Mr. A----m there is a passage in a letter from Mary -Lamb to Miss Hutchinson in 1818, wherein she says that when the Lambs, -finding London insupportable after a long visit to Calne, in Wiltshire -(at the Morgans'), had taken lodgings in Dalston, Charles was so much -the creature of habit, or the slave of his barber, that he went to the -Temple every morning to be shaved, on a roundabout way to the India -House. This would very likely be Mr. A----m, Flower de Luce Court being -just opposite the Temple, off Fetter Lane. The London directories in -those days ignored barbers; hence his name must remain in disguise. - -In _The Champion_, also, the paragraph on page 203, beginning, "I -think," etc., ran thus:-- - - "I think, then, that they [the causes of tailors' melancholy] may - be reduced to three, omitting some subordinate ones; viz. - - "The sedentary habits of the tailor.-- - Something peculiar in his diet.-- - Mental perturbation from a sense of reproach, &c.--" - - - -And at the end of the article, as it now stands, came the following -exposition of the third theory:-- - - "Thirdly, and lastly, _mental perturbation, arising from a sense of - shame_; in other words, _that painful consciousness which he always - carries about with him, of lying under a sort of disrepute in - popular estimation_. It is easy to talk of despising public - opinion, of its being unworthy the attention of a wise man &c. The - theory is excellent; but, somehow, in practice - - "still the world prevails and its dread laugh. - - "Tailors are men (it is well if so much be allowed them,) and as - such, it is not in human nature not to feel sore at being - misprized, undervalued, and made a word of scorn.[66] I have often - racked my brains to discover the grounds of this unaccountable - prejudice, which is known to exist against a useful and industrious - body of men. I confess I can discover none, except in the sedentary - posture, before touched upon, which from long experience has been - found by these artists to be the one most convenient for the - exercise of their vocation. But I would beg the more stirring and - locomotive part of the community, to whom the quiescent state of - the tailor furnishes a perpetual fund of rudeness, to consider, - that in the mere action of _sitting_ (which they make so merry - with) there is nothing necessarily ridiculous. That, in particular, - it is the posture best suited to contemplation. That it is that, in - which the hen (a creature of all others best fitted to be a pattern - of careful provision for a family) performs the most beautiful part - of her maternal office. That it is that, in which judges - deliberate, and senators take counsel. That a Speaker of the House - of Commons at a debate, or a Lord Chancellor over a suit, will - oftentimes _sit_ as long as many tailors. Lastly, let these - scoffers take heed, lest themselves, while they mock at others, be - found 'sitting in the seat of the scornful.'" - - [66] "It is notorious that to call a man a _tailor_, is to heap the - utmost contempt upon him which the language of the streets can - convey. _Barber's clerk_ is an appellative less galling than this. - But there is a word, which, though apparently divested of all ill - meaning, has for some people a far deeper sting than either. It is - the insulting appellation of _governor_, with which a black-guard, - not in anger, but in perfect good will, salutes your second-rate - gentry, persons a little above his own cut. He rarely bestows it - upon the topping gentry of all, but reserves it for those of a rank - or two above his own, or whose garb is rather below their rank. It - is a word of approximation. A friend of mine will be melancholy a - great while after, from being saluted with it. I confess I have not - altogether been unhonoured with it myself." - -It is told of Lamb that he once said he would sit with anything but a -hen or a tailor. - -Page 200. _Motto._ From Virgil's _Æneid_, Book VI., lines 617, 618. -"There luckless Theseus sits, and shall sit for ever." - -Page 201, line 25. _Beautiful motto._ Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, -who married Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII., appeared at a tournament -with a saddle-cloth made half of frieze and half of cloth of gold. Each -side had a symbolical motto. One ran:-- - - Cloth of frize, be not too bold, - Though thou art match'd with cloth of gold. - -The other:-- - - Cloth of gold do not despise, - Though thou art match'd with cloth of frize. - -Page 201, line 3 from foot. _Eliot's famous troop._ General George -Augustus Eliott (afterwards Lord Heathfield), the defender of Gibraltar -and the founder of the 15th or King's Own Royal Light Dragoons, now the -15th Hussars, whose first action was at Emsdorf. At the time that -regiment was being collected, there was a strike of tailors, many of -whom joined it. Eliott, one version of the incident says, wished to get -men who never having ridden had not to unlearn any bad methods of -riding. Later they were engaged against the Spaniards in Cuba in -1762-1763. - -Page 202, line 6. _Speculative politicians._ Lamb was probably referring -to Francis Place (1771-1854), the tailor-reformer, among whose friends -were certain of Lamb's own--William Frend, for example. - -Page 202. _Footnote._ "_Gladden life._" From Johnson's _Life of Edmund -Smith_--"one who has gladdened life"; or possibly from Coombe's "Peasant -of Auburn":-- - - And whilst thy breast matures each patriot plan - That gladdens life and man endears to man. - -Page 203, line 22. _Dr. Norris's famous narrative._ _The Narrative of -Dr. Robert Norris concerning the strange and deplorable Frenzy of Mr. -John Dennis_ was a satirical squib by Pope against the critic John -Dennis (1657-1734). The passage referred to by Lamb runs:-- - - _Doct._ Pray, Sir, how did you contract the Swelling? - - _Denn._ By a Criticism. - - _Doct._ A Criticism! that's a Distemper I never read of in _Galen_. - - _Denn._ S' Death, Sir, a Distemper! It is no Distemper, but a Noble - Art. I have sat fourteen Hours a Day at it; and are you a Doctor, - and don't know there's a Communication between the Legs and the - Brain? - - _Doct._ What made you sit so many Hours, Sir? - - _Denn._ _Cato_, Sir. - - _Doct._ Sir, I speak of your Distemper, what gave you this Tumour? - - _Denn._ _Cato, Cato, Cato._ - -Page 204, line 2. _Envious Junos._ Lucina, at Juno's bidding, sat -cross-legged before Alcmena to prolong her travail. Sir Thomas Browne in -his _Pseudodoxia Epidemica; or, Enquiry into Vulgar Errors_, Book V., -speaks of the posture as "veneficious," and cites Juno's case. - -Page 204, at the end. _Well known that this last-named vegetable._ This -is the old joke about tailors "cabbaging," that is to say, stealing -cloth. The term is thus explained in Phillips' _History of Cultivated -Vegetables_:-- - - The word cabbage ... means the firm head or ball that is formed by - the leaves turning close over each other.... From thence arose the - cant word applied to tailors, who formerly worked at the private - houses of their customers, where they were often accused of - cabbaging: which means the rolling up of pieces of cloth instead of - the list and shreds, which they claim as their due. - -Lamb returned to this jest against tailors in his verses "Satan in -Search of a Wife," in 1831. - -In _The Champion_ for December 11, 1814, was printed a letter defending -tailors against Lamb. - - * * * * * - -Page 204. ON NEEDLE-WORK. - -_The British Lady's Magazine and Monthly Miscellany_, April 1, 1815. By -Mary Lamb. - -The authority for attributing this paper to Mary Lamb is Crabb Robinson. -In his Diary for December 11, 1814, he writes: "I called on Miss Lamb, -and chatted with her. She was not unwell, but she had undergone great -fatigue from writing an article about needle-work for the new _Ladies' -British Magazine_. She spoke of writing as a most painful occupation, -which only necessity could make her attempt." - -We know that Mary Lamb's needle was required to help keep the Lamb -family, not only after Samuel Salt's death in 1792, when they had to -move from the Temple, but very likely while they were there also. In one -of the newspaper accounts of the tragedy of September, 1796, she is -described as "a mantua-maker." Possibly she continued to sew for a while -after she joined her brother, in 1799, but she would hardly call that -"early life," being thirty-five in that year. - - * * * * * - -Page 210. ON THE POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE WITHER. - -This is the one prose article that, to the best of our knowledge, made -its first and only appearance in the _Works_ (1818). It was inspired by -John Mathew Gutch (1776-1861), Lamb's schoolfellow at Christ's Hospital, -with whom he shared rooms in Southampton Buildings in 1800. Later, when -Gutch had become proprietor, at Bristol, of _Felix Farley's Bristol -Journal_ (in which many of Chatterton's poems had appeared), he took -advantage of his press to set up a private edition of selections from -Wither, a poet then little known and not easily accessible, an -interleaved copy of which, in two volumes, was sent to Lamb in 1809 or -1810. Gutch told the story in an Appendix to his _Lytell Geste of Robin -Hoode_ (1847), wherein he printed a letter from Lamb dated April 9, -1810, concerning the edition, in the course of which Lamb remarks: "I -never saw _Philarete_ before--judge of my pleasure. I could not forbear -scribbling certain critiques in pencil on the blank leaves.... Perhaps I -could digest the few critiques prefixed to the 'Satires,' 'Shepherd's -Hunting,' etc., into a short abstract of Wither's character and -works...." - -Lamb returned the book with this letter; and Gutch seems to have then -sent it to Dr. John Nott (1751-1825), of the Hot Wells, Bristol, a -medical man with literary tastes, and the author of a number of -translations, medical treatises, and subsequently of an edition of -Herrick; who added comments of his own both upon Wither and upon Lamb. - -Lamb, Gutch tells us, subsequently asked for the book again, with the -intention of preparing from it the present essay on Wither, and coming -then upon Nott's criticisms of himself, superimposed sarcastic -criticisms of Nott. Thus the volumes contain first Wither, then Gutch -and Lamb on Wither, then Nott on Wither and Lamb, and then Lamb on Nott -again and incidentally on Wither again, too, for some of his earlier -opinions were slightly modified. - -Lamb gave the volume to his friend John Brook Pulham of the East India -House, and the treasure passed to the fitting possession of the late Mr. -Swinburne, who described it in a paper in the _Nineteenth Century_ for -January, 1885, afterwards republished in his _Miscellanies_, 1886. Mr. -Swinburne permitted me to quote from his very entertaining analysis:-- - - The second fly-leaf of the first volume bears the inscription, "Jas - Pulham Esqr. from Charles Lamb." A proof impression of the - well-known profile sketch of Lamb by Pulham has been inserted - between this and the preceding fly-leaf. The same place is occupied - in the second volume by the original pencil drawing, to which is - attached an engraving of it "Scratched on Copper by his Friend - Brook Pulham;" and on the fly-leaf following is a second - inscription--"James Pulham Esq. from his friend Chas Lamb." On the - reverse of the leaf inscribed with these names in the first volume - begins the commentary afterwards republished, with slight - alterations and transpositions, as an essay "on the poetical works - of George Wither...." - - After the quotation from Drayton, with which the printed essay - concludes, the manuscript proceeds thus:-- - - "The whole poem, for the delicacy of the thoughts, and height of - the passion, is equal to the best of Spenser's, Daniel's or - Drayton's love verses; with the advantage of comprising in a whole - all the fine things which lie scatter'd in their works, in sonnets, - and smaller addresses--The happy chearful spirit of the author goes - with it all the way; that _sanguine temperament_, which gives to - all Wither's lines (in his most loved metre especially, where - chiefly he is a Poet) an elasticity, like a dancing measure; it - [is] as full of joy, and confidence, and high and happy thoughts, - as if it were his own Epithalamium which, like Spenser, he were - singing, and not a piece of perambulary, probationary - flattery...."[67] - - [67] Lamb subsequently altered the conclusion of this paragraph to: - "as if, like Spenser, he were singing his own Epithalamium, and not - a strain of probationary courtship." - - On page 70 Lamb has proposed a new reading which speaks for - itself--"Jove's endeared Ganimed," for the meaningless "endured" of - the text before him. Against a couplet now made famous by his - enthusiastic citation of it-- - - "Thoughts too deep to be expressed - And too strong to be suppressed--" - - he has written--"Two eminently beautiful lines." Opposite the - couplet in which Wither mentions the poets - - "whose verse set forth - Rosalind and Stella's worth" - - Gutch (as I suppose) has written the names of Lodge and Sidney; - under which Lamb has pencilled the words "Qu. Spenser and Sidney;" - perhaps the more plausible conjecture, as the date of Lodge's - popularity was out, or nearly so, before Wither began to write. - - The next verses [_The Shepherd's Hunting_] are worth transcription - on their own account no less than on account of Lamb's annotation. - - "It is known what thou canst do, - For it is not long ago - When that Cuddy, thou, and I, - Each the other's skill to try, - At St. Dunstan's charmèd well, - (As some present there can tell) - Sang upon a sudden theme, - Sitting by the crimson stream; - Where if thou didst well or no - Yet remains the song to show." - - To the fifth of these verses the following note is appended:-- - - "The Devil Tavern, Fleet Street, where Child's Place now stands, - and where a sign hung in my memory within 18" (substituted for 16) - "years, of the Devil and St. Dunstan--Ben Jonson made this a famous - place of resort for poets by drawing up a set of Leges Convivales - which were engraven in marble on the chimney piece in the room - called Apollo. One of Drayton's poems is called The Sacrifice to - Apollo; it is addrest to the priests or Wits of Apollo, and is a - kind of poetical paraphrase upon the Leges Convivales--This tavern - to the very last kept up a room with that name. C. L."--who might - have added point and freshness to this brief account by citing the - splendid description of a revel held there under the jovial old - Master's auspices, given by Careless to Aurelia [Carlesse to - Æmilia] in Shakerley Marmion's admirable comedy, _A Fine - Companion_. But it is remarkable that Lamb--if I mistake not--has - never quoted or mentioned that brilliant young dramatist and poet - who divided with Randolph the best part of Jonson's mantle.... - - At the close of Wither's high-spirited and manly postscript to the - poem on which, as he tells us, his publisher had bestowed the name - of _The Shepherd's Hunting_, a passage occurs which has provoked - one of the most characteristic outbreaks of wrath and mirth to be - found among all Lamb's notes on Nott's notes on Lamb's notes on the - text of Wither. "Neither am I so _cynical_ but that I think a - modest expression of such amorous conceits as suit with reason, - will yet very well become my years; in which not to have feeling of - the power of _love_, were as great an argument of much stupidity, - as an over-sottish affection were of extreme folly." In - illustration of this simple and dignified sentence Lamb cites the - following most apt and admirable parallel. - - "'Nor blame it, readers, in those years to propose to themselves - such a reward, as the noblest dispositions above other things in - this life have sometimes preferred; whereof not to be sensible, - when good and fair in one person meet, argues both a gross and - shallow judgment, and withall an ungentle and swainish breast.' - - "_Milton_--Apology for Smectymn[u]us." - - "Why is this quoted?" demands the too inquisitive Nott; "I see - little similarity." "It was quoted for those who _can_ see," - rejoins Lamb, with three thick strokes of his contemptuous pencil - under the luckless Doctor's poor personal pronoun; on which this - special note of indignation is added beneath. - - "I. I. I. I. I. in Capitals!-- - for shame, write _your_ Ego thus - little i with a dot - stupid Nott!" - - At the opening of the second we find the notes on _Abuses stript - and whipt_ which in their revised condition as part of the essay on - Wither are familiar to all lovers of English letters. They begin - with the second paragraph of that essay, in which sundry slight and - delicate touches of improvement have fortified or simplified the - original form of expression. After the sentence which describes the - vehemence of Wither's love for goodness and hatred of baseness, the - manuscript proceeds thus: "His moral feeling is work'd up into a - sort of passion, something as Milton describes himself at a like - early age, that night and day he laboured to attain to a certain - idea which he had of perfection." Another cancelled passage is one - which originally followed on the reflection that "perhaps his - premature defiance often exposed him" (altered in the published - essay to "sometimes made him obnoxious") "to censures, which he - would otherwise have slipped by." The manuscript continues: "But in - this he is as faulty as some of the primitive Christians are - described to have been, who were ever ready to outrun the - executioner...." - - This not immoderate satire on clerical ambition seems to have - ruffled the spiritual plumage of Dr. Nott, who brands it as a "very - dull essay indeed." To whom, in place of exculpation or apology, - Lamb returns this question by way of answer:--"Why double-dull it - with thy dull commentary? have you nothing to cry out but 'very - dull,' 'a little better,' 'this has some spirit,' 'this is - prosaic,' foh! - - "If the sun of Wither withdraw a while, Clamour not for joy, Owl, - it will out again, and blear thy envious Eyes!..." - - The commentary on 'Wither's Motto' will be remembered by all - students of the most exquisite critical essays in any language. - They will not be surprised to learn that neither the style nor the - matter of it found any favour in the judicial eye of Nott. "There - is some tautology in this, and some of the sentences are - harsh--These repetitions are very awkward; but the whole sentence - is obscure and far-fetched in sentiment;" such is the fashion in - which this unlucky particle of a pedant has bescribbled the margin - of Lamb's beautiful manuscript. But those for whom alone I write - will share my pleasure in reading the original paragraph as it came - fresh from the spontaneous hand of the writer, not as yet adapted - or accommodated by any process of revision to the eye of the - general reader. - - "Wither's Motto. - - "The poem which Wither calls his _Motto_ is a continued - self-eulogy" (originally written "self-eulogium") "of two thousand - lines: yet one reads it to the end without feeling any distaste, or - being hardly conscious of having listen'd so long to a man praising - himself. There are none of the cold particles of vanity in it; no - hardness or self-ends" (altered to "no want of feeling, no - selfishness;" but restored in the published text), "which are the - qualities that make Egotism hateful--The writer's mind was - continually glowing with images of virtue, and a noble scorn of - vice: what it felt, it honestly believed it possessed, and as - honestly avowed it; yet so little is this consciousness mixed up - with any alloy of selfishness, that the writer seems to be praising - qualities in another person rather than in himself; or, to speak - more properly, we feel that it was indifferent to him, where he - found the virtues; but that being best acquainted with himself, he - chose to celebrate himself as their best known receptacle. We feel - that he would give to goodness its praise, wherever found; that it - is not a quality which he loves for his own low self which - possesses it; but himself that he respects for the qualities which - he imagines he finds in himself. With these feelings, and without - them, it is impossible to read it, it is as beautiful a piece of - _self_-confession as the _Religio Medici_ of Browne. - - "It will lose nothing also if we contrast it" (or, as previously - written, "It may be worth while also to contrast it") "with the - Confessions of Rousseau." ("How is Rousseau analogous?" queries the - interrogatory Nott: on whom Lamb retorts--"analogous?!! why, this - note was written to show the _difference_ not the _analogy_ between - them. C. L.") "In every page of the latter we are disgusted with - the vanity, which brings forth faults, and begs us to take them (or - at least the acknowledgment of them) for virtue. But in Wither we - listen to a downright confession of unambiguous virtues; and love - the heart which has the confidence to pour itself out." Here, at a - later period, Lamb has written--"C. L. thus far." On the phrase - "confession of unambiguous virtues" Dr. Nott has obliged us with - the remark--"this seems an odd association:" and has received this - answer:--"It was _meant_ to be an odd one, to puzzle a certain sort - of people. C. L."--whose words should be borne in mind by every - reader of his essays or letters who may chance to take exception to - some passing turn of speech intended, or at least not wholly - undesigned, to give occasion for that same "certain sort of people" - to stumble or to trip. - -So far Mr. Swinburne. After his death the Wither was sold to America by -Mr. Watts-Dunton and is now in the library of Mr. John A. Spoor of -Chicago. Mr. Swinburne's description was supplemented by the American -bibliophile Mr. Luther S. Livingston in the _New York Evening Post_, -April 30, 1910. - -Gutch, it seems, was sufficiently interested in Wither to undertake a -really representative edition, the editorship of which was entrusted to -Nott. The work was issued in 1820, without either date or publisher's -name. There is a copy in the British Museum which is in four volumes, -the fourth incomplete. On the fly-leaf is written: "This selection of -the Poems of Wither was printed by Gutch, of Bristol, about twenty years -since, and was edited by Dr. Nott. The work remained unfinished, and was -sold for waste-paper; a few copies only were preserved. 1839." - -Mr. Livingston says that there is another copy of this work, in New -York. "It is in four volumes, with the title, 'Selections from the -Juvenilia and Other Poems of George Wither, with a prefatory Essay by -John Matthew Gutch, F.S.A., and His Life, by Robert Aris Wilmott, Esq., -Vol. I. [etc.] Typ. Felix Farley: Bristol.' In addition, the first -volume has another title-page, 'Poems by George Wither, in four volumes. -Vol. I. London: 1839.' On the verso of this is the following Preface:-- - - "These Poems were many years ago edited and printed at Bristol by - Mr. Gutch: Proof sheets being submitted to Dr. Nott, and the - celebrated Charles Lamb, who wrote some very pithy comments on the - Notes of the Doctor, which have not been printed. The work was - never completed, and the whole impression was consigned to the - 'Tomb of the Capulets' and supposed to be effectually destroyed. - Now, however, by the resuscitating powers of sundry Bristol Book - Chapmen, 'Monsieur Tonson's come again!' etc. - -Signed 'J. R. S.' and dated 'London, 1839'." - -Gutch himself prepared a life of Wither, but it was not printed in this -edition and is still unpublished. The amusing feature of the edition is -that Nott, sometimes with slight and deteriorating changes, and -sometimes without alteration, uses, in addition to his own comments, -many of Lamb's notes also as his own; which, if 1820 is really the date, -is the more curious, since a comparison with Lamb's essay in the -_Works_, 1818, would expose the conveyance. Probably the edition was in -type some time before it was issued. We know at any rate that it was -prepared before 1818, because Lamb had his notes back again in time to -use them in writing his essay published early in that year, and finished -probably some time earlier. If Lamb ever saw Nott's edition--which is -more than probable--it is a pity that in his correspondence is preserved -no letter containing his opinion on the matter. - -Nott, for example, lifted the whole of the passage in praise of "Fair -Virtue or the Mistress of Philarete," beginning "There is a singular -beauty," and ending with "probationary courtship," as described above by -Mr. Swinburne, and signed it "Editor." He also annexed the reminiscence -of the Devil Tavern, making it "within the memory of the Editor," and -adapted the criticisms beginning "Wither's prison notes" (fifth -paragraph of the present essay) and "Wither's motto" (first paragraph) -to his own uses. As a specimen of Nott's treatment of his predecessor's -notes we may take that on long lines, which stands as a note at the end -of the essay. This is Nott's version:-- - - _If thy verse do bravely tower._ A _long_ line is a line _we are - long in repeating_. Mark the time which it takes to repeat these - lines properly! What slow movements could Alexandrines express more - than these? "_As she makes wing, she gets power._" One makes a foot - of every syllable. Wither was certainly a perfect master of this - species of verse. - -There is, however, enough genuine un-negatived Lamb (as he would say) -remaining to make this edition of Wither a very desirable possession of -all collectors of Lamb. - -What is even more surprising than Lamb's silence on the subject--which -may easily be accounted for by the incomplete state of his -correspondence--is the silence of Gutch himself. In 1847, when he told -the story of Wither, he made no reference whatever to any use of Lamb's -notes beyond Lamb's own, nor even mentioned the fact that a fuller -edition of Wither was published by himself, although he refers his -readers to two other editions, one earlier and one later, and remarks on -the poet's growing popularity. He quotes, however, a long passage from -Lamb's 1818 essay, remarking that it was based upon the notes made in -the original copy of Wither. - -Gutch was wrong in stating that it was through him that Lamb became -acquainted with Wither. It was only to _Philarete_ that Gutch introduced -him. Lamb was first drawn to Wither by Coleridge, as he admits in the -letter of July 1, 1796. In 1798 he wrote to Southey on the subject: -"Quarles is a wittier writer, but Wither lays more hold of the heart.... -I always love Wither ... the extract from _Shepherd's Hunting_ places -him in a starry height far above Quarles." - -This note is already so long that I hesitate to add to it by quoting -from Wither the passages referred to by Lamb. They are, moreover, easily -identifiable. - -George Wither, or Withers, was born in 1588. His _Abuses Stript and -Whipt_ was published in 1613; his _Shepherd's Hunting_, written in part -while its author was in the Marshalsea prison for his plain speaking in -_Abuses_, was published in 1615; Wither's _Motto_ in 1621, and _Fair -Virtue, the Mistress of Philarete_, in 1622, but it may have been -composed long before. Wither died in 1667. His light remained under a -bushel for many years. The _Percy Reliques_, 1765, began the revival of -Wither's fame; George Ellis's _Specimens_, 1805, continued it; and then -came Lamb, and Gutch, and Southey, and it was assured. - -Page 211, line 10. _No Shaftesbury, no Villiers, no Wharton._ Referring -to the victims of Dryden and Pope's satires--the first Earl of -Shaftesbury in Dryden's "Absalom and Achitophel," "Albion and Albanius" -and "The Medal;" Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, in "Absalom and -Achitophel" and in Pope's third "Moral Essay;" Philip, Duke of Wharton -in Pope's "Epistle to Sir Richard Temple." - -Page 211, line 23. _Where Faithful is arraigned._ Faithful was accused -of railing also upon Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my old Lord Lechery and -Sir Having Greedy. - - * * * * * - -Page 215. FIVE DRAMATIC CRITICISMS. - -None of these were reprinted by Lamb. - -During the year 1819 Leigh Hunt's _Examiner_ gave Lamb his first -encouragement to indulge in those raptures upon comedians which no one -has expressed so well as he. The notices that follow preceded his _Elia_ -essays on the "Old Actors" by some three years, although, as is pointed -out in the notes to that work, the essay on the "Acting of Munden" first -saw the light in _The Examiner_ of November 7 and 8, 1819, as one of the -present series. The central figure, however, of the five pieces here -collected together is Miss Kelly, Lamb's friend and favourite actress of -his middle and later life, whom he began to praise in 1813 (see "The New -Acting," page 177), and in praising whom he never tired. - -Lamb's sweet allusion to Miss Kelly's "divine plain face" is well known. -It may be interesting, to add Oxberry's description: "Her face is round -and pleasing, though not handsome; her eyes are light blue; her forehead -is peculiarly low ... her smile is peculiarly beautiful and may be said -to completely _sun_ her countenance." - -In _The Examiner_ for December 20, 1818, after Leigh Hunt's criticism of -Kenney's comedy "A Word for the Ladies" is the following paragraph. -Leigh Hunt's criticism is signed: this is not, nor is it joined to the -article. There is, I think, good reason to believe it to be Lamb's:-- - -"It was not without a feeling of pain, that we observed Miss KELLY among -the _spectators_ on the first night of the new comedy. What does she do -before the curtain? She should have been on the stage. With such youth, -such talents,-- - - Those powers of pleasing, with that will to please, - -it is too much that she should be forgotten, discarded, laid aside like -an old fashion. It really is not yet the season for her 'among the -wastes of time to go.' Is it Mr. STEPHEN KEMBLE, or the Sub-Committee; -or what _heavy body_ is it, which interposes itself between us and this -light of the stage?" - -With these Eulogies of Miss Kelly is associated one of the most -interesting days in Lamb's life, as the note on page 487 tells. - -Page 215. I.--MRS. GOULD (MISS BURRELL) IN "DON GIOVANNI IN LONDON." - -_The Examiner_, November 22, 1818. Signed †. - -This criticism we know to be Lamb's upon Talfourd's testimony. He -writes:-- - - Miss Burrell, a lady of more limited powers, but with a frank and - noble style, was discovered by Lamb on one of the visits which he - paid, on the invitation of his old friend Elliston, to the Olympic, - where the lady performed the hero of that happy parody of - Moncrieff's, "Giovanni in London." To her Lamb devoted a little - article, which he sent to _The Examiner_ [a portion of the article - is quoted]. Miss Burrell soon married a person named Gold, and - disappeared from the stage. - -Lamb pasted the article in his Album or Commonplace Book accompanied by -a portrait of the actress. Writing to Mrs. Wordsworth in February, 1818, -he speaks of his power, during business, of reserving "in some corner of -my mind 'some darling thoughts, all my own,'--faint memory of some -passage in a book, or the tone of an absent friend's voice--a snatch of -Miss Burrell's singing, or a gleam of Fanny Kelly's divine plain face." - -Page 215, line 2 of essay. _A burletta founded, etc._ This was -"Rochester; or, King Charles the Second's Merry Days," by William Thomas -Moncrieff (1794-1857). - -Page 215, line 8 of essay. _Elliston and Mrs. Edwin._ Robert William -Elliston (1774-1831), a famous comedian, and the lessee of the Olympic -at that date, of whom Lamb wrote with enthusiasm in his _Elia_ essays, -"To the Shade of Elliston," and "Ellistoniana." Elizabeth Rebecca Edwin -(1771?-1854) was the wife of John Edwin the younger, a favourite actress -in Mrs. Jordan's parts. - -Page 215, line 11 of essay. "_Don Giovanni._" "Giovanni in London; or, -The Libertine Reclaimed," 1817, also by Moncrieff--the play in which -Madame Vestris made so great a hit a year or so later. - -Page 216, line 14 from foot. _We have seen Mrs. Jordan._ Mrs. Jordan had -left the London stage in 1815. - -Page 216, line 10 from foot. _Great house in the Haymarket._ This was -the King's Theatre (afterwards His Majesty's) where Mozart's "Don -Giovanni" was produced in 1817, with Ambrogetti, the buffo, in the -caste. Lamb's friend, William Ayrton, was the moving spirit in this -representation. - - * * * * * - -Page 217. II.--MISS KELLY AT BATH. - -_Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, January 30, 1819. The present article -has been set up from that paper. Usually, however, it has been set up -from Leigh Hunt's copy in _The Examiner_, February 7 and 8, 1819, where -it was quoted with the following introduction:-- - - The Reader, we are sure, will thank us for extracting the following - observations on a favourite Actress, from a Provincial Paper, the - _Bristol Journal_. We should have guessed the masterly and cordial - hand that wrote them had we met with it in the East Indies. There - is but one praise belonging to Miss KELLY which it has omitted, and - which it could not supply;--and that is, that she has had finer - criticism written upon her, than any performer that ever trod the - stage. - -The letter was written to John Mathew Gutch (see notes to Lamb's essay -on "George Wither"), who in 1803 became proprietor of _Felix Farley's -Bristol Journal_. Miss Kelly was at Bath in 1819 at the end of January -and first half of February. - -Page 217, first line of essay. _Our old play-going days._ The Lambs -lodged with Gutch, who was then a law-stationer, at 34 Southampton -Buildings, in 1800. Lamb was there alone for some time, during his -sister's illness, and it is probably to this period that he refers. - -Page 217, second line. _Mrs. Jordan._ See note above. Miss Kelly played -many of Mrs. Jordan's parts. - -Page 217, third line. _Dodd and Parsons._ See note to "The New Acting," -page 465. - -Page 217, fourth line. _Smith or Jack Palmer._ William Smith -(1730?-1819), known as Gentleman Smith. Lamb perhaps saw him on the -night of May 18, 1798, his sole appearance for ten years; otherwise his -knowledge of his acting could be but small. On that occasion Smith -played Charles Surface in "The School for Scandal," Joseph Surface being -Jack Palmer's great part (see the _Elia_ essay on "The Artificial -Comedy," for an analysis of Palmer's acting). - -Page 217, sixth line. _Miss Kelly._ See note to "The New Acting," page -466. Frances Maria Kelly (1790-1882) made her début at the age of seven -in "Bluebeard" (the music by her uncle, Michael Kelly), at Drury Lane, -in 1798. She was enrolled as a chorister of Drury Lane in 1799. She made -her farewell appearance at Drury Lane in 1835. - -Page 218, line 20. _Yarico._ In "Inkle and Yarico," 1787, by George -Colman the younger (1762-1836). - -Page 218, line 11 from foot. _A Phœbe or a Dinah Cropley._ Phœbe, in -"Rosina," by Mrs. Frances Brooke (1724-1789). I do not find a Dinah -Cropley among Miss Kelly's parts. She played Dinah Primrose in -O'Keeffe's "Young Quaker"--Lamb may have been thinking of that. - -Page 218, line 5 from foot. "_The Merry Mourners._" "Modern Antiques; -or, The Merry Mourners," 1791, by John O'Keeffe. It was while playing in -this farce on February 17, 1816, that Miss Kelly was fired at by a -lunatic in the pit. Some of the shot is said to have fallen into the lap -of Mary Lamb, who was present with her brother. - -Page 218, foot. _Inebriation in Nell._ Nell, in "The Devil to Pay," -1731, originally by Charles Coffey (d. 1745), but much adapted. Nell was -one of Mrs. Jordan's great parts. - -Page 219, line 2. _Our friend C._ Coleridge, who was also at Christ's -Hospital with Gutch. He says, in _Biographia Literaria_: "Men of Letters -and literary genius are too often what is styled in trivial irony 'fine -gentlemen spoilt in the making.' They care not for show and grandeur in -what surrounds them, having enough within ... but they are fine -gentlemen in all that concerns ease and pleasurable, or at least -comfortable, sensation." In one of his lectures on "Poetry, the Drama -and Shakespeare" in 1818, Coleridge says: "As it must not, so genius can -not, be lawless;" which is the reverse of Lamb's recollection. - -Page 219. III.--RICHARD BROME'S "JOVIAL CREW." - -_Examiner_, July 4 and 5, 1819. Signed ****. Richard Brome's "Jovial -Crew; or, The Merry Beggars," was first acted in 1641, and continually -revived since then, although it is now no longer seen. Indeed our -opportunities are few to-day of seeing most of the plays that Lamb -praised. The revival criticised by Lamb began at the English Opera House -(the Lyceum) on June 29, 1819. - -Page 219, line 7 from foot. _Lovegrove._ William Lovegrove (1778-1816), -a famous character actor. He ceased to be seen at except rare intervals -after 1814. - -Page 219, line 5 from foot. _Dowton._ See note to "The New Acting," page -465. - -Page 220, line 3. _Wrench._ Benjamin Wrench (1778-1843), a comedian of -the school of Elliston. - -Page 220, line 6. _Miss Stevenson._ This actress afterwards became Mrs. -Wiepperts. - -Page 220, line 12. _She that played Rachel._ Miss Kelly. Lamb returned -to his praise of this piece and of Miss Kelly in it in a note to the -"Garrick Plays," but he there credited her with playing Meriel. - -Page 220, line 15 from foot. "_Pretty Bessy._" In the old ballad "The -Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green," Bessie was the daughter of Henry, -son of Simon de Montfort. - -Page 220, line 6 from foot. _Society for the Suppression of Mendicity._ -Lamb returned to the attack upon this body in his _Elia_ essay "On the -Decay of Beggars," in 1822. - -It has recently come to light that Charles Lamb proposed marriage to -Miss Kelly on July 20, 1819, and was refused; and this proposal is so -intimately associated with two of the _Examiner_ articles that I place -the story of it here. - -On July 4th appeared Lamb's article on "The Jovial Crew" with Miss Kelly -as Rachel. To read this article in ignorance of the critic's innermost -feelings for the actress is to experience no more than the customary -intellectual titillation that is imparted by a piece of rich -appreciation from such a pen; but to read it knowing what was in his -mind at the time is a totally different thing. What before was mere -inspired dramatic criticism becomes a revelation charged with human -interest. Read again the passage from "But the _Princess of Mumpers_, -and _Lady Paramount_, of beggarly counterfeit accents, was _she_ that -played _Rachel_," down to "'What a lass that were,' said a stranger who -sate beside us, speaking of Miss Kelly in _Rachel_, 'to go a gypseying -through the world with.'" Knowing what we do of Charles Lamb's little -ways, we can be in no doubt as to the identity of the stranger who was -fabled to have sate beside him. - -Miss Kelly would of course read the criticism, and being a woman, and a -woman of genius, would probably be not wholly unaware of the -significance of a portion of it; and therefore perhaps she was not -wholly unprepared for Lamb's letter of proposal, which he wrote a -fortnight later. - - - "20 July, 1819. - - "DEAR MISS KELLY,--We had the pleasure, _pain_ I might better call - it, of seeing you last night in the new Play. It was a most - consummate piece of Acting, but what a task for you to undergo! at - a time when your heart is sore from real sorrow! it has given rise - to a train of thinking, which I cannot suppress. - - "Would to God you were released from this way of life; that you - could bring your mind to consent to take your lot with us, and - throw off for ever the whole burden of your Profession. I neither - expect or wish you to take notice of this which I am writing, in - your present over occupied & hurried state.--But to think of it at - your leisure. I have quite income enough, if that were all, to - justify for me making such a proposal, with what I may call even a - handsome provision for my survivor. What you possess of your own - would naturally be appropriated to those, for whose sakes chiefly - you have made so many hard sacrifices. I am not so foolish as not - to know that I am a most unworthy match for such a one as you, but - you have for years been a principal object in my mind. In many a - sweet assumed character I have learned to love you, but simply as - F. M. Kelly I love you better than them all. Can you quit these - shadows of existence, & come & be a reality to us? can you leave - off harrassing yourself to please a thankless multitude, who know - nothing of you, & begin at last to live to yourself & your friends? - - "As plainly & frankly as I have seen you give or refuse assent in - some feigned scene, so frankly do me the justice to answer me. It - is impossible I should feel injured or aggrieved by your telling me - at once, that the proposal does not suit you. It is impossible that - I should ever think of molesting you with idle importunity and - persecution after your mind once firmly spoken--but happier, far - happier, could I have leave to hope a time might come, when our - friends might be your friends; our interests yours; our - book-knowledge, if in that inconsiderable particular we have any - little advantage, might impart something to you, which you would - every day have it in your power ten thousand fold to repay by the - added cheerfulness and joy which you could not fail to bring as a - dowry into whatever family should have the honor and happiness of - receiving _you_, the most welcome accession that could be made to - it. - - "In haste, but with entire respect & deepest affection, I subscribe - myself - - C. LAMB." - -This was Miss Kelly's reply to Lamb's letter, returned by hand--the way, -I imagine, in which his proposal had reached her:-- - - - "Henrietta Street, July 20th, 1819. - - "An early & deeply rooted attachment has fixed my heart on one from - whom no worldly prospect can well induce me to withdraw it, but - while I thus _frankly_ & decidedly decline your proposal, believe - me, I am not insensible to the high honour which the preference of - such a mind as yours confers upon me--let me, however, hope that - all thought upon this subject will end with this letter, & that you - will henceforth encourage no other sentiment towards me than esteem - in my private character and a continuance of that approbation of my - humble talents which you have already expressed so much & so often - to my advantage and gratification. - - "Believe me I feel proud to acknowledge myself - "Your obliged friend - "F. M. KELLY." - - - -Lamb also replied at once, and his little romance was over, July 20th, -1819, seeing the whole drama played. - - - "July 20th, 1819. - - "DEAR MISS KELLY,--_Your injunctions shall be obeyed to a tittle._ - I feel myself in a lackadaisacal no-how-ish kind of a humour. I - believe it is the rain, or something. I had thought to have written - seriously, but I fancy I succeed best in epistles of mere fun; puns - & _that_ nonsense. You will be good friends with us, will you not? - let what has past 'break no bones' between us. You will not refuse - us them next time we send for them?[68] - - "Yours very truly, - - "C. L. - - "Do you observe the delicacy of not signing my full name? N.B. Do - not paste that last letter of mine into your Book." - - [68] By "bones" Lamb here means also the little ivory discs which - were given by the management to friends, entitling them to free - admission to the theatre. - -I have said that the drama was played to the end on July 20th; but it -had a little epilogue. In _The Examiner_ for August 1st Lamb wrote of -the Lyceum again. The play was "The Hypocrite," and this is how he spoke -of Miss Kelly: "She is in truth not framed to tease or torment even in -jest, but to utter a hearty _Yes_ or _No_; to yield or refuse assent -with a noble sincerity. We have not the pleasure of being acquainted -with her, but we have been told that she carries the same cordial -manners into private life." - -That Lamb's wishes with regard to the old footing were realised we may -feel sure, for she continued to visit her friends, both in London and at -Enfield, and in later years was taught Latin by Mary Lamb. Miss Kelly -died unmarried at the age of ninety-two; Charles Lamb died unmarried at -the age of fifty-nine. - -Page 221. IV.--ISAAC BICKERSTAFF'S "HYPOCRITE." - -_Examiner_, August 1 and 2, 1819. Signed ****. This play was produced, -in its operatic form, at the English Opera House on July 27, 1819. It -was announced as from "Tartuffe," by Molière, with alterations by -Cibber, Bickerstaff and others. The music was arranged by Mr. Jolly. -Miss Kelly played Charlotte. - -Page 221, line 4. _Dowton in Dr. Cantwell._ For Dowton see note to "The -New Acting," page 465. Dr. Cantwell was the chief character in "The -Hypocrite." - -Page 221, line 5. _Mr. Arnold._ Samuel James Arnold (1774-1852), -dramatist and manager of the Lyceum. Lamb's friend, William Ayrton, -married Arnold's sister. - -Page 221, line 6. _Mathews._ The great Charles Mathews (1776-1835), whom -Lamb afterwards came to know personally, whose special gift was the -rapid impersonation of differing types. - -Page 221, line 9. _Our favourite theatre._ The English Opera House--the -Lyceum--rebuilt 1816. - -Page 221, line 10 from foot. _Mr. Kean._ Edmund Kean (1787-1833). - -Page 221, line 9 from foot. "_The City Madam._" A play by Philip -Massinger, licensed 1632, in which Luke Frugal is the leading character. - -Page 222, lines 3-5. _Whitfield ... Lady Huntingdon._ George Whitefield -(1714-1770), the great Methodist preacher, and chaplain to the Countess -of Huntingdon. Whitefield was actually put on the stage, in "The -Mirror," by Foote, in 1760, as Dr. Squintum. - -Page 222, line 13. _Mr. Pearman._ William Pearman, the tenor, a popular -singer, second only to Braham in sea songs. - - * * * * * - -Page 222. V.--NEW PIECES AT THE LYCEUM. - -_Examiner_, August 8 and 9, 1819. Signed ****. This criticism was -introduced by the following note by Leigh Hunt:-- - - We must make the public acquainted with a hard case of ours.--Here - had we been writing a long elaborate, critical, and analytical - account of the new pieces at the Lyceum, poring over the desk for - two hours in the morning after a late night, and melting away what - little had been left of our brains and nerves from the usual - distillation of the week, when an impudent rogue of a friend, whose - most daring tricks and pretences carry as good a countenance with - them as virtues in any other man, and who has the face, above all, - to be a better critic than ourselves, sends us the following - remarks of his own on those two very pieces. What do we do? The - self-love of your inferior critic must vent itself somehow; and so - we take this opportunity of showing our virtue at the expense of - our talents, and fairly making way for the interloper. - - Dear, nine closely-written octavo pages! you were very good after - all, between you and me; and should have given way to nobody else. - If there is room left, a piece of you shall be got in at the end; - for virtue is undoubtedly its own reward, but not quite. - -Page 222, foot. "_Belles without Beaux._" This was probably, says -Genest, another version of the French piece from which "Ladies at Home; -or, Gentlemen, we can do without You" (by J. G. Millingen, and produced -also in 1819) was taken. The date of production was August 6, 1819. - -Page 223, lines 2-7. _There is Miss Carew, etc._ The seven ladies in the -play were: Miss Kelly, who played Mrs. Dashington; Mrs. W. S. Chatterly, -_née_ Louisa Simeon (b. 1797), wife of William Simmonds Chatterly, the -actor (1787-1822): she was said to be the best representative of a -Frenchwoman on the English stage; Miss Carew (b. 1799), a comic opera -prima donna, at first the understudy of Miss Stephens, and a special -favourite with Barry Cornwall, who says in his _Sicilian Story_, "Give -me (but p'r'aps I'm partial) Miss Carew;" Mrs. Grove, probably the wife -of Grove, an excellent impersonator of whimsical old men and scheming -servants; Miss Love (b. 1801), excellent in chambermaids, to whom -Colonel Berkeley turned (see note on page 521) after leaving Miss Foote; -Miss Stevenson (see note above); and Mrs. Richardson, who was probably -the wife of Richardson, a member of the Covent Garden Company. - -Page 223, line 15. _Holcroft's last Comedy._ "The Vindictive Man" (see -note "On the Custom of Hissing," page 450). - -Page 223, line 19. _Mrs. Harlow._ Sarah Harlowe (1765-1852), a -low-comedy actress, who played many of Mrs. Jordan's parts. She left the -stage in 1826. - -Page 224, line 5. _Wilkinson ... in a "Walk for a Wager."_ In "Walk for -a Wager; or, A Bailiff's Bet," a musical farce, the hero, Hookey Walker, -was impersonated by John Penbury Wilkinson, and Miss Kelly played Emma. - -Page 224, line 12. _"Amateurs and Actors" ... Mr. Peak._ A musical -farce, by Richard Brinsley Peake (1792-1847), produced in 1818. - -Page 224, last paragraph. _Last week's article._ That on "The -Hypocrite," preceding this (see notes above). "A New Way to Pay Old -Debts," published 1632, is a comedy by Massinger, in which Sir Giles -Overreach is the leading character. - - * * * * * - -Page 225. FOUR REVIEWS. - -These four reviews, together with that of Wordsworth's _Excursion_, -written five years earlier (see page 187), and that of Hood and -Reynolds' _Odes and Addresses_ (see page 335), make up the total number -of reviews that Lamb is known positively to have written. We know from -his _Letters_ that in 1803 he was trying to review Godwin's _Chaucer_, -and again in 1821 he writes to Taylor that he is busy on a review for a -friend; but neither of these articles has come to light. The fact is -that Lamb always reviewed with difficulty, and after his bitter -experience with Gifford (see note on page 470) he was more than ever -disinclined to attempt that form of writing. - -Page 225. I.--"FALSTAFF'S LETTERS." - -_Examiner_, September 5 and 6, 1819. Signed ****. Reprinted in _The -Indicator_, January 24, 1821. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -James White, born in the same year as Lamb, was nominally the author of -this book, but there is strong reason to believe that Lamb had a big -share in it. Jem White, who is now known solely by the pleasant figure -that he cuts in the _Elia_ essay "The Praise of Chimney Sweepers," was -at school with Lamb at Christ's Hospital, receiving his nomination from -Thomas Coventry, Samuel Salt's friend and fellow Bencher. Lamb saw much -of White for a few years after leaving school, finding him, on the merry -side, as congenial a companion as he could wish. - -It was Lamb who, probably in 1795, when they both were only twenty, -induced White to study Shakespeare; and it is impossible to believe that -a friend of Lamb's, whom he saw nearly every night, could have been -composing a full-blooded Shakespearian joke, and Lamb have no hand in -it. Southey, indeed, in a letter to Edward Moxon after Lamb's death, -states the fact that Lamb and White were joint authors of _Falstaff's -Letters_, as if there were no doubt about it. - -My own impression is that Lamb's fingers certainly held the pen when the -Dedication to Master Samuel Irelaunde was written. - -And very characteristically Elian is the following explanation, in the -preface, of certain gaps in the _Letters_:-- - -"Reader, whenever as journeying onward in thy epistolary progress, a -chasm should occur to interrupt the chain of events, I beseech thee -blame not me, but curse the rump of roast pig. This maiden-sister, -conceive with what pathos I relate it, absolutely made use of several, -no doubt invaluable letters, to shade the jutting protuberances of that -animal from disproportionate excoriation in its circuitous approaches to -the fire." - -Either Lamb wrote that, or to James White's influence we owe some of the -most cherished mannerisms of _Elia_. Be that as it may, it is probably -true that White's zest in the making of this book helped towards Lamb's -Elizabethanising. - -Lamb admired _Falstaff's Letters_ more than it is possible quite to -understand except on the supposition that he had a share in it; or, at -any rate, that it brought back to him the memory of so many pleasant -nights. He never, says Talfourd, omitted to buy a copy when he saw one -in the sixpenny box of a bookstall, in order to give it with superlative -recommendations to a friend. For example, after sending it to Manning, -he asks: "I hope by this time you are prepared to say the _Falstaff -Letters_ are a bundle of the sharpest, queerest, profoundest humours of -any these juice-drained latter times have spawned?" The little volume is -now very rare. A second edition was published in 1797 and reprints in -1877 and 1905. The full title runs: _Original Letters, &c., of Sir John -Falstaff and his friends; now first made public by a gentleman, a -descendant of Dame Quickly, from genuine manuscripts which have been in -the possession of the Quickly Family near four hundred years_. 1796. -"White," said J. M. Gutch, another schoolfellow, "was known as Sir John -among his friends." See the footnote to the _Elia_ essay on "The Old -Actors". - -Page 225, first line of essay. _The Roxburgh sale._ The library of the -third Duke of Roxburgh was sold, in a forty-five days' sale, between May -18 and July 8, 1812. - - -Page 229. II.--CHARLES LLOYD'S POEMS. - -_Examiner_, October 24 and 25, 1819. Signed ****. Not reprinted by Lamb. -Lamb and Lloyd had been intimate friends in 1797 and 1798, when they -produced together _Blank Verse_, and when for a while Lloyd shared rooms -with James White. But serious differences arose which need not be -inquired into here, and after 1800 they drifted apart and were never -really friendly again. Lloyd settled among the Lakes, where at frequent -intervals for many years he became the prey of religious mania. In 1818, -however, the clouds effectually dispersed for a while, and, returning to -London, he resumed the poetical activity of his early life. The new -pieces in _Nugæ Canoræ_, 1819, were the first-fruit of this period, -which lasted until 1823. He then relapsed into his old state and died, -lost to the world, in 1839. Writing to Lloyd concerning his later poetry -Lamb said: "Your lines are not to be understood reading on one leg." - -In Lloyd's poem, "Desultory Thoughts in London," 1821, are portraits of -both Coleridge and Lamb. One stanza on Lamb has these lines:-- - - It is a dainty banquet, known to few, - To thy mind's inner shrine to have access; - While choicest stores of intellect endue - That sanctuary, in marvellous excess. - Those lambent glories ever bright and new, - Those, privileged to be its inmates, bless! - -This shows that Lloyd retained his old affection and admiration for -Lamb, just as Lamb's willingness to review Lloyd shows that he had -forgotten the past. The quotations have been corrected from Lloyd's -pages. - -Page 230, line 15. _Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin._ Mary Wollstonecraft -Godwin (1759-1797), the first wife of William Godwin, and the advocate -of women's independence. Charles Lloyd had known her in his early London -days. - -Page 232. III.--BARRON FIELD'S POEMS. - -_Examiner_, January 16 and 17, 1820. Signed ****. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Barron Field (1786-1846), son of Henry Field, apothecary to Christ's -Hospital, was long one of Lamb's friends, possibly through his brother, -a fellow clerk of Lamb's in the India House. See the _Elia_ essays on -"Distant Correspondents" and "Mackery End," and notes. Field was in -Australia from 1817 to 1824 as Judge of the Supreme Court of New South -Wales. His _First-Fruits of Australian Poetry_ was printed privately in -1819 and afterwards added as an appendix to _Geographical Memoirs on -New South Wales_, 1825. - -Page 232. _Motto. "I first adventure...."_ An adaptation of the couplet -in Hall's satires:-- - - I first adventure. Follow me who list, - And be the second English satirist. - -This couplet was placed by Field on the threshold of the poems in the -_Geographical Memoirs_, borrowed, I imagine, from Lamb's review. - -Page 232, line 11 from foot. _Thiefland._ Compare the _Elia_ essay -"Distant Correspondents." - -Page 232, line 8 from foot. _A merry Captain._ Captain (afterwards -Rear-Admiral) James Burney (1750-1821), Lamb's friend, who sailed with -Cook on two voyages. Lamb told Mrs. Shelley of the Captain's pun in much -the same words; but the pun itself we do not know. - -Page 233, line 16. _Jobson, etc._ These characters are in "The Devil to -Pay," by Charles Coffey, 1731. - -Page 233, line 26. _Braham or Stephens._ John Braham, the tenor; Miss -Stephens made her first appearance at Drury Lane, as Polly in "The -Beggar's Opera," in 1798. - -Page 233, line 12 from foot. _The first...._ The first poem was entitled -"Botany Bay Flowers." - -Page 234. "_The Kangaroo._" Writing to Barron Field in 1820 Lamb says: -"We received your 'Australian First-Fruits,' of which I shall say -nothing here, but refer you to **** of 'The Examiner,' who speaks our -mind on all public subjects. I can only assure you that both Coleridge -and Wordsworth ... were hugely taken with your Kangaroo." The poem is -here corrected from the author's text. - - -Page 235. IV.--KEATS' "LAMIA." - -_The New Times_, July 19, 1820. This is the article referred to by -Cowden Clarke in his _Recollections of Writers_, 1878: "Upon the -publication of the last volume of poems [_Lamia_, etc.] Charles Lamb -wrote one of his finely appreciative and cordial critiques in the -_Morning Chronicle_." By a slip of memory Clarke gave the wrong paper. -Lamb wrote in the _Morning Chronicle_ occasionally (his sonnet to Sarah -Burney appeared in it as near to the date in question as July 13, 1820), -but it was in _The New Times_ that he reviewed Keats. _The New Times_ -was founded by John (afterwards Sir John) Stoddart (1773-1856), Lamb and -Coleridge's friend, and the brother-in-law of Hazlitt. - -Two days after the appearance of Lamb's review--on July 21, 1820--_The -New Times_ printed some further extracts from the book, which presumably -had been crowded out of the article. - -There is so little doubt in my own mind that this is Lamb's review that -I have placed it in the body of this book and not in the Appendix. The -internal evidence is very strong, particularly at the end, and in the -use of such phrases as "joint strengths" and "younger impressibilities." -But there is external evidence too. Leigh Hunt, writing of Keats, in his -_Lord Byron and his Contemporaries_, 1828, says:-- - - I remember Charles Lamb's delight and admiration on reading this - work [_Lamia_]; how pleased he was with the designation of Mercury - as the "star of Lethe" (rising, as it were, and glittering, as he - came upon that pale region); with the fine daring anticipation in - that passage of the second poem,-- - - "So the two brothers and their _murdered man_, - Rode past fair Florence;" - - and with the description, at once delicate and gorgeous, of Agnes - [_i.e._, Madeline], praying beneath the painted window. - -Lamb did not know Keats well. He had met him only a few times, the -historic occasion being the dinner at Haydon's, in December, 1817, when -the Comptroller of Stamps was present. But he admired his work (he told -Crabb Robinson he considered it next to Wordsworth's), and he hated the -treatment that Keats received from certain critics. Keats, by the way, -mentions meeting Lamb at Novello's and having to endure some wretched -puns. - - * * * * * - -Page 239. SIR THOMAS MORE. - -_The Indicator_, December 20, 1820. Signed ****. Leigh Hunt introduced -the article in these words:-- - - The author of the _Table-Talk_ in our last [see note on p. 466] has - obliged us with the following pungent morsels of Sir Thomas - More,--devils, we may call them. Brantome, noticing the oaths of - some eminent Christian manslayers, and informing us that "the good - man, Monsieur de la Roche du Maine, swore by 'God's head full of - relics,'" adds in a parenthesis,--"Where the devil did he get - that?"--"Ou diable avoit-il trouvè celuy-la?" We may apply this - vivacious mode of questioning, with a more critical propriety, to - those eminent Christian opposers of reformation, past, present, and - to come, and ask them, where the devil they get a notion that they - are on the side of charity? It is possible to hate for the sake of - a loving theory; but it is a dangerous piece of self-flattery, and - more likely to spring up in hating than loving minds. If it - partakes of the reverent privileges of sorrow in those who are - unsuccessful or oppressed, it is odious in those who are - flourishing, and we are afraid is nothing but sheer dogmatism and - tyranny even in men as great as Sir Thomas More. - -Further proof of Lamb's authorship is contained in the circumstance that -the passages here quoted are copied in one of his Commonplace Books. - - * * * * * - -Page 246. THE CONFESSIONS OF H. F. V. H. DELAMORE, ESQ. - -_London Magazine_, April, 1821. First reprinted in Mr. Dobell's -_Sidelights on Charles Lamb_, 1903. - -Lamb's "Chapter on Ears" had appeared in the March number, containing -the sentence, "I was never, I thank my stars, in the pillory; nor, if I -read them aright, is it within the compass of my destiny, that I ever -should be." The main confession aroused by this statement, although it -is hedged about by a host of inventions, seems to be perfectly true: -Lamb did on one occasion sit in the stocks. Our evidence, which, -fortified by this little article (a discovery of Mr. Bertram Dobell's), -is very strong, is to be found on the fly-leaf of the annotated copy of -Wither described above. On this fly-leaf Pulham has recorded that during -a country walk on a certain Sunday Lamb was set in the stocks for -brawling while service was in progress. According to Mr. Delamore, the -indignity was suffered at Barnet, and it was probably, if what he says -about the short duration of the punishment be true, nearly as much a -joke on the part of the authorities as on the part of Lamb. I cannot -find any record of the incident in the Barnet archives, but the stocks -are still standing, on the outskirts of Barnet, on Hadley Green. - -Additional proof that Lamb wrote these "Confessions" is to be found in -the little note inserted in the following (May) number of the _London -Magazine_, under the "Lion's Head":-- - -"_Spes_ may be assured, that the fact related in the paper in our last -Number, signed 'Delamore,' and dated 'Sackville Street,' is genuine, -with the exception of the name and date. It is the writer's own story. - - "----quæque ipse mìserrima vidi, - Et quorum pars magna fui. - "* * * *." - -Four stars was, of course, one of Lamb's commonest non-_Elia_ signatures -(see note on page 464). The quotation is from _Aeneid_, II., 5. "The -most unhappy scenes which I beheld, and in which I played a leading -part." - -Page 247, line 15. * * * * * * * * * * *. In the stocks. - -Page 247, line 19. _O Clarencieux! O Norroy!_ The two provincial -kings-at-arms, Clarencieux, after the Duke of Clarence, son of Edward -III., whose office is south of the Trent, and Norroy (North-roy), whose -office is north of the Trent. - -Page 248, line 4. _Barnet ... Red Rose._ Referring to the battle of -Barnet on April 14, 1471, when Edward IV. defeated and slew the Earl of -Warwick, and practically destroyed the Lancastrian, or Red Rose, cause, -finally doing so at the battle of Tewkesbury a little later. - - * * * * * - -Page 248. THE GENTLE GIANTESS. - -_London Magazine_, December, 1822. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -We find the germ of this essay in a letter from Lamb to Dorothy -Wordsworth, in 1821, when she was staying with her uncle, Christopher -Wordsworth, the Master of Trinity:-- - -"Ask any body you meet, who is the biggest woman in Cambridge, and I'll -hold you a wager they'll say Mrs. Smith. She broke down two benches in -Trinity Gardens, one on the confines of St. John's, which occasioned a -litigation between the societies as to repairing it. In warm weather she -retires into an ice-cellar (literally!), and dates the returns of the -years from a hot Thursday some 20 years back. She sits in a room with -opposite doors and windows, to let in a thorough draft, which gives her -slenderer friends toothaches. She is to be seen in the market every -morning, at 10 cheapening fowls, which I observe the Cambridge -Poulterers are not sufficiently careful to stump." - -It was characteristic of Lamb that finding the widow at Cambridge he -should have set her in the essay at Oxford. He did the same thing in his -Elia essay "On Oxford in the Vacation," which he conceived at the sister -university. - -Page 248, line 4 of essay. _The maid's aunt of Brainford._ The maid's -aunt of Brentford; otherwise Sir John Falstaff in petticoats (see "The -Merry Wives of Windsor," Act IV., Scene 2). - - * * * * * - -Page 251. LETTER TO AN OLD GENTLEMAN WHOSE EDUCATION HAS BEEN NEGLECTED. - -_London Magazine_, January, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -De Quincey's "Letters to a Young Man whose Education has been Neglected" -began in the _London Magazine_ in January, 1823. There were five -altogether, ending in July of the same year. From the date at the end of -Lamb's "Letter," and from a passage in a Letter to Barton of March 5, -1823, we may suppose him to have meant his parody to appear at the same -time. "Your poem," he says, "found me engaged about a humorous Paper for -the _London_, which I had called 'A Letter to an _Old Gentleman_ whose -Education had been Neglected'--and when it was done Taylor & Hessey -would not print it, and it discouraged me from doing anything else." - -The problem of De Quincey's "Young Man" was contained in this sentence -in the first letter: "To your first question,--whether to you, with your -purposes and at your age of thirty-two, a residence at either of our -English universities--or at any foreign university, can be of much -service."--Writing to Miss Hutchinson in January, 1825, Lamb says: "De -Quincey's Parody was submitted to him before printed, and had his -Probatum." - -I have not been able to discover whether or no any special significance -attaches to the name of Grierson; or whether Lamb took the name at -random. - -Page 255, line 25. _Mr. Hartlib._ Milton's friend, Samuel Hartlib (died -about 1670), to whom the _Tractate on Education_, which Lamb slyly plays -upon in this paragraph, was addressed by Milton in 1644. Hartlib is said -to have brought himself to poverty by his generosity to poor scholars. - - * * * * * - -Page 257. RITSON _VERSUS_ JOHN SCOTT THE QUAKER. - -_London Magazine_, April, 1823. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This was a hoax, as Lamb explained in a letter to Bernard Barton (March -5, 1823): "I took up Scott, where I had scribbled some petulant remarks, -and for a make-shift father'd them on Ritson." Scott was John Scott, the -Quaker, better known as Scott of Amwell (1730-1783), whose _Critical -Essays_, 1785, do actually contain the passages quoted by Lamb, with -slight errors of transcription. Joseph Ritson (1752-1803), antiquary and -critic, might easily have commented as Lamb has done, but with more -savagery. Ritson's library was sold in December, 1803. - - * * * * * - -Page 265. LETTER OF ELIA TO ROBERT SOUTHEY. - -_London Magazine_, October, 1823. Not reprinted by Lamb, except in part. -See below. - -It was Lamb's fate to be misunderstood by the _Quarterly Review_; and in -that misunderstanding lay the real origin of the "Letter to Southey." On -at least four occasions Lamb was unfairly treated by this powerful -organ: in December, 1811, when, in a review of Weber's edition of Ford's -works, Lamb was called a poor maniac (see note on page 471); in October, -1814, when his review of Wordsworth's _Excursion_ was hacked to pieces -(see same note); in April, 1822, when a reviewer of Reid's -_Hypochondriasis_ (believed to be Dr. Robert Gooch, a friend of Southey) -stated that he knew for a fact that Lamb's "Confessions of a Drunkard" -were autobiographical (see note on page 458); and lastly, in January, -1823, when Southey, in an article on "Theo-philanthropism in France and -the Spread of Infidelity," remarked, incidentally and quite needlessly, -of _Elia_, then just published, that it wanted a sounder religious -feeling, and went on to rebuke Lamb's friend, Leigh Hunt, for his lack -of Christian faith. It was this accumulation of affront that stirred -Lamb to his remonstrance, far more than anger with Southey--although -anger he naturally had. Lamb's real opponent was Gifford; as in a -private letter to Southey, after the publication of the article and -after Southey had written to him on the matter, he admitted (see below). - -Lamb's own remark concerning the "Letter to Southey," there -expressed--"My guardian angel was absent at that time"--is perhaps -right, although the passage in the article in defence of his friends -could be ill spared. As for Southey, while one can see his point of view -and respect his honesty, one is glad that so poor a piece of literary -criticism and so unlovely a display of self-righteousness should be -chastised; without, however, too greatly admiring the chastisement. - -Lamb's first idea was to let the review pass without notice, as we see -from the following remark to Bernard Barton in July, 1823:-- - - "Southey has attacked 'Elia' on the score of infidelity in the - _Quarterly_ article, 'Progress of Infidelity.' I had not, nor have - seen the _Monthly_. He might have spared an old friend such a - construction of a few careless flights, that meant no harm to - religion. If all his unguarded expressions were to be collected--! - But I love and respect Southey, and will not retort. I hate his - review, and his being a reviewer. The hint he has dropped will knock - the sale of the book on the head, which was almost at a stop before. - Let it stop, there is corn in Egypt, while there is cash at - Leadenhall. You and I are something besides being writers, thank - God!" - -But Lamb thought better, or worse, of his first intention, and wrote the -"Letter." - -It appeared in October, 1823, and caused some talk among literary -people. Southey had many enemies who were glad to see him trounced. _The -Times_, for example, of October 2, said:-- - - The number just published of the _London Magazine_ contains a - curious letter from Elia (Charles Lamb) to Mr. Southey. It treats - the laureat with that contempt which his always uncandid and - frequently malignant spirit deserves. When it is considered that - Mr. Lamb has been the fast friend of Southey, and is besides of a - particularly kind and peaceable nature, it is evident that nothing - but gross provocation could have roused him to this public - declaration of his disgust. - -On the other hand, Christopher North (John Wilson), of _Blackwood_, made -the letter the text of a homily to literary men, in _Blackwood_, for -October, 1823, under the heading of "A Manifesto." After some general -remarks on the tendency of authors to take themselves, or at any rate -their position in the public eye, too seriously, he continued:-- - - Our dearly-beloved friend, Charles Lamb, (we would fain call him - ELIA; but that, as he himself says, "would be as good as naming - him,") what is this you are doing? Mr. Southey, having read your - Essays, wished to pay you a compliment, and called them, in the - "Quarterly," "a book which wants only a sounder religious feeling, - to be as delightful as it is original!" And with this eulogy you - are not only dissatisfied, but so irate at the Laureate, that - nothing will relieve your bile, but a Letter to the Doctor of seven - good pages in "The London." Prodigious! Nothing would content your - highness (not serene) of the India-House, but such a sentence as - would sell your lucubrations as a puff; and because Taylor and - Hessey cannot send this to the newspapers, you wax sour, sulky, and - vituperative of your old crony, and twit him with his "old familiar - faces." This is, our dear Charles, most unreasonable--most unworthy - of you; and we know not how to punish you with sufficient severity, - now that Hodge of Tortola[69] is no more; but the inflexible - Higgins of Nevis still survives, and we must import him to flog you - in the market-place. - - [69] See note to "Christ's Hospital" essay, in Vol. II.--ED. - - Are you, or are you not, a friend to the liberty of the press? of - human thought? feeling? opinion? Is it, Charles, enormous - wickedness in Southey thus to characterize your Essays? If so, what - do you think of the invasion of Spain, the murder of the Franks - family, Pygmalion's amour with the tailor's daughter, the military - execution of the Duc d'Enghien, Palm's death, the massacre at Scio, - Z.'s Letters on the Cockney-School, Don Juan, John Knox, Calvin, - Cock-fighting, the French Revolution, the Reduction of the Five Per - Cents Navy, Godwin's Political Justice, the Tread-Mill, the - Crusades, Gas fighting booty, D'Israeli's Quarrels of Authors, - Byron's conduct to the Hunts, and the doctrine of the universal - depravity of the human race? - - Is there a sound religious feeling in your Essays, or is there not? - And what is a sound religious feeling? You declare yourself a - Unitarian; but, as a set-off to that heterodoxy, you vaunt your - bosom-friendship with T. N. T., "a little tainted with - Socinianism," and "----, a sturdy old Athanasian." With this - vaunting anomaly you make the Laureate blush, till his face tinges - Derwent-water with a ruddy lustre as of the setting sun. O Charles, - Charles----if we could but "see ourselves as others see us!" Would - that we ourselves could do so! But how would that benefit you? You - are too amiable to wish to see Christopher North humiliated in his - own estimation, and startled at the sight of _Public Derision_, - like yourself! Yes----even Cockneys blush for you; and the many - clerks of the India-House hang down their heads and are ashamed. - - You present THE PUBLIC with a list of your friends. "W., the light, - and warm--as light-hearted Janus of the London!" Who the devil is - he? Let him cover both his faces with a handkerchief. "H. C. R., - unwearied in the offices of a friend;" the correspondent and - caricaturist of Wordsworth, the very identical "W----th," who - "estated" you in so many "possessions," and made you proud of your - "rent-roll." "W. A., the last and steadiest of that little knot of - whist-players." Ah! lack-a-day, Charles, what are trumps? And "M., - the noble-minded kinsman by wedlock" of the same eternal "W----th." - Pray, what is his wife's name? and were the banns published in St. - Pancras Church?----All this is very vain and very virulent; and you - indeed give us portraits of your friends, each in the - clare-obscure. - - We were in the number of your earliest, sincerest, best, and most - powerful friends, Charles; and yet, alas! for the ingratitude of - the human heart, you have never so much as fortified yourself with - the initials of our formidable name----"C. N. the Editor of - Blackwood." Oh, that would have been worth P----r, A---- P----, - G----n, and "the rest," all in a lump; better than the - "Four-and-twenty Fiddlers all in a row." Or had you had the - courage and the conscience to print, at full length, "CHRISTOPHER - NORTH," why, these sixteen magical letters would have opened every - door for you, like Sesame in the Arabian Tales. These four magical - syllables, triumphant over the Laureate's "ugly characters, - standing in the very front of his notice, like some bug-bear, to - frighten all good Christians from purchasing," would have been a - passport for Elia throughout all the kingdoms of Christianity, and - billetted you, a true soldier of the Faith, in any serious family - you chose, with morning and evening prayers; a hot, heavy supper - every night; a pan of hot-coals ere you were sheeted; and a good - motherly body, with six unmarried daughters, to tap at your - bed-room door at day-light, and summon you down stairs from a state - of "_otium cum dignitate_" to one of "gaiety and innocence," among - damsels with scriptural names, short petticoats, and a zealous - attachment to religious establishments. - -We may set off against this the comment of Crabb Robinson:-- - - Nothing that Lamb has ever written has impressed me more strongly - with the sweetness of his disposition and the strength of his - affections. - -Coleridge and Hazlitt also both commended the "Letter." Southey -displayed a fine temper. He wrote to Lamb on November 19, 1823:-- - - MY DEAR LAMB--On Monday I saw your letter in the _London Magazine_, - which I had not before had an opportunity of seeing, and I now take - the first interval of leisure for replying to it. - - Nothing could be further from my mind than any intention or - apprehension of any way offending or injuring a man concerning whom - I have never spoken, thought, or felt otherwise than with - affection, esteem, and admiration. - - If you had let me know in any private or friendly manner that you - felt wounded by a sentence in which nothing but kindness was - intended--or that you found it might injure the sale of your - book--I would most readily and gladly have inserted a note in the - next Review to qualify and explain what had hurt you. - - You have made this impossible, and I am sorry for it. But I will - not engage in controversy with you to make sport for the - Philistines. - - The provocation must be strong indeed that can rouse me to do this, - even with an enemy. And if you can forgive an unintended offence as - heartily as I do the way in which you have resented it, there will - be nothing to prevent our meeting as we have heretofore done, and - feeling towards each other as we have always been wont to do. - - Only signify a correspondent willingness on your part, and send me - your address, and my first business next week shall be to reach - your door, and shake hands with you and your sister. Remember me to - her most kindly and believe me--Yours, with unabated esteem and - regards, - - ROBERT SOUTHEY. - - - -Lamb replied at once--November 21, 1823:-- - - DEAR SOUTHEY--The kindness of your note has melted away the mist - which was upon me. I have been fighting against a shadow. That - accursed Q. R. had vexed me by a gratuitous speaking, of its own - knowledge, that the _Confessions of a D----d_ was a genuine - description of the state of the writer. Little things, that are not - ill meant, may produce much ill. _That_ might have injured me alive - and dead. I am in a public office, and my life is insured. I was - prepared for anger, and I thought I saw, in a few obnoxious words, - a hard case of repetition directed against me. I wished both - magazine and review at the bottom of the sea. I shall be ashamed to - see you, and my sister (though innocent) will be still more so; for - the folly was done without her knowledge, and has made her uneasy - ever since. My guardian angel was absent at that time. - - I will muster up courage to see you, however, any day next week - (Wednesday excepted). We shall hope that you will bring Edith with - you. That will be a second mortification. She will hate to see us; - but come and heap embers. We deserve it; I for what I've done, and - she for being my sister. - - Do come early in the day, by sun-light, that you may see my - _Milton_. - - I am at Colebrook Cottage, Colebrook Row, Islington: a detached - whitish house, close to the New River end of Colebrook Terrace, - left hand from Sadler's Wells. - - Will you let me know the day before? - - Your penitent, - - C. LAMB. - - _P.S._--I do not think your handwriting at all like ****'s. I do - not think many things I did think. - -There the matter ended. Seven years later, however, when _The Literary -Gazette_ fell upon Lamb's _Album Verses_, in a paltry attack, Southey -sent to _The Times_ a poem in defence and praise of his friend, -beginning:-- - - Charles Lamb, to those who know thee justly dear, - For rarest genius, and for sterling worth, - Unchanging friendship, warmth of heart sincere, - And wit that never gave an ill thought birth ... - -Page 265, line 4 of essay. _A recent paper on "Infidelity."_ The passage -relating to Lamb and Thornton Hunt ran as follows:-- - - Unbelievers have not always been honest enough thus to express - their real feelings; but this we know concerning them, that when - they have renounced their birthright of hope, they have not been - able to divest themselves of fear. From the nature of the human - mind this might be presumed, and in fact it is so. They may deaden - the heart and stupify the conscience, but they cannot destroy the - imaginative faculty. There is a remarkable proof of this in Elia's - Essays, a book which wants only a sounder religious feeling, to be - as delightful as it is original. In that upon "Witches and other - Night Fears," he says: "It is not book, or picture, or the stories - of foolish servants, which create these terrors in children. They - can at most but give them a direction. Dear little T. H., who of - all children has been brought up with the most scrupulous exclusion - of every taint of superstition, who was never allowed to hear of - goblin or apparition, or scarcely to be told of bad men, or to hear - or read of any distressing story, finds all this world of fear, - from which he, has been so rigidly excluded _ab extra_, in his own - 'thick-coming fancies; and from his little midnight pillow this - nurse-child of optimism will start at shapes, unborrowed of - tradition, in sweats to which the reveries of the cell-damned - murderer are tranquillity." This poor child, instead of being - trained up in the way which he should go, had been bred in the ways - of modern philosophy; he had systematically been prevented from - knowing any thing of that Saviour who said, "Suffer little children - to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of - heaven;" care had been taken that he should not pray to God, nor - lie down at night in reliance upon His good Providence. - -Page 267, line 14 from foot. _"Given king" in bliss and a "given -chamberlain" in torment._ A reference to Southey's "Vision of Judgment," -1820, wherein George III. is received into heaven, among those coming -from hell to arraign him being Wilkes, thus described:-- - - Beholding the foremost, - Him by the cast of his eye oblique, I knew as the firebrand - Whom the unthinking populace held for their idol and hero, - Lord of Misrule in his day. - -Page 268, line 5. _A jest of the Devil._ Southey's early "Ballads and -Metrical Tales" are rich in legends of the Devil, somewhat in the vein -of Ingoldsby, though lacking Barham's rollicking fun. - -Page 268, line 10. _A noble Lord._ Lord Byron, whose "Vision of -Judgment," written in 1821 in ridicule of Southey's, begins:-- - - Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate: - His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull. - -Page 268, line 19. _A life of George Fox._ Southey was collecting for -some years materials for a life of George Fox, the first Quaker, but he -did not carry out the project. - -Page 268, line 22. _The Methodists are shy._ Southey's _Life of Wesley_ -was published in 1820. It was greatly admired by Coleridge. - -Page 268, line 24. _The errors of that Church._ See Southey's "Ballads -and Metrical Tales" again, for comic versions of legends of saints. - -Page 269, line 26. _And N._ Randal Norris, Sub-Treasurer of the Inner -Temple, who died in 1827. - -Page 269, line 27. _T. N. T._ Thomas Noon Talfourd (1795-1854), the -advocate, author of "Ion" who was to become Lamb's executor and -biographer. He wrote an enthusiastic and discriminating essay on -Wordsworth's genius in the _New Monthly Magazine_. - -Page 269, line 31. _And W._ Thomas Griffiths Wainewright (1794-1852), -essayist, painter and criminal, who contributed gay and whimsical -articles to the _London Magazine_ over the signature "Janus -Weathercock." Subsequently Wainewright was convicted of forgery, and he -became also a poisoner; but he seems to have shown Lamb only his most -charming side. - -Page 269, line 32. _The translator of Dante._ Henry Francis Cary -(1772-1844), whose _Inferno_ appeared in 1805, the whole poem being -completed in 1812. He contributed to the _London Magazine_. Later in -life Cary, then assistant keeper of the printed books in the British -Museum, became one of Lamb's closer friends. He wrote the epitaph on his -grave. - -Page 269, line 33. _And Allan C._ Allan Cunningham (1784-1842), the -Scotch ballad writer and author, and a regular contributor to the -_London Magazine_ over the signature "Nalla." - -Page 269, line 34. _And P----r._ Bryan Walter Procter (1787-1874), -better known as Barry Cornwall, another contributor to the _London -Magazine_. He afterwards, 1866-1868, wrote a Memoir of Lamb. - -Page 269, line 35. _A----p._ Thomas Allsop (1795-1880), a stock-broker, -whose sympathies were with advanced social movements. He has been called -the favourite disciple of Coleridge. In 1836 he issued a volume entitled -_Letters, Conversations and Recollections of Coleridge_, which contains -many interesting references to Lamb. - -Page 269, line 35. _G----n._ James Gillman, a doctor, residing at the -Grove, Highgate, who received Coleridge into his house, in 1816, as a -patient, and kept him there to the end as a friend. He afterwards began -a Life of him, which was not, however, completed. Coleridge at this -time, 1823, was nearly fifty-one. - -Page 269, line 38. _Salutation tavern._ The Salutation and Cat, the -tavern at 17 Newgate Street, opposite Christ's Hospital, where Lamb and -Coleridge most resorted in the '90's. Now a new building. - -Page 269, line 39. _Pantisocracy._ The chief Pantisocrats--Coleridge, -Southey and Robert Lovell--who all married sisters, a Miss Fricker -falling to each--were, with a few others--George Burnett among them and -Favell--to establish a new and ideal communism in America on the banks -of the Susquehanna. Two hours' work a day was to suffice them for -subsistence, the remaining time being spent in the cultivation of the -intellect. This was in 1794. Southey, however, went to Portugal, Lovell -died, Coleridge was Coleridge, and Pantisocracy disappeared. - -Page 269, line 40. _W----th._ William Wordsworth, the poet. - -Page 270, line 1. _And M._ Thomas Monkhouse, who died in 1825, a cousin -of Mary Hutchinson, William Wordsworth's wife, and of Sarah Hutchinson, -her sister, and Lamb's correspondent. - -Page 270, line 2. _H. C. R._ Henry Crabb Robinson (1775-1867), the -diarist and the friend of the Lambs until their death. In Crabb -Robinson's reminiscences of Lamb is this passage:-- - - I felt flattered by the being mingled with the other of Lamb's - friends under the initials of my name. I mention it as an anecdote - which shows that Lamb's reputation was spread even among lawyers, - that a 4 guinea brief was brought to me by an Attorney an entire - stranger, at the following Assizes, by direction of another - Attorney also a stranger, who knew nothing more of me than that I - was Elia's H. C. R. - -Page 270, line 3. _Clarkson._ Thomas Clarkson (1760-1846), the great -opponent of slavery, whom Lamb met in the Lakes in 1802. - -Page 270, line 6. _Dyer._ George Dyer (1755-1841), whom we meet so often -in Lamb's writings. - -Page 270, line 7. _The veteran Colonel._ Colonel Phillips, Admiral -Burney's brother-in-law. He married Susanna Burney, who died in 1800. -Phillips, once an officer in the Marines, had sailed with Cook, and was -a witness of his death. He had known Dr. Johnson, and a letter on the -great man from his pen is printed in J. T. Smith's _Book for a Rainy -Day_. - -Page 270, line 9. _W. A._ William Ayrton (1777-1858), the musical -critic; in Hazlitt's praise, "the Will Honeycomb of our set." - -Page 270, line 12. _Admiral Burney._ Rear-Admiral Burney (1750-1821), -brother of Fanny Burney, Madame D'Arblay. The Admiral lived in Little -James Street, Pimlico. For a further account of this circle of friends -see Hazlitt's essay "On the Conversation of Authors" (_The Plain -Speaker_). Hazlitt's own share in the gathering ceased after an -unfortunate discussion of Fanny Burney's _Wanderer_, which Hazlitt -condemned in terms that her brother, the Admiral, could not forgive. -Hence, perhaps, to some extent, Hazlitt's description of the old seaman -as one who "had you at an advantage by never understanding you." Later, -in his essay "On the Pleasures of Hating," also in _The Plain Speaker_, -Hazlitt wrote:-- - - What is become of "that set of whist-players," celebrated by ELIA - in his notable _Epistle to Robert Southey, Esq._ (and now I think - of it--that I myself have celebrated in this very volume), "that - for so many years called Admiral Burney friend?" They are - scattered, like last year's snow. Some of them are dead, or gone to - live at a distance, or pass one another in the street like - strangers, or if they stop to speak, do it as coolly and try to - _cut_ one another as soon as possible. Some of us have grown rich, - others poor. Some have got places under Government, others a - _niche_ in the _Quarterly Review_. Some of us have dearly earned a - name in the world; whilst others remain in their original privacy. - We despise the one, and envy and are glad to mortify the other. - -On the next page Hazlitt added:-- - - I think I must be friends with Lamb again, since he has written - that magnanimous Letter to Southey, and told him a piece of his - mind! - -It was very soon after that Hazlitt began to visit the Lambs once more; -and they never were on bad terms again. - -Page 270, line 18. _Authors of "Rimini" and "Table Talk."_ Leigh Hunt -(1784-1859), whose _Story of Rimini_ was published in 1816; and William -Hazlitt (1778-1830), whose _Table Talk_, first series, which appeared in -the _London Magazine_, was published in 1821-1822; other series coming -later. - -Page 271, line 15. _"Here," say you ..._ This is the passage in -Southey's article to which Lamb refers:-- - - But if the sincere inquirer would see the authenticity of the - Gospels proved by a chain of testimony, step by step, through all - ages, from the days of the Apostles, he is referred to the exact - and diligent Lardner. Even then, perhaps, it may surprize him to be - told that more critical labour, and that too of a severer kind, has - been bestowed upon the New Testament, than upon all other books of - all ages and countries; that there is not a difficult text, a - disputed meaning, or doubtful word, which has not been - investigated, not only through every accessible manuscript, but - through every ancient version; and that the most profound and - laborious scholars whom the world ever produced, generation after - generation, have devoted themselves to these researches, and past - in them their patient, meritorious, and honourable lives. Let him - read Michaelis's Introduction to the New Testament, and he will be - satisfied that there is no exaggeration in this statement. The - unwearied diligence, the profound sagacity, and the comprehensive - erudition with which the New Testament has been scrutinized, and - its authenticity ascertained, cannot be estimated too highly; and - we will boldly assert, cannot possibly have been conceived by any - person unacquainted with biblical studies. But here, as in the - history of the Mosaic dispensation, if the books are authentic, the - events which they relate must be true; if they were written by the - evangelists, Christ is our Redeemer and our God:--there is no other - possible conclusion. - -Page 272, line 5. _The poor child._ Thornton Leigh Hunt, who afterwards -became a journalist, dying in 1873, was born in 1810. Lamb was very fond -of this little boy, whom he first saw when he visited Leigh Hunt in -prison (1813-1815). He addressed a poem to him, ending:-- - - Thornton Hunt, my favourite child. - -Page 272, line 22. _Thomas Holcroft._ Thomas Holcroft (1745-1809), the -playwright and miscellaneous author, one of Lamb's friends, was a -republican and a freethinker. - -Page 272, line 27. _Accident introduced me ..._ The first literary -connection between Lamb and Leigh Hunt was set up by _The Reflector_ -(see note on page 445). Leigh Hunt, however, tells us in his -_Autobiography_ that he had as a schoolboy at Christ's Hospital seen -Lamb--then an old boy: he was by nine and a half years Hunt's senior. -Probably Lamb's first real intimacy with Leigh Hunt began with Lamb's -visits to him in prison, 1813-1815. - -Page 272, line 6 from foot. _An equivocal term._ Hunt's _Story of -Rimini_ was reviewed, with Maga's deepest scorn, in _Blackwood_ for -November, 1817, under the heading, "The Cockney School of Poetry." -Precisely what was the equivocal term referred to by Lamb I do not -discover; but unfair emphasis was laid by the reviewer on the poem's -alleged incestuous character. - -Page 273, line 11. _His handwriting._ In the postscript to his private -letter (of apology) to Southey (see above), Lamb took this back. - -Page 273, line 18. The "_Political Justice._" Godwin's _Enquiry into -Political Justice_, 1793, wherein the marriage ceremony meets with -little respect. - -Page 273, line 28. _Sundry harsh things ... against our friend C._ -Perhaps a reference to _The Examiner's_ criticism of _Remorse_, in 1813. -Coleridge, writing to Southey about it, says:-- - - They were forced to affect admiration of the Tragedy, but yet abuse - me they must, and so comes the old infamous _crambe bis millies - cocta_ of the "sentimentalities, puerilities, whinings, and - meannesses, both of style and thought" in my former writings.... - -Page 274, line 3. "_Foliage._" Leigh Hunt published _Foliage_ in 1818. -It contains, among other familiar epistles, one to Charles Lamb, -reprinted, as was the poem on his son, from _The Examiner_. This is one -stanza to Thornton Hunt:-- - - Ah, first-born of thy mother, - When life and hope were new, - Kind playmate of thy brother, - Thy sister, father too; - My light, where'er I go, - My bird, when prison bound, - My hand in hand companion,--no, - My prayers shall hold thee round. - -Page 274, line 10. _The other gentleman._ William Hazlitt. Lamb first -met Hazlitt about 1805, and they were intimate, with occasional -differences, until Hazlitt's death in 1830. Lamb was with him at the -end. - -Page 275, line 1. _You were pleased (you know where)._ Lamb had been a -Unitarian, as had Coleridge and many others of his friends. Later, -indeed, he claimed communion with no sect; while Coleridge became as -much against Unitarianism as he had once been for it. Southey was -himself converted to Unitarianism by Coleridge, in 1794. Later, however, -the Church of England had few stouter supporters. What Lamb means by -"You know where" I have not been able to discover--a memory possessed -possibly only by Lamb and Southey. - -Page 275, line 12. _The last time._ The only portion of this "Letter" -which Lamb preserved began at this point. He rewrote this particular -paragraph and included the remainder in _Last Essays of Elia_, in 1833, -under the title, "The Tombs in the Abbey." - -Page 276, line 25. _Two shillings._ The fees cannot have been reduced -for at least ten years, for in 1833 Lamb reprinted this passage as it -stood in 1823. The Abbey is not yet wholly free on every day of the -week; but there is no charge except to view the chapels, and that has -been reduced to sixpence. The first reduction after Lamb's protest was -made by Dean Ireland, whose term of office lasted from 1816 to 1842. It -was he also who appointed official guides. Lamb was not alone in this -protest against the fees. One of Hood and Reynolds' _Odes and -Addresses_, 1825, took up the point again. - -Page 277, line 20. _Major André._ John André (1751-1780), a major in the -British army in America in the War of Independence. In his capacity as -Clinton's Adjutant-General he corresponded with one Arnold, who was -plotting to deliver West Point to the British. In the course of his -negotiations with Arnold, he crossed into the American lines and was -compelled by circumstances to adopt civilian clothes. Being caught in -this costume, he was charged as a spy, and, though every effort was made -to save him, was, by the necessities of war, shot as such by Washington -on October 2, 1780. He died like a hero. The British army donned -mourning for his death, and a monument to his memory was erected in -Westminster Abbey. Lamb alludes to the mutilation of this monument by -the fracture of a nose, but as a matter of fact the whole head of -Washington had to be renewed more than once. According to Mrs. Gordon's -_Life of Dean Buckland_, two heads taken from the monument were returned -from America to the Dean many years ago, with the request that they -might be replaced. They had been appropriated as relics. Lamb's -reference to Transatlantic Freedom was another hit at Southey's -Pantisocratic tendencies (see note above) and his _Joan of Arc_ rebel -days. - -In the _London Magazine_ for December, 1823, under "The Lion's Head," is -the following:-- - -We have to thank an unknown correspondent for the following - - SONNET - - Occasioned by reading in ELIA'S LETTER to Dr. Southey, that the - admirable translator of Dante, the modest and amiable C----, still - remained a curate--or, as a waggish friend observed,--after such a - _Translation_ should still be without _Preferment_.[70] - - O Thou! who enteredst the tangled wood, - By that same spirit trusting to be led, - That on the first discoverer's footsteps shed - The light with which another world was view'd; - Thou hast well scann'd the path, and firmly stood - With measured niceness in his holy tread, - Till, mounting up thy star-illumined head, - Thou lookedst in upon the perfect good! - - What treasures does thy golden key unfold! - Riches immense, the pearl beyond all price, - And saintly truths to gross ears vainly told! - - Say, gilds thy earthly path some Beatrice?-- - If bread thou want'st, they will but give thee stones, - And when thou'rt gone, will quarrel for thy bones! - - --AN UNWORTHY RECTOR. - - [70] We suspect, by the way, this is not strictly the case, though - we believe it is very nearly so. - - * * * * * - -Page 278. GUY FAUX. - -_London Magazine_, November, 1823. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This essay is a blend of new and old. The first portion is new; but at -the words (page 279, line 3 from foot) "The Gunpowder Treason was the -subject," begins a reprint, with very slight modifications, of an -article contributed by Lamb to _The Reflector_, No. II., in 1811, under -the title "On the Probable Effects of the Gunpowder Treason in this -country if the Conspirators had accomplished their Object." _The -Reflector_ essay was signed "Speculator." - -Page 278, line 1. _Ingenious and subtle writer._ This was Hazlitt, whose -article on "Guy Faux," from which Lamb quotes, appeared in _The -Examiner_ of November 11, 18 and 25, 1821, signed "Z." Lamb seems to -have suggested to Hazlitt this whitewashing of Guido. See Hazlitt's -essay on "Persons one would wish to have seen" (1826), reprinted in -_Winterslow_, the report of a conversation "twenty years ago," where, -after stating that it was Lamb's wish that Guy Faux should be defended, -Hazlitt remarks that he supposes he will have to undertake the task -himself. Later in the same essay Hazlitt quotes Lamb as mentioning Guy -Faux and Judas Iscariot as two persons he would wish to see; adding, of -the conspirator:-- - - I cannot but think that Guy Faux, that poor, fluttering, annual - scarecrow of straw and rags, is an ill-used gentleman. I would give - something to see him sitting pale and emaciated, surrounded by his - matches and his barrels of gunpowder, and expecting the moment that - was to transport him to Paradise for his heroic self-devotion. - -Again, in the article on "Lamb" in the _Spirit of the Age_ (1825) -Hazlitt wrote:-- - - Whittington and his Cat are a fine hallucination for Mr. Lamb's - historic Muse, and we believe he never heartily forgave a certain - writer who took the subject of Guy Faux out of his hands. - -A few years afterwards Lamb told Carlyle he regretted that the Faux -conspiracy had failed--there would have been such a magnificent -_explosion_. Carlyle cites this remark in his diary in evidence of -Lamb's imbecility, but I fancy that Lamb had merely taken the measure of -his visitor. - -Lamb's reference to Hazlitt as an ex-Jesuit with the mention of Douay -and M----th (Maynooth, the Irish Roman Catholic College), is, of course, -chaff, resulting from Hazlitt's defence of this arch-Romanist. - -After "Father of the Church" (page 280, line 7) Lamb had written in _The -Reflector_:-- - - "The conclusion of his discourse is so pertinent to my subject, that - I must beg your patience while I transcribe it. He has been drawing - a parallel between the fire which Vaux and his accomplices - meditated, and that which James and John were willing to have called - down from heaven upon the heads of the Samaritans who would not - receive our Saviour into their houses. 'Lastly,' he says, 'it (the - powder treason) was a fire so strange that it had no example. The - apostles, indeed, pleaded a mistaken precedent for the - reasonableness of their demand, they desired leave to do but _even - as Elias did_. The Greeks only retain this clause, it is not in the - Bibles of the Church of Rome. And, really," etc. - -I have collated the passage quoted by Lamb with the original edition of -the sermon. Of the Latin phrases which Taylor does not translate, the -first is from Sidonius Apollinaris, _Carm._, XXII.: "The stall of the -Thracian King, the altars of Busiris, the feasts of Antiphates, and the -Tauric sovereignty of Thoas." _Rex Bistonius_ was Diomed, King of the -Bistones, in Thrace, who fed his horses with human flesh, and was -himself thrown to be their food by Hercules. Busiris, King of Egypt, -seized and sacrificed all foreigners who visited this country, and he -also was slain by Hercules. Antiphates was King of the Læstrygonians in -Sicily, man-eating giants, who destroyed eleven of the ships of Ulysses. -Thoas was King of Lemnos, and when the Lemnian women killed all the men -in the island, his daughter, Hypsipylé, then elected queen, saved him, -and he fled to Taurus where he became a king. This is the only legend of -cruelty associated with the name of Thoas, and of course he is not the -prepetrator; the crime is that of the women. - -Concerning Taylor's second quotation, I am informed that the words -"_ergo quæ ... tuas qui_" occur (virtually) in Prudentius, -_Cathemerinon_, V., 81. The Latin is monkish, but means evidently: "But -that massacre of princes who fell unavenged, Christ brooked not, lest -perchance the house that His Father had built should be overthrown. And -so what tongue can unfold Thy praise, O Christ, who dost abase the -disloyal people and its treacherous ruler?" - -Page 284, line 11 from foot. _Bellamy's room._ The old refreshment room -of the House. There is a description of it in _Sketches by Boz_--"A -Parliamentary Sketch." - -Page 284, line 6 from foot. _Berenice's curl._ After these words came, -in _The Reflector_ version of the essay, this passage:-- - - "--all, in their degrees, glittering somewhere. Sussex misses her - member[71] on earth, but is consoled to view him, on a starry night, - siding the Great Bear. Cambridge beholds hers[72] next Scorpio. The - gentle Castlereagh curdles in the Milky Way." - - [71] "J---- F----, Esq." - - [72] "Sir V---- G----." - -The member for Sussex at the time this essay was written (1811) was John -Fuller, or Jack Fuller, of Rosehill, Sussex, and Devonshire Place, a -bluff, eccentric character about town in those days, of huge stature and -great wealth, whose house was famous for its musical soirées. Lamb calls -him Ursa Major; his friend Jekyll, the wit, and one of Lamb's Old -Benchers, called him the Hippopotamus. He once was forcibly removed from -the House for refusing to give way and calling the Speaker "the -insignificant little person in a wig." Fuller did not sit after 1812. He -died in 1834. The member for Cambridge University was Sir Vicary Gibbs, -then Attorney General, who in that capacity was a fierce opponent of the -press, amongst those prosecuted by him being John and Leigh Hunt. From -his caustic tongue he was known as Vinegar Gibbs--hence the reference to -Scorpio. Castlereagh was, in 1823, no more; he had committed suicide in -1821. - - * * * * * - -Page 285. ON A PASSAGE IN "THE TEMPEST." - -_London Magazine_, November 1823. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -In the _Magazine_ it was entitled "Nugæ Criticæ. By the author of -_Elia_. II. On a Passage in 'The Tempest,'" the first contribution under -this general title being the essay on Sir Philip Sidney's sonnets in the -_London Magazine_, September, 1823, reprinted in the _Last Essays of -Elia_. Lamb did not continue the series. The present paper was signed -"L." - -An ingenious commentary upon Lamb's theory was contributed by "Lælius" -to the December _London Magazine_. After detailing his objections to -Ogilby's narrative as a final solution, he put forward a theory of his -own which is interesting enough to be reprinted here. Lælius wrote:-- - - The sense which I always attributed to the passage is this: _uno - verbo_, the Witch Sycorax was _pregnant_;--and that humanity which - teaches us to spare the guilty mother for the sake of her embryo - innocent, was imputed by Shakespeare to the Algerines on this - occasion.... The "one thing she did" is evidently what Shakespeare - in his "Merchant of Venice" with great delicacy calls "the deed of - kind;" and this sense, though by no means obvious, is justly - inferrible from the context. Why then should it not be preferred? I - have not been able to discover any thing in the rest of the piece - inconsistent with the meaning here attributed to these lines; you, - perhaps, may be more successful. A friend objected to me, that the - law is,--to spare the mother _only_ till the birth of her child, - and therefore that the Witch, instead of being exiled at once, - would have been kept till she was delivered, and then punished - with death for her "manifold mischiefs." But poets are not - expected to dispense justice with such nice and legal - discrimination,--not to speak of what might have been the immediate - necessity of expelling Sycorax from the Algerine community, either - by death or banishment; the former of which was forbidden by the - existing circumstances of her situation. - -In connection with this theory it may be remarked that it was an old -belief that during pregnancy a woman's eyes became blue. Webster, in the -"Duchess of Malfi," makes Bosola say of the Duchess:-- - - The fins of her eyelids look most teeming blue. - -I do not know of any editor of Shakespeare who has adopted Lamb's -suggestion. - - * * * * * - -Page 288. ORIGINAL LETTER OF JAMES THOMSON. - -_London Magazine_, November, 1824. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This letter of James Thomson is printed in this edition, because Lamb -was sufficiently interested in it to copy it out; but it is believed to -be a genuine work of the author of the _Seasons_, and not, as has been -stated, a hoax of Lamb's. In the memoir of Thomson by Sir Harris Nicolas -(revised by Peter Cunningham), prefixed to the Aldine edition of -Thomson's poems, the letter will be found in its right place. It is -addressed to Dr. Cramston, September, 1725. - - * * * * * - -Page 292. BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OF MR. LISTON. - -_London Magazine_, January, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This article was not signed, but we know it to be Lamb's from a -reference in a letter to Miss Hutchinson, of January 20, 1825:-- - - "But did you read the 'Memoir of Liston'? and did you guess whose it - was? Of all the Lies I ever put off, I value this most. It is from - top to toe, every paragraph, Pure Invention; and has passed for - Gospel, has been republished in newspapers, and in the penny - play-bills of the Night, as an authentic Account. I shall certainly - go to the Naughty Man some day for my Fibbings." - -Writing to Barton on February 10, 1825, Lamb alludes to it again, -remarking, "A life more improbable for him [Liston] to have lived would -not be easily invented." - -To come from Lamb to facts--according to the best accounts that we have, -the father of John Liston (1776?-1846) was either a watchmaker, or a -subordinate official in the Custom House. He went to Soho School, -afterwards became an usher at Dr. Burney's school at Gosport, and in -1799 was a master at the Grammar School of St. Martin's in Castle -Street, Leicester Square. His first appearance on the stage proper was -at Weymouth, where he failed utterly. Later he joined a touring company -in the north of England as a serious actor, and again failed. At last, -however, a manager induced him to take up comic old men's and bumpkins' -parts, and his real talents were at once discovered. Thereafter he -succeeded steadily, until his salary was larger than that paid to any -other comedian of his time. His greatest part was Paul Pry in John -Poole's play of that name, which was produced in September in the year -of Lamb's essay. Liston left the stage in 1837. He married a Miss Tyrer, -a favourite actress in burlesque. Liston's own tendency to punning and -practical jokes must have led him to look upon this spurious biography -with much favour. - -Mrs. Cowden Clarke in her autobiography, _My Long Life_, says that she -often met Mr. and Mrs. Liston in the Lambs' rooms in Great Russell -Street. - -It is interesting, in connection with Lamb's joke, to know that Liston's -library contained a number of works of biblical criticism. - - * * * * * - -Page 299. A VISION OF HORNS. - -_London Magazine_, January, 1825. Signed "Elia." Not reprinted by Lamb. - -I had some little doubt as to whether or no to include in the present -edition this fantasia on a theme no longer acceptable, since Lamb -himself says he did not care to be associated with it. "The Horns is in -poor taste [he wrote to Miss Hutchinson], resembling the most laboured -papers in the Spectator. I had sign'd it 'Jack Horner:' but Taylor and -Hessey said, it would be thought an offensive article, unless I put my -known signature to it; and wrung from me my slow consent." And again, to -Barton: "I am vexed that ugly paper should have offended. I kept it as -clear from objectionable phrases as possible, and it was Hessey's fault, -and my weakness, that it did not appear anonymous. No more of it, for -God's sake." - -Lamb's objections being, however, lodged rather against the publicity of -the essay's paternity than the essay itself, and the aim of the present -edition being to be as complete as possible, the essay stands. Moreover -it has a peculiar interest as being to a large extent an experiment in -what we might call Congrevism: forming a whimsical appendix to the -_Elia_ essay on the "Artificial Comedy," wherein Lamb urges upon the -readers of the old licentious plays the value of dissociating them in -their minds altogether from real life; looking upon them purely as -fanciful dramas of an impossible society; and thus being able to enjoy -their wit and high spirits without shock to the moral sensibilities. In -his "Vision of Horns" Lamb seems to me to be himself dramatising this -genial and reasonable view. He has carried out Congreve's method to a -still higher power, and imagined a land peopled wholly by cuckolds--a -_reductio ad absurdum_ of the old English and modern French comedy -theory of society. Rightly the essay should follow that on the -"Artificial Comedy" as an ironical postscript. - - * * * * * - -Page 304. THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT. - -_New Monthly Magazine_, January, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -The footnote with which the article properly begins refers to the last -effort, then in preparation, which was made to add to the life of the -State Lottery. Actually, the last State Lottery in England was held on -October 18, 1826. - -Page 305, line 4. _Devout Chancellors of the Exchequer_. The lottery -produced between £250,000 and £300,000 per annum. Its death was decreed -by a Parliamentary Committee which had inquired into its merits and -demerits as a means of replenishing the national coffers. - -Page 305, line 9. _Sorrowing contractors_. It was customary to apportion -the sale of lottery tickets among speculators, who sold them again, if -possible at a profit. The most prominent of these at the last was T. -Bish (see below). - -Page 305, line 28. _The Blue-coat Boy_. It was the habit, which began -about 1694, for a dozen boys from Christ's Hospital to be requisitioned -by the lottery controllers, from whom two were selected to draw the -tickets from the wheels in Coopers' Hall. An old print, given in the -Rev. E. H. Pearce's _Annals of Christ's Hospital_, 1901, shows them at -their work. - -Page 309, line 3. _The art and mystery of puffing_. An interesting -collection of lottery puffs will be found in Hone's _Every-Day Book_, -Vol. II., November 15. The arch-professor of puffery in the lottery's -later days was T. Bish, of Cornhill and Charing Cross, whose -blandishments to the public were often presented in ingenious verse. We -know from one of Mary Lamb's letters that Lamb (in addition to -speculating in lottery tickets) had himself written lottery puffs twenty -years earlier than this essay; but I have not been able confidently to -trace any to his hand. - - * * * * * - -Page 310. UNITARIAN PROTESTS. - -_London Magazine_, February, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -The marriages of Unitarian and other Dissenters had to be solemnised in -English established churches until the end of 1836. Lord Hardwicke's Act -of 1753, in force, with certain modifications, at the time of Lamb's -essay, provided that all marriages not performed in church, with due -publication of banns and licence duly granted, were null and void. It -was customary, after the ceremony in an established church, to lodge a -protest against the terms of the service. Hence Lamb's scathing -strictures. Lamb was himself nominally a Unitarian, as were many of his -friends. In 1796, as he told Coleridge, he adored Priestley almost to -the point of sin. But in later life Lamb dropped away from all sects, -although he says, in a late letter, that he is as old a "one-goddite" as -George Dyer himself. Hood, who knew Lamb well, and wrote of him as -lovingly as any one, remarked in his "Literary Reminiscences" in _Hood's -Own_, probably with truth:-- - - As regards his Unitarianism, it strikes me as more probable that he - was what the unco' guid people call "Nothing at all," which means - that he was every thing but a Bigot. As he was in spirit an Old - Author, so was he in faith an Ancient Christian, too ancient to - belong to any of the modern sub-hubbub divisions of--Ists,--Arians, - and--Inians. - -And it is told of Lamb that he once complained that the Unitarians had -robbed him of two-thirds of his God. - -I do not identify M----, the friend to whom this letter was written. - - * * * * * - -Page 314. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MR. MUNDEN. - -_London Magazine_, February, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This skit followed "The Biography of Mr. Liston" (page 292) which was -printed in the preceding month's issue. Leigh Hunt, referring in his own -_Autobiography_ to this exercise of invention, says: "Munden he [Lamb] -made born at 'Stoke Pogis;' the very sound of which was like the actor -speaking and digging his words." - -To come to fact, Joseph Shepherd Munden (b. 1758) was the son of a -poulterer in Leather Lane, Holborn, where he was born. At the age of -twelve he was errand boy to an apothecary and afterwards was apprenticed -to a law stationer. More than once--incited by admiration of Garrick--he -ran away to join strolling companies, and at last he took to the stage -altogether. Of his powers as an actor Lamb's other descriptions of him -(see page 397 of this volume and the famous Elia essay) say enough. -Munden's last appearance was on May 31, 1824. He died in 1832. His son -was Thomas Shepherd Munden, who died, aged fifty, in 1850. He wrote his -father's life. - -In Raymond's _Memoirs of Elliston_ is an account of an excursion which -Lamb once made with Elliston and Munden. I quote it in the notes in Vol. -II. - - * * * * * - -Page 317. THE "LEPUS" PAPERS. - -These papers appeared in _The New Times_ at various dates in 1825. We -know them to be Lamb's from internal evidence and from the following -allusion in Crabb Robinson's MS. Diary preserved at Dr. Williams' -Library:-- - -"January 7, 1825. Called on Lamb and chatted. He has written in _The New -Times_ an article against visitors. He means to express his feelings -towards young Godwin, for it is chiefly against the children of old -friends that he humorously vents his spleen." The article in question, -No. I. of the series, is No. X. of a series called Variorum. Lamb's -signature, Lepus (a hare), is appended to all that are here included. - -The Variorum series lasted flaggingly until April, one of the last -articles in it being Lamb's review of the _Odes and Addresses_ (see page -335), which, however, was not signed Lepus. It then died. In August a -new series, entitled "Sketches Original and Select," was begun, with an -article--"A Character"--by Lepus, but this also soon flagged. Lamb does -not seem to have contributed to it again. - -Page 317. I.--MANY FRIENDS. - -_The New Times_, January 8, 1825. Signed "Lepus." - -Another proof of Lamb's authorship of this essay will be found in a -letter from him to Walter Savage Landor on October 9, 1832, where he -writes:-- - -"Next, I forgot to tell you I knew all your Welsh annoyancers, the -measureless B.'s. I knew a quarter of a mile of them. Seventeen brothers -and sixteen sisters, as they appear to me in memory. There was one of -them that used to fix his long legs on my fender, and tell a tale of a -shark every night, endless, immortal. How have I grudged the salt-sea -ravener not having had his gorge of him! The shortest of the daughters -measured five foot eleven without her shoes. Well, some day we may -confer about them. But they were tall. Truly, I have discover'd the -longitude." - -Lamb also returned to the charge a little later in the Popular Fallacy -"That Home is Home." The first idea for both this essay and the Fallacy -we find in the letter to Mrs. Wordsworth dated February 18, 1818. Lamb -also utilised a portion of this essay in his Popular Fallacy "That You -must Love Me, and Love My Dog," published in February, 1826. - -Page 318, last line. _Captain Beacham._ From the letter to Landor we -know this name to have disguised that of a brother of the Lambs' friend, -Matilda Betham, the author of _The Lay of Marie_. - -Page 319. II.--READERS AGAINST THE GRAIN. - -_The New Times_, January 13, 1825. Signed "Lepus." - -Page 322. III.--MORTIFICATIONS OF AN AUTHOR. - -_The New Times_, January 31, 1825. Signed "Lepus." - -Page 322, line 7 from foot. _A----n C----m_. Allan Cunningham. - -Page 324. IV.--TOM PRY. - -_The New Times_, February 8, 1825. Signed "Lepus." - -The original of this character sketch was probably Thomas Hill, the -drysalter, whom Lamb knew well. S. C. Hall's _Book of Memories_, p. 157, -says: "His peculiar faculty was to find out what everybody did, from a -minister of state to a stable-boy," etc. etc. John Poole's famous play -"Paul Pry," in which Liston played so admirably, was not produced until -September of this year, 1825. Lamb and Poole had a slight acquaintance -through the _London Magazine_, to which Poole contributed dramatic -burlesques. Lamb had given to the landlord in "Mr. H.," in 1806, the -name and character of Pry. - -Page 324, line 5 of essay. _Like the man in the play._ Chremes, in the -opening scene of the _Heauton Timoroumenos_ by Terence (line 77), says: -"Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto". I am a man and to nothing -that concerns mankind am I indifferent. - -Page 325, line 8. "_Usque recurrit._" Horace's _Epist._, L, x., lines -24-25:-- - - Naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret, - Et mala perrumpet furtim fastidia victrix. - -(You may drive Nature out with a pitchfork, yet she will persistently -return, and will stealthily break through depraved fancies, and be -winner.) - -Page 326. V.--TOM PRY'S WIFE. - -_The New Times_, February 28, 1825. Signed "Lepus." - -In a letter from Lamb to the Kenneys, of which the date is uncertain, we -get an inkling as to the identity of Mrs. Pry:-- - - "I suppose you know we've left the Temple pro tempore. By the way, - this conduct has caused many strange surmises in a good lady of our - acquaintance. She lately sent for a young gentleman of the India - House, who lives opposite her at Monroe's the flute shop in Skinner - Street, Snowhill,--I mention no names. You shall never get out of me - what lady I mean,--on purpose to ask all he knew about us. I had - previously introduced him to her whist table. Her inquiries embraced - every possible thing that could be known of me--how I stood in the - India House, what was the amount of my salary, what it was likely to - be hereafter, whether I was thought clever in business, why I had - taken country lodgings, why at Kingsland in particular, had I - friends in that road, was anybody expected to visit me, did I wish - for visitors, would an unexpected call be gratifying or not, would - it be better that she sent beforehand, did any body come to see me, - was not there a gentleman of the name of Morgan, did he know him, - didn't he come to see me, did he know how Mr. Morgan lived, she - could never make out how they were maintained, was it true he lived - out of the profits of a linen draper's shop in Bishopsgate Street?" - -Mrs. Godwin's address was 41 Skinner Street. - -Again, Mary Lamb tells Sarah Hazlitt on November 7, 1809: "Charles told -Mrs. Godwin Hazlitt had found a well in his garden which, water being -scarce in your country, would bring him in two hundred a year; and she -came in great haste the next morning to ask me if it were true." - -Page 327. VI.--A CHARACTER. - -_The New Times_, August 25, 1825. Signed "Lepus." - -This differed from the five papers that have preceded it in inaugurating -a new series entitled "Sketches Original and Select." Lepus, however, -contributed no more. I have no idea who the original Egomet was, -possibly an India House clerk. Thomas Griffiths Wainewright, the Janus -Weathercock of the _London Magazine_, had occasionally used the -pseudonym Egomet Bonmot, and Lamb may have borrowed it. - -Page 328, line 26. "_There is no reciprocity._" Lamb may have been -remembering a story in Joe Miller about the reciprocity being "all on -one side." - -Page 328, line 6 from foot. "_Nimium vicini._" In allusion to Virgil's -(_Ecl._, IX., 28) "Mantua væ miseræ nimium vicina Cremonæ"--"Mantua -alas, too near ill-starred Cremona" (for it shared the fate of Cremona, -which had rebelled against Augustus and suffered confiscation). Lamb -comments in his "Popular Fallacies" upon Swift's punning use of the -phrase. - - * * * * * - -Page 329. REFLECTIONS IN THE PILLORY. - -_London Magazine_, March, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -The editor's note is undoubtedly Lamb's, as is, of course, the whole -imaginary story. It must have been about this time that Lamb was writing -his "Ode to the Treadmill" which appeared in _The New Times_ in October, -1825. - -The pillory, which has not been used in this country since 1837, was -latterly kept principally for seditious and libellous offenders. In May, -1812, for instance, Eaton, the publisher of Tom Paine's _Age of Reason_, -stood in the pillory. The time was usually one hour, as in the case of -Lamb's hero, the victim being a quarter turned at each fifteen minutes, -in order that every member of the crowd might witness the disgrace. The -offender's neck and wrists were fixed in holes cut for the purpose in a -plank fastened crosswise to an upright pole. The London pillories were -erected in different spots--at Charing Cross, in the Haymarket, in St. -Martin's Lane, opposite the Royal Exchange, and elsewhere. - -Page 331, line 1. _My friends from over the water_. Referring to the -prisoners in the King's Bench Prison at Southwark, who would be allowed -out during the day--hence "ephemeral Romans," or freemen, and "flies of -a day": being obliged to return at night. (Shakespeare uses flies in -this sense. "The slaves of chance and flies of every wind that blows," -he says in "The Winter's Tale.") Lamb's friend, William Hone, was -imprisoned in the King's Bench for a while from 1826, editing in -confinement the end of his _Every-Day Book_ and the whole of the _Table -Book_. - -Page 332, lines 16 and 17. _Bastwick ... Prynne ... Defoe ... -Shebbeare._ John Bastwick (1593-1654) was condemned to lose his ears in -the pillory for writing the _Letanie of Dr. John Bastwicke_, an attack -on the bishops.--William Prynne (1600-1669) was pilloried twice, the -first time for his _Histrio-Mastix_ (referred to by Lamb in the -biography of Liston on page 292), and the second time for his support of -Bastwick against the bishops, particularly Laud. He also lost his -ears.--John Shebbeare (1709-1788) was pilloried for satirising the House -of Hanover. An Irishman held an umbrella over his head the -while.--Concerning Defoe and the pillory see Lamb's "Ode to the -Treadmill" and note in the volume devoted to his poems and plays. - -Page 332, line 28. _Charles closed the Exchequer._ This was in 1671. In -Green's _Short History of the English People_ we read: "So great was the -national opposition to his schemes that Charles was driven to plunge -hastily into hostilities. The attack on a Dutch convoy was at once -followed by a declaration of war, and fresh supplies were obtained for -the coming struggle by closing the Exchequer, and suspending under -Clifford's advice the payment of either principal or interest on loans -advanced to the public Treasury." The present Royal Exchange was begun -in 1842. - - * * * * * - -Page 333. THE LAST PEACH. - -_London Magazine_, April, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Lamb's letter to Bernard Barton of December 1, 1824, warning him against -peculation, probably suggested this essay, which contains yet another -glimpse of Blakesware house and Lamb's boyhood there. - -Page 333, line 8. _That unfortunate man_. Henry Fauntleroy (1785-1824) -was partner in the bank of Marsh, Sibbald & Co., of Berners Street. In -1815 he began a series of forgeries of trustees' signatures--as he -affirmed, entirely in the interests of the credit of the house, and in -no way for his own gratification--which culminated in the failure of the -bank in 1824. His trial caused intense excitement in the country. On -November 2, 1824, sentence of death was passed, and on the 30th -Fauntleroy was hanged. Many attempts were made to obtain a reprieve, and -an Italian twice offered to suffer death in his place. The story was -long current that Fauntleroy had secreted a silver tube in his windpipe, -had thereby escaped strangulation, and was living abroad. This would -appeal peculiarly to Lamb, since his essay on "The Inconveniences of -Being Hanged" and his farce "The Pawnbroker's Daughter," alike bear on -that subject. - - * * * * * - -Page 335. "ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE." - -_The New Times_, April 12, 1825. Now reprinted for the first time. - -We know this review to be by Lamb from the evidence of a letter to -Coleridge on July 2, 1825, in reply to one in which Coleridge taxed Lamb -with the authorship of the book. Coleridge wrote:-- - - But my dear Charles, it was certainly written by you, or under you, - or _una cum_ you. I know none of your frequent visitors capacious - and assimilative enough of your converse to have reproduced you so - honestly, supposing you had left yourself in pledge in his lockup - house.... [Added later] No! Charles, it is _you_. I have read them - over again, and I understand why you have an'on'd the book. The - puns are nine in ten good, many excellent, the Newgatory - transcendent!... Then moreover and besides, to speak with becoming - modesty, excepting my own self, who is there but you who could - write the musical lines and stanzas that are intermixed [with the - personalities and puns]? - -(The "Newgatory" pun was in the Friendly Epistle to Mrs. Elizabeth -Fry:-- - - I like your carriage, and your silken grey, - Your dove-like habits, and your silent teaching, - But I don't like your Newgatory preaching.) - -Lamb replied:-- - - "The Odes are four-fifths done by Hood, a silentish young man you - met at Islington one day, an invalid. The rest are Reynolds's, whose - sister H. has recently married. I have not had a broken finger in - them. They are hearty, good-natured things, and I would put my name - to 'em cheerfully, if I could as honestly. I complimented 'em in a - newspaper, with an abatement for those puns you laud so. They are - generally an excess. A Pun is a thing of too much consequence to be - thrown in as a make-weight. You shall read one of the 'Addresses' - over and miss the puns, and it shall be quite as good, and better, - than when you discover 'em. A Pun is a noble thing _per se_: O never - lug it in as an accessory. A Pun is a sole object for Reflection - (_vide my_ 'Aids' to that recessment from a savage state)--it is - entire, it fills the mind; it is perfect as a sonnet, better. It - limps ashamed in the train and retinue of Humour: it knows it should - have an establishment of its own. The one, for instance, I made the - other day,----I forget what it was. - - "Hood will be gratified, as much as I am, by your mistake. I liked - 'Grimaldi' the best; it is true painting of abstract clowning, and - that precious concrete of a clown: and the rich succession of - images, and words almost such, in the first half of the 'Magnum - Ignotum.'" - -Other evidence is supplied by the Forster collection at South -Kensington, which contains a copy of the review with a message for Lamb -scribbled on it. - -Thomas Hood (1799-1845), whom Lamb first met in connection with the -_London Magazine_, of which Hood acted as sub-editor, married Jane -Reynolds in 1824. John Hamilton Reynolds (1796-1852), her brother, wrote -for the _London Magazine_ over the signature "Edward Herbert." The _Odes -and Addresses_ appeared anonymously in the spring of 1825. Coleridge's -attribution of the work to Lamb was not very happy; its amazing agility -was quite out of his power. But Coleridge occasionally nodded in these -matters, or he would not have been equally positive a few years earlier -that Lamb was the author of Reynolds' _Peter Bell_. - -In at least two of the odes and addresses the authors followed in Lamb's -own footsteps and adapted to their own use some of his thunder. In the -address to the Dean and Chapter of Westminster the argument for free -admission, as expressed in Lamb's "Letter to Southey" in 1823 (see pages -275-277), is extended, with additional levity; and again in the ode to -Mr. Bodkin, the Hon. Secretary to the Society for the Suppression of -Mendicity, Lamb's _Elia_ essay on "The Decay of Beggars" is emphasised. -According to a copy of the book marked by Hood, now in the possession of -Mr. Buxton Forman, Reynolds wrote only the odes to M'Adam, Dymoke, -Sylvanus Urban, Elliston and the Dean and Chapter. - -Compare Lamb's other remarks on punning in "Popular Fallacies" and -"Distant Correspondents." - -Page 335, line 9. _Peter Pindar ... Colman_. Peter Pindar was the name -assumed by Dr. John Wolcot (1738-1819) when he lashed and satirised his -contemporaries in his very numerous odes. Colman was George Colman the -younger (1762-1836), the dramatist, and author of _Broad Grins_, 1802, a -collection of free and easy comic verse. - -Page 335, foot. _The immortal Grimaldi_. Joseph Grimaldi (1779-1837), -the clown. He did not actually leave the stage until 1828, but his -appearances had been only occasional for several years. - -Page 336, second stanza. "_Berkeley's Foote_." This was Maria Foote -(1797?-1867), the actress, afterwards Countess of Harrington, who was -abandoned by Colonel Berkeley after the birth of two children, and whose -woes were made public through a breach-of-promise action brought by her -against "Pea Green" Hayes a little later. - - * * * * * - -Page 337. THE RELIGION OF ACTORS. - -_New Monthly Magazine_, April, 1826. Not reprinted by Lamb; but known to -be his by a sentence in a letter to Bernard Barton. This paper is of -course as nonsensical as that on Liston. - -Page 337, line 4 of essay. _A celebrated tragic actor_. Referring to the -action for criminal conversation brought by Alderman Cox against Edmund -Kean, in 1824, in which Kean was cast in £800 damages, and which led -during the following seasons to hostile demonstrations against him both -in England and America. For many performances he played only to men. - -Page 337, line 11 of essay. _Miss Pope_. See note on page 465. - -Page 338, line 1. _The present licenser_. George Colman the younger, -whose pedantic severity was out of all proportion to the freedom which -in his earlier play-writing and verse-writing days he had allowed -himself. In his evidence before a committee of the House of Commons, in -an inquiry into the state of the drama in 1832, he admitted having -refused to pass the term "angel," addressed by a lover to his lady, on -the ground that "an angel was a heavenly body." - -Page 338, line 3. _Fawcett._ This would be John Fawcett (1768-1837), -famous in bluff parts. He was treasurer and trustee of the Covent Garden -Theatrical Fund for many years. - -Page 338, line 3. _The five points._ The Five Points of Doctrine, -maintained by the Calvinists, were Original Sin, Predestination, -Irresistible Grace, Particular Redemption and the Final Perseverance of -the Saints. - -Page 338, line 4. _Dicky Suett._ Richard Suett (1755-1805), the comedian -of whom Lamb wrote so enthusiastically in "The Old Actors." - -Page 338, line 7. _Br----'s "Religio Dramatici."_ I imagine that John -Braham, the tenor (1774?-1856), _né_ Abraham, had put forth a manifesto -stating that he had embraced the Christian faith; but I can get no -information on the subject. See Lamb's other references to Braham in the -_Elia_ essay "Imperfect Sympathies." - -Page 338, line 8 from foot. _Dr. Watts._ Dr. Isaac Watts' version of the -Psalms, 1719, takes great liberties with the originals, evangelising -them, omitting much, and even substituting "Britain" for "Israel." - -Page 338, foot. _St. Martin's ... St. Paul's, Covent Garden._ The two -parishes in which the chief theatres were situated. - -Page 339, line 3. _Two great bodies._ The Covent Garden Company and the -Drury Lane Company. - -Page 339, line 7. _Mr. Bengough ... Mr. Powell._ Two useful actors in -their day. - -Page 339, line 18. _Notorious education of the manager._ Charles Kemble -(1775-1854), then manager of Covent Garden, had been educated at the -English Jesuit College at Douay, where his brother, John Philip Kemble, -had preceded him. - -Page 339, line 20. _Mr. T----y._ This would probably be Daniel Terry -(1780-1829), then manager, with Yates, of the Adelphi. The allusion to -him as a member of the Kirk of Scotland probably refers to his -well-known adoration and imitation of Sir Walter Scott, whom he closely -resembled. - -Page 339, line 25. _Mr. Fletcher._ The Rev. Alexander Fletcher, minister -of the Albion Chapel in Moorfields, who was suspended by the Synod of -the Presbyterian Church in 1824 for his share in a breach-of-promise -case. - -Page 339, lines 29 and 30. _Miss F----e and Madame V----s._ Miss F----e -would probably be Miss Foote (see note on page 521). Madame Vestris -(1797-1856), the comedienne and wife of Charles James Mathews. It might -not be out of place to state that Sublapsarians consider the election -of grace as a remedy for an existing evil, and Supralapsarians view it -as a part of God's original purpose in regard to men. - -Page 339, lines 32 and 33. _Mr. Pope_ ... _Mr. Sinclair_. Alexander Pope -(1752-1835), the comedian. John Sinclair (1791-1857), the singer. - -Page 339, line 33. _Mr. Grimaldi_. See the note on page 521. Grimaldi's -son Joseph S. Grimaldi made his début as Man Friday in 1814 and died in -1832. The Jumpers were a Welsh sect of Calvinist Methodists. - -Page 340, line 7. _Mr. Elliston_. Robert William Elliston (1774-1831), -the comedian, who had been manager of Drury Lane, 1821-1826. Lamb's -_Elia_ essays on this character lend point to his suggestion that -Elliston leaned towards the Muggletonians, a sect which by that time was -almost extinct, after two centuries' existence. - - * * * * * - -Page 340. A POPULAR FALLACY. - -_New Monthly Magazine_, June, 1826, where it formed part of the series -of "Popular Fallacies," of which all the others were reprinted in the -_Last Essays of Elia_. Lamb did not reprint it. - -The unnamed works referred to are _The Register of the Most Noble Order -of the Garter_, 1724, by John Anstis (not Anstey), Garter King-at-Arms, -and Elias Ashmole's _Institutions, Laws and Ceremonies of the Order of -the Garter_, 1672. In the passage quoted from William Hay's _Deformity, -an Essay_, 1754, the author is speaking of his experiences when in a -mob. - - * * * * * - -Page 342. REMINISCENCES OF JUKE JUDKINS, ESQ. - -_New Monthly Magazine_, June, 1826. Signed "Elia." Not reprinted by -Lamb. - -Lamb seems to have intended to write a story of some length, for the -promise "To be continued" was appended to the first instalment. But he -did not return to it. - - * * * * * - -Page 349. CONTRIBUTIONS TO HONE'S "EVERY-DAY BOOK" AND "TABLE BOOK." - -I have arranged together all Lamb's prose contributions (except "A -Death-Bed" and the Garrick Extracts) to William Hone's volumes--the -_Every-Day Book_, both series, and the _Table Book_--in order to give -them unity. It seemed better to do this than to interrupt the series for -the sake of a chronological order which at this period of Lamb's life -(1825-1827) was of very little importance. Three not absolutely certain -pieces will be found in the Appendix. - -William Hone (1780-1842) was a man of independent mind and chequered -career. He started life in an attorney's office, but in 1800 exchanged -the law for book-and-print selling, and began to exercise his thoughts -upon public questions, always siding with the unpopular minority. He -examined into what he considered public scandals with curiosity and -persistence, undiscouraged by such private calamities as bankruptcy, and -in many ways showed himself an "Enemy of the People." Some squibs -against the Government, in the form of parodies of the Litany, the -Church Catechism and the Athanasian Creed, led to a famous trial on -December 17-19, 1817, in which, after a prolonged sitting--Hone's speech -in his own defence lasting seven hours--he was acquitted, in spite of -the adverse summing up of Lord Ellenborough. The verdict is said to have -hastened Ellenborough's death. A public subscription for Hone realised -upwards of £3,000, and he thereupon entered upon a more materially -successful period of his career. He became more of a publisher and -author, and less of a firebrand. He issued a number of cheap but worthy -books, and in 1823 his own first important work, _Ancient Mysteries_. - -Hone's title to fame, however, rests upon his discovery of George -Cruikshank's genius and his _Every-Day Book_ (Vol. I. running through -1825 and published in 1826; Vol. II. running through 1826 and published -in 1827), his _Table Talk_, 1827, and his _Year Book_, 1831. These are -admirable collections of old English lore, legends and curiosities, -brought together by a kind-hearted, simple-minded man, to whom thousands -of readers and hundreds of makers of books are indebted. - -William Hone and financial complexity were unhappily never strangers, -and in 1826 he was in prison for debt; indeed he finished the _Every-Day -Book_ and edited the _Table Book_ there. A few years later, largely by -Lamb's instrumentality, he was placed by his friends in a -coffee-house--the Grasshopper, in Gracechurch Street--but he did not -make it succeed. He died in 1842. - -Lamb and Hone first met probably in 1823. In May of that year Lamb -acknowledges Hone's gift of a copy of _Ancient Mysteries_ and asks him -to call. In 1825 Lamb is contributing to the _Every-Day Book_, and in -July he lends Hone his house at Islington, while Mary and himself are at -Enfield. The _Every-Day Book_, July 14, 1825, has a humorous letter from -Hone to Lamb, written from Islington, entitled "A Hot Letter," which -Lamb acknowledges in a reply to Hone on the 25th. This letter was -addressed to Captain Lion--Hone's joke upon Lamb's name. In the answers -to correspondents on the wrapper of one of the periodical parts of the -_Every-Day Book_ Mr. Bertram Dobell has found quoted one of Lion's good -things: "'J. M.' is a wag. His 'derivation' reminds the Editor of an -observation the other day by his witty friend Mr. LION. Being pressed to -take some rhubarb pie, Mr. L. declined because it was physic; to the -reply that it was pleasant and innocent, he rejoined, 'So is a daisy, -but I don't therefore like daisy pie.' 'Daisy pie! who ever heard of -daisy pies?' 'My authority is Shakespeare; he expressly mentions daisies -pied.'" - -It was in the number of the _London Magazine_ for July, 1825, that -Lamb's signed verses to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ appeared, -beginning:-- - - I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone, - -(still too often printed "ingenious"); a testimonial which must have -meant much to Hone at that time. Hone copied them into the _Every-Day -Book_ for July 9, 1825, with a rhymed reply. - -Hone had for Lamb's genius and character an intense enthusiasm. The -_Every-Day Book_ is enriched by many quotations from Lamb's writings, -with occasional bursts of eulogy. For example, on December 31, of Vol. -I., when quoting from "New Year's Eve," he remarks:-- - - among the other delightful essays of his volume entitled "ELIA"--a - little book, whereof to say that it is of more gracious feeling and - truer beauty than any of our century is poor praise ... - -And on September 23, of Vol. II., when quoting "My First Play":-- - - After the robbery of "ELIA," my conscience forces me to declare - that I wish every reader would save me from the shame of further - temptation to transgress, by ordering "ELIA" into his collection. - There is no volume in our language so full of beauty, truth and - feeling, as the volume of "ELIA." I am convinced that every person - who has not seen it, and may take the hint, will thank me for - acquainting him with a work which we cannot look into without - pleasure, nor lay down without regret. It is a delicious book. - -The _Every-Day Book_ appeared periodically through 1825 and 1826. The -first volume was published as a book in May, 1826, with the following -dedication:-- - - TO - - CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. - - DEAR L---- - - Your letter to me, within the first two months from the - commencement of the present work, approving my notice of St. Chad's - Well, and your afterwards daring to publish me your "friend," with - your "proper name" annexed, I shall never forget. Nor can I forget - your and Miss Lamb's sympathy and kindness when glooms outmastered - me; and that your pen spontaneously sparkled in the book, when my - mind was in clouds and darkness. These "trifles," as each of you - would call them, are benefits scored upon my heart; and - - I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME, - TO YOU AND MISS LAMB, - WITH AFFECTIONATE RESPECT, - W. HONE. - - _May 5, 1826._ - - -It has been held that the inference that Mary Lamb also contributed to -Vol. I. of the _Every-Day Book_ is a fair one to draw from these words. -But beyond her recollections in the paper on "Starkey" nothing from her -pen has been identified. Her brother's certain contributions to Vol. I. -are, the "Remarkable Correspondent," "Captain Starkey," the "Twelfth of -August," "The Ass," and "Squirrels." To Vol. II. he sent "An Appearance -of the Season," "The Months," and "Reminiscences of Jeffery Dunstan." - -My impression is that Lamb's hand is to be seen far oftener than this: -but we have no definite proof. I feel convinced that many of Hone's -quotations from old plays and old books were supplied to him by his more -leisured friend. - -In column 857 of _The Table Book_, 1827, Vol. II., for example, is the -following letter to Hone, which is very likely to be from Lamb's pen. -Waltham Abbey was a favourite objective of his in his long Essex and -Hertfordshire rambles:-- - - WALTHAM, ESSEX - - _To the Editor_ - - SIR,--The following epitaph is upon a plain gravestone in the - churchyard of Waltham Abbey. Having some point, it may perhaps be - acceptable for the _Table Book_. I was told that the memory of the - worthy curate is still held in great esteem by the inhabitants of - that place. - - REV. ISAAC COLNETT, - - Fifteen years curate of this Parish, - Died March 1, 1801--Aged 43 years. - - Shall pride a heap of sculptured marble raise, - Some worthless, unmourn'd, titled fool to praise, - And shall we not by one poor gravestone show - Where pious, worthy Colnett sleeps below? - - Surely common decency, if they are deficient in antiquarian - feeling, should induce the inhabitants of Waltham Cross to take - some measures, if not to restore, at least to preserve from further - decay and dilapidation the remains of that beautiful monument of - conjugal affection, the cross erected by Edward I. It is now in a - sad disgraceful state. - - I am, &c., - - Z. - - -Lamb's first contribution to the _Table Book_, always excepting his -regular supply of Garrick Play extracts was "A Death-Bed," an account of -the last moments of his friend, Randal Norris, which he included in the -_Last Essays of Elia_. His other original prose was the letter about -Mrs. Gilpin at Edmonton, and "The Defeat of Time." A few pages after "A -Death-Bed," there is an extract from an article from _Blackwood's -Magazine_ for April, 1827, entitled "Le Revenant"--the story of a man -who survived hanging. Lamb suggested to Hone that he should print -this.--"There is in _Blackwood_ this month [he wrote in a private -letter] an article MOST AFFECTING indeed, called _Le Revenant_, and -would do more towards abolishing capital punishment, than 40,000 -Romillies or Montagues. I beg you to read it and see if you can extract -any of it--the trial scene in particular." This is another instance of -the fascination that resuscitation after hanging exerted upon Lamb. - -We know also, as is stated in the note to "The Good Clerk" (page 455), -that Lamb supplied Hone with the extracts from Defoe and Mandeville in -columns 567-569 and 626-628 of the _Table Book_, Vol. I. He probably -sent many others. - -In columns 773-774 of the _Table Book_, Vol. I., are Lamb's verses -"Going or Gone." - -In column 55 of the _Table Book_, Vol. II., is Lamb's sonnet to Miss -Kelly, and in column 68 his explanation that Moxon probably sent it. - -To Hone's _Year Book_, 1831, Lamb contributed no original prose that is -identifiable. On April 30, however, was printed Sir T. Overbury's -character of a "Free and Happy Milkmaid," of which we know Lamb to have -been fond--he copied it into one of his Extract Books--together with two -passages from Jeremy Taylor, all probably sent to Hone by Lamb. It was -on this day that FitzGerald's "Meadows in Spring" was printed in the -_Year Book_, and afterwards copied in _The Athenæum_, where it was -attributed by suggestion to Lamb. - - * * * * * - -Page 349. I.--REMARKABLE CORRESPONDENT. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. I., May 1, 1825. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, which purported to take account of every day in -the year, had passed without a word from February 28 to March 1. Hence -this protest. - -Page 350, line 13. _An antique scroll_. On February 28 Hone printed -these lines:-- - - FOR THE MEMORY - - _Old Memorandum of the Months_ - - Thirty days hath September, - April, June, and November, - All the rest have thirty and one, - Except February, which hath twenty-eight alone. - -The omitted couplet runs:-- - - Except in Leap Year, at which time - February's days are twenty-nine. - -To Lamb's protests Hone replied as follows, on May 1:-- - - To this correspondent it may be demurred and given in proof, that - neither in February, nor at any other time in the year 1825, had - he, or could he, have had existence; and that whenever he is seen, - he is only an impertinence and an interpolation upon his betters. - To his "floral honours" he is welcome; in the year 992, he slew St. - Oswald, archbishop of York, in the midst of his monks, to whom the - greater periwinkle, _Vinca Major_, is dedicated. For this honour - our correspondent should have waited till his turn arrived for - distinction. His ignorant impatience of notoriety is a mark of - weakness, and indeed it is only in compassion to his infirmity that - he has been condescended to; his brothers have seen more of the - world, and he should have been satisfied by having been allowed to - be in their company at stated times, and like all little ones, he - ought to have kept respectful silence. Besides, he forgets his - origin; he is illegitimate; and as a burthen to "the family," and - an upstart, it has been long in contemplation to disown him, and - then what will become of him? If he has done any good in the world - he may have some claim upon it, but whenever he appears, he seems - to throw things into confusion. His desire to alter the title of - this work excites a smile--however, when he calls upon the editor - he shall have justice, and be compelled to own that it is calumny - to call this the _Every-Day--but--one--Book_. - -In Vol. II. of the _Every-Day Book_ February 29 was again omitted. He -did not come to his own until the _Year Book_ in 1831. - - -Page 351. II.--CAPTAIN STARKEY. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. I., July 21, 1825. Signed "C. L." Not -reprinted by Lamb. - -On July 9 Hone gave extracts from a small pamphlet entitled _Memoirs of -the Life of Benj. Starkey, late of London, but now an inmate of the -Freemen's Hospital, in Newcastle. Written by himself. With a portrait of -the Author and a Facsimile of his handwriting_. William Hall, Newcastle, -1818. This pamphlet is not interesting, except in calling forth Lamb's -reminiscences. - -Page 351, line 9. _My sister._ Mary Lamb, who was born in 1764, would -probably have been at Bird's school at the time of her brother's birth. -Her period there may have been 1774-1778. - -Page 351, line 25. _Fetter Lane._ In a directory for 1773 I find William -Bird, Academy, 3 Bond Stables, Fetter Lane. Bond Stables have now -disappeared, although there is still the passage joining Fetter Lane and -Bartlett's Buildings. - - -Page 354. III.--TWELFTH OF AUGUST. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. I., August 12, 1825. Not reprinted by -Lamb. - -While George IV., who was born on August 12, 1762, was Prince of Wales, -a very long period, his birthday was kept on its true date. But after -his accession to the throne in 1820 his birthday was kept on April 23, -St. George's Day. Hence Lamb's protest. This is probably the only kind -reference to George IV. in all Lamb's writings. - -Lamb already (_Morning Post_, 1802, see page 44, and _London Magazine_, -1823) had rehearsed the theme both of this letter and of that on the -"Twenty-ninth of February." In his "Rejoicings upon the New Year's -Coming of Age" the forlorn condition of February 29 is more than once -mentioned, while the grievance of August 12 against April 23 is thus -described:-- - - "The King's health being called for after this, a notable dispute - arose between the _Twelfth of August_ (a jealous old Whig - gentlewoman) and the _Twenty-Third of April_ (a new-fangled lady of - the Tory stamp) as to which of them should have the honour to - propose it. _August_ grew hot upon the matter, affirming time out of - mind the prescriptive right to have lain with her, till her rival - had basely supplanted her; whom she represented as little better - than a _kept_ mistress, who went about in _fine clothes_, while she - (the legitimate BIRTHDAY) had scarcely a rag, &c." - -Page 354, line 4 of letter. _Poor relative of ours._ February 29 (see -page 349). - -Page 355, line 11. _George of Cappadocia, etc._ George of Cappadocia was -a Bishop of Alexandria in the fourth century, murdered by the populace. -There was once a tendency to confuse him with St. George of England. -George of Leyden was probably a slip of the pen for John of Leyden, the -Anabaptist of Münster. George-a-Green, the hero of the _History of -George-a-Green, the Pindar of Wakefield_, the stoutest opponent that -Robin Hood ever met. The story was dramatised in a play attributed to -Robert Green. George Dyer was Lamb's friend. - -Page 355, line 15. _Dismission of a set of men._ Referring to the King's -overthrow of the Whigs in the Caroline of Brunswick ferment. - -To Lamb's letter Hone printed a clever reply. - - -Page 356. IV.--THE ASS. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. I., October 5, 1825. Signed "C. L." Not -reprinted by Lamb. - -The germ of this paper is found in a letter from Lamb to John Payne -Collier in 1821 thanking him for the gift of his _Poetical Decameron_. -After quoting the three lines also quoted in this essay, Lamb remarks, -in the letter, "Cervantes, Sterne, and Coleridge, have said positively -nothing for asses compared with this." - -The immediate cause of the communication to the _Every-Day Book_ was a -previous article in praise of asses. Hone prefixed to Lamb's paper the -following remarks: "The cantering of TIM TIMS [who had written of asses -on September 19] startles him who told of his 'youthful days,' at the -school wherein poor 'Starkey' cyphered part of his little life. C. L., -'getting well, but weak' from painful and severe indisposition, is 'off -and away' for a short discursion. Better health to him, and good be to -him all his life. Here he is." - -Lamb wrote to Hone in humorous protest against the implication of the -phrase "Here he is," immediately above the title "The Ass." "My friends -are fairly surprised [he said] that you should set me down so -unequivocally for an ass.... Call you that friendship?" - -Page 356, foot. "_Between the years 1790 and 1800._" This passage refers -to an article in a previous issue of the _Every-Day Book_ (see Vol. I., -September 19) on cruelty to animals, where we read:-- - - Legislative discussion and interference have raised a feeling of - kindness towards the brute creation which slumbered and slept in - our forefathers. Formerly, the costermonger was accustomed to make - wounds for the express purpose of producing torture. He prepared to - drive an ass, that had not been driven, with his knife. On each - side of the back bone, at the lower end, just above the tail, he - made an incision of two or three inches in length through the skin, - and beat into these incisions with his stick till they became open - wounds, and so remained, while the ass lived to be driven to and - from market, or through the streets of the metropolis. A - costermonger, now, would shrink from this, which was a common - practice between the years 1790 and 1800. - -Page 357, line 9. "_Lay on," etc._ Anaxarchus, the philosopher, having -offended Alexander the Great, was pounded in a stone mortar. During the -process he exclaimed: "Pound the body of Anaxarchus; thou dost not pound -the soul." Lamb proposed to use the phrase "You beat but on the case of -Elia" in the preface to the _Essays of Elia_ as a monition to adverse -critics, but he changed his mind. - -Page 358, foot. _Jem Boyer._ See the Elia essay on "Christ's Hospital" -in Vol. II. (page 22), and notes to same. "_As_ in præsenti perfectum -format in _avi_"--"as in the present tense makes _avi_ in the -perfect"--was the first of the mnemonic rules for the formation of verbs -in the old Latin primer (see the old Eton _Latin Grammar_). Lamb himself -makes the pun in a letter to Mrs. Shelley in 1827. - - -Page 359. V.--IN RE SQUIRRELS. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. I., October 18, 1825. Signed "C. L." Not -reprinted by Lamb. - -On October 7 Hone had reprinted a letter on squirrels from the -_Gentleman's Magazine_. Lamb's postscript to that letter, as this little -communication may be called, was thus introduced:-- - - "_Be it remembered_, that C. L. comes here and represents his - relations, that is to say, on behalf of the recollections, being the - next of kin, of him, the said C. L., and of sundry persons who are - 'aye treading' in the manner of squirrels aforesaid; and thus he - saith:--" - -Page 359, line 12. _Mr. Urban's correspondent._ Mr. Urban--Sylvanus -Urban--the dynastic name of the editor of the _Gentleman's Magazine_. -"I know not," says the correspondent, "whether any naturalist has -observed that their [squirrels'] teeth are of a deep orange colour." - -Page 359, line 22. _The author of the "Task" somewhere ..._ - - The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play, - He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, - Ascends the neighb'ring beech; there whisks his brush, - And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, - With all the prettiness of feigned alarm, - And anger insignificantly fierce. - - Cowper, _The Task_, Book VI., "The Winter's Walk at - Noon," lines 315-320. - -Page 359, foot. _As for their "six quavers," etc._ The writer in the -_Gentleman's Magazine_ describes his squirrels as dancing in their cages -to exact time. - -Page 359, foot. _Along with the "melodious," etc._ Referring to the -preceding essay, "The Ass." - - -Page 360. VI.--AN APPEARANCE OF THE SEASON. - -_Every-Day Book_, Vol. II., January 28, 1826. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -We know this to be Lamb's because the original copy was preserved at -Rowfant, together with that of many other of Lamb's contributions to -Hone's books. - -The article in the _London Magazine_ for December, 1822, to which Lamb -refers, is entitled "A Few Words about Christmas." It is one of the best -of the imitations of Lamb, of which there are many in that periodical, -and was possibly from Hood's pen. A full description of Hood's "Progress -of Cant" follows Lamb's little paper in the _Every-Day Book_, probably -written by Hone. See page 431. - -The motto under the Beadle's picture is from "Lear," Act IV., Scene 6, -line 162. - -Page 360, line 6 of essay. _Within the bills._ Within the bills of -mortality. Geographically speaking, the phrase "within the bills" was -the seventeenth, eighteenth and early nineteenth century counterpart of -our phrase "within the radius." But the associations of the two terms -are very different. The bills were the Bills of Mortality, or lists of -deaths (also births) drawn up by the Parish Clerks of London and -published by them on Thursdays. Devised as a means of publishing the -increase or decrease of the ever-recurrent Plague, the bills were begun -in 1592, were resumed during a visitation in 1603, and from that year, -except for some interruption at the time of the Great Fire, they -appeared week by week, until the middle of the nineteenth century. - - -Page 361. VII.--THE MONTHS. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. II., April 16, 1826. Signed "C. L." Not -reprinted by Lamb. I have collated the extracts with Lamb's edition of -_The Queene-like Closet_. - -Hone's prefixed note runs: "C. L., whose papers under these initials on -'Captain Starkey,' 'The Ass, No. 2,' and 'Squirrels,' besides other -communications, are in the first volume, drops the following pleasant -article 'in an hour of need.'" - -Mrs. Hannah Woolley, afterwards Mrs. Challinor, was born about 1623. The -first edition of _The Queene-like Closet_ was 1672; she wrote also, or -is supposed to have written, _The Ladies' Directory, or Choice -Experiments of Preserving and Candying_, 1661; _The Cook's Guide_, 1664; -_The Ladies' Delight_, 1672; _The Gentlewoman's Companion_, 1675. - -Page 365, line 3. _I remember Bacon ..._ This possibly is the passage -referred to:-- - - Neither let us be thought to sacrifice to our mother the earth, - though we advise, that in digging or ploughing the earth for - health, a quantity of claret wine be poured thereon (_History of - Life and Death_, Operation 5, No. 33). - -Page 365, last line of essay. _Surely Swift must have seen ..._ Swift's -_Directions to Servants_ was published in 1745, after the author's -death. - - -Page 366. VIII.--REMINISCENCE OF SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN. - -Hone's _Every-Day Book_, Vol. II., June 22, 1826. Signed "C. L." Not -reprinted by Lamb. - -The following account of the Garrat election was given in Sir Richard -Phillips' _A Morning's Walk from London to Kew_, 1817, quoted by Hone:-- - - Southward of Wandsworth, a road extends nearly two miles to the - village of Lower Tooting, and nearly midway are a few houses, or - hamlet, by the side of a small common, called _Garrat_, from which - the road itself is called _Garrat Lane_. Various encroachments on - this common led to an association of the neighbours about - three-score years since, when they chose a president, or _mayor_, - to protect their rights; and the time of their first election being - the period of a new parliament, it was agreed that the mayor should - be re-chosen after every general election. Some facetious members - of the club gave, in a few years, local notoriety to this election; - and, when party spirit ran high in the days of _Wilkes and - Liberty_, it was easy to create an appetite for a burlesque - election among the lower orders of the Metropolis. The publicans at - Wandsworth, Tooting, Battersea, Clapham, and Vauxhall, made a purse - to give it character; and Mr. Foote rendered its interest - universal, by calling one of his inimitable farces "The Mayor of - Garrat." - -In 1826, the year of Hone's literary outburst on the subject, which -should be referred to by any one curious in the matter, an attempt was -made to revive the Garrat humours; but it was too late for success; the -joke was dead. - -Dunstan was a stunted, quick-witted and quick-tongued dealer in old -wigs--a well-known street and tavern figure in his day. He contested -Garrat in 1781 against "Sir" John Harper ("who made an oath against work -in his youth and was never known to break it"). Sir John then won. -Dunstan's speech is quoted in full by Hone from an old broadside. -"Gentlemen," he said, "as I am not an orator or personable man, be -assured I am an honest member." When Harper died in 1785 Sir Jeffery was -returned, as many as 50,000 people attending the election. Dunstan used -to recite his speeches in public-houses, where collections were made for -him; but this means of livelihood was impaired by the loss of his teeth, -which he sold one night for ten shillings and a sufficiency of liquor to -some merry London Hospital students. He died in 1797 when Lamb was -twenty-two. - -Page 366, line 5 of essay. _About 1790 or 1791._ Lamb was at the -South-Sea House. - -Page 367, line 27. _Dr. Last._ In Samuel Foote's play, "The Devil on Two -Sticks," 1778. - -Page 367, foot. _My Lord Foppington._ Lord Foppington in "The Relapse," -by Congreve. Foppington remarks: "To mind the inside of a book is to -entertain one's self with the forced product of another man's brain. Now -I think a man of quality and breeding may be much amused with the -natural sprouts of his own." Lamb uses the same speech for the motto of -his "Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading." - - -Page 368. IX.--MRS. GILPIN RIDING TO EDMONTON. - -Hone's _Table Book_, Vol. II., columns 79-81, 1827. Not reprinted by -Lamb. - -We know Lamb to have written this, from the evidence of an unpublished -letter and the original "copy" and picture, once preserved at Rowfant. -Lamb's letter to Hone, enclosing Hood's drawing, runs thus:-- - - [No date: early July, 1827.] - - "DEAR H., - - "This is Hood's, done from the life, of Mary getting over a style - here. Mary, out of a pleasant revenge, wants you to get it - _engrav'd_ in Table Book to surprise H., who I know will be amus'd - with you so doing. - - "Append some observations about the awkwardness of country styles - about Edmonton, and the difficulty of elderly Ladies getting over - 'em.---- - - "That is to say, if you think the sketch good enough. - - "I take on myself the warranty. - - "Can you slip down here some day and go a Green-dragoning? - - "C. L. - - "Enfield (Mrs. Leishman's, Chase). - - "If you do, send Hood the number, No. 2 Robert St., Adelphi, and - keep the sketch for me." - -Lamb subsequently appended the observations himself. The text of his -little article, changing Mary Lamb into Mrs. Gilpin, followed in Mr. -Locker-Lampson's album. The postmark is July 17, 1827. - -Lamb was fond of jokes about styles. Writing to Dodwell, of the India -House, from Calne, in the summer of 1816, he said, after dating his -letter old style: "No new style here, all the styles are old, and some -of the gates too for that matter." - - -Page 369. X.--THE DEFEAT OF TIME. - -Hone's _Table Book_, Vol. II., columns 335-340, 1827. Not reprinted by -Lamb. - -In 1827 was published Thomas Hood's poem, _The Plea of the Midsummer -Fairies_, with the following dedication to Lamb:-- - - TO CHARLES LAMB - - MY DEAR FRIEND, - - I thank my literary fortune that I am not reduced, like many better - wits, to barter dedications, for the hope or promise of patronage, - with some nominally great man; but that where true affection - points, and honest respect, I am free to gratify my head and heart - by a sincere inscription. An intimacy and dearness, worthy of a - much earlier date than our acquaintance can refer to, direct me at - once to your name: and with this acknowledgment of your ever kind - feeling towards me, I desire to record a respect and admiration for - you as a writer, which no one acquainted with our literature, save - Elia himself, will think disproportionate or misplaced. If I had - not these better reasons to govern me, I should be guided to the - same selection by your intense yet critical relish for the works of - our great Dramatist, and for that favourite play in particular - which has furnished the subject of my verses. - - It is my design, in the following Poem, to celebrate an allegory, - that immortality which Shakespeare has conferred on the Fairy - mythology by his Midsummer Night's Dream. But for him, those pretty - children of our childhood would leave barely their names to our - maturer years; they belong, as the mites upon the plum, to the - bloom of fancy, a thing generally too frail and beautiful to - withstand the rude handling of Time: but the Poet has made this - most perishable part of the mind's creation equal to the most - enduring; he has so intertwined the Elfins with human sympathies, - and linked them by so many delightful associations with the - productions of nature, that they are as real to the mind's eye, as - their green magical circles to the outer sense. - - It would have been a pity for such a race to go extinct, even - though they were but as the butterflies that hover about the leaves - and blossoms of the visible world. - - I am, - My dear Friend, - Yours most truly, - T. HOOD. - -Lamb's "Defeat of Time" is a paraphrase of the first part of Hood's -poem. - -Page 371, line 10. _"In the flowery spring," etc._ From Chapman's -Translation of Homer's "Hymn to Pan," 31-33. - -Page 373, line 15 from foot. _Sir Thomas Gresham._ It is told of Sir -Thomas Gresham (1519?-1579), the founder of the Royal Exchange, that as -a baby his life was saved by the chirping of a grasshopper, as related -here. But cold veracity says not. The legend seems to have had its -origin in the grasshopper crest of the Greshams, but it has been found -that this crest was worn by an ancestor of Sir Thomas's who lived a -hundred years earlier. - - * * * * * - -Page 375. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. - -Lamb wrote this little sketch for William Upcott (1779-1845), the -autograph collector and assistant librarian of the London Institution. -Upcott permitted John Forster to quote it in the _New Monthly Magazine_ -for April, 1835, shortly after Lamb's death. It is here printed from the -original MS. in the possession of Mr. B. B. MacGeorge, of Glasgow, -contained in a MS. volume entitled "Reliques of my Contemporaries. -William Upcott." Whether or no Lamb ever caught a swallow flying is not -known; but everything else in the autobiography is true. The reference -to Mr. Upcott's book may be to the album in which this sketch was -written, or to a new edition of the _Biographical Dictionary of Living -Authors_, published in 1816, in which Upcott is supposed to have had a -hand. I cannot discover whether a second edition of this work was -published. There is none at the British Museum, nor at the London -Institution, of which Upcott was librarian. In the first edition, _A -Biographical Dictionary of the Living Authors of Great Britain and -Ireland ..._ 1816, Lamb figures thus:-- - -"LAMB, CHARLES, was born in London, in 1775, and educated at Christ's -Hospital. He is at present a clerk in the India House, and has published -[a list of six books follows] ..." - -"LAMB, MISS, sister of the preceding, has published _Mrs. Leicester's -School_, 12mo, 1808; _Poetry for Children_, 2 vs., 12mo, 1809." - -Upcott is not considered to have done more than to collect some of the -materials for the _Dictionary_, which was the work of John Watkins and -Frederick Shoberl. - -Lamb's sense of time was never good: the _Elia_ essays were published in -1823 and the _Specimens_ in 1808, fully four years and nineteen years -before the date of this autobiography. The joke about the _Works_ will -be found also in the original version of the "Character of the Late -Elia." - - * * * * * - -Page 376. SHAKESPEARE'S IMPROVERS. - -_The Spectator_, November 22, 1828. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This letter was drawn forth by some remarks on the spurious version of -"King Lear," which was then being played; or, as _The Spectator_ -phrased it, "Shakespeare murdered by Nahum Tate--Covent Garden aiding -and abetting." See page 383 for another letter to the same paper. See -also the essay on "Shakespeare's Tragedies," 1810, for a first idea of -the indictment now more fully drawn up. - -Page 376, line 2 of letter. _Tate's "King Lear."_ Nahum Tate -(1652-1715), Poet Laureate, was the author, with Nicholas Brady -(1659-1726), of the rhymed version of the Psalms which bears their -names, 1696, a rival of the version of 1549 by Thomas Sternhold and John -Hopkins. He also wrote verses and plays, original and doctored. His -version of "King Lear"--"The History of King Lear"--was produced in -1681. Therein Cordelia and Edgar are at the outset shown to be in love. -After the usual frustrations they are united at the close, and Lear, who -does not die, pronounces his blessing over them. Cordelia thus addresses -Edgar in the first act:-- - - When, Edgar, I permitted your addresses, - I was the darling daughter of a king, - Nor can I now forget my royal birth, - And live dependent on my lover's fortune. - I cannot to so low a fate submit, - And therefore study to forget your passions, - And trouble me upon this theme no more. - -Tate also rewrote "Richard II." and Webster's "White Devil." - -Page 376, foot. "_Coriolanus._" Lamb refers to Tate's play, "The -Ingratitude of a Commonwealth," produced in 1682. Aufidius threatens to -violate only Virgilia:-- - - For soon as I've secur'd my rival's life, - All stain'd i' th' husband's blood, I'll force the wife.-- - -She stabs herself rather than be dishonoured; and it is Nigridius who -mangles, gashes, racks and distorts the little son of Coriolanus. - -Page 377, line 3. _Shadwell._ The version of "Timon of Athens," by -Thomas Shadwell (1642?-1692), Poet Laureate, is "The History of Timon of -Athens, the Man Hater," produced at the Dorset Garden Theatre in 1678. -Timon's last words are:-- - - _Timon._ I charge thee live, Evandra. - Thou lov'st me not if thou wilt not obey me; - Thou only! Dearest! Kind! Constant thing on earth, - Farewell. - _Dies._ - - _Evandra._ He's gone! he's gone! would all the world were so. - I must make haste, or I shall not o'ertake - Him in his flight. Timon, I come, stay for me, - Farewell, base world. - - _Stabs herself. Dies._ - -Evandra was played not only by Mrs. Betterton, but also by Mrs. -Bracegirdle. - -Page 377, foot. "_Macbeth._" The new version of "Macbeth" was probably -by Sir William Davenant (1606-1668). There is an edition as early as -1673. - -Macduff's chariot is greatly insisted upon. His servant remarks in the -same scene:-- - - This is the entrance o' th' Heath; and here - He order'd me to attend him with the chariot, - -and a little later, to Macduff's question, "Where are our children?" -Lady Macduff replies:-- - - They are securely sleeping in the chariot. - -Lady Macbeth's final repentance leads her to address her husband thus:-- - - You may in peace resign the ill-gain'd crown. - Why should you labour still to be unjust? - There has been too much blood already spilt. - Make not the subjects victims to your guilt. - - * * * * * - - resign your kingdom now, - And with your crown put off your guilt. - - * * * * * - -Page 379. SATURDAY NIGHT. - -_The Gem_, 1830. Signed "Nepos." Not reprinted by Lamb. - -This little essay was written to accompany an engraving of Wilkie's -picture with the same title. Whether Lamb's grandmother was as he has -recorded we cannot know; his reminiscences of her in "Dream Children" -and "The Grandam" are very different. That was Mrs. Field; Lamb, I -think, never knew a paternal grandmother. The recollection of the fly in -the eye seems to have an authentic air. - -Page 380, line 9. _Burking._ After Burke and Hare, who suffocated their -victims and sold them to the hospitals for dissection. Burke was -executed in January, 1829. - - * * * * * - -Page 381. ESTIMATE OF DE FOE'S SECONDARY NOVELS. - -This criticism was written for Wilson's _Memoirs of the Life and Times -of Daniel de Foe_, 1830. It will be found on page 636 of the third of -Wilson's volumes. Lamb never reprinted it. - -Walter Wilson (1781-1847) had been a bookseller, and a fellow-clerk of -Lamb's at the India House. Later he entered at the Inner Temple. In -addition to his work on De Foe, he wrote _The History and Antiquities of -Dissenting Churches in London, Westminster and Southwark, including the -Lives of their Ministers_, a work in four volumes. Lamb, as his -_Letters_ tell us, helped Wilson with advice concerning De Foe. He also -seems to have wished the "Ode to the Treadmill" to be included; but it -was not. - -This criticism of the Secondary Novels is usually preceded in the -editions of Lamb's works by the following remarks contained in Lamb's -letter to Wilson of December 16, 1822, which Wilson printed as page 428 -of Vol. III., but they do not rightly form part of the article, which -Lamb wrote seven years later, in 1829. I quote from the original MS. in -the Bodleian:-- - -"In the appearance of _truth_, in all the incidents and conversations -that occur in them, they exceed any works of fiction I am acquainted -with. It is perfect illusion. The _Author_ never appears in these -self-narratives (for so they ought to be called, or rather -Autobiographies) but the _Narrator_ chains us down to an implicit belief -in every thing he says. There is all the minute detail of a log-book in -it. Dates are painfully pressed upon the memory. Facts are repeated over -and over in varying phrases, till you cannot chuse but believe them. It -is like reading Evidence given in a Court of Justice. So anxious the -storyteller seems that the truth should be clearly comprehended, that -when he has told us a matter of fact, or a motive, in a line or two -farther down he _repeats_ it, with his favourite figure of speech, 'I -say,' so and so--though he had made it abundantly plain before. This is -in imitation of the common people's way of speaking, or rather of the -way in which they are addressed by a master or mistress, who wishes to -impress something upon their memories, and has a wonderful effect upon -matter-of-fact readers. Indeed it is to such principally that he writes. -His style is elsewhere beautiful, but plain and _homely_. Robinson -Crusoe is delightful to all ranks and classes, but it is easy to see -that it is written in phraseology peculiarly adapted to the lower -conditions of readers; hence it is an especial favourite with sea-faring -men, poor boys, servant-maids, &c. His novels are capital -kitchen-reading, while they are worthy from their deep interest to find -a shelf in the Libraries of the wealthiest, and the most learned. His -passion for _matter-of-fact narrative_, sometimes betrayed him into a -long relation of common incidents which might happen to any man, and -have no interest but the intense appearance of truth in them, to -recommend them. The whole latter half, or two thirds, of Colonel Jack is -of this description. The beginning of Colonel Jack is the most affecting -natural picture of a young thief that was ever drawn. His losing the -stolen money in the hollow of a tree, and finding it again when in -despair, and then being in equal distress at not knowing how to dispose -of it, and several similar touches in the early history of the Colonel, -evince a deep knowledge of human nature; and, putting out of question -the superior _romantic_ interest of the latter, in my mind very much -exceed Crusoe. Roxana (1st edition) is the next in Interest, though he -left out the best part of it [in] subsequent Editions, from a foolish -hyper criticism of his friend Southerne. But Moll Flanders, the account -of the Plague, &c. &c. are all of one family, and have the same stamp of -character." - -One point in this 1822 criticism requires notice--that touching the -first edition of _Roxana_. According to a letter from Lamb to Wilson, -Lamb considered the curiosity of Roxana's daughter to be the best part -of _Roxana_. But the episode of the daughter does not come into the -first edition of the book (1724) at all, and is thought by some critics -not to be De Foe's. Mr. Aitken, De Foe's latest editor, doubts the -Southerne story altogether. In any case, Lamb was wrong in recommending -the first edition for its completeness, for the later ones are fuller. -It was upon the episode of Susannah that Godwin based his play, -"Faulkener," for which Lamb wrote a prologue in praise of De Foe. -Godwin's preface stated that the only edition of _Roxana_ then -available--in 1807--in which to find the full story of Roxana's -daughter, was that of 1745. Godwin turned the avenging daughter into a -son. - -Writing to Wilson on the publication of his _Memoirs of De Foe_, Lamb -says: "The two papers of mine will puzzle the reader, being so akin. -Odd, that never keeping a scrap of my own letters, with some fifteen -years' interval I should have nearly said the same things." (According -to the dating of the letters the interval was not fifteen years, but -seven.) Lamb also remarks, "De Foe was always my darling." - -For a further criticism of De Foe see "The Good Clerk," page 148 of the -present volume, and the notes to the same. - -In introducing the criticism of the Secondary Novels, Wilson wrote:-- - - It may call for some surprise that De Foe should be so little known - as a novelist, beyond the range of "Robinson Crusoe." To recall the - attention of the public to his other fictions, the present writer - is happy to enrich his work with some original remarks upon his - secondary novels by his early friend, Charles Lamb, whose - competency to form an accurate judgment upon the subject, no one - will doubt who is acquainted with his genius. - -Page 382, foot. _Mr. Coleridge has anticipated us...._ Referring to -Coleridge's remarks, see the _Biographia Literaria_, Vol. II., chapter -iv. - -Page 383, line 8. _An ingenious critic._ Lamb himself, in the 1822 -criticism quoted above. - - * * * * * - -Page 383. CLARENCE SONGS. - -_The Spectator_, July 24, 1830. - -Concerning Lamb's theory that "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill" was written -upon Prince William, the editor of _The Spectator_ remarks that it had -reference to George IV.--a monarch upon whom Lamb himself had done his -share of rhyming. Lamb was at Christ's Hospital from 1782-1789. Prince -William, who was born in 1765, became a midshipman in 1779. His -promotion to lieutenant came in 1785, and to captain in the following -year. The ballad to which Lamb refers is called "Duke William's -Frolic." It relates how Duke William and a nobleman, dressing themselves -like sailors, repaired to an inn to drink. While there the Press gang -came; the Duke was said to have been impudent to the lieutenant and was -condemned to be flogged. The ballad (as given in Mr. John Ashton's -_Modern Street Ballads_, 1888) ends:-- - - Then instantly the boatswain's mate began for to undress him, - But, presently, he did espy the star upon his breast, sir; - Then on their knees they straight did fall, and for mercy soon did - call, - He replied, You're base villains, thus using us poor sailors. - - No wonder that my royal father cannot man his shipping, - 'Tis by using them so barbarously, and always them a-whipping. - But for the future, sailors all, shall have good usage, great and - small, - To hear the news, together all cried, May God bless Duke William. - - He ordered them fresh officers that stood in need of wealth, - And with the crew he left some gold, that they might drink his - health, - And when that they did go away, the sailors loud huzzaèd, - Crying, Blessed be that happy day whereon was born Duke William. - -Tom Sheridan, the dramatist's son, was born in 1775, and died in 1817, -so that in 1783 he was only eight years old. - - * * * * * - -Page 385. RECOLLECTIONS OF A LATE ROYAL ACADEMICIAN. - -_The Englishman's Magazine_, September, 1831. Not reprinted by Lamb. - -In the magazine the title ran:-- - - "PETER'S NET - - "'_All is fish that comes to my net_' - - "_No. 1.--Recollections of a Late Royal Academician_" - -Moxon had taken over _The Englishman's Magazine_, started in April, -1831, in time to control the August number, in which had appeared a -notice stating, of Elia, that "in succeeding months he promiseth to -grace" the pages of the magazine "with a series of essays, under the -quaint appellation of 'PETER'S NET.'" The magazine, however, lived only -until the October number. Writing to Moxon at the time that he sent the -MS. of this essay, Lamb remarked:-- - -"The R. A. here memorised was George Dawe, whom I knew well, and heard -many anecdotes of, from Daniels and Westall, at H. Rogers's; to each of -them it will be well to send a magazine in my name. It will fly like -wildfire among the Royal Academicians and artists.... The 'Peter's Net' -does not intend funny things only. All is fish. And leave out the -sickening 'Elia' at the end. Then it may comprise letters and characters -addressed to Peter; but a signature forces it to be all characteristic -of the one man, Elia, or the one man, Peter, which cramped me formerly." - -George Dawe was born in 1781, the son of Philip Dawe, a mezzotint -engraver. At first he engraved too, but after a course of study in the -Royal Academy schools he took to portrait-painting, among his early -sitters being William Godwin. Throughout his career he painted -portraits, varied at first with figure subjects of the kind described by -Lamb. He was made an Associate in 1809 and an R.A. in 1814. His -introduction to royal circles came with the marriage of the Princess -Charlotte and Prince Leopold in 1816. After her death he went to -Brussels in the suite of the Duke of Kent, and painted the Duke of -Wellington. It was in 1819 that he visited St. Petersburg, remaining -nine years, and painting nearly four hundred portraits, first of the -officers who fought against Napoleon, and afterwards of other -personages. He left in 1828, but returned in 1829 after a visit to -England, and a short but profitable sojourn in Berlin. He died in 1829, -and was buried in the crypt of St. Paul's. A passage in his will shows -Dawe to have been a rather more interesting character than Lamb -suggests, and his _Life of George Morland_, 1807, has considerable -merit. - -Coleridge also knew Dawe well. Dawe painted a picture on a subject in -"Love," drew Coleridge's portrait and took a cast of his face; and in -1812 Coleridge thus recommends him to Mrs. Coleridge's hospitality:-- - - He is a very modest man, his manners not over polished, and his - worst point is that he is (at least, I have found him so) a fearful - questionist, whenever he thinks he can pick up any information, or - ideas, poetical, historical, topographical, or artistical, that he - can make bear on his own profession. But he is sincere, friendly, - strictly _moral_ in every respect, I firmly believe even to - _innocence_, and in point of cheerful indefatigableness of - industry, in regularity, and temperance--in short, in a glad, yet - quiet, devotion of his whole being to the art he has made choice - of, he is the only man I ever knew who goes near to rival - Southey--gentlemanly address, person, physiognomy, knowledge, - learning and genius being of course wholly excluded from the - comparison. - -Many years later, however, Coleridge endorsed Dawe's funeral card in the -following terms, "The Grub" being the nickname by which Dawe was -known:-- - - I really would have attended the Grub's Canonization in St. Paul's, - under the impression that it would gratify his sister, Mrs. Wright; - but Mr. G. interposed a conditional but sufficiently decorous - negative. "No! Unless you wish to follow his Grubship still further - _down_." So I pleaded ill health. But the very Thursday morning I - went to Town to see my daughter, for the first time, as _Mrs. Henry - Coleridge_, in Gower Street, and, odd enough, the stage was stopped - by the Pompous Funeral of the unchangeable and predestinated Grub, - and I extemporised:-- - - "As Grub Dawe pass'd beneath the Hearse's Lid, - On which a large RESURGAM met the eye, - _Col_, who well knew the Grub, cried, Lord forbid! - I trust, he's only telling us a lie!" - S. T. COLERIDGE. - -Page 385, line 2 of essay. _To the Russian._ Among Dawe's court -paintings was an equestrian portrait of Alexander I., twenty feet high. -His collection of portraits painted during his residence in Russia was -lodged in a gallery built for it in the Winter Palace. - -Page 385, line 11 of essay. _"Timon" as it was last acted._ Referring to -the performance of "Timon of Athens," given exactly as in Shakespeare's -day, with no women in the cast, at Drury Lane on October 28, 1816. - -Page 385, line 9 from foot. _The Haytian._ I can find no authority for -Lamb's suggestion that Dawe might have gone to Hayti to paint the court -of Christophe. Probably Lamb based the theory, as a joke, upon a story -of Dawe which Sir Anthony Carlisle, the surgeon, and a friend of Lamb's, -used to tell. The story is told in _The Library of the Fine Arts_, 1831, -in the following terms:-- - - In a conversation with Sir A. Carlisle, that eminent surgeon told - Dawe that he had lately sent to Bartholemew's Hospital a negro of - prodigious power and fine form, such as he had never before seen, - and the sight of whom had given him better conceptions of the - beauty of Grecian sculpture than he had previously possessed. - Struck with this account Dawe went to the Hospital where he found - the man had been discharged. Any other person would here have given - up the pursuit, but Dawe was not to be baffled in a favourite - object; he accordingly commenced a strict search through all those - parts of the town where such a person was likely to be found; and - at length, after much inquiry, found him on board a ship about to - sail for the West Indies. Dawe, though his means at that time were - not so great as they afterwards became, induced the man to go home - with him, where he maintained him some time; and the Negro having - among other instances of his strength, told him of his once seizing - a buffalo by the nostrils and bearing it down to the ground, Dawe - was so struck by the fact as suited for the composition of a - powerful picture, that he placed the man in the posture he - described, and drew him in that attitude. When the picture was sent - for the premium of the British Institution, several of the - governors objected to it as being a portrait and not an historical - picture; notwithstanding this, however, the better judgment of the - majority awarded it the prize. - -Page 386, line 2. _Widow H._ This was probably Mrs. Hope, wife of Thomas -Hope, the famous virtuoso and patron, who had just died--in February, -1831. Dawe was one of his less capable protégés. It was Mr. and Mrs. -Hope whom Dubost, the French painter, out of pique, caricatured as -"Beauty and the Beast." On the exhibition of the picture in public, the -incident caused some notoriety, and George Dyer's friend Jekyll was -engaged in the subsequent law-suit. - -Page 386, line 16 from foot. _His father._ Philip Dawe, mezzotint -engraver, who flourished 1760-1780, the friend of George Morland and the -pupil of that painter's father, Henry Robert Morland (1730?-1797), and -engraver of many of his pictures. George Dawe wrote George Morland's -life. - -Page 386, line 13 from foot. _Carrington and Bowles._ Properly, -Carington Bowles, of 69 St. Paul's Churchyard. The laundress washing was -probably Lamb's recollection of one of the well-known pair, "Lady's-Maid -Ironing" and "Lady's-Maid Soaping Linen," by Henry Morland, the -originals of which are in the National Gallery. I cannot identify among -the hundreds of Carington Bowles' publications in the British Museum the -picture that Lamb so much admired in the Hornsey Road. But the inn would -probably be that which is now The King's Head (or Yard of Pork), at the -corner of Crouch End Hill (a continuation of Hornsey Lane), Crouch Hill, -Coleridge Road and Broadway. The picture has gone. - -Page 387, line 14 from foot. _He proceeded Academician._ Lamb wrote to -Manning in 1810, "Mr. Dawe is made associate of the Royal Academy. By -what law of association, I can't guess." - -Page 388, line 15 from foot. _Sampson ... Dalilah._ The letters contain -an earlier account of the picture. Writing to Hazlitt in 1805 Lamb says: -"I have seen no pictures of note since, except Mr. Dawe's gallery. It is -curious to see how differently two great men treat the same subject, yet -both excellent in their way: for instance, Milton and Mr. Dawe. Mr. Dawe -has chosen to illustrate the story of Sampson exactly in the point of -view in which Milton has been most happy: the interview between the -Jewish Hero, blind and captive, and Dalilah. Milton has imagined his -Locks grown again, strong as horse-hair or porcupine's bristles; -doubtless shaggy and black, as being hairs 'which of a nation armed -contained the strength.' I don't remember, he _says_ black: but could -Milton imagine them to be yellow? Do you? Mr. Dawe with striking -originality of conception has crowned him with a thin yellow wig, in -colour precisely like Dyson's, in curl and quantity resembling Mrs. -Professor's,[73] his Limbs rather stout, about such a man as my Brother -or Rickman--but no Atlas nor Hercules, nor yet so bony as Dubois, the -Clown of Sadler's Wells. This was judicious, taking the spirit of the -story rather than the fact: for doubtless God could communicate national -salvation to the trust of flax and tow as well as hemp and cordage, and -could draw down a Temple with a golden tress as soon as with all the -cables of the British navy." - - [73] Mrs. Godwin.--ED. - -Page 390, line 11. _Half a million._ Probably nearer £100,000. Dawe, -however, lost much of this by money-lending, and died worth only -£25,000. - - * * * * * - -Page 391. THE LATIN POEMS OF VINCENT BOURNE. - -_The Englishman's Magazine_, September, 1831. - -This article was unsigned, but it is known to be by Lamb from internal -evidence and from the following letter to Moxon, the publisher of the -magazine:-- - - "DEAR M.,--I have ingeniously contrived to review myself. - - "Tell me if this will do. Mind, for such things as these--half - quotations--I do not charge _Elia_ price. Let me hear of, if not see - you. - - "PETER." - -Lamb's _Album Verses_, the book reviewed, had been published by Moxon a -year earlier. It contained nine translations from Vincent Bourne. - -Further particulars of Vincent Bourne (1695-1747), a master at -Westminster, are given in the notes to Lamb's translations in the -poetical volume. His _Poemata_ appeared in 1734, the best edition being -that of the Rev. John Mitford, Bernard Barton's friend, published in -1840. Lamb first read Bourne as late as 1815. Writing to Wordsworth in -April of that year he says of Bourne: "What a heart that man had, all -laid out upon town scenes, a proper counterpoise to _some people's_ -rural extravagances." And again in the same letter: "What a sweet, -unpretending, pretty-mannered, _matter-ful_ creature, sucking from every -flower, making a flower of every thing--his diction all Latin, and his -thoughts all English." And in the _Elia_ essay "On the Decay of Beggars" -Bourne is called "most classical, and at the same time, most English, of -the Latinists!" - -Page 391, foot. _Cowper ... out of the four._ Cowper, who was Bourne's -pupil at Westminster, translated twenty-three of the poems, but there -were only four in early editions of his works. Lamb and Cowper did not -clash in their translations, except in the case of the lines on the -sleeping infant quoted later in this essay. Cowper's version ran thus:-- - - Sweet babe, whose image here expressed, - Does thy peaceful slumbers show, - Guilt or fear, to break thy rest, - Never did thy spirit know. - - Softly slumber, soft repose, - Such as mock the painter's skill, - Such as innocence bestows, - Harmless infant, lull thee still! - -The line quoted by Lamb from Cowper is the first of "The Jackdaw." -Cowper's praise of Bourne resembles Lamb's. He writes: "I love the -memory of Vinny Bourne. I think him a better Latin poet than Tibullus, -Propertius, Ausonius, or any of the writers in _his_ way, except Ovid, -and not at all inferior to _him_." - -Page 392, line 4. _A recent writer._ Lamb himself. - -Page 395, line 19. _There is a tragic Drama._ "The Wife's Trial" (see -Vol. IV.). More properly a comic drama. - -Page 395, line 27. _But if to write in Albums be a sin._ A reference -probably to the attack on Lamb's book made a year earlier in the -_Literary Gazette_, which occasioned Southey's spirited lines to _The -Times_ in defence of his friend. - -Page 396, middle. _But the disease has gone forth._ Four years before, -in 1827, Lamb had protested to Bernard Barton against the Album -exactions:-- - -"If I go to ---- thou art there also, O all pervading Album! All over -the Leeward Islands, in Newfoundland, and the Back Settlements, I -understand there is no other reading. They haunt me. I die of -Albophobia!" - - * * * * * - -Page 397. THE DEATH OF MUNDEN. - -_The Athenæum_, February 11, 1832, under the title, "Munden, the -Comedian." Signed "C. Lamb." Not reprinted by Lamb. - -The article was preceded by this editorial note:-- - - A brief Memoir in a paper like the _Athenæum_, is due to departed - genius, and would certainly have been paid to Munden, whose fame is - so interwoven with all our early and pleasant recollections, even - though we had nothing to add to the poor detail of dates and facts - already registered in the daily papers. The memory of a player, it - has been said, is limited to one generation; he - - "--struts and frets his hour upon the stage, - And then is heard no more!" - - But this cannot be true, seeing that many whose fame will soon be - counted by centuries, yet live to delight us in Cibber; and that - others of our latter days, have been enbalmed, in all their vital - spirit, by Elia himself; in whose unrivalled volume _Cockletop_ is - preserved as in amber, and where Munden will live for aye, making - mouths at Time and Oblivion. We were thus apologizing to ourselves - for the unworthy epithet we were about to scratch on perishable - paper to this inimitable actor, when we received the following - letter, which our readers will agree with us is worth a whole - volume of bald biographies. - -This preamble was probably written by Charles Wentworth Dilke -(1789-1864), who became supreme editor of _The Athenæum_ in 1830. Joseph -Shepherd Munden died on February 6, 1832. He had first made his mark in -1780, when Lamb was five. His Covent Garden career lasted, with -occasional migrations, from 1790 to 1811. Munden's first appearance at -Drury Lane was in 1813. It was in 1815 that he created the part of Old -Dozy, in T. Dibdin's "Past Ten O'clock and a Rainy Night." His farewell -of the stage was taken in 1824. - -Page 397, line 7. _Lewis._ "Gentleman" Lewis (1748?-1811), the original -Faulkland in "The Rivals." It was he who said that Lamb's farce, "Mr. -H.," might easily have been turned into a success by a practical -dramatist. Hazlitt called him "the greatest comic mannerist perhaps that -ever lived." His full name is William Thomas Lewis. - -Page 397, line 8. _Parsons, Dodd, etc._ See note on page 465. Parsons -was at Drury Lane practically from 1762 to 1795 and Dodd from 1766 to -1796. - -Page 398, line 4. "_Johnny Gilpin._" This benefit, for William Dowton -(1764-1851), was held on April 28, 1817. The first piece was "The -Rivals," with Dowton as Mrs. Malaprop. In "Johnny Gilpin" (Genest gives -no author's name) Munden played Anthony Brittle. - -Page 398, line 6. _Liston's Lubin Log._ This was one of Listen's great -parts--in "Love, Law and Physic," by Lamb's friend, James Kenney -(1780-1849), produced in 1812. - -Page 398, at the end. _A gentleman ... whose criticism I think -masterly._ This was Talfourd, who several years before had been dramatic -critic to _The Champion_. I quote the first portion of his article: "Mr. -Munden appears to us to be the most _classical_ of actors. He is that in -high farce, which Kemble was in high tragedy. The lines of these great -artists are, it must be admitted, sufficiently distinct; but the same -elements are in both,--the same directness of purpose, the same -singleness of aim, the same concentration of power, the same iron-casing -of inflexible manner, the same statue-like precision of gesture, -movement and attitude. The hero of farce is as little affected with -impulses from without, as the retired Prince of Tragedians. There is -something solid, sterling, almost adamantine, in the building up of his -most grotesque characters. When he fixes his wonder-working face in any -of its most amazing varieties, it looks as if the picture were carved -out from a rock by Nature in a sportive vein, and might last for ever. -It is like what we can imagine a mask of the old Grecian Comedy to have -been, only that it lives, and breathes, and changes. His most -fantastical gestures are the grand ideal of farce. He seems as though he -belonged to the earliest and the stateliest age of Comedy, when instead -of superficial foibles and the airy varieties of fashion, she had the -grand asperities of man to work on, when her grotesque images had -something romantic about them, and when humour and parody were -themselves heroic." - - * * * * * - -Page 398. THOUGHTS ON PRESENTS OF GAME, &C. - -_The Athenæum_, November 30, 1833. Signed "Elia." Not reprinted by Lamb. - -The quoted passage at the head of this little essay is from Lamb's -"Popular Fallacy," XV., "That we must not look a gift-horse in the -mouth." It was probably placed there by the editor of _The Athenæum_. -The present essay may be taken as a postscript to the "Dissertation on -Roast Pig." The late Mr. Charles Kent, in his Centenary edition of Lamb, -printed it next that essay, under the heading "A Recantation." - -Page 399, line 1. _Old Mr. Chambers._ The Rev. Thomas Chambers, Vicar of -Radway-Edgehill, in Warwickshire, and father of Charles and John -Chambers, who were at Christ's Hospital, but after Lamb's day. John was -a fellow clerk of Lamb's at the India House. A letter from Lamb to -Charles Chambers is in existence (see Hazlitt's _The Lambs_, page 138), -in which Lamb makes other ecstatic remarks on delicate feeding. -Incidentally he says that bullock's heart is a substitute for hare. Mr. -Hazlitt says that the Warwickshire vicar left a diary in which he -recorded little beyond the dinners he used to give or eat. - -Page 399, line 10. _Mrs. Minikin._ Writing to his friend Dodwell in -October, 1827, concerning the gift of a little pig (which suggests that -the "Recantation" was of more recent date than the reader is asked to -suppose), Lamb uses "crips" again. "'And do it nice and _crips_.' -(That's the Cook's word.) You'll excuse me, I have been only speaking to -Becky about the dinner to-morrow." This seems to establish the fact that -Mrs. Minikin was Becky's name when she was exalted into print. Becky -however had left long before 1833. - - * * * * * - -Page 400. TABLE-TALK BY THE LATE ELIA. - -_The Athæneum_, January 4, May 31, June 7, July 19, 1834. Not reprinted -by Lamb. - -The phrase, "the late Elia," has reference to the preface to the _Last -Essays of Elia_, published in 1833, in which his death is spoken of. - -Page 400, line 3 of essay. _'Tis unpleasant to meet a beggar._ A -different note is struck in the Elia essay "On the Decay of Beggars": -"Reader, do not be frightened at the hard words, imposition, -imposture--_give, and ask no questions_." - -Page 400, line 4 from foot. _Will Dockwray._ I have not been able to -find anything about this Will Dockwray. Such Ware records as I have -consulted are silent concerning him. There was a Joseph Dockwray, a rich -Quaker maltster, at Ware in the eighteenth century. In the poem "Going -or Gone," which mentions many of Lamb's acquaintances in his early -Widford days (Widford is only three miles from Ware), there is mentioned -a Tom Dockwra, who also eludes research. - -Page 401, line 15. "_We read the 'Paradise Lost' as a task._" Johnson, -in his "Life of Milton," in the _Lives of the Poets_, says: "'Paradise -Lost' is one of the books which the reader admires and lays down, and -forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is. Its -perusal is a duty rather than a pleasure." For other remarks on Milton -see page 428. - -Page 401, foot. _So ends "King Lear."_ Lamb means that the tragedy is -virtually done. There are of course some dozen lines more, after the -last of those quoted in Lamb's piecemeal; which I have corrected by the -Globe Edition. Lear's praise of Caius--"he's a good fellow ... and will -strike"--was applied by Lamb to his father in the character sketch of -him in the Elia essay "On the Old Benchers" (see also the essay on the -"Genius of Hogarth," for earlier remarks, 1810, on this subject). - -Page 402, first quotation. "_Served not for gain...._" From the Fool's -song in "Lear," Act II., Scene 4:-- - - That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, - And follows but for form, - Will pack when it begins to rain, - And leave thee in the storm. - -Page 402, second and third quotations. "_The Nut-Brown Maid._" This poem -is given in the _Percy Reliques_. The oldest form of it is in Arnolde's -_Chronicle_, 1502. Lamb quotes from the penultimate stanza. Matthew -Prior (1664-1721), who wrote a version under the title "Henry and Emma," -was a favourite with Lamb. In Miss Isola's Extract Book he copied -Prior's "Female Phaeton." In this connection a passage from the obituary -notice of Lamb, written by Barren Field in the _Annual Biography and -Obituary_, 1836, has peculiar interest. The doctrine referred to is -"suppression in writing":-- - - We remember, at the very last supper we ate with him (Mr. Serjeant - Talfourd will recollect it too), he quoted a passage from Prior's - "Henry and Emma," in illustration of this doctrine and discipline; - and yet he said he loved Prior as much as any man, but that his - "Henry and Emma" was a vapid paraphrase of the old poem of "The - Nutbrowne Mayde." For example, at the _dénouement_ of the ballad, - Prior made Henry rant out to his devoted Emma:-- - - "In me behold the potent Edgar's heir, - Illustrious earl; him terrible in war - Let Loire confess, for she has felt his sword, - And trembling fled before the British Lord," - - and so on for a dozen couplets, heroic, as they are called. And - then Mr. Lamb made us mark the modest simplicity with which the - noble youth disclosed himself to his mistress in the old poem:-- - - "Now understand, - To Westmoreland, - _Which is my heritage_, - (in a parenthesis, as it were,) - I will you bring; - And with a ring, - By way of marriage, - I will you take - And lady make - As shortly as I can: - Thus have ye won - _An earle's son_ - And not a banish'd man." - -Page 403, line 14 from foot. _M---- sent to his friend L----._ M---- -probably stands for Basil Montagu, Lamb's friend, and the editor of the -volume in which "Confessions of a Drunkard" appeared. L---- was probably -Lamb himself. - -Page 403, line 11 from foot. _Penotier._ The friend disguised under this -name has not been identified. Nor has Parson W---- or F---- in a later -paragraph. Mr. B. B. MacGeorge tells me that he has a copy of _John -Woodvil_ inscribed in Lamb's hand to the Rev. J. Walton (or Watson). - -Page 404, line 19. _39th of Exodus._ Lamb meant 39th of Genesis--the -story of Joseph. - -Page 405, line 12. _C----._ See Allsop's _Letters and Conversations of -S. T. Coleridge_, 1836, Vol. I., page 206, or where Allsop quotes Lamb -as saying, "I made that joke first (the _Scotch_ corner in hell, _fire -without brimstone_), though Coleridge somewhat licked it into shape." - -Page 405, line 7 from foot. _Chapman's Homer._ It would have been quite -possible for Shakespeare to have read part of Chapman's Homer before he -wrote "Troilus and Cressida." That play was probably written in 1603, -and seven books of Chapman's _Iliad_ came out in 1598, and the whole -edition somewhere about 1609. Mr. Lee thinks that Shakespeare had read -Chapman. The whole of the _Odyssey_ was published in 1614. It was from -this version that Lamb prepared his _Adventures of Ulysses_, 1808. - - * * * * * - -Page 406. THE DEATH OF COLERIDGE. - -Not printed by Lamb. These reflections were copied from the album of Mr. -Keymer by John Forster, and quoted in the memorial article upon Lamb -written by him in the _New Monthly Magazine_ for February, 1835, which -he then edited. "Lamb never fairly recovered from the death of -Coleridge," said Forster. - - He thought of little else (his sister was but another portion of - himself) until his own great spirit joined his friend. He had a - habit of venting his melancholy in a sort of mirth. He would, with - nothing graver than a pun, "cleanse his bosom of the perilous stuff - that weighed" upon it. In a jest, or a few light phrases, he would - lay open the last recesses of his heart. So in respect of the death - of Coleridge. Some old friends of his saw him two or three weeks - ago, and remarked the constant turning and reference of his mind. - He interrupted himself and them almost every instant with some play - of affected wonder, or astonishment, or humorous melancholy, on the - words, "_Coleridge is dead._" Nothing could divert him from that, - for the thought of it never left him. - -It was then that Forster asked Lamb to inscribe something in Mr. -Keymer's album: the passage on Coleridge was the result. Keymer was a -London bookseller--the same to whom Bernard Barton, after Lamb's death, -sent a character sketch of Lamb (see _Bernard Barton and His Friends_, -page 113). Lamb, I might add, was much offended, as he told Mr. Fuller -Russell, by a request from _The Athenæum_, immediately after Coleridge's -death, for an article upon him. - -Coleridge died in the house of James Gillman, in the Grove, Highgate, -July 25, 1834, five months before Lamb's death. On his deathbed -Coleridge had written, in pencil, in a copy of his _Poetical Works_, -against the poem "This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison," the words: "_Ch. and -Mary Lamb--dear to my heart, yea, as it were, my heart. S. T. C. Aet. -63, 1834. 1797-1834--37 years!_" - -Coleridge's will contained this clause:-- - - And further, as a relief to my own feelings by the opportunity of - mentioning their names, that I request of my executor, that a small - plain gold mourning ring, with my hair, may be presented to the - following persons, namely: To my close friend and ever-beloved - schoolfellow, Charles Lamb--and in the deep and almost life-long - affection of which this is the slender record; his equally-beloved - sister, Mary Lamb, will know herself to be included ... - -The names of five other friends followed. - - * * * * * - -Page 407. CUPID'S REVENGE. - -This paraphrase of Beaumont and Fletcher's play of the same name is -placed here on account of the mystery of its date. Probably it belongs -to a stage in Lamb's career some years earlier. It was printed first in -_Harper's Magazine_, December, 1858, with the following prefatory -note:-- - - The autograph MS. of this unpublished Tale by Charles Lamb came - into our hands in the following manner: Thomas Allsop, Esq., who - came to this country a few months since in consequence of his - alleged complicity in the attempt made upon the life of Louis - Napoleon by Orsini, was for many years an intimate friend and - correspondent of Coleridge and Lamb. He is known as the author of - the _Recollections, etc., of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, published - nearly a quarter of a century ago. He brought with him in his - flight to America a number of manuscripts of his friends. Among - these were a volume of "Marginalia" by Coleridge; a series of notes - by Lamb, nearly a hundred in all, many of them highly - characteristic of the writer; and the tale of "Cupid's Revenge" - which appears to have remained unpublished in consequence of the - cessation of the magazine for which it was written. These MSS. have - all been placed in our hands. In an early number we propose to - publish a selection from the letters of Lamb, and the "Marginalia" - of Coleridge. - - (_Editors of Harper's Magazine._) - -A large number of the notes from Lamb to Allsop were published, as -promised, under the editorship of George William Curtis. Allsop died in -1880. - - - - -APPENDIX - - -Page 425. SCRAPS OF CRITICISM. - -_London Magazine_, December, 1822. Not signed. - -In December, 1822, the editor of the _London Magazine_ inaugurated a new -department to be called "The Miscellany"--a place of refuge for small -ingenious productions. To ask Lamb's assistance would be the most -natural thing in the world, and though no signature is attached, there -is, I think, enough internal evidence for us to consider his the -contribution to the first instalment which has the sub-title, "Scraps of -Criticism." - -The first two notes, on Gray, may be taken as companions to that in _The -Examiner_ Table-Talk (page 181), on the beard of Gray's Bard. The note -on Richard III. is of a part with Lamb's Shakespearian criticisms, and -it comes here as a kind of postscript to his examination of Cooke's -impersonation (see page 41 and note to the same). - -Page 425, second quotation. This passage describing Milton is in Gray's -_Progress of Poesy_, III., 2, and not, as Lamb inadvertently says, in -_The Bard_. - -Page 425, foot. _Salmasius._ Salmasius, Claude de Saumaise (1588-1653), -a professor at Leyden who wrote a defence of Charles I. in Latin, 1649, -to which Milton replied, 1650, also in Latin. It was while engaged in -this work that Milton lost his sight. - -Page 426, second paragraph. _Howell's Letters. Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ: -Familiar Letters, Domestic and Foreign, divided into Sundry Sections, -partly Historical, Political and Philosophical, 1645-1655._ By James -Howell (1594?-1666). It was James Russell Lowell's theory (shared by -other critics) that Lamb borrowed the name Elia from _Ho-Elianæ_. But -this was not the case. The letter referred to in line 22 is to Captain -Thomas Porter, July 10, 1623; and the fourth letter from which Lamb -quotes is to Sir James Crofts, August 21, 1623. I have restored Howell's -capitals. The italics are Lamb's. - -Page 427, at the end. _The Salutation._ Lamb was probably wrong in this -theory. According to Larwood and Hotten's _History of Signboards_, 1867, -the sign originally represented an angel saluting the Virgin Mary. In -the time of the Commonwealth this was changed to a soldier saluting a -civilian; and later it became the salutation of two citizens: the form -of the old sign of the Salutation in Newgate Street, where Coleridge -lived a while, and where Lamb and he talked into the night over egg-hot. -Ben Jonson's Salutation, referred to in "Bartholomew Fair," was in -Billingsgate. Salutation and Cat was a blend of two signs. - - * * * * * - -Page 427. THE CHOICE OF A GRAVE. _London Magazine_, January, 1823. Not -signed. - -There is a passage in the _Elia_ essay on "Distant Correspondents," -concerning Lord Camelford's fantastic instructions concerning the burial -of his body, which bears upon this same subject. - - -Page 428. WILKS. _London Magazine_, January, 1823. Not signed. - -John Wilkes (1727-1797) of _The North Briton_. Barry Cornwall writes in -his Memoir of Lamb: "I remember that, at one of the monthly magazine -dinners, when John Wilkes was too roughly handled, Lamb quoted the story -(not generally known) of his replying, when the blackbirds were reported -to have stolen all his cherries, 'Poor birds, they are welcome.' He said -that those impulsive words showed the inner nature of the man more truly -that all his political speeches." - - -Page 428. MILTON. _London Magazine_, February, 1823. Not signed. - -Page 428, foot. _Mr. Todd._ Henry John Todd (1763-1845), whose edition -of Milton in six volumes, for long the standard, was first published in -1801. The lines in question are crossed out in the original manuscript -of _Comus_, now preserved at Trinity College, Cambridge, and are not -printed in ordinary editions of Milton. Todd was the first to print -them, in his edition of _Comus_, 1798. - - -Page 429. A CHECK TO HUMAN PRIDE. _London Magazine_, February, 1823. Not -signed. - - * * * * * - -Page 429. REVIEW OF DIBDIN'S "COMIC TALES." - -_The New Times_, January 27, 1825. - -I have no doubt that Lamb wrote this review, both from internal evidence -and from what we know, through the medium of his _Letters_, of his -feelings towards the book and its author; and it has been retained in -the appendix instead of taking its place in the text proper through an -oversight. In a letter to John Bates Dibdin, the author's son, dated -January 11, 1825, Lamb writes: - -"Pray return my best thanks to your father for his little volume. It is -like all of his I have seen, spirited, good humoured, and redolent of -the wit and humour of a century ago. He should have lived with Gay and -his set. The Chessiad is so clever that I relish'd it in spite of my -total ignorance of the game. I have it not before me, but I remember a -capital simile of the Charwoman letting in her Watchman husband, which -is better than Butler's Lobster turned to Red. Hazard is a grand -Character Jove in his Chair." - -Butler's simile, in _Hudibras_, runs:-- - - The sun had long since in the lap - Of Thetis taken out his nap, - And, like a lobster boiled, the morn - From black to red began to turn. - -Charles Dibdin the younger (1768-1853) was the author of a number of -plays and songs and also of a _History of the London Theatres_, 1826. -The full title of the _Comic Tales_ was _Comic Tales and Lyrical -Fancies; including The Chessiad, a mock-heroic, in five cantos; and The -Wreath of Love, in four cantos_, 1825. - -The adaptation from Milton in the first sentence is very Elian. See -_Paradise Lost_, VII., 21-23. - - Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound - Within the visible diurnal spheare, - Standing on earth, not rapt above the Pole. - -Page 430, line 13. _Hoyle ... Phillidor._ Meaning more at home in whist -than in chess. From Edmond Hoyle (1672-1769), author of _A Short -Treatise on the Game of Whist_, 1742, and François André Philidor -(1726-1795), the composer and an authority upon chess. Lamb was, of -course, a great whist player. - -Page 430, line 16. _Swift and Gay._ Swift wrote a short but admirably -observant city poem, "A Description of the Morning." Gay's _Trivia; or, -the Art of Walking the Streets of London_, would be the work in Lamb's -mind. - - * * * * * - -Page 430. DOG DAYS. - -_Every-Day Book_, July 14, 1825. - -This humane letter is considered by Mr. J. A. Rutter, a profound student -of Lamb, to be probably Lamb's work, a protest against Hone's remark in -the _Every-Day Book_ that dogs would have to be exterminated. There -certainly is no difficulty in conceiving it to be from Lamb's pen, -although there is no overwhelming internal evidence. Writing to Hone on -July 25, 1825, Lamb offers further hints as to the "Dog Days" for the -_Every-Day Book_. - -Lamb's interest in dogs became more personal after Hood gave him Dash -for a companion. In the letter to P. G. Patmore, dated from Enfield, -September, 1827, he speaks of mad dogs:-- - -"All the dogs here are going mad, if you believe the overseers; but I -protest they seem to me very rational and collected. But nothing is so -deceitful as mad people, to those who are not used to them. Try him -[Dash] with hot water: if he won't lick it up it is a sign he does not -like it. Does his tail wag horizontally, or perpendicularly? That has -decided the fate of many dogs in Enfield. Is his general deportment -cheerful? I mean when he is pleased--for otherwise there is no judging. -You can't be too careful. Has he bit any of the children yet? If he has, -have them shot, and keep _him_ for curiosity, to see if it was the -hydrophobia. They say all our army in India had it at one time; but that -was in Hyder-Ally's time." - - * * * * * - -Page 431. HOOD'S "PROGRESS OF CANT." - -There can be, I think, very little doubt that Lamb was the author of -this criticism of Hood's picture "The Progress of Cant" in the _New -Monthly Magazine_ for February, 1826. Lamb, we know, praised the detail -of the Beadle, reproduced in Hone's _Every-Day Book_, under the title -"An Appearance of the Season" (see page 360). - - * * * * * - -Page 432. MR. EPHRAIM WAGSTAFF. - -In _The Table Book_, 1827, beginning on column 185, Vol. II., is this -humorous story which there is some reason to believe is by Lamb. The -late Mr. Dykes Campbell had no doubt whatever, the proof residing not -only in internal evidence but in the rhymed story of "Dick Strype," -which we may safely assume Lamb to have written. The subject of the two -stories, prose and verse, is the same, and the style of Ephraim Wagstaff -is not unlike that of Juke Judkins. "Dick Strype" is printed in Vol. IV. -of this edition. - - * * * * * - -Page 435. REVIEW OF MOXON'S SONNETS. - -_The Athenæum_, April 13, 1833. Not signed. - -Edward Moxon (1801-1858), the publisher, and Lamb's protégé and adopted -son-in-law, was himself a poet in a modest way. His first book, _The -Prospect_, 1826, he dedicated to Samuel Rogers, another patron; -_Christmas_ followed in 1829, dedicated to Lamb; and in 1830 his first -collection of Sonnets was issued. In the second series, 1835, are some -touching lines on Lamb. - -I have no proof that _The Athenæum_ review is by Lamb, but I believe it -to be so. Attention was first drawn to it by Mr. J. A. Rutter in _Notes -and Queries_, December 22, 1900, who remarked upon the phrase "integrity -above his avocation" as being perhaps the only instance that exists of -unconscious humour on the part of Charles Lamb. - -Page 435, line 12. _Humphrey Mosely._ Humphrey Moseley (d. 1661), the -bookseller of St. Paul's Churchyard and publisher of the first collected -edition of Milton, 1645, and also of Waller, Crashaw, Donne, Vaughan. He -prefixed to the Milton the words: "It is the love I have to our own -language that hath made me diligent to collect and set forth such -pieces, both in prose and verse, as may renew the wonted honour and -esteem of our English tongue." - -Page 435, line 20. _What we hope E. M. will be in his._ Moxon nobly -fulfilled the wish. He published Tennyson's first book in 1833 and all -that followed during his lifetime; he became Wordsworth's publisher in -1835; he published Browning's _Sordello_ and _Bells and Pomegranates_; -and he commissioned fine editions of the old dramatists. - - - - -INDEX - - - A - - Abbey, Westminster, the charge for admittance, 276, 508. - - ACTING, THE NEW, 176, 465. - - ACTORS, THE RELIGION OF, 337, 521. - -- contrasted with dramatists, 113. - - Actresses, their scarcity in 1813, 177. - - Advertisements for apprehending offenders, 74. - - "Alaham," by Lord Brooke, 58. - - _Album Verses_, Lamb's review of, 391, 544. - - "Alchemist, The," by Ben Jonson, 60, 306. - - Allan Clare. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - "All's Well that Ends Well," by Shakespeare, 62. - - Allsop, Thomas, 269, 504, 550. - - AMERICAN WAR FOR HELEN, AN, 182, 468. - - _Anatomy of Melancholy, The_, 35, 440. - - Anaxarchus, the death of, 530. - - André, Major John, 277, 508. - - Anstey on nobility, 340. - - "Antonio and Mellida," by Marston, 51. - - Apparel, Lamb on distinctions in, 52. - - APPEARANCE OF THE SEASON, AN, 360, 531. - - APPETITE, EDAX ON, 138, 454. - - _Arcadia, The_, by Sir Philip Sidney, 62. - - "Artaxerxes," by Arne, Lamb's first play, 186, 469. - - Articles conjecturally attributed to Lamb, 425, 427, 429, 430, 431, - 432, 435, 443. - - "Artificial Comedy," Lamb's essay supplemented, 513. - - Ashmole, Elias, on nobility, 340. - - ASS, THE, 356, 529. - - _Athenæum, The_, Lamb's contributions to, 397, 398, 400, 435. - - Audiences in Lamb's time, 57, 185. - - August 12th, its petition, 354, 528. - - Authorship, its mortifications, 322. - - AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, AN, 375, 535. - - AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MR. MUNDEN, 314, 515. - - Ayrton, William, 270, 505. - - - B - - Bacon, Lord, on the care of turf, 365. - - Barbers, their loquacity, 202, 474. - - _Bard, The_, by Thomas Gray, 181, 468. - - "Barnwell, George," by Lillo, 118. - - BARRON FIELD'S POEMS, 232, 493. - - Barry, James, on Hogarth, 92. - - Baskett Prayer Book, a plate from, 282. - - Beadle, Lamb on the, 360, 531. - - Beaumont, Francis, 62. - -- and Fletcher, paraphrased by Lamb, 407. - - _Bees, The Fable of the_, 141, 455. - - "Belles without Beaux," by Peake, 222, 490. - - Bethams, the length and tediousness of them, 318, 516. - - Bickerstaff, Isaac, his "Hypocrite," 221, 489. - - Bills of Mortality, 531. - - BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OF MR. LISTON, 292, 512. - - Bird, Mr. William, the Lambs' schoolmaster, 351. - - Blackett, The Widow, "The Gentle Giantess," 248, 497. - - Blakesware and Lamb, 28, 439, 440. - - Blind man at the play, a, 184. - - BOOKS WITH ONE IDEA IN THEM, 178, 466. - - Bourne, Vincent, Lamb's praise of, 391, 544. - - Bowles, Carrington, 386, 543. - - Boyer, James, his joke, 530. - - Braham, his renunciation of Judaism, 338, 522. - - Brandon, Charles, his motto, 201, 475. - - _British Lady's Magazine_, Mary Lamb contributes to, 204. - - "Broken Heart, The," by Ford, 57. - - Brome, Richard, his "Jovial Crew," 219, 486. - - Brooke, Lord (Fulke Greville), 58. - - Browne, Sir Thomas, 200, 476. - - Bunyan, unjust neglect of his secondary works, 381. - - Burial societies, Lamb's essay on, 107. - - Burnet's _History of His Own Times_ quoted, 450. - - Burney, Admiral, his card boys, 270, 505. - -- Martin, Lamb's sonnet to, 437. - -- -- the Lambs' affection for, 437. - - Burns, Robert, quoted, 22. - - Burrell, Miss Lamb's article upon, 215, 484. - - Burton, Robert, and Lamb, 35, 204, 440. - - "Bussy d'Ambois," by Chapman, 61. - - "Byron's Conspiracy," by Chapman, 61. - - "Byron's Tragedy," by Chapman, 61. - - - C - - "Cabbage," a slang term applied to tailors, 476. - - Campbell, J. Dykes, quoted, 471. - - Capital punishment, Lamb on, 527. - - CAPTAIN STARKEY, 351, 528. - - Carlyle, Thomas, and Lamb, 509. - - Cary, Henry Francis, Lamb's friend, 269, 504. - - "Case is Altered, The," by Ben Jonson, 59. - - "Cato," as performed by Mary Lamb's schoolfellows, 353. - - Chambers family, Lamb's friends, 547. - - _Champion, The_, Lamb's contribution to, 200, 473. - - Chapman, George, 61. - - CHARACTER, A, 327, 517. - - CHARACTERS OF DRAMATIC WRITERS CONTEMPORARY WITH - SHAKESPEARE, 48, 445. - - Charles II. and the Exchequer, 332, 519. - - Charnwood, its sombre influence on Liston, 295. - - Charron, Pierre, his _De la Sagesse_, quoted, 178, 466. - - "Chessiad, The," by Dibdin, 429, 552. - - Chimney-sweep, the, in the fields, 179, 467. - - CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, RECOLLECTIONS OF, 162, 460. - -- -- its purpose, 162. - -- -- scandals, 461. - -- -- carols, 463. - - Civilisation in New South Wales, 233. - - Clare, Allan. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - -- Elinor. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - CLARENCE SONGS, 383, 539. - - Clarkson, Thomas, Lamb's friend, 270, 505. - - CLERK, THE GOOD, 148, 455. - - COLERIDGE, THE DEATH OF, 406, 549. - - Coleridge, S. T., on Hogarth, 91. - -- -- Lamb's friend, 269, 504. - -- -- and Leigh Hunt, 273. - - Coleridge, S. T., on men of genius, 486. - -- -- on _Odes and Addresses_, 519. - -- -- on George Dawe, 541. - -- -- his bequest to Lamb, 550. - - Collier, Jeremy, on music, 183. - -- -- on Shakespeare, 183, 468. - -- -- on anti-music, 358. - -- John Payne, his _Poetical Decameron_, 356, 529. - -- -- -- his _Old Man's Diary_ quoted, 441. - - Collins, William, his _Oriental Eclogues_, 258. - - Colman, George, licenser of plays, 521. - - Colnett, Isaac, his epitaph in Waltham Abbey churchyard, 526. - - Comedians, Lamb's favourite, 176, 465. - - _Comic Tales_ by Dibdin, reviewed, 429. - - _Complete English Tradesman, The_, by Defoe, 150, 455. - - _Comus_, Lamb on a suppressed passage in, 428. - - CONFESSIONS OF A DRUNKARD, 154, 456. - -- -- H. F. V. H. DELAMORE, ESQ., 246, 496. - - COOKE, G. F., IN "RICHARD III.," 41, 442. - -- -- as Lear, 443. - - "Cooper's Hill," by Denham, 258. - - Cornwall, Barry (B. W. Procter), his _Rosamund Gray_, 440. - - Correggio, his "Vice," 159. - - Cowper, William, his "John Gilpin," continued by Lamb, 368, 533. - -- -- on squirrels, 359, 531. - -- -- on Vincent Bourne, 544. - - Cruelty to animals, 356. - -- -- donkeys, 530. - - Cuckoldry, a fantasy upon, 299. - - Cunningham, Allan, 269, 504. - - CUPID'S REVENGE, 407, 550. - - Curiosity, a study of, 324, 326. - - CURIOUS FRAGMENTS FROM BURTON, 35, 440. - - - D - - Damned authors, a club of, 451. - - Daniel, Samuel, his "Hymen's Triumph" quoted, 9. - -- -- on nobility, 341. - - Davenant, William, his improved "Macbeth," 377, 536. - - Da Vinci, Leonardo, his portrait of Francis, 175. - - Dawe, George, Lamb's recollections of, 385, 540. - -- -- his life, 541. - -- -- and the negro, 542. - - DEFEAT OF TIME, THE, 369, 534. - - DE FOE'S SECONDARY NOVELS, 381, 537. - - De Foe, Daniel, his _Complete English Tradesman_, 150. - -- -- Lamb's letter upon, 538. - - Deformity, Moral and Personal, essay on, 74, 448. - -- not a sign of nobility, 340. - - DEFUNCT, THE ILLUSTRIOUS, 304, 514. - - Dekker, Thomas, 50, 55, 64. - - DELAMORE, H. F. V. H., CONFESSIONS OF, 246, 496. - - Denham, John, his "Cooper's Hill," 258. - - Dennis, John, and Pope, 203, 476. - -- -- his character by Aaron Hill, 261. - - De Quincey parodied by Lamb, 251, 497. - - "Deserted Village, The," by Goldsmith, 259. - - Devils, Leigh Hunt upon, 495. - - Dibdin, Charles, jr., reviewed by Lamb, 429, 552. - - Dilke, C. W., on Lamb as critic, 545. - - "Distressed Poet," by Hogarth, 96. - - "Doctor Faustus," by Marlowe, 49. - - DOG DAYS, 430, 553. - - "Don Giovanni in London," 215. - - DRAMATIC CRITICISMS, FIVE, 215, 484. - - Drayton, Michael, 53. - - Drink, its dangers, 154. - - DRUNKARD, A, CONFESSIONS OF, 154, 456. - - DRYDEN AND COLLIER, 183, 468. - - "Duchess of Malfi, The," by Webster, 56. - - DUNSTAN, SIR JEFFREY, REMINISCENCE OF, 366, 532. - - Dyer, George, quoted from, 174. - -- -- Lamb's friend, 270, 505. - -- John, his "Ruins of Rome," 257. - - - E - - EARLY JOURNALISM, 41, 442. - - EDAX ON APPETITE, 138, 454. - - "Edmonton, The Merry Devil of," 52. - - Education, suitable for an old gentleman, 251. - - "Edward II.," by Marlowe, 49. - - Egotism, a study of, 327. - - "Election Entertainment," by Hogarth, 98. - - "Elegy on a Country Churchyard," by Gray, 259. - - ELIA, HIS LETTER TO SOUTHEY, 265, 498. - -- -- essay on "New Year's Eve," 266. - -- -- -- "Saying Grace," 266. - - Elinor Clare. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - Eliott, General (Lord Heathfield), his famous troop, 201, 475. - - "English Traveller," by Heywood, 53. - - _Englishman's Magazine_, Lamb's contributions to, 385, 391. - - Erasmus and Sir Thomas More, 240. - - "Eve of St. Agnes, The," by Keats, 235, 494. - - _Examiner, The_, Lamb's contributions to, 174, 176, 178, 179, 180, - 181, 182, 183, 184, 215, 219, 221, 222, 225, 229, 232. - - "EXCURSION, THE," LAMB'S REVIEW OF, 187, 469. - - - F - - _Fable of the Bees, The_, by Mandeville, 141, 455. - - "Fair Quarrel, A," by Middleton and Rowley, 53. - - Fairies, Lamb's prose poem, 369. - - "Faithful Shepherdess," by Fletcher, 64. - - FALLACY, A POPULAR, 340, 523. - - FALSTAFF'S LETTERS, 225, 491. - - Fauntleroy, Henry, the forger, 333, 519. - - "Faustus, Doctor," by Marlowe, 49. - - FAUX, GUY, 278, 509. - -- -- Hazlitt upon, 278, 509. - -- -- Jeremy Taylor upon, 279. - - February 29th, the plea of, 349, 527. - - _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, Lamb's contribution to, 217. - - FIELD, BARRON, HIS POEMS, 232, 493. - - Fielding and Hogarth, 97, 101. - - Fire places, how to decorate, in summer, 364. - - _First-Fruits of Australian Poetry_, 232, 493. - - FIVE DRAMATIC CRITICISMS, 215, 484. - - Fletcher, John, 62, 63. - - Foote, Marie, and Col. Berkeley, 521. - - Foppington, Lord, on books, 367, 533. - - Ford, John, 55, 57. - - Forster, John, on Lamb, 444, 549. - - "Fortunatus, Old," by Dekker, 50. - - "Four Groups of Heads," by Hogarth, 100. - - FOUR REVIEWS, 225, 491. - - Friends who invade the home, 317, 516. - - Fuller, John, M.P., 511. - - FULLER, SPECIMENS FROM THE WRITINGS OF, 130, 453. - - Fulton, Alexander, his epigrams, 182, 468. - - - G - - GAME, THOUGHTS ON PRESENTS OF, 398, 546. - - Garrat election, the, 366, 532. - - Garrick, David, lines on his tomb, 113, 452. - -- -- and Dr. Johnson, 309. - - _Gem, The_, Lamb's contribution to, 379. - - GENTLE GIANTESS, THE, 248, 497. - - GENTLEMAN, LETTER TO AN OLD, 251, 497. - - _Gentleman's Magazine_, Lamb's contributions to, 153, 162. - - "George Barnwell," by Lillo, 118, 452. - - George IV., his true and State birthdays, 354, 528. - - GIANTESS, THE GENTLE, 248, 497. - - Gibbs, Sir Vicary, 511. - - Gifford, William, his treatment of Lamb, 470, 471. - - Gilman, James, 269, 504. - - GILPIN, MRS., RIDING TO EDMONTON, 368, 533. - - "Gin Lane," by Hogarth, 85. - - Gluttony analysed, 138, 145. - - Godwin, Mrs., as Mrs. Pry, 517. - -- William, jr., an unwelcome guest, 515. - - Goldsmith, Oliver, "The Deserted Village," 259. - - GOOD CLERK, THE, A CHARACTER, 148, 455. - - Goodenough, Rev. Mr., his awful death, 294. - - GOULD, MRS. (MISS BURRELL) IN "DON GIOVANNI IN LONDON," 215, 484. - - "Governor," Lamb's objection to the word, 475. - - GRAND STATE BED, 44, 444. - - GRAVE, THE CHOICE OF A, 427, 552. - - GRAY, ROSAMUND, 1, 438. - -- -- First Edition, 438. - - GRAY'S "BARD," 181, 468. - - Gray, Thomas, Lamb's criticisms upon, 181, 259, 425, 551. - -- -- "The Elegy," 259. - - Gresham, Sir Thomas, legend of, 535. - - Greville, Fulke (Lord Brooke), 58. - - Grimaldi, Joseph, Hood's ode to, 335. - -- -- his religious symbolism, 339. - - Gunpowder Treason. _See_ GUY FAUX. - - Gutch, John Matthew, and Miss Kelly, 217, 485. - -- -- -- and Wither, 477. - - GUY FAUX, 278, 509. - -- -- and Carlyle, 509. - - - H - - Hamlet, the character of, 116. - - HANGED, ON THE INCONVENIENCES RESULTING FROM BEING, 65, 445. - - Hares, their merits in life and death, 399. - - "Harlot's Progress, The," by Hogarth, 84. - - _Harper's Magazine_, Lamb's contribution to, 407. - - Hay, William, on deformity, 341, 523. - - Hazlitt, William, Lamb's friend, 274, 507. - -- -- on Guy Faux, 278, 509. - -- -- on Hogarth and Lamb, 448. - -- -- on "Mr. H.," 450. - -- -- and the Burneys, 505. - -- -- on Lamb's letter to Southey, 505. - - Heathfield, Lord, his famous troop, 201, 475. - - Helen of Troy and America, 182, 468. - - Heywood, Thomas, 53. - - Hill, Aaron, his character of Dennis, 261. - -- Thomas, the original of "Tom Pry," 516. - - Hissing at theatres, essay on, 101, 449. - - _Histriomastix_, a mock forerunner of, 292. - - HOOD'S "PROGRESS OF CANT," 431, 554. - - HOGARTH, THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF, 81, 448. - -- and Reynolds compared, 88. - - Hogarth analogous to Smollett and Fielding, 97, 100, 101. - - Holcroft, Thomas, Lamb's friend, 272, 506. - - Hone's _Every-Day Book_ and _Table Book_, Lamb's contributions to, - 349, 351, 354, 356, 359, 360, 361, 366, 368, 369, 430, 526, 554. - - Hone, William, his career, 523. - -- -- his eulogies of Lamb, 525. - -- -- -- dedication to Lamb, 525. - -- -- Lamb's letters to, 526, 533. - - "Honest Whore, The," by Dekker, 51, 89. - - Hood, Thomas, his _Odes and Addresses_, 335, 519. - -- -- his drawing of Mary Lamb, 368, 533. - -- -- -- "Plea of the Midsummer Fairies," paraphrased, 369. - -- -- on Lamb's religion, 515. - -- -- and Coleridge, 520. - -- -- his dedication to Lamb, 534. - - HORNS, A VISION OF, 299, 513. - - HOSPITA ON THE IMMODERATE INDULGENCE OF THE PLEASURES OF THE PALATE, - 145, 454. - - HOWELL'S "LETTERS," 426, 551. - - Hunt, Leigh, Lamb's friend, 272, 445, 506. - -- -- his poem to his son, 274, 507. - -- -- on Lamb's _Table Talk_, 466. - -- -- -- Lamb as dramatic critic, 490. - -- -- -- -- and Keats, 495. - -- -- -- devils, 495. - -- Thornton, his training, 272, 502. - -- -- Leigh Hunt's poem to, 274, 507. - -- -- Lamb's poem to, 506. - - Hutchinson, Mr. Thomas, quoted, 441, 456. - - "Hymen's Triumph," quoted, 9. - - "Hypocrite, The," by Bickerstaff, 221. - - - I - - ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT, THE, 304, 514. - - _Indicator, The_, Lamb's contribution to, 239. - - "Industry and Idleness," by Hogarth, 96. - - IN RE SQUIRRELS, 359, 530. - - "Isabella and the Pot of Basil," by Keats, 235. - - - J - - Jew, Lamb on the modern, 49. - - Jews, their Christianity, 338. - - Johnson, Dr., and David Garrick, 309. - - Jonson, Ben, 59. - -- -- quoted from, 306. - - Jordan, Mrs., compared with Miss Kelly, 217. - - JOURNALISM, EARLY, 41, 442. - - "JOVIAL CREW," RICHARD BROME'S, 219, 486. - - JUDKINS, JUKE, REMINISCENCES OF, 342, 523. - - - K - - "Kangaroo, The," by Field, 234. - - KEATS' "LAMIA," 235, 494. - - Keats, John, and Lamb, 495. - - KELLY, MISS, AT BATH, 217, 485. - -- -- Lamb's praises of, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 484, 485. - -- -- compared with Mrs. Jordan, 217. - -- -- in various parts, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223. - -- -- Lamb proposes marriage to, 487, 488. - -- -- her reply to Lamb, 488. - -- -- Lamb's reply to, 489. - - Kemble, J. P., in Macbeth, 124. - - Kenneys, Lamb's letter to, 517. - - Ketch, Jack, his origin, 447. - - - L - - "Lælius," his reply to Lamb, 511. - - Lamb, Charles, his story of "Rosamund Gray," 1, 438. - - Lamb, Charles, his imitations of Burton, 35, 440. - -- -- on Cooke's acting, 41, 442. - -- -- on Richard III., 41, 122, 426, 442. - -- -- on the joys of London, 46, 180, 444, 467. - -- -- on Shakespeare's contemporaries, 48, 445. - -- -- on modern Jews, 49. - -- -- on love's sectaries, 50. - -- -- on distinctions in apparel, 52. - -- -- on the humours of hanging, 65, 445. - -- -- on moral and personal deformity, 74, 448. - -- -- on proper names, 80, 448. - -- -- on the genius of Hogarth, 81, 448. - -- -- on Mr. Barry, R.A., 92. - -- -- on hissing in theatres, 101, 449. - -- -- on burial societies, 107, 451. - -- -- on the character of an undertaker, 110. - -- -- on the tragedies of Shakespeare, 112, 451. - -- -- on Garrick's tomb, 112. - -- -- on the character of Hamlet, 116. - -- -- on Macbeth, 123, 126. - -- -- on King Lear, 124, 376, 401. - -- -- on stage accessories, 127. - -- -- on Thomas Fuller, 130, 453. - -- -- on inordinate appetite, 138, 454. - -- -- on the good clerk, 148, 455. - -- -- on Defoe's _Complete Tradesman_, 150. - -- -- on the character of Robert Lloyd, 153, 455. - -- -- on a drunkard's fate, 154, 456. - -- -- on Christ's Hospital, 162, 460. - -- -- on Reynolds and Da Vinci, 174, 464. - -- -- on acting in 1813, 176, 465. - -- -- on books with one idea in them, 178, 466. - -- -- his recollections of a chimney-sweeper, 179, 467. - -- -- on street conversation, 179, 467. - -- -- on a town residence, 180, 467. - -- -- on Gray's poems, 181, 425, 468, 551. - -- -- on Fulton's epigrams, 182, 468. - -- -- on Dryden and Collier, 183, 468. - -- -- on his first play, 184, 468. - -- -- on theatre audiences, 184. - -- -- on Wordsworth's _Excursion_, 187, 469. - -- -- on the character of tailors, 200, 473. - -- -- on the loquacity of barbers, 202, 474. - -- -- on Wither's poetry, 210, 477. - -- -- on long lines in poetry, 214. - -- -- on Miss Burrell's acting, 215, 484. - -- -- on Mrs. Jordan and Miss Kelly, 217, 485. - -- -- in praise of Miss Kelly, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 485. - -- -- on Brome's "Jovial Crew," 219, 486. - -- -- on Bickerstaff's "Hypocrite," 221, 487. - -- -- on the acting of Dowton, 221. - -- -- on the acting of Pearman, 222. - -- -- on Wilkinson in "A Walk for a Wager," 224. - -- -- on _Falstaff's Letters_, 225, 491. - -- -- on Charles Lloyd's "Nugæ Canoræ," 229, 493. - -- -- on Barron Field's poems, 232, 493. - -- -- on Australia, 232. - -- -- on John Keats, 235, 494. - -- -- on Sir Thomas More, 239, 495. - -- -- on being put in the stocks, 246, 496. - -- -- on a Cambridge giantess, 248, 497. - -- -- on the education of an old gentleman, 251, 497. - -- -- and De Quincey, 251, 497. - -- -- on Scott of Amwell's criticisms, 257, 498. - -- -- on the character of Ritson, 258. - -- -- on Southey's intolerance, 265, 498. - -- -- on personal religion, 266. - -- -- on his friends, 269, 503. - -- -- on the charges at Westminster Abbey, 275, 508. - -- -- on the Gunpowder Treason, 279, 509. - -- -- on Sycorax in "The Tempest," 286, 511. - -- -- his invented life of Liston, 292, 512. - -- -- on cuckoldry, 299, 513. - -- -- on lotteries, 304, 514. - -- -- is taken to the Guildhall to see the lottery drawn, 305. - -- -- on the marriage of Nonconformists, 310, 514. - -- -- his invented autobiography of Munden, 314, 515. - -- -- his essay signed "Lepus," 317, 515. - -- -- on thoughtless visitors, 317, 516. - -- -- on spurious book lovers, 320. - -- -- on the mortifications of authorship, 322. - -- -- and the last peach, 333, 519. - -- -- on the temptation to pilfer, 333. - -- -- on _Odes and Addresses_, 335, 519. - -- -- on punning, 335, 520. - -- -- on the religion of actors, 337, 521. - -- -- on the conversion of a Jew, 338. - -- -- on deformity and nobility, 340. - -- -- on a stingy man, 342. - -- -- on February 29, 349. - -- -- on his earliest school-days, 351. - -- -- on George IV.'s birthday, 354, 528. - -- -- on the character of the ass, 356, 529. - -- -- on cruelty to animals, 356, 530. - -- -- on squirrels, 359, 530. - -- -- on beadles, 360, 531. - -- -- and the bookseller, 361. - -- -- on the _Queenlike Closet_, 361, 532. - -- -- on Sir Jeffrey Dunstan, 366, 532. - -- -- his continuation of "John Gilpin," 368, 533. - -- -- on Enfield stiles, 369, 533. - -- -- his paraphrase of Hood, 369. 534. - -- -- his autobiography, 375, 535. - -- -- on Shakespeare's "improvers," 376, 535. - -- -- on cleanliness and godliness, 379. - -- -- on the tender mercies of grandmothers, 380, 537. - -- -- on Defoe, 381, 537. - -- -- on Clarence songs, 383, 539. - -- -- on George Dawe, 385, 540. - -- -- on Vincent Bourne, 391, 544. - -- -- on his own _Album Verses_, 395, 544. - -- -- on the death of Munden, 397, 545. - -- -- on presents of game, 398, 546. - -- -- on beggars, 400, 547. - -- -- on marriage, 400. - -- -- on beautiful wives, 400. - -- -- on elopements, 400. - -- -- his story on Will Dockwray, 401. - -- -- on Milton, 401, 428. - -- -- on parenthesis, 402, 548. - -- -- on advice, 403. - -- -- on laxity in words, 404. - -- -- on absurd images, 405. - -- -- on Shakespeare's character, 405. - -- -- on sauces, 406. - -- -- on the death of Coleridge, 406, 549. - -- -- on the choice of a grave, 427, 552. - -- -- on a passage in _Comus_, 428. - -- -- on John Wilkes, 428, 552. - -- -- on pride, 429. - -- -- on Dibdin's _Comic Tales_, 429, 552. - -- -- on mad dogs, 430, 553. - -- -- on Moxon's _Sonnets_, 435, 554. - -- -- his _Works_, 437. - -- -- his sonnet to Martin Burney, 437. - -- -- and the _Morning Post_, 440. - -- -- on Shakespeare and Burton, 441. - -- -- and his sister in London late in life, 444. - -- -- his hallucination, 453. - -- -- on Donne and Cowley, 454. - -- -- and stimulants, 456. - -- -- on his "Confessions of a Drunkard," 456. - -- -- his signatures in _The Examiner_, 464. - -- -- and the chimney-sweeper, 467. - -- -- letter to Wordsworth, 470. - -- -- letter to John Scott, 473. - -- -- on Dr. Nott, 478. - -- -- proposes marriage to Miss Kelly, 487, 488. - -- -- refused by Miss Kelly, 488. - -- -- his reply to Miss Kelly, 489. - -- -- his private letters to Southey, 501. - -- -- as Captain and Mr. Lion, 524. - -- -- his letter to Hone on Colnett's epitaph, 526. - -- -- on reticence in writing, 548. - -- -- articles conjecturally attributed to him, 425, 427, 429, 430, - 431, 432, 435, 443, 484, 492, 544. - -- Mary, on needlework, 204, 477. - -- -- on the duty of wives, 208. - -- -- her reminiscences of school days, 353. - - "Lamia," by Keats, reviewed by Lamb, 235, 494. - - LAST PEACH, THE, 333, 519. - - LATIN POEMS OF VINCENT BOURNE, 391, 544. - - "Lear, King," unsuitable for the stage, 124. - -- -- improved by Tate, 376, 535. - -- -- the final scene, 401, 548. - - "LEPUS," PAPERS, THE, 317, 319, 322, 324, 326, 327, 515. - - Leslie, C. R., on Lamb, 459. - -- Maria. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - LETTER OF ELIA TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, 265, 498. - - LETTER TO AN OLD GENTLEMAN WHOSE EDUCATION HAS BEEN NEGLECTED, 251, 497. - - Lewis, "Gentleman," and "Mr. H.," 545. - - Lillo's "George Barnwell," 118. - - Lion, Mr., his joke, 524. - - LISTON, MR., BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR, 292, 512. - -- John, as Lord Grizzel, 177. - -- -- his real life, 512. - - _Literary Gazette_ and Lamb, 502. - - Livingstone, L. S., and Wither, 481, 482. - - LLOYD, CHARLES, HIS "NUGÆ CANORÆ," 229, 493. - -- -- on Lamb, 493. - - -- ROBERT, MEMOIR OF, 153, 455. - -- -- Lamb's letter to, 442. - - London home, Lamb's choice of a, 180. - - _London Magazine_, Lamb's contributions to, 246, 248, 251, 257, 265, - 278, 285, 288, 292, 299, 310, 314, 329, 333, 425, 427, 457. - - LONDONER, THE, 46, 444. - - Lotteries, a lament for, 304. - - "Lust's Dominion," by Marlowe, 48. - - - M - - "Macbeth" and the witches, 55. - -- his murder of Duncan, 123. - -- unsuitable for the stage, 126. - -- improved by Davenant, 377, 536. - - "Maid's Tragedy, The," by Beaumont and Fletcher, 62. - - Mandeville, Bernard, his _Fable of the Bees_, 141, 454, 455. - - MANY FRIENDS, 317, 516. - - "March to Finchley," by Hogarth, 92. - - Margaret, Old. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - Maria Leslie. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - Marlowe, Christopher, 48. - - "Marriage à la Mode," by Hogarth, 95. - -- law for Nonconformists, 310. - - Marston, John, 51. - - Massinger, Philip, 64. - - Matravis. _See_ ROSAMUND GRAY. - - Meanness personified in Juke Judkins, 342. - - "Measure for Measure," by Shakespeare, 72, 446. - - _Melancholy, Anatomy of_, 35, 440. - - MEMOIR OF ROBERT LLOYD, 153, 455. - - "Merry Devil of Edmonton, The," 52. - - Middleton, Thomas, 53, 55, 64. - - Milton's description of hissing, 102. - - Milton, his _Tractate on Education_, 256. - -- Lamb and Johnson on _Paradise Lost_, 401. - -- a suppressed passage in _Comus_, 428, 552. - - Minikin, Mrs., Lamb's cook, 547. - - MISCELLANY, THE, 427, 552. - - Monkhouse, Thomas, Lamb's friend, 270, 504. - - MONTHS, THE, 361, 531. - - More, Sir Thomas, 239, 495. - -- on Sir Thomas Hytton, 239. - -- and Erasmus, 240. - -- on relics of the cross, 241. - -- on the miracle of conception, 243. - - Morland, George, his dependence on stimulants, 160, 460. - - _Morning Post_, Lamb's contributions to, 41, 44, 46, 440, 444. - - MORTIFICATIONS OF AN AUTHOR, 322, 516. - - Moseley, Humphrey, the bookseller, 435, 554. - - Moxon, Edward, reviewed by Lamb, 435, 554. - -- -- his _Sonnets_, 435. - -- -- his career, 554. - - MR. EPHRAIM WAGSTAFF, HIS WIFE AND PIPE, 432, 554. - - "Mr. H.," Lamb's farce, its fate, 449. - - MRS. GILPIN RIDING TO EDMONTON, 368, 533. - - MUNDEN, MR., THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF, 314, 515. - -- THE DEATH OF, 397, 545. - - Munden, Joseph, his genius, 397. - -- -- his true life, 515. - - Murderers, difficulty of describing, 79. - - Music, its reverse, 358. - - "Mustapha," by Lord Brooke, 58. - - - N - - NEEDLEWORK, ON, 204, 477. - - NEW ACTING, THE, 176, 465. - - _New Monthly Magazine_, Lamb's contributions to, 304, 337, 340, 342, - 375, 406, 554. - - NEW PIECES AT THE LYCEUM, 222, 490. - - New South Wales, Lamb's hopes for it, 233. - - _New Times, The_, Lamb's contributions to, 235, 317, 319, 322, 324, - 326, 327, 335, 429. - - "New Wonder, A," by Rowley, 54. - - Nobility and deformity, 340. - - Norris, Randal, 269, 503. - - North, Christopher (John Wilson), on Lamb and Southey, 499. - - Nott, Dr. John, on Lamb and Wither, 478. - - Novel, fragment of, by Lamb, 342. - - "Nugæ Canoræ," by Charles Lloyd, reviewed, 229, 493. - - NUGÆ CRITICÆ ON A PASSAGE IN "THE TEMPEST," 285, 511. - - - O - - "O. P." Riots, 451. - - "ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE," 335, 519. - - Ogilby, John, on Algiers, 286. - - "Old Fortunatus," by Dekker, 50 - - OLD GENTLEMAN, LETTER TO, 251, 497. - - "Old Law," by Massinger, Middleton and Rowley, 64. - - ON THE AMBIGUITIES ARISING FROM PROPER NAMES, 80, 448. - -- BURIAL SOCIETIES AND THE CHARACTER OF AN UNDERTAKER, 107, 451. - -- THE CUSTOM OF HISSING AT THEATRES, 101, 449. - -- -- DANGER OF CONFOUNDING MORAL WITH PERSONAL DEFORMITY, 74, 448. - -- -- GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF HOGARTH, 81, 448. - -- -- INCONVENIENCES RESULTING FROM BEING HANGED, 65, 445. - -- -- MELANCHOLY OF TAILORS, 200, 473. - -- NEEDLEWORK, 204, 477. - -- THE POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE WITHER, 210, 477. - -- -- TRAGEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE, CONSIDERED WITH REFERENCE TO THEIR - FITNESS FOR STAGE REPRESENTATION, 112, 451. - - _Oriental Eclogues_, by Collins, 258. - - ORIGINAL LETTER OF JAMES THOMSON, 288, 512. - - "Othello," unsuitable for the stage, 125. - - - P - - Parliament under explosion, 284, 510. - - Passion, debased, in modern theatre, 56. - - Patmore, P. G., Lamb's letter to, 553. - - PEACH, THE LAST, 333, 519. - - Penny, Mr., and Hogarth, 93. - - "Philaster," by Beaumont and Fletcher, 63. - - Phillips, Colonel, Lamb's friend, 270, 505. - - Pig superseded by hare as a delicacy, 399. - - _Pilgrim, The_, by Bishop Patrick, 178, 466. - - PILLORY: REFLECTIONS IN THE, 329, 518. - -- 518. - - PLAY-HOUSE MEMORANDA, 184, 468. - - "Poetaster, The," by Jonson, 60. - - _Poetical Decameron_, by J. P. Collier, 356, 529. - - Poetry, Lamb on length of lines in, 214. - - Pope, Alexander, his satire against Dennis, 203, 476. - - POPULAR FALLACY, A, 340, 523. - - PRIDE, A CHECK TO, 429, 552. - - Prior, Matthew, his "Henry and Emma," 548. - - Procter, B. W. (Barry Cornwall), 269, 504. - - "PROGRESS OF CANT, THE," 431, 554. - - "Progress of Poesy," by Gray, quoted, 425, 551. - - Proper names, essay on, 80, 448. - - PRY, TOM, 324, 516. - -- -- HIS WIFE, 326, 517. - - Prynne parodied by anticipation, 292. - - Pulham, John Brook, and Lamb, 496. - - Punning, the theory of, 335. - - Puns and civilisation, 233. - - - Q - - _Quarterly Review_, its attitude to Lamb, 458, 471, 498. - -- -- Lamb on _The Excursion_, 187, 469. - -- -- Southey's review of _Elia_, 265, 498. - - _Queenlike Closet_, The, by Hannah Woolley, 361, 532. - - - R - - "Rake's Progress, The," by Hogarth, 82, 87, 95. - - READERS AGAINST THE GRAIN, 319, 516. - - READING AS A FASHION, 321. - - RECOLLECTIONS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, 162, 460. - -- -- A LATE R.A., 385, 540. - - REFLECTIONS IN THE PILLORY, 329, 518. - - _Reflector, The_, Lamb's contributions to, 65, 74, 80, 81, 101, 107, - 112, 130, 138, 145, 148, 162, 210, 278, 445. - - "Relapse, The," quoted from, 367, 533. - - RELIGION OF ACTORS, THE, 337, 521. - - REMARKABLE CORRESPONDENT, 349, 527. - - REMINISCENCE OF SIR JEFFREY DUNSTAN, 366, 532. - - REMINISCENCES OF JUDE JUDKINS, 342, 523. - - REPRINTS OF "ELIA," 457. - - "Revenger's Tragedy, The," by Tourneur, 56. - - REVIEW OF DIBDIN'S "COMIC TALES," 429, 552. - -- -- "THE EXCURSION," 187, 469. - -- -- HOOD'S "ODES AND ADDRESSES," 335, 519. - -- -- KEATS' "LAMIA," 235, 494. - -- -- LLOYD'S POEMS, 229, 493. - -- -- MOXON'S "SONNETS," 435, 554. - -- -- WHITE'S "FALSTAFF'S LETTERS," 225, 491. - - Reynolds, J. H., his _Odes and Addresses_, 335, 519. - -- AND LEONARDO DA VINCI, 174, 464. - -- Sir Joshua, 85, 87, 174, 449, 464. - - "Rich Jew of Malta, The," by Marlowe, 49. - - Richard III., his character, 41, 122, 426. - - Richard III., his deformity no precedent of nobility, 341. - - Richardson, Samuel, against virtue, 50. - - "Rimini, The Story of," by Leigh Hunt, 272, 506. - - RITSON VERSUS JOHN SCOTT THE QUAKER, 257, 498. - - Robinson, H. Crabb, 270, 459, 504. - - ROSAMUND GRAY, 1, 438. - - Rowley, William, 53, 54, 55, 64. - - _Roxana_, by Defoe, 539. - - "Ruins of Rome," by Dyer, 257. - - Rutter, Mr. J. A., 553. - - - S - - Salutation, The, in Newgate Street, 551. - - Samson and Delilah, painted by Dawe, 388, 543. - - SATURDAY NIGHT, 379, 537. - - Sauces, Lamb on, 406. - - Scott, John, of Amwell, and Ritson, 257, 498. - - SCRAPS OF CRITICISM, 425, 551. - - _Seasons, The_, by Thomson, 262. - - Shadwell, Thomas, his improved "Timon," 377, 536. - - SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES, 112, 451. - - Shakespeare: character of Richard III., 41, 122, 426. - -- his poetical contemporaries, 48. - -- "All's Well that Ends Well," 62. - -- his richness, 63. - -- "Measure for Measure" quoted, 72. - -- "Timon of Athens," 82, 377, 536. - -- "Tarquin and Lucrece," 86. - -- his tragedies unfitted for stage, 112. - -- "Lear," 124, 376, 401, 536, 548. - -- "Tempest," 127, 285, 511. - -- and Jeremy Collier, 183, 468. - -- his characters, 405. - - Shirley, James, 65. - - SIR THOMAS MORE, 239, 495. - - Sittingbourne, Mrs. Liston's supposed aunt, 295. - - Smith, Mrs., the biggest woman in Cambridge, 497. - - Smollett, Tobias, his _Ferdinand Count Fathom_ quoted, 449. - -- -- and Hogarth, 97, 100, 101. - - Snakes typifying stage critics, 104, 105. - - Sonnet occasioned by reading Elia's Letter to Dr. Southey, 508. - - SOUTHEY, ROBERT, ELIA'S LETTER TO, 265, 498. - -- -- his ecclesiastical levities, 267. - -- -- on infidelity, 270. - -- -- and "Rosamund Gray," 439, 440. - -- -- his letter to Lamb, 501. - -- -- his verses on Lamb, 502. - -- -- on Thornton Hunt, 502. - -- -- on scepticism, 506. - - SPECIMENS FROM THE WRITINGS OF FULLER, THE CHURCH HISTORIAN, 130, 453. - - _Spectator, The_, Lamb's contribution to, 376, 383. - - Spencer, Robert William, 80, 448. - - Spenser, Edmund, and his namesake, 80, 448. - - SQUIRRELS, IN RE, 359, 530. - - Stage lighting in Lamb's time, 453. - - "Stages of Cruelty," by Hogarth, 96. - - STARKEY, CAPTAIN, 351, 528. - - STATE BED, GRAND, 44, 444. - - Steele, Sir Richard, his "Funeral," 451. - - Stocks, Lamb in the, 247. - - STREET CONVERSATION, 179, 467. - - "Strolling Players," by Hogarth, 90. - - SURPRISE, A SYLVAN, 179, 467. - - Swinburne, Mr. A. C., quoted, 478. - - Sycorax, the witch, in "The Tempest," 286, 511. - - SYLVAN SURPRISE, A, 179, 467. - - - T - - TABLE FOR TWELFTH DAY, 44, 444. - - TABLE TALK IN "THE EXAMINER," 174, 464. - -- -- BY THE LATE ELIA, 400, 547. - - TAILORS, ON THE MELANCHOLY OF, 200, 473. - - Talfourd, T. N., 269, 503. - -- -- -- his criticism of Munden, 546. - - "Tamburlaine the Great," by Marlowe, 49. - - "Tarquin and Lucrece," by Shakespeare, 86. - - Tate, Nahum, his improved "King Lear," 376. - - Taylor, Jeremy, on the Gunpowder Treason, 279, 510. - - "Tempest, The," as altered by Dryden, 127. - -- -- ON A PASSAGE IN, 285, 511. - -- -- criticism by "Lælius," 511. - - Theatre, Lamb's delight in, 185. - - "Thierry and Theodoret," by Fletcher, 63. - - Thompson, Marmaduke, Lamb's dedication to, 438. - - THOMSON, JAMES, ORIGINAL LETTER OF, 288, 512. - -- -- _The Seasons_, 262, 473. - - THOUGHTS ON PRESENTS OF GAME, 398, 546. - - TIME, THE DEFEAT OF, 369, 534. - - _Times, The_, on Lamb and Southey, 499. - - "Timon of Athens" and "The Rake's Progress," 82. - -- -- improved by Shadwell, 377, 536. - - Tobacco, the perils of, 157. - - TOM PRY, 324, 516. - -- PRY'S WIFE, 326, 517. - - Tourneur, Cyril, 56, 159. - - TOWN RESIDENCE, A, 180, 467. - - Tudors and Stuarts contrasted, 405. - - TWELFTH DAY, TABLE FOR, 44, 444. - - TWELFTH OF AUGUST, 354, 528. - - - U - - Undertaker, the character of an, 110. - - Undertaking, its humours, 107. - - UNITARIAN PROTESTS, 310, 514. - - Unitarianism and Lamb, 507, 515. - - Upcott, William, 535. - - - V - - Vertot, the Abbé de, as historian, 304. - - "Vicar and Moses," the song, 282. - - "Virgin Martyr, The," by Massinger and Dekker, 64. - - VISION OF HORNS, A, 299, 513. - - "Vittoria Corombona" ("The White Devil"), 57. - - - W - - WAGSTAFF, MR. EPHRAIM, 432, 554. - - Wainewright, Thomas Griffiths, 269, 503, 518. - - Waiting at table, rules for, 365. - - Wales, William, master at Christ's Hospital, 171, 463. - - Wealth for ten minutes, 308. - - Webster, John, 56. - - Westminster Abbey, charge for admittance, 275, 508. - - "What you Will," by Marston, 52. - - White, James, his _Falstaff's Letters_, 225, 491, 492. - - "White Devil, The," by Webster, 57. - - "Whore, The Honest," by Dekker, 51, 89. - - Wicliffe, his ashes, 137, 453. - - Widford in Hertfordshire, 27, 440. - - Wilkes, John, and the blackbirds, 428, 552. - -- -- in Southey's "Vision of Judgment," 503. - - Wilkinson, T. P., in "A Walk for a Wager," 224, 491. - - William IV., songs referring to, 383, 539. - - Wilson, John. _See_ Christopher North. - -- Walter, Lamb's friend, 537. - -- -- on Charles Lamb, 539. - - "Witch, The," by Middleton, 55. - - "Witch of Edmonton, The," by Rowley, Dekker and Ford, 55. - - WITHER, GEORGE, HIS POETICAL WORKS, 210, 477. - -- -- his life, 483. - - "Woman Killed with Kindness," by Heywood, 53. - - Woolley, Hannah, her _Queenlike Closet_, 361, 532. - - Wordsworth, William, 269, 504. - -- -- Lamb's review of his _Excursion_, 187, 469. - -- -- his sonnet on "Wicliffe," 453. - - _Works_, by Charles Lamb, 437. - - Wrench, B., in "The Hypocrite," 222. - - - ABERDEEN: THE UNIVERSITY PRESS - - - - -Transcriber's Notes - - -Page 147 - -'dish of sweatbreads' may be 'dish of sweetbreads'. Unchanged. - -Page 160 - -'to be perferred' may be 'to be preferred'. Unchanged. - -Page 165 - -'Philip Quarll's Island' spelled as in original. - -Page 221 - -'adminsters the dose' may be 'administers the dose'. Unchanged. - -Page 227 - -'--an the rogues forswore themselves,' may be '--and the rogues -forswore themselves,'. Unchanged. - -Page 235 - -'On Creation's hoilday.' changed to 'On Creation's holiday.'. - -Page 263 - -'Give me a lie wth a spirit in it.' may be 'Give me a lie with a spirit -in it.'. Unchanged. - -Page 263 - -'Qute Miltonic--' Unchanged from original. - -Page 298 - -'fit of violent horse' may be 'fit of violent hoarse'. Unchanged. - -Page 430 - -'passions, coprices, impulses,' may be 'passions, caprices, impulses,'. -Unchanged. - -Page 469 and 485 - -'were in the caste' may be 'were in the cast'. Unchanged. - -Page 473 - -'scription; since Lamb's' is likely 'description; since Lamb's'. -Unchanged. - -Page 510 - -'he is not the prepetrator;' is likely 'he is not the perpetrator;'. -Unchanged. - -Page 564 - -'on absurb images, 405.' is likely 'on absurd images, 405.'. Changed. - -These words are used in hyphenated and non-hyphenated forms in this -book. - - a-foot - ante-dating - bed-fellow - be-scribbled - birth-day - black-guard - bug-bear - by-standers - church-yard - co-evals - co-exist - common-place - cross-wise - day-time - death-bed - eye-lid - fire-side - good-will - grave-digger - grave-stone - hand-maids - hand-writing - law-suit - life-time - loco-motive - moon-struck - needle-work - often-times - out-skirts - over-looking - pit-falls - play-fellows - play-goer - play-house - Queen-like - re-print - re-publication - re-written - robe-maker - run-away - school-boy - school-fellow - shop-keeper - story-teller - three-score - tread-mill - two-fold - two-pence - work-shop - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb, by -Charles Lamb and Mary Lamb - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF CHARLES AND MARY LAMB *** - -***** This file should be named 40988-8.txt or 40988-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/8/40988/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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