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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #54219 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54219)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Little English Gallery, by Louise Imogen
-Guiney
-
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-
-Title: A Little English Gallery
-
-
-Author: Louise Imogen Guiney
-
-
-
-Release Date: February 21, 2017 [eBook #54219]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-
-***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE ENGLISH GALLERY***
-
-
-E-text prepared by Emmy, MFR, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
-(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
-Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
-
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-
-Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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-
-
- Images of the original pages are available through
- Internet Archive. See
- https://archive.org/details/littleenggallery00guinrich
-
-
-Transcriber's note:
-
- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
-
- A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
- single character following the carat is superscripted
- (example: 9^a).
-
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-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-A LITTLE ENGLISH GALLERY
-
-by
-
-LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY
-
-
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-New York
-Harper and Brothers
-MDCCCXCIV
-
-Copyright, 1894, by Harper & Brothers.
-
-All rights reserved.
-
-
-
-
- TO
-
- EDMUND GOSSE
-
- THIS FRIENDLY TRESPASS ON HIS FIELDS
-
-
-
-
-PREFATORY NOTE
-
-
-THE studies in this book are chosen from a number written at irregular
-intervals, and from sheer interest in their subjects, long ago.
-Portions of them, or rough drafts of what has since been wholly
-remodelled from fresher and fuller material at first hand, have
-appeared within five years in _The Atlantic Monthly_, _Macmillan’s_,
-_The Catholic World_, and _Poet-Lore_; and thanks are due the
-magazines for permission to reprint them. Yet more cordial thanks,
-for kind assistance on biographical points, belong to the Earl of
-Powis; the Rev. R. H. Davies, Vicar of old St. Luke’s, Chelsea; the
-Rev. T. Vere Bayne, of Christchurch, and H. E. D. Blakiston, Esq.,
-of Trinity College, Oxford; T. W. Lyster, Esq., of the National
-Library of Ireland; Aubrey de Vere Beauclerk, Esq.; Miss Langton,
-of Langton-by-Spilsby; the Vicars of Dauntsey, Enfield Highway, and
-Montgomery, and especially those of High Ercall and Speke; and the
-many others in England through whose courtesy and patience the tracer
-of these unimportant sketches has been able to make them approximately
-life-like.
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
- CHAP. PAGE
- I. LADY DANVERS (1561-1627) 1
-
- II. HENRY VAUGHAN (1621-1695) 53
-
- III. GEORGE FARQUHAR (1677-1707) 119
-
- IV. TOPHAM BEAUCLERK (1739-1780)
- AND
- BENNET LANGTON (1741-1800) 171
-
- V. WILLIAM HAZLITT (1778-1830) 229
-
-
-
-
-I
-
-LADY DANVERS
-
-1561-1627
-
-
-MR. MATTHEW ARNOLD somewhere devotes a grateful sentence to the women
-who have left a fragrance in literary history, and whose loss of long
-ago can yet inspire men of to-day with indescribable regret. Lady
-Danvers is surely one of these. As John Donne’s dear friend, and George
-Herbert’s mother, she has a double poetic claim, like her unforgotten
-contemporary, Mary Sidney, for whom was made an everlasting epitaph.
-If Dr. Donne’s fraternal fame have not quite the old lustre of the
-incomparable Sir Philip’s, it is, at least, a greater honor to own
-Herbert for son than to have perpetuated the race of Pembroke. Nor is
-it an inharmonious thing to remember, in thus calling up, in order to
-rival it, the sweet memory of “Sidney’s sister,” that Herbert and
-Pembroke have long been, and are yet, married names.
-
-Magdalen, the youngest child of Sir Richard Newport, and of Margaret
-Bromley, his wife, herself daughter of that Bromley who was
-Privy-Councillor, Lord Chief-Justice, and executor to Henry VIII., was
-born in High Ercall, Salop; the loss or destruction of parish registers
-leaves us but 1561-62 as the probable date. Of princely stock, with
-three sisters and an only brother, and heir to virtue and affluence,
-she could look with the right pride of unfallen blood upon “the many
-fair coats the Newports bear” over their graves at Wroxeter. It was
-the day of learned and thoughtful girls; and this girl seems to have
-been at home with book and pen, with lute and viol. She married, in
-the flower of her youth, Richard Herbert, Esquire, of Blache Hall,
-Montgomery, black-haired and black-bearded, as were all his line; a man
-of some intellectual training, and of noted courage, descended from
-a distinguished brother of the yet more distinguished Sir Richard
-Herbert of Edward IV.’s time, and from the most ancient rank of Wales
-and England. At Eyton in Salop, in 1581, was born their eldest child,
-Edward, afterwards Lord Herbert of Cherbury, a writer who is still the
-puzzle and delight of Continental critics. He is said to have been a
-beautiful boy, and not very robust; his first speculation with his
-infant tongue was the piercing query: “How came I into this world?” But
-his next brother, Richard, was of another stamp; and went his frank,
-flashing, fighting way through Europe, “with scars of four-and-twenty
-wounds upon him, to his grave” at Bergen-op-Zoom, with William, the
-third son, following in his soldierly footsteps. Charles grew up
-reserved and studious, and died, like his paternal uncle, a dutiful
-Fellow of New College, Oxford. The fifth of these Herberts, “a soul
-composed of harmonies,” as Cotton said of him, and destined to make the
-name beloved among all readers of English, was George, the poet, the
-saintly “parson of Fuggleston and Bemerton.” Henry, his junior, with
-whom George had a sympathy peculiarly warm and long, became in his
-manhood Master of the Revels, and held the office for over fifty years.
-“You and I are alone left to brother it,” Lord Herbert of Cherbury once
-wrote him, in a mood more tender than his wont, when all else of that
-radiant family had gone into dust. The youngest of Magdalen Newport’s
-sons was Thomas, “a posthumous,” traveller, sailor, and master of a
-ship in the war against Algiers. Elizabeth, Margaret, and Frances
-were the daughters, of whom Izaak Walton says, with satisfaction,
-that they lived to be examples of virtue, and to do good to their
-generation. None of them made an illustrious match. Margaret married
-a Vaughan. Frances secured unto herself the patronymic Brown, and was
-happily seconded by Elizabeth, George Herbert’s “dear sick sister,”
-who became Mistress Jones. In the south chancel transept of Montgomery
-Church, where Richard Herbert the elder had been buried three years
-before, there was erected in 1600, at his wife’s cost, a large canopied
-alabaster altar-tomb, with two portrait-figures recumbent. All around
-it, in the quaint and affectionate boast of the age, are the small
-images of these seven sons and three daughters; “Job’s number and Job’s
-distribution,” as she once remarked, and as her biographers failed
-not to repeat after her. But their kindred ashes are widely sundered,
-and “as content with six foot as with the moles of Adrianus.” This at
-Montgomery is the only known representation of the Lady Magdalen. Her
-effigy lies at her husband’s left, the palms folded, the eyes open, the
-full hair rolled back from a low brow, beneath a charming and simple
-head-dress. Nothing can be nobler than the whole look of the face, like
-her in her prime, and reminding one of her son’s loving epithet, “my
-Juno.” The short-sighted inscription upon the slab yet includes her
-name.
-
-Never had an army of brilliant and requiring children a more excellent
-mother. “_Severa parens_,” her gentle George called her in his
-scholarly verses; and such she was, with the mingled sagacity and
-joyousness which made up her character. If we are to believe their
-own testimony, the leading members of her young family were of
-excessively peppery Cymric temperaments, and worthy to call out that
-“manlier part” of her which Dr. Donne, who had every opportunity of
-observing it in play, was so quick to praise. There is a passage in
-a letter of Sir Thomas Lacy, addressed to Edward Herbert, touching
-upon “the knowledge I had how ill you can digest the least indignity.”
-“Holy George Herbert” himself, in 1618, commended to his dear brother
-Henry the gospel of self-honoring: “It is the part of a poor spirit to
-undervalue himself and blush.” And physical courage went hand in hand
-with this blameless haughtiness of the Herberts, a pretty collateral
-proof of which may be adduced from a message of Sir Henry Jones to his
-brother-in-law, the other Henry just mentioned, concerning a gift for
-his little nephew. “If my cozen, William Herbert your sonne . . . be
-ready for the rideing of a horse, I will provide him with a Welch nagg
-that shall be as mettlesome as himself.” There is no doubt that all
-this racial fire was fostered by one woman. “Thou my root, and my most
-firm rock, O my mother!” George cried, long after in the _Parentalia_,
-aware that he owed to her his high ideals, and the strength of
-character which is born of self-discipline.
-
-“God gave her,” says one of her two devoted annalists, who we wish
-were not so brief and meagre of detail—“God gave her such a comeliness
-as though she was not proud of it, yet she was so content with it as
-not to go about to mend it by any art.” Her fortune was large, her
-benevolence wide-spreading. All the countryside knew her for the living
-representative of the ever-hospitable houses of Newport and Bromley.
-“She gave not on some great days,” continues Dr. Donne, “or at solemn
-goings abroad; but as God’s true almoners, the sun and moon, that pass
-on in a continual doing of good; as she received her daily bread from
-God, so daily she distributed it, and imparted it to others.” In these
-years of her wifehood and widowhood at Montgomery Castle (the “romancy
-place” dating from the eleventh century, and ruined, like the fine
-old house at High Ercall, during the Civil Wars), and afterwards at
-Oxford and London, she reared her happy crew of boys and girls in an
-air of generosity and honor; training them to habits of hardiness and
-simplicity, and to the equal relish of work and play. “Herself with
-her whole family (as a church in that elect lady’s house, to whom John
-wrote his second Epistle) did every Sabbath shut up the day at night
-with a general, with a cheerful singing of psalms.” One may guess at
-young Richard’s turmoil in-doors, and at the little Elizabeth’s soft,
-patient ways, and think of George (on Sundays at any rate) as the child
-of content, “the contesseration of elegances” worthy Archdeacon Oley
-called him.
-
-The fair and stately matron moving over them and among them was not
-without her prejudices. “I was once,” Edward testifies, “in danger of
-drowning, learning to swim. My mother, upon her blessing, charged me
-never to learn swimming; telling me, further, that she had learned of
-more drowned than saved by it.” Though the given reason failed to
-impress him, he adds, the commandment did; so that the accomplished
-Crichton of Cherbury, who understood alchemy, broke his way through
-metaphysics, and rode the Great Horse; the ambassador, author, and
-beau, to whom Ben Jonson sent his greeting:
-
- “What man art thou that art so many men,
- All-virtuous Herbert?”
-
-even he lacked, on principle, the science of keeping himself alive
-in an alien element, because it had been pronounced less risky to
-die outright! It was a pretty paradox, and one which sets down our
-high-minded Magdalen as quite feminine, quite human.
-
-Her Edward was matriculated in 1595 at University College, Oxford,[1]
-for which he seemed to retain no great partiality; he bequeathed his
-books, like a loyal Welshman, to Jesus College, instead, and his
-manuscripts to the Bodleian Library. In 1598, when he was little
-more than seventeen, he was wedded to his cousin Mary Herbert, of
-St. Gillian in Monmouthshire. Her age was one-and-twenty; she was an
-heiress, enjoined by her father’s will to marry a Herbert or forfeit
-her estates; she was also almost a philosopher. There was no wild
-affection on either side, but the marriage promised rather well, both
-persons having resources; and no real catastrophe befell either in
-after-life. Much as she desired the match for worldly motives, the
-chief promoter of it was too solicitous for her tall dreamer of a
-son, who underwent the pleasing peril of having Queen Bess clap him
-on the cheek, not to take the whole weight of conjugal direction on
-her own shoulders. Without undue officiousness, but with the masterly
-foresight of a shrewd saint, she moved to Oxford from Montgomery with
-her younger children and their tutors, in order to handle Mistress
-Herbert’s husband during his minority. “She continued there with him,”
-says Walton, in his _Life of George Herbert_, “and still kept him in
-a moderate awe of herself, and so much under her own eye as to see and
-converse with him daily; but she managed this power over him without
-any such rigid sourness as might make her company a torment to her
-child, but with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations
-and pleasures of youth as did incline him willingly to spend much of
-his time in the company of his dear and careful mother.”
-
-It was during this stay that she contracted the chivalrous friendship
-which has embalmed her tranquil memory. Dr. John Donne (not ordained
-until 1614, and indeed not Dr. Donne then at all, but “Jack Donne,”
-his profaner self) had been at Cadiz with Essex, and had wandered over
-the face of Europe; and he came back, accidentally, to Oxford during
-the most troubled year of his early prime. It was no strange place to
-him,[2] who had been, at eleven, the Pico della Mirandola of Hart
-Hall, and whose relatives seem to have resided always in the town.
-There and then, however, he cast his bright eye upon Excellence, and in
-his own phrase,
-
- “—dared love that, and say so, too,
- And forget the He and She.”
-
-We can do no better than cite a celebrated and beautiful passage, once
-more from Walton: “This amity, begun at this time and place, was not
-an amity that polluted their souls, but an amity made up of a chain of
-suitable inclinations and virtues; an amity like that of St. Chrysostom
-to his dear and virtuous Olympias, whom, in his letters, he calls his
-saint; or an amity, indeed, more like that of St. Hierom to his Paula,
-whose affection to her was such that he turned poet in his old age, and
-then made her epitaph, wishing all his body were turned into tongues
-that he might declare her just praises to posterity.” How these words
-remind one of the sweet historic mention which Condivi gives to the
-relations between Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo! The little English
-idyl of friendship and the great Italian one run parallel in much.
-
-Donne’s trenchant _Satires_, some of the earliest and very best in
-the language, were already written, and he was not without the hint
-of fame. Born in 1573, he was but eight years the senior of Edward
-Herbert, and not more than a dozen years the junior of Edward Herbert’s
-mother. To her two sons, also, who were to figure as men of letters,
-he was sincerely attached from the first, and had a marked and lasting
-influence on their minds. Donne had the superabundance of mental power
-which Mr. Minto has pointed out as the paradoxical cause of his failure
-to become a great poet. He was a three-storied soul, as the French say:
-a spirit of many sides and moods, a life-long dreamer of good and bad
-dreams. To his restless, incisive intelligence his contemporaries, with
-Jonson and Carew at their head, bowed in hyperboles of acclaim. He had
-a changeful conscience, often antagonized and often appeased. There
-was a strain in him of strong joy, for he was descended through his
-mother from pleasant John Heywood the dramatist, and from the father
-of that great and merry-hearted gentleman, Sir Thomas More. If ever
-man needed vitality to buoy him over sorrows heavy and vast, it was
-Donne in his “yeasting youth.” Thrown, through no fault but his own,
-from his old footholds of religion and occupation, and unable, despite
-his versatile and alert genius, to grind a steady living from the hard
-mills of the world, he was in the midst of a bitter plight when the
-friends worthy of him found a heavenly opportunity which they did not
-let go by, and made his acceptance of their favor a rich gift unto
-themselves. Foremost among these, besides Lady Herbert, were Sir Robert
-Drury of Drury Lane, and a kinsman, Sir Francis Woolly, of Pirford,
-Surrey, fated to die in his youth, both of whom gave the Donnes, for
-some nine consecutive years, the use of their princely houses. John
-Donne had been in the service of the Chancellor, Lord Ellesmere,
-and lost place and purse by the opposition to his marriage with his
-“_lectissima dilectissimaque_,” Anne More, who was Lady Ellesmere’s
-niece, the daughter of Sir George More of Loxly, Lieutenant of the
-Tower, and probably a distant cousin of his own. No reverses, however,
-could beat the pathetic cheer out of him. “Anne Donne,[3] undone,” was
-one of his inveterate teary jests over the state of things at home. He
-wrote once, with sickness, poverty, and despair at his elbow: “If God
-should ease us with burials, I know not how to perform even that. But I
-flatter myself that I am dying, too, for I cannot waste faster than by
-such griefs.” Five of his twelve children passed before their father to
-the grave, the good domestic daughter Constance upholding him always,
-and keeping the house together. But just as hope dawned with his
-appointment to the Lectureship of Lincoln’s Inn, heavenward suddenly,
-with her youngest-born, in 1617, went his dear and faithful wife, whom
-he laid to rest in St. Clement Danes.
-
-About the time when the remorseful old queen died disdainfully on her
-chamber-floor at Richmond, the necessities of this family called for
-daily succors, and with a simple and noble delicacy they were supplied.
-Nor did they cease. Magdalen Herbert was a “bountiful benefactor,”
-Donne “as grateful an acknowledger.” His first letter to her from
-Mitcham in Surrey, dated July 10, 1607, is made up of terse, tender
-thanks, in his heart’s own odd language. He sends her an enclosure of
-sonnets and hymns, “lost to us,” says Walton, movingly, “but doubtless
-they were such as they two now sing in heaven.” Dr. Grosart, with a
-great show of justice, claims that the sequence called _La Corona_, and
-familiar to latter-day readers, are the identical sonnets passed from
-one to the other. During this same month of July we know that, paying a
-call in his “London, plaguey London,” and finding his friend abroad,[4]
-Dr. Donne consoled himself by leaving a courtliest message: “Your
-memory is a state-cloth and presence which I reverence, though you be
-away;” and went back after to his “sallads and onions” at Mitcham, or
-to his solitary lodgings near Whitehall.
-
-The attachment, close and deferent on both sides, was continued without
-a breach, and with the intention, at least, of “almost daily letters.”
-Thoreau, quoting Chaucer, so saluted Mrs. Emerson: “You have helped
-to keep my life on loft.” No meaner service than this was his dear
-lady’s to John Donne, often heretofore astray in the slough of doubt
-and dissipation; she fed more than his little children, clothed more
-than his body, and fostered anew in him that faith in humanity which
-is the well-spring of good works. He was not a poet of Leigh Hunt’s
-innocent temperament, who could accept benefits gladly and gracefully
-from any appreciator; his soul dwelt too remote and proud in her
-accustomed citadels. But this loving help, thrust upon him, he took
-with dignity, and after 1621, when he was able, in his own person, to
-befriend others, he gave back gallantly to mankind the blessings he
-once received from two or three. It was something for Magdalen Herbert
-to have saved a master-name to English letters, and kept in his unique
-place the poet, interesting beyond many, whose fantastic but real force
-swayed generations of thinking and singing men; it was something, also,
-to have won in return the words which were his gold coin of payment.
-Nowhere is Donne’s sentiment more genuine, his workmanship more happy
-and less complex, than in the verses dedicated to her blameless
-name. They have a lucidity unsurpassed among the yet straightforward
-lyrics of their day. Drayton’s self, who died in the same year with
-Donne, might have addressed to the lady of Eyton so much of his noble
-extravagance;
-
- “Queens hereafter shall be glad to live
- Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise.”
-
-Yet in these eulogies, as in most of the graver contemporaneous poems
-of the sort, there is little personality to be detected; the homage
-has rather a floating outline, an unapproaching music, exquisite and
-awed. Donne gives, sometimes, the large Elizabethan measure:
-
- “Is there any good which is not she?”
-
-In the so-called _Elegy, The Autumnal_, written on leaving Oxford, he
-starts off with a well-known cherishable strophe:
-
- “No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
- As I have seen in one autumnal face.”
-
-The entire poem is a monody on the encroachments of years, and neatly
-chronological:
-
- “If we love things long-sought, age is a thing
- Which we are fifty years in compassing;
- If transitory things, which soon decay,
- Age must be loveliest at the latest day.”
-
-It strikes the modern ear as maladroit enough that a woman in her yet
-sunshiny forties, and a most comely woman to boot, should have required
-prosody’s ingenious excuses for wrinkles and kindred damages. Was life
-so hard as that in “the spacious days”? Shakespeare, in agreement with
-Horace, had already reminded his handsome “Will” of the pitiless and
-too expeditious hour,
-
- “When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
- And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field!”
-
-which also seems, to a nice historical sense, somewhat staggering. The
-close of Donne’s little homily is perfect, and full of the winning
-melancholy which was part of his birthright in art, whenever he allowed
-himself direct and homely expression:
-
- “May still
- My love descend! and journey down the hill,
- Not panting after growing beauties; so
- I shall ebb on with them who homeward go.”
-
-Such was John Donne’s first known tribute to his friend. She must have
-been early and thoroughly familiar with his manuscripts, which were
-passed about freely, Dr. Grosart thinks, prior to 1613, and which
-burned what Massinger would call “no adulterate incense” to herself.
-Her bays are to be gleaned off many a tree, and she must have cast a
-frequent influence on Donne’s work, which is not traceable now. He
-seems to have had a Crashaw-like devotion to the Christian saint whose
-inheritance
-
- “Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,”
-
-not unconnected with the fact that some one else was Magdalen also;
-never does he tire of dwelling on the coincidence and the difference.
-In one of his quaintly moralizing songs, he goes seeking a “true-love”
-primrose, where but on Montgomery Hill! for he is hers, by all
-chivalrous tokens, as much as he may be. Again he cites, and almost
-with humor:
-
- “that perplexing eye
- Which equally claims love and reverence.”
-
-And his platonics make their honorable challenge at the end of some
-fine lines:
-
- “So much do I love her choice, that I
- Would fain love him that shall be loved of her!”
-
-There was prescience in that couplet. As early, at least, as 1607-8,
-the widow’s long privacy ended, probably while she was at her “howse
-at Charing Cross,” watching over the progress of her son George at
-Westminster School; and he that was “loved of her” was the grandson of
-the last Lord Latimer of the Nevilles, junior brother of a nobleman
-who perished with Essex in 1602, and brother and heir of that Sir
-Henry Danvers who was created Earl of Danby in 1625 for his services
-in Ireland, and who literally left a green memory as the founder of
-the pleasant Physic Gardens at Oxford. The name of Danvers, the kindly
-step-father, is one of the noteworthy omissions of Lord Herbert of
-Cherbury’s _Autobiography_. But George Herbert was devoted to him,
-as his many letters show, and turned to him, never in vain, during
-his restless years at Cambridge; and into his circle of relatives,
-with romantic suddenness, he afterwards married. Sir John Danvers, of
-Dauntsey, Wilts, was twenty years younger than his wife. It is worth
-while to quote the very deft and courtly statement of the case made at
-the last by Dr. Donne: “The natural endowments of her person were such
-as had their part in drawing and fixing the affections of such a person
-as by his birth and youth and interest in great favors at court, and
-legal proximity to great possessions in the world, might justly have
-promised him acceptance in what family soever, or upon what person
-soever, he had directed. . . . He placed them here, neither diverted
-thence, nor repented since. For as the well-tuning of an instrument
-makes higher and lower strings of one sound, so the inequality of their
-years was thus reduced to an evenness, that she had a cheerfulness
-agreeable to his youth, and he had a sober staidness conformable to her
-more advanced years. So that I would not consider her at so much more
-than forty, nor him at so much less than thirty, at that time; but as
-their persons were made one and their fortunes made one by marriage,
-so I would put their years into one number, and finding a sixty
-between them, think them thirty apiece; for as twins of one hour they
-lived.”[5]
-
-In the August of 1607, a masque by John Marston was given in the now
-ruined castle of Ashby-de-la-Zouch, eighteen miles from Leicester, as
-an entertainment devised by Lord Huntingdon and his young wife, the
-Lady Elizabeth Stanley, to welcome her mother, Alice, Countess-Dowager
-of Derby,[6] “the first night of her honor’s arrival at the house of
-Ashby.” Fourteen noble ladies took part in the masque, and among them
-was “Mris Da’vers.” The name may, perhaps, be recognized as that of the
-subject of this sketch, for Sir John Danvers was not knighted until the
-following year; and it has been so recognized by interested scholars
-who have searched Nichols’s _Progresses of James I_. And yet we cannot
-be too sure that we have her before us, in the wreaths and picturesque
-draperies of the amateur stage; for there was another Mistress Da’vers
-at court, whose purported letter, dated February 3, 1613, signed with
-her confusing Christian names of “Mary Magdaline,” gave great trouble,
-thirty years ago, to the experts of the Camden Society. Besides, a
-letter of the good gossipy Chamberlain, dated March 3, 1608-9, mentions
-as if it were then a piece of fresh news: “Young Davers is likewise
-wedded to the widow Herbert, Sir Edward’s mother, of more than twice
-his age.” This would seem to preclude the possibility of the fair
-masquer being the same person.
-
-The mother of many Herberts, the “more than forty” bride, was by
-nature a home-keeping character. Among the correspondence relating
-to Lord Herbert of Cherbury, privately printed in 1886 by the Earl
-of Powis, are a few pages which give us invaluable glimpses of the
-London household. Lady Danvers’s eldest son, who set off upon his
-travels soon after her second marriage, and who applied himself
-vigorously to the various diversions of body and mind catalogued
-in the _Autobiography_, found himself often pinched for money. In
-such a strait, not unfamiliar to other fine gentlemen of his day, he
-invariably appealed to the services of the step-father who was his
-junior, in England. The latter, writing how “wee are all some what
-after the olde manner, and doe hartely wish you well,” seems to have
-busied himself to some avail, in concert with his brother-in-law, Sir
-Francis Newport (the first Lord Newport), in securing letters of credit
-to Milan, Turin, the Netherlands, and elsewhere, and in explaining at
-length, in his long involved sentences, how matters could be bettered.
-Whether or not the absent Knight of the Bath had reason to suspect Sir
-John’s disinterested action when it came to the handling of pounds
-and pence, he does not seem, then or after, to have burdened him with
-any great harvest of thanks. But Sir John’s faithful wife knew how to
-defend him, in a script of May 12, 1615, which may be quoted precisely
-as it stands in the Herbert papers.
-
- “To my best beloved sonn, S’r Edward Herbert, Knight,
- “My deare Sonn,
-
- it is straunge to me to here you
- to complayne of want of care of you in your absence
- when my thoughts are seldom removed from you which
- must assuredly set me aworkinge of any thinge may doe
- you good, & for writinge the one of us yf not both
- never let messenges pass without letter, your stay
- abroad is so short in any one place & we so unhappy in
- givinge you contentment as our letters com not to your
- hands which we are sorry for. And to tel you further
- of S’r John Da’vers Love which I dare sweare is to no
- man more, he is & hath beene so careful to keep you
- from lake of money now you are abroad as your Baylife
- faylinge payment as they continually doe & pay no man,
- he goeth to your Merchaunt, offers him self & all the
- powers he can make to supply you as your occasions may
- require, mistake him not, but beleeve me there was
- never a tenderer hart or a lovinger minde in any man
- then is in him towards you who have power to com’aund
- him & all that is his. Now for your Baylifs I must
- tell you they have not yet payed your brothers all
- their Anuities due at Midsom’er past & but half due
- at Christmas last and no news of the rest, this yf
- advauntage were taken might be preiuditiall to you and
- it is ill for your Brothers & very ill you have such
- officers.
-
- “I hope it will bringe you home & that is all the good
- can com of this. your sister Johnes hath long beene
- sicke & within this 8 dayes hath brought a boy she is
- so weake as she is much feared by those aboute her. my
- Lady Vachell lyes now adyeinge the bell hath twice gone
- for her. your wife & sweet children are well & herein
- I send you little Florence letter to see what comfort
- you may have of your deare children, let them, my Dear
- sonn, draw you home & affoorde them your care and me
- your comfort that desire more to see you then I desire
- any thinge ells in the world, and now I end with my
- dayly prayer for your health and safe retorne to Your
- ever lovinge mother,
-
- Magd: Da’vers.
-
- “I have received the Pattent of your Br: William, & S’r
- John hath beene with the ambassatore who stayes for S’r
- James Sandaline[7] his cominge.”
-
-A sympathizing reader, aware of sequences, may wonder whence Sir John
-drew “all the powers he can make”! The dignified letter, with its
-undulating syntax and thrifty punctuation, harmonizes with all we
-know of this delightful woman, who could so reproach what she deemed
-a shortcoming, without a touch of temper. How affectionate is the
-reference to the “little Florence” who died young, and to the other
-children, sufficiently precious to all that household, except to the
-wool-gathering chevalier their father, far away! Their innocent faces
-peer again through a sweet postscript of their grand-uncle: (“Dick
-is here, Ned and Bettye at Haughmond,”) written in the winter, from
-Eyton, to the truant at the Hague.[8] This same genial Sir Francis
-Newport, “imoderately desyring to see you,” confides to his nephew,
-during what he complains of as “a verye drye and hott time”[9] for
-Shropshire farmers, that “mye syster your mother is confident to take
-a iourney into these pts this somer, the rather, I think, because yo’r
-brother Vaugh’n is dead & if yo’ have a willing harte you maye come
-tyme enough to acco’pany her heare, & would not then the companye bee
-much the better?” But we fear the little excursion never came off.
-Edward Herbert’s next visit to his home, presumably after a four-years’
-absence, was in 1619; and in May of that year he accepted the office
-of Ambassador to France, and spread his ready wing again to the
-Continent. And the _Athenæ Oxoniensis_ will not let us forget that the
-too spirited envoy had to be temporarily recalled in 1621, because he
-had “irreverently treated” De Luynes, the powerful but good-for-nothing
-Constable of France. It is not insignificant that this was the year in
-which George Herbert wrote to his mother in one of his consoling moods,
-bidding her be of good cheer, albeit her health and wealth were gone,
-and the conduct of her children was not very satisfying!
-
-We know that Lady Danvers had the “honor, love, obedience, troops of
-friends” which became her, and that she lost none of her influence,
-none of her serene charm. Her poet was much with her in his advancing
-age. In July, 1625, while the plague was raging in London, Donne
-reminded Sir Henry Wotton of the leisure he enjoyed, golden as
-Cicero’s, by dating his letter “from S’r John Davor’s house at Chelsey,
-of w’ich house & my Lord Carlil’s at Hanworth I make up my Tusculum.”
-Many a peaceful evening must they have passed upon the terraces,
-within sound of the solemn songs always dear to both. Visitors yet
-more illustrious came there from the city; for the noble hostess
-had once the privilege of reviving the great Lord Bacon,[10] who
-had fainted in her garden. We learn, with sympathy, that “sickness,
-in the declination of her years, had opened her to an overflowing
-of melancholy; not that she ever lay under that water, but yet had,
-sometimes, some high tides of it.” Death chose Dr. Donne’s ministering
-angel before him, after thirty years of mutual fealty. Her restless son
-Edward, now at home, was already eminent, and wearing his little Irish
-title of Baron Castleisland; her thoughtful Charles was long dead; her
-brother, also, was no more; her daughters were matrons, and dwelling in
-prosperity. With but one unfulfilled wish, that of seeing her favorite
-George married and in holy orders,[11] and after a life which left a
-wake of sunshine behind it in the world, very patiently and hopefully
-Magdalen Newport, Lady Danvers, entered upon eternity, in the early
-June of 1627. On the eighth day of the month, in St. Luke’s, the parish
-church of Chelsea, she was buried:
-
- “Old age with snow-bright hair, and folded palm,”
-
-the final earthly glimpse of her still traditionally beautiful. On the
-first of July her faithful liegeman, now Dean of St. Paul’s and Vicar
-of St. Dunstan-in-the-West, preached her funeral sermon there, before
-a crowd of the great ones of London, the clergy, and the poor. Izaak
-Walton’s kind face looked up from a near pew, whence he saw Dr. Donne’s
-tears, and felt his breaking voice, the voice of one who did not belie
-his friend, nigh the end of his own pilgrimage. In present grief and
-among graver memories, he had the true perception not to forget how
-joyous she had been. “She died,” he said, “without any change of
-countenance or posture, without any struggling, any disorder, . . . and
-expected that which she hath received: God’s physic and God’s music,
-a Christianly death. . . . She was eyes to the blind, and feet to the
-lame, . . . naturally cheerful and merry, and loving facetiousness and
-sharpness of wit.” His own fund of mirth and strength was fast going;
-and a haunting line of his youth,
-
- “And all my pleasures are like yesterday,”
-
-must have reverted to him many and many a time. Morbid and persistent
-thoughts beset him from this hour, probably, more than ever, until
-he had the effigy of himself, painted as he was, laid in his failing
-sight;[12] morbid and persistent thoughts of the ruin which befalls the
-bright bodies of humanity, sometimes surging up in his loneliness, and
-crowding out the better vision which yet may “grace us in the disgrace
-of death.” His inward eye was drawn strongly to his friend’s sepulchre,
-sealed and sombre before him, and to what had been her, “going into
-dust now almost a month of days, almost a lunar year . . . which, while
-I speak, is mouldering and crumbling into less and less dust.” But he
-ended in a wholesomer strain, subdued and calm: “This good soul being
-thus laid down to sleep in His peace, ‘I charge you, O daughters of
-Jerusalem, that ye wake her not!’”
-
-The rare little duodecimo which contains Lady Danvers’s funeral sermon
-was printed soon after, “together with other Commemorations of Her, by
-her Sonne G. Herbert,” and offered to the public at the Golden Lion in
-Paul’s Churchyard. The commemorations are in Greek and Latin. Strangely
-enough, nowhere is the sweet and sage poet of _The Temple_ so set upon
-his prosody, so given to awkward pagan conceits, so out of tune with
-the ideals of classic diction. But he, who tenderly loved his mother,
-has given to us, in the _Memoriæ Matris Sacrum_, several precious
-personal fragments, and one more precious whole picture of daily habits
-in the lines beginning _Corneliæ sanctæ_: her morning prayer, her bath,
-and the plaiting of her glossy hair; her housewifely cares, her fit
-replies, her writing to her friends, her passion for music, her gentle
-helpfulness; the long felicity of a glad and stainless life,
-
- “Quicquid habet tellus, quicquid et astra, fruens.”
-
-Dr. Donne died in 1631, whatever was yet of earth in his spirit healed
-and chastened by long pain. His last remembrance to some he loved
-was his own seal of Christ on the Anchor, “engraven very small on
-heliotropium stones, and set in gold, for rings.” Many of those to
-whom his heart would have turned, the “autumnal beauty” scarce second
-among them, had preceded him out of England. But in travelling towards
-his Maker, he had that other sacred hope to “ebb on with them,” and
-gloriously overtake them, as he traced the epitaph which covered
-him in old St. Paul’s: “_Hic licet in occiduo cinere, aspicit eum
-cujus nomen est Oriens_.” The tie between himself and her was not
-unremembered in the next generation; for we find John Donne the younger
-dedicating his father’s posthumous work to Francis, Lord Newport,
-and when making his will, in 1662, bequeathing also to the same Lord
-Newport “the picture of St. Anthony in a round frame.” And thus, in a
-revived fragrance, the annals of true friendship close.
-
-These rapid, ragged strokes of a pen make the only possible biography
-of Lady Danvers. When Walton wrote of her, he had the entire
-correspondence with Dr. Donne before him.[13] “There were sacred
-endearments betwixt these two excellent persons,” he assures us, but
-disappointingly hurries on into the highway of his subject. It is
-curious that it seems impossible now to trace these breathing relics,
-or others from the same source; for George Herbert, in the second
-elegy of the _Parentalia_, has much to say, and very sweetly, of the
-industry of his mother’s “white right hand,” and of the “many and most
-notable letters, flying over all the world.” Much detail is utterly
-lost which men who agree with Prosper Mérimée that all Thucydides
-would not be worth an authentic memoir of Aspasia, or even of one of
-the slaves of Pericles, might be glad to remember. A copy of a song,
-a reminiscence of the glow and stir of the days through which she
-moved, a guess through a mist at the blond head,[14] the half-imperious
-carriage, the open hand, as she went her ways, like Dante’s lovely
-lady, _sentendosi laudare_,—these are all we have of the daughter of
-England’s golden age. It would be easy, were it also just, to throw
-a dash of color into her shadowy history. One would like to verify
-the scene at Eyton, while the news of the coming Armada roused the
-lion in Drake, and struck terror into the Devon towns; and to hear the
-young wife, with three lisping Herberts at her knee, beguile them with
-mellow contralto snatches of a Robin Hood ballad, or with the sweet
-yesterday’s tale of Zutphen, where their country’s dearest gave his
-cup of water to a dying comrade. A decade later, before their handsome
-bluff father, her other healthful boys stood up to wrestle, and twang
-their arrows at forty paces; or a rosy daughter stole to his side, and
-asked him of mishaps in Ireland, or of the giant laughter bubbling
-from the “oracle of Apollo” in a London street. It is to be believed
-that one who watched events through the insurrection of Essex, through
-Raleigh’s dramatic trial, reprieve, and execution, through the national
-mourning for the Prince of Wales, through the fever for colonization,
-the savage sea-fights, the great intrigues in behalf of the Queen of
-Scots, the religious divisions, the muttering parliamentary thunders,
-the stress and heat of the exciting dawn of the seventeenth century,
-was not unmindful of all it meant to be alive, there and then. Magdalen
-Newport’s girlhood fell on Lyly’s _Euphues_, fresh from the printers;
-the _Arcadia_ made the talk of Oxford, in her prime; the dusky splendor
-of Marlowe’s _Faustus_ was abroad before her second marriage. She was,
-surely, aware of Shakespeare, and of the wonder-folio of 1623; of the
-newest delighting madrigals and antiphons set forth by one Robert
-Jones, when every soul in England had the gift of music; of rascal
-Robert Greene’s lovable lyrics, of Wyatt’s, Campion’s, and Drayton’s.
-She wrote no verses, indeed, but her familiars wrote them; her every
-step jostled a Muse. We may assume that no growth nor loss in literary
-circles escaped that tender “perplexing eye.” Perhaps it glistened from
-a bench, in the pioneer British theatre, on the actors of _Volpone_,
-and followed silently, behind the royal group, the first mincings
-of the first dear Fool in _King Lear_, one day-after-Christmas at
-Whitehall. Last of all, for whim’s sake, how any sociologist would
-enjoy having the honest opinion of young Lady Herbert, or that of
-little Mistress Donne, concerning the person they could but thank and
-praise! _Utinam vivisset Pepys!_ It is a cheat of history that it
-preserves no clearer tint or trace of this chosen passer-by. Such, in
-truth, she was, and the quiet vanishing name clings to her: the woman
-of durable gladness, happily born and taught, like the soul whereof Sir
-Henry Wotton, who must have known her well, made his immortal song.
-
-Of the gracious figure of Sir John Danvers we may be said to lose
-sight; for he seems less gracious, as by a Hindoo trick, as soon as
-it is written that his wife departed unto her reward. Comment on
-his character is equal comment upon hers, and adds new force to the
-classic episode of a lady philanthropist espousing a ne’er-do-weel and
-a featherbrain. Aubrey, always happy over a little ultra-contemporary
-gossip, calls it “a disagreeable match,” disappointing to the
-bridegroom’s kindred; but adds that “he married her for love of her
-wit.” Now, wit is an admirable magnet, but it is to be suspected that
-there was also, and in the immediate vicinity, “metal more attractive,”
-as Hamlet says. In the Chelsea parish-books is an entry, the first of
-its kind, certifying that Sir John Danvers had settled his account with
-“the poore,” a matter of thirty pounds’ loan (in which the vicar must
-have connived), for the year ending in January of 1628. If the payment
-were, by any hap, in advance, it may have fallen in Lady Danvers’s own
-lifetime; and if so, it is quite as likely that she paid it, with an
-admonition! Her “high tides of melancholy,” of whose true cause she
-certainly would not have complained to Dr. Donne, had something to
-do with this young spendthrift, who must have had his wheedling way,
-sooner or later, with such of her ample revenues as were yet extant.
-Perhaps Lord Herbert of Cherbury was both shrewd and charitable, in
-suppressing mention of his new relative.[15] The longer one looks into
-the matter, the less curious seems his unexplained silence concerning
-this late graft of a family hitherto always respectable and always
-loyal.
-
-There are gleams of subsequent private history in the tell-tale records
-at Chelsea. We are not incurably astonished to learn that as early as
-May of 1629 was christened Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John Danvers
-and Elizabeth his wife. This Lady Elizabeth, arriving providentially
-with her Dauntsey wealth, having borne him four children, died, as
-did his mother, in 1636; and left him even as she found him, none too
-monogamous. In 1648 Sir John Danvers again appeared at the venerable
-altars where his first saint never had a memorial, loving, honoring,
-and cherishing a Mrs. Grace Hewes, Hawes, or Hewet, of Kemerton in
-Gloucestershire, and, as it is to be surmised, leading her tame
-fortune by a ribbon. His debts and difficulties, not of one but of all
-time, sprout perennially in the registers. His indefatigable name,
-oftener than any rival’s whatsoever, figures as borrowing and paying
-interest on a forty-pound note, which, like a Hydra-head, was always
-forthcoming so soon as it was demolished. This disgraceful business was
-the man’s chief concern: for the older he grew the deeper and deeper
-he sank into entanglements, particularly after the death of the King.
-It was never doubted, in his day, but that this was a judgment on the
-former Gentleman Usher who affixed hand and seal to the warrant of his
-sovereign’s execution.[16] His own family, it is said, as well as the
-royalist Herberts and Newports, dropped his acquaintance; and who knows
-whether Mrs. Grace Hewet was faithful? At his favorite Chelsea, in the
-April of 1655, and in about the seventy-fourth year of his age, Sir
-John Danvers ended his career by more conventional agencies than the
-rope and the knife, which might have befallen him in the Stuart triumph
-of the morrow. His manor fell an immediate forfeit to the crown. In
-1661, the dead republican was attainted, and all of his estate which
-was unprotected was declared regal booty. The year before his own
-burial at Dauntsey he laid there, “to the great grief of all good men,”
-the body of his elder son Henry, who had just attained his majority.
-The Earl of Danby had died, “full of honors, wounds, and days,” in
-1643, while this Henry, his nephew, was still a hopeful child; and on
-him alone he had taken pains to settle his possessions. But Henry, in
-turn, was persuaded to bequeath the major part of them to his father’s
-ever-gaping pocket, the remainder reverting to one of his two surviving
-sisters. The third Lady Danvers, who lived until 1678, had also a son
-Charles,[17] who petitioned the crown for his paternal rights, but
-died in old age, with neither income nor issue.
-
-Clarendon quietly indicts Sir John Danvers as a “proud, formal, weak
-man,” such as Cromwell “employed and contemned at once.” George Bate
-gives him a harder character, saying that he “proved his brother to be
-a delinquent in the Rump Parliament, whereby he might overthrow his
-will, and so compass the estate himself. He sided with the sectarian
-party, was one of the King’s judges, and lived afterwards some years
-in his sin, without repentance.” But the same accuser adds the saving
-fact that Dr. Thomas Fuller, like Aubrey, was Sir John’s friend, and,
-by his desire, preached many times at Chelsea, “where, I am sure, he
-was instructed to repent of his misguided and wicked consultations in
-having to do with the murther of that just man.” One half surmises
-that had the preliminaries of the great struggle occurred in her time
-Magdalen Herbert’s rather austere and advanced standards of right would
-have stood it out, despite her traditions, for the Commons against
-_Carolus Agnus_.[18] But that would have been a very different matter
-from sharing the feelings of the crude advocates of revolution and
-regicide. What a misconception of her spotless motives must she have
-borne, had others found her in agreement with her vagabond lord, who
-treated politics as he treated the sacrament of matrimony, purely as a
-makeshift and a speculation!
-
-He was no raw-head-and-bloody-bones, this Roderigo-like Briton who won
-the approval of Lord Bacon, and whom George Wither thanks for “those
-pleasurable refreshments often vouchsafed”; and whom very different
-men, such as George Herbert and Walton[19] and peaceable Fuller loved.
-He was a comely creature of some parts, a luckless worldling anxious
-to feather his own nest, and driven by timidity and the desire of gain
-into treacheries against himself. His short, thin, and “fayre bodie,”
-common, as George Herbert would have us imply, to all who bore his
-name, his elegance, his hospitality, and his devotedness to his elderly
-wife, carried him off handsomely in the eyes of her jealous circle. His
-house in Chelsea, commemorated now by Danvers Street, adjoined that
-which had been Sir Thomas More’s, and was presumably a part of the same
-estate. All around it, and due to its master’s genuine enthusiasm, lay
-the first Italian garden planted in England; and there, rolling towards
-the Thames, were the long glowing flower-beds and green orchard-alleys,
-which were also the “_horti deliciæ dominæ_” recalled thrice in the
-music of filial sorrow. This home of Magdalen Danvers was pulled down,
-and built over, in 1716. Within its unfallen walls, where she spent
-her serene married life, and where she died, she had time to think,
-nevertheless, that she stood, towards evening, in the ways of folly,
-and that hers was one of those little incipient domestic tragedies
-which must always look amusing, even to a friend.
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[1] Walton confuses this Edward Herbert with a namesake entered at
-Queen’s College; and he follows the erring dates of the _Autobiography
-of Lord Herbert of Cherbury_. The boy’s age is correctly given as
-fourteen in the college registers.
-
-[2] Donne had been in residence at both Universities, but took no
-degree at either, as he had scruples against accepting the conditions
-imposed. He was at that time, and until about 1593, like his parents, a
-Catholic. His father was of Welsh descent: a fact which may have borne
-its share in attracting him towards the Herberts.
-
-[3] Anne Donne, it may be remarked, was also the name of Cowper’s
-mother.
-
-[4] Sir Richard Baker’s _Chronicle_, 1684, mentions Dr. Donne as one
-of his “heroic Grecians,” and adds, in the same breath, that he was “a
-great visitor of ladies.”
-
-[5] Dr. Donne’s conceit about the ages of his friends is better handled
-in the young Cartwright’s
-
-“Chloe, why wish you that your years,”
-
-a little later. It is not impossible that Cartwright, an Oxonian and an
-observer, may have drawn upon Donne’s report of this very wedding for
-his charming and ingenious lyric.
-
-[6] This august personage was one of the Spencers of Althorp. At
-this time she had been for six years the wife of her second husband,
-the Lord Keeper Egerton, although retaining the magnificent title of
-her widowhood. At their estate of Harefield in Middlesex, Milton’s
-_Arcades_ was afterwards given, and it will be remembered what fine
-compliments to the then aged countess-dowager figure in its opening
-verses. Spenser’s _Teares of the Muses_ had been dedicated to her, in
-her prime, and she was the Amaryllis “highest in degree” of his _Colin
-Clout’s Come Home Again_.
-
-[7] Sir James Sandelyn, Sandalo, or Sandilands (who cuts his finest
-figure as Jacobus Sandilandius in _The Muses’ Welcome_) was appointed
-Maistre d’Hostel to the beloved and beautiful Princess Elizabeth on
-her marriage to Frederic, Count Palatine of the Rhine, afterwards
-King of Bohemia, in 1612. As Sir James’s name is down on the lists of
-the Exchequer for a gift in 1615, and as his little son Richard was
-baptized in Deptford Church two months after the date of Lady Danvers’s
-letter, we may conclude that he came back to England just when the
-“ambassatore” expected him.
-
-[8] Edward Herbert served as a volunteer in the campaign of 1614-15
-in the Netherlands, under the Prince of Orange. Richard Herbert, here
-mentioned, was his eldest son, a future Cavalier and captain of a troop
-of horse in the Civil Wars; Edward was the baby, and “Bettye” the child
-Beatrice, destined, like her sister, to a short life.
-
-[9] This 1614-15 was an eccentric and un-English year throughout. The
-winter signalized itself by the Great Snow; “_frigus intensum_,” as
-Camden says, “_et nix copiosissima_.”
-
-[10] Lord Bacon dedicated to Edward Herbert, “the father of English
-deists,” his very flat translation of the Psalms! George wrote three
-Latin poems in his honor, one being upon the occasion of his death.
-
-[11] He was, in July of 1626, ordained deacon, and prebendary of Layton
-Ecclesia in Huntingdonshire. Readers of Walton will remember how his
-dear mother invited him to commit simony on that occasion.
-
-[12] The standing marble figure in a winding-sheet which Dr. King had
-modelled upon this strange painting on wood, may yet be seen in the
-south ambulatory of the choir of St. Paul’s; almost the only relic
-saved from the old cathedral which perished in the Great Fire of 1666.
-It is not only of unique interest, but of considerable artistic beauty,
-and “seems to breathe faintly,” as Sir Henry Wotton said of it.
-
-[13] Dr. Donne’s papers were bequeathed to Dr. Henry King, the
-poet-Bishop of Chichester, then residentiary of St. Paul’s. The “find”
-were a precious one, if they yet survive.
-
-[14] The half-romantic reference, which occurs more than once in
-Donne’s poems, to his own long-dead arm which still shall keep
-
-“The bracelet of bright hair about the bone,”—
-
-has it nothing to do with this blond head? _Honi soit qui mal y pense._
-The internal evidences in _The Relic_, with its mention of St. Mary
-Magdalen, and its boast of purest friendship, and the roguery of the
-closing line in _The Funeral_, are somewhat strong, nevertheless.
-
-[15] The famous _Autobiography_, indeed, boldly assures posterity
-that Lady Herbert, after 1597, “continued unmarried,” and, in brief,
-“was the woman Dr. Donne hath described her.” The acknowledgment of
-the accuracy of that funeral sermon, containing, as it does, its very
-specific Danvers passages, is in our fearless philosopher’s best style.
-
-[16] There was afterwards, in France, a Gentleman of the Bedchamber who
-had other notions. “Gratitude,” said Thierry to his executioner in the
-court-yard of the Abbaye—“gratitude has no opinions. I am leal to my
-master.”
-
-[17] An elder Charles, son of the Lady Elizabeth Danvers, was baptized
-in 1632, and must have died early.
-
-[18] Edward Herbert sided eventually with the Parliament, which
-indemnified him for the burning and sacking of Montgomery Castle.
-
-[19] The six very innocent, cheerful, pious ten-syllable stanzas,
-attributed in _The Complete Angler_ to “another angler, Jo. Davors,
-Esq.,” are not, it is hardly necessary to add, from our scapegrace’s
-pen. He ceased to be “Jo. Davors, Esq.,” when Walton was fourteen years
-old.
-
-
-
-
-
-II
-
-HENRY VAUGHAN
-
-1621-1695
-
-
-IN his own person, Henry Vaughan left no trace in society. His life
-seemed to slip by like the running water on which he was forever gazing
-and moralizing, and his memory met early with the fate which he hardly
-foresaw. Descended from the royal chiefs of southern Wales whom Tacitus
-mentions, and whose abode, in the day of Roman domination, was in the
-district called Siluria,[20] he called himself the Silurist upon his
-title-pages; and he keeps the distinctive name in the humblest of
-epitaphs, close by his home in the glorious valley of the Usk and the
-little Honddu, under the shadow of Tretower, the ruined castle of his
-race, and of Pen-y-Fan and his kindred peaks. What we know of him
-is a sort of pastoral: how he was born, the son of a poor gentleman,
-in 1621, at Newton St. Bridget, in the old house yet asleep on the
-road between Brecon and Crickhowel; how he went up to Oxford, Laud’s
-Oxford, with Thomas, his twin, as a boy of sixteen, to be entered at
-Jesus College;[21] how he took his degree (just where and when no one
-can discover), and came back, after a London revel, to be the village
-physician, though he was meant for the law, in what had become his
-brother’s parish of Llansantffraed; to write books full of sequestered
-beauty, to watch the most tragic of wars, to look into the faces of
-love and loss, and to spend his thoughtful age on the bowery banks of
-the river he had always known, his _Isca parens florum_, to which
-he consecrated many a sweet English line. And the ripple of the not
-unthankful Usk was “distinctly audible over its pebbles,” as was the
-Tweed to the failing sense of Sir Walter, in the room where Henry
-Vaughan drew his last breath, on St. George’s day, April 23, 1695. He
-died exactly seventy-nine years after Shakespeare, exactly one hundred
-and fifty-five years before Wordsworth.
-
-Circumstances had their way with him, as with most poets. He knew
-the touch of disappointment and renunciation, not only in life, but
-in his civic hopes and in his art. He broke his career in twain, and
-began over, before he had passed thirty; and he showed great æsthetic
-discretion, as well as disinterestedness, in replacing his graceful
-early verses by the deep dedications of his prime. Religious faith and
-meditation seem so much part of his innermost nature, it is a little
-difficult to remember that Vaughan considered himself a brand snatched
-from the burning, a lawless Cavalier brought by the best of chances
-to the quiet life, and the feet of the moral Muse. He suffered most
-of the time between 1643 and 1651 from a sorely protracted and nearly
-fatal illness; and during its progress his wife and his dearest friends
-were taken from him. Nor was the execution of the King a light event
-to so sensitive a poet and so passionate a partisan. Meanwhile Vaughan
-read George Herbert, and his theory of proportional values began to
-change. It was a season of transition and silent crises, when men bared
-their breasts to great issues, and when it was easy for a childlike
-soul,
-
- “Weary of her vain search below, above,
- In the first Fair to find the immortal Love.”[22]
-
-Vaughan, in his new fervor, did his best to suppress the numbers
-written in his youth, thus clearing the field for what he afterwards
-called his “hagiography”; and a critic may wonder what he found in his
-first tiny volume of 1646, or in _Olor Iscanus_, to regret or cancel.
-Every unbaptized song is “bright only in its own innocence, and
-kindles nothing but a generous thought”; and one of them, at least,
-has a manly postlude of love and resolve worthy of the free lyres of
-Lovelace and Montrose. Vaughan, unlike other ardent spirits of his
-class, had nothing very gross to be sorry for; if he was, indeed, one
-of his own
-
- “feverish souls,
- Sick with a scarf or glove,”
-
-he had none but noble ravings. Happily, his very last verses, _Thalia
-Rediviva_, breaking as it were by accident a silence of twenty-three
-years, indorse with cheerful gallantry the accents of his youth.
-The turn in his life which brought him lasting peace, in a world
-rocking between the cant of the Parliament and resurgent audacity
-and riot, achieved for us a body of work which, small as it is, has
-rare interest, and an out-of-door beauty, as of the natural dusk,
-“breathless with adoration,” which is almost without parallel. Eternity
-has been known to spoil a poet for time, but not in this instance.
-Never did religion and art interchange a more fortunate service,
-outside Italian studios. Once he had shaken off secular ambitions,
-Vaughan’s voice grew at once freer and more forceful. In him a
-marked intellectual gain sprang from an apparently slight spiritual
-readjustment, even as it did, three centuries later, in one greater
-than he, John Henry Newman.
-
-Vaughan’s work is thickly sown with personalities, but they are so
-delicate and involved that there is little profit in detaching them.
-What record he made at the University is not apparent; nor is it at
-all sure that so independent and speculative a mind applied itself
-gracefully to the curriculum. He was, in the only liberal sense, a
-learned man, full of life-long curiosity for the fruit of the Eden
-Tree. His lines beginning
-
- “Quite spent with thought I left my cell”
-
-show the acutest thirst for hidden knowledge; he would “most gladly
-die,” if death might buy him intellectual growth. He looks forward to
-eternity as to the unsealing and disclosing of mysteries. He makes the
-soul sing joyously to the body:
-
- “I that here saw darkly, in a glass,
- But mists and shadows pass,
- And by their own weak shine did search the springs
- And source of things,
- Shall, with inlighted rays,
- Pierce all their ways!”
-
-With an imperious query, he encounters the host of midnight stars:
-
- “Who circled in
- Corruption with this glorious ring?”
-
-What Vaughan does know is nothing to him; when he salutes the Bodleian
-from his heart, he is thinking how little honey he has gathered from
-that vast hive, and how little it contains, when measured with what
-there is to learn from living and dying. He had small respect for the
-sinister sciences among which the studies of his beloved brother,
-a Neo-Platonist, lay. Though he was no pedant, he dearly loved to
-get in a slap against the ignorant whom we have always with us. At
-twenty-five, he printed a good adaptation of the Tenth of Juvenal, and
-flourished his wit, in the preface, at the expense of some possible
-gentle reader of the parliamentary persuasion who would “quarrel with
-antiquitie.” “These, indeed, may think that they have slept out so many
-centuries in this Satire, and are now awaked; which had it been still
-Latin, perhaps their nap had been everlasting!”
-
-He was an optimist, proven through much personal trial; he had
-sympathy with the lower animals, and preserved a humorous deference
-towards all things alive, even the leviathan of Holy Writ, which
-he affectionately exalts into “the shipmen’s fear” and “the comely
-spacious whale”! Vaughan adored his friends; he had a unique veneration
-for childhood; his adjective for the admirable and beautiful, whether
-material or immaterial, is “dear”; and his mind dwelt with habitual
-fondness on what Sir Thomas Browne (a man after his own heart) calls
-“incomprehensibles, and thoughts of things which thoughts do but
-tenderly touch.”
-
-His occupation as a resident physician must have fostered his fine
-eye and ear for the green earth, and furnished him, day by day,
-with musings in sylvan solitudes, and rides abroad over the fresh
-hill-paths. The breath of the mountains is about his books. An early
-riser, he uttered a constant invocation to whomever would listen, that
-
- “Manna was not good
- After sun-rising; far-day sullies flowers.”
-
-He was hospitable on a limited income.[23] His verses of invitation
-_To his Retired Friend_, which are not without their thrusts at
-passing events, have a classic jollity fit to remind the reader of
-Randolph’s ringing ode to Master Anthony Stafford. Again and again
-Vaughan reiterates the Socratic and Horatian song of content: that he
-has enough lands and money, that there are a thousand things he does
-not want, that he is blessed in what he has. All this does not prevent
-him from recording the phenomenal ebb-tides of his purse, and from
-whimsically synthesizing on “the threadbare, goldless genealogie” of
-bards! No sour zealot in anything, he enjoyed an evening now and then
-at the Globe Tavern in London, where he consumed his sack with relish,
-that he might be “possessor of more soul,” and “after full cups have
-dreams poetical.” But he was no lover of the town. Country life was
-his joy and pride; the only thing which seemed, in his own most vivid
-phrase, to “fill his breast with home.”
-
- “Here something still like Eden looks!
- Honey in woods, juleps in brooks.”
-
-A literary acquaintance, one unrecognized N. W., congratulates
-Vaughan that he is able to “give his Muse the swing in an hereditary
-shade.” He translated with great gusto _The Old Man of Verona_, out
-of Claudian, and Guevara’s _Happiness of Country Life_; and he notes
-with satisfaction that Abraham was of his rural mind, in “Mamre’s holy
-grove.” Vaughan was an angler, need it be added? Nay, the autocrat of
-anglers: he was a salmon-catcher.
-
-With “the charity which thinketh no evil,” he loved almost everything,
-except the Jesuits, and his ogres the Puritans. For Vaughan knew where
-he stood, and his opinion of Puritanism never varied. He kept his
-snarls and satires, for the most part, hedged within his prose, the
-proper ground of the animosities. When he put on his singing-robes, he
-tried to forget, not always with success, his spites and bigotries.
-For his life, he could not help sidelong glances, stings, strictures
-between his teeth, thistle-down hints cast abroad in the neatest of
-generalities:
-
- “Who saint themselves, they are no saints!”
-
-The introduction to his _Mount of Olives_ (whose pages have a soft
-billowy music like Jeremy Taylor’s) is nominally inscribed to “the
-peaceful, humble, and pious reader.” That functionary must have found
-it a trial to preserve his peaceful and pious abstraction, while the
-peaceful and pious author proceeded to flout the existing government,
-in a towering rage, and in very elegant caustic English. Vaughan was
-none too godly to be a thorough hater. He was genially disposed to
-the pretensions of every human creature; he refused to consider his
-ancestry and nurture by themselves, as any guarantee of the justice
-of his views or of his superior insight into affairs. Yet in spite of
-his enforced Quaker attitude during the clash of arms, he nursed in
-that gentle bosom the heartiest loathing of democracy, and shared the
-tastes of a certain clerk of the Temple “who never could be brought to
-write Oliver with a great O.” It is fortunate that he did not spoil
-himself, as Wither did, upon the wheels of party, for politics were his
-most vehement concern. Had he been richer, as he tells us in a playful
-passage, nothing on earth would have kept him from meddling with
-national issues.
-
-The poets, save the greatest, Milton, his friend Andrew Marvell, and
-Wither, rallied in a bright group under the royal standard. Those
-among them who did not fight were commonly supposed, as was Drummond
-of Hawthornden, to redeem their reputation by dying of grief at the
-overthrow of the King. Yet Vaughan did not fight, and Vaughan did not
-die of grief. It is so sure that he suffered some privation, and it
-may be imprisonment, for his allegiance, that shrewd guessers, before
-now, have equipped him and placed him in the ranks of the losing cause,
-where he might have had choice company. His generous erratic brother (a
-writer of some note, an alchemist, an Orientalist, a Rosicrucian, who
-was ejected from his vicarage in 1654, and died either of the plague,
-or of inhaling the fumes of a caldron, at Albury, in 1665, while the
-court was at Oxford)[24] had been a recruit, and a brave one. But Henry
-Vaughan explicitly tells us, in his _Ad Posteros_, and in a prayer in
-the second part of _Silex Scintillans_, that he had no personal share
-in the constitutional struggle, that he shed no blood. Again he cries,
-in a third lyric,
-
- “O accept
- Of his vowed heart, whom Thou hast kept
- From bloody men!”
-
-This painstaking record of a fact by one so loyal as he goes far
-to prove, to an inductive mind not thoroughly familiar with his
-circumstances, that he considered war the worst of current evils, and
-was willing, for this first principle of his philosophy, to lay himself
-open to the charge, not indeed of cowardice (was he not a Vaughan?),
-but of lack of appreciation for the one romantic opportunity of his
-life. His withdrawal from the turmoil which so became his colleagues
-may seem to harmonize with his known moral courage and right sentiment;
-and fancy is ready to fasten on him the sad neutrality, and the
-passionate “ingemination” for “peace, peace,” which “took his sleep
-from him, and would shortly break his heart,” such as Clarendon tells
-us of in his beautiful passage touching the young Lord Falkland. But
-it is greatly to be feared that Vaughan, despite all the abstract
-reasoning which arrays itself against so babyish and barbarous a thing
-as a battle, would have swung himself into a saddle as readily as any,
-had not “God’s finger touched him.” A comparison of dates will show
-that he was bedridden, while his hot heart was afield with the shouting
-gentlemen whom Mr. Browning heard in a vision:
-
- “King Charles! and who’ll do him right, now?
- King Charles! and who’s ripe for fight, now?
- Give a rouse: here’s in Hell’s despite now,
- King Charles!”
-
-This is the secret of Vaughan’s blood-guiltlessness. Of course he
-thanked Heaven, after, that he was kept clean of carnage; he would have
-thanked Heaven for anything that happened to him. It was providential
-that we of posterity lost a soldier in the Silurist, and gained a poet.
-As the great confusion cleared, his spirit cleared too, and the Vaughan
-we know,
-
- “Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair,”
-
-comes in, like a protesting angel, with the Commonwealth. Perhaps
-he lived long enough to sum up the vanity of statecraft and the
-instability of public choice, driven from tyranny to license, from
-absolute monarchy to absolute anarchy; and to turn once more to his
-“loud brook’s incessant fall” as an object much worthier of a rational
-man’s regard. Born while James I. was vain-gloriously reigning, Henry
-Vaughan survived the Civil War, the two Protectorates, the orgies of
-the Restoration (which he did not fail to satirize), and the Revolution
-of “Meenie the daughter,” as the old Scots song slyly calls her. He had
-seen the Stuarts in and out, in and out again, and his seventy-four
-years, on-lookers at a tragedy, were not forced to sit through the dull
-Georgian farce which began almost as soon as his grave was green.
-
-Moreover, he was thoroughly out of touch with his surroundings. While
-all the world was either devil-may-care or Calvin-colored, he had for
-his characteristic a rapt, inexhaustible joy, buoying him up and
-sweeping him away. He might well have said, like Dr. Henry More, his
-twin’s rival and challenger in metaphysics, that he was “most of his
-time mad with pleasure.” While
-
- “every burgess foots
- The mortal pavement in eternal boots,”
-
-Vaughan lay indolently along a bank, like a shepherd swain, pondering
-upon the brood of “green-heads” who denied miracles to have been or to
-be, and wishing the noisy passengers on the highways of life could be
-taught the value of
-
- “A sweet self-privacy in a right soul.”
-
-His mind turned to paradoxes and inverted meanings, and the analysis
-of his own tenacious dreams, in an England of pikes and bludgeons and
-hock-carts and wassail-cakes. “A proud, humoursome person,” Anthony
-à Wood called him. He was something of a fatalist, inasmuch as he
-followed his lonely and straight path, away from crowds, and felt eager
-for nothing but what fell into his open hands. He strove little, being
-convinced that temporal advantage is too often an eternal handicap.
-“Who breaks his glass to take more light,” he reminds us, “makes way
-for storms unto his rest.” This passive quality belongs to happy men,
-and Vaughan was a very happy man, thanks to the faith and will which
-made him so, although he had known calamity, and had failed in much.
-Throughout his pages one can trace the affecting struggle between
-things desired and things forborne. It is only a brave philosopher who
-can afford to pen a stanza intimate as this:
-
- “O Thou who didst deny to me
- The world’s adored felicity!
- Keep still my weak eyes from the shine
- Of those gay things which are not Thine.”
-
-He had better possessions than glory under his hand in the health and
-peace of his middle age and in his cheerful home. He was twice married,
-and must have lost his first wife, nameless to us, but most tenderly
-mourned, in his twenty-ninth or thirtieth year. She seems to have been
-the mother of five of his six children. Vaughan was rich in friends. He
-had known Davenant and Cartwright, but it is quite characteristic of
-him that the two great authors to whom he was especially attached were
-Jonson and John Fletcher, both only a memory at the time of his first
-going to London. Of Randolph, Jonson’s strong “son,” who so beggared
-English literature by dying young in 1634, Vaughan sweetly says
-somewhere that he will hereafter
-
- “Look for Randolph in those holy meads.”
-
-Mention of his actual fellow-workers is very infrequent, nor does he
-mention the Shakespeare who had “dwelt on earth unguessed at,” and who
-is believed to have visited the estates of the Vaughans at Scethrog,
-and to have picked up the name of his merry fellow Puck from goblin
-traditions of the neighborhood. Vaughan followed his leisure and his
-preference in translating divers works of meditation, biography, and
-medicine, pleasing himself, like Queen Bess, with naturalizing bits of
-Boethius, and much from Plutarch, Ausonius, Severinus, and Claudian.
-He did some passages from Ovid, but he must have felt sharply the
-violence done to the lyric essence in passing it ever so gently from
-language to language, for he lingered over Adrian’s darling _Animula
-vagula blandula_, only to leave it alone, and to write of it as the
-saddest poetry that ever he met with.
-
-Not the least of Henry Vaughan’s blessings was his warm friendship with
-“the matchless Orinda.”[25] This delightful Catherine Fowler married,
-in 1647, a stanch royalist, Mr. James Philips of Cardigan Priory, and
-as his bride, became what, in the Welsh solitudes, was considered
-“neighbor” to Vaughan, her home being distant from his just fifty miles
-as the crow flies. She had been, in her infancy, a prodigy of Biblical
-quotation, like Evelyn’s little Richard, and grew up to be such another
-_précieuse_ as Madame la Comtesse de Lafayette, _née_ Lavergne; but
-we know that she was the cleverest and comeliest of good women, and
-Vaughan’s association with her must have been a perpetual sunshine
-to him and his. She prefixed, after the fashion of the day, some
-commendatory verses to his published work. They are not only pretty,
-but they furnish a bit of adequate criticism. The secular Muse of the
-Silurist is, according to Orinda,
-
- “Truth clothed in wit, and Love in innocence,”
-
-and has, for her birthright, seriousness and a “charming rigour.” The
-last two words might stand for him in the fast-coming day when nobody
-will have time to discuss old poets in anything but technical terms and
-epigrams. Orinda, with her accurate judgment, should have had a chance
-to talk to Mr. Thomas Campbell, who adorned his _Specimens_ with the
-one official and truly prepositional phrase that “Vaughan was one of
-the harshest of writers, even of the inferior order of the school of
-conceit!”[26]
-
-While Henry Vaughan was preparing for publication the first half of
-_Silex Scintillans_ as the token of his arrested and uplifted youth,
-Rev. Mr. Thomas Vaughan, backed by a few other sanguine Oxonians, and
-disregardful of his twin’s exaggerated remorse for the fruits of his
-profaner years, brought out the “formerly written and newly named”
-_Olor Iscanus_, over the author’s head, in 1650, and gave to it a
-motto from the Georgics. The preface is in Eugenius Philalethes’ own
-gallant style, and offers a haughty commendation to “beauty from the
-light retired.” Perhaps Vaughan’s earliest and most partial editor
-felt, like Thoreau on a certain occasion, that it were well to make an
-extreme statement, if only so he might make an emphatic one. He chose
-to supplicate the public of the Protectorate in this wise: “It was
-the glorious Maro that referred his legacies to the fire, and though
-princes are seldom executors, yet there came a Cæsar to his testament,
-as if the act of a poet could not be repealed but by a king. I am
-not, reader, Augustus Vindex: here is no royal rescue, but here is a
-Muse that deserves it. The author had long ago condemned these poems
-to obscurity and the consumption of that further fate which attends
-it. This censure gave them a gust of death, and they have partly known
-that oblivion which our best labors must come to at last. I present
-thee, then, not only with a book, but with a prey, and, in this kind,
-the first recoveries from corruption. Here is a flame hath been some
-time extinguished, thoughts that have been lost and forgot, but now
-they break out again like the Platonic reminiscency. I have not the
-author’s approbation to the fact, but I have law on my side, though
-never a sword: I hold it no man’s prerogative to fire his own house.
-Thou seest how saucy I am grown, and if thou dost expect I should
-commend what is published, I must tell thee I cry no Seville oranges;
-I will not say ‘Here is fine,’ or ‘cheap’: that were an injury to
-the verse itself, and to the effect it can produce. Read on; and
-thou wilt find thy spirit engaged, not by the deserts of what we call
-tolerable, but by the commands of a pen that is above it.” All this is
-uncritical, but useful and proper on the part of the clerical brother,
-who writes very much as Lord Edward Herbert might be supposed to write
-for George under like conditions; for he knew, according to an ancient
-adage, that there is great folly in pointing out the shortcomings of
-a work of art to eyes uneducated to its beauties. It was just as well
-to insist disproportionately upon the principle at stake, that Henry
-Vaughan’s least book was unique and precious. He was not, like the
-majority of the happy lyrists of his time, a writer by accident; he
-was strictly a man of letters, and his sign-manual is large and plain
-upon everything which bears his name. He indites like a Roman, with
-evenness and without a superfluous syllable. One cannot italicize
-him; every word is a congested force, packed to bursting with meaning
-and insistence; the utterance of a man who has been thinking all his
-life upon his own chosen subjects, and who unerringly despatches
-a language about its business, as if he had just created it. Like
-Andrew Marvell’s excellent father, “he never broached what he had
-never brewed.” It follows that his work, to which second editions were
-wellnigh unknown, shows scarcely any variation from itself. It carries
-with it a testimony that, such as it stands, it is the very best its
-author can do. Its faults are not slips; they are quite as radical and
-congenital as its virtues. Vaughan (to transfer a fine phrase of Mr.
-W. T. Arnold) is “enamoured of perfection,” but he is fully so before
-he makes up his mind to write, and from the first every stroke of his
-pen is fatal. It transfixes a noun or a verb, pins it to the page, and
-challenges a reformer to move or replace it. His modest Muse is as
-sure as Shakespeare, as nice as Pope; she is incapable of scruples and
-apprehensions, once she has spoken. What Vaughan says of Cartwright may
-well be applied to his own deliberate grace of diction:
-
- “Thou thy thoughts hast drest in such a strain
- As doth not only speak, but rule and reign.”
-
-His verses have the tone of a Vandyck portrait, with all its firm
-pensive elegance and lack of shadow.
-
-Vaughan has very little quaintness, as we now understand that word, and
-none of the cloudiness and incorrigible grotesqueness which dominated
-his Alexandrian day. He has great temperance; he keeps his eye upon
-the end, and scarcely falls at all into “the fond adulteries of art,”
-inversions, unscholarly compound words, or hard-driven metaphors. If
-he be difficult to follow, it is only because he lives, as it were, in
-highly oxygenated air; he is remote and peculiar, but not eccentric.
-His conceits are not monstrous; the worst of them proclaims:
-
- “Some love a rose
- In hand, some in the skin;
- But, cross to those,
- I would have mine within”;
-
-which will bear a comparison with Carew’s hatched cherubim, or with
-that very provincialism of Herbert’s which describes a rainbow as the
-lace of Peace’s coat! Those of Vaughan’s figures not drawn from the
-open air, where he was happiest, are, indeed, too bold and too many,
-and they come from strange corners: from finance, medicine, mills, the
-nursery, and the mechanism of watches and clocks. In no one instance,
-however, does he start wrong, like the great influencer, Donne, in
-_The Valediction_, and finish by turning such impediments as “stiff
-twin-compasses” into images of memorable beauty. The _Encyclopædia
-Britannica_, like Campbell, finds Vaughan “untunable,” and so he is
-very often. But poets may not always succeed in metaphysics and in
-music too. The lute which has the clearest and most enticing twang
-under the laurel boughs is Herrick’s, and not Donne’s; Mr. Swinburne’s,
-and not Mr. Browning’s. It is to be observed that when Vaughan lets go
-of his regrets, his advice, and his growls over the bad times, he falls
-into instant melody, as if in that, and not in a rough impressiveness,
-were his real strength. His blessing for the river Usk flows sweetly as
-the tide it hangs upon:
-
- “Garlands, and songs, and roundelays,
- And dewy nights, and sunshine days,
- The turtle’s voice, joy without fear,
- Dwell on thy bosom all the year!
- To thee the wind from far shall bring
- The odors of the scattered spring,
- And, loaden with the rich arrear,
- Spend it in spicy whispers here.”
-
-Vaughan played habitually with his pauses, and unconsciously threw the
-metrical stress on syllables and words least able to bear it; but no
-sensitive ear can be otherwise than pleased at the broken sequence of
-such lines as
-
- “these birds of light make a land glad
- Chirping their solemn matins on a tree,”
-
-and the hesitant symbolism of
-
- “As if his liquid loose retinue stayed
- Lingering, and were of this steep place afraid.”
-
-The word “perspective,” with the accent upon the first syllable, was
-a favorite with him; and Wordsworth approved of that usage enough to
-employ it in the majestic opening of the sonnet on King’s College
-Chapel.[27] In short, if Vaughan be “untunable,” it is because he
-never learned to distil vowels at the expense or peril of the message
-which he believed himself bound to deliver, even where hearers were
-next to none, and which he tried only to make compact and clear. His
-speech has a deep and free harmony of its own, to those whom abruptness
-does not repel; and even critics who turn from him to the masters of
-verbal sound may do him the parting honor of acknowledging the nature
-of his limitation.
-
- “A noble error, and but seldom made,
- When poets are by too much force betrayed!”
-
-Vaughan was a born observer, and in his poetry may be found the pioneer
-expression of the nineteenth-century feeling for landscape. His canvas
-is not often large; he had an indifference towards the exquisite
-presence of autumn, and an inland ignorance of the sea. But he could
-portray depth and distance at a stroke, as in the buoyant lines:
-
- “It was high spring, and all the way
- Primrosed, and hung with shade,”
-
-which etches for you the whole winding lane, roofed and floored with
-beauty; he carries a reader over half a continent in his
-
- “Paths that are hidden from the vulture’s eyes,”
-
-and suspends him above man’s planet altogether with his audacious
-eagle, to whom “whole seas are narrow spectacles,” and who
-
- “in the clear height and upmost air
- Doth face the sun, and his dispersèd hair!”
-
-Besides this large vision, Vaughan had uncommon knowledge how to employ
-detail, during the prolonged literary interval when it was wholly out
-of fashion. It has been the lot of the little rhymesters of all periods
-to deal with the open air in a general way, and to embellish their
-pages with birds and boughs; but it takes a true modern poet, under the
-influence of the Romantic revival, to sum up perfectly the ravages of
-wind and frost:
-
- “Where is the pride of summer, the green prime,
- The many, many leaves all twinkling?—Three
- On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime
- Trembling; and one upon the old oak tree”;
-
-and it takes another to give the only faithful and ideal report of a
-warbling which every schoolboy of the race had heard before him:
-
- “That’s the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over,
- Lest you should think he never could recapture
- The first fine careless rapture.”
-
-That Vaughan’s pages should furnish this patient specification is
-remarkable in a man whose mind was set upon things invisible. His gaze
-is upon the inaccessible ether, but he seems to detect everything
-between himself and heaven. He sighs over the inattentive rustic, whom,
-perhaps, he catches scowling by the pasture-bars of the wild Welsh
-downs:
-
- “O that he would hear
- The world read to him!”
-
-Whatever is in that pleasant world he himself hears and sees; and his
-interrupted chronicle is always terse, graphic, straight from life. He
-has the inevitable phrase for every phenomenon, a little low-comedy
-phrase, sometimes, such as Shakespeare and Carew had used before him:
-
- “Deep snow
- Candies our country’s woody brow.”
-
-It seems never to have entered the primitive mind of Vaughan to love,
-or serve, art and nature for themselves. His cue was to walk abroad
-circumspectly and with incessant reverence, because in all things
-he found God. He marks, at every few rods in the thickets, “those
-low violets of Thine,” and the “breathing sacrifice” of earth-odors
-which the “parched and thirsty isle” gratefully sends back after a
-shower.[28] His prayer is that he may not forget that physical beauty
-is a great symbol, but only a symbol; a “hid ascent” through “masks and
-shadows” to the divine; or, as Mr. Lowell said in one of his last poems,
-
- “a tent
- Pitched for an Inmate far more excellent.”
-
-A humanist of the school of Assisi, Vaughan was full of out-of-door
-meeknesses and pieties, nowhere sweeter in their expression than in
-this all-embracing valedictory:
-
- “O knowing, glorious Spirit! when
- Thou shalt restore trees, beasts, and men,
-
- * * * * *
-
- Give him among Thy works a place
- Who in them loved and sought Thy face.”
-
-He muses in the garden, at evenfall:
-
- “Man is such a marigold
- As shuts, and hangs the head.”
-
-Clouds, seasons, and the eternal stars are his playfellows; he
-apostrophizes our sister the rainbow, and reminds her of yesterday, when
-
- “Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,
- The youthful world’s grey fathers, in one knot,”
-
-lifted anxious looks to her new splendor. He is familiar with the
-depression which comes from boding weather, when
-
- “a pilgrim’s eye,
- Far from relief,
- Measures the melancholy sky.”
-
-He has an artist’s feeling, also, for the wrath of the elements, which
-inevitably hurry him on to the consummation
-
- “When Thou shalt spend Thy sacred store
- Of thunders in that heat,
- And low as e’er they lay before
- Thy six-days buildings beat!”
-
-“I saw,” he says, suddenly—
-
- “I saw Eternity the other night”;
-
-and he is perpetually seeing things almost as startling and as bright:
-the “edges and the bordering light” of lost infancy; the processional
-grandeur of old books, which he fearlessly calls
-
- “The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way”;
-
-and visions of the Judgment, when
-
- “from the right
- The white sheep pass into a whiter light.”
-
-Here the figure beautifully forecasts a famous one of Rossetti’s.
-Light, indeed, is Vaughan’s distinctive word, and the favorite source
-of his similes and illustrations.
-
-If Vaughan’s had not been so profoundly moral a nature, he would
-have lacked his picturesque sense of the general, the continuous.
-That shibboleth, “a primrose by the river’s brim,” is to him all the
-generations of all the yellow primroses smiling there since the Druids’
-day, and its mild moonlike ray reflects the hope and fear and pathos
-of the mortal pilgrimage that has seen and saluted it, age after age.
-Whatever he meets upon his walk is drowned and dimmed in a wide halo
-of association and sympathy. His unmistakable accent marks the opening
-of a little sermon called _The Timber_; a sigh of pity, tender as a
-child’s, over the fallen and unlovely logs:
-
- “Sure, thou didst flourish once! and many springs
- Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers,
- Passed o’er thy head; many light hearts and wings,
- Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers.”[29]
-
-Leigh Hunt once challenged England and America[30] to produce anything
-approaching, for music and feeling, the beauty of
-
- “boughs that shake against the cold,
- Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.”
-
-He forgot the closes of these artless lines of a minor poet; or he did
-not know them.
-
-Vaughan’s meek reputation began to renew itself about 1828, when four
-critics eminently fitted to appraise his worth were in their prime;
-but, curiously enough, none of these, not even the best of them, the
-same Charles Lamb who said a just and generous word for Wither, had the
-satisfaction of rescuing his sunken name. Lamb’s friend, the good soul
-Bernard Barton, seems, however, to have known and admired his Vaughan.
-
-Eight little books, if we count the two parts of _Silex Scintillans_
-as one,[31] enclose all of the Silurist’s original work. He began to
-publish in 1646, and he practically ceased in 1655, reappearing but
-in 1678 with _Thalia Rediviva_, which was not issued under his own
-supervision. It is commonly supposed that his verses were forgotten
-up to the date (1847) of the faulty but timely Aldine edition of the
-Rev. H. F. Lyte, thrice reprinted and revised since then, and until the
-appearance of Dr. Grosart’s four inestimable quartos; but Mr. Carew
-Hazlitt has been fortunate enough to discover the advertisement of an
-eighteenth-century reprint of Vaughan. As the results of Dr. Grosart’s
-patient service to our elder writers are necessarily semi-private,
-it may be said with truth that the real Vaughan is still debarred
-from the general reader, who is, indeed, the identical person least
-concerned about that state of affairs. His name is not irrecoverable
-nor unfamiliar to scholars.[32] His mind, on the whole, might pass
-for the product of yesterday; and he, who needs no glossary, may
-handsomely cede the honors of one to Mr. William Morris. It is at least
-certain that had Vaughan lately lifted up his sylvan voice out of
-Brecknockshire, he would not so readily be accused of having modelled
-himself unduly upon George Herbert.[33] He has gone into eclipse behind
-that gracious name.
-
-Henry Vaughan was a child of thirteen when Herbert, a stranger to
-him, died at Bemerton, and he read him first in the sick-chamber to
-which the five years’ distresses of his early manhood confined him.
-The reading could not have been prior to 1647, for _Olor Iscanus_,
-Vaughan’s second volume, was lying ready for the press that year, as
-we know from the date of its dedication to Lord Kildare Digby. As no
-novice poet, therefore, he fell under the spell of a sweet and elect
-soul, who was also a lover of vanquished royalty, a convert who had
-looked upon the vanities of the court and the city, a Welshman born,
-and not unconnected with Vaughan’s own ancient and patrician house.
-These were slight coincidences, but they served to strengthen a forming
-tie. The Silurist somewhere thanks Herbert’s “holy ever-living lines”
-for checking his blood; and it was, perhaps, the only service rendered
-of which he was conscious. But his endless iambics and his vague
-allegorical titles are cast thoroughly in the manner of Herbert, and
-he takes from the same source the heaped categorical epithets, the
-didactic tone, and the introspectiveness which are his most obvious
-failings. Vaughan’s intellectual debt to Herbert resolves itself into
-somewhat less than nothing; for in following him with zeal to the
-Missionary College of the Muses, he lost rather than gained, and he
-is altogether delightful and persuasive only where he is altogether
-himself. Nevertheless, a certain spirit of conformity and filial
-piety towards Herbert has betrayed Vaughan into frequent and flagrant
-imitations. It seems as if these must have been voluntary, and rooted
-in an intention to enforce the same truths in all but the same
-words; for the moment Vaughan breaks into invective, or comes upon
-his distinctive topics, such as childhood, natural beauty (for which
-Herbert had an imperfect sense), friendship, early death, spiritual
-expectation, he is off and away, free of any predecessor, thrilling and
-unforgettable. Comparisons will not be out of place here, for Vaughan
-can bear, and even invoke them. Dryden said in Jonson’s praise that he
-was “a learned plagiary,” and nobody doubts nowadays that Shakespeare
-and Milton were the bandit kings of their time. There was, indeed,
-in English letters, up to Queen Anne’s reign, an open communism of
-ideas and idioms astonishing to look upon; there is less confiscation
-at present, because, outside the pale of the sciences, there is less
-thinking. If any one thing can be closer to another, for instance, than
-even Drummond’s sonnet on _Sleep_ is to Sidney’s, it is the dress of
-Vaughan’s morality to that of George Herbert’s. Mr. Simcox is the only
-critic who has taken the trouble to contrast them, and he does so in
-so random a fashion as to suggest that his scrutiny, in some cases,
-has been confined to the rival titles. It is certain that no other
-mind, however bent upon identifications, can find a likeness between
-_The Quip_ and _The Queer_, or between _The Tempest_ and _Providence_.
-Vaughan’s _Mutiny_, like _The Collar_, ends in a use of the word
-“child,” after a scene of strife; and if ever it were meant to match
-Herbert’s poem, distinctly falls behind it, and deals, besides, with
-a much weaker rebelliousness. _Rules and Lessons_ is so unmistakably
-modelled upon _The Church Porch_ that it scarcely calls for comment.
-Herbert’s admonitions, however, are continued, but nowhere repeated;
-and Vaughan’s succeed in being poetic, which the others are not. Beyond
-these replicas, Vaughan’s structural genius is in no wise beholden to
-Herbert’s. But numerous phrases and turns of thought descend from the
-master to the disciple, undergoing such subtle and peculiar changes,
-and given back, as Coleridge would say, with such “usurious interest,”
-that it may well be submitted whether, in this casual list, every
-borrowing, save two, be not a bettering.
-
-
-HERBERT.
-
- “A throbbing conscience, spurrèd by remorse,
- Hath a strange force.”
-
- “My thoughts are all a case of knives,
- Wounding my heart
- With scattered smart.”
-
- “And trust
- Half that we have
- Unto an honest faithful grave.”
-
- “Teach me Thy love to know,
- That this new light which now I see
- May both the work and workman show:
- Then by a sunbeam I will climb to Thee!”
-
- “I will go searching, till I find a sun
- Shall stay till we have done,
- A willing shiner, that will shine as gladly
- As frost-nipt suns look sadly.
- Then we will sing and shine all our own day,
- And one another pay;
- His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine
- Till even his beams sing, and my music shine.”
-
-(_Of prayer._)
-
- “Heaven in ordinary, man well-drest,
- The Milky Way, the bird of Paradise.”
-
- “Then went I to a garden, and did spy
- A gallant flower,
- The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,
- Peace at the root must dwell.”
-
-
-VAUGHAN.
-
- “A darting conscience, full of stabs and fears.”
-
- “And wrap us in imaginary flights
- Wide of a faithful grave.”
-
- “That in these masks and shadows I may see
- Thy sacred way,
- And by these hid ascents climb to that day
- Which breaks from Thee
- Who art in all things, though invisibly!”
-
- “O would I were a bird or star
- Fluttering in woods, or lifted far
- Above this inn
- And road of sin!
- Then either star or bird would be
- Shining or singing still to Thee!”
-
-(_Of books._)
-
- “The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way.”
-
- “I walked the other day to spend my hour
- Into a field,
- Where I sometime had seen the soil to yield
- A gallant flower.”
-
-
-HERBERT.
-
- “But groans are quick and full of wings,
- And all their motions upward be,
- And ever as they mount, like larks they sing:
- The note is sad, yet music for a king.”
-
- “Joys oft are there, and griefs as oft as joys,
- But griefs without a noise;
- Yet speak they louder than distempered fears:
- What is so shrill as silent tears?”
-
- “At first Thou gavest me milk and sweetnesses,
- I had my wish and way;
- My days were strewed with flowers and happiness;
- There was no month but May.”
-
- “Only a scarf or glove
- Doth warm our hands, and make them write of Love.”
-
- “I got me flowers to strew Thy way,
- I got me boughs off many a tree;
- But Thou wast up by break of day,
- And brought Thy sweets along with Thee.”
-
- “O come! for Thou dost know the way:
- Or if to me Thou wilt not move,
- Remove me where I need not say,
- ‘Drop from above.’”
-
- “Sure Thou wilt joy by gaining me
- To fly home like a laden bee.”
-
-
-VAUGHAN.
-
- “A silent tear can pierce Thy throne
- When loud joys want a wing;
- And sweeter airs stream from a groan
- Than any artèd string.”
-
- “Follow the cry no more! There is
- An ancient way,
- All strewed with flowers and happiness,
- And fresh as May!”
-
- “feverish souls
- Sick with a scarf or glove.”
-
- “I’ll get me up before the sun,
- I’ll cull me boughs off many a tree;
- And all alone full early run
- To gather flowers and welcome Thee.”
-
- “Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
- My perspective still as they pass;
- Or else remove me hence unto that hill
- Where I shall need no glass!”
-
- “Thy grave, to which my thoughts shall move
- Like bees in storms unto their hive.”
-
-To arraign Vaughan is to vindicate him. In the too liberal assizes of
-literature, an idea becomes the property of him who best expresses
-it. Herbert’s odd and fresh metaphors, his homing bees and pricks of
-conscience and silent tears, the adoring star and the comrade bird,
-even his famous female scarf, go over bodily to the spoiler. In many an
-instance something involved and difficult still characterizes Herbert’s
-diction; and it is diverting to watch how the interfering hand sorts
-and settles it at one touch, and sends it, in Mr. Matthew Arnold’s
-word, to the “centre.” Vaughan’s mind, despite its mysticism, was full
-of despatch and impetuosity. Like Herbert, he alludes to himself, more
-than once, as “fierce”; and the adjective undoubtedly belongs to him.
-There is in Vaughan, at his height, an imaginative rush and fire which
-Herbert never knew, a greater clarity and conciseness, a far greater
-restraint, a keener sense both of color and form, and so much more
-deference for what Mr. Ruskin calls “the peerage of words,” that the
-younger man could never have been content to send forth a line which
-might mean its opposite, such as occurs in the fine stanza about glory
-in the beautiful _Quip_. It is only on middle ground that the better
-poet and the better saint collide. Vaughan never could have written
-
- “O that I once past changing were
- Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!”
-
-or the tranquil confession of faith:
-
- “Whether I fly with angels, fall with dust,
- Thy hands made both, and I am there:
- Thy power and love, my love and trust
- Make one place everywhere!”
-
-For his best is not Herbert’s best, nor his worst Herbert’s worst. It
-is not Vaughan who reminds us that “filth” lies under a fair face. He
-does the “fiercer” thing: he goes to the Pit’s mouth in a trance, and
-“hears them yell.” Herbert’s noblest and most winning art still has its
-stand upon the altar steps of _The Temple_; but Vaughan is always on
-the roof, under the stars, like a somnambulist, or actually above and
-out of sight, “pinnacled dim in the intense inane”; absorbed in larger
-and wilder things, and stretching the spirits of all who try to follow
-him. Herbert has had his reward in the world’s lasting appreciation;
-and though Vaughan had a favorable opinion of his own staying powers,
-nothing would have grieved him less than to step aside, if the choice
-had lain between him and his exemplar. Or re-risen, he would cry
-loyally to him, as to that other Herbert, the rector of Llangattock and
-his old tutor: “_Pars vertat patri, vita posthuma tibi_.”
-
-Vaughan, then, owed something to Herbert, although it was by no means
-the best which Herbert could give; but he himself is, what Herbert is
-not, an ancestor. He leans forward to touch Cowper and Keble; and Mr.
-Churton Collins has taken the pains to trace him in Tennyson.
-
-The angels who
-
- “familiarly confer
- Beneath the oak and juniper,”
-
-invoke an instant thought of the Milton of the _Allegro_; and the
-fragrant winds which linger by Usk, “loaden with the rich arrear,”
-appear to be Milton’s, too. His austere music first sounded in the
-public ear in 1645, one year before Vaughan, much his junior, began
-to print. It would seem very unlikely that a Welsh physician should
-be beholden long after to the manuscripts of the Puritan stripling,
-close-kept at Cambridge and Horton; but it is interesting to find the
-prototype of Vaughan’s charming lines about Rachel,
-
- “the sheep-keeping Syrian maid,”
-
-in the _Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester_, dating from
-1631.[34] Vaughan’s dramatic Fleet Street,
-
- “Where the loud whip and coach scolds all the way,”
-
-might as well be Swift’s, or Crabbe’s; and his salutation to the lark,
-
- “And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light,
- Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing,”
-
-is like a quotation from some tender sonnet of Bowles, or from his
-admirer, the young Coleridge who instantly outstepped him. _Olor_,
-_Silex_, and _Thalia_ establish unexpected relationships with genius
-the most remote from them and from each other. The animated melody of
-poor Rochester’s best songs seems deflected from
-
- “If I were dead, and in my place,”
-
-addressed to Amoret,[35] in the _Poems_ of 1646. The delicate simile,
-
- “As some blind dial, when the day is done,
- Can tell us at midnight there was a sun,”
-
-and
-
- “But I am sadly loose and stray,
- A giddy blast each way.
- O let me not thus range:
- Thou canst not change!”
-
-(a verse of a poem headed by an extract, in the Vulgate, from the
-eighth chapter to the Romans), come home with a smile to the lover of
-Clough. Vaughan was that dangerous person, an original thinker; and the
-consequence is that he compromises a great many authors who may never
-have heard of him. It is admitted now that we owe to his prophetic lyre
-one of the boasts of modern literature. Dr. Grosart has handled so well
-the obvious debt of Wordsworth in _The Intimations of Immortality_, and
-has proven so conclusively that Vaughan figured in the library at Rydal
-Mount, that little need be said here on that theme. In _Corruption_,
-_Childhood_, _Looking Back_, and _The Retreat_, most markedly in the
-first, lie the whole point and pathos of
-
- “Trailing clouds of glory do we come
- From Heaven, which is our home.”
-
-Few studies are more fascinating than that of the liquidation, so
-to speak, of Vaughan’s brief, tense, impassioned monodies into “the
-mighty waters rolling evermore” of the great _Ode_. It is Holinshed’s
-accidental honor that he is lost in Shakespeare, and incorporated
-with him. So with Vaughan: if shorn of his dues, he still remains
-illustrious by virtue of one signal service to Wordsworth, whom, in the
-main, he distinctly foreshadows. Yet it is no unpardonable heresy to be
-jealous that the “first sprightly runnings” of a classic should not be
-better known, and to prefer their touching simplicity to the grandly
-adult and theory-burdened lines which everybody quotes. In the broad
-range of English letters we find two persons whose normal mental habits
-seem altogether of a piece with Vaughan’s: a woman of the eighteenth
-century, and a philosopher of the nineteenth. The lovely _Petition for
-an Absolute Retreat_, by Anne, Countess of Winchelsea (whose genius
-was the charming _trouvaille_ of Mr. Edmund Gosse), might pass for
-Vaughan’s, in Vaughan’s best manner; and so might
-
- “Their near camp my spirit knows
- By signs gracious as rainbows,”
-
-as indeed the whole of Emerson’s ever-memorable _Forerunners_, itself a
-mate for _The Retreat_; or rather, had these been anonymous lyrics of
-Vaughan’s own day, it would have been impossible to persuade a Caroline
-critic that he could not name their common author.
-
-Our poet had a curious fashion of coining verbs and adjectives out of
-nouns, and carried it to such a degree as to challenge pre-eminence
-with Keats.
-
- “O how it bloods
- And spirits all my earth!”
-
-is part and parcel of the young cries of Endymion. When Vaughan has
-discovered something to produce a fresh effect, he is not the man who
-will hesitate to use it; and this mannerism occurs frequently: “our
-grass straight russets,” “angel’d from that sphere,” “the mountained
-wave,” “He heavened their walks, and with his eyes made those wild
-shades a Paradise.” A little informality of this sort sometimes
-justifies itself, as in the couplet ending the grim and powerful
-_Charnel-House_:
-
- “But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain,
- One check from thee shall channel it again!”
-
-And Henry Vaughan shares also with Keats, writing three hundred
-years later, a defect which he had inherited, together with many
-graces, directly from Ben Jonson:[36] the fashion of crowding the
-sense of his text and the pauseless voice of his reader from the
-natural breathing-place at the end of a line into the beginning or
-the middle of the next line. More than any other, except Keats in his
-first period, he roughens, without always strengthening, his rich
-decasyllabics, by using what Mr. Gosse has happily classified as the
-“overflow.”
-
-Though the Silurist had in him the possibilities of a great elegiac
-poet, and his laments for his dead are many and memorable, there is not
-one sustained masterpiece among them; nothing to equal or approach,
-for example, Cowley’s _Ode on the Death of Mr. William Hervey_, in
-the qualities which abide, and are visited with the honors of the
-class-book and the library shelf. Yet Vaughan’s elegies are exquisite
-and endearing; they haunt one with the conviction that they stop short
-of immortality, not because their author had too little skill, but
-because, between his repressed speech and his extreme emotions, no art
-could make out to live. He had a deep heart, such as deep hearts will
-always recognize and reverence:
-
- “And thy two wings were grief and love.”
-
-In the face of eternity he seems so to accord with the event which
-all but destroys him, that sorrow inexpressible becomes suddenly
-unexpressed, and his funeral music ends in a high enthusiasm and
-serenity open to no misconception. Distance, and the lapse of time,
-and his own utter reconciliation to the play of events make small
-difference in his utterance upon the old topic. The thought of his
-friend, forty years after, is the same mystical rapture:
-
- “O could I track them! but souls must
- Track one the other;
- And now the spirit, not the dust,
- Must be thy brother:
- Yet I have one pearl by whose light
- All things I see,
- And in the heart of death and night,
- Find Heaven and thee.”
-
-_Daphnis_, the eclogue to the memory of Thomas Vaughan, is the only
-one of these elegies which, possessing a surplus of beautiful lines,
-is not even in the least satisfying. “R. Hall,” “no woolsack soldier,”
-who was slain at the siege of Pontefract, won from Henry Vaughan a
-passionate requiem, which opens with a gush of agony, “I knew it would
-be thus!” as affecting as anything in the early ballads; and the battle
-of Rowton Heath took from him “R. W.,” the comrade of his youth. But
-it was in one who bore his sovereign’s name (hitherto unidentified,
-although he is said to have been the subject of a “public sorrow”) that
-Vaughan lost the friend upon whom his whole nature seemed to lean. The
-soldier-heart in himself spoke out firmly in the cry he consecrated
-_To the Pious Memory of C. W._ Its masculine dignity; the pride and
-soft triumph which it gathers about it, advancing; the plain heroic
-ending which sweeps away all images of remoteness and gloom, in
-
- “Good-morrow to dear Charles! for it is day,”
-
-can be compared to nothing but an _agitato_ of Schubert’s mounting
-strings, slowing to their major chord with a courage and cheer that
-bring tears to the eyes. Vaughan’s tender threnodies would make a small
-but precious volume. _To the Pious Memory_, with _Thou that Knowest for
-Whom I Mourn_, _Silence and Stealth of Days_, _Joy of my Life while
-Left me Here_, _I Walked the other Day to spend my Hour_, _The Morning
-Watch_, and _Beyond the Veil_, are alone enough to give him rank
-forever as a genius and a good man.
-
-“C. W.’s” death was one of the things which turned him forever from
-temporal pursuits and pleasures. Of his first wife we can find none but
-conjectural traces in his books, for he was shy of using the beloved
-name. The sense of those departed is never far from him. The air of
-melancholy recollection, not morbid, which hangs over his maturer
-lyrics, is directly referable to the close-following calamities which
-estranged him from the presence of “the blessèd few,” and sent him, as
-he nobly hoped,
-
- “Home from their dust to empty his own glass.”
-
-His thoughts centred, henceforward, in their full intensity, on the
-supernatural world; nay, if he were irremediably depressed, not only
-on the persistence of resolved matter, by means of which buried men
-come forth again in the color of flowers and the fragrance of the wind,
-but even on the physical damp and dark which confine our mortality. It
-is the poet of dawn and of crisp mountain air who can pack horror on
-horror into his nervous quatrains about Death:
-
- “A nest of nights; a gloomy sphere
- Where shadows thicken, and the cloud
- Sits on the sun’s brow all the year,
- And nothing moves without a shroud.”
-
-This is masterly; but here, again, there is reserve, the curbing hand
-of a man who holds, with Plato, a wilful indulgence in the “realism” of
-sadness to be an actual crime. Vaughan’s dead dwell, indeed, as his own
-mind does, in “the world of light.” As his corporeal sight is always
-upon the zenith or the horizon, so his fancy is far away, with his
-radiant ideals, and with the virtue and beauty he has walked with in
-the flesh. He takes his harp to the topmost hill, and sits watching
-
- “till the white-winged reapers come.”
-
-He thinks of his obscured self, the child he was, and of “the narrow
-way” (an ever-recurrent Scriptural phrase in his poetry) by which he
-shall “travel back.” To leave the body is merely to start anew and
-recover strength, and, with it, the inspiring companionship of which he
-is inscrutably deprived.
-
-Chambers’ _Cyclopædia_ made an epic blunder, long ago, when it ascribed
-to this gentlest of Anglicans a “gloomy sectarianism.” He, of all
-religious poets, makes the most charming secular reading, and may well
-be a favorite with the heathen for whom Herbert is too decorative,
-Crashaw too hectic and intense, Cowper too fearful, and Faber too
-fluent; _Lyra Apostolica_ a treatise, though a glorious one, on Things
-which Must be Revived, and _Hymns Ancient and Modern_ an exceeding
-weariness to the spirit. It is a saw of Dr. Johnson’s that it is
-impossible for theology to clothe itself in attractive numbers; but
-then Dr. Johnson was ignorant of Vaughan. It is not in human nature to
-refuse to cherish the “holy, happy, healthy Heaven” which he has left
-us (in a graded alliteration which smacks of the physician rather than
-of the “gloomy sectarian”), his very social “angels talking to a man,”
-and his bright saints, hovering and smiling nigh, who
-
- “are indeed our pillar-fires
- Seen as we go;
- They are the city’s shining spires
- We travel to.”
-
-Who can resist the earnestness and candor with which, in a few
-sessions, he wrote down the white passion of the last fifty years
-of his life? No English poet, unless it be Spenser, has a piety so
-simple and manly, so colored with mild thought, so free from emotional
-consciousness. The elect given over to continual polemics do not count
-Henry Vaughan as one of themselves. His double purpose is to make life
-pleasant to others and to praise God; and he considers that he is
-accomplishing it when he pens a compliment to the valley grass, or,
-like Coleridge, caresses in some affectionate strophes the much-abused
-little ass. All this liberal sweetness and charity heighten Vaughan’s
-poetic quality, as they deepen the impression of his practical
-Christianity. The nimbus is about his laic songs. When he talks of
-moss and rocks, it is as if they were incorporated into the ritual. He
-has the genius of prayer, and may be recognized by “those graces which
-walk in a veil and a silence.” He is full of distinction, and of a sort
-of golden idiosyncrasy. Vaughan’s true “note” is—Vaughan. To read him
-is like coming alone to a village church-yard with trees, where the
-west is dying, in hues of lilac and rose, behind the low ivied Norman
-tower. The south windows are open, the young choir are within, and the
-organist, with many a hushed unconventional interlude of his own, is
-rehearsing with them the psalm of “pleasures for evermore.”
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[20] Siluria comprised the shires of Monmouth, Hereford, Glamorgan,
-Radnor, and Brecon.
-
-[21] The Reverend H. F. Lyte, Vaughan’s enthusiastic editor, best known
-as the author of _Abide with Me_, reminds us that there was another
-Henry Vaughan of the same college and the same neighborhood at home—a
-pleasant theological person not to be confounded with the poet. It was
-probably he, and not the Silurist, who devoted some verses to Charles
-the First in the book called _Eucharistica Oxoniensis_, 1641.
-
-[22] These deep Augustinian lines are Carew’s, gay Carew’s; and they
-mark the highest religious expression of their time.
-
-[23] Vaughan apparently enjoyed that privilege of genius, acquaintance
-with a London garret, if we may take autobiographically the fine brag
-worthy of the tribe of Henri Mürger:
-
-“I scorn your land, So far it lies below me; here I see How all the
-sacred stars do circle me.”
-
-[24] The King lodged at Christchurch, the Queen and my Lady Castlemaine
-(together, alas!) at Merton, amid endless hawking, tennis, boating,
-basset, and general revelry.
-
-[25] Orinda’s own verses, scattered in manuscript among her friends,
-were collected and printed without her knowledge, and much against her
-desire, in 1663: a piece of treachery which threw her into a severe
-indisposition. She could therefore condole more than enough with Henry
-Vaughan. Friends were officious creatures in those days.
-
-[26] This, to say the least, was not “pretty” of Campbell, who thought
-so well of the “world’s grey fathers” congregated to gaze at Vaughan’s
-_Rainbow_ that he conveyed them bodily into the foreground of his own.
-
-[27] Per´-spective was, of course, the general pronunciation from
-Shakespeare to Dr. Johnson, and is used with great beauty in Dryden’s
-_Ode to the Memory of Mrs. Anne Killigrew_. But it is a characteristic
-word with Vaughan, and it was from Vaughan that Wordsworth took it.
-
-[28] Vaughan had a relish for damp weather, the thing which makes the
-loveliness of the British isles, and which the ungrateful islanders
-are prone to revile. He never passes a sheet of water without looking
-upward for the forming cloud:
-
-“That drowsy lake From her faint bosom breathed thee!”
-
-[29] Sometimes erroneously printed “bowers.”
-
-[30] It was kind of the ever-kind Hunt to include America in his
-enumeration, at a time when the United States were supposed by his
-fellow-countrymen to have no literature at all of their own. The
-circumstance that his challenge appeared in the preface to _The Book
-of the Sonnet_, which was edited by Hunt in conjunction with an
-American, and published at Boston in 1868, may help to account for the
-mannerliness of the reference.
-
-[31] In the _Letters and Memorials of Archbishop Trench_, vol. ii.,
-p. 57, there is a letter bearing upon this point from Mr. Frank
-Millson, dated 1868, which deserves serious consideration from
-Vaughan’s forthcoming editors. “I think,” he writes the Dean, “that
-your supposition that the 1655 edition is the same book as the one
-of 1650, with a new title-page and additions, can hardly be correct,
-though I know that Lyte, the editor of Pickering’s reprint, thinks as
-you do. The preface to the 1655 edition is dated September 30, 1654,
-and contains this passage” (not given in the _Memorials_) “which seems
-to me to refer to the fact of a new edition. A comparison of my two
-copies shows that the 1650 edition consists of half a sheet, title
-and dedication, and 110 pages. The second edition has title, preface,
-dedication, motto, the 110 pages of the first edition, with 84 pages
-of new matter, and a table of first lines. A noticeable thing in the
-arrangement is that the sheets do not begin with new printer’s marks,
-as they might be expected to do if the second part were simply new
-matter added to the first volume, but begin with A, the last sheet of
-the former volume having ended with G. I am sorry to trouble you with
-these trifling details; but as Vaughan has long been a favorite author
-of mine, they have an interest for me, and if they help to show that he
-was not neglected by readers of his own time, I shall be glad.”
-
-[32] Anthologies and cyclopædias nowadays, especially since Dr. John
-Brown and Principal Shairp drew attention to the Silurist in their
-pages, are more than likely to admit him. It was not so always.
-Winstanley, sharp as was his eye, let Vaughan escape him in his
-_Lives of the Poets_, published in 1687. He is not in the _Theatrum
-Poetarum_, nor in Johnson’s _Lives_. He is in neither of Southey’s
-collections. Mr. Palgrave allows him, in _The Golden Treasury_, but
-a song and a half; Ellis’s sheaf of excellent _Specimens_ of 1811
-furnishes eighteen lines of a wedding blessing on the _Best and Most
-Accomplished Couple_ apologizing for “their too much quaintness and
-conceit”; and in Willmott’s _Sacred Poets_ Vaughan occupies four
-pages, as against Crashaw’s thirty-five, Herbert’s thirty-seven, and
-Wither’s one hundred and thirty-two. But Vaughan fares well in Dr.
-George Macdonald’s _England’s Antiphon_, and in Archbishop Trench’s
-_Household Book_. Ward’s _English Poets_, in the second volume, has a
-conventional selection from him, as has, at greater length, Fields’ and
-Whipple’s _Family Library of British Poetry_. There is a goodly list
-entered under Vaughan’s name in Gilfillan’s _Less-Known British Poets_,
-all chosen from his devotional work. Thirty-seven religious lyrics
-again adorn the splendid _Treasury of Sacred Song_. Vaughan’s secular
-numbers yet await their proper bays, although a limited edition of most
-of them, containing a bibliography, was printed in 1893 by J. R. Tutin
-of Hull. Mr. Saintsbury, in his _Seventeenth Century Lyrics_, has a
-small and very choice group of Vaughan’s songs, and Professor Palgrave,
-having to do with him for the third time, gives him large and cordial
-honor in the eleventh volume of _Y Cymmrodor_. In Emerson’s Parnassus
-he appears but once. He had his most graceful and grateful American
-tribute when Mr. Lowell, long ago, named him in passing as “dear Henry
-Vaughan,” in _A Certain Condescension in Foreigners_.
-
-[33] In one of his prefaces, Vaughan hits neatly at the crowd of
-Herbertists: “These aim more at verse than at perfection.” Where there
-are noble resemblances, it is well to remember that two sides have the
-right to be heard. Mrs. Thoreau used to say: “Mr. Emerson imitates
-Henry!” And she was at least as accurate as the critics who annoyed her
-old age by the reversed statement.
-
-[34] Mr. R. H. Stoddard owns a copy of the first edition of
-_Nieremberg’s Meditations_, translated by Vaughan in 1654, and
-published the following year, which has upon the title-page an
-autographic “J. M.” supposed, by every evidence, to be Milton’s. If it
-be so, the busy Latin Secretary, meditating his grand work, must have
-been, on his part, a reader and a lover of the man who was almost his
-equal at golden phrases.
-
-[35] Congreve and Waller employ the same rather too obvious love-name
-for their serenaded divinities.
-
-[36] Vaughan openly wears jewels which belong to Jonson.
-
-“Go seek thy peace in war: Who falls for love of God shall rise a star!”
-
-wrote brave Father Ben; and no Englishman of spirit, between 1642 and
-the Restoration, was likely to forget it. The passage certainly clung
-to Vaughan’s mind, for he assimilated it later in a sweet line all for
-peace:
-
-“Do thou the works of day, and rise a star.”
-
-
-
-
-III
-
-GEORGE FARQUHAR
-
-1677-1707
-
-
-THERE is a narrow dark Essex Street West in the city of Dublin, running
-between Fishamble Street and Essex Gate, at the rear of the Lower
-Blind Quay. The older people still bluntly call it what it was called
-before 1830: Smock Alley. On its north side stands the sufficiently
-ugly church of SS. Michael and John. The arched passage still in use,
-parallel with the nave of this church, was the entrance to a theatre
-on the same site; what is now the burial vault was once the pit, full
-of ruddy and uproarious faces. The theatre, erected about 1660, which
-had a long, stormy and eventful history, was rebuilt in 1735, and
-having been turned into a warehouse, fell into decay, to be replaced
-by a building of another clay. But while it was still itself, it was
-great and popular, and the lane between Trinity College and the old
-arched passage was choked every night with the press of jolly youths,
-who, as Archbishop King pathetically complained, appeared to love the
-play better than study! Among those who hung about Smock Alley like a
-barnacle in the years 1694 and 1695, was a certain George Farquhar,
-son of William,[37] a poor Londonderry clergyman of the Establishment;
-a long-faced peculiar lad of mild mien but high spirits. He had come
-from the north, under episcopal patronage, to wear a queer dress among
-his social betters, to sweep and scour and carry tankards of ale to
-the Fellows in hall; and incidentally, to imbibe, on his own part, the
-lore of all the ages. The major event in his history is that, instead
-of sitting up nights over _Isocrates de Pace_, he slipped off to see
-Robert Wilkes and the stock company, and to decide that acting, or,
-as he afterwards sarcastically defined it, “tearing his Lungs for a
-Livelihood,” was also the thing for him. Wherefore, at eighteen, either
-because his benefactor, Bishop Wiseman of Dromore, had died, or else,
-as is not very credibly reported, because he was cashiered from his
-class, Master Farquhar, cut loose from his old moorings, applied to
-Manager Ashbury of the Dublin Theatre, and to such avail that he was
-able presently to make his own appearance there as no less a personage
-than Othello. He had a weak voice and a shy presence; but the public
-encouraged him. One of his first parts was that of Guyomar, Montezuma’s
-younger brother, in Dryden’s tragedy of _The Indian Emperor_. In the
-fifth act, as soon as he had declaimed to Vasquez in sounding sing-song:
-
- “Friendship with him whose hand did Odmar kill?
- Base as he was, he was my brother still!
- But since his blood has washed away his guilt,
- Nature asks thine for that which thou hast spilt,”
-
-he made, according to stage directions, a fierce lunge at his too
-conciliatory foe. Guyomar had armed himself, inadvertently, with
-a genuine sword, and Vasquez came near enough to being killed in
-the flesh. The man eventually recovered; but it shows of what
-impressionable stuff Farquhar was made, that his mental horror
-and pain, during that moment while he believed he had slain a
-fellow-creature, should have turned the course of his life. He left the
-stage; nor would he return to it. Some eight years after, indeed, he
-visited Dublin again, and on the old boards played Sir Harry Wildair
-for his own benefit; but this was at a time when he forced himself to
-undertake all honorable chances of money-making, out of his consuming
-anxiety for his family.
-
-Wilkes and his wife returned to London, and the lad Farquhar went with
-them. He obtained a commission in the army from the Earl of Orrery;
-he was in Holland on duty during a part of the year 1700, and came
-back to England with one of her earliest military red coats on his
-back, in the train of his much-approved sovereign, William III. He
-had already written, thanks to Wilkes and his incessant urging, his
-first two plays, and had seen them successful at Drury Lane;[38] he
-had also overheard with enthusiasm, at the Mitre Tavern in St. James’s
-Market, Mistress Nance Oldfield, an orphan of sixteen, niece of the
-proprietress, reading _The Scornful Lady_ behind the bar. Captain
-Vanbrugh was duly told of Farquhar’s delight and admiration, and on
-the strength of them introduced the girl to Rich, who did few things
-so good in his lifetime as when he put her upon the stage at fifteen
-shillings a week. It was not long before this distinguished actress
-and generous woman, destined to lend her gayety and beautiful bearing
-to the interpretation of Farquhar’s women, enlivened the town as the
-glorious Sylvia of _The Recruiting Officer_, who can “gallop all the
-morning after a hunting-horn, and all the evening after a fiddle.”
-
-“We hear of Farquhar at one time,” says Leigh Hunt, in a pretty
-summary, “in Essex, hare-hunting (not in the style of a proficient);
-at another, at Richmond, sick; and at a third, in Shropshire on a
-recruiting party, where he was treated with great hospitality, and
-found material for one of the best of his plays.”
-
-_Love and a Bottle_ inaugurated the vogue of the Farquhar comedy; and
-Wilkes, whose name in London carried favor and precedence, was the
-Roebuck of the cast. Its successors, _The Constant Couple_ (with a
-framework transferred and adapted from its author’s earlier _Adventures
-of Covent Garden_), and its sequel, _Sir Harry Wildair_, again
-championed by the “friendly and indefatigable” Wilkes, who impersonated
-the engaging rakish heroes, had long runs, and firmly established
-their author’s fame. In 1702 Farquhar produced _The Inconstant_ (which
-he had perverted from Fletcher’s _Wild Goose Chase_, as if a fit
-setting were sought for the wonderfully effective last act of his own
-devising); and after _The Inconstant_, _The Twin Rivals_. _The Stage
-Coach_, a one-act farce in which he had a collaborator,[39] dates from
-1704, and _The Recruiting Officer_ from 1706; _The Beaux’ Stratagem_
-was written in the spring of 1707. This is a working record of barely
-nine years; it represents a secure and continuous artistic advance; and
-it should have brought its patient originator something better than the
-privilege of dying young, “broken-hearted,” as he confessed to Wilkes,
-“and without a shilling.”
-
-Farquhar had but the trifling income of an officer’s pay on which to
-support his wife and his two little daughters. He seems to have sought
-no political preferment, nor did his numerous patrons put themselves
-out to advance him, although these were the very days when men of
-letters were crowded into the public service. Ever and anon he received
-fifteen guineas, then a very handsome sum, for a play. Perhaps,
-like his rash gallants, he had “a head to get money, and a heart to
-spend it.” He greatly wished success, for the sake of those never
-absent from his thought; and he complained bitterly when the French
-acrobats and rope-dancers took from _The Twin Rivals_ the attention of
-pleasure-seeking Londoners, much as poor Haydon complained afterwards
-of the crowds who surged down Piccadilly, to behold not his “Christ’s
-Entry into Jerusalem” at all, but General Tom Thumb, holding court
-under the same roof.
-
-When Farquhar’s health was breaking, and debts began to involve him at
-last, it appears that the Earl of Ormonde, his general, prompted him
-to sell his commission in order to liquidate them, and agreed to give
-him a captaincy. Or, as is yet more probable, in view of the fact that
-Farquhar was already known by the title of captain, he was urged to
-sell out of the army, on a given pledge that preferment of another sort
-awaited him. His other industrious devices to secure support for four
-having missed fire, he gladly performed his part of the transaction,
-only to experience a fatal delay on the part of my Lord Ormonde,
-whose mind had strayed to larger matters. In fine, the unkept promise
-hurt the subaltern to the heart; he sank, literally from that hour,
-of grief and disquietude. Lintott the stationer, and his old friend
-Wilkes stood manfully by him, one with liberal payment in advance,
-and one with affectionate furtherance and gifts; but Farquhar did not
-rally. It was to Wilkes, as everybody knows, that he penned this most
-touching testament: “Dear Bob, I have not anything to leave thee to
-perpetuate my memory but two helpless girls. Look upon them sometimes!
-and think of him who was, to the last moment of his life, thine.” The
-end came on or about April 29, 1707, George Farquhar being just thirty
-years of age. While he lay dying in Soho, his last and best comedy
-was in progress at the new magnificent Haymarket, and his audiences,
-with a barren benevolence not uncharacteristic of the unthinking human
-species, are said to have wept for him. He was buried in the parish
-church-yard of St. Martin-in-the-Fields,[40] where Nell Gwynne’s
-contrite ashes lay, and where her legacied bells tolled for his passing.
-
-Farquhar’s name is always coupled with those of Congreve, Wycherley,
-and Vanbrugh, although in spirit and also in point of time he was
-removed from the influences which formed them. Many critics, notably
-Hazlitt, Macaulay, and Thackeray, have allowed him least mention of the
-four, but he is, in reality, the best playwright among them; and it is
-greatly to the credit of a discreditable period if he be taken as its
-representative. He had Vanbrugh’s exuberant vivacity, Congreve’s grace,
-Wycherley’s knack of climax. Wycherley, retiring into private life when
-Farquhar was born, lived to see his exit; Etherege was then at his
-zenith; Dryden’s _All for Love_ was in the printer’s case, and Otway,
-almost on the point of his two great works, was coming home ragged
-from Flanders: Otway, whose boyish ventures on the stage, and whose
-subsequent soldiering, Farquhar was so closely to follow.
-
-Pope, and a gentler observer, Steele, found Farquhar’s dialogue “low,”
-and so it must have sounded between the brave surviving extravagances
-of the Jacobean buskin and the modulated utterances of _Cato_ and _The
-Revenge_. A practical talent like Farquhar’s was bound to provoke hard
-little words from the Popes who shrank from his spontaneous style,
-and the Steeles who could not approve of the gross themes he had
-inherited. For sheer good-breeding, some scenes in _The Way of the
-World_ can never be surpassed; they prove that one cannot hold the
-stage by talk alone. It is fortunate for Farquhar that he could not
-emulate the exquisitely civilized depravities of Congreve’s urban Muse.
-But his dialogue is not “low” to modern tastes; it has, in general, a
-simple, natural zest, infinitely preferable to the Persian apparatus
-of the early eighteenth century. Even he, however, can rant and
-deviate into rhetoric, as soon as his lovers drop upon one knee. More
-plainly in Farquhar’s work than in that of any contemporary, we mark
-the glamour of the Caroline literature fading, and the breath of life
-blowing in. An essentially Protestant nationalism began to settle down
-upon England for good and all with William and Mary, and it brought
-subtle changes to bear upon the arts, the trades, the sports, and
-the manners of the people. In Farquhar’s comedies we have the reflex
-of a dulling and strengthening age; the fantasticalities of the last
-three reigns are all but gone; the Vandyck dresses gleam and swish
-no longer. Speech becomes more pert and serviceable, in a vocabulary
-of lesser range; lives are vulgarizing, that is, humanizing, and
-getting closer to common unromantic concerns; no such delicately unreal
-creature as Millamant, all fire and dew and perfumery,—Millamant who
-could not suffer to have her hair done up in papers written in prose,
-and who, quite by herself, is a vindication of what Mr. Allibone is
-pleased to call “Lamb’s sophistical and mischievous essay,”—walks the
-world of Farquhar. With him, notwithstanding that the sorry business
-to be despatched is the same old amorous intrigue, come in at once
-less license, less affectation, less Gallicism. He reports from the
-beginning what he himself apprehends; his plays are shorthand notes,
-albeit timid in character, upon the transitional and prosaic time. His
-company is made up of individuals he had seen in a thousand lights at
-the Spread Eagle and the Rummer; in the Inner Temple and in St. James’s
-Park; in barracks domestic and foreign; and in his native place, where
-adventurers, eloquent in purest Londonderry,[41] stumbled along
-full of whiskey and ideas. He anticipates certain phases of Private
-Ortheris’s thorough-going love of London, and figures his exiled Dicky
-as “just dead of a consumption, till the sweet smoke of Cheapside
-and the dear perfume of Fleet-ditch” made him a man again. In this
-laughing affectionate apprehension of the local and the temporal
-lies Farquhar’s whole strength or weakness. From the poets of the
-Restoration there escapes, most incongruously, now and then, something
-which betokens a sense of natural beauty, or even a recognition of the
-divine law; but Farquhar is not a poet, and this spray from the deeps
-is not in him. He perceives nothing that is not, and opens no crack or
-chink where the fancy can air itself for a moment and
-
- —“step grandly out into the infinite.”
-
-Such a lack would not be worth remarking in the debased and insincere
-writers who but just preceded him. But from the very date of his
-first dealings with London managers, idealism was abroad, and a man
-with affinities for “the things that are more excellent” need have
-feared no longer to divulge them, since the court and the people, if
-not the dominant town gentry, were with him. Farquhar had neither the
-full moral illumination nor the will, though he had the capacity,
-to lend a hand to the blessed work waiting for the opportunist. He
-was young, he was of provincial nurture; he was carried away by the
-theatrical tradition. Yet his mind was a Medea’s kettle, out of which
-everything issued cleaner and more wholesome. Despite the prodigious
-animal spirits of his characters, they conduct their mad concerns with
-sense and moderation; they manage tacitly to proclaim themselves as
-temporarily “on a tear,” as going forth to angle in angling weather,
-and as likely to lead sober citizen lives from to-morrow on. Under bad
-old maintained conditions they develop traits approximately worthy of
-the _Christian Hero_. They “look before and after.” They are to be
-classed as neutrals and nondescripts, for they have all the swagger
-of their lax progenitors, and none of their deviltry. They belong
-professionally to one family, while they bear a tantalizing resemblance
-to another. Farquhar himself, perhaps unaware that partisanship is
-better than compromise, made his bold toss for bays both spiritual
-and temporal. Imitating, as novices will ever do, the art back of
-him, he adopted the claim to approbation which that art never dreamed
-of. In the very good preface to _The Twin Rivals_ (which has always
-been approved of critics rather than of audiences), he sets up for a
-castigator of vice and folly, and he offers to appease “the ladies and
-the clergy,” as, in some measure apparent to the more metaphysical
-among them, he may have done. His friend, Mr. John Hopkins, the
-author of _Amasia_, invited, on behalf of _The Constant Couple_, the
-commendation of Collier. That open-minded censor may have seen with
-satisfaction, in the general trend of Farquhar’s composition, the less
-and less dubious day-beams of Augustan decency. Though Farquhar did not
-live, like Vanbrugh and the magnanimous Dryden, to admit the abuse of a
-gift, and to deplore it, he alone, of the minor dramatists, seems all
-along to have had a negative sort of conscience better than none. His
-instincts continually get the better not only of his environment, but
-of his practice. Some uneasiness, some misgiving, are at the bottom of
-his homely materialism. He thinks it best, on the whole, to forswear
-the temptation to be sublime, and to keep to his cakes and ale; and
-for cakes and ale he had an eminent and inborn talent. What was ably
-said of Hogarth, the great exemplar, will cover all practicians of his
-school: “He had an intense feeling for and command over the impressions
-of senses and habit, of character and passion, the serious and the
-comic; in a word, of nature as it fell in with his own observation, or
-came into the sphere of his actual experience. But he had little power
-beyond that sphere, or sympathy for that which existed only in idea. He
-was ‘conformed to this world, not transformed.’” Or, as Leigh Hunt, in
-his beautiful memoir, adds, with acuteness, of Farquhar himself: “He
-could turn what he had experienced in common life to the best account,
-but he required in all cases the support of ordinary associations, and
-could not project his spirit beyond them.” In short, Farquhar lacked
-imagination. He had insight, however, of another order, which is
-his praise, and which distinguishes him from all his fellows: he had
-sympathy and charity.
-
-The major blot on the literature of the English stage of the period is
-not its libertinism, but rather its concomitant utter heartlessness.
-“Arrogance” (so, according to Erasmus, that ascetic scholar Dean Colet
-used to remind his clergy) “is worse than a hundred concubines.” The
-slight sporadic touches of tenderness, of pity, of disinterested
-generosity, to be found by patient search in Congreve, come in boldly
-with Farquhar, and boldly overrun his prompter’s books. Vanbrugh’s
-scenes stand on nothing but their biting and extravagant sarcasm. As
-Congreve’s characters are indiscriminately witty, so Vanbrugh’s are
-universally and wearisomely cynical, and at the expense of themselves
-and all society. His women in high life have no individuality; they
-wear stings of one pattern. The genial conception of the shrewd,
-material Mrs. Amlet, however, in _The Confederacy_, is worthy of
-Farquhar, and certainly Congreve himself could not have bettered
-her in the execution. Etherege’s typical Man of Mode is a tissue
-of untruth, hardness, and scorn, all in impeccable attire; a most
-mournful spectacle. Thinking of such dainty monsters, Macaulay let fly
-his famous invective against their creators: “Foreheads of bronze,
-hearts like the nether millstone, and tongues set on fire of hell!”
-George Farquhar may be exempted altogether from this too-deserved
-compliment. There is honest mirth in his world of fiction, there is
-dutifulness, there is true love, there are good women; there is genuine
-friendship between Roebuck and Lovewell, between Trueman and Hermes
-Wouldbe, between Aimwell and Archer, and between the green Tummas of
-_The Recruiting Officer_ and his Costar, whom he cannot leave behind.
-Sylvia, Angelica, Constance, Leanthe, Oriana, Dorinda, free-spoken
-as they are, how they shine, and with what morning freshness, among
-the tiger-lilies of that evil garden of the Restoration drama! These
-heroines are an innovation, for they are maids, not wedded wives.
-As to the immortal periwigged young bloods their suitors, they are
-“real gentlemen,” as Hazlitt, who loved Farquhar, called them, “and
-only pretended impostors;” or, to quote Farquhar’s latest editor, Mr.
-A. C. Ewald, they are “always men and never yahoos.” Their author
-had no interest in “preferring vice, and rendering virtue dull and
-despicable.” Their praise may be negative, but it establishes a wide
-wall of difference between them and the fops and cads with whom they
-have been confounded. In their conversations, glistening with epigram
-and irony, malevolence has no part; they sneer at no virtue, they
-tamper with none; and at every turn of a selfish campaign they find
-opportunity for honorable behavior. From the mouths of these worldlings
-comes satire, hot and piping, against worldliness; for Farquhar is
-as moralizing, if not as moral, as he dares be. Some of the least
-attractive of them, the most greedy and contriving, have moments of
-sweetly whimsical and optimistic speech. Thus Benjamin Wouldbe, the
-plotter against his elder brother in _The Twin Rivals_, makes his
-adieu after the fashion of a true gallant: “I scorn your beggarly
-benevolence! Had my designs succeeded, I would not have allowed you the
-weight of a wafer, and therefore will accept none.” The same person
-soars again into a fine Aurelian speculation: “Show me that proud stoic
-that can bear success and champagne! Philosophy can support us in hard
-fortune, but who can have patience in prosperity?” Over his men and
-women in middle life Farquhar lingers with complacence entirely foreign
-to his colleagues, to whom mothers, guardians, husbands, and other
-apple-guarding dragons were uniformly ridiculous and odious. Justice
-Balance is as attractive as a hearth-fire on a December night; so is
-Lady Bountiful. Over Fairbank, the good goldsmith, Farquhar gets fairly
-sentimental, and permits him to drop unaware into decasyllabics, like
-the pastoral author of _Lorna Doone_. His rogues are merely roguish,
-in the softened sense of the word; in his panorama, though black
-villains come and go, it is only for an instant, and to further some
-one dramatic effect. He has eulogy for his heroes when they deserve it,
-and when they do not you may trust him to find a compassionate excuse;
-as when poor Leanthe feelingly says of her lover that “his follies are
-weakly founded upon the principles of honor, where the very foundation
-helps to undermine the structure.” Even Squire Sullen, for his
-lumpishness, is divorced without derision, and in a peal of harmless
-laughter. Farquhar, indeed, is all gentleness, all kindness. He had the
-pensive attitude of the true humorist towards the world he laughed at;
-his characters let slip words too deep for their living auditors. It
-is curious that to a Restoration dramatist, “a nether millstone,” we
-should owe a perfect brief description of ideal married life. In the
-scene of the fourth act of _Sir Harry Wildair_, where Lady Lurewell,
-with her “petrifying affectation,” is trying to tease Sir Harry out
-of all endurance on the subject of his wife (whom he believes to be
-lost or dead), and the degree of affection he had for her, he makes
-reply: “My own heart whispered me her desires, ’cause she herself was
-there; no contention ever rose but the dear strife of who should most
-oblige—no noise about authority, for neither would stoop to command,
-where both thought it glory to obey.” This is meant to be spoken
-rapidly, and not without its tantalizing lack of emphasis; but what a
-pearl it is, set there in the superlatively caustic dialogue! English
-chivalry and English literature have no such other golden passage in
-their rubrics, unless it be the famous tribute to the Lady Elizabeth
-Hastings that “to love her was a liberal education,” or Lovelace’s
-unforgettable song:
-
- “I could not love thee, dear, so much,
- Loved I not Honour more!”
-
-The passage takes on a very great accidental beauty when we remember
-that it required courage, in its time and place, to have written it.
-It is characteristic also of Farquhar that it should be introduced,
-as it is, on the top wave of a vivacious and stormy conversation,
-which immediately sweeps it under, as if in proof that he understood
-both his art and his audience. The conjugal tie, among the leaders
-of fashion, was still something to laugh at and to toy with. Captain
-Vanbrugh, from whom nobody need expect much edification, had put in the
-mouth of his Constant, in a play which was a favorite with Garrick,
-a bit of sense and sincerity quoted, as it deserved to be, by Hunt:
-“Though marriage be a lottery in which there are a wondrous many
-blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot in which the only heaven on
-earth is written.” And again: “To be capable of loving one is better
-than to possess a thousand.” This was in 1698, and Farquhar therefore
-was not first, nor alone, in daring to speak for the derided idea of
-wedlock. Steele was soon to arise as the very champion of domestic
-life; and English wit, since he wrote, has never subsisted by its
-mockery of the conditions which create
-
- “home-keeping days and household reverences.”
-
-But it was Farquhar who spoke in behalf of these the most memorable
-word of his generation. After that lofty evidence of what he must be
-suspected to have been, it is well to see, as best we may, what manner
-of man George Farquhar was. And first let us take some extracts from
-his own account of himself, “candid and modest,” as Hunt named it.
-
-He gives us to understand that he had an ardent temperament, held in
-check by an introspective turn of thought, by natural bashfulness, and
-by habits of consideration for others. The portrait is drawn from a
-letter in the _Miscellanies_, of “a mind and person generally dressed
-in black,” and might have come bodily, and with charming grace, from
-_The Spectator_. “I have very little estate but what lies under the
-circumference of my hat . . . and should I by misfortune come to lose
-my head, I should not be worth a groat.” “I am seldom troubled by what
-the world calls airs and caprices, and I think it an idiot’s excuse
-for a foolish action to say: ‘’Twas my humor.’” “I cannot cheerfully
-fix to any study which bears not a pleasure in the application.”
-“Long expectation makes the blessing always less to me; I lose the
-great transport of surprise.” “I am a very great epicure; for which
-reason I hate all pleasure that’s purchased by excess of pain. I can’t
-relish the jest that vexes another. In short, if ever I do a wilful
-injury, it must be a very great one.” “I have many acquaintances, very
-few intimates, but no friend; I mean, in the old romantic way.” “I
-have no secret so weighty but that I can bear it in my own breast.”
-“I would have my passion, if not led, at least waited on by my
-reason.” This last text, repeated elsewhere by Farquhar, which is the
-counterpart of one in Sir Philip Sidney’s _Arcadia_, has interest from
-the lips of a child of the “dancing, drinking, and unthinking time.”
-Farquhar’s face, in the old prints, is wonderfully of a piece with
-these amiable reports: a handsome, humane, careworn, melancholy young
-face, the negation of the contemporary idea of the man about town. His
-constitution, at its best, was but frail. “You are as dear to me,” he
-says, pathetically, to his Penelope, “as my hopes of waking in health
-to-morrow morning.”
-
-A tradition has been received without question by his many critics and
-biographers, that his chief characters, all cast in the same animated
-mould, are but incognitos of himself. Highly-colored projections of
-himself, with latent traits exaggerated, and formed mental restraints
-removed, they may indeed be. The public, which loves identifications,
-insisted on finding him revealed in his Archers and Sir Harrys. Whether
-or not the dramatists of the day had universally the Rembrandtesque
-whim of painting themselves into their own foregrounds, they were
-obstinately supposed to do so, with Etherege in Young Bellair, with
-Otway in Jaffier. But the real Farquhar
-
- —“courteous, facile, sweet,
- Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride,”
-
-with his reserve, his simple dress, his thin, agreeable voice,
-his early reputation at college for uncongeniality, acting in
-every emergency whither we can fairly trace him with deliberate
-high-mindedness, is far enough from the temper of his restless and
-jocund creations. He wished to remove the impression that he could have
-been his own model; for he took pains to inscribe _The Inconstant_ to
-his classmate, Richard Tighe, and to compliment him upon his kinship
-with Mirabel, “a gay, splendid, easy, generous, fine young gentleman”;
-the applauded type, in short, of all that Farquhar’s heroes set out to
-be. Again, lest he should pass for a realist as rabid as Mademoiselle
-de Scudéry, who pinioned three hundred and seventy of her acquaintances
-between the covers of _Clélie_, Farquhar adds this warning to his
-enthusiastic dedication of _The Recruiting Officer_ “to all friends
-round the Wrekin”: “Some little turns of humor that I met with almost
-within the shade of that famous hill gave the rise to this comedy;
-and people were apprehensive that, by the example of some others, I
-would make the town merry at the expense of the country gentleman. But
-they forgot that I was to write a comedy, not a libel.” He disclaims
-everywhere, with the same playful decisiveness, the interpretations put
-upon his designs and actions by the world of overgrown infants which he
-entertained. Endowed with courage and much personal charm, he had small
-chance of distinguishing himself upon the field, and for the most part
-shone at a garrison mess; but he had led a not inadventurous life, in
-which were incidents of the most pronounced melodrama, with a touch of
-mystery to enhance their value for the curious. Farquhar had travelled,
-and with an open, not an insular mind; he had, by his own confession,
-too deep an acquaintance with wine, and with the nightingales of Spring
-Gardens, outsinging “the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow”; he had
-been, in short, though with “melancholy as his every-day apparel,”
-alive and abroad as a private Whig of the Revolution, shy of ladies’
-notice till it came, and proud of it ever after. When he printed, in
-his twenty-first year, _The Adventures of Covent Garden_, he added to
-it a boy’s bragging motto: _Et quorum pars magna fui_. The inference
-seems to have clung closer to him than he found comfortable. He
-complains, not without significance, in his prose essay upon the
-drama, that the public think any rôle compounded of “practical rake
-and speculative gentleman is, ten to one, the author’s own character.”
-With the incident which furnished its thrilling closing scenes to _The
-Inconstant_, Farquhar had probably no connection; he takes pains to
-state that the hero of it was the Chevalier de Chastillon, quite as if
-he feared another confusion of himself, as fearless and quick-witted
-a man, with the “golden swashbucklers” of his imagination. The rumor
-which confounded them with him has next to nothing to support it.
-Fortune, fashion, foolhardiness, impudence, were not the stars which
-shone upon Farquhar’s nativity. Such exotic and epic virtues as may
-flourish under these, such as do adorn the delightful dandies he
-depicted, surely belonged to him in person; and his quiet habit of
-living apart and letting the town talk, fixed to perpetuity the belief
-that he had exploited himself vicariously, for good and all, upon the
-stage. Certain qualities of his, certain brave truces established with
-adverse conditions, force one to consider him with more attention and
-respect than even his brilliant pen invites. It is something to find
-him diffident and studious in a bacchanalian society, and with such
-scrupulous sensitiveness that a mere inadvertence in boyhood forbade
-him ever to fence again;[42] but his outstanding characteristic, the
-thing which sets him apart from his brocaded _dramatis personæ_, is his
-known lasting devotion to the welfare of his family, and his admirable
-behavior in relation to his early and extraordinary marriage.
-
-In 1702, Farquhar issued a charming and little-known miscellany,
-called _Love and Business_, “a collection of occasionary verse and
-epistolary prose.” The poetic exercises are of small importance;
-but the other data (which survive as a hindrance, rather than as a
-help, to biographers) come near being of very definite value. All
-manner of futile guesses have been expended upon the identification
-of his Penelope. It is given to no mouser to name her with certainty;
-but, despite the gossip of the greenroom, now as ever too ready to
-weave romances about the name of George Farquhar, internal evidence
-is strongly against her having been Anne Oldfield. Yet this is the
-supposition of most of his editors. Commenting upon one passage
-touching some villanous stratagem from which Farquhar says he was
-able to rescue a friend in the Low Countries, a friend with whom he
-afterwards condoles upon a robbery she had undergone, Leigh Hunt adds
-that this may have been the woman whom Farquhar subsequently made his
-wife. A widow, whose Christian name was Margaret, but of whom we know
-so little else that we cannot say whether she was English, or whether
-her age considerably exceeded his, conceived a passionate attachment
-for him, and managed to have it represented to him from several
-quarters not only that she was kindly disposed towards him, but that
-it would be well for his opening career if he should seek her hand,
-as she had estates and revenues. Eventually, after we know not what
-hesitations natural to a fastidious temperament, he proposed to her
-and was accepted, and it soon transpired that the bride was quite as
-penniless as himself. Hunt does not follow out his own hint in the
-matter of the robbery, though the question, when carefully considered,
-has a vital import. If the victim were indeed the lady whom Farquhar
-married later, and if she were indeed robbed, it should signify that
-she must then have been possessed of some wealth, so that the report
-given to Farquhar could not have been, up to that time at least, a
-lie. On the other hand, casuists must decide whether, again in the
-event of the victim having been correctly identified by Hunt, the
-robbery itself may not have been an invention meant, after Farquhar had
-declared his allegiance, to quicken his sympathy, and to soften the
-coming revelation that the robbery could never have resulted, owing to
-a defect in the premises! There is very much else about the _Letters_
-which is confusing and inconsistent. They are so disconnected, and
-they vary so in tone and manner, as to suggest a doubt whether, if not
-altogether imaginary, they could have been meant for any one person. A
-lady is announced as having returned them for publication; she dresses
-in mourning, and resides now on the Continent, now in London or in the
-country; her suitor very explicitly states that he had long solicited
-in vain the honor of her hand; and, in the end, with farewells and an
-abrupt and unexplained severing, he gives up the quest, with his own
-admission that he has lost her and that her heart “had no room for
-him.” Now that the recipient of this correspondence, Anne Oldfield
-or another, should have returned it for commercial purposes, not
-having been won by the very real passion exhibited in parts of it,
-seems somewhat peculiar; but to accept as fact that Farquhar himself
-actually asked these letters back from her, and printed them as they
-stood, is, under the conditions, absurd, and irreconcilable with
-our knowledge of his character from other and prior sources. Hunt
-further suggests that the _Miscellany_ was gathered together in some
-press of pecuniary trouble; and its title, indeed, may hint at a
-whimsical expectation that Love, being harnessed and sent abroad to
-arouse curiosity among readers, may return in the way of Business to
-headquarters. But Farquhar, in his bachelor days, had a fair income,
-and would not have been so likely to hear the wolf at the door as he
-was later, when that sound would awake in him a dread not ominous to
-himself alone. It is possible that the undiscovered register of his
-marriage bears the date of 1702 or even of 1701; if it were so, that
-might explain the issue of his only book not in dramatic dress, and the
-emergency which called it forth. It is difficult indeed to suppose,
-although modern delicacy in these matters was just then a somewhat
-unknown quantity, that we have between its covers genuine love-letters
-hot from the pen. Steele, of an August morning nine years later,
-inserted in _The Spectator_ as the communication of a third person, six
-of his own notes to his comely and noble _fiancée_, Mary Scurlock. But
-Farquhar had not Steele’s earnestness and love of circumstantial truth,
-nor his zest for pointing a moral. Or was this publication the sort of
-thing he would be likely, for a not unworthy purpose, to do? Was he,
-in reality, a shade more obtuse and misguided than Miss Fanny Brawne?
-Rather let us believe the _Letters_ a work of fiction, and only founded
-largely upon various bygone moods and incidents of the foregoing two
-years, which for one reason or another might interest buyers. Such is
-the description to “dear Sam” of Dryden’s erratic funeral, which is
-almost too keenly rhetorical a summing-up to have been written the next
-day, or the thoughtful and sensible surveys of the Dutch. The amatory
-epistles, with their leaven of reality, are presumably edited out of
-all recognition. They make no defined impression; they do not move
-forward; they veil impenetrably the traits of the person addressed, who
-is made to appear as a vanishing unrelenting goddess, deaf and blind to
-George Farquhar pleading his best. Whatever were the facts, the report
-of them is chivalrous. Assume for a moment that his wife stands behind
-the whole of this correspondence, or even behind the latter part of
-it, and what seemed to constitute a little betrayal in the very worst
-taste turns out to be an innocent joke. Of course the “lady” (or one of
-the ladies) lent the manuscripts to the printers; of course Farquhar
-originated, in order to give color to Mistress Farquhar’s known
-pretence of riches, and their joint subsequent poverty, the magnificent
-thieving practised upon the never-thieved and the unthievable! One can
-fancy them both, in their hard chairs in the bare room, laughing well
-and long, between tears of anxious hope that the more personal element
-in the _Miscellany_ might fetch them from the Covent Garden book-stalls
-a parcel of fagots and a dinner.
-
-Aside from all theorizing, it is pleasant to know that their life
-together was a happy one. The consensus of all witnesses, in the
-significant absence of any contrary voice, affirms that Farquhar,
-having been trapped, bore himself like the gentleman he was. Two
-children were born to him, to brighten, but also to sadden, his brief
-and diligent life. Under his added anxieties he did his royal best; he
-addressed to their mother, from first to last, no word of reproach for
-her fraud.
-
- “The secret pleasure of the generous act
- Is the great mind’s great bribe.”
-
-In its fragrance of faith and patience and self-sacrificing tenderness,
-their domestic story can almost rank next after that sacred one of
-Charles and Mary Lamb.
-
-Farquhar’s widow, who had loved him, appears to have loved his
-memory.[43] She did not survive her husband many years; for there is
-reason to suppose she died before 1719, and in penury. Poor Farquhar
-used to declare that the dread that his family might suffer want was
-far more bitter to him than death. Wilkes gave at his theatre, in the
-May of 1708, a benefit for Margaret Farquhar, and twelve years later
-he was acting as trustee for the young girls Mary and Anne Margaret,
-whose pension is said by the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ to have amounted
-to thirty pounds; it was obtained through the exertions of Edmund
-Challoner, to whom their father had dedicated his _Miscellanies_.
-Wilkes seems to have again aided both the orphans when they came of
-age. One of them married an humble tradesman, and died early; the
-other was living in 1764, wholly uneducated, and, as it is said on
-small authority, as a maid-servant. Farquhar’s elder biographers
-and editors, Ware, Genest, Chetwood, and the rest, writing in this
-daughter’s lifetime, were apparently unconscious of her existence; but
-the thought of her father’s child, old, neglected, and in a menial
-position, served to anger Leigh Hunt as late as 1842.
-
-Fear and forecast of what is only too likely to befall the helpless,
-depressed Farquhar in the April long ago, when he lay dying of
-consumption, and when, with a fortitude which sustained him under
-his bitter disappointment, for six weeks, he wrote and finished his
-masterly comedy _The Beaux’ Stratagem_. As he drew near the end of the
-second act he was told to give up hope; but the second act closes with
-the famous rattling catechism between Cherry and Archer, and the best
-bit of verse its author ever made; and the third starts in with the
-hearty sweet laugh—Anne Oldfield’s laugh—of that “exquisite creature,
-Mrs. Sullen.” On a fund of grief, Farquhar enriched his London with a
-legacy of perpetual merriment. The unflagging impetus of his dramas,
-above and beyond their very real intrinsic merit, accounts for their
-great and yet unforfeited popularity. They descend to us associated
-with the intellectual triumphs of the most dear and dazzling names
-upon the English stage; they move upon the wings of intelligence
-and good-nature; they “give delight, and hurt not.” They swarm with
-soldiers, welcome figures long tacitly prohibited from the boards, as
-too painful a reminder of the Civil Wars. They begin with the clatter
-of spurs, the bang of doors, the hubbub of bantering voices in “a
-broadside of damme’s.” Sergeant Kite appears, followed by a mob on
-whom he lavishes his wheedling, inspiriting gibble-gabble; Roebuck
-enters in fantastic colloquy with a beggar; Sir Harry crosses the road,
-singing, with footmen after him, and Vizard meanwhile indicating him
-to Standard as “the joy of the playhouse and the life of the park,
-Sir Harry Wildair, newly come from Paris”; _The Twin Rivals_ opens
-in a volley of epigrams; the rise of the curtain in _The Beaux’
-Stratagem_ discloses sly old Boniface and the ingenious Cherry calling
-and running, running and calling, in a fluster pregnant of farce and
-revel. Farquhar’s pages are not for the closet; they have little
-passive charm; to quote from them, full as they are of familiar saws
-almost all his own, is hardly fair. His mother-wit arises from the
-ludicrous and unforeseen predicament, not from vanity and conscious
-power; it is integral, not mere repartee; and it never calls a halt to
-the action. As was well said by Charles Cowden Clarke, “there are no
-traps for jests” in Farquhar; “no trains laid to fire _équivoque_.” The
-clear fun, spurting unannounced in dialogue after dialogue, in incident
-after incident; the incessant Molière-like masquerades; the thousand
-little issues depending upon by-play and transient inspiration; the
-narrowing scope and deepening sentiment of the plot, like a secret
-given to the players, to be told fully only to the audience most in
-touch with them—these commend Farquhar’s vivacious rôles to actors, and
-make them both difficult and desirable. With what unction, from an
-actor’s lips, falls his manifold and glowing praise of theatres! What
-a pretty picture, a broad wash of rose-purple and white, he can make
-of the interior seen from the wings! “There’s such a hurry of pleasure
-to transport us; the bustle, noise, gallantry, equipage, garters,
-feathers, wigs, bows, smiles, ogles, love, music, and applause!” And
-again, in another mood: “The playhouse is the element of poetry,
-because the region of beauty; the ladies, methinks, have a more
-inspiring, triumphant air in the boxes than anywhere else. They sit
-commanding on their thrones, with all their subject slaves about them;
-their best clothes, best looks; shining jewels, sparkling eyes; the
-treasures of the world in a ring.” And Mirabel, who is speaking, ends
-with an ecstatic sigh: “I could wish that my whole life long were the
-first night of a new play!”
-
-This is a drop, or a rise, from Congreve and his aristocratic
-abstractions. Farquhar, in his youth, had modelled himself chiefly
-upon the comedy of Congreve, and may be said to have perfected the
-mechanism which the genius of Congreve had brought into vogue. He never
-attained, nor could attain, Congreve’s scholarly elegance of proportion
-and his consummate diction. But he had the happiness of being no purely
-literary dramatist; he had technical knowledge and skill. He brought
-the existing heroes with their conniving valets, the buxom equivocal
-maids, the laughing, masking, conscienceless fine ladies, out of their
-disreputable moonlight into healthful comic air; and added to them, in
-the transfer, a leaven of homely lovableness which will forever keep
-his masterpieces upon the stage.
-
-Farquhar’s original intellect has a value only relative; he may be
-considered as Goldsmith’s tutor rather than as Congreve’s disciple.
-Goldsmith had no small knowledge of Farquhar, his forerunner by sixty
-years as a sizar student of Trinity; and, like him, he is reported
-to have been dropped from his class for a buffoonery. What friends
-(_Arcades ambo_, in both Virgilian and blameless Byronese) might
-these two parsons’ sons have been! Scrub, Squire Sullen’s servant,
-in _The Beaux’ Stratagem_, who “on Saturday draws warrants, and on
-Sunday draws beer,” was a part Goldy once greatly desired to act. He,
-too, when he came to write plays, cast about for conventional types
-to handle and improve. Tony and his incomparable mother would hardly
-have been, without their first imperfect apparition in Wycherley’s
-powerful (and stolen) _Plain Dealer_; and Young Marlow and Hastings
-are frank reproductions of Archer and Aimwell, in a much finer
-situation. Miss Hardcastle hopes that in her cap and apron she may
-resemble Cherry. And no one seems to have traced a celebrated passage
-in _The Vicar of Wakefield_ either to my Lady Howdye’s message to my
-Lady Allnight repeated by Archer (who in this same scene introduces
-the “topical song” upon the modern boards), or else to the example
-of the manœuvring Bisarre in Act II., Scene I., of _The Inconstant_.
-Surely, “forms which proceed from simple enumeration and are exposed to
-validity from a contradictory instance” supplies the unique original
-of the nonsense-rhetoric which so confounded poor Moses.[44] The talk
-of Clincher Junior and Tim, of Kite, Bullock, Scrub, Lyric, and the
-unbaptized wench Parly, of the constable showing the big bed to Hermes
-Wouldbe, the talk, that is, of Farquhar’s common people, shows humor
-altogether of what we may call the Goldsmith order: genial, odd,
-grotesque paradox, springing from Irish inconsequence and love of human
-kind.
-
-In the sixth year of Queen Anne, when Farquhar died, Steele was married
-to his “Prue,” and having seen the last of his three reformatory
-dramas “damned for its piety,” sought Joseph Addison’s approval and
-collaboration, and fell to designing _The Tatler_. Fielding was
-newborn, Johnson just out of the cradle, Pope was trying a cunning
-young hand at his first _Pastorals_; Defoe, an alumnus of Newgate, was
-beating his way outward and upward; Swift, yet a Whig, was known but
-for his _Tale of a Tub_. The fresh waters were rising on all sides to
-vivify the sick lowlands of the decadence. The kingdoms had a forgotten
-lesson, and long in the learning, set before them: to regain, as a
-basis for legitimate results, their mental independence and simplicity;
-to serve art for art’s sake, and to achieve, through the reactionary
-formalism of the nascent eighteenth century, freedom and a broad ethic
-outlook. It was as if Comedy, in her winning meretricious perfections,
-had to die, that English prose might live. It is enough for an immature
-genius of the third order, born under Charles the Second, to have
-vaguely foreshadowed a just and imperative change. Farquhar certainly
-does foreshadow it, albeit with what theologians might call absence of
-the necessary intention.
-
-He wrote excellent prefaces and prologues. His _Discourse upon Comedy_,
-in the _Miscellanies_, did pioneer work for his theory, since
-expounded by more authoritative critics, and received by the English
-world, that the observance or non-observance of the dramatic unities
-is at the will of the wise, and that for guidance in all such matters
-playwrights should look to Shakespeare rather than to Aristotle. The
-_Discourse_, in Farquhar’s clear, sunny, homespun, forceful style,
-does him honor, and should be reprinted. His best charm is that he
-cannot be didactic. His suasion is of the strongest, but he has the
-self-consciousness of all sensitive and analytic minds, which keeps
-him free here as elsewhere from the slightest assumption of despotism.
-It is very refreshing, in the face of that incessant belaboring of
-the reader which Lesage was setting as a contemporaneous fashion, to
-come across Farquhar’s gentle good-humored salutatory: “If you like
-the author’s book, you have all the sense he thought you had; if you
-dislike it, you have more sense than he was aware of!” Had he lived
-longer, or a little later, we should have found him as well, with his
-turn for skirmishing psychology, among the essayists and the novelists.
-There were in him a mellowness and an unction which have their fullest
-play in professedly subjective writing. Farquhar, after all, did not
-fulfil himself, for he followed an ill outgoing fashion in æsthetics
-rather than further a right incoming one. No one can help begrudging
-him to the period he adorned. He deserved to flourish on the manlier
-morrow, and to hold a historic position with the regenerators of public
-taste in England. “Ah, go hang thyself up, my brave Crillon, for at
-Arques we had a fight, and thou wert NOT in it!” One can fancy Sir
-Richard Steele forever quoting that at Captain George Farquhar, in some
-roomy club-window in Paradise.
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[37] Incipit Annus Academicus Die Julii 9^a 1694.
-
-------+---------+----------+-----+-----------+------------+----------+
-Die |Georgius | filius | | Natus | ibidem | Eu. Lloyd 17a |Farquhare|
-Gulielmi |Annos|Londonderry|educatus sub|(college Julii | Sizator
-| Farqhare | 17 | | magistro | tutor) | | Clerici | | | Walker |
-------+---------+----------+-----+-----------+------------+----------+
-
-This matriculation entry from the register of Trinity does away
-with our sizar’s presumed father, Rev. John Farquhar, prebendary of
-Raphoe. We hear nothing more, ever after, of the Farquhar family, who
-henceforth leave young George to his own profane devices; nor can any
-certainty be attached to additional information, sometimes proffered,
-that the father had seven children in all, and held a living of only
-one hundred and fifty pounds a year. One other point is fixed by the
-entry, to wit: if George Farquhar was seventeen in the July of 1694, he
-cannot have been born in 1678.
-
-[38] This was the theatre built by Sir Christopher Wren in 1672.
-
-[39] Peter Anthony Motteux, the wild and clever linguist and dramatist,
-who made the best English translation of _Don Quixote_. _The Stage
-Coach_, itself an adaptation, has little merit beyond its liveliness.
-
-[40] The register of burial is dated a month later than the received
-date of his death. It reads simply: “23 May, George Falkwere, M.” The
-initial is the sapient sexton’s indication that this was neither a W
-(woman) nor a C (child). The spelling of the name betokens its usual
-and original pronunciation. The present famous porticoed church was not
-built for nineteen years after Farquhar died.
-
-[41] The not altogether foolish censure has been cast upon the rogue
-Teague in _The Twin Rivals_ that he speaks an impossible brogue, which
-might as well be Welsh. Farquhar did not succeed in transferring to
-paper the weird and unlovely Ulster dialect with which he was familiar
-in boyhood, and which had figured already in the third act of _Henry
-the Fifth_, in Jonson’s Irish masque, in Shadwell’s _Lancashire
-Witches_; which was simultaneously being used in his farce _The
-Committee_, by Dryden’s friend Howard, and which was afterwards to have
-good corroboration in Aytoun’s _Massacre of the MacPherson_. Farquhar
-employs it twice elsewhere, passably well in the case of Torlough
-Macahone of the parish of Curroughabegley (the personage who built a
-mansion-house for himself and his predecessors after him), and with
-lamentable flatness in that of Dugard in his last comedy. Dugard is a
-rival of the nursery-maid dear to almanac humorists, who is wont to
-exclaim: “Can’t ye tell boi me accint that ’tis Frinch Oi am!” It was
-one of Farquhar’s inartistic mistakes that he made no loving study of
-this or of anything touching nearly his own people. His Irishmen, with
-the exception of Roebuck, are either rascals or characterless nobodies.
-The name Teague, or Teig, which Howard had also employed, is old and
-pure North Irish; and no less pleasant an authority than George Borrow
-reminds us in the _Romano Lavo-Lil_ that it is Danish in origin.
-
-[42] Dear Dick Steele, in 1701, while Captain of Fusileers, had a
-duel thrust upon him; and in parrying, his sword pierced his man. To
-his remorse may be ascribed his hatred of the custom of duelling,
-expressed afterwards on every occasion. Steele owed his start in life
-to James Butler, Duke of Ormonde, who entered him among the boys on
-the Charterhouse foundation. This peer was grandfather to the man who
-failed George Farquhar.
-
-[43] Mrs. Farquhar published in 1711 an octavo volume of the _Plays,
-Letters, and Verses_. Among the verses figures a poem of six cantos
-dedicated to the victorious Earl of Peterborough, entitled _Barcelona_.
-“It was found among my dear deceased husband’s writings,” says the
-widow, in her prefatory note. He was not at the siege, and it is
-possible that the six cantos were a manuscript copy of the effusion of
-some former comrade. Farquhar was the author of several songs, one, of
-highly didactic complexion, having emanated from him at the reputed age
-of ten. Of these, only two are of fair lyrical quality: the page’s song
-in _Love and a Bottle_, and “Tell me, Aurelia, tell me, pray,” which
-Robert Southey included in his collection.
-
-[44] _The Vicar of Wakefield_ dates from 1766. Almost twenty years
-before that, the immortal Partridge had remarked to Tom Jones, quoting
-his schoolmaster: “Polly matete cry town is my daskalon.” Noble
-nonsense hath her pedigree. Goldsmith, however, is not so likely to
-have taken his cue from Fielding.
-
-
-
-
-IV
-
-TOPHAM BEAUCLERK
-
-1739-1780
-
-AND
-
-BENNET LANGTON
-
-1741-1800
-
-
-IN Samuel Johnson’s famous circle nearly every man stands for himself,
-full of definite purpose and power. But two young men are there who
-did nothing of moment, whose names chime often down the pages of all
-his biographies, and to whom the world must pay honor, if only for
-the friendship they took and gave. As Apollo should be set about with
-his Graces “tripping neatly,” so the portentous old apparition of
-Johnson seems never so complete and endearing as when attended by these
-two above all things else Johnsonians. When the Turk’s Head is ajar
-in Gerrard Street, in shadow-London; when the “unclubable” Hawkins
-strides over the threshold, and Hogarth goes by the window with his
-large nod and smile; when Chamier is there reading, Goldsmith posing
-in purple silk small-clothes, Sir Joshua fingering his trumpet, Burke
-and little brisk Garrick stirring “bishop”[45] in their glasses, and
-the king of the hour, distinguished by his lack of ruffles, is rolling
-about in his chair of state, saying something prodigiously humorous
-and wise, it is still Bennet Langton and Topham Beauclerk who most
-give the scene its human genial lustre, standing with laughter behind
-him, arm in arm. They were his favorites, and it is the most adorable
-thing about them both that they made out to like James Boswell, who
-was jealous of them. (Perhaps they had apprehended thoroughly Newman’s
-fine aphorism concerning a bore: “You may yield, or you may flee: you
-cannot conquer!”) The rare glimpses we have of their brotherly lives is
-through the door which opens or shuts for Johnson. Between him and them
-was deep and enduring affection, and what little is known of them has
-a right to be more, for his sake.
-
-Bennet Langton, born in 1741 in the very neighborhood famous now as the
-birthplace of Tennyson, was the elder son of the odd and long-descended
-George Langton of Langton, and of Diana his wife, daughter of Edmund
-Turnor, Esquire, of Stoke Rochford, Lincolnshire. While a lad in the
-fen-country, he read _The Rambler_, and conceived the purest enthusiasm
-for its author. He came to London, indeed, on the ideal errand of
-seeking him out, and, thanks to the kind apothecary Levett, found the
-idol of his imagination at home at No. 17 Gough Square, Fleet Street.
-Despite the somewhat staggering circumstances of Johnson’s attire,—for
-the serious boy had rashly presupposed a stately, fastidious, and
-well-mannered figure,—he paid his vows, and commended himself to
-his new friend for once and all. Langton entered Trinity College,
-Oxford, in 1757, at the age of sixteen.[46] The Doctor, who had
-known him about three years, followed his career at the university
-with interest, writing to Langton’s tutor, then “dear Tom Warton,”
-just appointed to the professorship of poetry held by his father, and
-afterwards poet-laureate: “I see your pupil: his mind is as exalted
-as his stature,” and to Langton’s self the sweet generality: “I love,
-dear sir, to think of you.” He even paid his Freshman a visit, and
-swam sportively across a dangerous pool in the Isis, in the teeth of
-his warning; and here also, in the Oxford which was long ago his own
-“tent of a night,” he fell across a part of his destiny in the shape
-of that strange bird, Mr. Topham Beauclerk, then a taking scapegrace
-of eighteen. The Doctor must have shaken his head at first, and
-wondered at the juxtaposition of this arrant Lord of Misrule and the
-“evangelical goodness” of his admirable Langton, until mollified by
-the knowledge that a species of cult for himself, and ardent perusal
-of his writings, had first brought them together. It was a pleasant
-thought to him, that of the two young ribboned heads high in the
-quadrangle, bending for the ninth time over _The Reasons Why Advice is
-Generally Ineffectual_, _The Mischief of Unbounded Raillery_, and the
-jolly satire on _Screech-Owls_; or smiling over the shy Verecundulus
-and the too-celebrated Misellus who were part of the author’s machinery
-for adding “Christian ardor to virtue, and Christian confidence to
-truth.”
-
-Beauclerk, like Langton, was a critic and a student; he was well-bred,
-urbane, and of excellent natural parts; moreover, he was a wit, one
-of the very foremost of his day, when wits grew in every garden. An
-only child, he was born in London in the December of 1739, and named
-after that benevolent Topham of Windsor who left the manors of Clewer
-Brocas and Didworth and a collection of paintings and drawings to his
-father, the handsome wild Lord Sydney Beauclerk, fifth son of the
-first Duke of St. Albans, and also, in his time, a gentleman commoner
-of Trinity. Lord Sydney died early, in the autumn of 1744, and was
-buried in Westminster Abbey with his hero-brother Aubrey, whose
-epitaph, still to be read there, Thomson seems to have written. All
-the pretty toys and curios passed to Topham the little boy, under the
-guardianship of Lady Beauclerk, his excellent but literal mother, once
-Mary Norris of Speke in Lancashire. His tutor was named Parker, and
-must have been a much-enduring man. Young Beauclerk grew up, bearing
-a resemblance in many ways to Charles II.; and so it befell that with
-his aggravating flippancy, his sharp sense, his quiver full of gibes,
-his time-wasting, money-wasting moods, foreign as Satan and his pomps
-to those of his sweet-natured college companion, he was able to strike
-Dr. Johnson in his own political weak spot. A flash of the liquid
-Stuart eye was enough to disarm Johnson at the very moment when he was
-calling up his most austere frown; it was enough to turn the vinegar
-of his wrath to the honey of kindness. _Il ne nous reste qu’une chose
-à faire: embrassons-nous!_ as the wheedling Prince, at a crisis,
-says to Henry Esmond. Johnson, as everybody knows, was a Jacobite.
-No sincerer testimony could he have given to his inexplicable liking
-for a royal rogue than that he allowed Nell Gwynn’s great-grandson to
-tease him and tyrannize over him during an entire lifetime. A choice
-spectacle this: Mr. Topham Beauclerk, on his introduction, literally
-bewitching Dr. Samuel Johnson! The stolid moralist was enraptured
-with his Jack-o’-lantern antics; he rejoiced in his manners, his
-taste and literary learning; admired him indiscreetly, rich clothes,
-equipage, and all; followed his whims meekly, expostulated with him
-almost against his traitorous impulses, and clung to him to the end in
-unbroken fondness and faith.
-
-Beauclerk had immense gayety and grace, and the full force given by
-high spirits. His accurate, ever-widening knowledge of books and men,
-his consummate culture, and his fearlessness, sat handsomely on one
-who was regarded by contemporary old ladies as a mere “macaroni.” It
-was a matter of course that he tried for no degree at college. The
-mistress of Streatham Park, who was by no means his adorer, and who
-remembered his chief wickedness in remembering that “he wished to be
-accounted wicked,” informs us in a private jotting since published
-that he was “a man of very strict veracity.” A philosopher and a
-truth-teller, whatever his worldly weaknesses, was sure to be a
-character within the range of Johnson’s affections. It was he who most
-troubled the good Doctor, he for whom he suffered in silence, with whom
-he wrangled; he whose insuperable taunting promise, never reaching any
-special development, vexed and disheartened him; yet, perhaps because
-of these very things, though Bennet Langton was infinitely more to his
-mind, it was Absalom, once again, whom the old fatherly heart loved
-best. Nor was he unrepaid. None loved him better, in return, than his
-“Beau,” the very mirror of the name, who was wont to pick his way up
-the grimy Fleet Street courts “with veneration,” as Boswell records.
-
-Bennet Langton, as Mr. Forster expresses it in his noble _Life of
-Goldsmith_, was “an eminent example of the high and humane class who
-are content to ‘ring the bell’ to their friends.” He was a mild young
-visionary, scrupulous, tolerant, and generous in the extreme; modest,
-contemplative, averse to dissipation; a perfect talker and reader,
-and a perfect listener; with a face sweet as a child’s, fading but
-now, among his kindred, on the canvas of Sir Joshua Reynolds. He left
-a gracious memory behind at Oxford, where his musing bust adorns the
-old monastic library of Trinity. He was six feet six inches tall,
-slenderly built, and slightly stooping. “The ladies got about him in
-drawing-rooms,” said Edmund Burke, “like maids about the Maypole!”
-
-Miss Hawkins, in her _Memoirs_, names him as the person with whom
-Johnson was certainly seen to the fairest advantage. His deferent
-suave manner was the best foil possible to the Doctor’s extraordinary
-explosions. He had supreme self-command; no one ever saw him angry;
-and in most matters of life, as a genuine contrast to his beloved
-friend Beauclerk, he was apt to take things a shade too seriously. We
-learn from Mr. Henry Best, author of some good _Personal and Literary
-Memorials_, that the advance rumors of the French Revolution found
-Langton, in the fullest sense, an aristocrat; but it was not long
-before he became, from conviction, a thorough Liberal, and so remained,
-although he suffered a great unpopularity, owing to this change, in
-his native county. He wrote, in 1760, a little book of essays entitled
-_Rustics_, which never got beyond the passivity of manuscript. The
-year before, under the date of July 28th, Langton contributed to the
-pages of _The Idler_ the paper numbered 67 and entitled _A Scholar’s
-Journal_. It is a pleasant study of procrastination and of shifting
-plans, a gentle bit of humor to be ranked as autobiographic. There is
-an indorsement of Montrose in its heroic advice to “risk the certainty
-of little for the chance of much.” But Langton’s graceful academic
-pen was not destined to a public career. Perseverance of any sort was
-not native to him. He fulfilled beautifully, adds the vivacious Miss
-Hawkins, “the pious injunction of Sir Thomas Browne, ‘to sit quietly
-in the soft showers of Providence,’ and might, without injustice,
-be characterized as utterly unfit for every species of activity.”
-Yet at the call of duty, so well was the natural man dominated by
-his unclouded will, he girded himself to any exertion. Wine-drinking
-was habitual with him, and he felt its need to sharpen and rouse
-his intellect; “but the idea of Bennet Langton being what is called
-‘overtaken,’” wrote the same associate whom we have been quoting, “is
-too preposterous to be dwelt on.” She furnishes one illustration of
-Langton’s Greek serenity. Talking to a company, of a chilly forenoon,
-in his own house, he paused to remark that if the fire lacked attention
-it might go out: a brief, casual, murmurous interruption. He resumed
-his discourse, breaking off presently, and pleading abstractedly with
-eye in air: “Pray ring for coals!” All sat looking at the fire, and
-so little solicitous about the impending catastrophe that presently
-Langton was off again on the stream of his softened eloquence. In a few
-minutes came another lull. “Did anybody answer that bell?” A general
-negative. “Did anybody ring that bell?” A sly shaking of heads. And
-once more the inspired monody soared among the clouds, at last dropping
-meditatively to the hearthstone: “Dear, dear, the fire is out!”
-
-Langton was the centre of a group, wherever he happened to be, talking
-delightfully, and twirling the oblong gold-mounted snuff-box, which
-promptly appeared as sociabilities began: a conspicuous figure, with
-his height, his courteous smile, his mild beauty, and his habit of
-crossing his arms over his breast, or locking his hands together on
-his knee. He was a great rider, and could run like a hound. He had a
-queerness of constitution which seemed to leave him at his lowest ebb
-every afternoon about two of the clock, forgetful, weary, confused,
-and without an idea in his head; but after a little food, he was
-himself again. At dinner-parties he usually rose fasting, “such was the
-perpetual flow of his conversation, and such the incessant claim made
-upon him.” A morning call from Mr. Langton was a thing to suggest the
-eternal years; yet we are told that satiety dwelt not where he was;
-like Cowley, “he never oppressed any man’s parts, or put any man out
-of countenance.” He had much the same sense of humor as Beauclerk had,
-and his speech was quite as full of good sense and direct observation,
-if not as cutting. He indicted a fault of Edmund Burke’s in one extreme
-stroke: “Burke whisks the end of his tail in the face of an arguer!”
-Johnson, the arch-whisker of tails, was not to be brought to book; but
-Burke’s greatness was of a texture to bear and enjoy the thrust. It is
-curious that Langton was markedly fond of _Hudibras_; such a relish
-indicates, perhaps, the turn his own wit might have taken, had it not
-been held in by too much second thought.
-
-Johnson was wont to announce that he valued Langton for his piety,
-his ancient descent, his amiable behavior, and his mastery of Greek.
-“Who in this town knows anything of Clenardus, sir, but you and I?”
-he would say. In the midst of his talk Langton would fall into the
-“vowelled undertone” of the tongue he loved, correcting himself with a
-little wave of the hands, and the apologetic phrase: “And so it goes
-on.” “Steeped to the lips in Greek” he was indeed, bursting out with
-a joyous salute to the moon of Hellas, upon a friend’s doorstep, or
-making grotesque Hellene puns, for his own delight,[47] upon the blank
-leaves of a pocket-book. Every one familiar with Johnsoniana will
-recall the charming and spirited retort written by Dr. Barnard, then
-Dean of Derry, later, Bishop of Killaloe, which closes:
-
- “If I have thoughts and can’t express ’em,
- Gibbon shall teach me how to dress ’em
- In terms select and terse;
- Jones teach me modesty and Greek;
- Smith, how to think; Burke, how to speak;
- And Beauclerk, to converse!”
-
-In all deference to the illustrious Sir William Jones, it may be
-claimed that “modesty and Greek” were the very arts in which Langton
-was a past-master. But he was an amateur, and a private scholar, and
-his name was a dissyllable; else the Dean might have tossed at his feet
-as pretty a compliment as that given in the last line to his colleague.
-It must have gratified Johnson that Langton refused, at Reynolds’s
-dinner-table, “like a sturdy scholar,” to sign the famous Round Robin
-(not signed, either, by Beauclerk) which besought him to “disgrace the
-walls of Westminster with an English inscription.” And as if to keep
-Langton firmly of his own mind on the subject, it was to him the Doctor
-confided the Greek quatrain, sad and proud, which he had dedicated to
-Goldsmith’s[48] memory.
-
-For Bennet Langton Johnson had no criticism but praise. He presented
-him with pride to Young and to Richardson, described him handsomely to
-Hannah More, and proceeded to draw his character for Miss Reynolds, ere
-she had met him, with such “energy and fond delight” as she avowed she
-never could forget. What fine ringing metal was Johnson’s commendation!
-“He is one of those to whom Nature has not spread her volumes,
-nor uttered her voices, in vain.” “Earth does not bear a worthier
-gentleman.” “I know not who will go to Heaven if Langton does not.” And
-in the sweetest and completest approval ever put by one mortal upon
-another: “_Sit anima mea cum Langtono!_” Yet even with this “angel of a
-man” the Doctor had one serious and ludicrous quarrel.
-
-It was the fatal outcome of his uneven moods that he must needs be
-disenchanted at times even with his best beadsmen: there came days
-when he would deny Beauclerk’s good-humor to be anything but “acid,”
-Langton’s anything but “muddy.” He considered it the sole grave
-fault of the latter that he was too ready to introduce a religious
-discussion into a mixed assembly, where he knew scarcely any two of
-the company would be of the same mind. On Boswell’s suggestion that
-this may have been done for the sake of instructing himself, Johnson
-replied angrily that a man had no more right to take that means of
-gaining information than he had to pit two persons against each other
-in a duel for the sake of learning the art of self-defence. Some
-indiscretion of this sort on Langton’s part seems to have alienated
-the friends for the first and last time. It was during their transient
-bitterness that the Doctor made the historic apology, across the table,
-to Oliver Goldsmith; an incident which, however beautiful in itself,
-was a hard back-handed hit at Langton, standing by. Croker’s conjecture
-may be true that the business which threatened to break a fealty of
-some sixteen years’ standing arose rather from Langton’s settling his
-estate by will upon his sisters, whose tutor he had been. On hearing
-of it, the Great Cham grumbled and fumed, politely applying to the
-Misses Langton the title of “three dowdies!”[49] and shouting, in a
-feudal warmth, that “an ancient estate, sir! an ancient estate should
-always go to males.” In fact, the Doctor behaved very badly, very
-sardonically, and was pleased to lay hold of a post by Temple Bar one
-night, and roar aloud over a piece of possible folly up in Lincolnshire
-which concerned him not in the least. But in due time the breach,
-whatever its cause, was healed. The Doctor, in writing of it, uses
-one of his balancing sentences: “Langton is a worthy fellow, without
-malice, though not without resentment.” The two could not keep apart
-very long, despite all the unreason in the world. “Johnson’s quarrels,”
-Mr. Forster tells us, “were lovers’ quarrels.” Another memorable
-passage-at-arms, rich in comedy, happened in the course of one of
-Johnson’s sicknesses, when, in the cloistral silence of his chamber,
-he solemnly implored Bennet Langton, always the companion who comforted
-his sunless hours, to tell him wherein his life had been faulty. His
-shy and sagacious monitor wrote down, as accusation enough, various
-Scriptural texts recommending tolerance, humility, long-suffering,
-and other meek ingredients which were not predominant in the sinner’s
-social composition. The penitent earnestly thanked Langton on taking
-the paper from his hand, but presently turned his short-sighted eyes
-upon him from the pillow, and emerging from what his own verbology
-would call a “frigorific torpor,” he exclaimed in a loud, wrathful,
-suspicious tone: “What’s your drift, sir?” “And when I questioned him,”
-so Johnson afterwards told his blustering tale—“when I questioned him
-as to what occasion I had given him for such animadversion, all that
-he could say amounted to this: that I sometimes contradicted people in
-conversation! Now, what harm does it do any man to be contradicted?” To
-this same paternal young Langton the rebel submitted his Latin verses;
-the _Poemata_, in the shape in which we possess them, were rigorously
-edited by him. And Johnson leaned upon him in more intimate ways, as he
-could never lean upon Beauclerk. To the scrupulous nature instinctively
-right he made comfortable confidences: “Men of harder minds than ours
-will do many things from which you and I would shrink; yet, sir, they
-will, perhaps, do more good in life than we.”
-
-As to the Honorable Topham Beauclerk, more volatile than Langton, he
-had as steady a “sunshine of cheerfulness” for his heritage. We find
-him complaining to a friend in the July of 1773: “Every hour adds to
-my misanthropy; and I have had a pretty considerable share of it for
-some years past.” This incursion of low spirits was not normal with
-him. Johnson, bewailing his own morbid habits of mind, once said: “Some
-men, and very thinking men, too, have not these vexing thoughts. Sir
-Joshua Reynolds is the same all the year round; Beauclerk, when not ill
-and in pain, is the same.” Boswell attests that Beauclerk took more
-liberties with Johnson than durst any man alive, and that Johnson was
-more disposed to envy Beauclerk’s talents than those of any one he had
-ever known. Born into the freedom of London, Beauclerk was familiar
-with Fox, Selwyn, and Walpole, and with the St. James men who did not
-ache to consort with Johnson; and he was quite their match in ease and
-astuteness. He walked the modish world, where Langton could not and
-would not follow; he alternated the Ship Tavern and the gaming-table
-with the court levees; Davies’s shop with the golden insipidities of
-the drawing-room; _la comédie_, _la danse_, _l’amour même_, with the
-intellectual tie-wigs of Soho. It shows something of his spirit that
-whereas no member of the Club save himself was a frequenter of White’s
-and Betty’s,[50] or a chosen guest at Strawberry Hill, yet there was no
-person of fashion whom he was not proud to make known to Doctor Johnson
-whenever he judged the candidate for so genuine an honor worthy of it.
-Some of these encounters must have been queer and memorable!
-
-Beauclerk’s unresting sarcasm often flattened out Boswell and irritated
-the Doctor, though Bennet Langton, in his abandonments of enthusiastic
-optimism, was never more than grazed. It is not to be denied that this
-spoiled child of the Club liked to worry Goldsmith, the maladroit great
-man who might have quoted often on such occasions the sad gibe of
-Hamlet:
-
- “I’ll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ignorance
- Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night,
- Stick fiery off indeed.”
-
-What a pity that Goldsmith’s _Retaliation_ was never finished, so as
-to include his portrait of Beau! He was “a pestilent wit,” as Anthony
-à Wood calls Marvell. Johnson, shy creature! deplored Beauclerk’s
-“predominance over his company.” The tyranny, however, was gracefully
-and decorously exercised, if we are to believe the unique eulogy that
-“no man was ever freer, when he was about to say a good thing, from a
-look which expressed that it was coming; nor, when he had said it, from
-a look which expressed that it had come.” Few human beings have had
-a finer sense of fun than Topham Beauclerk. He had an infallible eye
-for the values of blunders, and an incongruity came home to him like
-a blessing from above. Life with him was a night-watch for diverting
-objects and ideas. When he was not studying, he was disporting himself,
-like the wits of the Restoration; and he was equal to all emergencies,
-as they succeeded one another. Every specimen preserved of his talk
-is perfect of its kind, and makes us long for a full index. Pointed
-his speech was, always, and reminds one indeed of a foil, but without
-the button; a dangerous little weapon, somewhat unfair, but carried
-with such consummate flourish that those whom it pricks could almost
-cheer it. “O Lord! how I did hate that horrid Beauclerk!” Mrs. Piozzi
-scribbled once on the margin of Wraxall’s _Memoirs_, in an exquisite
-feminine vindication of poor Beau’s accomplished tongue.
-
-He was no disguiser of his own likes and dislikes. Politics he avoided
-as much as possible; but he affected less concern in public matters
-than he really felt. “Consecrate that time to your friends,” he writes
-with mock severity to the ideal Irishman, Lord Charlemont, “which
-you spend in endeavoring to promote the interests of a half-million
-of scoundrels.” For his private business he had least zeal of all;
-and cites “my own confounded affairs” as the cause of his going into
-Lancashire. Beauclerk had great tact, boldness, and independence; his
-natural scorn of an oppressor was his modern and democratic quality.
-His idleness (for he was as idle by habit as Langton was by nature) he
-recognized, and lightly deprecated. Fastidious in everything, he made
-“one hour of conversation at Elmsley’s”[51] his standard of enjoyment,
-and his imagined extreme of annoyance was “to be clapped on the back
-by Tom Davies.” What he chose to call his leisure (again the ancestral
-Stuart trait!) he dedicated to the natural sciences in his beloved
-laboratory. “I see Mr. Beauclerk often, both in town and country,”
-wrote Goldsmith to Bennet Langton; “he is now going directly forward
-to become a second Boyle, deep in chemistry and physics.” When there
-was some fanciful talk of setting up the Club as a college, “to draw
-a wonderful concourse of students,” Beauclerk, by unanimous vote, was
-elected to the professorship of Natural Philosophy.
-
-Johnson’s influence on him, potent though it was, seems to have been
-negative enough. It kept him from a few questionable things, and
-preserved in him an outward decorum towards customs and established
-institutions; but it failed to incite him to make of his manifold
-talents the “illustrious figure” which Langton’s eyes discerned in a
-vain anticipation. Beauclerk and the great High Churchman went about
-much together, and had amusing experiences. On such occasions, as in
-all their familiar intercourse, the disciple had the true salt of the
-Doctor’s talk, which, as Hazlitt remarks, was often something quite
-unlike “the cumbrous cargo of words” he kept for professional use. In
-the late winter of 1765 the two visited Cambridge, Beauclerk having a
-mind to call upon a friend at Trinity.
-
-These, as we know, had their many differences, “like a Spanish great
-galleon, and an English man-o’-war”; the one smooth, sharp, and civil,
-the other indignantly dealing with the butt-end of personality. Boswell
-gives a long account of a charming dispute concerning the murderer
-of Miss Reay, and the evidence of his having carried two pistols.
-Beauclerk was right; but Johnson, with quite as solid a sense of
-virtue, was angry; and he was soothed at the end only by an adroit
-and affectionate reply. “Sir,” the Doctor began, sternly, at another
-time, after listening to some mischievous waggery, “you never open your
-mouth but with the intention to give pain, and you often give me pain,
-not from the power of what you say, but from seeing your intention.”
-And again, he said to him whom he had compared to Alexander, marching
-in triumph into Babylon: “You have, sir! a love of folly, and a scorn
-of fools; everything you do attests the one, and everything you say
-the other.”[52] Beauclerk could also lecture his mentor. It was his
-steadfast counsel that the Doctor should devote himself to poetry, and
-draw in his horns of dogma and didactics.
-
-He had, ever ready, some quaint simile or odd application from the
-classics; in the habit of “talking from books,” as the Doctor called
-it, he was, however, distanced by Langton. Referring to that friend’s
-habit of sitting or standing against the fireplace, with one long leg
-twisted about the other, “as if fearing to occupy too much space,”
-Beauclerk likened him, for all the world, to the stork in Raphael’s
-cartoon of The Miraculous Draught.[53] One of Beauclerk’s happiest
-hits, and certainly his boldest, was made while Johnson was being
-congratulated upon his pension. “How much now it was to be hoped,”
-whispered the young blood, in reference to Falstaff’s celebrated vow,
-“that he would purge and live cleanly, as a gentleman should do!”
-Johnson seems to have taken the hint in good-humor, and actually to
-have profited by it.
-
-Very soon after leaving Oxford, Beauclerk became engaged to a Miss
-Draycott, whose family were well known to that affable blue-stocking,
-Mrs. Montagu; but some coldness on his part, some sensitiveness on
-hers, broke off the match. His fortune-hunting parent is said to have
-been disappointed, as the lady owned several lead-mines in her own
-right. That same year, with Bennet Langton for companion part of the
-way, Beauclerk, whose health, never robust, now began to give him
-anxiety, set out on a Continental tour. Baretti, whom he had met at
-home, received him most kindly at Milan, thanks to Johnson’s urgent
-and friendly letter. By his subsequent knowledge of Italian popular
-customs, he was able to testify in Baretti’s favor, when the latter
-was under arrest for killing his man in the Haymarket, and in concert
-with Burke, Garrick, Goldsmith, and Johnson, to help him, in a very
-interesting case, towards his acquittal. It was reported to Selwyn
-that the handsome gambling Inglese was robbed at Venice of £10,000!
-an incident which, perhaps, shortened his peregrinations. If the
-report were accurate, it would prove that he could have been in no
-immediate need of pecuniary rescue from his leaden sweetheart. It was
-Dr. Johnson’s opinion, coinciding with the opinion of Roger Ascham on
-the same general subject, that travel adds very little to one’s mental
-forces, and that Beauclerk might have learned more in the Academe of
-“Fleet Street, sir!”
-
-Topham Beauclerk married Lady Diana Spencer, the eldest daughter of
-the second Duke of Marlborough, as soon as she obtained a divorce from
-her first husband. This was Frederick, Lord Bolingbroke, nephew and
-heir of the great owner of that title; a very trying gentleman, who
-was the restless “Bully” of Selwyn’s correspondence; he survived until
-1787. The ceremony took place March 12, 1768, in St. George’s, Hanover
-Square, “by license of the Archbishop of Canterbury,” both conspirators
-being then residents of the parish. Lady Diana Spencer was born in
-the spring of 1734, and was therefore in her thirty-fifth year, while
-Beauclerk was but twenty-nine.[54] Johnson was disturbed, and felt
-offended at first with the whole affair; but he never withdrew from the
-agreeable society of Beauclerk’s wife. It is nothing wonderful that the
-courtship and honey-moon was signalized by the forfeit of Beauclerk’s
-place in the exacting Club, “for continued inattendance,” and not
-regained for a considerable period. “They are in town, at Topham’s
-house, and give dinners,” one of George Selwyn’s gossiping friends
-wrote, after the wedding. “Lord Ancram dined there yesterday, and
-called her nothing but Lady Bolingbroke the whole time!” Let us hope
-that “Milady Bully” triumphed over her awkward guest, and looked, as
-Earl March once described her under other difficulties, “handsomer than
-ever I saw her, and not the least abashed;” or as deliberately easy as
-when she entertained with her gay talk the nervous Boswell who awaited
-the news of his election or rejection from the Club. She was a blond
-goddess, exceedingly fair to see. In her middle age she fell under the
-observant glance of delightful Fanny Burney, who did not fail to allow
-her “pleasing remains of beauty.”
-
-The _divorcée_ was fond of and faithful to her new lord, and no
-drawback upon his æsthetic pride, inasmuch as she was an artist of no
-mean merit. Horace Walpole built a room for the reception of some of
-her drawings, which he called his Beauclerk Closet, “not to be shown
-to all the profane that come to see the house,” and he always praised
-them extravagantly. It is surer critical testimony in her favor that
-her name figures yet in encyclopædias, and that Sir Joshua, the honest
-and unbought judge, much admired her work, which Bartolozzi was kept
-busy engraving. It was her series of illustrations to Bürger’s wild
-ballad of _Leonora_ (with the dolly knight, the wooden monks, the
-genteel heroine, and the vigorous spectres) which, long after, helped
-to fire the young imagination of Shelley. It is to be feared that her
-invaluable portrait of Samuel Johnson is not, or never was, extant.
-“Johnson was confined for some days in the Isle of Skye,” writes her
-rogue of a spouse, “and we hear that he was obliged to swim over to
-the mainland, taking hold of a cow’s tail. . . . Lady Di has promised
-to make a drawing of it.” Sir Joshua’s pretty “Una” is the little
-Elizabeth, afterwards Countess of Pembroke, elder daughter of Lady Di
-and Topham Beauclerk, painted the year her father died.
-
-The family lived in princely style, both at their “summer quarters” at
-Muswell Hill, and on Great Russell Street, where the library, set in a
-great garden, reached, as Walpole mischievously gauged it, “half-way to
-Highgate.” Lady Di, an admirable hostess, proved herself one of those
-odd and rare women who take to their husbands’ old friends. Selwyn
-she cordially liked, and her warmest welcome attended Langton, whom
-she would rally for his remissness, when he failed to come to them at
-Richmond. He could reach them so easily! she said; all he need do was
-to lay himself at length, his feet in London and his head with them,
-_eodem die_. This Richmond home remained her residence during her
-widowhood. Walpole mentions a Thames boat-race in 1791, when he sat in
-a tent “just before Lady Di’s windows,” and gazed upon “a scene that
-only Richmond, on earth, can exhibit.” In the church of the same leafy
-town her body rests.
-
-Beauclerk died at his Great Russell Street house on March 11, 1780. He
-had been failing steadily under visitations of his old trouble since
-1777, when he lay sick unto death at Bath, and when his wife nursed
-him tenderly into what seemed to Walpole a miraculous recovery. He was
-but forty-one years old, and, for all his genius, left no more trace
-behind than that Persian prince who suddenly disappeared in the shape
-of a butterfly, and whom old Burton calls a “light phantastick fellow.”
-His air of boyish promise, quite unconsciously worn, hoodwinked his
-friends into prophecies of his fame. He did not give events a chance to
-put immortality on his “bright, unbowed, insubmissive head.” Yet he was
-bitterly mourned. “I would walk to the extent of the diameter of the
-earth to save him,” cried Johnson, who had loved him for over twenty
-years; and again, to Lord Althorp: “This is a loss, sir, that perhaps
-the whole nation could not repair.” Boswell mentions the Doctor’s April
-stroll, at this time, while he was writing his _Lives of the Poets_;
-and tells us how, returning from a call on the widow of the companion
-of his youth, David Garrick, he leaned over the rails of the Adelphi
-Terrace, watching the dark river, and thinking of “two such friends
-as cannot be supplied.” “Poor dear Beauclerk!” Johnson wrote, when his
-violent grief had somewhat subsided, “_nec, ut soles, dabis joca!_ His
-wit and his folly, his acuteness and his maliciousness, his merriment
-and his reasoning, are alike over. Such another will not often be found
-among mankind.” Beyond this well-known and characteristic summing-up,
-the Doctor made no discoverable mention, in his correspondence, of his
-bereavement, certainly not to the highly-prejudiced Mrs. Thrale, to
-whom he wrote often and gayly in the year of Beauclerk’s death. Nor
-shall we know how the catastrophe affected Bennet Langton; for all the
-most interesting papers relating to him were destroyed when the old
-Hall at Langton-by-Spilsby was burned in 1855. On this subject, as on
-others as intimate, he stands, perforce, silent.
-
-Readers may recall a passage in Miss Burney’s _Diary_ which gives
-countenance to an accusation not borne out by any other testimony,
-that Beauclerk and his wife had not lived happily together. Dining
-at Sir Joshua’s at Richmond, in 1782, Edmund Burke, sitting next the
-author of _Evelina_, took occasion, on catching sight of Lady Di’s
-“pretty white house” through the trees, to rejoice in the fact that
-she was well-housed, moneyed, and a widow. He added that he had never
-enjoyed the good-fortune of another so keenly as in this blessed
-instance. Then, turning to his new acquaintance, as the least likely
-to be informed of the matter, he spoke in his own “strong and marked
-expressions” of the singular ill-treatment Beauclerk had shown his
-wife, and the “necessary relief” it must have been to her when he was
-called away. The statement does not seem to have been gainsaid by any
-of the company; nor was Burke liable to a slanderous error. So severe a
-comment on Beauclerk, resting, even as it does, wholly on Miss Burney’s
-veracity, ought, in fairness, to be incorporated into any sketch of the
-man. On the other side, it is pleasant to discover that Beauclerk, in
-his will, made five days before the end, bequeathed all he possessed to
-his wife, and reverted to her the estates of his children, should they
-die under age. There was but one bequest beyond these, and that was to
-Thomas Clarke, the faithful valet. The executors named were Lady Di
-and her brother, Lord Charles Spencer, who had also been groomsman at
-the marriage, which, despite Burke and its own evil beginnings, it is
-hard to think of as ill-starred. The joint guardians of Charles George
-Beauclerk, the only son, were to be Bennet Langton and a Mr. Loyrester,
-whom Dr. Johnson speaks of as “Leicester, Beauclerk’s relation, and a
-man of good character;” but the guardianship, provisional in case of
-Lady Di’s decease, never came into force, as she survived, in fullest
-harmony with her three children, up to August 1, 1808, having entered
-her seventy-fifth year. Various private legacies came to Langton, by
-his old comrade’s dying wish, the most precious among them, perhaps,
-being the fine Reynolds portrait of Johnson, which had been painted at
-Beauclerk’s cost. Under it was inscribed:
-
- “_Ingenium ingens
- Inculto latet hoc sub corpore._”
-
-Langton thoughtfully effaced the lines. “It was kind of you to take
-it off,” said the burly Doctor, with a sigh; and then (for how could
-he but recall the contrast of temperament in the two, as well as the
-affectionate context of Horace?), “not unkind in him to have put it
-on.” The collection of thirty thousand glorious books “_pernobilis
-Angli T. Beauclerk_” was sold at auction. The advertisement alone is
-royal reading. There is much amiable witness to the circumstance that
-Beauclerk was not only an admirer but a buyer of his friends’ works.
-From some kind busybody who attended the twenty-ninth day of the sale,
-and pencilled his observations upon the margins of the catalogue now in
-the British Museum, we learn that Goldsmith’s _History of the Earth and
-Animated Nature_ (nothing less!), which was issued, with cuts, in the
-year he died, was knocked down to the vulgar for two and threepence.
-The shelves, naturally, were stocked with Johnsons. Things dear to
-the bibliophile were there: innumerable first editions, black-letter,
-mediæval manuscript, Elzevirs, priceless English and Italian classics,
-gathered with real feeling and pride; but the most vivid personal
-interest belonged to the unpretending Lot 3444, otherwise known to fame
-as _The Rambler_, printed at Edinburgh in 1751; for that was the young
-Beauclerk’s own copy, carried with him to Oxford, and with a fragrance,
-as of a last century garden, of the first hearty friendship of boys.
-One cannot help wishing that a sentimental fate left it in Langton’s
-own hands.
-
-Lady Beauclerk, Topham’s mother, had died in 1766; and he asked to be
-buried beside her, or at her feet, in the old chapel of Garston, near
-Liverpool: “an instance of tenderness,” said Johnson, “which I should
-hardly have expected.” There, in the place of his choice, he rests,
-without an epitaph.
-
-After this the Doctor consoled himself more than ever with Bennet
-Langton, and with the atmosphere of love and reverence which surrounded
-him in Langton’s house. He had been of old the most desired of all
-guests at the family seat in Lincolnshire. “Langton, sir!” as he
-liked to announce, “had a grant of warren from Henry II.; and Cardinal
-Stephen Langton, of King John’s reign, was of this family.” Peregrine
-Langton, Bennet’s uncle, was a man of simple and benevolent habits, who
-brought economy to a science, without niggardliness, and whom Johnson
-declared to be one of those he clung to at once, both by instinct and
-reason; Bennet’s father, learned, good, and unaffected, the prototype
-of his learned, good, and unaffected son, was, however, a more
-diverting character. He had sincerest esteem for Johnson, but looked
-askance on him for his liberal views, and suspected him, indeed, of
-being a Papist in secret! He once offered the Doctor a living of some
-value in the neighborhood, with the suggestion that he should qualify
-himself for Orders: a chance gravely refused. Of this exemplary but
-rather archaic squire, Johnson, a dissector of everything he loved,
-said: “Sir! he is so exuberant a talker in public meetings that the
-gentlemen of his county are afraid of him. No business can be done
-for his declamation.” In his behalf, too, Johnson produced one of his
-most astounding words; for having understood that both Mr. and Mrs.
-Langton were averse to having their portraits taken, he observed aloud
-that “a superstitious reluctance to sit for one’s picture is among the
-anfractuosities of the human mind.”
-
-Bennet Langton married, on the 24th of May, 1770, Mary Lloyd, daughter
-of the Countess of Haddington, and widow of John, the eighth Earl of
-Rothes, the stern soldier in laced waistcoat and breastplate beneath,
-painted by Sir Joshua. It was a common saying at the time that
-everybody was welcome to a Countess Dowager of Rothes; for it did so
-happen that three ladies bearing that title were all remarried within
-a few years. Lady Rothes, although a native of Suffolk, had acquired
-from long residence in Scotland the accent of that country, which Dr.
-Johnson bore with magnanimously, on the consideration that it was not
-indigenous. She had a handsome presence, full of easy dignity, and a
-naturalness marked enough in the heyday of Georgian affectation. With
-a vivacity very different from Lady Di Beauclerk’s, she kept herself
-the spring and centre of Langton’s tranquil domestic circle: a more
-womanly woman historiographers cannot find. His own charm of character,
-after his marriage, slipped more and more into the underground channels
-of home-life, and so coursed on beneficently in silence. Their children
-were no fewer than nine,[55] “not a plain face nor faulty person
-among them:” the goddess daughters six feet in height, and the three
-sons so like their Maypole father that they were able once to amuse
-the Parisians by raising their arms to let a crowd pass. Langton was
-wont to repeat with some glee certain jests about his height, and Dr.
-Johnson’s nickname of “Lanky” he took ever with excellent grace; and
-when Garrick had leaped upon a chair to shake hands with him, in old
-days, he had knelt, at parting, to shake hands with Garrick. But the
-King’s awkward digs at his “long legs” he found terribly distasteful,
-nor was he thereby disposed to agree with the Doctor’s enthusiastic
-proclamation, after the famous interview of 1767, that George III. was
-“as fine a gentleman as Charles II.”
-
-It was his cherished plan to educate his boys and girls at home, and
-to give them a thorough acquaintance with the learned languages. No
-social engagements were to stand in the way of this prime exigency. He
-was in great haste to turn his young brood into Masters and Mistresses
-of Arts. Johnson complained to Miss Burney, as they were both taking
-tea at Mrs. Thrale’s, that nothing would serve Langton but to stand
-them up before company, and get them to repeat a fable or the Hebrew
-alphabet, supplying every other word himself, and blushing with pride
-at the vicarious learning of his infants. But another of the tedious
-royal jokes, “How does Education go on?” actually lessened his devotion
-to his self-set task, and worried him like the water-drop in the
-story, which fell forever on a criminal’s head until it had drilled
-his brain. Again, both he and his wife, even after they had moved into
-the retirement of Great George Street, Westminster, in pursuance of
-their design, were far too agreeable and too accessible to be spared
-the incursions of society. In a word, Minerva found her seat shaken,
-and her altar-fires not very well tended, and therefore withdrew.
-Langton impressed one axiom on his young scholars which they never
-forgot: “Next best to knowing is to be sensible that you do not know.”
-An entirely superfluous waif of a baby was once left at the doors of
-this same many-childrened house, to be fed, clothed, and petted by Mr.
-Bennet Langton and Lady Rothes, without protest. Dr. Johnson, who made
-friends with all children, was especially attached to their third girl,
-his god-daughter, whom he called “pretty Mrs. Jane,” and “my own little
-Jenny.” The very last year of his life her “most humble servant” sent
-her a loving letter, extant yet, and written purposely in a large round
-hand as clear as print.
-
-“Langton’s children are very pretty,” Johnson wrote to Boswell in
-1777, “and his lady loses her Scotch.” But again, during the same
-year, condescendingly: “I dined lately with poor dear Langton. I do
-not think he goes on well. His table is rather coarse, and he has his
-children too much about him.” Boswell takes occasion, in reproducing
-this censure, to reprehend the custom of introducing the children after
-dinner: a parental indulgence to which he, at least, was not addicted.
-The Doctor gave him a mild nudge on the subject in remarking later:
-“I left Langton in London. He has been down with the militia, and is
-again quiet at home, talking to his little people, as I suppose you
-do sometimes.” While Langton was in camp on Warley Common, in command
-of the Lincolnshire troops, Johnson spent with him five delightful
-days, admiring his tall captain’s blossoming energies, and poking
-about curiously among the tents. Langton had fallen, little by little,
-into a confirmed extravagance, so that the moral of Uncle Peregrine’s
-sagacious living bade fair to be lost upon him. Boswell had a quarrel
-with Johnson on the subject of Langton’s expenditure, during the course
-of which, according to his own report, the Laird of Auchinleck suffered
-a “horrible shock” by being told that the best way to drive Langton out
-of his costly house would be to put him (Boswell) into it. The Doctor
-was truly concerned, nevertheless, about his engaging spendthrift; up
-to the very end, he would implore him to keep account-books, even if
-he had to omit his Aristophanes. “He complains of the ill effects of
-habit,” grumbled the great moralizer, “and he rests content upon a
-confessed indolence. He told his father himself that he had ‘no turn
-for economy!’ but a thief might as well plead that he had no turn for
-honesty.” Such were the hard hits sacred to those Dr. Johnson most
-esteemed. It transpires from his will that, by way of discouragement,
-he had lent Langton £750.[56]
-
-In the winter of 1785, Langton came from the country, and took lodgings
-in Fleet Street, in order to sit beside Johnson as he lay dying, and
-hold his hand. Nor was he alone in his pious offices: the Hooles, Mr.
-Sestre, and several others were there, to keep constant vigil. Miss
-Burney met Langton in the passage December 11th, two days before the
-end: “He could not,” she wrote in her journal, “look at me, nor I at
-him.” But through the foggy and restless nights when Johnson tried
-to cheer himself, like More and Master William Lilly, by translating
-into Latin some epigrams from the _Anthologia_, the true Grecian
-beside him must have been his chief comfort. One can picture the old
-eyes turning to him for sympathy, perhaps with that same murmured
-“Lanky!” on awaking, which Boswell laughed to hear from him one merry
-Hebridean morning, twelve years before. The last summons did not come
-in Langton’s presence. Hurrying over to Bolt Court at eight of the
-fatal evening, he was told that all was over three-quarters of an hour
-ago. That large soul had gone away, as Leigh Hunt so beautifully said
-of Coleridge, “to an infinitude hardly wider than his thoughts.” Then
-Langton, who was wont to shape his words with grace and ease, went
-up-stairs, and tried to pen a letter to Boswell, which is more touching
-than tears: “I am now sitting in the room where his venerable remains
-exhibit a spectacle, the interesting solemnity of which, difficult as
-it would be in any sort to find terms to express, so to you, my dear
-sir, whose sensations will paint it so strongly, it would be of all men
-the most superfluous to”—and there, hopelessly choked and confused, it
-broke off.
-
-Langton bore Johnson’s pall; and he succeeded him as Professor of
-Ancient Literature in the Royal Academy, as Gibbon had replaced
-Goldsmith in the chair of Ancient History. He survived many years,
-the delight of his company to the last. He, like others, was given
-in his later years to detailing anecdotes of his great friend, with
-an approximation to that friend’s manner. One lady critic, at least,
-thought that these explosive imitations did not become “his own serious
-and respectable character.” On December 18, 1801, in Anspach Place,
-Southampton, a venerable nook “between the walls and the sea,” when
-Wordsworth, Scott, and Coleridge were yet in their unheralded prime,
-when Charles Lamb was twenty-six, Byron a dreaming boy on the Cotswold
-hills, and Keats and Shelley little fair-eyed children, gentle Bennet
-Langton, known to none of these, and somewhat forgotten as a loiterer
-from the march of a glorious yesterday, slipped out of life. “I am
-persuaded,” wrote one who knew him well, “that all his inactivity, all
-the repugnance he showed to putting on the harness of this world’s
-toil, arose from the spirituality of his frame of mind . . . I believe
-his mind was in Heaven, wheresoever he corporeally existed.” He was
-laid under the chancel of ancient St. Michael’s at Southampton, with
-Johnson’s fond benison, “Be my soul with Langton’s!” inscribed on the
-marble tablet above him.[57] The Rev. John Wooll of Midhurst, Joseph
-Warton’s editor, was one of the few present at the funeral ceremony,
-and he leaves us to infer that it had a rather neglectful privacy,
-not, indeed, out of keeping with the “godly, righteous, and sober
-life” it closed. Langton’s will, drawn up in the June of 1800, and
-preserved in Somerset House, devised to the sole executrix, his “dear
-wife,” who outlived him by nearly twenty years, his real and personal
-estate, his books, his wines, his prints, his horses, and, as a gift
-particularly pretty, his right of navigation in the river Wey. George
-Langton was separately provided for, but there were some £8000 for the
-eight younger children. The document is crowded with technical details,
-and very long; and the manifest inference, on the whole, is that the
-dear squire’s affairs were in a prodigious tangle. There is no wish
-expressed concerning his burial, and, what is more curious, there
-are no Christian formulas for the committal of the _animula vagula
-blandula_: a lack perhaps not to be wondered at in Beauclerk’s concise
-testament, but somewhat notable in the case of a person who certainly
-had a soul.
-
-So went Beauclerk first of the three, Langton last, with the good ghost
-still between them, as he in his homespun, they in their flowered
-velvet, had walked many a year together on this earth. The old
-companionship had undergone some sorry changes ere it fell utterly to
-dust and ashes. Its happy prime had been in the Oxford “Longs,” when
-the Doctor humored his lads, and tented under their roofs, plucking
-flowers at one house, and romping with dogs at the other; or in 1764,
-at the starting of the immortal Club, when the two of its founders, who
-had no valid or pretended claim to celebrity, perched on the sills like
-useful genii, with a mission to overrule sluggish melancholy, and renew
-the sparkle in abstracted eyes. How supereminently they did what they
-chose to do, and what vagaries they roused out of Johnson’s profound
-hypochondria! Did not Topham Beauclerk’s mother once have to reprove
-that august author for a suggestion to seize some pleasure-grounds
-which they were passing in a carriage? “Putting such things into young
-people’s heads!” said she. Where could the innocent Beauclerk’s elbow
-have been at that moment, contrary to the canons of polite society,
-but in the innocent Langton’s ribs? The gray reprobate, so censured,
-explained to Boswell: “Lady Beauclerk has no notion of a joke, sir! She
-came late into life, and has a mighty unpliable understanding.” Who
-can forget the Doctor’s visit to Beauclerk at Windsor, when, falling
-into the clutches of that gamesome and ungodly youth, he was beguiled
-from church-going of a fine Sunday morning, and strolled about outside,
-talking and laughing during sermon-time, and finally spread himself at
-length on a mossy tomb, only to be told, with a giggle and a pleased
-rub of the hands, that he was as bad as Hogarth’s Idle Apprentice?
-Or the other visit in the north, when, after ceremoniously relieving
-his pockets of keys, knife, pencil, and purse, Samuel Johnson, LL.D.,
-deliberately rolled down a hill, and landed, betumbled out of all
-recognition, at the bottom? Langton had tried to dissuade him, for the
-incline was very steep, and the candidate scarcely of the requisite
-suppleness. “Oh, but I haven’t had a roll for such a long time!”
-pleaded his unanswerable big guest.
-
-Best of all, we have the history of that memorable morning when
-Beauclerk and Langton, having supped together at a city tavern, roused
-Johnson at three o’clock at his Inner Temple Lane Chambers, and brought
-him to the door, fearful but aggressive, in his shirt and his little
-dark wig, and his slippers down at the heels, armed with a poker.
-“What! and is it YOU? Faith, I’ll have a frisk with you, ye young
-dogs!” We have visions of the Covent Garden inn, and the great brimming
-bowl, with Lord Lansdowne’s drinking-song for grace; the hucksters and
-fruiterers staring at the strange central figure, always sure to gather
-a mob, even during the moment he would stand by a lady’s coach-door
-in Fleet Street; the merry boat going its way by oar to Billingsgate,
-its mad crew bantering the watermen on the river; and two of the
-roisterers (equally wild, despite a little chronological disparity
-of thirty years or so) scolding the other for hastening off, on an
-afternoon appointment, “to dine with wretched unidea’d girls!” What
-golden vagabondism! “I heard of your frolic t’other night; you’ll be in
-_The Chronicle_! . . . I shall have my old friend to bail out of the
-round-house!” said Garrick. “As for Garrick, sirs,” tittered the pious
-Johnson aside to his accomplices, “he dare not do such a thing. His
-wife would not let him!” All this mirth and whim sweetened the Doctor’s
-heavy life. He had other intimates, other disciples. But these were Gay
-Heart and Gentle Heart, who drove his own blue-devils away with their
-idolatrous devotion, and whose bearing towards him stands ever as the
-best possible corroboration of his great and warm nature. With him
-and for him, they so fill the air of the time that to whomsoever has
-but thought of them that hour, London must seem lonely without their
-idyllic figures.
-
- —“Our day is gone:
- Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done.”
-
-There are gods as good for the after-years; but Odin is down, and his
-pair of unreturning birds have flown west and east.
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[45] A popular eighteenth-century beverage, composed of wine, orange,
-and sugar.
-
-[46] Although Langton is recorded on his college books as having given
-the usual £10 for plate, and also as having paid his caution money
-in 1757, his name is not down upon the matriculation lists, possibly
-because he failed to appear at the moment the entries were being made.
-In what must have been his destined space upon one of the pages, Dr.
-Ingram made this note: “Q. Num Bennet Langton hic inserendus?”
-
-[47] A boyish fashion of self-entertainment afterwards in great favor
-with Shelley.
-
-[48] It is a pleasant thing to remember that it was Langton, always an
-appreciator of Goldsmith’s lovable genius, who suggested “Auburn” as
-the name for his _Deserted Village_. There is a hamlet called Auborne
-in Lincolnshire.
-
-[49] Langton’s sisters are generally spoken of as three in number. But
-Burke’s _History of the Landed Gentry_ mentions but two, Diana and
-Juliet. There was a younger brother, Ferne, who died in boyhood, and
-the floral name, not unlike a girl’s, may have been responsible for the
-confusion.
-
-[50] The fruiterer.
-
-[51] The bookseller’s.
-
-[52] Rochester, in his immortal epigram, had said the same of King
-Charles II.
-
-[53] This neat descriptive stroke has been attributed also to Richard
-Paget.
-
-[54] The register of St. George’s betrays a little eager blunder of
-Lady Di’s which is amusing. When the officiating curate asked her to
-sign, she wrote “Diana Beauclerk,” and was obliged to cross out the
-signature—one knows with what a smile and a flush!—and substitute the
-“Diana Spencer” which stands beside it.
-
-[55] Miss Hawkins says “ten,” and may have had the extra adopted child
-in mind.
-
-[56] It is a pity he did not live to read the jolly _American Ballad
-of Bon Gaultier_, which seems to have a sort of muddled clairvoyant
-knowledge of this transaction:
-
-“Every day the huge Cawana Lifted up its monstrous jaws; And it
-swallowed Langton Bennet,(!) And digested Rufus Dawes.
-
-“Riled, I ween, was Philip Slingsby Their untimely deaths to hear; For
-one author owed him money,(!) And the other loved him dear.”
-
-[57] The church has since been “restored,” and the fine epitaph is now
-(1890) “skyed” on the south wall of the nave.
-
-
-
-
-V
-
-WILLIAM HAZLITT
-
-1778-1830
-
-
-THE titles of William Hazlitt’s first books bear witness to the ethic
-spirit in which he began life. From his beloved father, an Irish
-dissenting minister, he inherited his unworldliness, his obstinacy, his
-love of inexpedient truth, and his interest in the emancipation and
-well-being of his fellow-creatures. Bred in an air of seriousness and
-integrity, the child of twelve announced by post that he had spent “a
-very agreeable day” reading one hundred and sixty pages of Priestley,
-and hearing two good sermons. A year later he appeared, under a Greek
-signature, in _The Shrewsbury Chronicle_, protesting against sectarian
-injustice; an infant herald in the great modern movement towards fair
-play. The roll of the portentous periods must have made his father
-weep for pride and diversion. William’s young head was full of moral
-philosophy and jurisprudence, and he had what is the top of luxury
-for one of his temperament: perfect license of mental growth. Alone
-with his parents (one of whom was always a student and a recluse),
-and for the most part without the school-fellows who are likely to
-adjust the perilous effects of books, he became choked with theories,
-and thought more of the needful repeal of the Test Act than of his
-breakfast. He found his way at fourteen into the Unitarian College at
-Hackney, but eventually broke from his traces, saving his fatherland
-from the spectacle of a unique theologian. During the year 1795 he
-saw the pictures at Burleigh House, and began to live. Desultory but
-deep study, at home and near home, took up the time before his first
-leisurely choice of a profession. His lonely broodings, his early
-love for Miss Railton, his four enthusiastic months at the Louvre,
-his silent friendship with Wordsworth and with Coleridge; the country
-walks, the pages and prints, the glad tears of his youth,—these were
-the fantastic tutors which formed him; nor had he ever much respect for
-any other kind of training. The lesson he prized most was the lesson
-straight from life and nature. He comments, tartly enough, on the
-sophism that observation in idleness, or the growth of bodily skill and
-social address, or the search for the secret of honorable power over
-people, is not in any wise to be accounted as learning. Montaigne, who
-was in Hazlitt’s ancestral line, was of this mind: “_Ce qu’on sçait
-droictement, on en dispose sans regarder au patron, sans tourner les
-yeulx vers son livre._” Hazlitt insists, too, that learned men are
-but “the cisterns, not the fountain-heads, of knowledge.” He hated
-the schoolmaster, and has said as witty things of him as Mr. Oscar
-Wilde. Yet his little portrait-study of the mere book-worm, in _The
-Conversation of Authors_, has a never-to-be-forgotten sweetness. His
-mental nurture was serviceable; it was of his own choosing; it fitted
-him for the work he had to do. Like Marcus Aurelius, he congratulated
-himself that he did not squander his youth “chopping logic and scouring
-the heavens.” Hazlitt once entered upon an _Inquiry whether the Fine
-Arts are promoted by Academies_; the answer, from him, is readily
-anticipated.
-
- “If arts and schools reply,”
-
-he might have added,—and it is a wonder that he did not,
-
- “Give arts and schools the lie!”
-
-Mr. Matthew Arnold made a famous essay on the same topic, and some
-readers recollect distinctly that his verdict, for England, would be
-in the affirmative, whereas it was no such matter. Now, no man can
-conceive of Hazlitt presenting both sides of a case so impartially as
-to be misunderstood, especially upon so vital a subject. He pastured,
-he was not trained; and therefore he would have you and your children’s
-children scoff at universities. Indeed, though the boy’s lack of
-discipline told on him all through life, his reader regrets nothing
-else which a university could have given him, except, perhaps, milder
-manners. Hazlitt was perfectly aware that he had too little general
-knowledge; but general knowledge he did not consider so good a tool for
-his self-set task in life as a persistent, passionate study of one or
-two subjects. Again, he is pleased to conjecture, with bluntness, that
-if he had learned more he would have thought less. (Perhaps he was the
-friend cited by Elia, who gave up reading to improve his originality!
-He was certainly useful to Elia in delicate and curious ways: a whole
-vein of rich eccentricity ready for that sweet philosopher’s working.)
-Hear him pronouncing upon himself at the very end: “I have, then, given
-proof of some talent and more honesty; if there is haste and want of
-method, there is no common-place, nor a line that licks the dust. If
-I do not appear to more advantage, I at least appear such as I am.”
-Divorce that remark and the truth of it from Hazlitt, and there is
-no Hazlitt left. He stood for individualism. He wrote from what was,
-in the highest degree for his purpose, a full mind, and with that
-blameless conscious superiority which a full mind must needs feel in
-this empty world. His whole intellectual stand is taken on the positive
-and concrete side of things. He has a fine barbaric cocksureness; he
-dwells not with althoughs and neverthelesses, like Mr. Symonds and Mr.
-Saintsbury. “I am not one of those,” he says, concerning Edmund Kean’s
-first appearance in London, “who, when they see the sun breaking from
-behind a cloud, stop to inquire whether it is the moon.” And he takes
-enormous interest in his own promulgation, because it is inevitably
-not only what he thinks, but what he has long thought. He delivers an
-opinion with the air proper to a host who is master of a vineyard, and
-can furnish name and date to every flagon he unseals.
-
-None of Hazlitt’s energies went to waste: he earned his soul early, and
-how proud he was of the possession! Retrospection became his forward
-horizon. He was all aglow at the thought of that beatific yesterday;
-in his every mood “the years that are fled knock at the door, and
-enter.” He struggled no more thereafter, having fixed his beliefs and
-found his voice. He saw no occasion to change. “As to myself,” he wrote
-at fifty, referring to Lamb’s well-known “surfeits of admiration”
-concerning some objects once adored, “as to myself, any one knows
-where to have me!” He adds: “In matters of taste and feeling, one
-proof that my conclusions have not been quite shallow or hasty is the
-circumstance of their having been lasting. . . . This continuity of
-impression is the only thing on which I pride myself.” A fine saying in
-the _Boswell Redivivus_, attributed to Opie, is as clearly expressed
-elsewhere by Hazlitt’s self: that a man in his lifetime can do but
-one thing; that there is but one effort and one victory, and all the
-rest is as machinery in motion. “What I write costs me nothing, but it
-cost me a great deal twenty years ago. I have added little to my stock
-since then, and taken little from it.” His sensations, latterly, were
-“July shoots,” graftings on the old sap. It is his boast in almost his
-final essay that his tenacious brain holds fast while the planets are
-turning. He can look at a child’s kite in heaven, to the last, with the
-eyes of a child: “It pulls at my heart.”
-
-His conservative habit, however, seemed to teach him everything by
-inference. In 1821, familiar with none of the elder dramatists save
-Shakespeare, he borrowed their folios, and shut himself up for six
-weeks at Winterslow Hut on Salisbury Plain. He returned to town steeped
-in his theme, and with the beautiful and authoritative _Lectures_
-written. Appreciation of the great Elizabethans is common enough now;
-seventy years ago, propagated by Lamb’s _Specimens_, 1808, it was the
-business only of adventurers and pioneers. Here is a critic indeed who,
-without a suspicion of audacity, can arise as a stranger to arraign
-the _Arcadia_, and “shake hands with Signor Orlando Friscobaldo as the
-oldest acquaintance” he has! The thing, exceptional as it was, proves
-that William Hazlitt knew his resources. His devoted friend Patmore
-attributes his “unpremeditated art,” terse, profound, original, and
-always moving at full speed, to two facts: “first, that he never, by
-choice, wrote on any topic or question in which he did not, for some
-reason or other, feel a deep personal interest; and, secondly, because
-on all questions on which he did so feel, he had thought, meditated,
-and pondered, in the silence and solitude of his own heart, for years
-and years before he ever contemplated doing more than thinking of
-them.” Unlike a distinguished historian, who, according to Horace
-Walpole, “never understood anything until he had written of it,”
-Hazlitt brought to his every task a mind violently made up, and a
-vocation for special pleading which nothing could withstand.
-
-Sure as he is, he means to be nobody’s hired guide: a resolve for
-which the general reader cannot be too grateful. In wilful and mellow
-study of what chance threw in his way his strength grew, and his
-limitations with it. It is small wonder that he hated schoolmasters,
-and the public which expected of him schoolmaster platitudes. He had
-a pride of intellect not unlike Rousseau’s, and he seems to have had
-ever in mind Rousseau’s cardinal declaration that if he were no better
-than other men, he was at least different from them. Hazlitt defined
-his own functions with proper haughtiness, in the amusing apology of
-_Capacity and Genius_. “I was once applied to, in a delicate emergency,
-to write an article on a difficult subject for an encyclopædia; and was
-advised to take time, and give it a systematic and scientific form;
-to avail myself of all the knowledge that was to be obtained upon the
-subject, and arrange it with clearness and method. I made answer that,
-as to the first, I _had_ taken time to do all that I ever pretended
-to do, as I had thought incessantly on different matters for twenty
-years of my life; that I had no particular knowledge of the subject
-in question, and no head for arrangement; that the utmost I could do,
-in such a case, would be, when a systematic and scientific article
-was prepared, to write marginal notes upon it, to insert a remark or
-illustration of my own (not to be found in former encyclopædias!) or to
-suggest a better definition than had been offered in the text.”[58]
-Such independence nobly became him, and none the less because it kept
-him poor. But in the course of time, he had to work, and keep on
-working, under wretched disadvantages. He had spurts of revolt, after
-long experience of compulsory composition; his darling wish in 1822
-(confided to his wife, of all persons) being that he “could marry some
-woman with a good fortune, that he might not be under the necessity of
-writing another line!”
-
-There was in him absolutely nothing of the antiquary and the
-scholar, as the modern world understands those most serviceable
-gentlemen. He was a “surveyor,” as he said, erroneously, of Bacon.
-He was continuously drawn into the byway, and ever in search of the
-accidental, the occult; he lusted, like Sir Thomas Browne, to find the
-great meanings of minor things. The “pompous big-wigs” of his day, as
-Thackeray called them, hated his informality, his boldly novel methods,
-his vivacity and enthusiasm. He had, within proscribed bounds, an
-exquisite and affectionate curiosity, like that of the Renaissance.
-“The invention of a fable is to me the most enviable exertion of human
-genius: it is the discovery of a truth to which there is no clew, and
-which, when once found out, can never be forgotten.” “If the world were
-good for nothing else, it would be a fine subject for speculation.” It
-is his deliberate dictum that it were “worth a life” to sit down by an
-Italian wayside, and work out the reason why the Italian supremacy in
-art has always been along the line of color, not along the line of form.
-
-He depended so entirely upon his memory that those who knew him best
-say that he never took notes, neither in gallery, library, nor theatre;
-yet his inaccuracies are few and slight,[59] and he must have secured
-by this habit a prodigious freedom and luxury in the act of writing.
-He would rather stumble than walk according to rule; and he was so
-pleasantly beguiled with some of his own images (that, for instance,
-of immortality the bride of the youthful spirit, and of the procession
-of camels seen across the distance of three thousand years) that he
-reiterates them upon every fit occasion. He cites, twice and thrice,
-the same passages from the Elizabethans. He is a masterly quoter, and
-lingers like a suitor upon the borders of old poesy. His infallibility,
-like the Pope’s, is of narrow scope and nicely defined. When he steps
-beyond his accustomed tracks, which is seldom, his vagaries are
-entertaining. You may account for his declaration that Thomas Warton’s
-sonnets rank as the very best in the language, by reflecting that he
-dealt not in sonnets and knew nothing of them; if he prefer _Hercules
-Raging_ to any other Greek tragedy, it is collateral proof that he was
-no wide-travelled Grecian, nor even Euripideian; when he gives his
-distinguished preference to Shakespeare’s Helena, there is small need
-of adding that Mr. Hazlitt, albeit with an affectionate friendship for
-Mary Lamb, with a mother, a sister, a dynasty of sweethearts, and two
-wives, was notoriously unlearned in women.[60]
-
-The events of his life count for so little that they are hardly worth
-recording. He was born into a high-principled and intelligent family,
-at Mitre Lane, Maidstone, Kent, on the 10th of April, in the year 1778.
-His infancy was passed there and in Ireland, his boyhood in New England
-and in Shropshire. Prior to a long visit to Paris, where he made some
-noble copies of Titian, he came in 1802 to Bloomsbury, where his
-elder brother John, an advanced Liberal in politics and an excellent
-miniature-painter, had a studio; and here he worked at art for several
-joyous years, finally abandoning it for literature. The portraits he
-painted, utterly lacking in grace, are fraught with power and meaning;
-few of these are extant, thanks to the fading and cracking pigments
-of the modern schools. The old Manchester woman in shadow, done in
-1803, and the head of his father, dating from a twelvemonth later (two
-things to which Hazlitt makes memorable reference in his essays),
-are no longer distinguishable, save to a very patient eye, upon the
-blackened canvases in his grandson’s possession. The picture of the
-child Hartley Coleridge, begun at the Lakes in 1802, has perished
-from the damp; that of Charles Lamb in the Venetian doublet survives
-since 1804, in its serious and primitive browns,[61] as the best-known
-example of an English artist not in the catalogues. Its historic value,
-however, is not superior to that of two portraits of Hazlitt himself:
-one a study in strong light and shade, with a wreath upon the head,
-now very much time-eaten; and another representing him at about the
-age of twenty-five, with a three-quarters front face looking over the
-right shoulder, which appeals to the spectator like spoken truth. It
-is all but void of the beauty characterizing the striking Bewick head
-(especially as retouched and reproduced in Mr. Alexander Ireland’s
-valuable book of 1889, which is a sort of Hazlitt anthology), and
-characterizing, no less, John Hazlitt’s charming miniatures of William
-at five and at thirteen; therefore it can deal in no self-flattery.
-Fortunately, we have from the hand which knew him best the lank, odd,
-reserved youth in whom great possibilities were brewing; thought and
-will predominate in this portrait, and it expresses the sincere soul.
-It would be idle to criticise the technique of a work disowned by its
-author. Hazlitt had, as we know from much testimony, a most interesting
-and perplexing face, with the magnificent brow almost belied by
-shifting eyes, and the petulance and distrust of the mouth and chin;
-but a face prepossessing on the whole from the clear marble of his
-complexion,[62] remarkable in a land of ruddy cheeks. His lonely and
-peculiar life lent him its own hue; the eager look of one indeed a
-sufferer, but with the light full upon him of visions and of dreams:
-
- “_Chi pallido si fece sotto l’ombra
- Sì di Parnaso, o bevve in sua cisterna?_”
-
-In 1798 Hazlitt had his immortal meeting at Wem with Samuel Taylor
-Coleridge. He described himself at this period as “dumb, inarticulate,
-helpless, like a worm by the wayside,” striving in vain to put on paper
-the thoughts which oppressed him, shedding tears of vexation at his
-inability, and feeling happy if in eight years he could write as many
-pages. The abiding influence of his First Poet he has acknowledged
-in an imperishable chapter. For a long while he still kept in “the
-o’erdarkened ways” of Malthus and Tucker, or in the shadow, dear to
-him, of Hobbes; but in 1817 the floodgates broke, the pure current
-gushed out; and in the _Characters of Shakespeare’s Plays_ we have the
-primal pledge of Hazlitt as we know him, “such as had never been before
-him, such as will never be again.” From a “dumbness” and diffidence
-extreme, he developed into the readiest of writers; his sudden pages,
-year after year, transcribed in his slant large hand, went to the
-printers rapidly and at first draft. The longer he used his dedicated
-pen, the freer, the brighter, the serener it grew. In the fourteen or
-fifteen of his books which deal with genius and the conduct of life,
-there is, throughout, an indescribable unaffected zest, a self-same
-and unwavering certitude of handling. Once he learned his trade, he
-gave himself a large field and an easy rein. He never warmed towards
-a subject chosen for him. His conversation was non-professional. He
-considered a discussion as to the likelihood of the weather’s holding
-up for to-morrow as “the end and privilege of a life of study.”
-
-In London, as soon as he had abandoned painting, he became a
-parliamentary reporter, and began to lecture on the English
-philosophers and metaphysicians. He furnished his famous dramatic
-criticisms to _The Morning Chronicle_, _The Champion_, _The Examiner_,
-and _The Times_, and he acted later as home editor of _The Liberal_.
-He married, on May-day of 1808, Miss Sarah Stoddart, who owned the
-property near Salisbury where he afterwards spent melancholy years
-alone. He fulfilled one human duty perfectly, for he loved and reared
-his son. A most singular infatuation for the unlovely daughter of his
-landlady; a second inauspicious marriage in 1824 with a Mrs. Isabella
-Bridgwater; a prolonged journey on the Continent; the failure of
-the publishers of his _Life of Napoleon_, which thus in his needful
-days brought him no competence; a long illness heroically borne, and
-a burial in the parish churchyard of St. Anne’s, under a headstone
-raised, in a romantic remorse after an estrangement, by Charles Wells,
-the author of _Joseph and his Brethren_,—these round out the meagre
-details of Hazlitt’s life. He died in the arms of his son and of his
-old friend Charles Lamb,[63] on the 18th of September, 1830, at 6 Frith
-Street, Soho.
-
-His domestic experiences, indeed, had been nearly as extraordinary as
-Shelley’s. Sarah Walker, of No. 9 Southampton Buildings, is a sort of
-burlesque counterpart of that other “spouse, sister, angel,” Emilia
-Viviani. Nothing in literary history is much funnier than Mr. Hazlitt’s
-kind assistance to Mrs. Hazlitt in securing her divorce, going to visit
-her at Edinburgh, and supplying funds and advice over the teacups,
-while the process was pending, unless it be Shelley’s ingenuous
-invitation to his deserted young wife to come and dwell forever with
-himself and Mary! The silent dramatic withdrawal of the second Mrs.
-Hazlitt, the well-to-do relict of a colonel, who is henceforth
-swallowed up in complete oblivion, is a feature whose like is missing
-in Shelley’s romance. Events in Hazlitt’s path were not many, and his
-inner calamities seem somehow subordinated to exterior workings. It is
-not too much to say that to the French Revolution and the white heat of
-hope it diffused over Europe he owed the renewal of the very impetus
-within him: his moral probity, his mental vigor, and his physical
-cheer. His measure of men and things was fixed by its standard. Other
-enthusiasts wavered and went back to the flesh-pots of Egypt, but not
-he. _Et cuncta terrarum subacta præter atrocem animum Catonis._ Towards
-the grandest inconsistency this world has seen, he bore himself with a
-consistency nothing less than touching. Everywhere, always, as a friend
-who understood him well reminds a later generation, “Hazlitt was the
-only man of letters in England who dared openly to stand by the French
-Revolution, through good and evil report, and who had the magnanimity
-never to turn his back upon its child and champion.” The ruin of
-Napoleon, and the final news that “the hunter of greatness and of glory
-was himself a shade,” meant more to him than the relinquishment of
-his early and cherished art, or the fading of the long dream that his
-heart “should find a heart to speak to.” On his last autumn afternoon,
-he said what no one else would have dared to say for him: “I have had
-a happy life.” Such it was, if we are to compute happiness by souls,
-and not by the incidents which befall them. What were the things
-which atoned to this reformer for the curse of a mind too sentient,
-a heart never far from breaking? Over and above all amended and
-amending abuses, the memory of the Rembrandts on the walls of Burleigh
-House; the waving crest of the Tuderley woods; the sky, the turf, “a
-winding road, and a three-hours’ march to dinner”; the impersonator of
-Richard III. most to his mind, who lighted the stage, “and fought as
-if drunk with wounds”; and the figure (how pastoral and tender!) of
-the shepherd-boy bringing a nest for his young mistress’s sky-lark,
-“not doomed to dip his wings in the dappled dawn.” What heresy to
-the ancients would be this creed of poetic compensation! Montesquieu
-adhered to it; but hardly from baffled and impassioned Hazlitt, dying
-in his prime, would the avowal have been expected. Yet he had written
-almost always, as Jeffrey saw, in “a happy intoxication.” Like the
-sundial, in one of the most charming among his miscellaneous essays, he
-kept count only of the hours of joy.
-
-Hazlitt’s erratic levees among coffee-house wits and politicians, his
-slack dress, his rich and fitful talk, his beautiful fierce head, go to
-make up any accurate impression of the man. Mr. P. G. Patmore has drawn
-him for us; a strange portrait from a steady hand: in certain moods
-“an effigy of silence,” pale, anxious, emaciated, with an awful look
-ever and anon, like the thunder-cloud in a clear heaven, sweeping over
-his features with still fury.[64] He was so much at the mercy of an
-excitable and extra-sensitive organization that an accidental failure
-to return his salute upon the street, or, above all, the gaze of a
-servant as he entered a house, plunged him into an excess of wrath and
-misery. Full, at other times, of scrupulous good faith and generosity,
-he would, under the stress of a fancied hurt, say and write malicious
-things about those he most honored. He must have been a general thorn
-in the flesh, for he had no tact whatever. “I love Henry,” said one
-of Thoreau’s friends, “but I cannot like him.” Shy, splenetic, with
-Dryden’s “down look,” readier to give than to exchange, Hazlitt was
-a riddle to strangers’ eyes. His deep voice seemed at variance with
-his gliding step and his glance, bright but sullen; his hand felt
-as if it were the limp, cold fin of a fish, and was an unlooked-for
-accompaniment to the fiery soul warring everywhere with darkness, and
-drenched in altruism. His habit of excessive tea-drinking, like Dr.
-Johnson’s, was to keep down sad thoughts. For sixteen years before he
-died, from the day on which he formed his resolution, Hazlitt never
-touched spirits of any kind. Profuse of money when he had it, he lacked
-heart, says Mr. Patmore, to live well. Wherever he dwelt there was
-what Carlyle, in Hunt’s case, called “tinkerdom”; his marriage, and
-his residence under the august roof which had been Milton’s,[65] did
-not mend matters for him. He covered the walls and mantel-pieces of
-London landladies, after the fashion of the French bohemian painters,
-with samples of his noblest style; and the savor of yesterday’s potions
-of strong tea exhaled into their curtains. Never was there, despite
-his confessional attitude, so non-communicative a soul. He never
-corresponded with anybody; he never would walk arm in arm with anybody;
-he never, perhaps from horror of the “patron” bogie, dedicated a book
-to anybody. De Quincey knew a man warmly disposed towards Hazlitt
-who learned to shudder and dread daggers when poor Hazlitt, with a
-gesture habitual to him, thrust his right hand between the buttons
-of his waistcoat! And he once cheerfully requested of a cheerful
-colleague: “Write a character of me for the next number. I want to
-know why everybody has such a dislike to me.” As a social factor he
-was something atrocious.[66] The most humane of men, his suspicions
-and shyings cut him off completely from humanity. The base war waged
-upon him by the great Tory magazines could not have affected him so
-deeply that it changed his demeanor towards his fellows; for he had the
-mettle of a paladin, which no invective could break. But, alas! he had
-“the canker at the heart,” which is no fosterer of “the rose upon the
-cheek.”
-
-With all this fever and heaviness in Hazlitt’s blood, he had a hearty
-laugh, musical to hear. Haydon, in his exaggerated manner, reports an
-uncharitable conversation held with him once on the subject of Leigh
-Hunt in Italy, during which the two misconstruing critics, in their
-great glee, “made more noise than all the coaches, wagons, and carts
-outside in Piccadilly.” His smile was singularly grave and sweet.
-Mrs. Shelley wrote, on coming back to England, in her widowhood, and
-finding him much changed: “His smile brought tears to my eyes; it
-was like melancholy sunlight on a ruin.” A man who sincerely laughs
-and smiles is somewhat less than half a cynic. If there be any alive
-at this late hour who questions the genuineness of Hazlitt’s high
-spirits, he may be referred to the essay _On Going a Journey_, with
-the pæan about “the gentleman in the parlor,” in the finest emulation
-of Cowley; but chiefly and constantly to _The Fight_, with its
-lingering De-Foe-like details, sprinkled, not in the least ironically,
-with gold-dust of Chaucer and the later poets: the rich-ringing,
-unique _Fight_,[67] predecessor of Borrow’s famous burst about the
-“all tremendous bruisers” of _Lavengro_; and not to be matched in our
-peaceful literature save with the eulogy and epitaph of Jack Cavanagh,
-by the same hand. Divers hints have been circulated, within sixty-odd
-years, that Mr. Hazlitt was a timid person, also that he had no turn
-for jokes. These ingenious calumnies may be trusted to meet the fate of
-the Irish pagan fairies, small enough at the start, whose punishment
-it is to dwindle ever and ever away, and point a moral to succeeding
-generations. Hazlitt’s paradoxes are not of malice prepense, but are
-the ebullitions both of pure fun and of the truest philosophy. “The
-only way to be reconciled with old friends is to part with them for
-good.” “Goldsmith had the satisfaction of good-naturedly relieving
-the necessities of others, and of being harassed to death with his
-own.” “Captain Burney had you at an advantage by never understanding
-you.” Scattered mention of “people who live on their own estates and
-on other people’s ideas”; of Jeremy Bentham, who had been translated
-into French, “when it was the greatest pity in the world that he
-had not been translated into English”; of the Coleridge of prose,
-one of whose prefaces is “a masterpiece of its kind, having neither
-beginning, middle, nor end”; and even of the “singular animal,”
-John Bull himself, since “being the beast he is has made a man of
-him”:—these are no ill shots at the sarcastic. Congreve, with all his
-quicksilver wit, could not outgo Hazlitt on Thieves, _videlicet_: “Even
-a highwayman, in the way of trade, may blow out your brains; but if he
-uses foul language at the same time, I should say he was no gentleman!”
-Hazlitt’s sense of humor has quality, if not quantity. How was it this
-same sense of humor, this fine-grained reticence, which wrote, nay,
-printed, in 1823, the piteous and ludicrous canticle of the goddess
-Sarah?
-
-Hazlitt was a great pedestrian from his boyhood on, and, like
-Goldsmith, a fair hand at the game of fives, which he played by the
-day. Wherever he was, his pocket bulged with a book. It gave him keen
-pleasure to set down the hour, the place, the mood, and the weather
-of various ecstatic first readings. He became acquainted with _Love
-for Love_ in a low wainscoted tavern parlor between Farnham and Alton,
-looking out upon a garden of larkspur, with a portrait of Charles
-II. crowning the chimney-piece; in his father’s house he fell across
-_Tom Jones_, “a child’s Tom Jones, an innocent creature”; he bought
-Milton and Burke at Shrewsbury, on the march; he looked up from Mrs.
-Inchbald’s _Simple Story_, when its pathos grew too poignant, to
-find “a summer shower dropping manna” on his head, and “an old crazy
-hand-organ playing _Robin Adair_.” And on April 10, 1798, his twentieth
-birthday, he sat down to a volume of the _New Eloïse_, a book which
-kept its hold upon him, “at the inn of Llangollen, over a bottle of
-sherry and a cold chicken!” The frank epicurean catalogue, as of equal
-spiritual and corporeal delight, is worth notice. Do we not know that
-Mr. Hazlitt had wood-partridges for supper, in his middle age, at
-the Golden Cross, in Rastadt, near Mayence? Yet he failed to record
-what book lay by his plate, and distracted his attention from her
-who had been a widow, and who was already planning her respectable
-exit from his society. Evidence that he was an eater of taste is to
-be accumulated eagerly by his partisans, for eating is one of many
-engaging human characteristics which establish him as lovable—that is,
-posthumously lovable. Barry Cornwall was so jealously tender of his
-memory that he would have forbidden any one to write of Hazlitt who
-had not known him. As he did not warm miscellaneously to everybody,
-it followed that his friends were few. We do not forget which one
-of these, during their only difference, thought “to go to his grave
-without finding, or expecting to find, such another companion.”[68]
-
-Hazlitt would have set himself down, by choice, as a metaphysician.
-Up to the time when his _Life of Napoleon_ was well in hand, he used
-to affirm that the anonymous _Principles of Human Action_, which he
-completed at twenty, in the literary style of the azoic age, was his
-best work. He was rather proud, too, of the _Characteristics in the
-Manner of Rochefoucauld’s Maxims_, his one dreary book, which contains
-a couple of inductions worthy of Pascal, some sophistries and hollow
-cynicisms not native to Hazlitt’s brain, and a vast number of the very
-professorisms which he scouted. Maxims, indeed, are sown broadcast
-over his pages, which Alison the historian classified as better to
-quote than to read; but they gain by being incidental, and embedded in
-the body of his fancies. His vein of original thought comes nowhere
-so perfectly into play as in its application to affairs. His pen is
-anything but abstruse,
-
- “Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind.”
-
-He did not recognize that to display his highest power he needed deeds
-and men, and their tangible outcome to be criticised. His preferences
-were altogether wed to the past. In his essay on _Envy_ he excuses,
-with a wise reflection, his comparative indifference to living writers:
-“We try to stifle the sense we have of their merit, not because they
-are new or modern, but because we are not sure they will ever be old.”
-Or, as Professor Wilson said of him, with tardy but winning kindness:
-“In short, if you want Hazlitt’s praise, you must die for it . . .
-and it is almost worth dying for.”[69] Yet what an eye he has for the
-idiosyncrasy at his elbow, be it in the individual or in the race!
-Every contemporary of his, every painter, author, actor, and statesman
-of whom he cared to write at all, stands forth under his touch in
-delicate and aggressive outlines from which a wind seems to blow
-back the mortal draperies, like a figure in a triumphal procession
-of Mantegna’s. His manner is essentially pictorial. His sketches of
-Cobbett and of Northcote, in _The Spirit of Obligations_; of Johnson,
-in _The Periodical Essayists_; of Sir Thomas Browne and Bishop Taylor;
-and of Coleridge and Lamb, drawn more than once, with great power,
-from the life, will never be excelled. His philippic on _The Spirit
-of Monarchy_, or that on _The Regal Character_, is a pure vitriol
-flame, to scorch the necks of princes. His comments upon English
-and Continental types, if gathered from the necessarily promiscuous
-_Notes of a Journey_, would make a most diverting and illuminating
-duodecimo; the indictment of the French is especially masterly. _The
-Spirit of the Age_, _The Plain Speaker_, the Northcote book, _The
-English Comic Writers_, and the noble and little-read _Political
-Essays_ are packed with vital personalities. So is _The Characters
-of Shakespeare’s Plays_, full of beautiful metaphysical analysis, as
-well as of vivifying criticism. This lavish accumulation of material,
-never put to use according to modern methods, must appear to some as a
-collection of interest awaiting the broom and the hanging committee;
-but until the end of time it will be a place of delight for the scholar
-and the lover of virtue. Hazlitt’s genius for assortment and sense of
-relative values were not developed; he was in no wise a constructive
-critic. Mr. R. H. Hutton complained once of Mr. Matthew Arnold that he
-ranked his men, but did not portray them. Now Hazlitt, whose search is
-all for character, irrespective of the historic position, falls into
-the opposite extreme: he portrays his men, but does not rank them. An
-attempt to break up into single file the merit which, with him, marches
-abreast, he would look upon as a bit of arrogance and rank impiety.
-He has nothing to say of the quality which stamps Bavius as the best
-elegiac poet between Gray and Tennyson, or of the irony of Mævius,
-which would place his dramas, were it not for their loose construction,
-next to Molière’s. He does not care a fig for comparisons; or, rather,
-he wishes them left to the gods, and to his perceiving reader.
-Meanwhile, one face after another shines clear upon the wall, and
-breathes enchantment on a passer-by.
-
-It is very difficult to be severe with William Hazlitt, who was
-towards himself so outspokenly severe. Every stricture upon him, as
-well as every defence to be urged for it, may be taken out of his own
-mouth. Even the _Liber Amoris_, as must always have been discerned,
-demonstrates not only his weakness, but his essential uprightness
-and innocence. His vindication is written large in _Depth and
-Superficiality_, in _The Pleasures of Hating_, in _The Disadvantage of
-Intellectual Superiority_. His “true Hamlet” is as faithful a sketch
-of the author as is Newman’s celebrated definition of a gentleman.
-Hazlitt says a tender word for Dr. Johnson’s prejudices which covers
-and explains many of his own. Who can call him irritable, recalling
-the splendid exposition of merely selfish content, in the opening
-paragraphs of the essay on _Good Nature_? Yet, with all his lofty and
-endearing qualities, he had a warped and soured mind, a constitutional
-disability to find pleasure in persons or in conditions which were
-quiescent. He would have every one as mettlesome and gloomily
-vigilant as he was himself. His perfectly proper apostrophe to the
-lazy Coleridge at Highgate to “start up in his promised likeness,
-and shake the pillared rottenness of the world,” is somewhat comic.
-Hazlitt’s nerves never lost their tension; to the last hour of his
-last sickness he was ready for a bout. Much of his personal grief
-arose from his refusal to respect facts as facts, or to recognize in
-existing evil, including the calamitous perfumed figure of Turveydrop
-gloriously reigning, what Vernon Lee calls “part of the mechanism
-for producing good.” He bit at the quietist in a hundred ways, and
-with choice venom. “There are persons who are never very far from the
-truth, because the slowness of their faculties will not suffer them to
-make much progress in error. These are ‘persons of great judgment.’
-The scales of the mind are pretty sure to remain even when there is
-nothing in them.” He was a natural snarler at sunshiny people with full
-pockets and feudal ideas, like Sir Walter, who got along with the ogre
-What Is, and even asked him to dine. In fact, William Hazlitt hated
-a great many things with the utmost enthusiasm, and he was impolite
-enough to say so, in and out of season. The Established Church and all
-its tenets and traditions were only less monstrous in his eyes than
-legendry, mediævalism, and “the shoal of friars.” He knew, from actual
-experience, the loyalty and purity of the early Unitarians, and he
-praised these with all his heart and tongue. As far as one can make
-out, he had not the remotest conception of the breadth and texture
-of Christianity as a whole. His theory, for he practised no creed
-except the cheap one of universal dissent, was a faint-colored local
-Puritanism; and that, as the Merry Monarch (an excellent judge of what
-was not what!) reminds us, is “no religion for a gentleman.” But more
-than this, Hazlitt had no apprehension of the supernatural in anything;
-he was very unspiritual. It is curious to see how he sidles away from
-the finer English creatures whom he had to handle. Sidney almost repels
-him, and he dismisses Shelley, on one occasion, with an inadequate but
-apt allusion to the “hectic flutter” of his verse. Living in a level
-country with no outlook upon eternity, and no deep insight into the
-human past, nor fully understanding those who had wider vision and more
-instructed utterance than his own, it follows that beside such men as
-those just named, then as now, Hazlitt has a crude villageous mien. He
-had his refined sophistications; chief among them was a surpassing love
-of natural beauty. But he relished, on the whole, the beef and beer of
-life. The normal was what he wrote of with “gusto”; a word he never
-tired of using, and which one must use in speaking of himself. While he
-is an admirable arbiter of what is or is not truly intellectual, he is
-all at sea when he has to discuss, for instance, emotional poetry, or,
-what is yet more difficult to him, poetry purely poetic; its inevitable
-touch of the fantastic, the mystical, puts his wits completely to rout.
-The stern, lopsided, and magnificent article on Shelley’s _Posthumous
-Poems_ in the _Edinburgh Review_ for July, 1824, and his impatience
-with Coleridge at his best, perfectly exemplify this limitation.
-Despite his partiality for Rousseau and certain of the early Italian
-painters, most of the men whose genius he seizes upon and exalts with
-unerring success are the men who display, along with enormous acumen
-and power, nothing which betokens the morbid and exquisite thing we
-have learned to call modern culture. Hazlitt, fortunately for us,
-was not over-civilized, had no cinque-cento instincts, and would
-have groaned aloud over such hedonism as Mr. Pater’s. Homespun and
-manly as he is, who can help feeling that his was but an imperfect
-development? that, as Mr. Arnold said so paternally of Byron, “he
-did not know enough”? He lacked both mental discipline and moral
-governance. He has the wayward and appealing Celtic utterance; the
-manner made of largeness and simpleness, all shot and interwoven with
-the hues of romanticism. Prodigal that he is, he cannot stoop to build
-up his golden piecemeal, or to clinch his generalizations, thrown down
-loosely, side by side. Esoteric thrift is not in him, nor the spirit of
-co-operation, nor the sweetest of artistic anxieties, that of marching
-in line. He has a knight-errant pen; his glad and chivalrous services
-to literature resemble those of an outlaw to the commonwealth. Despite
-his personal value, he stands detached; he is episodic, and represents
-nothing.
-
- “The earth hath bubbles as the water hath,
- And this is of them.”
-
-He misses the white station of a classic; for the classics have
-equipoise, and inter-relationship. But it is great cause for
-thankfulness that William Hazlitt cannot be made other than he is. Time
-can not take away his height and his red-gold garments, bestow on him
-the “smoother head of hair” which Lamb prayed for, and shrivel him into
-one of several very wise and weary _précieux_. No: he stalks apart in
-state, the splendid Pasha of English letters.
-
-Hazlitt boasts, and permissibly, of genuine disinterestedness: “If you
-wish to see me perfectly calm,” he remarks somewhere, “cheat me in a
-bargain, or tread on my toes.”[70] But he cannot promise the same
-behavior for a sophism repeated in his presence, or a truth repelled.
-In his sixth year he had been taken, with his brother and sister, to
-America, and he says that he never afterwards got out of his mouth the
-delicious tang of a frost-bitten New England barberry. It is tolerably
-sure that the blowy and sunny atmosphere of the young republic of
-1783-7 got into him also. Liberalism was his birthright. He flourishes
-his fighting colors; he trembles with eagerness to break a lance with
-the arch-enemies; he is a champion, from his cradle, against class
-privilege, of slaves who know not what they are, nor how to wish for
-liberty. But he cannot do all this in the laughing Horatian way; he
-cannot keep cool; he cannot mind his object. If he could, he would be
-the white devil of debate. There are times when he speaks, as does
-Dr. Johnson, out of all reason, because aware of the obstinacy and the
-bad faith of his hearers. Morals are too much in his mind, and, after
-their wont, they spoil his manners. Like the Caroline Platonist, Henry
-More, he “has to cut his way through a crowd of thoughts as through a
-wood.” His temper breaks like a rocket, in little lurid smoking stars,
-over every ninth page; he lays about him at random; he raises a dust of
-side-issues. Hazlitt sometimes reminds one of Burke himself gone off
-at half-cock. He will not step circumspectly from light to light, from
-security to security. Some of his very best essays, as has been noted,
-have either no particular subject, or fail to follow the one they have.
-Nor is he any the less attractive if he be heated, if he be swearing
-
- “By the blood so basely shed
- Of the pride of Norfolk’s line,”
-
-or scornfully settling accounts of his own with the asinine public.
-When he is not driven about by his moods, Hazlitt is set upon his fact
-alone; which he thinks is the sole concern of a prose-writer. Grace and
-force are collateral affairs. “In seeking for truth,” he says proudly,
-in words fit to be the epitome of his career, “I sometimes found
-beauty.”
-
-_The Edinburgh Review_, in an article written while Hazlitt was in the
-full of his activity, summed up his shortcomings. “There are no great
-leading principles of taste to give singleness to his aims, nor any
-central points in his mind around which his feelings may revolve and
-his imaginations cluster. There is no sufficient distinction between
-his intellectual and his imaginative faculties. He confounds the truths
-of imagination with those of fact, the processes of argument with
-those of feeling, the immunities of intellect with those of virtue.”
-Here is an admirable arraignment, which goes to the heart of the
-matter. Hazlitt himself corroborates it in a confession of gallant
-directness: “I say what I think; I think what I feel.” It is this fatal
-confusion which makes his course now rapid and clear, anon clogged with
-vagaries, as if his rudder had run into a mesh of sea-weed; it is
-this which deflects his judgments, and leads him, in the shrewd phrase
-of a modern critic, to praise the right things for the wrong reasons.
-Hazlitt’s prejudices are very instructive, even while he bewails
-Landor’s or Cobbett’s, and tells you, as it were, with a tear in his
-eye, when he has done berating the French, that, after all, they are
-Catholics; and as for manners, “Catholics must be allowed to carry it,
-all over the world!” His exquisite treatment of Northcote, a winning
-old sharper for whom he cared nothing, is all due to his looking like
-a Titian portrait. So with the great Duke: Hazlitt hated the sight
-of him, “as much for his pasteboard visor of a face as for anything
-else.” One of his justifications for adoring Napoleon was, that at a
-levee a young English officer named Lovelace drew from him an endearing
-recognition: “I perceive, sir, that you bear the name of the hero of
-Richardson’s romance.” If you look like a Titian portrait, if you read
-and remember Richardson, you may trust a certain author, who knows a
-distinction when he sees it, to set you up for the idol of posterity.
-Hazlitt thought Mr. Wordsworth’s long and immobile countenance
-resembled that of a horse; and it is not impossible that this
-conviction, twin-born with that other that Mr. Wordsworth was a mighty
-poet, is responsible for various gibes at the august contemporary whose
-memory owes so much to his pen in other moods.
-
-He is the most ingenuous and agreeable egoist we have had since the
-seventeenth-century men. It must be remembered how little he was in
-touch outwardly with social and civic affairs; how he was content to
-be the always young looker-on. There was nothing for him to do but
-fall back, under given conditions, upon his own capacious entity. The
-automaton called William Hazlitt is to him a toy made to his hand,
-to be reached without effort; the digest of all his study and the
-applicable test of all his assumptions. He knew himself; he could, and
-did, with decorum, approve or chastise himself in open court. “His
-life was of humanity the sphere.” His “I” has a strong constituency
-in the other twenty-five initials. In this sense, and in our current
-cant, Hazlitt is nothing if not subjective, super-personal. His sort of
-sentimentalism is an anomaly in Northern literature, even in the age
-when nearly every literary Englishman of note was variously engaged
-in baring his breast. Whether he would carp or sigh, he will still
-hold you by the button, as he held host and guest, master and valet,
-to pour into their adjacent ears the mad extravagances of the _Liber
-Amoris_. He gets a little tired at his desk, after battling for hours
-with the slow and stupid in behalf of the beauty ever-living; he wants
-fresh air and a reverie; he must digress or die. And from abstractions
-bardic as Carlyle’s, he runs gladly to his own approved self. This very
-circumstance, which lends Hazlitt’s pages their curious blur and stain,
-is the same which stamps his individuality, and gives those who are
-drawn towards him at all an unspeakably hearty relish for his company.
-What shall we call it?—the habit, not maudlin in him, of speaking out,
-of draining his well of emotion for the benefit of the elect; nay, even
-of delicate lyric whimperings, beside which
-
- “Poore Petrarch’s long-deceasèd woes”
-
-take on a tinsel glamour. As the dancing-girl carries her jewels,
-every one in sight as she moves, so our “Faustus, that was wont to
-make the schools ring with _Sic probo_,” steps into the forum jingling
-and twinkling with personalia. He is quite aware of the figure he
-may cut: he does not stumble into an intimacy with you because he is
-absent-minded, or because he is liable to an attack of affectation. He
-is as conscious as Poussin’s giants, whom he once described as “seated
-on the tops of craggy mountains, playing idly on their Pan’s pipes, and
-knowing the beginning and the end of their own story.” Many sentences
-of his, from their structure, might be attributed to Coleridge, the
-single person from whom Hazlitt admits to have learned anything;[71]
-but there is no mistaking his _note émue_: that is as obvious as the
-syncopations in a Scotch tune, or the long eyes of Orcagna’s saints.
-
-He wishes you to know, at every breathing-space, “how ill’s all here
-about my heart; but ’tis no matter.” Laying by or taking up an old
-print or folio, he loosens some fond confidence to that surprised
-novice, the common reader. Like Shelley here, as in a few other
-affectionate absurdities, the prince of prose, turning from his proper
-affairs, assures you that he, too, is human, hoping, unhappy; he also
-has lived in Arcadia. It is in such irrelevancies that he is fully
-himself, Hazlitt freed, Hazlitt autobiographic, “his chariot-wheels
-hot by driving fast.”[72] Who can forget the parentheses in his advices
-to his little son, about the scholar having neither mate nor fellow,
-and the god of love clapping his wings upon the river-bank to mock him
-as he passes by? Or the noble and moving passage in _The Pleasures of
-Painting_, beginning with “My father was willing to sit as long as I
-pleased,” and ending with the longing for the revolution of the great
-Platonic year, that those times might come over again! He freshens with
-his own childhood the garden of larkspur and mignonette at Walworth,
-and “the rich notes of the thrush that startle the ear of winter . . .
-dear in themselves, and dearer for the sake of what is departed.” You
-care not so much for the placid stream by Peterborough as for his own
-wistful pilgrimage to the nigh farmhouse gate, where the ten-year-old
-Grace Loftus (his much-beloved mother, who survived him) used to gaze
-upon the setting sun. And in a choric outburst of praise for Mrs.
-Siddons, the splendor seems to culminate less in “her majestic form
-rising up against misfortune, an antagonist power to it” (what a truly
-Shakespearean breadth is in that description!); less in the sight of
-her name on the play-bill, “drawing after it a long trail of Eastern
-glory, a joy and felicity unutterable,” than in the widening dream of
-the happy lad in the pit, in his sovereign vision “of waning time, of
-Persian thrones and them that sat on them”; in the human life which
-appeared to him, of a sudden, “far from indifferent,” and in his
-“overwhelming and drowning flood of tears.” He can beautify the evening
-star itself, this innovator, who records that after a tranced and
-busy day at the easel, the day of Austerlitz, he watched it set over
-a poor man’s cottage with other thoughts and feelings than he shall
-ever have again. There is nothing of _le moi haïssable_ in all this. It
-is deliberate naturalism; the rebellion against didactics and “tall
-talk,” the milestone of a return, parallel with that of Wordsworth,
-to the fearless contemplation of plain and near things. But in a
-professing logician, is it not somewhat peculiar? When has even a poet
-so centred the universe in his own heart, without offence?
-
-Hazlitt threw away his brush, as a heroic measure, because he foresaw
-but a middling success. Many canvases he cut into shreds, in a fury
-of dissatisfaction with himself. Northcote, however, thought his lack
-of patience had spoiled a great painter. He was too full of worship
-of the masters to make an attentive artisan. The sacrifice, like all
-his sacrifices, great or small, left nothing behind but sweetness,
-the unclouded love of excellence, and the capacity of rejoicing at
-another’s attaining whatever he had missed. But the sense of disparity
-between supreme intellectual achievement and that which is only
-partial and relative, albeit of equal purity, followed him like a
-frenzy. Comparison is yet more difficult in literature than in art,
-and Hazlitt could take some satisfaction in the results of his second
-ardor. He felt his power most, perhaps, as a critic of the theatre.
-English actors owe him an incalculable debt, and their best spirits
-are not unmindful of it. He was reasonably assured of the duration and
-increase of his fame. Has he not, in one of his headstrong digressions,
-called the thoughts in his _Table-Talk_ “founded as rock, free as
-air, the tone like an Italian picture?” Even there, however, the
-faint-heartedness natural to every true artist troubled him. He went
-home in despair from the spectacle of the Indian juggler, “in his
-white dress and tightened turban,” tossing the four brass balls. “To
-make them revolve round him at certain intervals, like the planets in
-their spheres, to make them chase one another like sparkles of fire, or
-shoot up like flowers or meteors, to throw them behind his back, and
-twine them round his neck like ribbons or like serpents; to do what
-appears an impossibility, and to do it with all the ease, the grace,
-the carelessness imaginable; to laugh at, to play with the glittering
-mockeries, to follow them with his eye as if he could fascinate them
-with its lambent fire, or as if he had only to see that they kept time
-to the music on the stage—there is something in all this which he who
-does not admire may be quite sure he never really admired anything in
-the whole course of his life. It is skill surmounting difficulty, and
-beauty triumphing over skill. . . . It makes me ashamed of myself. I
-ask what there is that I can do as well as this? Nothing.” A third
-person must give another answer. The whole passage offers a very
-exquisite parallel; for in just such a daring, varied, and magical
-way can William Hazlitt write. The astounding result, “which costs
-nothing,” is founded, in each case, upon the toil of a lifetime.
-Hazlitt’s style is an incredible thing. It is not, like Lamb’s, of one
-warp and woof. It soars to the rhetorical sublime, and drops to hard
-Saxon slang. It is for all the world, and not only for specialists. Its
-range and change incorporate the utmost of many men. The trenchant
-sweep, the simplicity and point of Newman at his best, are matched
-by the pages on _Cobbett_, on _Fox_, and _On the Regal Character_;
-and there is, to choose but one opposite instance, in the paper _On
-the Unconsciousness of Genius_, touching Correggio, a fragment of
-pure eloquence of a very ornate sort, whose onward bound, glow, and
-volley can give Mr. Swinburne’s _Essays and Studies_ a look as of
-sails waiting for the wind. The same hand which fills a brief with
-epic cadences and invocations overwrought, throws down, often without
-an adjective, sentence after sentence of ringing steel: “Fashion is
-gentility running away from vulgarity, and afraid of being overtaken
-by it.” “It is not the omission of individual circumstance, but the
-omission of general truth, which constitutes the little, the deformed,
-and the short-lived in art.” The man’s large voice in these aphorisms
-is Hazlitt’s unmistakably. If it be not as novel to this generation as
-if he were but just entering the lists of authorship, it is because his
-fecundating mind has been long enriching at second-hand the libraries
-of the English world. He comes forth, like another outrider, Rossetti,
-so far behind his heralds and disciples, that his mannered utterance
-seems familiar, and an echo of theirs. For it may be said at last,
-thanks to the numerous reprints of the last seven years, and thanks
-to a few competent critics, whom Mr. Stevenson leads, that Hazlitt’s
-robust work is in a fair way to be known and appraised, by a public
-which is a little less unworthy of him than his own. His method is
-entirely unscientific, and therefore archaic. If we can profit no
-longer by him, we can get out of him cheer and delight: and these
-profit unto immortality. Meanwhile, what mere “maker of beautiful
-English” shall be pitted against him there where he sits, the despair
-of a generation of experts, continually tossing the four brass balls?
-
-It has been said often by shallow reviewers, and is said sometimes
-still, that Hazlitt’s style aims at effect; as if an effect must not
-be won, without aiming, by a “born man of letters,” as Mr. Saintsbury
-described him, “who could not help turning into literature everything
-he touched.”[73] The “effect,” under given conditions, is manifest,
-unavoidable. Once let Hazlitt speak, as he speaks ever, in the warmth
-of conviction, and what an intoxicating music begins!—wild as that of
-the gypsies, and with the same magnet-touch on the sober senses: enough
-to subvert all “criticism and idle distinction,” and to bring back
-those Theban times when the force of a sound, rather than masons and
-surveyors, sent the very walls waltzing into their places.
-
-In the face of diction so joyously clear as his, so sumptuous and
-splendid, it is well to endorse Mr. Ruskin, that “no right style
-was ever founded save out of a sincere heart.” It can never be
-said of William Hazlitt, as Dean Trench well said of those other
-“great stylists,” Landor and De Quincey, that he had a lack of moral
-earnestness. What he was determined to impress upon his reader, during
-the quarter-century while he held a pen, was not that he was knowing,
-not that he was worthy of the renown and fortune which passed him by,
-but only that he had rectitude and a consuming passion for good. He
-declares aloud that his escutcheon has no bar-sinister: he has not
-sold himself; he has spoken truth in and out of season; he has honored
-the excellent at his own risk and cost; he has fought for a principle
-and been slain for it, from his youth up. His sole boast is proven.
-In a far deeper sense than Leigh Hunt, for whom he forged the lovely
-compliment, he was “the visionary in humanity, the fool of virtue,” and
-the captain of those who stood fast, in a hostile day, for ignored and
-eternal ideals. The best thing to be said of him, the thing for which,
-in Haydon’s phrase, “everybody must love him,” is that he himself loved
-justice and hated iniquity. He shared the groaning of the spirit
-after mortal welfare with Swift and Fielding, with Shelley and Matthew
-Arnold, with Carlyle and Ruskin; he was corroded with cares and desires
-not his own. Beside this intense devotedness, what personal flaw will
-ultimately show? The host who figure in the Roman martyrology hang all
-their claim upon the fact of martyrdom, and, according to canon law,
-need not have been saints in their lifetime at all. So with such souls
-as his: in the teeth of a thousand acknowledged imperfections in life
-or in art, they remain our exemplars. Let them do what they will, at
-some one stroke they dignify this earth. It is not Hazlitt, “the born
-man of letters” alone, but Hazlitt the born humanist, who bequeaths us,
-from his England of coarse misconception and abuse, a memory like a
-loadstar, and a name which is a toast to be drunk standing.
-
-
-THE END
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[58] The article on _The Fine Arts_ in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ is
-signed “W. H.”
-
-[59] Mrs. Hazlitt the first, it would appear, undertook to verify
-her husband’s quotations for him. His favorite metaphor, “Like the
-tide which flows on to the Propontic, and knows no ebb,” must have
-passed many times under her eye. Any reference to Othello himself, in
-the great scene of Act III., would have shown four lines for William
-Hazlitt’s explicit one.
-
-[60] Some of Hazlitt’s comments on women are full of unconscious humor.
-In _Great and Little Things_ he admits being snubbed by the fair, and
-adds with grandiloquence: “I took a pride in my disgrace, and concluded
-that I had elsewhere my inheritance!”
-
-[61] In the National Portrait Gallery, London.
-
-[62] _Blackwood’s_, in the charming fashion of the time, repeatedly
-refers to Hazlitt’s “pimples”; and Byron credited and supplemented the
-allegation. Hazlitt himself says somewhere “that to lay a thing to
-a person’s charge from which he is perfectly free, shows spirit and
-invention!” The calumny is not worth mention, except as a fair specimen
-of the journalistic methods against which literary men had to contend
-some eighty years ago.
-
-[63] Lamb had been his groomsman twenty-two years before, at the Church
-of St. Andrew, Holborn, “and like to have been turned out several times
-during the ceremony; anything awful makes me laugh!” as he confessed in
-a letter to Southey in 1815.
-
-[64] Orrery had seen this same bitter indignation overwhelm Swift at
-times, “so that it is scarcely possible for human features to carry in
-them more terror and austerity.”
-
-[65] At 19 York Street, Westminster. The house, with its tablet “To the
-Prince of Poets” set by Hazlitt himself, was destroyed in 1877.
-
-[66] A snappy unpublished letter to Hunt, sold among the Hazlitt
-papers at Sotheby, Wilkinson and Hodge’s, in the late autumn of 1893,
-complains bitterly of kind Basil Montagu, who had once put off a
-proffered visit from Hazlitt, on the ground that a party of other
-guests was expected. The deterred one was naturally wroth. “Yet after
-this, I am not to look at him a little _in abstracto_! This is what has
-soured me and made me sick of friendship and acquaintanceship.” Hazlitt
-confounded cause and effect. He was unwelcome in general gatherings
-where his genius was unappreciated; and we may be sure Montagu
-was sorry for it when, in the interests of concord, he held up so
-deprecating and inhospitable a hand. But among those who nursed Hazlitt
-in his last illness, Basil Montagu was not the least loyal.
-
-[67] _The Fight_ appeared in the _New Monthly Magazine_ in 1822. It
-was itself antedated by _The Fancy_ of John Hamilton Reynolds, Keats’s
-friend and Hood’s brother-in-law, which was printed in 1820. The jolly
-iambics are as inspired as the essay. “P. C.” is, of course, Pugilistic
-Club.
-
-“Oh, it is life! to see a proud And dauntless man step, full of hopes,
-Up to the P. C. stakes and ropes, Throw in his hat, and with a spring
-Get gallantly within the ring; Eye the wide crown, and walk awhile
-Taking all cheerings with a smile; To see him strip; his well-trained
-form, White, glowing, muscular, and warm, All beautiful in conscious
-power, Relaxed and quiet, till the hour; His glossy and transparent
-frame, In radiant plight to strive for fame! To look upon the clean
-shap’d limb In silk and flannel clothèd trim; While round the waist
-the kerchief tied Makes the flesh glow in richer pride. ’Tis more than
-life to watch him hold His hand forth, tremulous yet bold, Over his
-second’s, and to clasp His rival’s in a quiet grasp; To watch the noble
-attitude He takes, the crowd in breathless mood; And then to see, with
-adamant start, The muscles set, and the great heart Hurl a courageous
-splendid light Into the eye, and then—the FIGHT!”
-
-But this is general: Hazlitt is specific. His particular Fight was the
-great one between Neate of Bristol and Tom Hickman the Gasman, Neate
-being the victor. On May 20, 1823, Neate met Spring of Hertfordshire
-(so translated out of his natural patronymic of Winter), in a contest
-for the championship, and Neate himself went under. This latter battle
-was mock-heroically celebrated by Maginn in _Blackwood’s_, and Hood’s
-casual meteorological simile heaped up honors on the winner:
-
-“The Spring! I shrink and shudder at her name. For why? I find her
-breath a bitter blighter, And suffer from her blows as if they came
-From Spring the fighter!”
-
-So that literature may be said to have set close to the ropes in those
-days, from first to last.
-
-[68] Lamb, in “_A Letter to R. Southey, Esq._”
-
-[69] The man of Martial’s epigram had other “views.” The capital
-translation is Dr. Goldwin Smith’s:
-
-“Vacerra lauds no living poet’s lays, But for departed genius keeps his
-praise. I, alas, live; nor deem it worth my while To die, that I may
-win Vacerra’s smile.”
-
-[70] This was the spirit of Henry Fielding on his last voyage, hoisted
-aboard among the watermen at Redcliffe, and hearing his emaciated body
-made the subject of jeers and laughter. “No man who knew me,” he writes
-in his journal, “will think I conceived any personal resentment at this
-behavior; but it was a lively picture of that cruelty and inhumanity
-in the nature of man which I have often contemplated with concern, and
-which leads the mind into a train of very uncomfortable and melancholy
-thoughts.” It is a fine passage, and a strong heart, not given to
-boasting, penned it. Poor Hazlitt could not bear even an unintentional
-slight without imputing diabolical malice to the offender. Yet it was
-certainly true that, in his saner hours, he could suffer personal
-discomfort in public without flinching, and deplore the habit which
-imposed it, rather than the act.
-
-[71] If Hazlitt conveyed some of his best mannerisms from Coleridge,
-not always transmuting them, surely the balance may be said to be
-even when one discovers later in Hartley Coleridge such an easy
-inherited use of Hazlitt’s “flail of gold” as is exemplified in this
-summary of Roger Ascham’s career. “There was a primitive honesty, a
-kindly innocence about this good old scholar, which gave a personal
-interest to the homeliest details of his life. He had the rare
-felicity of passing through the worst of times without persecution and
-without dishonor. He lived with princes and princesses, prelates and
-diplomatists, without offence as without ambition. Though he enjoyed
-the smiles of royalty, his heart was none the worse, and his fortunes
-little the better.”
-
-[72] The quotation is from Coleridge, and it was applied by him to
-Dryden. Hazlitt himself unconsciously expanded and spoiled it in his
-essay on _Burke_. “The wheels of his imagination did not catch fire
-from the rottenness of the material, but from the rapidity of their
-motion.”
-
-[73] The Rev. H. R. Haweis has another characterization of these
-breathing and burning pages: “long and tiresome essays by Hazlitt.”
-So they are, sure enough, if only you be endowed to think so! Hazlitt
-himself gives the diverting fact for what it is worth, that “three
-chimney-sweeps meeting three Chinese in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, they
-laughed at one another till they were ready to drop down.”
-
-
-
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-little book, in its ardor of appreciation, vivacity of portraiture, and
-grace and spontaneity of style, is a masterpiece of concise narration,
-and by those who read it once will be sought with unfailing delight
-again and again.—_Boston Beacon._
-
-Miss Guiney writes with a love for her subject which makes her fine
-discrimination all the finer, and shows an insight into history
-all the more admirable for the research which it has compelled.
-This tiny volume gives evidence of as thorough study as would
-fit out a post-octavo, as some authors understand the writing of
-history.—_Evangelist_, N. Y.
-
-Miss Guiney has written La Rochejaquelein’s life on a small scale,
-but with spirit and enthusiasm, and her little book is very
-interesting.—_N. Y. Tribune._
-
-A spirited, vivid, and felicitously phrased account of that dramatic
-side-issue of the French Revolution, the Vendée War. . . . Miss
-Guiney’s literary touch is always admirable and, not infrequently,
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-<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Little English Gallery, by Louise Imogen
-Guiney</h1>
-<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
-and most other parts of the world 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
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-located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this ebook.</p>
-<p>Title: A Little English Gallery</p>
-<p>Author: Louise Imogen Guiney</p>
-<p>Release Date: February 21, 2017 [eBook #54219]</p>
-<p>Language: English</p>
-<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p>
-<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE ENGLISH GALLERY***</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<h4>E-text prepared by Emmy, MFR,<br />
- and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
- (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br />
- from page images generously made available by<br />
- Internet Archive<br />
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- Note:
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- Images of the original pages are available through
- Internet Archive. See
- <a href="https://archive.org/details/littleenggallery00guinrich">
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-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<hr class="pg" />
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<h1 class="faux">
-A LITTLE
-ENGLISH GALLERY</h1>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;">
-<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="408" height="800" alt="cover" />
-</div>
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 357px;">
-<img src="images/i-001.jpg" width="357" height="483" alt="Louise Imogen Guiney portrait" />
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-
-<div class="maintitle">
-A LITTLE<br />
-ENGLISH GALLERY</div>
-
-
-<div class="center"><br /><br /><br />BY<br />
-<span class="author">LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY</span><br /><br /><br /></div>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 127px;">
-<img src="images/emblem.jpg" width="127" height="151" alt="emblem" />
-</div>
-
-
-<div class="center"><br /><br />NEW YORK
-<big>HARPER AND BROTHERS</big>
-MDCCCXCIV
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-
-<div class="copyright">
-Copyright, 1894, by <span class="smcap">Harper &amp; Brothers</span>.<br />
-———<br />
-<i>All rights reserved.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-
-<p class="center">
-<small>TO</small><br />
-<br />
-EDMUND GOSSE<br />
-<br />
-<small>THIS FRIENDLY TRESPASS ON HIS FIELDS</small><br />
-</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-
-<h2>PREFATORY NOTE</h2>
-
-
-<p><span class="smcap">The</span> studies in this book are chosen from a
-number written at irregular intervals, and from
-sheer interest in their subjects, long ago. Portions
-of them, or rough drafts of what has since
-been wholly remodelled from fresher and fuller
-material at first hand, have appeared within five
-years in <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>, <i>Macmillan’s</i>,
-<i>The Catholic World</i>, and <i>Poet-Lore;</i> and thanks
-are due the magazines for permission to reprint
-them. Yet more cordial thanks, for kind assistance
-on biographical points, belong to the
-Earl of Powis; the Rev. R. H. Davies, Vicar
-of old St. Luke’s, Chelsea; the Rev. T. Vere
-Bayne, of Christchurch, and H. E. D. Blakiston,
-Esq., of Trinity College, Oxford; T. W.
-Lyster, Esq., of the National Library of Ireland;
-Aubrey de Vere Beauclerk, Esq.; Miss
-Langton, of Langton-by-Spilsby; the Vicars of
-Dauntsey, Enfield Highway, and Montgomery,
-and especially those of High Ercall and Speke;
-and the many others in England through whose
-courtesy and patience the tracer of these unimportant
-sketches has been able to make them
-approximately life-like.</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
-
-
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
-<tr>
-<td align="left" colspan="2"><small>CHAP.</small></td>
-<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="right">I.</td>
-<td align="left">LADY DANVERS (1561-1627)</td>
-<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="right">II.</td>
-<td align="left">HENRY VAUGHAN (1621-1695)</td>
-<td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="right">III.</td>
-<td align="left">GEORGE FARQUHAR (1677-1707)</td>
-<td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="right">IV.</td>
-<td align="left">TOPHAM BEAUCLERK (1739-1780)</td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="left">&nbsp;</td>
-<td align="center">AND</td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="left">&nbsp;</td>
-<td align="left">BENNET LANGTON (1741-1800)</td>
-<td align="right"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td align="right">V.</td>
-<td align="left">WILLIAM HAZLITT (1778-1830)</td>
-<td align="right"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
-
-
-
-
-<h2>I<br />
-
-LADY DANVERS
-
-<small>1561-1627</small></h2>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div>
- <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-012-drop-m.jpg" width="109" height="105" alt="M" />
-</div>
-
-<p class="drop-capi">MR. MATTHEW ARNOLD
-somewhere devotes a grateful
-sentence to the women
-who have left a fragrance in
-literary history, and whose
-loss of long ago can yet inspire men of
-to-day with indescribable regret. Lady
-Danvers is surely one of these. As John
-Donne’s dear friend, and George Herbert’s
-mother, she has a double poetic
-claim, like her unforgotten contemporary,
-Mary Sidney, for whom was made
-an everlasting epitaph. If Dr. Donne’s
-fraternal fame have not quite the old lustre
-of the incomparable Sir Philip’s, it
-is, at least, a greater honor to own Herbert
-for son than to have perpetuated
-the race of Pembroke. Nor is it an inharmonious
-thing to remember, in thus
-calling up, in order to rival it, the sweet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
-memory of “Sidney’s sister,” that Herbert
-and Pembroke have long been, and
-are yet, married names.</p>
-
-<p>Magdalen, the youngest child of Sir
-Richard Newport, and of Margaret
-Bromley, his wife, herself daughter of
-that Bromley who was Privy-Councillor,
-Lord Chief-Justice, and executor to Henry
-VIII., was born in High Ercall, Salop;
-the loss or destruction of parish registers
-leaves us but 1561-62 as the probable
-date. Of princely stock, with three sisters
-and an only brother, and heir to virtue
-and affluence, she could look with the
-right pride of unfallen blood upon “the
-many fair coats the Newports bear” over
-their graves at Wroxeter. It was the day
-of learned and thoughtful girls; and this
-girl seems to have been at home with
-book and pen, with lute and viol. She
-married, in the flower of her youth, Richard
-Herbert, Esquire, of Blache Hall,
-Montgomery, black-haired and black-bearded,
-as were all his line; a man of
-some intellectual training, and of noted
-courage, descended from a distinguished
-brother of the yet more distinguished Sir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
-Richard Herbert of Edward IV.’s time,
-and from the most ancient rank of Wales
-and England. At Eyton in Salop, in
-1581, was born their eldest child, Edward,
-afterwards Lord Herbert of Cherbury,
-a writer who is still the puzzle and
-delight of Continental critics. He is said
-to have been a beautiful boy, and not
-very robust; his first speculation with
-his infant tongue was the piercing query:
-“How came I into this world?” But his
-next brother, Richard, was of another
-stamp; and went his frank, flashing, fighting
-way through Europe, “with scars of
-four-and-twenty wounds upon him, to his
-grave” at Bergen-op-Zoom, with William,
-the third son, following in his soldierly
-footsteps. Charles grew up reserved and
-studious, and died, like his paternal uncle,
-a dutiful Fellow of New College, Oxford.
-The fifth of these Herberts, “a soul composed
-of harmonies,” as Cotton said of
-him, and destined to make the name beloved
-among all readers of English, was
-George, the poet, the saintly “parson of
-Fuggleston and Bemerton.” Henry, his
-junior, with whom George had a sympathy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
-peculiarly warm and long, became in his
-manhood Master of the Revels, and held
-the office for over fifty years. “You and I
-are alone left to brother it,” Lord Herbert
-of Cherbury once wrote him, in a mood
-more tender than his wont, when all else
-of that radiant family had gone into dust.
-The youngest of Magdalen Newport’s sons
-was Thomas, “a posthumous,” traveller,
-sailor, and master of a ship in the war
-against Algiers. Elizabeth, Margaret, and
-Frances were the daughters, of whom
-Izaak Walton says, with satisfaction, that
-they lived to be examples of virtue, and
-to do good to their generation. None of
-them made an illustrious match. Margaret
-married a Vaughan. Frances secured
-unto herself the patronymic Brown,
-and was happily seconded by Elizabeth,
-George Herbert’s “dear sick sister,” who
-became Mistress Jones. In the south
-chancel transept of Montgomery Church,
-where Richard Herbert the elder had
-been buried three years before, there was
-erected in 1600, at his wife’s cost, a large
-canopied alabaster altar-tomb, with two
-portrait-figures recumbent. All around<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
-it, in the quaint and affectionate boast of
-the age, are the small images of these
-seven sons and three daughters; “Job’s
-number and Job’s distribution,” as she
-once remarked, and as her biographers
-failed not to repeat after her. But their
-kindred ashes are widely sundered, and
-“as content with six foot as with the
-moles of Adrianus.” This at Montgomery
-is the only known representation of
-the Lady Magdalen. Her effigy lies at
-her husband’s left, the palms folded, the
-eyes open, the full hair rolled back from
-a low brow, beneath a charming and simple
-head-dress. Nothing can be nobler
-than the whole look of the face, like her
-in her prime, and reminding one of her
-son’s loving epithet, “my Juno.” The
-short-sighted inscription upon the slab
-yet includes her name.</p>
-
-<p>Never had an army of brilliant and requiring
-children a more excellent mother.
-“<i>Severa parens</i>,” her gentle George called
-her in his scholarly verses; and such she
-was, with the mingled sagacity and joyousness
-which made up her character.
-If we are to believe their own testimony,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
-the leading members of her young family
-were of excessively peppery Cymric temperaments,
-and worthy to call out that
-“manlier part” of her which Dr. Donne,
-who had every opportunity of observing
-it in play, was so quick to praise. There
-is a passage in a letter of Sir Thomas
-Lacy, addressed to Edward Herbert,
-touching upon “the knowledge I had
-how ill you can digest the least indignity.”
-“Holy George Herbert” himself, in 1618,
-commended to his dear brother Henry
-the gospel of self-honoring: “It is the
-part of a poor spirit to undervalue himself
-and blush.” And physical courage
-went hand in hand with this blameless
-haughtiness of the Herberts, a pretty collateral
-proof of which may be adduced
-from a message of Sir Henry Jones to his
-brother-in-law, the other Henry just
-mentioned, concerning a gift for his little
-nephew. “If my cozen, William Herbert
-your sonne . . . be ready for the rideing of
-a horse, I will provide him with a Welch
-nagg that shall be as mettlesome as himself.”
-There is no doubt that all this
-racial fire was fostered by one woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
-“Thou my root, and my most firm rock,
-O my mother!” George cried, long after
-in the <i>Parentalia</i>, aware that he owed to
-her his high ideals, and the strength of
-character which is born of self-discipline.</p>
-
-<p>“God gave her,” says one of her two
-devoted annalists, who we wish were
-not so brief and meagre of detail—“God
-gave her such a comeliness as though she
-was not proud of it, yet she was so content
-with it as not to go about to mend
-it by any art.” Her fortune was large,
-her benevolence wide-spreading. All the
-countryside knew her for the living representative
-of the ever-hospitable houses
-of Newport and Bromley. “She gave not
-on some great days,” continues Dr. Donne,
-“or at solemn goings abroad; but as
-God’s true almoners, the sun and moon,
-that pass on in a continual doing of good;
-as she received her daily bread from God,
-so daily she distributed it, and imparted
-it to others.” In these years of her wifehood
-and widowhood at Montgomery
-Castle (the “romancy place” dating from
-the eleventh century, and ruined, like the
-fine old house at High Ercall, during the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
-Civil Wars), and afterwards at Oxford and
-London, she reared her happy crew of
-boys and girls in an air of generosity
-and honor; training them to habits of
-hardiness and simplicity, and to the equal
-relish of work and play. “Herself with
-her whole family (as a church in that
-elect lady’s house, to whom John wrote
-his second Epistle) did every Sabbath
-shut up the day at night with a general,
-with a cheerful singing of psalms.”
-One may guess at young Richard’s turmoil
-in-doors, and at the little Elizabeth’s
-soft, patient ways, and think of George
-(on Sundays at any rate) as the child of
-content, “the contesseration of elegances”
-worthy Archdeacon Oley called
-him.</p>
-
-<p>The fair and stately matron moving
-over them and among them was not
-without her prejudices. “I was once,”
-Edward testifies, “in danger of drowning,
-learning to swim. My mother, upon
-her blessing, charged me never to learn
-swimming; telling me, further, that she
-had learned of more drowned than saved
-by it.” Though the given reason failed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
-to impress him, he adds, the commandment
-did; so that the accomplished
-Crichton of Cherbury, who understood
-alchemy, broke his way through metaphysics,
-and rode the Great Horse; the
-ambassador, author, and beau, to whom
-Ben Jonson sent his greeting:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“What man art thou that art so many men,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All-virtuous Herbert?”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">even he lacked, on principle, the science
-of keeping himself alive in an alien element,
-because it had been pronounced
-less risky to die outright! It was a pretty
-paradox, and one which sets down our
-high-minded Magdalen as quite feminine,
-quite human.</p>
-
-<p>Her Edward was matriculated in 1595
-at University College, Oxford,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> for which
-he seemed to retain no great partiality;
-he bequeathed his books, like a loyal
-Welshman, to Jesus College, instead, and
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>his manuscripts to the Bodleian Library.
-In 1598, when he was little more than
-seventeen, he was wedded to his cousin
-Mary Herbert, of St. Gillian in Monmouthshire.
-Her age was one-and-twenty;
-she was an heiress, enjoined by her
-father’s will to marry a Herbert or forfeit
-her estates; she was also almost a
-philosopher. There was no wild affection
-on either side, but the marriage
-promised rather well, both persons having
-resources; and no real catastrophe
-befell either in after-life. Much as she
-desired the match for worldly motives,
-the chief promoter of it was too solicitous
-for her tall dreamer of a son, who
-underwent the pleasing peril of having
-Queen Bess clap him on the cheek, not
-to take the whole weight of conjugal
-direction on her own shoulders. Without
-undue officiousness, but with the masterly
-foresight of a shrewd saint, she
-moved to Oxford from Montgomery with
-her younger children and their tutors, in
-order to handle Mistress Herbert’s husband
-during his minority. “She continued
-there with him,” says Walton, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
-his <i>Life of George Herbert</i>, “and still
-kept him in a moderate awe of herself,
-and so much under her own eye as to
-see and converse with him daily; but she
-managed this power over him without
-any such rigid sourness as might make
-her company a torment to her child, but
-with such a sweetness and compliance
-with the recreations and pleasures of
-youth as did incline him willingly to
-spend much of his time in the company
-of his dear and careful mother.”</p>
-
-<p>It was during this stay that she contracted
-the chivalrous friendship which
-has embalmed her tranquil memory. Dr.
-John Donne (not ordained until 1614, and
-indeed not Dr. Donne then at all, but
-“Jack Donne,” his profaner self) had been
-at Cadiz with Essex, and had wandered
-over the face of Europe; and he came
-back, accidentally, to Oxford during the
-most troubled year of his early prime. It
-was no strange place to him,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> who had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
-been, at eleven, the Pico della Mirandola
-of Hart Hall, and whose relatives seem
-to have resided always in the town.
-There and then, however, he cast his
-bright eye upon Excellence, and in his
-own phrase,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“—dared love that, and say so, too,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And forget the He and She.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>We can do no better than cite a celebrated
-and beautiful passage, once more
-from Walton: “This amity, begun at this
-time and place, was not an amity that
-polluted their souls, but an amity made
-up of a chain of suitable inclinations and
-virtues; an amity like that of St. Chrysostom
-to his dear and virtuous Olympias,
-whom, in his letters, he calls his saint; or
-an amity, indeed, more like that of St.
-Hierom to his Paula, whose affection to
-her was such that he turned poet in his
-old age, and then made her epitaph, wishing
-all his body were turned into tongues
-that he might declare her just praises to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
-posterity.” How these words remind
-one of the sweet historic mention which
-Condivi gives to the relations between
-Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo! The
-little English idyl of friendship and the
-great Italian one run parallel in much.</p>
-
-<p>Donne’s trenchant <i>Satires</i>, some of the
-earliest and very best in the language,
-were already written, and he was not without
-the hint of fame. Born in 1573, he
-was but eight years the senior of Edward
-Herbert, and not more than a dozen years
-the junior of Edward Herbert’s mother.
-To her two sons, also, who were to figure
-as men of letters, he was sincerely attached
-from the first, and had a marked
-and lasting influence on their minds.
-Donne had the superabundance of mental
-power which Mr. Minto has pointed
-out as the paradoxical cause of his failure
-to become a great poet. He was a three-storied
-soul, as the French say: a spirit
-of many sides and moods, a life-long dreamer
-of good and bad dreams. To his restless,
-incisive intelligence his contemporaries,
-with Jonson and Carew at their
-head, bowed in hyperboles of acclaim.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
-He had a changeful conscience, often
-antagonized and often appeased. There
-was a strain in him of strong joy, for he
-was descended through his mother from
-pleasant John Heywood the dramatist,
-and from the father of that great and
-merry-hearted gentleman, Sir Thomas
-More. If ever man needed vitality to
-buoy him over sorrows heavy and vast,
-it was Donne in his “yeasting youth.”
-Thrown, through no fault but his own,
-from his old footholds of religion and
-occupation, and unable, despite his versatile
-and alert genius, to grind a steady
-living from the hard mills of the world,
-he was in the midst of a bitter plight
-when the friends worthy of him found a
-heavenly opportunity which they did not
-let go by, and made his acceptance of
-their favor a rich gift unto themselves.
-Foremost among these, besides Lady
-Herbert, were Sir Robert Drury of Drury
-Lane, and a kinsman, Sir Francis Woolly,
-of Pirford, Surrey, fated to die in his youth,
-both of whom gave the Donnes, for some
-nine consecutive years, the use of their
-princely houses. John Donne had been in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
-the service of the Chancellor, Lord Ellesmere,
-and lost place and purse by the opposition
-to his marriage with his “<i>lectissima
-dilectissimaque</i>,” Anne More, who was
-Lady Ellesmere’s niece, the daughter of Sir
-George More of Loxly, Lieutenant of the
-Tower, and probably a distant cousin of
-his own. No reverses, however, could beat
-the pathetic cheer out of him. “Anne
-Donne,<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> undone,” was one of his inveterate
-teary jests over the state of things
-at home. He wrote once, with sickness,
-poverty, and despair at his elbow: “If
-God should ease us with burials, I know
-not how to perform even that. But I
-flatter myself that I am dying, too, for I
-cannot waste faster than by such griefs.”
-Five of his twelve children passed before
-their father to the grave, the good domestic
-daughter Constance upholding
-him always, and keeping the house together.
-But just as hope dawned with
-his appointment to the Lectureship of
-Lincoln’s Inn, heavenward suddenly, with
-her youngest-born, in 1617, went his dear
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>and faithful wife, whom he laid to rest in
-St. Clement Danes.</p>
-
-<p>About the time when the remorseful old
-queen died disdainfully on her chamber-floor
-at Richmond, the necessities of this
-family called for daily succors, and with
-a simple and noble delicacy they were
-supplied. Nor did they cease. Magdalen
-Herbert was a “bountiful benefactor,”
-Donne “as grateful an acknowledger.”
-His first letter to her from Mitcham in
-Surrey, dated July 10, 1607, is made up of
-terse, tender thanks, in his heart’s own
-odd language. He sends her an enclosure
-of sonnets and hymns, “lost to us,” says
-Walton, movingly, “but doubtless they
-were such as they two now sing in
-heaven.” Dr. Grosart, with a great show
-of justice, claims that the sequence called
-<i>La Corona</i>, and familiar to latter-day readers,
-are the identical sonnets passed from
-one to the other. During this same month
-of July we know that, paying a call in his
-“London, plaguey London,” and finding
-his friend abroad,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Dr. Donne consoled
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>himself by leaving a courtliest message:
-“Your memory is a state-cloth and presence
-which I reverence, though you be
-away;” and went back after to his “sallads
-and onions” at Mitcham, or to his
-solitary lodgings near Whitehall.</p>
-
-<p>The attachment, close and deferent
-on both sides, was continued without a
-breach, and with the intention, at least,
-of “almost daily letters.” Thoreau, quoting
-Chaucer, so saluted Mrs. Emerson:
-“You have helped to keep my life on
-loft.” No meaner service than this was
-his dear lady’s to John Donne, often heretofore
-astray in the slough of doubt and
-dissipation; she fed more than his little
-children, clothed more than his body, and
-fostered anew in him that faith in humanity
-which is the well-spring of good
-works. He was not a poet of Leigh
-Hunt’s innocent temperament, who could
-accept benefits gladly and gracefully from
-any appreciator; his soul dwelt too remote
-and proud in her accustomed citadels.
-But this loving help, thrust upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
-him, he took with dignity, and after 1621,
-when he was able, in his own person, to
-befriend others, he gave back gallantly
-to mankind the blessings he once received
-from two or three. It was something
-for Magdalen Herbert to have saved
-a master-name to English letters, and
-kept in his unique place the poet, interesting
-beyond many, whose fantastic but
-real force swayed generations of thinking
-and singing men; it was something,
-also, to have won in return the words
-which were his gold coin of payment.
-Nowhere is Donne’s sentiment more genuine,
-his workmanship more happy and
-less complex, than in the verses dedicated
-to her blameless name. They have a lucidity
-unsurpassed among the yet straightforward
-lyrics of their day. Drayton’s self,
-who died in the same year with Donne,
-might have addressed to the lady of Eyton
-so much of his noble extravagance;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Queens hereafter shall be glad to live</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Yet in these eulogies, as in most of the
-graver contemporaneous poems of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
-sort, there is little personality to be detected;
-the homage has rather a floating
-outline, an unapproaching music, exquisite
-and awed. Donne gives, sometimes,
-the large Elizabethan measure:</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Is there any good which is not she?”</div>
-
-<p>In the so-called <i>Elegy, The Autumnal</i>,
-written on leaving Oxford, he starts off
-with a well-known cherishable strophe:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">As I have seen in one autumnal face.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">The entire poem is a monody on the encroachments
-of years, and neatly chronological:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“If we love things long-sought, age is a thing</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Which we are fifty years in compassing;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">If transitory things, which soon decay,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Age must be loveliest at the latest day.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>It strikes the modern ear as maladroit
-enough that a woman in her yet sunshiny
-forties, and a most comely woman to
-boot, should have required prosody’s ingenious
-excuses for wrinkles and kindred
-damages. Was life so hard as that in
-“the spacious days”? Shakespeare, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
-agreement with Horace, had already reminded
-his handsome “Will” of the pitiless
-and too expeditious hour,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">which also seems, to a nice historical
-sense, somewhat staggering. The close
-of Donne’s little homily is perfect, and full
-of the winning melancholy which was
-part of his birthright in art, whenever he
-allowed himself direct and homely expression:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 12em;">“May still</span></div>
-<div class="verse">My love descend! and journey down the hill,</div>
-<div class="verse">Not panting after growing beauties; so</div>
-<div class="verse">I shall ebb on with them who homeward go.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Such was John Donne’s first known tribute
-to his friend. She must have been
-early and thoroughly familiar with his
-manuscripts, which were passed about
-freely, Dr. Grosart thinks, prior to 1613,
-and which burned what Massinger would
-call “no adulterate incense” to herself.
-Her bays are to be gleaned off many a
-tree, and she must have cast a frequent
-influence on Donne’s work, which is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
-traceable now. He seems to have had
-a Crashaw-like devotion to the Christian
-saint whose inheritance</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">not unconnected with the fact that some
-one else was Magdalen also; never does
-he tire of dwelling on the coincidence
-and the difference. In one of his quaintly
-moralizing songs, he goes seeking a
-“true-love” primrose, where but on
-Montgomery Hill! for he is hers, by all
-chivalrous tokens, as much as he may be.
-Again he cites, and almost with humor:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“that perplexing eye</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Which equally claims love and reverence.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">And his platonics make their honorable
-challenge at the end of some fine lines:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“So much do I love her choice, that I</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Would fain love him that shall be loved of her!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">There was prescience in that couplet. As
-early, at least, as 1607-8, the widow’s long
-privacy ended, probably while she was at
-her “howse at Charing Cross,” watching
-over the progress of her son George at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
-Westminster School; and he that was
-“loved of her” was the grandson of the
-last Lord Latimer of the Nevilles, junior
-brother of a nobleman who perished with
-Essex in 1602, and brother and heir of
-that Sir Henry Danvers who was created
-Earl of Danby in 1625 for his services in
-Ireland, and who literally left a green
-memory as the founder of the pleasant
-Physic Gardens at Oxford. The name
-of Danvers, the kindly step-father, is one
-of the noteworthy omissions of Lord Herbert
-of Cherbury’s <i>Autobiography</i>. But
-George Herbert was devoted to him, as
-his many letters show, and turned to
-him, never in vain, during his restless
-years at Cambridge; and into his circle
-of relatives, with romantic suddenness,
-he afterwards married. Sir John Danvers,
-of Dauntsey, Wilts, was twenty years
-younger than his wife. It is worth while
-to quote the very deft and courtly statement
-of the case made at the last by Dr.
-Donne: “The natural endowments of
-her person were such as had their part
-in drawing and fixing the affections of
-such a person as by his birth and youth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
-and interest in great favors at court, and
-legal proximity to great possessions in
-the world, might justly have promised
-him acceptance in what family soever,
-or upon what person soever, he had directed. . . .
-He placed them here, neither
-diverted thence, nor repented since. For
-as the well-tuning of an instrument
-makes higher and lower strings of one
-sound, so the inequality of their years
-was thus reduced to an evenness, that
-she had a cheerfulness agreeable to his
-youth, and he had a sober staidness conformable
-to her more advanced years.
-So that I would not consider her at so
-much more than forty, nor him at so
-much less than thirty, at that time; but
-as their persons were made one and their
-fortunes made one by marriage, so I
-would put their years into one number,
-and finding a sixty between them, think
-them thirty apiece; for as twins of one
-hour they lived.”<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
-<p>In the August of 1607, a masque by
-John Marston was given in the now ruined
-castle of Ashby-de-la-Zouch, eighteen
-miles from Leicester, as an entertainment
-devised by Lord Huntingdon
-and his young wife, the Lady Elizabeth
-Stanley, to welcome her mother, Alice,
-Countess-Dowager of Derby,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> “the first
-night of her honor’s arrival at the house
-of Ashby.” Fourteen noble ladies took
-part in the masque, and among them was
-“Mris Da’vers.” The name may, perhaps,
-be recognized as that of the subject of
-this sketch, for Sir John Danvers was not
-knighted until the following year; and
-it has been so recognized by interested
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>scholars who have searched Nichols’s
-<i>Progresses of James I</i>. And yet we cannot
-be too sure that we have her before
-us, in the wreaths and picturesque draperies
-of the amateur stage; for there
-was another Mistress Da’vers at court,
-whose purported letter, dated February
-3, 1613, signed with her confusing Christian
-names of “Mary Magdaline,” gave
-great trouble, thirty years ago, to the experts
-of the Camden Society. Besides,
-a letter of the good gossipy Chamberlain,
-dated March 3, 1608-9, mentions as if it
-were then a piece of fresh news: “Young
-Davers is likewise wedded to the widow
-Herbert, Sir Edward’s mother, of more
-than twice his age.” This would seem
-to preclude the possibility of the fair
-masquer being the same person.</p>
-
-<p>The mother of many Herberts, the
-“more than forty” bride, was by nature
-a home-keeping character. Among the
-correspondence relating to Lord Herbert
-of Cherbury, privately printed in 1886 by
-the Earl of Powis, are a few pages which
-give us invaluable glimpses of the London
-household. Lady Danvers’s eldest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
-son, who set off upon his travels soon
-after her second marriage, and who applied
-himself vigorously to the various diversions
-of body and mind catalogued in
-the <i>Autobiography</i>, found himself often
-pinched for money. In such a strait, not
-unfamiliar to other fine gentlemen of his
-day, he invariably appealed to the services
-of the step-father who was his junior,
-in England. The latter, writing how
-“wee are all some what after the olde
-manner, and doe hartely wish you well,”
-seems to have busied himself to some
-avail, in concert with his brother-in-law,
-Sir Francis Newport (the first Lord
-Newport), in securing letters of credit to
-Milan, Turin, the Netherlands, and elsewhere,
-and in explaining at length, in his
-long involved sentences, how matters
-could be bettered. Whether or not the
-absent Knight of the Bath had reason
-to suspect Sir John’s disinterested action
-when it came to the handling of pounds
-and pence, he does not seem, then or
-after, to have burdened him with any
-great harvest of thanks. But Sir John’s
-faithful wife knew how to defend him, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
-a script of May 12, 1615, which may be
-quoted precisely as it stands in the Herbert
-papers.</p>
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-<div class="unindent">
-“To my best beloved sonn, S’r Edward Herbert, Knight,<br />
-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“My deare Sonn,</div>
-
-<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;it is straunge to me to here
-you to complayne of want of care of you in
-your absence when my thoughts are seldom removed
-from you which must assuredly set me
-aworkinge of any thinge may doe you good, &amp;
-for writinge the one of us yf not both never
-let messenges pass without letter, your stay
-abroad is so short in any one place &amp; we so
-unhappy in givinge you contentment as our letters
-com not to your hands which we are sorry
-for. And to tel you further of S’r John Da’vers
-Love which I dare sweare is to no man
-more, he is &amp; hath beene so careful to keep
-you from lake of money now you are abroad as
-your Baylife faylinge payment as they continually
-doe &amp; pay no man, he goeth to your Merchaunt,
-offers him self &amp; all the powers he
-can make to supply you as your occasions may
-require, mistake him not, but beleeve me there
-was never a tenderer hart or a lovinger minde
-in any man then is in him towards you who
-have power to com’aund him &amp; all that is his.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
-Now for your Baylifs I must tell you they have
-not yet payed your brothers all their Anuities
-due at Midsom’er past &amp; but half due at
-Christmas last and no news of the rest, this yf
-advauntage were taken might be preiuditiall to
-you and it is ill for your Brothers &amp; very ill
-you have such officers.</p>
-
-<p>“I hope it will bringe you home &amp; that is
-all the good can com of this. your sister
-Johnes hath long beene sicke &amp; within this
-8 dayes hath brought a boy she is so weake as
-she is much feared by those aboute her. my
-Lady Vachell lyes now adyeinge the bell hath
-twice gone for her. your wife &amp; sweet children
-are well &amp; herein I send you little Florence
-letter to see what comfort you may have
-of your deare children, let them, my Dear
-sonn, draw you home &amp; affoorde them your
-care and me your comfort that desire more to
-see you then I desire any thinge ells in the
-world, and now I end with my dayly prayer
-for your health and safe retorne to Your ever
-lovinge mother,</p>
-
-<div class="sig">
-Magd: Da’vers.</div>
-
-<p>“I have received the Pattent of your Br:
-William, &amp; S’r John hath beene with the ambassatore
-who stayes for S’r James Sandaline<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
-his cominge.”</p></div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
-<p>A sympathizing reader, aware of sequences,
-may wonder whence Sir John
-drew “all the powers he can make”! The
-dignified letter, with its undulating syntax
-and thrifty punctuation, harmonizes
-with all we know of this delightful woman,
-who could so reproach what she
-deemed a shortcoming, without a touch
-of temper. How affectionate is the reference
-to the “little Florence” who died
-young, and to the other children, sufficiently
-precious to all that household, except
-to the wool-gathering chevalier their
-father, far away! Their innocent faces
-peer again through a sweet postscript of
-their grand-uncle: (“Dick is here, Ned
-and Bettye at Haughmond,”) written in
-the winter, from Eyton, to the truant at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
-the Hague.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> This same genial Sir Francis
-Newport, “imoderately desyring to
-see you,” confides to his nephew, during
-what he complains of as “a verye drye
-and hott time”<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> for Shropshire farmers,
-that “mye syster your mother is confident
-to take a iourney into these pts this
-somer, the rather, I think, because yo’r
-brother Vaugh’n is dead &amp; if yo’ have
-a willing harte you maye come tyme
-enough to acco’pany her heare, &amp; would
-not then the companye bee much the
-better?” But we fear the little excursion
-never came off. Edward Herbert’s next
-visit to his home, presumably after a four-years’
-absence, was in 1619; and in May
-of that year he accepted the office of
-Ambassador to France, and spread his
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>ready wing again to the Continent. And
-the <i>Athenæ Oxoniensis</i> will not let us forget
-that the too spirited envoy had to be
-temporarily recalled in 1621, because he
-had “irreverently treated” De Luynes,
-the powerful but good-for-nothing Constable
-of France. It is not insignificant
-that this was the year in which George
-Herbert wrote to his mother in one of his
-consoling moods, bidding her be of good
-cheer, albeit her health and wealth were
-gone, and the conduct of her children
-was not very satisfying!</p>
-
-<p>We know that Lady Danvers had the
-“honor, love, obedience, troops of friends”
-which became her, and that she lost none
-of her influence, none of her serene charm.
-Her poet was much with her in his advancing
-age. In July, 1625, while the
-plague was raging in London, Donne reminded
-Sir Henry Wotton of the leisure
-he enjoyed, golden as Cicero’s, by dating
-his letter “from S’r John Davor’s house
-at Chelsey, of w’ich house &amp; my Lord
-Carlil’s at Hanworth I make up my Tusculum.”
-Many a peaceful evening must
-they have passed upon the terraces, within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
-sound of the solemn songs always dear
-to both. Visitors yet more illustrious
-came there from the city; for the noble
-hostess had once the privilege of reviving
-the great Lord Bacon,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> who had fainted
-in her garden. We learn, with sympathy,
-that “sickness, in the declination
-of her years, had opened her to an overflowing
-of melancholy; not that she ever
-lay under that water, but yet had, sometimes,
-some high tides of it.” Death
-chose Dr. Donne’s ministering angel before
-him, after thirty years of mutual
-fealty. Her restless son Edward, now at
-home, was already eminent, and wearing
-his little Irish title of Baron Castleisland;
-her thoughtful Charles was long dead;
-her brother, also, was no more; her
-daughters were matrons, and dwelling in
-prosperity. With but one unfulfilled wish,
-that of seeing her favorite George married
-and in holy orders,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> and after a life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
-which left a wake of sunshine behind
-it in the world, very patiently and hopefully
-Magdalen Newport, Lady Danvers,
-entered upon eternity, in the early June of
-1627. On the eighth day of the month,
-in St. Luke’s, the parish church of Chelsea,
-she was buried:</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Old age with snow-bright hair, and folded palm,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">the final earthly glimpse of her still
-traditionally beautiful. On the first of
-July her faithful liegeman, now Dean of
-St. Paul’s and Vicar of St. Dunstan-in-the-West,
-preached her funeral sermon there,
-before a crowd of the great ones of London,
-the clergy, and the poor. Izaak
-Walton’s kind face looked up from a near
-pew, whence he saw Dr. Donne’s tears,
-and felt his breaking voice, the voice of
-one who did not belie his friend, nigh the
-end of his own pilgrimage. In present
-grief and among graver memories, he had
-the true perception not to forget how
-joyous she had been. “She died,” he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
-“without any change of countenance or
-posture, without any struggling, any disorder,
-. . . and expected that which she hath
-received: God’s physic and God’s music,
-a Christianly death. . . . She was eyes to
-the blind, and feet to the lame, . . . naturally
-cheerful and merry, and loving facetiousness
-and sharpness of wit.” His
-own fund of mirth and strength was fast
-going; and a haunting line of his youth,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“And all my pleasures are like yesterday,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">must have reverted to him many and
-many a time. Morbid and persistent
-thoughts beset him from this hour, probably,
-more than ever, until he had the effigy
-of himself, painted as he was, laid in
-his failing sight;<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> morbid and persistent
-thoughts of the ruin which befalls the
-bright bodies of humanity, sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
-surging up in his loneliness, and crowding
-out the better vision which yet may
-“grace us in the disgrace of death.” His
-inward eye was drawn strongly to his
-friend’s sepulchre, sealed and sombre before
-him, and to what had been her, “going
-into dust now almost a month of
-days, almost a lunar year . . . which, while
-I speak, is mouldering and crumbling into
-less and less dust.” But he ended in a
-wholesomer strain, subdued and calm:
-“This good soul being thus laid down
-to sleep in His peace, ‘I charge you, O
-daughters of Jerusalem, that ye wake her
-not!’”</p>
-
-<p>The rare little duodecimo which contains
-Lady Danvers’s funeral sermon was
-printed soon after, “together with other
-Commemorations of Her, by her Sonne
-G. Herbert,” and offered to the public at
-the Golden Lion in Paul’s Churchyard.
-The commemorations are in Greek and
-Latin. Strangely enough, nowhere is the
-sweet and sage poet of <i>The Temple</i> so set
-upon his prosody, so given to awkward
-pagan conceits, so out of tune with the
-ideals of classic diction. But he, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
-tenderly loved his mother, has given to
-us, in the <i>Memoriæ Matris Sacrum</i>, several
-precious personal fragments, and one
-more precious whole picture of daily habits
-in the lines beginning <i>Corneliæ sanctæ:</i>
-her morning prayer, her bath, and
-the plaiting of her glossy hair; her housewifely
-cares, her fit replies, her writing to
-her friends, her passion for music, her
-gentle helpfulness; the long felicity of a
-glad and stainless life,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Quicquid habet tellus, quicquid et astra, fruens.”</div>
-
-<p>Dr. Donne died in 1631, whatever was
-yet of earth in his spirit healed and chastened
-by long pain. His last remembrance
-to some he loved was his own
-seal of Christ on the Anchor, “engraven
-very small on heliotropium stones, and
-set in gold, for rings.” Many of those to
-whom his heart would have turned, the
-“autumnal beauty” scarce second among
-them, had preceded him out of England.
-But in travelling towards his Maker, he
-had that other sacred hope to “ebb on
-with them,” and gloriously overtake them,
-as he traced the epitaph which covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
-him in old St. Paul’s: “<i>Hic licet in occiduo
-cinere, aspicit eum cujus nomen est
-Oriens</i>.” The tie between himself and
-her was not unremembered in the next
-generation; for we find John Donne the
-younger dedicating his father’s posthumous
-work to Francis, Lord Newport, and
-when making his will, in 1662, bequeathing
-also to the same Lord Newport “the
-picture of St. Anthony in a round frame.”
-And thus, in a revived fragrance, the annals
-of true friendship close.</p>
-
-<p>These rapid, ragged strokes of a pen
-make the only possible biography of
-Lady Danvers. When Walton wrote of
-her, he had the entire correspondence
-with Dr. Donne before him.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> “There were
-sacred endearments betwixt these two excellent
-persons,” he assures us, but disappointingly
-hurries on into the highway of
-his subject. It is curious that it seems
-impossible now to trace these breathing
-relics, or others from the same source;
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>for George Herbert, in the second elegy
-of the <i>Parentalia</i>, has much to say, and
-very sweetly, of the industry of his mother’s
-“white right hand,” and of the “many
-and most notable letters, flying over all
-the world.” Much detail is utterly lost
-which men who agree with Prosper
-Mérimée that all Thucydides would not
-be worth an authentic memoir of Aspasia,
-or even of one of the slaves of
-Pericles, might be glad to remember. A
-copy of a song, a reminiscence of the
-glow and stir of the days through which
-she moved, a guess through a mist at the
-blond head,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> the half-imperious carriage,
-the open hand, as she went her ways, like
-Dante’s lovely lady, <i>sentendosi laudare</i>,—these
-are all we have of the daughter of
-England’s golden age. It would be easy,
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>were it also just, to throw a dash of color
-into her shadowy history. One would
-like to verify the scene at Eyton, while
-the news of the coming Armada roused
-the lion in Drake, and struck terror into
-the Devon towns; and to hear the young
-wife, with three lisping Herberts at her
-knee, beguile them with mellow contralto
-snatches of a Robin Hood ballad, or
-with the sweet yesterday’s tale of Zutphen,
-where their country’s dearest gave
-his cup of water to a dying comrade. A
-decade later, before their handsome bluff
-father, her other healthful boys stood up
-to wrestle, and twang their arrows at
-forty paces; or a rosy daughter stole to
-his side, and asked him of mishaps in Ireland,
-or of the giant laughter bubbling
-from the “oracle of Apollo” in a London
-street. It is to be believed that one who
-watched events through the insurrection
-of Essex, through Raleigh’s dramatic trial,
-reprieve, and execution, through the national
-mourning for the Prince of Wales,
-through the fever for colonization, the
-savage sea-fights, the great intrigues in
-behalf of the Queen of Scots, the religious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
-divisions, the muttering parliamentary
-thunders, the stress and heat of the
-exciting dawn of the seventeenth century,
-was not unmindful of all it meant to be
-alive, there and then. Magdalen Newport’s
-girlhood fell on Lyly’s <i>Euphues</i>,
-fresh from the printers; the <i>Arcadia</i>
-made the talk of Oxford, in her prime;
-the dusky splendor of Marlowe’s <i>Faustus</i>
-was abroad before her second marriage.
-She was, surely, aware of Shakespeare,
-and of the wonder-folio of 1623; of the
-newest delighting madrigals and antiphons
-set forth by one Robert Jones,
-when every soul in England had the gift
-of music; of rascal Robert Greene’s lovable
-lyrics, of Wyatt’s, Campion’s, and
-Drayton’s. She wrote no verses, indeed,
-but her familiars wrote them; her every
-step jostled a Muse. We may assume
-that no growth nor loss in literary circles
-escaped that tender “perplexing eye.”
-Perhaps it glistened from a bench, in the
-pioneer British theatre, on the actors of
-<i>Volpone</i>, and followed silently, behind the
-royal group, the first mincings of the first
-dear Fool in <i>King Lear</i>, one day-after-Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
-at Whitehall. Last of all, for
-whim’s sake, how any sociologist would
-enjoy having the honest opinion of young
-Lady Herbert, or that of little Mistress
-Donne, concerning the person they could
-but thank and praise! <i>Utinam vivisset
-Pepys!</i> It is a cheat of history that it
-preserves no clearer tint or trace of this
-chosen passer-by. Such, in truth, she
-was, and the quiet vanishing name clings
-to her: the woman of durable gladness,
-happily born and taught, like the soul
-whereof Sir Henry Wotton, who must have
-known her well, made his immortal song.</p>
-
-<p>Of the gracious figure of Sir John Danvers
-we may be said to lose sight; for he
-seems less gracious, as by a Hindoo trick,
-as soon as it is written that his wife
-departed unto her reward. Comment
-on his character is equal comment upon
-hers, and adds new force to the classic
-episode of a lady philanthropist espousing
-a ne’er-do-weel and a featherbrain.
-Aubrey, always happy over a little ultra-contemporary
-gossip, calls it “a disagreeable
-match,” disappointing to the bridegroom’s
-kindred; but adds that “he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
-married her for love of her wit.” Now,
-wit is an admirable magnet, but it is to
-be suspected that there was also, and in
-the immediate vicinity, “metal more attractive,”
-as Hamlet says. In the Chelsea
-parish-books is an entry, the first of its
-kind, certifying that Sir John Danvers had
-settled his account with “the poore,” a
-matter of thirty pounds’ loan (in which
-the vicar must have connived), for the
-year ending in January of 1628. If the
-payment were, by any hap, in advance, it
-may have fallen in Lady Danvers’s own
-lifetime; and if so, it is quite as likely that
-she paid it, with an admonition! Her
-“high tides of melancholy,” of whose
-true cause she certainly would not have
-complained to Dr. Donne, had something
-to do with this young spendthrift,
-who must have had his wheedling way,
-sooner or later, with such of her ample
-revenues as were yet extant. Perhaps
-Lord Herbert of Cherbury was
-both shrewd and charitable, in suppressing
-mention of his new relative.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
-longer one looks into the matter, the
-less curious seems his unexplained silence
-concerning this late graft of a family
-hitherto always respectable and always
-loyal.</p>
-
-<p>There are gleams of subsequent private
-history in the tell-tale records at Chelsea.
-We are not incurably astonished to learn
-that as early as May of 1629 was christened
-Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John
-Danvers and Elizabeth his wife. This
-Lady Elizabeth, arriving providentially
-with her Dauntsey wealth, having borne
-him four children, died, as did his mother,
-in 1636; and left him even as she
-found him, none too monogamous. In
-1648 Sir John Danvers again appeared
-at the venerable altars where his first
-saint never had a memorial, loving, honoring,
-and cherishing a Mrs. Grace Hewes,
-Hawes, or Hewet, of Kemerton in Gloucestershire,
-and, as it is to be surmised, leading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
-her tame fortune by a ribbon. His
-debts and difficulties, not of one but of
-all time, sprout perennially in the registers.
-His indefatigable name, oftener
-than any rival’s whatsoever, figures as
-borrowing and paying interest on a forty-pound
-note, which, like a Hydra-head, was
-always forthcoming so soon as it was demolished.
-This disgraceful business was
-the man’s chief concern: for the older
-he grew the deeper and deeper he sank
-into entanglements, particularly after the
-death of the King. It was never doubted,
-in his day, but that this was a judgment
-on the former Gentleman Usher who affixed
-hand and seal to the warrant of his
-sovereign’s execution.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> His own family,
-it is said, as well as the royalist Herberts
-and Newports, dropped his acquaintance;
-and who knows whether Mrs. Grace Hewet
-was faithful? At his favorite Chelsea, in
-the April of 1655, and in about the seventy-fourth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
-year of his age, Sir John Danvers
-ended his career by more conventional
-agencies than the rope and the knife,
-which might have befallen him in the
-Stuart triumph of the morrow. His manor
-fell an immediate forfeit to the crown.
-In 1661, the dead republican was attainted,
-and all of his estate which was
-unprotected was declared regal booty.
-The year before his own burial at Dauntsey
-he laid there, “to the great grief of
-all good men,” the body of his elder son
-Henry, who had just attained his majority.
-The Earl of Danby had died, “full of honors,
-wounds, and days,” in 1643, while this
-Henry, his nephew, was still a hopeful
-child; and on him alone he had taken
-pains to settle his possessions. But Henry,
-in turn, was persuaded to bequeath the
-major part of them to his father’s ever-gaping
-pocket, the remainder reverting
-to one of his two surviving sisters. The
-third Lady Danvers, who lived until 1678,
-had also a son Charles,<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> who petitioned
-the crown for his paternal rights, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
-died in old age, with neither income nor
-issue.</p>
-
-<p>Clarendon quietly indicts Sir John
-Danvers as a “proud, formal, weak man,”
-such as Cromwell “employed and contemned
-at once.” George Bate gives
-him a harder character, saying that he
-“proved his brother to be a delinquent in
-the Rump Parliament, whereby he might
-overthrow his will, and so compass the
-estate himself. He sided with the sectarian
-party, was one of the King’s judges,
-and lived afterwards some years in his
-sin, without repentance.” But the same
-accuser adds the saving fact that Dr.
-Thomas Fuller, like Aubrey, was Sir
-John’s friend, and, by his desire, preached
-many times at Chelsea, “where, I am
-sure, he was instructed to repent of his
-misguided and wicked consultations in
-having to do with the murther of that
-just man.” One half surmises that had
-the preliminaries of the great struggle
-occurred in her time Magdalen Herbert’s
-rather austere and advanced standards
-of right would have stood it out, despite
-her traditions, for the Commons against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
-<i>Carolus Agnus</i>.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> But that would have
-been a very different matter from sharing
-the feelings of the crude advocates
-of revolution and regicide. What
-a misconception of her spotless motives
-must she have borne, had others
-found her in agreement with her vagabond
-lord, who treated politics as he
-treated the sacrament of matrimony,
-purely as a makeshift and a speculation!</p>
-
-<p>He was no raw-head-and-bloody-bones,
-this Roderigo-like Briton who won the
-approval of Lord Bacon, and whom George
-Wither thanks for “those pleasurable refreshments
-often vouchsafed”; and whom
-very different men, such as George Herbert
-and Walton<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> and peaceable Fuller
-loved. He was a comely creature of
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>some parts, a luckless worldling anxious
-to feather his own nest, and driven by
-timidity and the desire of gain into
-treacheries against himself. His short,
-thin, and “fayre bodie,” common, as
-George Herbert would have us imply,
-to all who bore his name, his elegance,
-his hospitality, and his devotedness to
-his elderly wife, carried him off handsomely
-in the eyes of her jealous circle.
-His house in Chelsea, commemorated now
-by Danvers Street, adjoined that which
-had been Sir Thomas More’s, and was presumably
-a part of the same estate. All
-around it, and due to its master’s genuine
-enthusiasm, lay the first Italian garden
-planted in England; and there, rolling
-towards the Thames, were the long glowing
-flower-beds and green orchard-alleys,
-which were also the “<i>horti deliciæ dominæ</i>”
-recalled thrice in the music of filial
-sorrow. This home of Magdalen Danvers
-was pulled down, and built over, in
-1716. Within its unfallen walls, where
-she spent her serene married life, and
-where she died, she had time to think,
-nevertheless, that she stood, towards evening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
-in the ways of folly, and that hers
-was one of those little incipient domestic
-tragedies which must always look amusing,
-even to a friend.</p>
-
-
-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1">[1]</a> Walton confuses this Edward Herbert with a namesake
-entered at Queen’s College; and he follows the
-erring dates of the <i>Autobiography of Lord Herbert of
-Cherbury</i>. The boy’s age is correctly given as fourteen
-in the college registers.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2">[2]</a> Donne had been in residence at both Universities,
-but took no degree at either, as he had scruples against
-accepting the conditions imposed. He was at that time,
-and until about 1593, like his parents, a Catholic. His
-father was of Welsh descent: a fact which may have
-borne its share in attracting him towards the Herberts.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3">[3]</a> Anne Donne, it may be remarked, was also the
-name of Cowper’s mother.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4">[4]</a> Sir Richard Baker’s <i>Chronicle</i>, 1684, mentions Dr.
-Donne as one of his “heroic Grecians,” and adds, in
-the same breath, that he was “a great visitor of ladies.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5">[5]</a> Dr. Donne’s conceit about the ages of his friends is
-better handled in the young Cartwright’s</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Chloe, why wish you that your years,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">a little later. It is not impossible that Cartwright, an
-Oxonian and an observer, may have drawn upon Donne’s
-report of this very wedding for his charming and ingenious
-lyric.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6">[6]</a> This august personage was one of the Spencers of
-Althorp. At this time she had been for six years the
-wife of her second husband, the Lord Keeper Egerton,
-although retaining the magnificent title of her widowhood.
-At their estate of Harefield in Middlesex, Milton’s
-<i>Arcades</i> was afterwards given, and it will be remembered
-what fine compliments to the then aged countess-dowager
-figure in its opening verses. Spenser’s <i>Teares of the
-Muses</i> had been dedicated to her, in her prime, and she
-was the Amaryllis “highest in degree” of his <i>Colin
-Clout’s Come Home Again</i>.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7">[7]</a> Sir James Sandelyn, Sandalo, or Sandilands (who
-cuts his finest figure as Jacobus Sandilandius in <i>The
-Muses’ Welcome</i>) was appointed Maistre d’Hostel to the
-beloved and beautiful Princess Elizabeth on her marriage
-to Frederic, Count Palatine of the Rhine, afterwards
-King of Bohemia, in 1612. As Sir James’s name is down
-on the lists of the Exchequer for a gift in 1615, and as his
-little son Richard was baptized in Deptford Church two
-months after the date of Lady Danvers’s letter, we may
-conclude that he came back to England just when the
-“ambassatore” expected him.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8">[8]</a> Edward Herbert served as a volunteer in the campaign
-of 1614-15 in the Netherlands, under the Prince of
-Orange. Richard Herbert, here mentioned, was his eldest
-son, a future Cavalier and captain of a troop of horse
-in the Civil Wars; Edward was the baby, and “Bettye”
-the child Beatrice, destined, like her sister, to a short
-life.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9">[9]</a> This 1614-15 was an eccentric and un-English year
-throughout. The winter signalized itself by the Great
-Snow; “<i>frigus intensum</i>,” as Camden says, “<i>et nix
-copiosissima</i>.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10">[10]</a> Lord Bacon dedicated to Edward Herbert, “the father
-of English deists,” his very flat translation of the
-Psalms! George wrote three Latin poems in his honor,
-one being upon the occasion of his death.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11">[11]</a> He was, in July of 1626, ordained deacon, and prebendary
-of Layton Ecclesia in Huntingdonshire. Readers
-of Walton will remember how his dear mother invited
-him to commit simony on that occasion.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12">[12]</a> The standing marble figure in a winding-sheet which
-Dr. King had modelled upon this strange painting on wood,
-may yet be seen in the south ambulatory of the choir of
-St. Paul’s; almost the only relic saved from the old cathedral
-which perished in the Great Fire of 1666. It is not
-only of unique interest, but of considerable artistic beauty,
-and “seems to breathe faintly,” as Sir Henry Wotton said
-of it.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13">[13]</a> Dr. Donne’s papers were bequeathed to Dr. Henry
-King, the poet-Bishop of Chichester, then residentiary of
-St. Paul’s. The “find” were a precious one, if they yet
-survive.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14">[14]</a> The half-romantic reference, which occurs more than
-once in Donne’s poems, to his own long-dead arm which
-still shall keep</p>
-
-<div class="center">“The bracelet of bright hair about the bone,”—</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">has it nothing to do with this blond head? <i>Honi soit
-qui mal y pense.</i> The internal evidences in <i>The Relic</i>,
-with its mention of St. Mary Magdalen, and its boast of
-purest friendship, and the roguery of the closing line in
-<i>The Funeral</i>, are somewhat strong, nevertheless.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15">[15]</a> The famous <i>Autobiography</i>, indeed, boldly assures
-posterity that Lady Herbert, after 1597, “continued unmarried,”
-and, in brief, “was the woman Dr. Donne hath
-described her.” The acknowledgment of the accuracy of
-that funeral sermon, containing, as it does, its very specific
-Danvers passages, is in our fearless philosopher’s best
-style.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16">[16]</a> There was afterwards, in France, a Gentleman of the
-Bedchamber who had other notions. “Gratitude,” said
-Thierry to his executioner in the court-yard of the Abbaye—“gratitude
-has no opinions. I am leal to my master.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17">[17]</a> An elder Charles, son of the Lady Elizabeth Danvers,
-was baptized in 1632, and must have died early.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18">[18]</a> Edward Herbert sided eventually with the Parliament,
-which indemnified him for the burning and sacking of
-Montgomery Castle.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19">[19]</a> The six very innocent, cheerful, pious ten-syllable
-stanzas, attributed in <i>The Complete Angler</i> to “another
-angler, Jo. Davors, Esq.,” are not, it is hardly necessary
-to add, from our scapegrace’s pen. He ceased to
-be “Jo. Davors, Esq.,” when Walton was fourteen years
-old.</p></div></div>
-
-
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a><br /><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h2>II<br />
-
-HENRY VAUGHAN<br />
-
-<small>1621-1695</small></h2>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a><br /><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div>
- <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-064-drop-i.jpg" width="110" height="106" alt="I" />
-</div>
-
-<p class="drop-capi">IN his own person, Henry
-Vaughan left no trace in
-society. His life seemed
-to slip by like the running
-water on which he was forever
-gazing and moralizing, and his memory
-met early with the fate which he
-hardly foresaw. Descended from the royal
-chiefs of southern Wales whom Tacitus
-mentions, and whose abode, in the day of
-Roman domination, was in the district
-called Siluria,<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> he called himself the Silurist
-upon his title-pages; and he keeps
-the distinctive name in the humblest of
-epitaphs, close by his home in the glorious
-valley of the Usk and the little Honddu,
-under the shadow of Tretower, the
-ruined castle of his race, and of Pen-y-Fan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
-and his kindred peaks. What we
-know of him is a sort of pastoral: how
-he was born, the son of a poor gentleman,
-in 1621, at Newton St. Bridget, in the old
-house yet asleep on the road between
-Brecon and Crickhowel; how he went
-up to Oxford, Laud’s Oxford, with Thomas,
-his twin, as a boy of sixteen, to be entered
-at Jesus College;<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> how he took his
-degree (just where and when no one can
-discover), and came back, after a London
-revel, to be the village physician, though
-he was meant for the law, in what had become
-his brother’s parish of Llansantffraed;
-to write books full of sequestered
-beauty, to watch the most tragic of
-wars, to look into the faces of love and
-loss, and to spend his thoughtful age on
-the bowery banks of the river he had always
-known, his <i>Isca parens florum</i>, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
-which he consecrated many a sweet English
-line. And the ripple of the not
-unthankful Usk was “distinctly audible
-over its pebbles,” as was the Tweed to the
-failing sense of Sir Walter, in the room
-where Henry Vaughan drew his last
-breath, on St. George’s day, April 23, 1695.
-He died exactly seventy-nine years after
-Shakespeare, exactly one hundred and
-fifty-five years before Wordsworth.</p>
-
-<p>Circumstances had their way with him,
-as with most poets. He knew the touch
-of disappointment and renunciation, not
-only in life, but in his civic hopes and in
-his art. He broke his career in twain,
-and began over, before he had passed
-thirty; and he showed great æsthetic
-discretion, as well as disinterestedness, in
-replacing his graceful early verses by the
-deep dedications of his prime. Religious
-faith and meditation seem so much part
-of his innermost nature, it is a little difficult
-to remember that Vaughan considered
-himself a brand snatched from the
-burning, a lawless Cavalier brought by
-the best of chances to the quiet life, and
-the feet of the moral Muse. He suffered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
-most of the time between 1643 and 1651
-from a sorely protracted and nearly fatal
-illness; and during its progress his wife
-and his dearest friends were taken from
-him. Nor was the execution of the
-King a light event to so sensitive a poet
-and so passionate a partisan. Meanwhile
-Vaughan read George Herbert, and his
-theory of proportional values began to
-change. It was a season of transition
-and silent crises, when men bared their
-breasts to great issues, and when it was
-easy for a childlike soul,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Weary of her vain search below, above,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the first Fair to find the immortal Love.”<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Vaughan, in his new fervor, did his best
-to suppress the numbers written in his
-youth, thus clearing the field for what
-he afterwards called his “hagiography”;
-and a critic may wonder what he found
-in his first tiny volume of 1646, or in <i>Olor
-Iscanus</i>, to regret or cancel. Every unbaptized
-song is “bright only in its own
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>innocence, and kindles nothing but a
-generous thought”; and one of them, at
-least, has a manly postlude of love and
-resolve worthy of the free lyres of Lovelace
-and Montrose. Vaughan, unlike
-other ardent spirits of his class, had nothing
-very gross to be sorry for; if he was,
-indeed, one of his own</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5em;">“feverish souls,</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Sick with a scarf or glove,”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">he had none but noble ravings. Happily,
-his very last verses, <i>Thalia Rediviva</i>,
-breaking as it were by accident a silence
-of twenty-three years, indorse with cheerful
-gallantry the accents of his youth.
-The turn in his life which brought him
-lasting peace, in a world rocking between
-the cant of the Parliament and resurgent
-audacity and riot, achieved for us a body
-of work which, small as it is, has rare interest,
-and an out-of-door beauty, as of
-the natural dusk, “breathless with adoration,”
-which is almost without parallel.
-Eternity has been known to spoil a poet
-for time, but not in this instance. Never
-did religion and art interchange a more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
-fortunate service, outside Italian studios.
-Once he had shaken off secular
-ambitions, Vaughan’s voice grew at
-once freer and more forceful. In him a
-marked intellectual gain sprang from an
-apparently slight spiritual readjustment,
-even as it did, three centuries later, in
-one greater than he, John Henry Newman.</p>
-
-<p>Vaughan’s work is thickly sown with
-personalities, but they are so delicate and
-involved that there is little profit in detaching
-them. What record he made at
-the University is not apparent; nor is it
-at all sure that so independent and speculative
-a mind applied itself gracefully
-to the curriculum. He was, in the only
-liberal sense, a learned man, full of life-long
-curiosity for the fruit of the Eden
-Tree. His lines beginning</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Quite spent with thought I left my cell”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">show the acutest thirst for hidden knowledge;
-he would “most gladly die,” if
-death might buy him intellectual growth.
-He looks forward to eternity as to the
-unsealing and disclosing of mysteries. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
-makes the soul sing joyously to the
-body:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I that here saw darkly, in a glass,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But mists and shadows pass,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And by their own weak shine did search the springs</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And source of things,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Shall, with inlighted rays,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Pierce all their ways!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">With an imperious query, he encounters
-the host of midnight stars:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“Who circled in</span><br />
-Corruption with this glorious ring?”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>What Vaughan does know is nothing
-to him; when he salutes the Bodleian
-from his heart, he is thinking how little
-honey he has gathered from that vast
-hive, and how little it contains, when
-measured with what there is to learn
-from living and dying. He had small
-respect for the sinister sciences among
-which the studies of his beloved brother,
-a Neo-Platonist, lay. Though he was no
-pedant, he dearly loved to get in a slap
-against the ignorant whom we have always
-with us. At twenty-five, he printed
-a good adaptation of the Tenth of Juvenal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
-and flourished his wit, in the preface,
-at the expense of some possible gentle
-reader of the parliamentary persuasion
-who would “quarrel with antiquitie.”
-“These, indeed, may think that they
-have slept out so many centuries in this
-Satire, and are now awaked; which had
-it been still Latin, perhaps their nap had
-been everlasting!”</p>
-
-<p>He was an optimist, proven through
-much personal trial; he had sympathy
-with the lower animals, and preserved a
-humorous deference towards all things
-alive, even the leviathan of Holy Writ,
-which he affectionately exalts into “the
-shipmen’s fear” and “the comely spacious
-whale”! Vaughan adored his
-friends; he had a unique veneration for
-childhood; his adjective for the admirable
-and beautiful, whether material
-or immaterial, is “dear”; and his mind
-dwelt with habitual fondness on what
-Sir Thomas Browne (a man after his
-own heart) calls “incomprehensibles, and
-thoughts of things which thoughts do
-but tenderly touch.”</p>
-
-<p>His occupation as a resident physician<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
-must have fostered his fine eye and ear
-for the green earth, and furnished him,
-day by day, with musings in sylvan solitudes,
-and rides abroad over the fresh
-hill-paths. The breath of the mountains
-is about his books. An early riser, he
-uttered a constant invocation to whomever
-would listen, that</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 8em;">“Manna was not good</span><br />
-After sun-rising; far-day sullies flowers.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He was hospitable on a limited income.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a>
-His verses of invitation <i>To his Retired
-Friend</i>, which are not without their
-thrusts at passing events, have a classic
-jollity fit to remind the reader of Randolph’s
-ringing ode to Master Anthony
-Stafford. Again and again Vaughan reiterates
-the Socratic and Horatian song
-of content: that he has enough lands
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>and money, that there are a thousand
-things he does not want, that he is
-blessed in what he has. All this does
-not prevent him from recording the phenomenal
-ebb-tides of his purse, and from
-whimsically synthesizing on “the threadbare,
-goldless genealogie” of bards! No
-sour zealot in anything, he enjoyed an
-evening now and then at the Globe Tavern
-in London, where he consumed his
-sack with relish, that he might be “possessor
-of more soul,” and “after full cups
-have dreams poetical.” But he was no
-lover of the town. Country life was his
-joy and pride; the only thing which
-seemed, in his own most vivid phrase, to
-“fill his breast with home.”</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Here something still like Eden looks!<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Honey in woods, juleps in brooks.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>A literary acquaintance, one unrecognized
-N. W., congratulates Vaughan that
-he is able to “give his Muse the swing
-in an hereditary shade.” He translated
-with great gusto <i>The Old Man of Verona</i>,
-out of Claudian, and Guevara’s <i>Happiness
-of Country Life;</i> and he notes with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
-satisfaction that Abraham was of his
-rural mind, in “Mamre’s holy grove.”
-Vaughan was an angler, need it be added?
-Nay, the autocrat of anglers: he
-was a salmon-catcher.</p>
-
-<p>With “the charity which thinketh no
-evil,” he loved almost everything, except
-the Jesuits, and his ogres the Puritans.
-For Vaughan knew where he stood, and
-his opinion of Puritanism never varied.
-He kept his snarls and satires, for the
-most part, hedged within his prose, the
-proper ground of the animosities. When
-he put on his singing-robes, he tried to
-forget, not always with success, his
-spites and bigotries. For his life, he
-could not help sidelong glances, stings,
-strictures between his teeth, thistle-down
-hints cast abroad in the neatest of generalities:</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Who saint themselves, they are no saints!”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">The introduction to his <i>Mount of Olives</i>
-(whose pages have a soft billowy music
-like Jeremy Taylor’s) is nominally inscribed
-to “the peaceful, humble, and
-pious reader.” That functionary must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
-have found it a trial to preserve his
-peaceful and pious abstraction, while the
-peaceful and pious author proceeded to
-flout the existing government, in a towering
-rage, and in very elegant caustic
-English. Vaughan was none too godly
-to be a thorough hater. He was genially
-disposed to the pretensions of every human
-creature; he refused to consider his
-ancestry and nurture by themselves, as
-any guarantee of the justice of his views
-or of his superior insight into affairs.
-Yet in spite of his enforced Quaker attitude
-during the clash of arms, he nursed
-in that gentle bosom the heartiest loathing
-of democracy, and shared the tastes
-of a certain clerk of the Temple “who
-never could be brought to write Oliver
-with a great O.” It is fortunate that
-he did not spoil himself, as Wither did,
-upon the wheels of party, for politics
-were his most vehement concern. Had
-he been richer, as he tells us in a playful
-passage, nothing on earth would have
-kept him from meddling with national
-issues.</p>
-
-<p>The poets, save the greatest, Milton,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
-his friend Andrew Marvell, and Wither,
-rallied in a bright group under the royal
-standard. Those among them who did
-not fight were commonly supposed, as
-was Drummond of Hawthornden, to redeem
-their reputation by dying of grief
-at the overthrow of the King. Yet
-Vaughan did not fight, and Vaughan did
-not die of grief. It is so sure that he
-suffered some privation, and it may be
-imprisonment, for his allegiance, that
-shrewd guessers, before now, have
-equipped him and placed him in the
-ranks of the losing cause, where he might
-have had choice company. His generous
-erratic brother (a writer of some note, an
-alchemist, an Orientalist, a Rosicrucian,
-who was ejected from his vicarage in
-1654, and died either of the plague, or of
-inhaling the fumes of a caldron, at Albury,
-in 1665, while the court was at Oxford)<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a>
-had been a recruit, and a brave
-one. But Henry Vaughan explicitly tells
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>us, in his <i>Ad Posteros</i>, and in a prayer in
-the second part of <i>Silex Scintillans</i>, that
-he had no personal share in the constitutional
-struggle, that he shed no blood.
-Again he cries, in a third lyric,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 13em;">“O accept</span><br />
-Of his vowed heart, whom Thou hast kept<br />
-From bloody men!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">This painstaking record of a fact by one
-so loyal as he goes far to prove, to an
-inductive mind not thoroughly familiar
-with his circumstances, that he considered
-war the worst of current evils, and was
-willing, for this first principle of his philosophy,
-to lay himself open to the charge,
-not indeed of cowardice (was he not a
-Vaughan?), but of lack of appreciation
-for the one romantic opportunity of his
-life. His withdrawal from the turmoil
-which so became his colleagues may seem
-to harmonize with his known moral
-courage and right sentiment; and fancy
-is ready to fasten on him the sad neutrality,
-and the passionate “ingemination”
-for “peace, peace,” which “took
-his sleep from him, and would shortly
-break his heart,” such as Clarendon tells<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
-us of in his beautiful passage touching
-the young Lord Falkland. But it is
-greatly to be feared that Vaughan, despite
-all the abstract reasoning which arrays
-itself against so babyish and barbarous a
-thing as a battle, would have swung himself
-into a saddle as readily as any, had
-not “God’s finger touched him.” A
-comparison of dates will show that he
-was bedridden, while his hot heart was
-afield with the shouting gentlemen whom
-Mr. Browning heard in a vision:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“King Charles! and who’ll do him right, now?<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">King Charles! and who’s ripe for fight, now?</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Give a rouse: here’s in Hell’s despite now,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 7em;">King Charles!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">This is the secret of Vaughan’s blood-guiltlessness.
-Of course he thanked
-Heaven, after, that he was kept clean of
-carnage; he would have thanked Heaven
-for anything that happened to him. It
-was providential that we of posterity lost
-a soldier in the Silurist, and gained a
-poet. As the great confusion cleared, his
-spirit cleared too, and the Vaughan we
-know,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair,”</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">comes in, like a protesting angel, with
-the Commonwealth. Perhaps he lived
-long enough to sum up the vanity of
-statecraft and the instability of public
-choice, driven from tyranny to license,
-from absolute monarchy to absolute anarchy;
-and to turn once more to his
-“loud brook’s incessant fall” as an object
-much worthier of a rational man’s
-regard. Born while James I. was vain-gloriously
-reigning, Henry Vaughan survived
-the Civil War, the two Protectorates,
-the orgies of the Restoration (which
-he did not fail to satirize), and the Revolution
-of “Meenie the daughter,” as the
-old Scots song slyly calls her. He had
-seen the Stuarts in and out, in and out
-again, and his seventy-four years, on-lookers
-at a tragedy, were not forced to
-sit through the dull Georgian farce which
-began almost as soon as his grave was
-green.</p>
-
-<p>Moreover, he was thoroughly out of
-touch with his surroundings. While all
-the world was either devil-may-care or
-Calvin-colored, he had for his characteristic
-a rapt, inexhaustible joy, buoying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
-him up and sweeping him away. He
-might well have said, like Dr. Henry
-More, his twin’s rival and challenger in
-metaphysics, that he was “most of his
-time mad with pleasure.” While</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“every burgess foots</span><br />
-The mortal pavement in eternal boots,”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Vaughan lay indolently along a bank,
-like a shepherd swain, pondering upon
-the brood of “green-heads” who denied
-miracles to have been or to be, and wishing
-the noisy passengers on the highways
-of life could be taught the value of</p>
-
-<div class="center">“A sweet self-privacy in a right soul.”</div>
-
-<p>His mind turned to paradoxes and inverted
-meanings, and the analysis of his
-own tenacious dreams, in an England of
-pikes and bludgeons and hock-carts and
-wassail-cakes. “A proud, humoursome
-person,” Anthony à Wood called him.
-He was something of a fatalist, inasmuch
-as he followed his lonely and straight
-path, away from crowds, and felt eager
-for nothing but what fell into his open
-hands. He strove little, being convinced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
-that temporal advantage is too often
-an eternal handicap. “Who breaks his
-glass to take more light,” he reminds us,
-“makes way for storms unto his rest.”
-This passive quality belongs to happy
-men, and Vaughan was a very happy
-man, thanks to the faith and will which
-made him so, although he had known calamity,
-and had failed in much. Throughout
-his pages one can trace the affecting
-struggle between things desired and
-things forborne. It is only a brave philosopher
-who can afford to pen a stanza
-intimate as this:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“O Thou who didst deny to me<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The world’s adored felicity!</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Keep still my weak eyes from the shine</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of those gay things which are not Thine.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He had better possessions than glory under
-his hand in the health and peace of
-his middle age and in his cheerful home.
-He was twice married, and must have
-lost his first wife, nameless to us, but most
-tenderly mourned, in his twenty-ninth or
-thirtieth year. She seems to have been
-the mother of five of his six children.
-Vaughan was rich in friends. He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
-known Davenant and Cartwright, but it is
-quite characteristic of him that the two
-great authors to whom he was especially
-attached were Jonson and John Fletcher,
-both only a memory at the time of his
-first going to London. Of Randolph,
-Jonson’s strong “son,” who so beggared
-English literature by dying young in
-1634, Vaughan sweetly says somewhere
-that he will hereafter</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Look for Randolph in those holy meads.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Mention of his actual fellow-workers is
-very infrequent, nor does he mention the
-Shakespeare who had “dwelt on earth
-unguessed at,” and who is believed to
-have visited the estates of the Vaughans
-at Scethrog, and to have picked up the
-name of his merry fellow Puck from
-goblin traditions of the neighborhood.
-Vaughan followed his leisure and his
-preference in translating divers works
-of meditation, biography, and medicine,
-pleasing himself, like Queen Bess, with
-naturalizing bits of Boethius, and much
-from Plutarch, Ausonius, Severinus, and
-Claudian. He did some passages from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
-Ovid, but he must have felt sharply the
-violence done to the lyric essence in
-passing it ever so gently from language
-to language, for he lingered over Adrian’s
-darling <i>Animula vagula blandula</i>, only
-to leave it alone, and to write of it as the
-saddest poetry that ever he met with.</p>
-
-<p>Not the least of Henry Vaughan’s
-blessings was his warm friendship with
-“the matchless Orinda.”<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> This delightful
-Catherine Fowler married, in 1647,
-a stanch royalist, Mr. James Philips of
-Cardigan Priory, and as his bride, became
-what, in the Welsh solitudes, was
-considered “neighbor” to Vaughan, her
-home being distant from his just fifty
-miles as the crow flies. She had been,
-in her infancy, a prodigy of Biblical quotation,
-like Evelyn’s little Richard, and
-grew up to be such another <i>précieuse</i> as
-Madame la Comtesse de Lafayette, <i>née</i>
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>Lavergne; but we know that she was the
-cleverest and comeliest of good women,
-and Vaughan’s association with her must
-have been a perpetual sunshine to him
-and his. She prefixed, after the fashion
-of the day, some commendatory verses
-to his published work. They are not
-only pretty, but they furnish a bit of adequate
-criticism. The secular Muse of
-the Silurist is, according to Orinda,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Truth clothed in wit, and Love in innocence,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and has, for her birthright, seriousness
-and a “charming rigour.” The last two
-words might stand for him in the fast-coming
-day when nobody will have time
-to discuss old poets in anything but technical
-terms and epigrams. Orinda, with
-her accurate judgment, should have had
-a chance to talk to Mr. Thomas Campbell,
-who adorned his <i>Specimens</i> with the
-one official and truly prepositional phrase
-that “Vaughan was one of the harshest
-of writers, even of the inferior order of
-the school of conceit!”<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>While Henry Vaughan was preparing
-for publication the first half of <i>Silex
-Scintillans</i> as the token of his arrested
-and uplifted youth, Rev. Mr. Thomas
-Vaughan, backed by a few other sanguine
-Oxonians, and disregardful of his
-twin’s exaggerated remorse for the fruits
-of his profaner years, brought out the
-“formerly written and newly named”
-<i>Olor Iscanus</i>, over the author’s head, in
-1650, and gave to it a motto from the
-Georgics. The preface is in Eugenius
-Philalethes’ own gallant style, and offers
-a haughty commendation to “beauty from
-the light retired.” Perhaps Vaughan’s
-earliest and most partial editor felt, like
-Thoreau on a certain occasion, that it
-were well to make an extreme statement,
-if only so he might make an emphatic
-one. He chose to supplicate the public
-of the Protectorate in this wise: “It was
-the glorious Maro that referred his legacies
-to the fire, and though princes are
-seldom executors, yet there came a Cæsar
-to his testament, as if the act of a poet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
-could not be repealed but by a king. I
-am not, reader, Augustus Vindex: here is
-no royal rescue, but here is a Muse that
-deserves it. The author had long ago
-condemned these poems to obscurity and
-the consumption of that further fate
-which attends it. This censure gave
-them a gust of death, and they have
-partly known that oblivion which our
-best labors must come to at last. I present
-thee, then, not only with a book, but
-with a prey, and, in this kind, the first
-recoveries from corruption. Here is a
-flame hath been some time extinguished,
-thoughts that have been lost and forgot,
-but now they break out again like the
-Platonic reminiscency. I have not the
-author’s approbation to the fact, but I
-have law on my side, though never a
-sword: I hold it no man’s prerogative
-to fire his own house. Thou seest how
-saucy I am grown, and if thou dost expect
-I should commend what is published,
-I must tell thee I cry no Seville oranges;
-I will not say ‘Here is fine,’ or ‘cheap’:
-that were an injury to the verse itself,
-and to the effect it can produce. Read<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
-on; and thou wilt find thy spirit engaged,
-not by the deserts of what we call
-tolerable, but by the commands of a pen
-that is above it.” All this is uncritical,
-but useful and proper on the part of the
-clerical brother, who writes very much as
-Lord Edward Herbert might be supposed
-to write for George under like conditions;
-for he knew, according to an ancient adage,
-that there is great folly in pointing
-out the shortcomings of a work of art to
-eyes uneducated to its beauties. It was
-just as well to insist disproportionately
-upon the principle at stake, that Henry
-Vaughan’s least book was unique and
-precious. He was not, like the majority
-of the happy lyrists of his time, a writer
-by accident; he was strictly a man of
-letters, and his sign-manual is large and
-plain upon everything which bears his
-name. He indites like a Roman, with
-evenness and without a superfluous syllable.
-One cannot italicize him; every
-word is a congested force, packed to
-bursting with meaning and insistence;
-the utterance of a man who has been
-thinking all his life upon his own chosen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
-subjects, and who unerringly despatches
-a language about its business, as if he
-had just created it. Like Andrew Marvell’s
-excellent father, “he never broached
-what he had never brewed.” It follows
-that his work, to which second editions
-were wellnigh unknown, shows scarcely
-any variation from itself. It carries with
-it a testimony that, such as it stands, it is
-the very best its author can do. Its faults
-are not slips; they are quite as radical
-and congenital as its virtues. Vaughan
-(to transfer a fine phrase of Mr. W. T.
-Arnold) is “enamoured of perfection,” but
-he is fully so before he makes up his
-mind to write, and from the first every
-stroke of his pen is fatal. It transfixes
-a noun or a verb, pins it to the page, and
-challenges a reformer to move or replace
-it. His modest Muse is as sure as Shakespeare,
-as nice as Pope; she is incapable
-of scruples and apprehensions, once she
-has spoken. What Vaughan says of Cartwright
-may well be applied to his own
-deliberate grace of diction:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Thou thy thoughts hast drest in such a strain</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">As doth not only speak, but rule and reign.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">His verses have the tone of a Vandyck
-portrait, with all its firm pensive elegance
-and lack of shadow.</p>
-
-<p>Vaughan has very little quaintness, as
-we now understand that word, and none
-of the cloudiness and incorrigible grotesqueness
-which dominated his Alexandrian
-day. He has great temperance;
-he keeps his eye upon the end, and
-scarcely falls at all into “the fond adulteries
-of art,” inversions, unscholarly compound
-words, or hard-driven metaphors.
-If he be difficult to follow, it is only because
-he lives, as it were, in highly oxygenated
-air; he is remote and peculiar,
-but not eccentric. His conceits are not
-monstrous; the worst of them proclaims:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Some love a rose</span></div>
-<div class="verse">In hand, some in the skin;</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But, cross to those,</span></div>
-<div class="verse">I would have mine within”;</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">which will bear a comparison with Carew’s
-hatched cherubim, or with that
-very provincialism of Herbert’s which
-describes a rainbow as the lace of Peace’s
-coat! Those of Vaughan’s figures not
-drawn from the open air, where he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
-happiest, are, indeed, too bold and too
-many, and they come from strange corners:
-from finance, medicine, mills, the
-nursery, and the mechanism of watches
-and clocks. In no one instance, however,
-does he start wrong, like the great influencer,
-Donne, in <i>The Valediction</i>, and
-finish by turning such impediments as
-“stiff twin-compasses” into images of
-memorable beauty. The <i>Encyclopædia
-Britannica</i>, like Campbell, finds Vaughan
-“untunable,” and so he is very often.
-But poets may not always succeed in
-metaphysics and in music too. The lute
-which has the clearest and most enticing
-twang under the laurel boughs is Herrick’s,
-and not Donne’s; Mr. Swinburne’s,
-and not Mr. Browning’s. It is to be observed
-that when Vaughan lets go of his
-regrets, his advice, and his growls over
-the bad times, he falls into instant melody,
-as if in that, and not in a rough impressiveness,
-were his real strength. His
-blessing for the river Usk flows sweetly
-as the tide it hangs upon:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Garlands, and songs, and roundelays,<br />
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And dewy nights, and sunshine days,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The turtle’s voice, joy without fear,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Dwell on thy bosom all the year!</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To thee the wind from far shall bring</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The odors of the scattered spring,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And, loaden with the rich arrear,</span><br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Spend it in spicy whispers here.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>Vaughan played habitually with his
-pauses, and unconsciously threw the
-metrical stress on syllables and words
-least able to bear it; but no sensitive ear
-can be otherwise than pleased at the
-broken sequence of such lines as</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">“these birds of light make a land glad</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Chirping their solemn matins on a tree,”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and the hesitant symbolism of</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“As if his liquid loose retinue stayed</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Lingering, and were of this steep place afraid.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">The word “perspective,” with the accent
-upon the first syllable, was a favorite
-with him; and Wordsworth approved of
-that usage enough to employ it in the
-majestic opening of the sonnet on King’s
-College Chapel.<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> In short, if Vaughan
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>be “untunable,” it is because he never
-learned to distil vowels at the expense or
-peril of the message which he believed
-himself bound to deliver, even where hearers
-were next to none, and which he tried
-only to make compact and clear. His
-speech has a deep and free harmony of
-its own, to those whom abruptness does
-not repel; and even critics who turn
-from him to the masters of verbal sound
-may do him the parting honor of acknowledging
-the nature of his limitation.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“A noble error, and but seldom made,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When poets are by too much force betrayed!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>Vaughan was a born observer, and in
-his poetry may be found the pioneer expression
-of the nineteenth-century feeling
-for landscape. His canvas is not often
-large; he had an indifference towards
-the exquisite presence of autumn, and an
-inland ignorance of the sea. But he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
-could portray depth and distance at a
-stroke, as in the buoyant lines:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“It was high spring, and all the way</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Primrosed, and hung with shade,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">which etches for you the whole winding
-lane, roofed and floored with beauty; he
-carries a reader over half a continent in
-his</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Paths that are hidden from the vulture’s eyes,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and suspends him above man’s planet
-altogether with his audacious eagle, to
-whom “whole seas are narrow spectacles,”
-and who</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“in the clear height and upmost air</span><br />
-Doth face the sun, and his dispersèd hair!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>Besides this large vision, Vaughan had
-uncommon knowledge how to employ
-detail, during the prolonged literary interval
-when it was wholly out of fashion.
-It has been the lot of the little rhymesters
-of all periods to deal with the open
-air in a general way, and to embellish
-their pages with birds and boughs; but
-it takes a true modern poet, under the influence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
-of the Romantic revival, to sum
-up perfectly the ravages of wind and
-frost:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Where is the pride of summer, the green prime,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The many, many leaves all twinkling?—Three</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trembling; and one upon the old oak tree”;</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and it takes another to give the only
-faithful and ideal report of a warbling
-which every schoolboy of the race had
-heard before him:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“That’s the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Lest you should think he never could recapture</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The first fine careless rapture.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">That Vaughan’s pages should furnish this
-patient specification is remarkable in a
-man whose mind was set upon things invisible.
-His gaze is upon the inaccessible
-ether, but he seems to detect everything
-between himself and heaven. He sighs
-over the inattentive rustic, whom, perhaps,
-he catches scowling by the pasture-bars
-of the wild Welsh downs:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“O that he would hear</span></div>
-<div class="verse">The world read to him!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Whatever is in that pleasant world he
-himself hears and sees; and his interrupted
-chronicle is always terse, graphic,
-straight from life. He has the inevitable
-phrase for every phenomenon, a little
-low-comedy phrase, sometimes, such
-as Shakespeare and Carew had used before
-him:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Deep snow</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Candies our country’s woody brow.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>It seems never to have entered the
-primitive mind of Vaughan to love, or
-serve, art and nature for themselves. His
-cue was to walk abroad circumspectly
-and with incessant reverence, because in
-all things he found God. He marks, at
-every few rods in the thickets, “those
-low violets of Thine,” and the “breathing
-sacrifice” of earth-odors which the
-“parched and thirsty isle” gratefully
-sends back after a shower.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> His prayer
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>is that he may not forget that physical
-beauty is a great symbol, but only a symbol;
-a “hid ascent” through “masks and
-shadows” to the divine; or, as Mr. Lowell
-said in one of his last poems,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 15em;">“a tent</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Pitched for an Inmate far more excellent.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>A humanist of the school of Assisi,
-Vaughan was full of out-of-door meeknesses
-and pieties, nowhere sweeter in
-their expression than in this all-embracing
-valedictory:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“O knowing, glorious Spirit! when</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thou shalt restore trees, beasts, and men,</span></div>
-<div class="center">*****</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Give him among Thy works a place</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Who in them loved and sought Thy face.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He muses in the garden, at evenfall:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Man is such a marigold</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">As shuts, and hangs the head.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Clouds, seasons, and the eternal stars are
-his playfellows; he apostrophizes our sister
-the rainbow, and reminds her of yesterday,
-when</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The youthful world’s grey fathers, in one knot,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">lifted anxious looks to her new splendor.
-He is familiar with the depression which
-comes from boding weather, when</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4em;">“a pilgrim’s eye,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far from relief,</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Measures the melancholy sky.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He has an artist’s feeling, also, for the
-wrath of the elements, which inevitably
-hurry him on to the consummation</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“When Thou shalt spend Thy sacred store</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of thunders in that heat,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And low as e’er they lay before</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy six-days buildings beat!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>“I saw,” he says, suddenly—</p>
-
-<div class="center">“I saw Eternity the other night”;</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and he is perpetually seeing things almost
-as startling and as bright: the
-“edges and the bordering light” of lost
-infancy; the processional grandeur of
-old books, which he fearlessly calls</p>
-
-<div class="center">“The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way”;</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and visions of the Judgment, when</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 10em;">“from the right</span></div>
-<div class="verse">The white sheep pass into a whiter light.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">Here the figure beautifully forecasts a famous
-one of Rossetti’s. Light, indeed,
-is Vaughan’s distinctive word, and the favorite
-source of his similes and illustrations.</p>
-
-<p>If Vaughan’s had not been so profoundly
-moral a nature, he would have
-lacked his picturesque sense of the general,
-the continuous. That shibboleth,
-“a primrose by the river’s brim,” is to
-him all the generations of all the yellow
-primroses smiling there since the Druids’
-day, and its mild moonlike ray reflects
-the hope and fear and pathos of the mortal
-pilgrimage that has seen and saluted
-it, age after age. Whatever he meets
-upon his walk is drowned and dimmed
-in a wide halo of association and sympathy.
-His unmistakable accent marks the
-opening of a little sermon called <i>The
-Timber;</i> a sigh of pity, tender as a child’s,
-over the fallen and unlovely logs:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Sure, thou didst flourish once! and many springs</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Passed o’er thy head; many light hearts and wings,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers.”<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
-<p class="unindent">Leigh Hunt once challenged England
-and America<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> to produce anything approaching,
-for music and feeling, the
-beauty of</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5em;">“boughs that shake against the cold,</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He forgot the closes of these artless
-lines of a minor poet; or he did not know
-them.</p>
-
-<p>Vaughan’s meek reputation began to
-renew itself about 1828, when four critics
-eminently fitted to appraise his
-worth were in their prime; but, curiously
-enough, none of these, not even the best
-of them, the same Charles Lamb who
-said a just and generous word for Wither,
-had the satisfaction of rescuing his sunken
-name. Lamb’s friend, the good soul
-Bernard Barton, seems, however, to have
-known and admired his Vaughan.</p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
-<p>Eight little books, if we count the two
-parts of <i>Silex Scintillans</i> as one,<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> enclose
-all of the Silurist’s original work. He
-began to publish in 1646, and he practically
-ceased in 1655, reappearing but in
-1678 with <i>Thalia Rediviva</i>, which was
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>not issued under his own supervision. It
-is commonly supposed that his verses
-were forgotten up to the date (1847) of the
-faulty but timely Aldine edition of the
-Rev. H. F. Lyte, thrice reprinted and revised
-since then, and until the appearance
-of Dr. Grosart’s four inestimable quartos;
-but Mr. Carew Hazlitt has been fortunate
-enough to discover the advertisement of
-an eighteenth-century reprint of Vaughan.
-As the results of Dr. Grosart’s patient service
-to our elder writers are necessarily
-semi-private, it may be said with truth
-that the real Vaughan is still debarred
-from the general reader, who is, indeed,
-the identical person least concerned about
-that state of affairs. His name is not irrecoverable
-nor unfamiliar to scholars.<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a>
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>His mind, on the whole, might pass for
-the product of yesterday; and he, who
-needs no glossary, may handsomely cede
-the honors of one to Mr. William Morris.
-It is at least certain that had Vaughan
-lately lifted up his sylvan voice out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
-Brecknockshire, he would not so readily
-be accused of having modelled himself
-unduly upon George Herbert.<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> He has
-gone into eclipse behind that gracious
-name.</p>
-
-<p>Henry Vaughan was a child of thirteen
-when Herbert, a stranger to him,
-died at Bemerton, and he read him first
-in the sick-chamber to which the five
-years’ distresses of his early manhood
-confined him. The reading could not
-have been prior to 1647, for <i>Olor Iscanus</i>,
-Vaughan’s second volume, was lying
-ready for the press that year, as we
-know from the date of its dedication to
-Lord Kildare Digby. As no novice poet,
-therefore, he fell under the spell of a sweet
-and elect soul, who was also a lover of
-vanquished royalty, a convert who had
-looked upon the vanities of the court and
-the city, a Welshman born, and not unconnected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
-with Vaughan’s own ancient
-and patrician house. These were slight
-coincidences, but they served to strengthen
-a forming tie. The Silurist somewhere
-thanks Herbert’s “holy ever-living
-lines” for checking his blood; and it was,
-perhaps, the only service rendered of
-which he was conscious. But his endless
-iambics and his vague allegorical titles
-are cast thoroughly in the manner of Herbert,
-and he takes from the same source
-the heaped categorical epithets, the didactic
-tone, and the introspectiveness
-which are his most obvious failings.
-Vaughan’s intellectual debt to Herbert
-resolves itself into somewhat less than
-nothing; for in following him with zeal
-to the Missionary College of the Muses,
-he lost rather than gained, and he is altogether
-delightful and persuasive only
-where he is altogether himself. Nevertheless,
-a certain spirit of conformity and
-filial piety towards Herbert has betrayed
-Vaughan into frequent and flagrant imitations.
-It seems as if these must have
-been voluntary, and rooted in an intention
-to enforce the same truths in all but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
-the same words; for the moment Vaughan
-breaks into invective, or comes upon his
-distinctive topics, such as childhood, natural
-beauty (for which Herbert had an
-imperfect sense), friendship, early death,
-spiritual expectation, he is off and away,
-free of any predecessor, thrilling and unforgettable.
-Comparisons will not be out of
-place here, for Vaughan can bear, and even
-invoke them. Dryden said in Jonson’s
-praise that he was “a learned plagiary,” and
-nobody doubts nowadays that Shakespeare
-and Milton were the bandit kings of their
-time. There was, indeed, in English letters,
-up to Queen Anne’s reign, an open
-communism of ideas and idioms astonishing
-to look upon; there is less confiscation
-at present, because, outside the pale
-of the sciences, there is less thinking.
-If any one thing can be closer to another,
-for instance, than even Drummond’s sonnet
-on <i>Sleep</i> is to Sidney’s, it is the dress
-of Vaughan’s morality to that of George
-Herbert’s. Mr. Simcox is the only critic
-who has taken the trouble to contrast
-them, and he does so in so random a
-fashion as to suggest that his scrutiny,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
-in some cases, has been confined to the
-rival titles. It is certain that no other
-mind, however bent upon identifications,
-can find a likeness between <i>The Quip</i> and
-<i>The Queer</i>, or between <i>The Tempest</i> and
-<i>Providence</i>. Vaughan’s <i>Mutiny</i>, like <i>The
-Collar</i>, ends in a use of the word “child,”
-after a scene of strife; and if ever it were
-meant to match Herbert’s poem, distinctly
-falls behind it, and deals, besides,
-with a much weaker rebelliousness. <i>Rules
-and Lessons</i> is so unmistakably modelled
-upon <i>The Church Porch</i> that it scarcely
-calls for comment. Herbert’s admonitions,
-however, are continued, but nowhere
-repeated; and Vaughan’s succeed
-in being poetic, which the others are not.
-Beyond these replicas, Vaughan’s structural
-genius is in no wise beholden to Herbert’s.
-But numerous phrases and turns
-of thought descend from the master to
-the disciple, undergoing such subtle and
-peculiar changes, and given back, as
-Coleridge would say, with such “usurious
-interest,” that it may well be submitted
-whether, in this casual list, every
-borrowing, save two, be not a bettering.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>HERBERT.</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“A throbbing conscience, spurrèd by remorse,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Hath a strange force.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“My thoughts are all a case of knives,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Wounding my heart</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">With scattered smart.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">“And trust</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Half that we have</div>
-<div class="verse">Unto an honest faithful grave.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Teach me Thy love to know,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That this new light which now I see</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">May both the work and workman show:</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then by a sunbeam I will climb to Thee!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I will go searching, till I find a sun</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Shall stay till we have done,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">A willing shiner, that will shine as gladly</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">As frost-nipt suns look sadly.</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Then we will sing and shine all our own day,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">And one another pay;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Till even his beams sing, and my music shine.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<h4>(<i>Of prayer.</i>)</h4>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Heaven in ordinary, man well-drest,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The Milky Way, the bird of Paradise.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Then went I to a garden, and did spy</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5em;">A gallant flower,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Peace at the root must dwell.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>VAUGHAN.</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“A darting conscience, full of stabs and fears.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“And wrap us in imaginary flights</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Wide of a faithful grave.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“That in these masks and shadows I may see</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Thy sacred way,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And by these hid ascents climb to that day</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Which breaks from Thee</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Who art in all things, though invisibly!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“O would I were a bird or star</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Fluttering in woods, or lifted far</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Above this inn</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5em;">And road of sin!</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Then either star or bird would be</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Shining or singing still to Thee!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<h4>(<i>Of books.</i>)</h4>
-
-<div class="center">“The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way.”</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I walked the other day to spend my hour</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Into a field,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Where I sometime had seen the soil to yield</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">A gallant flower.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>HERBERT.</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“But groans are quick and full of wings,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And all their motions upward be,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And ever as they mount, like larks they sing:</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The note is sad, yet music for a king.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Joys oft are there, and griefs as oft as joys,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">But griefs without a noise;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Yet speak they louder than distempered fears:</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">What is so shrill as silent tears?”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“At first Thou gavest me milk and sweetnesses,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">I had my wish and way;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">My days were strewed with flowers and happiness;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">There was no month but May.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">“Only a scarf or glove</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Doth warm our hands, and make them write of Love.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I got me flowers to strew Thy way,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I got me boughs off many a tree;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But Thou wast up by break of day,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And brought Thy sweets along with Thee.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“O come! for Thou dost know the way:</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or if to me Thou wilt not move,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Remove me where I need not say,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">‘Drop from above.’”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Sure Thou wilt joy by gaining me</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To fly home like a laden bee.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>VAUGHAN.</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“A silent tear can pierce Thy throne</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When loud joys want a wing;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And sweeter airs stream from a groan</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Than any artèd string.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Follow the cry no more! There is</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">An ancient way,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All strewed with flowers and happiness,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And fresh as May!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">“feverish souls</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Sick with a scarf or glove.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I’ll get me up before the sun,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I’ll cull me boughs off many a tree;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And all alone full early run</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To gather flowers and welcome Thee.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My perspective still as they pass;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Or else remove me hence unto that hill</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Where I shall need no glass!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Thy grave, to which my thoughts shall move</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Like bees in storms unto their hive.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>To arraign Vaughan is to vindicate
-him. In the too liberal assizes of literature,
-an idea becomes the property of
-him who best expresses it. Herbert’s
-odd and fresh metaphors, his homing
-bees and pricks of conscience and silent
-tears, the adoring star and the comrade
-bird, even his famous female scarf, go
-over bodily to the spoiler. In many an
-instance something involved and difficult
-still characterizes Herbert’s diction;
-and it is diverting to watch how the interfering
-hand sorts and settles it at one
-touch, and sends it, in Mr. Matthew Arnold’s
-word, to the “centre.” Vaughan’s
-mind, despite its mysticism, was full of despatch
-and impetuosity. Like Herbert,
-he alludes to himself, more than once, as
-“fierce”; and the adjective undoubtedly
-belongs to him. There is in Vaughan,
-at his height, an imaginative rush and
-fire which Herbert never knew, a greater
-clarity and conciseness, a far greater restraint,
-a keener sense both of color and
-form, and so much more deference for
-what Mr. Ruskin calls “the peerage of
-words,” that the younger man could never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
-have been content to send forth a line
-which might mean its opposite, such as
-occurs in the fine stanza about glory in
-the beautiful <i>Quip</i>. It is only on middle
-ground that the better poet and the better
-saint collide. Vaughan never could
-have written</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“O that I once past changing were</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">or the tranquil confession of faith:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Whether I fly with angels, fall with dust,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thy hands made both, and I am there:</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thy power and love, my love and trust</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Make one place everywhere!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">For his best is not Herbert’s best, nor his
-worst Herbert’s worst. It is not Vaughan
-who reminds us that “filth” lies under a
-fair face. He does the “fiercer” thing:
-he goes to the Pit’s mouth in a trance,
-and “hears them yell.” Herbert’s noblest
-and most winning art still has its
-stand upon the altar steps of <i>The Temple;</i>
-but Vaughan is always on the roof,
-under the stars, like a somnambulist, or
-actually above and out of sight, “pinnacled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
-dim in the intense inane”; absorbed
-in larger and wilder things, and
-stretching the spirits of all who try to
-follow him. Herbert has had his reward
-in the world’s lasting appreciation; and
-though Vaughan had a favorable opinion
-of his own staying powers, nothing would
-have grieved him less than to step aside,
-if the choice had lain between him and
-his exemplar. Or re-risen, he would cry
-loyally to him, as to that other Herbert,
-the rector of Llangattock and his old
-tutor: “<i>Pars vertat patri, vita posthuma
-tibi</i>.”</p>
-
-<p>Vaughan, then, owed something to Herbert,
-although it was by no means the
-best which Herbert could give; but he
-himself is, what Herbert is not, an ancestor.
-He leans forward to touch Cowper
-and Keble; and Mr. Churton Collins
-has taken the pains to trace him in Tennyson.</p>
-
-<p>The angels who</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 6em;">“familiarly confer</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Beneath the oak and juniper,”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">invoke an instant thought of the Milton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
-of the <i>Allegro;</i> and the fragrant winds
-which linger by Usk, “loaden with the
-rich arrear,” appear to be Milton’s, too.
-His austere music first sounded in the
-public ear in 1645, one year before Vaughan,
-much his junior, began to print. It would
-seem very unlikely that a Welsh physician
-should be beholden long after to the
-manuscripts of the Puritan stripling, close-kept
-at Cambridge and Horton; but it
-is interesting to find the prototype of
-Vaughan’s charming lines about Rachel,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“the sheep-keeping Syrian maid,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">in the <i>Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester</i>,
-dating from 1631.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> Vaughan’s
-dramatic Fleet Street,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Where the loud whip and coach scolds all the way,”</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
-<p class="unindent">might as well be Swift’s, or Crabbe’s; and
-his salutation to the lark,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">is like a quotation from some tender sonnet
-of Bowles, or from his admirer, the
-young Coleridge who instantly outstepped
-him. <i>Olor</i>, <i>Silex</i>, and <i>Thalia</i> establish unexpected
-relationships with genius the
-most remote from them and from each
-other. The animated melody of poor
-Rochester’s best songs seems deflected
-from</p>
-
-<div class="center">“If I were dead, and in my place,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">addressed to Amoret,<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> in the <i>Poems</i> of
-1646. The delicate simile,</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“As some blind dial, when the day is done,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Can tell us at midnight there was a sun,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">and</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“But I am sadly loose and stray,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">A giddy blast each way.</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">O let me not thus range:</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thou canst not change!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">(a verse of a poem headed by an extract,
-in the Vulgate, from the eighth chapter
-to the Romans), come home with a smile
-to the lover of Clough. Vaughan was
-that dangerous person, an original thinker;
-and the consequence is that he compromises
-a great many authors who may
-never have heard of him. It is admitted
-now that we owe to his prophetic lyre
-one of the boasts of modern literature.
-Dr. Grosart has handled so well the obvious
-debt of Wordsworth in <i>The Intimations
-of Immortality</i>, and has proven
-so conclusively that Vaughan figured in
-the library at Rydal Mount, that little
-need be said here on that theme. In
-<i>Corruption</i>, <i>Childhood</i>, <i>Looking Back</i>, and
-<i>The Retreat</i>, most markedly in the first,
-lie the whole point and pathos of</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Trailing clouds of glory do we come</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">From Heaven, which is our home.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Few studies are more fascinating than
-that of the liquidation, so to speak, of
-Vaughan’s brief, tense, impassioned monodies
-into “the mighty waters rolling
-evermore” of the great <i>Ode</i>. It is Holinshed’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
-accidental honor that he is lost
-in Shakespeare, and incorporated with
-him. So with Vaughan: if shorn of his
-dues, he still remains illustrious by virtue
-of one signal service to Wordsworth,
-whom, in the main, he distinctly foreshadows.
-Yet it is no unpardonable heresy
-to be jealous that the “first sprightly
-runnings” of a classic should not be better
-known, and to prefer their touching
-simplicity to the grandly adult and theory-burdened
-lines which everybody quotes.
-In the broad range of English letters we
-find two persons whose normal mental
-habits seem altogether of a piece with
-Vaughan’s: a woman of the eighteenth
-century, and a philosopher of the nineteenth.
-The lovely <i>Petition for an Absolute
-Retreat</i>, by Anne, Countess of Winchelsea
-(whose genius was the charming
-<i>trouvaille</i> of Mr. Edmund Gosse), might
-pass for Vaughan’s, in Vaughan’s best
-manner; and so might</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Their near camp my spirit knows</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">By signs gracious as rainbows,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">as indeed the whole of Emerson’s ever-memorable
-<i>Forerunners</i>, itself a mate for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
-<i>The Retreat;</i> or rather, had these been
-anonymous lyrics of Vaughan’s own day,
-it would have been impossible to persuade
-a Caroline critic that he could not name
-their common author.</p>
-
-<p>Our poet had a curious fashion of coining
-verbs and adjectives out of nouns, and
-carried it to such a degree as to challenge
-pre-eminence with Keats.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">“O how it bloods</span></div>
-<div class="verse">And spirits all my earth!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">is part and parcel of the young cries of
-Endymion. When Vaughan has discovered
-something to produce a fresh effect,
-he is not the man who will hesitate to
-use it; and this mannerism occurs frequently:
-“our grass straight russets,”
-“angel’d from that sphere,” “the mountained
-wave,” “He heavened their walks,
-and with his eyes made those wild shades
-a Paradise.” A little informality of this
-sort sometimes justifies itself, as in the
-couplet ending the grim and powerful
-<i>Charnel-House:</i></p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">One check from thee shall channel it again!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">And Henry Vaughan shares also with
-Keats, writing three hundred years later,
-a defect which he had inherited, together
-with many graces, directly from Ben Jonson:<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a>
-the fashion of crowding the sense
-of his text and the pauseless voice of his
-reader from the natural breathing-place
-at the end of a line into the beginning or
-the middle of the next line. More than
-any other, except Keats in his first period,
-he roughens, without always strengthening,
-his rich decasyllabics, by using what
-Mr. Gosse has happily classified as the
-“overflow.”</p>
-
-<p>Though the Silurist had in him the possibilities
-of a great elegiac poet, and his
-laments for his dead are many and memorable,
-there is not one sustained masterpiece
-among them; nothing to equal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
-or approach, for example, Cowley’s <i>Ode
-on the Death of Mr. William Hervey</i>, in
-the qualities which abide, and are visited
-with the honors of the class-book and
-the library shelf. Yet Vaughan’s elegies
-are exquisite and endearing; they haunt
-one with the conviction that they stop
-short of immortality, not because their
-author had too little skill, but because,
-between his repressed speech and his extreme
-emotions, no art could make out
-to live. He had a deep heart, such as
-deep hearts will always recognize and
-reverence:</p>
-
-<div class="center">“And thy two wings were grief and love.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">In the face of eternity he seems so to
-accord with the event which all but destroys
-him, that sorrow inexpressible becomes
-suddenly unexpressed, and his
-funeral music ends in a high enthusiasm
-and serenity open to no misconception.
-Distance, and the lapse of time, and his
-own utter reconciliation to the play of
-events make small difference in his utterance
-upon the old topic. The thought of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
-his friend, forty years after, is the same
-mystical rapture:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“O could I track them! but souls must</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Track one the other;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And now the spirit, not the dust,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Must be thy brother:</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Yet I have one pearl by whose light</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">All things I see,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And in the heart of death and night,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Find Heaven and thee.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><i>Daphnis</i>, the eclogue to the memory
-of Thomas Vaughan, is the only one of
-these elegies which, possessing a surplus
-of beautiful lines, is not even in the least
-satisfying. “R. Hall,” “no woolsack soldier,”
-who was slain at the siege of Pontefract,
-won from Henry Vaughan a passionate
-requiem, which opens with a gush
-of agony, “I knew it would be thus!” as
-affecting as anything in the early ballads;
-and the battle of Rowton Heath took
-from him “R. W.,” the comrade of his
-youth. But it was in one who bore his
-sovereign’s name (hitherto unidentified,
-although he is said to have been the subject
-of a “public sorrow”) that Vaughan
-lost the friend upon whom his whole nature
-seemed to lean. The soldier-heart in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
-himself spoke out firmly in the cry he
-consecrated <i>To the Pious Memory of C. W.</i>
-Its masculine dignity; the pride and soft
-triumph which it gathers about it, advancing;
-the plain heroic ending which
-sweeps away all images of remoteness
-and gloom, in</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Good-morrow to dear Charles! for it is day,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">can be compared to nothing but an <i>agitato</i>
-of Schubert’s mounting strings, slowing
-to their major chord with a courage
-and cheer that bring tears to the eyes.
-Vaughan’s tender threnodies would make
-a small but precious volume. <i>To the
-Pious Memory</i>, with <i>Thou that Knowest
-for Whom I Mourn</i>, <i>Silence and Stealth
-of Days</i>, <i>Joy of my Life while Left me
-Here</i>, <i>I Walked the other Day to spend
-my Hour</i>, <i>The Morning Watch</i>, and <i>Beyond
-the Veil</i>, are alone enough to give
-him rank forever as a genius and a good
-man.</p>
-
-<p>“C. W.’s” death was one of the things
-which turned him forever from temporal
-pursuits and pleasures. Of his first wife
-we can find none but conjectural traces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
-in his books, for he was shy of using the
-beloved name. The sense of those departed
-is never far from him. The air
-of melancholy recollection, not morbid,
-which hangs over his maturer lyrics, is
-directly referable to the close-following
-calamities which estranged him from the
-presence of “the blessèd few,” and sent
-him, as he nobly hoped,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Home from their dust to empty his own glass.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">His thoughts centred, henceforward, in
-their full intensity, on the supernatural
-world; nay, if he were irremediably depressed,
-not only on the persistence of
-resolved matter, by means of which buried
-men come forth again in the color of
-flowers and the fragrance of the wind,
-but even on the physical damp and dark
-which confine our mortality. It is the
-poet of dawn and of crisp mountain air
-who can pack horror on horror into his
-nervous quatrains about Death:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“A nest of nights; a gloomy sphere</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Where shadows thicken, and the cloud</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Sits on the sun’s brow all the year,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And nothing moves without a shroud.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">This is masterly; but here, again, there is
-reserve, the curbing hand of a man who
-holds, with Plato, a wilful indulgence in
-the “realism” of sadness to be an actual
-crime. Vaughan’s dead dwell, indeed, as
-his own mind does, in “the world of
-light.” As his corporeal sight is always
-upon the zenith or the horizon, so his
-fancy is far away, with his radiant ideals,
-and with the virtue and beauty he has
-walked with in the flesh. He takes his
-harp to the topmost hill, and sits watching</p>
-
-<div class="center">“till the white-winged reapers come.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He thinks of his obscured self, the child
-he was, and of “the narrow way” (an
-ever-recurrent Scriptural phrase in his
-poetry) by which he shall “travel back.”
-To leave the body is merely to start
-anew and recover strength, and, with it,
-the inspiring companionship of which he
-is inscrutably deprived.</p>
-
-<p>Chambers’ <i>Cyclopædia</i> made an epic
-blunder, long ago, when it ascribed to
-this gentlest of Anglicans a “gloomy sectarianism.”
-He, of all religious poets,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
-makes the most charming secular reading,
-and may well be a favorite with the
-heathen for whom Herbert is too decorative,
-Crashaw too hectic and intense,
-Cowper too fearful, and Faber too fluent;
-<i>Lyra Apostolica</i> a treatise, though a glorious
-one, on Things which Must be Revived,
-and <i>Hymns Ancient and Modern</i>
-an exceeding weariness to the spirit. It
-is a saw of Dr. Johnson’s that it is impossible
-for theology to clothe itself in attractive
-numbers; but then Dr. Johnson
-was ignorant of Vaughan. It is not in
-human nature to refuse to cherish the
-“holy, happy, healthy Heaven” which he
-has left us (in a graded alliteration which
-smacks of the physician rather than of
-the “gloomy sectarian”), his very social
-“angels talking to a man,” and his bright
-saints, hovering and smiling nigh, who</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">“are indeed our pillar-fires</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Seen as we go;</span></div>
-<div class="verse">They are the city’s shining spires</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3em;">We travel to.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Who can resist the earnestness and candor
-with which, in a few sessions, he
-wrote down the white passion of the last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
-fifty years of his life? No English poet,
-unless it be Spenser, has a piety so simple
-and manly, so colored with mild thought,
-so free from emotional consciousness.
-The elect given over to continual polemics
-do not count Henry Vaughan as
-one of themselves. His double purpose
-is to make life pleasant to others and to
-praise God; and he considers that he is
-accomplishing it when he pens a compliment
-to the valley grass, or, like Coleridge,
-caresses in some affectionate strophes
-the much-abused little ass. All this
-liberal sweetness and charity heighten
-Vaughan’s poetic quality, as they deepen
-the impression of his practical Christianity.
-The nimbus is about his laic songs.
-When he talks of moss and rocks, it is as
-if they were incorporated into the ritual.
-He has the genius of prayer, and may be
-recognized by “those graces which walk
-in a veil and a silence.” He is full of
-distinction, and of a sort of golden idiosyncrasy.
-Vaughan’s true “note” is—Vaughan.
-To read him is like coming
-alone to a village church-yard with trees,
-where the west is dying, in hues of lilac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
-and rose, behind the low ivied Norman
-tower. The south windows are open, the
-young choir are within, and the organist,
-with many a hushed unconventional interlude
-of his own, is rehearsing with
-them the psalm of “pleasures for evermore.”</p>
-
-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20">[20]</a> Siluria comprised the shires of Monmouth, Hereford,
-Glamorgan, Radnor, and Brecon.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21">[21]</a> The Reverend H. F. Lyte, Vaughan’s enthusiastic
-editor, best known as the author of <i>Abide with Me</i>, reminds
-us that there was another Henry Vaughan of the same
-college and the same neighborhood at home—a pleasant
-theological person not to be confounded with the poet. It
-was probably he, and not the Silurist, who devoted some
-verses to Charles the First in the book called <i>Eucharistica
-Oxoniensis</i>, 1641.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22">[22]</a> These deep Augustinian lines are Carew’s, gay Carew’s;
-and they mark the highest religious expression of
-their time.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23">[23]</a> Vaughan apparently enjoyed that privilege of genius,
-acquaintance with a London garret, if we may take autobiographically
-the fine brag worthy of the tribe of Henri
-Mürger:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“I scorn your land,</span></div>
-<div class="verse">So far it lies below me; here I see</div>
-<div class="verse">How all the sacred stars do circle me.”</div>
-</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24">[24]</a> The King lodged at Christchurch, the Queen and
-my Lady Castlemaine (together, alas!) at Merton, amid
-endless hawking, tennis, boating, basset, and general revelry.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25">[25]</a> Orinda’s own verses, scattered in manuscript among
-her friends, were collected and printed without her knowledge,
-and much against her desire, in 1663: a piece of
-treachery which threw her into a severe indisposition.
-She could therefore condole more than enough with
-Henry Vaughan. Friends were officious creatures in
-those days.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26">[26]</a> This, to say the least, was not “pretty” of Campbell,
-who thought so well of the “world’s grey fathers” congregated
-to gaze at Vaughan’s <i>Rainbow</i> that he conveyed
-them bodily into the foreground of his own.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27">[27]</a> Per´-spective was, of course, the general pronunciation
-from Shakespeare to Dr. Johnson, and is used with
-great beauty in Dryden’s <i>Ode to the Memory of Mrs.
-Anne Killigrew</i>. But it is a characteristic word with
-Vaughan, and it was from Vaughan that Wordsworth
-took it.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28">[28]</a> Vaughan had a relish for damp weather, the thing
-which makes the loveliness of the British isles, and which
-the ungrateful islanders are prone to revile. He never
-passes a sheet of water without looking upward for the
-forming cloud:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 6em;">“That drowsy lake</span></div>
-<div class="verse">From her faint bosom breathed thee!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29">[29]</a> Sometimes erroneously printed “bowers.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30">[30]</a> It was kind of the ever-kind Hunt to include America
-in his enumeration, at a time when the United States were
-supposed by his fellow-countrymen to have no literature
-at all of their own. The circumstance that his challenge
-appeared in the preface to <i>The Book of the Sonnet</i>, which
-was edited by Hunt in conjunction with an American,
-and published at Boston in 1868, may help to account
-for the mannerliness of the reference.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31">[31]</a> In the <i>Letters and Memorials of Archbishop Trench</i>,
-vol. ii., p. 57, there is a letter bearing upon this point
-from Mr. Frank Millson, dated 1868, which deserves serious
-consideration from Vaughan’s forthcoming editors.
-“I think,” he writes the Dean, “that your supposition
-that the 1655 edition is the same book as the one of 1650,
-with a new title-page and additions, can hardly be correct,
-though I know that Lyte, the editor of Pickering’s reprint,
-thinks as you do. The preface to the 1655 edition
-is dated September 30, 1654, and contains this passage”
-(not given in the <i>Memorials</i>) “which seems to me to
-refer to the fact of a new edition. A comparison of my
-two copies shows that the 1650 edition consists of half a
-sheet, title and dedication, and 110 pages. The second
-edition has title, preface, dedication, motto, the 110 pages
-of the first edition, with 84 pages of new matter, and a
-table of first lines. A noticeable thing in the arrangement
-is that the sheets do not begin with new printer’s
-marks, as they might be expected to do if the second
-part were simply new matter added to the first volume,
-but begin with A, the last sheet of the former volume having
-ended with G. I am sorry to trouble you with these
-trifling details; but as Vaughan has long been a favorite
-author of mine, they have an interest for me, and if they
-help to show that he was not neglected by readers of his
-own time, I shall be glad.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32">[32]</a> Anthologies and cyclopædias nowadays, especially
-since Dr. John Brown and Principal Shairp drew attention
-to the Silurist in their pages, are more than likely to
-admit him. It was not so always. Winstanley, sharp as
-was his eye, let Vaughan escape him in his <i>Lives of the
-Poets</i>, published in 1687. He is not in the <i>Theatrum
-Poetarum</i>, nor in Johnson’s <i>Lives</i>. He is in neither of
-Southey’s collections. Mr. Palgrave allows him, in <i>The
-Golden Treasury</i>, but a song and a half; Ellis’s sheaf of
-excellent <i>Specimens</i> of 1811 furnishes eighteen lines of a
-wedding blessing on the <i>Best and Most Accomplished
-Couple</i> apologizing for “their too much quaintness and
-conceit”; and in Willmott’s <i>Sacred Poets</i> Vaughan occupies
-four pages, as against Crashaw’s thirty-five, Herbert’s
-thirty-seven, and Wither’s one hundred and thirty-two.
-But Vaughan fares well in Dr. George Macdonald’s
-<i>England’s Antiphon</i>, and in Archbishop Trench’s <i>Household
-Book</i>. Ward’s <i>English Poets</i>, in the second volume,
-has a conventional selection from him, as has, at greater
-length, Fields’ and Whipple’s <i>Family Library of British
-Poetry</i>. There is a goodly list entered under Vaughan’s
-name in Gilfillan’s <i>Less-Known British Poets</i>, all
-chosen from his devotional work. Thirty-seven religious
-lyrics again adorn the splendid <i>Treasury of Sacred Song</i>.
-Vaughan’s secular numbers yet await their proper bays,
-although a limited edition of most of them, containing a
-bibliography, was printed in 1893 by J. R. Tutin of Hull.
-Mr. Saintsbury, in his <i>Seventeenth Century Lyrics</i>, has
-a small and very choice group of Vaughan’s songs, and
-Professor Palgrave, having to do with him for the third
-time, gives him large and cordial honor in the eleventh
-volume of <i>Y Cymmrodor</i>. In Emerson’s Parnassus he
-appears but once. He had his most graceful and grateful
-American tribute when Mr. Lowell, long ago, named him
-in passing as “dear Henry Vaughan,” in <i>A Certain Condescension
-in Foreigners</i>.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33">[33]</a> In one of his prefaces, Vaughan hits neatly at the
-crowd of Herbertists: “These aim more at verse than at
-perfection.” Where there are noble resemblances, it is
-well to remember that two sides have the right to be heard.
-Mrs. Thoreau used to say: “Mr. Emerson imitates Henry!”
-And she was at least as accurate as the critics who
-annoyed her old age by the reversed statement.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34">[34]</a> Mr. R. H. Stoddard owns a copy of the first edition
-of <i>Nieremberg’s Meditations</i>, translated by Vaughan in
-1654, and published the following year, which has upon
-the title-page an autographic “J. M.” supposed, by every
-evidence, to be Milton’s. If it be so, the busy Latin Secretary,
-meditating his grand work, must have been, on
-his part, a reader and a lover of the man who was almost
-his equal at golden phrases.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35">[35]</a> Congreve and Waller employ the same rather too obvious
-love-name for their serenaded divinities.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36">[36]</a> Vaughan openly wears jewels which belong to Jonson.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“Go seek thy peace in war:</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Who falls for love of God shall rise a star!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">wrote brave Father Ben; and no Englishman of spirit,
-between 1642 and the Restoration, was likely to forget it.
-The passage certainly clung to Vaughan’s mind, for he
-assimilated it later in a sweet line all for peace:</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Do thou the works of day, and rise a star.”</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
-
-
-
-
-<h2>III<br />
-
-GEORGE FARQUHAR<br />
-
-<small>1677-1707</small></h2>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a><br /><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div>
- <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-130-drop-t.jpg" width="101" height="105" alt="T" />
-</div>
-
-<p class="drop-capi">THERE is a narrow dark Essex
-Street West in the city
-of Dublin, running between
-Fishamble Street and Essex
-Gate, at the rear of the Lower
-Blind Quay. The older people still bluntly
-call it what it was called before 1830:
-Smock Alley. On its north side stands
-the sufficiently ugly church of SS. Michael
-and John. The arched passage
-still in use, parallel with the nave of this
-church, was the entrance to a theatre on
-the same site; what is now the burial
-vault was once the pit, full of ruddy and
-uproarious faces. The theatre, erected
-about 1660, which had a long, stormy and
-eventful history, was rebuilt in 1735, and
-having been turned into a warehouse, fell
-into decay, to be replaced by a building of
-another clay. But while it was still itself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
-it was great and popular, and the lane
-between Trinity College and the old
-arched passage was choked every night
-with the press of jolly youths, who, as
-Archbishop King pathetically complained,
-appeared to love the play better than
-study! Among those who hung about
-Smock Alley like a barnacle in the years
-1694 and 1695, was a certain George Farquhar,
-son of William,<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> a poor Londonderry
-clergyman of the Establishment;
-a long-faced peculiar lad of mild
-mien but high spirits. He had come
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>from the north, under episcopal patronage,
-to wear a queer dress among his social
-betters, to sweep and scour and carry
-tankards of ale to the Fellows in hall;
-and incidentally, to imbibe, on his own
-part, the lore of all the ages. The major
-event in his history is that, instead of sitting
-up nights over <i>Isocrates de Pace</i>,
-he slipped off to see Robert Wilkes and
-the stock company, and to decide that
-acting, or, as he afterwards sarcastically
-defined it, “tearing his Lungs for a Livelihood,”
-was also the thing for him.
-Wherefore, at eighteen, either because
-his benefactor, Bishop Wiseman of Dromore,
-had died, or else, as is not very
-credibly reported, because he was cashiered
-from his class, Master Farquhar,
-cut loose from his old moorings, applied
-to Manager Ashbury of the Dublin Theatre,
-and to such avail that he was able
-presently to make his own appearance
-there as no less a personage than Othello.
-He had a weak voice and a shy presence;
-but the public encouraged him. One of
-his first parts was that of Guyomar, Montezuma’s
-younger brother, in Dryden’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
-tragedy of <i>The Indian Emperor</i>. In the
-fifth act, as soon as he had declaimed to
-Vasquez in sounding sing-song:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Friendship with him whose hand did Odmar kill?</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Base as he was, he was my brother still!</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But since his blood has washed away his guilt,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Nature asks thine for that which thou hast spilt,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">he made, according to stage directions,
-a fierce lunge at his too conciliatory foe.
-Guyomar had armed himself, inadvertently,
-with a genuine sword, and Vasquez
-came near enough to being killed
-in the flesh. The man eventually recovered;
-but it shows of what impressionable
-stuff Farquhar was made, that his
-mental horror and pain, during that moment
-while he believed he had slain a
-fellow-creature, should have turned the
-course of his life. He left the stage;
-nor would he return to it. Some eight
-years after, indeed, he visited Dublin
-again, and on the old boards played Sir
-Harry Wildair for his own benefit; but
-this was at a time when he forced himself
-to undertake all honorable chances
-of money-making, out of his consuming
-anxiety for his family.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Wilkes and his wife returned to London,
-and the lad Farquhar went with
-them. He obtained a commission in the
-army from the Earl of Orrery; he was in
-Holland on duty during a part of the
-year 1700, and came back to England
-with one of her earliest military red coats
-on his back, in the train of his much-approved
-sovereign, William III. He had
-already written, thanks to Wilkes and
-his incessant urging, his first two plays,
-and had seen them successful at Drury
-Lane;<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> he had also overheard with enthusiasm,
-at the Mitre Tavern in St.
-James’s Market, Mistress Nance Oldfield,
-an orphan of sixteen, niece of the
-proprietress, reading <i>The Scornful Lady</i>
-behind the bar. Captain Vanbrugh was
-duly told of Farquhar’s delight and admiration,
-and on the strength of them introduced
-the girl to Rich, who did few
-things so good in his lifetime as when he
-put her upon the stage at fifteen shillings
-a week. It was not long before this distinguished
-actress and generous woman,
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>destined to lend her gayety and beautiful
-bearing to the interpretation of Farquhar’s
-women, enlivened the town as the
-glorious Sylvia of <i>The Recruiting Officer</i>,
-who can “gallop all the morning after a
-hunting-horn, and all the evening after
-a fiddle.”</p>
-
-<p>“We hear of Farquhar at one time,”
-says Leigh Hunt, in a pretty summary,
-“in Essex, hare-hunting (not in the style
-of a proficient); at another, at Richmond,
-sick; and at a third, in Shropshire on a
-recruiting party, where he was treated
-with great hospitality, and found material
-for one of the best of his plays.”</p>
-
-<p><i>Love and a Bottle</i> inaugurated the vogue
-of the Farquhar comedy; and Wilkes,
-whose name in London carried favor and
-precedence, was the Roebuck of the cast.
-Its successors, <i>The Constant Couple</i> (with
-a framework transferred and adapted
-from its author’s earlier <i>Adventures of
-Covent Garden</i>), and its sequel, <i>Sir Harry
-Wildair</i>, again championed by the
-“friendly and indefatigable” Wilkes, who
-impersonated the engaging rakish heroes,
-had long runs, and firmly established<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
-their author’s fame. In 1702 Farquhar
-produced <i>The Inconstant</i> (which he had
-perverted from Fletcher’s <i>Wild Goose
-Chase</i>, as if a fit setting were sought for
-the wonderfully effective last act of his
-own devising); and after <i>The Inconstant</i>,
-<i>The Twin Rivals</i>. <i>The Stage Coach</i>, a
-one-act farce in which he had a collaborator,<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a>
-dates from 1704, and <i>The Recruiting
-Officer</i> from 1706; <i>The Beaux’
-Stratagem</i> was written in the spring
-of 1707. This is a working record of
-barely nine years; it represents a secure
-and continuous artistic advance; and it
-should have brought its patient originator
-something better than the privilege
-of dying young, “broken-hearted,” as
-he confessed to Wilkes, “and without a
-shilling.”</p>
-
-<p>Farquhar had but the trifling income
-of an officer’s pay on which to support
-his wife and his two little daughters. He
-seems to have sought no political preferment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
-nor did his numerous patrons put
-themselves out to advance him, although
-these were the very days when men of
-letters were crowded into the public service.
-Ever and anon he received fifteen
-guineas, then a very handsome sum, for a
-play. Perhaps, like his rash gallants, he
-had “a head to get money, and a heart to
-spend it.” He greatly wished success, for
-the sake of those never absent from his
-thought; and he complained bitterly
-when the French acrobats and rope-dancers
-took from <i>The Twin Rivals</i> the
-attention of pleasure-seeking Londoners,
-much as poor Haydon complained afterwards
-of the crowds who surged down
-Piccadilly, to behold not his “Christ’s
-Entry into Jerusalem” at all, but General
-Tom Thumb, holding court under the
-same roof.</p>
-
-<p>When Farquhar’s health was breaking,
-and debts began to involve him at last,
-it appears that the Earl of Ormonde,
-his general, prompted him to sell his
-commission in order to liquidate them,
-and agreed to give him a captaincy. Or,
-as is yet more probable, in view of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
-fact that Farquhar was already known by
-the title of captain, he was urged to sell
-out of the army, on a given pledge that
-preferment of another sort awaited him.
-His other industrious devices to secure
-support for four having missed fire, he
-gladly performed his part of the transaction,
-only to experience a fatal delay
-on the part of my Lord Ormonde, whose
-mind had strayed to larger matters. In
-fine, the unkept promise hurt the subaltern
-to the heart; he sank, literally
-from that hour, of grief and disquietude.
-Lintott the stationer, and his old friend
-Wilkes stood manfully by him, one with
-liberal payment in advance, and one with
-affectionate furtherance and gifts; but
-Farquhar did not rally. It was to Wilkes,
-as everybody knows, that he penned this
-most touching testament: “Dear Bob, I
-have not anything to leave thee to perpetuate
-my memory but two helpless
-girls. Look upon them sometimes! and
-think of him who was, to the last moment
-of his life, thine.” The end came
-on or about April 29, 1707, George Farquhar
-being just thirty years of age.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
-While he lay dying in Soho, his last and
-best comedy was in progress at the new
-magnificent Haymarket, and his audiences,
-with a barren benevolence not uncharacteristic
-of the unthinking human
-species, are said to have wept for him.
-He was buried in the parish church-yard
-of St. Martin-in-the-Fields,<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> where Nell
-Gwynne’s contrite ashes lay, and where
-her legacied bells tolled for his passing.</p>
-
-<p>Farquhar’s name is always coupled
-with those of Congreve, Wycherley, and
-Vanbrugh, although in spirit and also in
-point of time he was removed from the
-influences which formed them. Many
-critics, notably Hazlitt, Macaulay, and
-Thackeray, have allowed him least mention
-of the four, but he is, in reality, the
-best playwright among them; and it is
-greatly to the credit of a discreditable
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>period if he be taken as its representative.
-He had Vanbrugh’s exuberant
-vivacity, Congreve’s grace, Wycherley’s
-knack of climax. Wycherley, retiring
-into private life when Farquhar was
-born, lived to see his exit; Etherege was
-then at his zenith; Dryden’s <i>All for
-Love</i> was in the printer’s case, and Otway,
-almost on the point of his two great
-works, was coming home ragged from
-Flanders: Otway, whose boyish ventures
-on the stage, and whose subsequent soldiering,
-Farquhar was so closely to follow.</p>
-
-<p>Pope, and a gentler observer, Steele,
-found Farquhar’s dialogue “low,” and so
-it must have sounded between the brave
-surviving extravagances of the Jacobean
-buskin and the modulated utterances of
-<i>Cato</i> and <i>The Revenge</i>. A practical talent
-like Farquhar’s was bound to provoke
-hard little words from the Popes who
-shrank from his spontaneous style, and
-the Steeles who could not approve of the
-gross themes he had inherited. For sheer
-good-breeding, some scenes in <i>The Way
-of the World</i> can never be surpassed;
-they prove that one cannot hold the stage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
-by talk alone. It is fortunate for Farquhar
-that he could not emulate the
-exquisitely civilized depravities of Congreve’s
-urban Muse. But his dialogue is
-not “low” to modern tastes; it has, in
-general, a simple, natural zest, infinitely
-preferable to the Persian apparatus
-of the early eighteenth century. Even
-he, however, can rant and deviate into
-rhetoric, as soon as his lovers drop upon
-one knee. More plainly in Farquhar’s
-work than in that of any contemporary,
-we mark the glamour of the Caroline
-literature fading, and the breath of life
-blowing in. An essentially Protestant
-nationalism began to settle down upon
-England for good and all with William
-and Mary, and it brought subtle changes
-to bear upon the arts, the trades, the
-sports, and the manners of the people.
-In Farquhar’s comedies we have the reflex
-of a dulling and strengthening age;
-the fantasticalities of the last three reigns
-are all but gone; the Vandyck dresses
-gleam and swish no longer. Speech becomes
-more pert and serviceable, in a
-vocabulary of lesser range; lives are vulgarizing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
-that is, humanizing, and getting
-closer to common unromantic concerns;
-no such delicately unreal creature as Millamant,
-all fire and dew and perfumery,—Millamant
-who could not suffer to have
-her hair done up in papers written in
-prose, and who, quite by herself, is a vindication
-of what Mr. Allibone is pleased
-to call “Lamb’s sophistical and mischievous
-essay,”—walks the world of Farquhar.
-With him, notwithstanding that the sorry
-business to be despatched is the same old
-amorous intrigue, come in at once less
-license, less affectation, less Gallicism.
-He reports from the beginning what he
-himself apprehends; his plays are shorthand
-notes, albeit timid in character, upon
-the transitional and prosaic time. His
-company is made up of individuals he
-had seen in a thousand lights at the
-Spread Eagle and the Rummer; in the
-Inner Temple and in St. James’s Park;
-in barracks domestic and foreign; and
-in his native place, where adventurers,
-eloquent in purest Londonderry,<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> stumbled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
-along full of whiskey and ideas.
-He anticipates certain phases of Private
-Ortheris’s thorough-going love of London,
-and figures his exiled Dicky as “just
-dead of a consumption, till the sweet
-smoke of Cheapside and the dear perfume
-of Fleet-ditch” made him a man
-again. In this laughing affectionate apprehension<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
-of the local and the temporal
-lies Farquhar’s whole strength or weakness.
-From the poets of the Restoration
-there escapes, most incongruously,
-now and then, something which betokens
-a sense of natural beauty, or even a recognition
-of the divine law; but Farquhar
-is not a poet, and this spray from the
-deeps is not in him. He perceives nothing
-that is not, and opens no crack or
-chink where the fancy can air itself for a
-moment and</p>
-
-<div class="center">—“step grandly out into the infinite.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">Such a lack would not be worth remarking
-in the debased and insincere writers
-who but just preceded him. But from
-the very date of his first dealings with
-London managers, idealism was abroad,
-and a man with affinities for “the things
-that are more excellent” need have feared
-no longer to divulge them, since the
-court and the people, if not the dominant
-town gentry, were with him. Farquhar
-had neither the full moral illumination
-nor the will, though he had the
-capacity, to lend a hand to the blessed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
-work waiting for the opportunist. He was
-young, he was of provincial nurture; he
-was carried away by the theatrical tradition.
-Yet his mind was a Medea’s kettle,
-out of which everything issued cleaner
-and more wholesome. Despite the
-prodigious animal spirits of his characters,
-they conduct their mad concerns
-with sense and moderation; they manage
-tacitly to proclaim themselves as temporarily
-“on a tear,” as going forth to
-angle in angling weather, and as likely to
-lead sober citizen lives from to-morrow
-on. Under bad old maintained conditions
-they develop traits approximately
-worthy of the <i>Christian Hero</i>. They
-“look before and after.” They are to
-be classed as neutrals and nondescripts,
-for they have all the swagger of their
-lax progenitors, and none of their deviltry.
-They belong professionally to
-one family, while they bear a tantalizing
-resemblance to another. Farquhar
-himself, perhaps unaware that partisanship
-is better than compromise,
-made his bold toss for bays both spiritual
-and temporal. Imitating, as novices<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
-will ever do, the art back of him, he
-adopted the claim to approbation which
-that art never dreamed of. In the very
-good preface to <i>The Twin Rivals</i> (which
-has always been approved of critics rather
-than of audiences), he sets up for a
-castigator of vice and folly, and he offers
-to appease “the ladies and the clergy,”
-as, in some measure apparent to the
-more metaphysical among them, he
-may have done. His friend, Mr. John
-Hopkins, the author of <i>Amasia</i>, invited,
-on behalf of <i>The Constant Couple</i>, the
-commendation of Collier. That open-minded
-censor may have seen with
-satisfaction, in the general trend of
-Farquhar’s composition, the less and less
-dubious day-beams of Augustan decency.
-Though Farquhar did not live, like Vanbrugh
-and the magnanimous Dryden, to
-admit the abuse of a gift, and to deplore
-it, he alone, of the minor dramatists,
-seems all along to have had a negative
-sort of conscience better than none. His
-instincts continually get the better not
-only of his environment, but of his practice.
-Some uneasiness, some misgiving,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
-are at the bottom of his homely materialism.
-He thinks it best, on the whole, to
-forswear the temptation to be sublime,
-and to keep to his cakes and ale; and
-for cakes and ale he had an eminent
-and inborn talent. What was ably said
-of Hogarth, the great exemplar, will cover
-all practicians of his school: “He
-had an intense feeling for and command
-over the impressions of senses and
-habit, of character and passion, the serious
-and the comic; in a word, of nature
-as it fell in with his own observation, or
-came into the sphere of his actual experience.
-But he had little power beyond
-that sphere, or sympathy for that which
-existed only in idea. He was ‘conformed
-to this world, not transformed.’” Or,
-as Leigh Hunt, in his beautiful memoir,
-adds, with acuteness, of Farquhar himself:
-“He could turn what he had experienced
-in common life to the best account,
-but he required in all cases the
-support of ordinary associations, and could
-not project his spirit beyond them.” In
-short, Farquhar lacked imagination. He
-had insight, however, of another order,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
-which is his praise, and which distinguishes
-him from all his fellows: he had
-sympathy and charity.</p>
-
-<p>The major blot on the literature of the
-English stage of the period is not its
-libertinism, but rather its concomitant
-utter heartlessness. “Arrogance” (so, according
-to Erasmus, that ascetic scholar
-Dean Colet used to remind his clergy)
-“is worse than a hundred concubines.”
-The slight sporadic touches of tenderness,
-of pity, of disinterested generosity,
-to be found by patient search in Congreve,
-come in boldly with Farquhar,
-and boldly overrun his prompter’s books.
-Vanbrugh’s scenes stand on nothing but
-their biting and extravagant sarcasm.
-As Congreve’s characters are indiscriminately
-witty, so Vanbrugh’s are universally
-and wearisomely cynical, and at the
-expense of themselves and all society.
-His women in high life have no individuality;
-they wear stings of one pattern.
-The genial conception of the shrewd,
-material Mrs. Amlet, however, in <i>The
-Confederacy</i>, is worthy of Farquhar, and
-certainly Congreve himself could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
-have bettered her in the execution.
-Etherege’s typical Man of Mode is a tissue
-of untruth, hardness, and scorn, all
-in impeccable attire; a most mournful
-spectacle. Thinking of such dainty monsters,
-Macaulay let fly his famous invective
-against their creators: “Foreheads
-of bronze, hearts like the nether millstone,
-and tongues set on fire of hell!”
-George Farquhar may be exempted altogether
-from this too-deserved compliment.
-There is honest mirth in his
-world of fiction, there is dutifulness,
-there is true love, there are good women;
-there is genuine friendship between
-Roebuck and Lovewell, between Trueman
-and Hermes Wouldbe, between Aimwell
-and Archer, and between the green
-Tummas of <i>The Recruiting Officer</i> and
-his Costar, whom he cannot leave behind.
-Sylvia, Angelica, Constance, Leanthe,
-Oriana, Dorinda, free-spoken as they are,
-how they shine, and with what morning
-freshness, among the tiger-lilies of that
-evil garden of the Restoration drama!
-These heroines are an innovation, for
-they are maids, not wedded wives. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
-to the immortal periwigged young bloods
-their suitors, they are “real gentlemen,”
-as Hazlitt, who loved Farquhar, called
-them, “and only pretended impostors;”
-or, to quote Farquhar’s latest editor, Mr.
-A. C. Ewald, they are “always men and
-never yahoos.” Their author had no
-interest in “preferring vice, and rendering
-virtue dull and despicable.” Their
-praise may be negative, but it establishes
-a wide wall of difference between them
-and the fops and cads with whom they
-have been confounded. In their conversations,
-glistening with epigram and
-irony, malevolence has no part; they
-sneer at no virtue, they tamper with
-none; and at every turn of a selfish
-campaign they find opportunity for honorable
-behavior. From the mouths of
-these worldlings comes satire, hot and
-piping, against worldliness; for Farquhar
-is as moralizing, if not as moral, as he
-dares be. Some of the least attractive
-of them, the most greedy and contriving,
-have moments of sweetly whimsical
-and optimistic speech. Thus Benjamin
-Wouldbe, the plotter against his elder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
-brother in <i>The Twin Rivals</i>, makes his
-adieu after the fashion of a true gallant:
-“I scorn your beggarly benevolence!
-Had my designs succeeded, I
-would not have allowed you the weight
-of a wafer, and therefore will accept
-none.” The same person soars again
-into a fine Aurelian speculation: “Show
-me that proud stoic that can bear success
-and champagne! Philosophy can
-support us in hard fortune, but who can
-have patience in prosperity?” Over his
-men and women in middle life Farquhar
-lingers with complacence entirely foreign
-to his colleagues, to whom mothers,
-guardians, husbands, and other apple-guarding
-dragons were uniformly ridiculous
-and odious. Justice Balance is as
-attractive as a hearth-fire on a December
-night; so is Lady Bountiful. Over
-Fairbank, the good goldsmith, Farquhar
-gets fairly sentimental, and permits
-him to drop unaware into decasyllabics,
-like the pastoral author of <i>Lorna
-Doone</i>. His rogues are merely roguish,
-in the softened sense of the word; in his
-panorama, though black villains come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
-and go, it is only for an instant, and to
-further some one dramatic effect. He
-has eulogy for his heroes when they deserve
-it, and when they do not you may
-trust him to find a compassionate excuse;
-as when poor Leanthe feelingly says of
-her lover that “his follies are weakly
-founded upon the principles of honor,
-where the very foundation helps to undermine
-the structure.” Even Squire Sullen,
-for his lumpishness, is divorced without
-derision, and in a peal of harmless
-laughter. Farquhar, indeed, is all gentleness,
-all kindness. He had the pensive
-attitude of the true humorist towards the
-world he laughed at; his characters let
-slip words too deep for their living auditors.
-It is curious that to a Restoration
-dramatist, “a nether millstone,” we
-should owe a perfect brief description of
-ideal married life. In the scene of the
-fourth act of <i>Sir Harry Wildair</i>, where
-Lady Lurewell, with her “petrifying affectation,”
-is trying to tease Sir Harry
-out of all endurance on the subject of
-his wife (whom he believes to be lost or
-dead), and the degree of affection he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
-for her, he makes reply: “My own heart
-whispered me her desires, ’cause she herself
-was there; no contention ever rose
-but the dear strife of who should most
-oblige—no noise about authority, for neither
-would stoop to command, where
-both thought it glory to obey.” This is
-meant to be spoken rapidly, and not
-without its tantalizing lack of emphasis;
-but what a pearl it is, set there in the
-superlatively caustic dialogue! English
-chivalry and English literature have no
-such other golden passage in their rubrics,
-unless it be the famous tribute to
-the Lady Elizabeth Hastings that “to
-love her was a liberal education,” or
-Lovelace’s unforgettable song:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I could not love thee, dear, so much,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Loved I not Honour more!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">The passage takes on a very great accidental
-beauty when we remember that it
-required courage, in its time and place,
-to have written it. It is characteristic
-also of Farquhar that it should be introduced,
-as it is, on the top wave of a vivacious
-and stormy conversation, which immediately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
-sweeps it under, as if in proof
-that he understood both his art and his
-audience. The conjugal tie, among the
-leaders of fashion, was still something
-to laugh at and to toy with. Captain
-Vanbrugh, from whom nobody need expect
-much edification, had put in the
-mouth of his Constant, in a play which
-was a favorite with Garrick, a bit of
-sense and sincerity quoted, as it deserved
-to be, by Hunt: “Though marriage be a
-lottery in which there are a wondrous
-many blanks, yet there is one inestimable
-lot in which the only heaven on earth is
-written.” And again: “To be capable
-of loving one is better than to possess a
-thousand.” This was in 1698, and Farquhar
-therefore was not first, nor alone,
-in daring to speak for the derided idea
-of wedlock. Steele was soon to arise as
-the very champion of domestic life; and
-English wit, since he wrote, has never
-subsisted by its mockery of the conditions
-which create</p>
-
-<div class="center">“home-keeping days and household reverences.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">But it was Farquhar who spoke in behalf<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
-of these the most memorable word
-of his generation. After that lofty evidence
-of what he must be suspected to
-have been, it is well to see, as best we
-may, what manner of man George Farquhar
-was. And first let us take some
-extracts from his own account of himself,
-“candid and modest,” as Hunt
-named it.</p>
-
-<p>He gives us to understand that he had
-an ardent temperament, held in check
-by an introspective turn of thought,
-by natural bashfulness, and by habits
-of consideration for others. The portrait
-is drawn from a letter in the <i>Miscellanies</i>,
-of “a mind and person generally
-dressed in black,” and might have
-come bodily, and with charming grace,
-from <i>The Spectator</i>. “I have very little
-estate but what lies under the circumference
-of my hat . . . and should I
-by misfortune come to lose my head, I
-should not be worth a groat.” “I am
-seldom troubled by what the world calls
-airs and caprices, and I think it an idiot’s
-excuse for a foolish action to say: ‘’Twas
-my humor.’” “I cannot cheerfully fix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
-to any study which bears not a pleasure
-in the application.” “Long expectation
-makes the blessing always less to me; I
-lose the great transport of surprise.” “I
-am a very great epicure; for which reason
-I hate all pleasure that’s purchased
-by excess of pain. I can’t relish the jest
-that vexes another. In short, if ever I
-do a wilful injury, it must be a very great
-one.” “I have many acquaintances, very
-few intimates, but no friend; I mean, in
-the old romantic way.” “I have no secret
-so weighty but that I can bear it in
-my own breast.” “I would have my passion,
-if not led, at least waited on by my
-reason.” This last text, repeated elsewhere
-by Farquhar, which is the counterpart
-of one in Sir Philip Sidney’s <i>Arcadia</i>,
-has interest from the lips of a child
-of the “dancing, drinking, and unthinking
-time.” Farquhar’s face, in the old
-prints, is wonderfully of a piece with
-these amiable reports: a handsome, humane,
-careworn, melancholy young face,
-the negation of the contemporary idea of
-the man about town. His constitution,
-at its best, was but frail. “You are as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
-dear to me,” he says, pathetically, to his
-Penelope, “as my hopes of waking in
-health to-morrow morning.”</p>
-
-<p>A tradition has been received without
-question by his many critics and biographers,
-that his chief characters, all cast in
-the same animated mould, are but incognitos
-of himself. Highly-colored projections
-of himself, with latent traits exaggerated,
-and formed mental restraints
-removed, they may indeed be. The public,
-which loves identifications, insisted
-on finding him revealed in his Archers
-and Sir Harrys. Whether or not the
-dramatists of the day had universally the
-Rembrandtesque whim of painting themselves
-into their own foregrounds, they
-were obstinately supposed to do so, with
-Etherege in Young Bellair, with Otway
-in Jaffier. But the real Farquhar</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">—“courteous, facile, sweet,</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride,”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">with his reserve, his simple dress, his thin,
-agreeable voice, his early reputation at
-college for uncongeniality, acting in every
-emergency whither we can fairly trace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
-him with deliberate high-mindedness, is
-far enough from the temper of his restless
-and jocund creations. He wished
-to remove the impression that he could
-have been his own model; for he took
-pains to inscribe <i>The Inconstant</i> to his
-classmate, Richard Tighe, and to compliment
-him upon his kinship with Mirabel,
-“a gay, splendid, easy, generous,
-fine young gentleman”; the applauded
-type, in short, of all that Farquhar’s
-heroes set out to be. Again, lest he
-should pass for a realist as rabid as
-Mademoiselle de Scudéry, who pinioned
-three hundred and seventy of her acquaintances
-between the covers of <i>Clélie</i>,
-Farquhar adds this warning to his enthusiastic
-dedication of <i>The Recruiting
-Officer</i> “to all friends round the Wrekin”:
-“Some little turns of humor that I met
-with almost within the shade of that famous
-hill gave the rise to this comedy;
-and people were apprehensive that, by
-the example of some others, I would
-make the town merry at the expense of
-the country gentleman. But they forgot
-that I was to write a comedy, not a libel.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
-He disclaims everywhere, with the same
-playful decisiveness, the interpretations
-put upon his designs and actions by the
-world of overgrown infants which he entertained.
-Endowed with courage and
-much personal charm, he had small chance
-of distinguishing himself upon the field,
-and for the most part shone at a garrison
-mess; but he had led a not inadventurous
-life, in which were incidents of
-the most pronounced melodrama, with a
-touch of mystery to enhance their value
-for the curious. Farquhar had travelled,
-and with an open, not an insular mind;
-he had, by his own confession, too deep
-an acquaintance with wine, and with the
-nightingales of Spring Gardens, outsinging
-“the chimes at midnight, Master
-Shallow”; he had been, in short, though
-with “melancholy as his every-day apparel,”
-alive and abroad as a private Whig
-of the Revolution, shy of ladies’ notice
-till it came, and proud of it ever after.
-When he printed, in his twenty-first year,
-<i>The Adventures of Covent Garden</i>, he
-added to it a boy’s bragging motto: <i>Et
-quorum pars magna fui</i>. The inference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
-seems to have clung closer to him than
-he found comfortable. He complains,
-not without significance, in his prose
-essay upon the drama, that the public
-think any rôle compounded of “practical
-rake and speculative gentleman is, ten to
-one, the author’s own character.” With
-the incident which furnished its thrilling
-closing scenes to <i>The Inconstant</i>, Farquhar
-had probably no connection; he
-takes pains to state that the hero of it
-was the Chevalier de Chastillon, quite as
-if he feared another confusion of himself,
-as fearless and quick-witted a man, with
-the “golden swashbucklers” of his imagination.
-The rumor which confounded
-them with him has next to nothing to
-support it. Fortune, fashion, foolhardiness,
-impudence, were not the stars which
-shone upon Farquhar’s nativity. Such
-exotic and epic virtues as may flourish
-under these, such as do adorn the delightful
-dandies he depicted, surely belonged
-to him in person; and his quiet habit of
-living apart and letting the town talk,
-fixed to perpetuity the belief that he had
-exploited himself vicariously, for good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
-and all, upon the stage. Certain qualities
-of his, certain brave truces established
-with adverse conditions, force one to consider
-him with more attention and respect
-than even his brilliant pen invites.
-It is something to find him diffident and
-studious in a bacchanalian society, and
-with such scrupulous sensitiveness that a
-mere inadvertence in boyhood forbade
-him ever to fence again;<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> but his outstanding
-characteristic, the thing which
-sets him apart from his brocaded <i>dramatis
-personæ</i>, is his known lasting devotion to
-the welfare of his family, and his admirable
-behavior in relation to his early and
-extraordinary marriage.</p>
-
-<p>In 1702, Farquhar issued a charming
-and little-known miscellany, called <i>Love
-and Business</i>, “a collection of occasionary
-verse and epistolary prose.” The poetic
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>exercises are of small importance; but
-the other data (which survive as a hindrance,
-rather than as a help, to biographers)
-come near being of very definite
-value. All manner of futile guesses have
-been expended upon the identification of
-his Penelope. It is given to no mouser
-to name her with certainty; but, despite
-the gossip of the greenroom, now as ever
-too ready to weave romances about the
-name of George Farquhar, internal evidence
-is strongly against her having been
-Anne Oldfield. Yet this is the supposition
-of most of his editors. Commenting
-upon one passage touching some villanous
-stratagem from which Farquhar says he
-was able to rescue a friend in the Low
-Countries, a friend with whom he afterwards
-condoles upon a robbery she had
-undergone, Leigh Hunt adds that this may
-have been the woman whom Farquhar
-subsequently made his wife. A widow,
-whose Christian name was Margaret, but
-of whom we know so little else that we
-cannot say whether she was English, or
-whether her age considerably exceeded
-his, conceived a passionate attachment for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
-him, and managed to have it represented
-to him from several quarters not only
-that she was kindly disposed towards him,
-but that it would be well for his opening
-career if he should seek her hand, as she
-had estates and revenues. Eventually,
-after we know not what hesitations natural
-to a fastidious temperament, he proposed
-to her and was accepted, and it
-soon transpired that the bride was quite
-as penniless as himself. Hunt does not
-follow out his own hint in the matter of
-the robbery, though the question, when
-carefully considered, has a vital import.
-If the victim were indeed the lady whom
-Farquhar married later, and if she were
-indeed robbed, it should signify that she
-must then have been possessed of some
-wealth, so that the report given to Farquhar
-could not have been, up to that
-time at least, a lie. On the other hand,
-casuists must decide whether, again in
-the event of the victim having been correctly
-identified by Hunt, the robbery
-itself may not have been an invention
-meant, after Farquhar had declared his
-allegiance, to quicken his sympathy, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
-to soften the coming revelation that the
-robbery could never have resulted, owing
-to a defect in the premises! There is
-very much else about the <i>Letters</i> which
-is confusing and inconsistent. They are
-so disconnected, and they vary so in
-tone and manner, as to suggest a doubt
-whether, if not altogether imaginary, they
-could have been meant for any one person.
-A lady is announced as having returned
-them for publication; she dresses
-in mourning, and resides now on the
-Continent, now in London or in the
-country; her suitor very explicitly states
-that he had long solicited in vain the
-honor of her hand; and, in the end, with
-farewells and an abrupt and unexplained
-severing, he gives up the quest, with his
-own admission that he has lost her and
-that her heart “had no room for him.”
-Now that the recipient of this correspondence,
-Anne Oldfield or another,
-should have returned it for commercial
-purposes, not having been won by the
-very real passion exhibited in parts of it,
-seems somewhat peculiar; but to accept
-as fact that Farquhar himself actually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
-asked these letters back from her, and
-printed them as they stood, is, under the
-conditions, absurd, and irreconcilable with
-our knowledge of his character from other
-and prior sources. Hunt further suggests
-that the <i>Miscellany</i> was gathered together
-in some press of pecuniary trouble;
-and its title, indeed, may hint at a whimsical
-expectation that Love, being harnessed
-and sent abroad to arouse curiosity
-among readers, may return in the way
-of Business to headquarters. But Farquhar,
-in his bachelor days, had a fair income,
-and would not have been so likely
-to hear the wolf at the door as he was
-later, when that sound would awake in
-him a dread not ominous to himself alone.
-It is possible that the undiscovered register
-of his marriage bears the date of
-1702 or even of 1701; if it were so, that
-might explain the issue of his only book
-not in dramatic dress, and the emergency
-which called it forth. It is difficult indeed
-to suppose, although modern delicacy
-in these matters was just then a
-somewhat unknown quantity, that we
-have between its covers genuine love-letters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
-hot from the pen. Steele, of an August
-morning nine years later, inserted in
-<i>The Spectator</i> as the communication of a
-third person, six of his own notes to his
-comely and noble <i>fiancée</i>, Mary Scurlock.
-But Farquhar had not Steele’s
-earnestness and love of circumstantial
-truth, nor his zest for pointing a moral.
-Or was this publication the sort of thing
-he would be likely, for a not unworthy
-purpose, to do? Was he, in reality, a
-shade more obtuse and misguided than
-Miss Fanny Brawne? Rather let us believe
-the <i>Letters</i> a work of fiction, and
-only founded largely upon various bygone
-moods and incidents of the foregoing
-two years, which for one reason
-or another might interest buyers. Such
-is the description to “dear Sam” of Dryden’s
-erratic funeral, which is almost
-too keenly rhetorical a summing-up to
-have been written the next day, or the
-thoughtful and sensible surveys of the
-Dutch. The amatory epistles, with their
-leaven of reality, are presumably edited
-out of all recognition. They make no
-defined impression; they do not move<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
-forward; they veil impenetrably the traits
-of the person addressed, who is made to
-appear as a vanishing unrelenting goddess,
-deaf and blind to George Farquhar pleading
-his best. Whatever were the facts,
-the report of them is chivalrous. Assume
-for a moment that his wife stands
-behind the whole of this correspondence,
-or even behind the latter part of it, and
-what seemed to constitute a little betrayal
-in the very worst taste turns out to be
-an innocent joke. Of course the “lady”
-(or one of the ladies) lent the manuscripts
-to the printers; of course Farquhar originated,
-in order to give color to Mistress
-Farquhar’s known pretence of riches, and
-their joint subsequent poverty, the magnificent
-thieving practised upon the never-thieved
-and the unthievable! One
-can fancy them both, in their hard chairs
-in the bare room, laughing well and long,
-between tears of anxious hope that the
-more personal element in the <i>Miscellany</i>
-might fetch them from the Covent Garden
-book-stalls a parcel of fagots and a
-dinner.</p>
-
-<p>Aside from all theorizing, it is pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
-to know that their life together was
-a happy one. The consensus of all witnesses,
-in the significant absence of any
-contrary voice, affirms that Farquhar,
-having been trapped, bore himself like
-the gentleman he was. Two children
-were born to him, to brighten, but also to
-sadden, his brief and diligent life. Under
-his added anxieties he did his royal best;
-he addressed to their mother, from first
-to last, no word of reproach for her fraud.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“The secret pleasure of the generous act</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Is the great mind’s great bribe.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">In its fragrance of faith and patience and
-self-sacrificing tenderness, their domestic
-story can almost rank next after that sacred
-one of Charles and Mary Lamb.</p>
-
-<p>Farquhar’s widow, who had loved him,
-appears to have loved his memory.<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
-did not survive her husband many years;
-for there is reason to suppose she died
-before 1719, and in penury. Poor Farquhar
-used to declare that the dread that
-his family might suffer want was far more
-bitter to him than death. Wilkes gave
-at his theatre, in the May of 1708, a benefit
-for Margaret Farquhar, and twelve
-years later he was acting as trustee for
-the young girls Mary and Anne Margaret,
-whose pension is said by the <i>Encyclopædia
-Britannica</i> to have amounted to
-thirty pounds; it was obtained through
-the exertions of Edmund Challoner, to
-whom their father had dedicated his <i>Miscellanies</i>.
-Wilkes seems to have again
-aided both the orphans when they came
-of age. One of them married an humble
-tradesman, and died early; the other was
-living in 1764, wholly uneducated, and, as
-it is said on small authority, as a maid-servant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
-Farquhar’s elder biographers
-and editors, Ware, Genest, Chetwood, and
-the rest, writing in this daughter’s lifetime,
-were apparently unconscious of her
-existence; but the thought of her father’s
-child, old, neglected, and in a menial position,
-served to anger Leigh Hunt as
-late as 1842.</p>
-
-<p>Fear and forecast of what is only too
-likely to befall the helpless, depressed
-Farquhar in the April long ago, when he
-lay dying of consumption, and when,
-with a fortitude which sustained him
-under his bitter disappointment, for six
-weeks, he wrote and finished his masterly
-comedy <i>The Beaux’ Stratagem</i>. As he
-drew near the end of the second act he
-was told to give up hope; but the second
-act closes with the famous rattling
-catechism between Cherry and Archer,
-and the best bit of verse its author ever
-made; and the third starts in with the
-hearty sweet laugh—Anne Oldfield’s
-laugh—of that “exquisite creature, Mrs.
-Sullen.” On a fund of grief, Farquhar
-enriched his London with a legacy of
-perpetual merriment. The unflagging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
-impetus of his dramas, above and beyond
-their very real intrinsic merit, accounts
-for their great and yet unforfeited popularity.
-They descend to us associated
-with the intellectual triumphs of the
-most dear and dazzling names upon the
-English stage; they move upon the
-wings of intelligence and good-nature;
-they “give delight, and hurt not.” They
-swarm with soldiers, welcome figures
-long tacitly prohibited from the boards,
-as too painful a reminder of the Civil
-Wars. They begin with the clatter of
-spurs, the bang of doors, the hubbub
-of bantering voices in “a broadside of
-damme’s.” Sergeant Kite appears, followed
-by a mob on whom he lavishes
-his wheedling, inspiriting gibble-gabble;
-Roebuck enters in fantastic colloquy
-with a beggar; Sir Harry crosses the
-road, singing, with footmen after him,
-and Vizard meanwhile indicating him to
-Standard as “the joy of the playhouse
-and the life of the park, Sir Harry Wildair,
-newly come from Paris”; <i>The Twin
-Rivals</i> opens in a volley of epigrams;
-the rise of the curtain in <i>The Beaux’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
-Stratagem</i> discloses sly old Boniface and
-the ingenious Cherry calling and running,
-running and calling, in a fluster
-pregnant of farce and revel. Farquhar’s
-pages are not for the closet; they have
-little passive charm; to quote from them,
-full as they are of familiar saws almost
-all his own, is hardly fair. His mother-wit
-arises from the ludicrous and unforeseen
-predicament, not from vanity and
-conscious power; it is integral, not mere
-repartee; and it never calls a halt to the
-action. As was well said by Charles
-Cowden Clarke, “there are no traps for
-jests” in Farquhar; “no trains laid to
-fire <i>équivoque</i>.” The clear fun, spurting
-unannounced in dialogue after dialogue,
-in incident after incident; the
-incessant Molière-like masquerades; the
-thousand little issues depending upon
-by-play and transient inspiration; the
-narrowing scope and deepening sentiment
-of the plot, like a secret given to
-the players, to be told fully only to the
-audience most in touch with them—these
-commend Farquhar’s vivacious rôles to
-actors, and make them both difficult<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
-and desirable. With what unction, from
-an actor’s lips, falls his manifold and
-glowing praise of theatres! What a pretty
-picture, a broad wash of rose-purple
-and white, he can make of the interior
-seen from the wings! “There’s such a
-hurry of pleasure to transport us; the
-bustle, noise, gallantry, equipage, garters,
-feathers, wigs, bows, smiles, ogles, love,
-music, and applause!” And again, in
-another mood: “The playhouse is the
-element of poetry, because the region of
-beauty; the ladies, methinks, have a more
-inspiring, triumphant air in the boxes
-than anywhere else. They sit commanding
-on their thrones, with all their subject
-slaves about them; their best clothes,
-best looks; shining jewels, sparkling eyes;
-the treasures of the world in a ring.”
-And Mirabel, who is speaking, ends with
-an ecstatic sigh: “I could wish that my
-whole life long were the first night of a
-new play!”</p>
-
-<p>This is a drop, or a rise, from Congreve
-and his aristocratic abstractions. Farquhar,
-in his youth, had modelled himself
-chiefly upon the comedy of Congreve,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
-and may be said to have perfected
-the mechanism which the genius of Congreve
-had brought into vogue. He never
-attained, nor could attain, Congreve’s
-scholarly elegance of proportion and his
-consummate diction. But he had the
-happiness of being no purely literary
-dramatist; he had technical knowledge
-and skill. He brought the existing heroes
-with their conniving valets, the
-buxom equivocal maids, the laughing,
-masking, conscienceless fine ladies, out
-of their disreputable moonlight into
-healthful comic air; and added to them,
-in the transfer, a leaven of homely lovableness
-which will forever keep his masterpieces
-upon the stage.</p>
-
-<p>Farquhar’s original intellect has a value
-only relative; he may be considered as
-Goldsmith’s tutor rather than as Congreve’s
-disciple. Goldsmith had no small
-knowledge of Farquhar, his forerunner by
-sixty years as a sizar student of Trinity;
-and, like him, he is reported to have been
-dropped from his class for a buffoonery.
-What friends (<i>Arcades ambo</i>, in both Virgilian
-and blameless Byronese) might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
-these two parsons’ sons have been! Scrub,
-Squire Sullen’s servant, in <i>The Beaux’
-Stratagem</i>, who “on Saturday draws warrants,
-and on Sunday draws beer,” was a
-part Goldy once greatly desired to act.
-He, too, when he came to write plays,
-cast about for conventional types to handle
-and improve. Tony and his incomparable
-mother would hardly have been,
-without their first imperfect apparition
-in Wycherley’s powerful (and stolen)
-<i>Plain Dealer;</i> and Young Marlow and
-Hastings are frank reproductions of
-Archer and Aimwell, in a much finer
-situation. Miss Hardcastle hopes that in
-her cap and apron she may resemble
-Cherry. And no one seems to have
-traced a celebrated passage in <i>The Vicar
-of Wakefield</i> either to my Lady Howdye’s
-message to my Lady Allnight repeated
-by Archer (who in this same scene introduces
-the “topical song” upon the
-modern boards), or else to the example
-of the manœuvring Bisarre in Act II.,
-Scene I., of <i>The Inconstant</i>. Surely,
-“forms which proceed from simple
-enumeration and are exposed to validity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
-from a contradictory instance” supplies
-the unique original of the nonsense-rhetoric
-which so confounded poor Moses.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a>
-The talk of Clincher Junior and
-Tim, of Kite, Bullock, Scrub, Lyric, and
-the unbaptized wench Parly, of the constable
-showing the big bed to Hermes
-Wouldbe, the talk, that is, of Farquhar’s
-common people, shows humor altogether
-of what we may call the Goldsmith
-order: genial, odd, grotesque paradox,
-springing from Irish inconsequence and
-love of human kind.</p>
-
-<p>In the sixth year of Queen Anne, when
-Farquhar died, Steele was married to his
-“Prue,” and having seen the last of his
-three reformatory dramas “damned for
-its piety,” sought Joseph Addison’s approval
-and collaboration, and fell to designing
-<i>The Tatler</i>. Fielding was newborn,
-Johnson just out of the cradle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
-Pope was trying a cunning young hand
-at his first <i>Pastorals;</i> Defoe, an alumnus
-of Newgate, was beating his way outward
-and upward; Swift, yet a Whig, was known
-but for his <i>Tale of a Tub</i>. The fresh waters
-were rising on all sides to vivify the
-sick lowlands of the decadence. The
-kingdoms had a forgotten lesson, and
-long in the learning, set before them:
-to regain, as a basis for legitimate results,
-their mental independence and simplicity;
-to serve art for art’s sake, and to
-achieve, through the reactionary formalism
-of the nascent eighteenth century,
-freedom and a broad ethic outlook. It
-was as if Comedy, in her winning meretricious
-perfections, had to die, that English
-prose might live. It is enough for
-an immature genius of the third order,
-born under Charles the Second, to have
-vaguely foreshadowed a just and imperative
-change. Farquhar certainly does
-foreshadow it, albeit with what theologians
-might call absence of the necessary
-intention.</p>
-
-<p>He wrote excellent prefaces and prologues.
-His <i>Discourse upon Comedy</i>, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
-the <i>Miscellanies</i>, did pioneer work for his
-theory, since expounded by more authoritative
-critics, and received by the English
-world, that the observance or non-observance
-of the dramatic unities is at
-the will of the wise, and that for guidance
-in all such matters playwrights
-should look to Shakespeare rather than
-to Aristotle. The <i>Discourse</i>, in Farquhar’s
-clear, sunny, homespun, forceful
-style, does him honor, and should be reprinted.
-His best charm is that he cannot
-be didactic. His suasion is of the
-strongest, but he has the self-consciousness
-of all sensitive and analytic minds,
-which keeps him free here as elsewhere
-from the slightest assumption of despotism.
-It is very refreshing, in the face of
-that incessant belaboring of the reader
-which Lesage was setting as a contemporaneous
-fashion, to come across Farquhar’s
-gentle good-humored salutatory:
-“If you like the author’s book, you have
-all the sense he thought you had; if you
-dislike it, you have more sense than he
-was aware of!” Had he lived longer, or
-a little later, we should have found him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
-as well, with his turn for skirmishing
-psychology, among the essayists and the
-novelists. There were in him a mellowness
-and an unction which have their fullest
-play in professedly subjective writing.
-Farquhar, after all, did not fulfil himself,
-for he followed an ill outgoing fashion
-in æsthetics rather than further a right
-incoming one. No one can help begrudging
-him to the period he adorned.
-He deserved to flourish on the manlier
-morrow, and to hold a historic position
-with the regenerators of public taste in
-England. “Ah, go hang thyself up, my
-brave Crillon, for at Arques we had a
-fight, and thou wert <span class="smcap">NOT</span> in it!” One
-can fancy Sir Richard Steele forever
-quoting that at Captain George Farquhar,
-in some roomy club-window in
-Paradise.</p>
-
-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37">[37]</a> Incipit Annus Academicus Die Julii 9<sup>a</sup> 1694.</p>
-
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<table border="1" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Matriculation entry">
-<tr><td align="center">Die 17a Julii</td><td align="center">Georgius Farquhare Sizator</td><td align="center">filius Gulielmi Farqhare Clerici</td><td align="center">Annos 17</td><td align="center">Natus Londonderry</td><td align="center">ibidem educatus sub magistro Walker</td><td align="center">Eu. Lloyd (college tutor)</td></tr>
-</table></div>
-<p class="unindent">This matriculation entry from the register of Trinity does
-away with our sizar’s presumed father, Rev. John Farquhar,
-prebendary of Raphoe. We hear nothing more,
-ever after, of the Farquhar family, who henceforth leave
-young George to his own profane devices; nor can any
-certainty be attached to additional information, sometimes
-proffered, that the father had seven children in all, and
-held a living of only one hundred and fifty pounds a
-year. One other point is fixed by the entry, to wit: if
-George Farquhar was seventeen in the July of 1694, he
-cannot have been born in 1678.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38">[38]</a> This was the theatre built by Sir Christopher Wren
-in 1672.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39">[39]</a> Peter Anthony Motteux, the wild and clever linguist
-and dramatist, who made the best English translation of
-<i>Don Quixote</i>. <i>The Stage Coach</i>, itself an adaptation,
-has little merit beyond its liveliness.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40">[40]</a> The register of burial is dated a month later than
-the received date of his death. It reads simply: “23 May,
-George Falkwere, M.” The initial is the sapient sexton’s
-indication that this was neither a W (woman) nor a
-C (child). The spelling of the name betokens its usual
-and original pronunciation. The present famous porticoed
-church was not built for nineteen years after Farquhar
-died.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41">[41]</a> The not altogether foolish censure has been cast upon
-the rogue Teague in <i>The Twin Rivals</i> that he speaks an
-impossible brogue, which might as well be Welsh. Farquhar
-did not succeed in transferring to paper the weird and
-unlovely Ulster dialect with which he was familiar in boyhood,
-and which had figured already in the third act of <i>Henry
-the Fifth</i>, in Jonson’s Irish masque, in Shadwell’s <i>Lancashire
-Witches;</i> which was simultaneously being used in
-his farce <i>The Committee</i>, by Dryden’s friend Howard,
-and which was afterwards to have good corroboration in
-Aytoun’s <i>Massacre of the MacPherson</i>. Farquhar employs
-it twice elsewhere, passably well in the case of
-Torlough Macahone of the parish of Curroughabegley
-(the personage who built a mansion-house for himself and
-his predecessors after him), and with lamentable flatness in
-that of Dugard in his last comedy. Dugard is a rival of
-the nursery-maid dear to almanac humorists, who is wont
-to exclaim: “Can’t ye tell boi me accint that ’tis Frinch
-Oi am!” It was one of Farquhar’s inartistic mistakes that
-he made no loving study of this or of anything touching
-nearly his own people. His Irishmen, with the exception
-of Roebuck, are either rascals or characterless nobodies.
-The name Teague, or Teig, which Howard had also employed,
-is old and pure North Irish; and no less pleasant
-an authority than George Borrow reminds us in the
-<i>Romano Lavo-Lil</i> that it is Danish in origin.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42">[42]</a> Dear Dick Steele, in 1701, while Captain of Fusileers,
-had a duel thrust upon him; and in parrying, his
-sword pierced his man. To his remorse may be ascribed
-his hatred of the custom of duelling, expressed afterwards
-on every occasion. Steele owed his start in life to James
-Butler, Duke of Ormonde, who entered him among the
-boys on the Charterhouse foundation. This peer was
-grandfather to the man who failed George Farquhar.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43">[43]</a> Mrs. Farquhar published in 1711 an octavo volume
-of the <i>Plays, Letters, and Verses</i>. Among the verses figures
-a poem of six cantos dedicated to the victorious Earl of
-Peterborough, entitled <i>Barcelona</i>. “It was found among
-my dear deceased husband’s writings,” says the widow,
-in her prefatory note. He was not at the siege, and it
-is possible that the six cantos were a manuscript copy
-of the effusion of some former comrade. Farquhar was
-the author of several songs, one, of highly didactic complexion,
-having emanated from him at the reputed age of
-ten. Of these, only two are of fair lyrical quality: the
-page’s song in <i>Love and a Bottle</i>, and “Tell me, Aurelia,
-tell me, pray,” which Robert Southey included in his
-collection.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44">[44]</a> <i>The Vicar of Wakefield</i> dates from 1766. Almost
-twenty years before that, the immortal Partridge had remarked
-to Tom Jones, quoting his schoolmaster: “Polly
-matete cry town is my daskalon.” Noble nonsense hath
-her pedigree. Goldsmith, however, is not so likely to
-have taken his cue from Fielding.</p></div></div>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p>
-
-
-
-<h2>IV<br />
-
-TOPHAM BEAUCLERK<br />
-
-<small>1739-1780</small><br />
-
-<small>AND</small><br />
-
-BENNET LANGTON<br />
-
-<small>1741-1800</small></h2>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a><br /><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div>
- <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-064-drop-i.jpg" width="110" height="106" alt="I" />
-</div>
-
-<p class="drop-capi">IN Samuel Johnson’s famous
-circle nearly every man
-stands for himself, full of
-definite purpose and power.
-But two young men are
-there who did nothing of moment, whose
-names chime often down the pages of all
-his biographies, and to whom the world
-must pay honor, if only for the friendship
-they took and gave. As Apollo should
-be set about with his Graces “tripping
-neatly,” so the portentous old apparition
-of Johnson seems never so complete and
-endearing as when attended by these
-two above all things else Johnsonians.
-When the Turk’s Head is ajar in Gerrard
-Street, in shadow-London; when the
-“unclubable” Hawkins strides over the
-threshold, and Hogarth goes by the window<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
-with his large nod and smile; when
-Chamier is there reading, Goldsmith posing
-in purple silk small-clothes, Sir Joshua
-fingering his trumpet, Burke and little
-brisk Garrick stirring “bishop”<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> in their
-glasses, and the king of the hour, distinguished
-by his lack of ruffles, is rolling
-about in his chair of state, saying something
-prodigiously humorous and wise,
-it is still Bennet Langton and Topham
-Beauclerk who most give the scene its
-human genial lustre, standing with laughter
-behind him, arm in arm. They were
-his favorites, and it is the most adorable
-thing about them both that they made
-out to like James Boswell, who was jealous
-of them. (Perhaps they had apprehended
-thoroughly Newman’s fine aphorism
-concerning a bore: “You may yield,
-or you may flee: you cannot conquer!”)
-The rare glimpses we have of their brotherly
-lives is through the door which opens
-or shuts for Johnson. Between him and
-them was deep and enduring affection,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
-and what little is known of them has a
-right to be more, for his sake.</p>
-
-<p>Bennet Langton, born in 1741 in the
-very neighborhood famous now as the
-birthplace of Tennyson, was the elder son
-of the odd and long-descended George
-Langton of Langton, and of Diana his
-wife, daughter of Edmund Turnor, Esquire,
-of Stoke Rochford, Lincolnshire.
-While a lad in the fen-country, he read
-<i>The Rambler</i>, and conceived the purest
-enthusiasm for its author. He came to
-London, indeed, on the ideal errand of
-seeking him out, and, thanks to the kind
-apothecary Levett, found the idol of his
-imagination at home at No. 17 Gough
-Square, Fleet Street. Despite the somewhat
-staggering circumstances of Johnson’s
-attire,—for the serious boy had
-rashly presupposed a stately, fastidious,
-and well-mannered figure,—he paid his
-vows, and commended himself to his
-new friend for once and all. Langton
-entered Trinity College, Oxford, in 1757,
-at the age of sixteen.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> The Doctor, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
-had known him about three years, followed
-his career at the university with
-interest, writing to Langton’s tutor, then
-“dear Tom Warton,” just appointed to
-the professorship of poetry held by his
-father, and afterwards poet-laureate: “I
-see your pupil: his mind is as exalted
-as his stature,” and to Langton’s self the
-sweet generality: “I love, dear sir, to
-think of you.” He even paid his Freshman
-a visit, and swam sportively across
-a dangerous pool in the Isis, in the teeth
-of his warning; and here also, in the Oxford
-which was long ago his own “tent
-of a night,” he fell across a part of his
-destiny in the shape of that strange
-bird, Mr. Topham Beauclerk, then a taking
-scapegrace of eighteen. The Doctor
-must have shaken his head at first, and
-wondered at the juxtaposition of this
-arrant Lord of Misrule and the “evangelical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
-goodness” of his admirable Langton,
-until mollified by the knowledge
-that a species of cult for himself, and
-ardent perusal of his writings, had first
-brought them together. It was a pleasant
-thought to him, that of the two young
-ribboned heads high in the quadrangle,
-bending for the ninth time over <i>The
-Reasons Why Advice is Generally Ineffectual</i>,
-<i>The Mischief of Unbounded Raillery</i>,
-and the jolly satire on <i>Screech-Owls;</i>
-or smiling over the shy Verecundulus
-and the too-celebrated Misellus who were
-part of the author’s machinery for adding
-“Christian ardor to virtue, and Christian
-confidence to truth.”</p>
-
-<p>Beauclerk, like Langton, was a critic
-and a student; he was well-bred, urbane,
-and of excellent natural parts; moreover,
-he was a wit, one of the very foremost of
-his day, when wits grew in every garden.
-An only child, he was born in London in
-the December of 1739, and named after
-that benevolent Topham of Windsor who
-left the manors of Clewer Brocas and
-Didworth and a collection of paintings
-and drawings to his father, the handsome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
-wild Lord Sydney Beauclerk, fifth son of
-the first Duke of St. Albans, and also,
-in his time, a gentleman commoner of
-Trinity. Lord Sydney died early, in the
-autumn of 1744, and was buried in Westminster
-Abbey with his hero-brother Aubrey,
-whose epitaph, still to be read there,
-Thomson seems to have written. All the
-pretty toys and curios passed to Topham
-the little boy, under the guardianship
-of Lady Beauclerk, his excellent
-but literal mother, once Mary Norris of
-Speke in Lancashire. His tutor was
-named Parker, and must have been a
-much-enduring man. Young Beauclerk
-grew up, bearing a resemblance in many
-ways to Charles II.; and so it befell
-that with his aggravating flippancy, his
-sharp sense, his quiver full of gibes, his
-time-wasting, money-wasting moods, foreign
-as Satan and his pomps to those of
-his sweet-natured college companion, he
-was able to strike Dr. Johnson in his
-own political weak spot. A flash of the
-liquid Stuart eye was enough to disarm
-Johnson at the very moment when he
-was calling up his most austere frown;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
-it was enough to turn the vinegar of his
-wrath to the honey of kindness. <i>Il ne
-nous reste qu’une chose à faire: embrassons-nous!</i>
-as the wheedling Prince, at a
-crisis, says to Henry Esmond. Johnson,
-as everybody knows, was a Jacobite. No
-sincerer testimony could he have given to
-his inexplicable liking for a royal rogue
-than that he allowed Nell Gwynn’s great-grandson
-to tease him and tyrannize over
-him during an entire lifetime. A choice
-spectacle this: Mr. Topham Beauclerk,
-on his introduction, literally bewitching
-Dr. Samuel Johnson! The stolid moralist
-was enraptured with his Jack-o’-lantern
-antics; he rejoiced in his manners, his
-taste and literary learning; admired him
-indiscreetly, rich clothes, equipage, and
-all; followed his whims meekly, expostulated
-with him almost against his traitorous
-impulses, and clung to him to the end
-in unbroken fondness and faith.</p>
-
-<p>Beauclerk had immense gayety and
-grace, and the full force given by high
-spirits. His accurate, ever-widening
-knowledge of books and men, his consummate
-culture, and his fearlessness, sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
-handsomely on one who was regarded by
-contemporary old ladies as a mere “macaroni.”
-It was a matter of course that he
-tried for no degree at college. The mistress
-of Streatham Park, who was by no
-means his adorer, and who remembered
-his chief wickedness in remembering that
-“he wished to be accounted wicked,” informs
-us in a private jotting since published
-that he was “a man of very strict
-veracity.” A philosopher and a truth-teller,
-whatever his worldly weaknesses,
-was sure to be a character within the
-range of Johnson’s affections. It was he
-who most troubled the good Doctor, he
-for whom he suffered in silence, with
-whom he wrangled; he whose insuperable
-taunting promise, never reaching any
-special development, vexed and disheartened
-him; yet, perhaps because of these
-very things, though Bennet Langton was
-infinitely more to his mind, it was Absalom,
-once again, whom the old fatherly
-heart loved best. Nor was he unrepaid.
-None loved him better, in return,
-than his “Beau,” the very mirror of the
-name, who was wont to pick his way up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
-the grimy Fleet Street courts “with veneration,”
-as Boswell records.</p>
-
-<p>Bennet Langton, as Mr. Forster expresses
-it in his noble <i>Life of Goldsmith</i>, was
-“an eminent example of the high and humane
-class who are content to ‘ring the
-bell’ to their friends.” He was a mild
-young visionary, scrupulous, tolerant, and
-generous in the extreme; modest, contemplative,
-averse to dissipation; a perfect
-talker and reader, and a perfect listener;
-with a face sweet as a child’s,
-fading but now, among his kindred, on
-the canvas of Sir Joshua Reynolds. He
-left a gracious memory behind at Oxford,
-where his musing bust adorns the old
-monastic library of Trinity. He was six
-feet six inches tall, slenderly built, and
-slightly stooping. “The ladies got about
-him in drawing-rooms,” said Edmund
-Burke, “like maids about the Maypole!”</p>
-
-<p>Miss Hawkins, in her <i>Memoirs</i>, names
-him as the person with whom Johnson
-was certainly seen to the fairest advantage.
-His deferent suave manner was
-the best foil possible to the Doctor’s extraordinary
-explosions. He had supreme<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
-self-command; no one ever saw him angry;
-and in most matters of life, as a
-genuine contrast to his beloved friend
-Beauclerk, he was apt to take things a
-shade too seriously. We learn from Mr.
-Henry Best, author of some good <i>Personal
-and Literary Memorials</i>, that the
-advance rumors of the French Revolution
-found Langton, in the fullest sense,
-an aristocrat; but it was not long before
-he became, from conviction, a thorough
-Liberal, and so remained, although he
-suffered a great unpopularity, owing to
-this change, in his native county. He
-wrote, in 1760, a little book of essays
-entitled <i>Rustics</i>, which never got beyond
-the passivity of manuscript. The year
-before, under the date of July 28th,
-Langton contributed to the pages of
-<i>The Idler</i> the paper numbered 67 and
-entitled <i>A Scholar’s Journal</i>. It is a
-pleasant study of procrastination and of
-shifting plans, a gentle bit of humor to
-be ranked as autobiographic. There is
-an indorsement of Montrose in its heroic
-advice to “risk the certainty of little for
-the chance of much.” But Langton’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
-graceful academic pen was not destined
-to a public career. Perseverance of any
-sort was not native to him. He fulfilled
-beautifully, adds the vivacious Miss Hawkins,
-“the pious injunction of Sir Thomas
-Browne, ‘to sit quietly in the soft showers
-of Providence,’ and might, without injustice,
-be characterized as utterly unfit
-for every species of activity.” Yet at
-the call of duty, so well was the natural
-man dominated by his unclouded will,
-he girded himself to any exertion. Wine-drinking
-was habitual with him, and he
-felt its need to sharpen and rouse his intellect;
-“but the idea of Bennet Langton
-being what is called ‘overtaken,’”
-wrote the same associate whom we have
-been quoting, “is too preposterous to be
-dwelt on.” She furnishes one illustration
-of Langton’s Greek serenity. Talking
-to a company, of a chilly forenoon,
-in his own house, he paused to remark
-that if the fire lacked attention it might
-go out: a brief, casual, murmurous interruption.
-He resumed his discourse,
-breaking off presently, and pleading abstractedly
-with eye in air: “Pray ring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
-for coals!” All sat looking at the fire,
-and so little solicitous about the impending
-catastrophe that presently Langton
-was off again on the stream of his softened
-eloquence. In a few minutes came
-another lull. “Did anybody answer that
-bell?” A general negative. “Did anybody
-ring that bell?” A sly shaking
-of heads. And once more the inspired
-monody soared among the clouds, at
-last dropping meditatively to the hearthstone:
-“Dear, dear, the fire is out!”</p>
-
-<p>Langton was the centre of a group,
-wherever he happened to be, talking delightfully,
-and twirling the oblong gold-mounted
-snuff-box, which promptly
-appeared as sociabilities began: a conspicuous
-figure, with his height, his courteous
-smile, his mild beauty, and his habit
-of crossing his arms over his breast,
-or locking his hands together on his
-knee. He was a great rider, and could
-run like a hound. He had a queerness of
-constitution which seemed to leave him
-at his lowest ebb every afternoon about
-two of the clock, forgetful, weary, confused,
-and without an idea in his head;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
-but after a little food, he was himself
-again. At dinner-parties he usually rose
-fasting, “such was the perpetual flow of
-his conversation, and such the incessant
-claim made upon him.” A morning call
-from Mr. Langton was a thing to suggest
-the eternal years; yet we are told that
-satiety dwelt not where he was; like
-Cowley, “he never oppressed any man’s
-parts, or put any man out of countenance.”
-He had much the same sense
-of humor as Beauclerk had, and his
-speech was quite as full of good sense
-and direct observation, if not as cutting.
-He indicted a fault of Edmund Burke’s
-in one extreme stroke: “Burke whisks
-the end of his tail in the face of an
-arguer!” Johnson, the arch-whisker of
-tails, was not to be brought to book;
-but Burke’s greatness was of a texture to
-bear and enjoy the thrust. It is curious
-that Langton was markedly fond of
-<i>Hudibras;</i> such a relish indicates, perhaps,
-the turn his own wit might have
-taken, had it not been held in by too
-much second thought.</p>
-
-<p>Johnson was wont to announce that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
-valued Langton for his piety, his ancient
-descent, his amiable behavior, and his
-mastery of Greek. “Who in this town
-knows anything of Clenardus, sir, but
-you and I?” he would say. In the midst
-of his talk Langton would fall into the
-“vowelled undertone” of the tongue he
-loved, correcting himself with a little
-wave of the hands, and the apologetic
-phrase: “And so it goes on.” “Steeped
-to the lips in Greek” he was indeed,
-bursting out with a joyous salute to the
-moon of Hellas, upon a friend’s doorstep,
-or making grotesque Hellene puns,
-for his own delight,<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> upon the blank leaves
-of a pocket-book. Every one familiar
-with Johnsoniana will recall the charming
-and spirited retort written by Dr.
-Barnard, then Dean of Derry, later, Bishop
-of Killaloe, which closes:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“If I have thoughts and can’t express ’em,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Gibbon shall teach me how to dress ’em</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4em;">In terms select and terse;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Jones teach me modesty and Greek;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Smith, how to think; Burke, how to speak;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And Beauclerk, to converse!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="unindent">In all deference to the illustrious Sir
-William Jones, it may be claimed that
-“modesty and Greek” were the very
-arts in which Langton was a past-master.
-But he was an amateur, and a
-private scholar, and his name was a
-dissyllable; else the Dean might have
-tossed at his feet as pretty a compliment
-as that given in the last line to
-his colleague. It must have gratified
-Johnson that Langton refused, at Reynolds’s
-dinner-table, “like a sturdy scholar,”
-to sign the famous Round Robin
-(not signed, either, by Beauclerk) which
-besought him to “disgrace the walls of
-Westminster with an English inscription.”
-And as if to keep Langton firmly
-of his own mind on the subject, it was to
-him the Doctor confided the Greek quatrain,
-sad and proud, which he had dedicated
-to Goldsmith’s<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> memory.</p>
-
-<p>For Bennet Langton Johnson had no
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>criticism but praise. He presented him
-with pride to Young and to Richardson,
-described him handsomely to Hannah
-More, and proceeded to draw his character
-for Miss Reynolds, ere she had met
-him, with such “energy and fond delight”
-as she avowed she never could
-forget. What fine ringing metal was
-Johnson’s commendation! “He is one
-of those to whom Nature has not spread
-her volumes, nor uttered her voices, in
-vain.” “Earth does not bear a worthier
-gentleman.” “I know not who will go
-to Heaven if Langton does not.” And
-in the sweetest and completest approval
-ever put by one mortal upon another:
-“<i>Sit anima mea cum Langtono!</i>” Yet
-even with this “angel of a man” the Doctor
-had one serious and ludicrous quarrel.</p>
-
-<p>It was the fatal outcome of his uneven
-moods that he must needs be disenchanted
-at times even with his best beadsmen:
-there came days when he would
-deny Beauclerk’s good-humor to be anything
-but “acid,” Langton’s anything but
-“muddy.” He considered it the sole
-grave fault of the latter that he was too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
-ready to introduce a religious discussion
-into a mixed assembly, where he knew
-scarcely any two of the company would
-be of the same mind. On Boswell’s suggestion
-that this may have been done for
-the sake of instructing himself, Johnson
-replied angrily that a man had no more
-right to take that means of gaining information
-than he had to pit two persons
-against each other in a duel for the sake
-of learning the art of self-defence. Some
-indiscretion of this sort on Langton’s
-part seems to have alienated the friends
-for the first and last time. It was during
-their transient bitterness that the Doctor
-made the historic apology, across the
-table, to Oliver Goldsmith; an incident
-which, however beautiful in itself, was a
-hard back-handed hit at Langton, standing
-by. Croker’s conjecture may be true
-that the business which threatened to
-break a fealty of some sixteen years’ standing
-arose rather from Langton’s settling
-his estate by will upon his sisters, whose
-tutor he had been. On hearing of it, the
-Great Cham grumbled and fumed, politely
-applying to the Misses Langton the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
-title of “three dowdies!”<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> and shouting,
-in a feudal warmth, that “an ancient estate,
-sir! an ancient estate should always
-go to males.” In fact, the Doctor behaved
-very badly, very sardonically, and
-was pleased to lay hold of a post by Temple
-Bar one night, and roar aloud over a
-piece of possible folly up in Lincolnshire
-which concerned him not in the least.
-But in due time the breach, whatever its
-cause, was healed. The Doctor, in writing
-of it, uses one of his balancing sentences:
-“Langton is a worthy fellow,
-without malice, though not without resentment.”
-The two could not keep
-apart very long, despite all the unreason
-in the world. “Johnson’s quarrels,” Mr.
-Forster tells us, “were lovers’ quarrels.”
-Another memorable passage-at-arms,
-rich in comedy, happened in the course
-of one of Johnson’s sicknesses, when, in
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>the cloistral silence of his chamber, he
-solemnly implored Bennet Langton, always
-the companion who comforted his
-sunless hours, to tell him wherein his
-life had been faulty. His shy and sagacious
-monitor wrote down, as accusation
-enough, various Scriptural texts recommending
-tolerance, humility, long-suffering,
-and other meek ingredients which
-were not predominant in the sinner’s social
-composition. The penitent earnestly
-thanked Langton on taking the paper
-from his hand, but presently turned his
-short-sighted eyes upon him from the
-pillow, and emerging from what his own
-verbology would call a “frigorific torpor,”
-he exclaimed in a loud, wrathful, suspicious
-tone: “What’s your drift, sir?”
-“And when I questioned him,” so Johnson
-afterwards told his blustering tale—“when
-I questioned him as to what occasion
-I had given him for such animadversion,
-all that he could say amounted
-to this: that I sometimes contradicted
-people in conversation! Now, what
-harm does it do any man to be contradicted?”
-To this same paternal young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
-Langton the rebel submitted his Latin
-verses; the <i>Poemata</i>, in the shape in
-which we possess them, were rigorously
-edited by him. And Johnson leaned upon
-him in more intimate ways, as he could
-never lean upon Beauclerk. To the scrupulous
-nature instinctively right he made
-comfortable confidences: “Men of harder
-minds than ours will do many things
-from which you and I would shrink; yet,
-sir, they will, perhaps, do more good in
-life than we.”</p>
-
-<p>As to the Honorable Topham Beauclerk,
-more volatile than Langton, he had
-as steady a “sunshine of cheerfulness”
-for his heritage. We find him complaining
-to a friend in the July of 1773: “Every
-hour adds to my misanthropy; and I
-have had a pretty considerable share of
-it for some years past.” This incursion
-of low spirits was not normal with him.
-Johnson, bewailing his own morbid habits
-of mind, once said: “Some men, and
-very thinking men, too, have not these
-vexing thoughts. Sir Joshua Reynolds
-is the same all the year round; Beauclerk,
-when not ill and in pain, is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
-same.” Boswell attests that Beauclerk
-took more liberties with Johnson than
-durst any man alive, and that Johnson
-was more disposed to envy Beauclerk’s
-talents than those of any one he had
-ever known. Born into the freedom of
-London, Beauclerk was familiar with Fox,
-Selwyn, and Walpole, and with the St.
-James men who did not ache to consort
-with Johnson; and he was quite their
-match in ease and astuteness. He walked
-the modish world, where Langton could
-not and would not follow; he alternated
-the Ship Tavern and the gaming-table
-with the court levees; Davies’s shop with
-the golden insipidities of the drawing-room;
-<i>la comédie</i>, <i>la danse</i>, <i>l’amour même</i>,
-with the intellectual tie-wigs of Soho.
-It shows something of his spirit that
-whereas no member of the Club save
-himself was a frequenter of White’s and
-Betty’s,<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> or a chosen guest at Strawberry
-Hill, yet there was no person of fashion
-whom he was not proud to make known
-to Doctor Johnson whenever he judged
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>the candidate for so genuine an honor
-worthy of it. Some of these encounters
-must have been queer and memorable!</p>
-
-<p>Beauclerk’s unresting sarcasm often
-flattened out Boswell and irritated the
-Doctor, though Bennet Langton, in his
-abandonments of enthusiastic optimism,
-was never more than grazed. It is not
-to be denied that this spoiled child of
-the Club liked to worry Goldsmith, the
-maladroit great man who might have
-quoted often on such occasions the sad
-gibe of Hamlet:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“I’ll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ignorance</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Stick fiery off indeed.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">What a pity that Goldsmith’s <i>Retaliation</i>
-was never finished, so as to include his
-portrait of Beau! He was “a pestilent
-wit,” as Anthony à Wood calls Marvell.
-Johnson, shy creature! deplored
-Beauclerk’s “predominance over his
-company.” The tyranny, however, was
-gracefully and decorously exercised, if
-we are to believe the unique eulogy that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
-“no man was ever freer, when he was
-about to say a good thing, from a look
-which expressed that it was coming; nor,
-when he had said it, from a look which
-expressed that it had come.” Few human
-beings have had a finer sense of fun
-than Topham Beauclerk. He had an infallible
-eye for the values of blunders,
-and an incongruity came home to him
-like a blessing from above. Life with
-him was a night-watch for diverting objects
-and ideas. When he was not studying,
-he was disporting himself, like the
-wits of the Restoration; and he was
-equal to all emergencies, as they succeeded
-one another. Every specimen
-preserved of his talk is perfect of its
-kind, and makes us long for a full index.
-Pointed his speech was, always, and reminds
-one indeed of a foil, but without
-the button; a dangerous little weapon,
-somewhat unfair, but carried with such
-consummate flourish that those whom it
-pricks could almost cheer it. “O Lord!
-how I did hate that horrid Beauclerk!”
-Mrs. Piozzi scribbled once on the margin
-of Wraxall’s <i>Memoirs</i>, in an exquisite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
-feminine vindication of poor Beau’s accomplished
-tongue.</p>
-
-<p>He was no disguiser of his own likes
-and dislikes. Politics he avoided as
-much as possible; but he affected less
-concern in public matters than he really
-felt. “Consecrate that time to your
-friends,” he writes with mock severity to
-the ideal Irishman, Lord Charlemont,
-“which you spend in endeavoring to
-promote the interests of a half-million
-of scoundrels.” For his private business
-he had least zeal of all; and cites “my
-own confounded affairs” as the cause of
-his going into Lancashire. Beauclerk
-had great tact, boldness, and independence;
-his natural scorn of an oppressor
-was his modern and democratic quality.
-His idleness (for he was as idle by habit
-as Langton was by nature) he recognized,
-and lightly deprecated. Fastidious
-in everything, he made “one hour of conversation
-at Elmsley’s”<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> his standard of
-enjoyment, and his imagined extreme of
-annoyance was “to be clapped on the
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>back by Tom Davies.” What he chose
-to call his leisure (again the ancestral
-Stuart trait!) he dedicated to the natural
-sciences in his beloved laboratory. “I
-see Mr. Beauclerk often, both in town
-and country,” wrote Goldsmith to Bennet
-Langton; “he is now going directly
-forward to become a second Boyle, deep
-in chemistry and physics.” When there
-was some fanciful talk of setting up the
-Club as a college, “to draw a wonderful
-concourse of students,” Beauclerk, by
-unanimous vote, was elected to the professorship
-of Natural Philosophy.</p>
-
-<p>Johnson’s influence on him, potent
-though it was, seems to have been negative
-enough. It kept him from a few
-questionable things, and preserved in him
-an outward decorum towards customs
-and established institutions; but it failed
-to incite him to make of his manifold
-talents the “illustrious figure” which
-Langton’s eyes discerned in a vain anticipation.
-Beauclerk and the great
-High Churchman went about much together,
-and had amusing experiences.
-On such occasions, as in all their familiar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
-intercourse, the disciple had the true
-salt of the Doctor’s talk, which, as Hazlitt
-remarks, was often something quite
-unlike “the cumbrous cargo of words”
-he kept for professional use. In the late
-winter of 1765 the two visited Cambridge,
-Beauclerk having a mind to call
-upon a friend at Trinity.</p>
-
-<p>These, as we know, had their many
-differences, “like a Spanish great galleon,
-and an English man-o’-war”; the one
-smooth, sharp, and civil, the other indignantly
-dealing with the butt-end of personality.
-Boswell gives a long account
-of a charming dispute concerning the
-murderer of Miss Reay, and the evidence
-of his having carried two pistols. Beauclerk
-was right; but Johnson, with quite
-as solid a sense of virtue, was angry; and
-he was soothed at the end only by an
-adroit and affectionate reply. “Sir,”
-the Doctor began, sternly, at another
-time, after listening to some mischievous
-waggery, “you never open your mouth
-but with the intention to give pain, and
-you often give me pain, not from the
-power of what you say, but from seeing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
-your intention.” And again, he said to
-him whom he had compared to Alexander,
-marching in triumph into Babylon:
-“You have, sir! a love of folly, and a
-scorn of fools; everything you do attests
-the one, and everything you say the other.”<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a>
-Beauclerk could also lecture his
-mentor. It was his steadfast counsel
-that the Doctor should devote himself
-to poetry, and draw in his horns of dogma
-and didactics.</p>
-
-<p>He had, ever ready, some quaint simile
-or odd application from the classics; in
-the habit of “talking from books,” as the
-Doctor called it, he was, however, distanced
-by Langton. Referring to that
-friend’s habit of sitting or standing against
-the fireplace, with one long leg twisted
-about the other, “as if fearing to occupy
-too much space,” Beauclerk likened him,
-for all the world, to the stork in Raphael’s
-cartoon of The Miraculous Draught.<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a>
-One of Beauclerk’s happiest hits, and certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
-his boldest, was made while Johnson
-was being congratulated upon his
-pension. “How much now it was to be
-hoped,” whispered the young blood, in
-reference to Falstaff’s celebrated vow,
-“that he would purge and live cleanly, as
-a gentleman should do!” Johnson seems
-to have taken the hint in good-humor,
-and actually to have profited by it.</p>
-
-<p>Very soon after leaving Oxford, Beauclerk
-became engaged to a Miss Draycott,
-whose family were well known to
-that affable blue-stocking, Mrs. Montagu;
-but some coldness on his part, some
-sensitiveness on hers, broke off the
-match. His fortune-hunting parent is
-said to have been disappointed, as the
-lady owned several lead-mines in her
-own right. That same year, with Bennet
-Langton for companion part of the
-way, Beauclerk, whose health, never robust,
-now began to give him anxiety,
-set out on a Continental tour. Baretti,
-whom he had met at home, received him
-most kindly at Milan, thanks to Johnson’s
-urgent and friendly letter. By his subsequent
-knowledge of Italian popular customs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
-he was able to testify in Baretti’s
-favor, when the latter was under arrest
-for killing his man in the Haymarket,
-and in concert with Burke, Garrick, Goldsmith,
-and Johnson, to help him, in a very
-interesting case, towards his acquittal.
-It was reported to Selwyn that the
-handsome gambling Inglese was robbed
-at Venice of £10,000! an incident which,
-perhaps, shortened his peregrinations.
-If the report were accurate, it would
-prove that he could have been in no
-immediate need of pecuniary rescue
-from his leaden sweetheart. It was
-Dr. Johnson’s opinion, coinciding with
-the opinion of Roger Ascham on the
-same general subject, that travel adds
-very little to one’s mental forces, and
-that Beauclerk might have learned
-more in the Academe of “Fleet Street,
-sir!”</p>
-
-<p>Topham Beauclerk married Lady Diana
-Spencer, the eldest daughter of the
-second Duke of Marlborough, as soon as
-she obtained a divorce from her first
-husband. This was Frederick, Lord Bolingbroke,
-nephew and heir of the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
-owner of that title; a very trying gentleman,
-who was the restless “Bully” of
-Selwyn’s correspondence; he survived
-until 1787. The ceremony took place
-March 12, 1768, in St. George’s, Hanover
-Square, “by license of the Archbishop
-of Canterbury,” both conspirators
-being then residents of the parish.
-Lady Diana Spencer was born in the
-spring of 1734, and was therefore in her
-thirty-fifth year, while Beauclerk was but
-twenty-nine.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> Johnson was disturbed,
-and felt offended at first with the whole
-affair; but he never withdrew from the
-agreeable society of Beauclerk’s wife. It
-is nothing wonderful that the courtship
-and honey-moon was signalized
-by the forfeit of Beauclerk’s place in
-the exacting Club, “for continued inattendance,”
-and not regained for a considerable
-period. “They are in town,
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>at Topham’s house, and give dinners,”
-one of George Selwyn’s gossiping friends
-wrote, after the wedding. “Lord Ancram
-dined there yesterday, and called
-her nothing but Lady Bolingbroke the
-whole time!” Let us hope that “Milady
-Bully” triumphed over her awkward
-guest, and looked, as Earl March
-once described her under other difficulties,
-“handsomer than ever I saw her, and
-not the least abashed;” or as deliberately
-easy as when she entertained with her
-gay talk the nervous Boswell who awaited
-the news of his election or rejection from
-the Club. She was a blond goddess,
-exceedingly fair to see. In her middle
-age she fell under the observant glance
-of delightful Fanny Burney, who did not
-fail to allow her “pleasing remains of
-beauty.”</p>
-
-<p>The <i>divorcée</i> was fond of and faithful
-to her new lord, and no drawback upon his
-æsthetic pride, inasmuch as she was an
-artist of no mean merit. Horace Walpole
-built a room for the reception of
-some of her drawings, which he called
-his Beauclerk Closet, “not to be shown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
-to all the profane that come to see the
-house,” and he always praised them extravagantly.
-It is surer critical testimony
-in her favor that her name figures
-yet in encyclopædias, and that Sir Joshua,
-the honest and unbought judge, much
-admired her work, which Bartolozzi was
-kept busy engraving. It was her series
-of illustrations to Bürger’s wild ballad of
-<i>Leonora</i> (with the dolly knight, the wooden
-monks, the genteel heroine, and the
-vigorous spectres) which, long after, helped
-to fire the young imagination of Shelley.
-It is to be feared that her invaluable portrait
-of Samuel Johnson is not, or never
-was, extant. “Johnson was confined for
-some days in the Isle of Skye,” writes her
-rogue of a spouse, “and we hear that he
-was obliged to swim over to the mainland,
-taking hold of a cow’s tail. . . . Lady Di
-has promised to make a drawing of it.”
-Sir Joshua’s pretty “Una” is the little
-Elizabeth, afterwards Countess of Pembroke,
-elder daughter of Lady Di and
-Topham Beauclerk, painted the year her
-father died.</p>
-
-<p>The family lived in princely style,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
-both at their “summer quarters” at Muswell
-Hill, and on Great Russell Street,
-where the library, set in a great garden,
-reached, as Walpole mischievously
-gauged it, “half-way to Highgate.”
-Lady Di, an admirable hostess, proved
-herself one of those odd and rare women
-who take to their husbands’ old friends.
-Selwyn she cordially liked, and her warmest
-welcome attended Langton, whom she
-would rally for his remissness, when he
-failed to come to them at Richmond.
-He could reach them so easily! she said;
-all he need do was to lay himself at
-length, his feet in London and his head
-with them, <i>eodem die</i>. This Richmond
-home remained her residence during her
-widowhood. Walpole mentions a Thames
-boat-race in 1791, when he sat in a tent
-“just before Lady Di’s windows,” and
-gazed upon “a scene that only Richmond,
-on earth, can exhibit.” In the church of
-the same leafy town her body rests.</p>
-
-<p>Beauclerk died at his Great Russell
-Street house on March 11, 1780. He had
-been failing steadily under visitations of
-his old trouble since 1777, when he lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
-sick unto death at Bath, and when his wife
-nursed him tenderly into what seemed
-to Walpole a miraculous recovery. He
-was but forty-one years old, and, for all
-his genius, left no more trace behind than
-that Persian prince who suddenly disappeared
-in the shape of a butterfly, and
-whom old Burton calls a “light phantastick
-fellow.” His air of boyish promise,
-quite unconsciously worn, hoodwinked his
-friends into prophecies of his fame. He
-did not give events a chance to put immortality
-on his “bright, unbowed, insubmissive
-head.” Yet he was bitterly
-mourned. “I would walk to the extent
-of the diameter of the earth to save him,”
-cried Johnson, who had loved him for
-over twenty years; and again, to Lord
-Althorp: “This is a loss, sir, that perhaps
-the whole nation could not repair.”
-Boswell mentions the Doctor’s April
-stroll, at this time, while he was writing
-his <i>Lives of the Poets;</i> and tells us how,
-returning from a call on the widow of
-the companion of his youth, David Garrick,
-he leaned over the rails of the
-Adelphi Terrace, watching the dark river,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
-and thinking of “two such friends as
-cannot be supplied.” “Poor dear Beauclerk!”
-Johnson wrote, when his violent
-grief had somewhat subsided, “<i>nec, ut
-soles, dabis joca!</i> His wit and his folly,
-his acuteness and his maliciousness, his
-merriment and his reasoning, are alike
-over. Such another will not often be
-found among mankind.” Beyond this
-well-known and characteristic summing-up,
-the Doctor made no discoverable
-mention, in his correspondence, of his
-bereavement, certainly not to the highly-prejudiced
-Mrs. Thrale, to whom he wrote
-often and gayly in the year of Beauclerk’s
-death. Nor shall we know how the catastrophe
-affected Bennet Langton; for
-all the most interesting papers relating
-to him were destroyed when the old Hall
-at Langton-by-Spilsby was burned in
-1855. On this subject, as on others as
-intimate, he stands, perforce, silent.</p>
-
-<p>Readers may recall a passage in Miss
-Burney’s <i>Diary</i> which gives countenance
-to an accusation not borne out by any
-other testimony, that Beauclerk and his
-wife had not lived happily together. Dining<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
-at Sir Joshua’s at Richmond, in 1782,
-Edmund Burke, sitting next the author
-of <i>Evelina</i>, took occasion, on catching
-sight of Lady Di’s “pretty white house”
-through the trees, to rejoice in the fact
-that she was well-housed, moneyed, and
-a widow. He added that he had never
-enjoyed the good-fortune of another so
-keenly as in this blessed instance. Then,
-turning to his new acquaintance, as the
-least likely to be informed of the matter,
-he spoke in his own “strong and marked
-expressions” of the singular ill-treatment
-Beauclerk had shown his wife, and the
-“necessary relief” it must have been to
-her when he was called away. The statement
-does not seem to have been gainsaid
-by any of the company; nor was
-Burke liable to a slanderous error. So
-severe a comment on Beauclerk, resting,
-even as it does, wholly on Miss Burney’s
-veracity, ought, in fairness, to be incorporated
-into any sketch of the man. On
-the other side, it is pleasant to discover
-that Beauclerk, in his will, made five days
-before the end, bequeathed all he possessed
-to his wife, and reverted to her the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
-estates of his children, should they die
-under age. There was but one bequest
-beyond these, and that was to Thomas
-Clarke, the faithful valet. The executors
-named were Lady Di and her brother,
-Lord Charles Spencer, who had also been
-groomsman at the marriage, which, despite
-Burke and its own evil beginnings,
-it is hard to think of as ill-starred. The
-joint guardians of Charles George Beauclerk,
-the only son, were to be Bennet
-Langton and a Mr. Loyrester, whom
-Dr. Johnson speaks of as “Leicester,
-Beauclerk’s relation, and a man of good
-character;” but the guardianship, provisional
-in case of Lady Di’s decease, never
-came into force, as she survived, in fullest
-harmony with her three children, up
-to August 1, 1808, having entered her
-seventy-fifth year. Various private legacies
-came to Langton, by his old comrade’s
-dying wish, the most precious among
-them, perhaps, being the fine Reynolds
-portrait of Johnson, which had been painted
-at Beauclerk’s cost. Under it was inscribed:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 4em;">“<i>Ingenium ingens</i></span></div>
-<div class="verse"><i>Inculto latet hoc sub corpore.</i>”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Langton thoughtfully effaced the lines.
-“It was kind of you to take it off,” said
-the burly Doctor, with a sigh; and then
-(for how could he but recall the contrast
-of temperament in the two, as well as the
-affectionate context of Horace?), “not
-unkind in him to have put it on.” The
-collection of thirty thousand glorious
-books “<i>pernobilis Angli T. Beauclerk</i>” was
-sold at auction. The advertisement alone
-is royal reading. There is much amiable
-witness to the circumstance that Beauclerk
-was not only an admirer but a
-buyer of his friends’ works. From some
-kind busybody who attended the twenty-ninth
-day of the sale, and pencilled his
-observations upon the margins of the
-catalogue now in the British Museum,
-we learn that Goldsmith’s <i>History of the
-Earth and Animated Nature</i> (nothing
-less!), which was issued, with cuts, in the
-year he died, was knocked down to the
-vulgar for two and threepence. The
-shelves, naturally, were stocked with
-Johnsons. Things dear to the bibliophile
-were there: innumerable first editions,
-black-letter, mediæval manuscript, Elzevirs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
-priceless English and Italian classics,
-gathered with real feeling and pride; but
-the most vivid personal interest belonged
-to the unpretending Lot 3444, otherwise
-known to fame as <i>The Rambler</i>, printed
-at Edinburgh in 1751; for that was the
-young Beauclerk’s own copy, carried with
-him to Oxford, and with a fragrance, as
-of a last century garden, of the first hearty
-friendship of boys. One cannot help
-wishing that a sentimental fate left it in
-Langton’s own hands.</p>
-
-<p>Lady Beauclerk, Topham’s mother,
-had died in 1766; and he asked to be
-buried beside her, or at her feet, in the
-old chapel of Garston, near Liverpool:
-“an instance of tenderness,” said Johnson,
-“which I should hardly have expected.”
-There, in the place of his choice,
-he rests, without an epitaph.</p>
-
-<p>After this the Doctor consoled himself
-more than ever with Bennet Langton,
-and with the atmosphere of love
-and reverence which surrounded him in
-Langton’s house. He had been of old
-the most desired of all guests at the
-family seat in Lincolnshire. “Langton,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
-sir!” as he liked to announce, “had a
-grant of warren from Henry II.; and
-Cardinal Stephen Langton, of King John’s
-reign, was of this family.” Peregrine
-Langton, Bennet’s uncle, was a man
-of simple and benevolent habits, who
-brought economy to a science, without
-niggardliness, and whom Johnson declared
-to be one of those he clung to
-at once, both by instinct and reason;
-Bennet’s father, learned, good, and unaffected,
-the prototype of his learned,
-good, and unaffected son, was, however,
-a more diverting character. He had
-sincerest esteem for Johnson, but looked
-askance on him for his liberal views,
-and suspected him, indeed, of being a
-Papist in secret! He once offered the
-Doctor a living of some value in the
-neighborhood, with the suggestion that
-he should qualify himself for Orders:
-a chance gravely refused. Of this exemplary
-but rather archaic squire, Johnson,
-a dissector of everything he loved, said:
-“Sir! he is so exuberant a talker in public
-meetings that the gentlemen of his
-county are afraid of him. No business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
-can be done for his declamation.” In
-his behalf, too, Johnson produced one of
-his most astounding words; for having
-understood that both Mr. and Mrs. Langton
-were averse to having their portraits
-taken, he observed aloud that “a superstitious
-reluctance to sit for one’s picture
-is among the anfractuosities of the human
-mind.”</p>
-
-<p>Bennet Langton married, on the 24th
-of May, 1770, Mary Lloyd, daughter of the
-Countess of Haddington, and widow of
-John, the eighth Earl of Rothes, the stern
-soldier in laced waistcoat and breastplate
-beneath, painted by Sir Joshua. It
-was a common saying at the time that
-everybody was welcome to a Countess
-Dowager of Rothes; for it did so happen
-that three ladies bearing that title
-were all remarried within a few years.
-Lady Rothes, although a native of Suffolk,
-had acquired from long residence
-in Scotland the accent of that country,
-which Dr. Johnson bore with magnanimously,
-on the consideration that it was
-not indigenous. She had a handsome
-presence, full of easy dignity, and a naturalness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
-marked enough in the heyday
-of Georgian affectation. With a vivacity
-very different from Lady Di Beauclerk’s,
-she kept herself the spring and centre
-of Langton’s tranquil domestic circle: a
-more womanly woman historiographers
-cannot find. His own charm of character,
-after his marriage, slipped more
-and more into the underground channels
-of home-life, and so coursed on beneficently
-in silence. Their children were
-no fewer than nine,<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> “not a plain face
-nor faulty person among them:” the goddess
-daughters six feet in height, and the
-three sons so like their Maypole father
-that they were able once to amuse the
-Parisians by raising their arms to let a
-crowd pass. Langton was wont to repeat
-with some glee certain jests about
-his height, and Dr. Johnson’s nickname
-of “Lanky” he took ever with excellent
-grace; and when Garrick had leaped
-upon a chair to shake hands with him,
-in old days, he had knelt, at parting, to
-shake hands with Garrick. But the King’s
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>awkward digs at his “long legs” he
-found terribly distasteful, nor was he
-thereby disposed to agree with the Doctor’s
-enthusiastic proclamation, after the
-famous interview of 1767, that George III.
-was “as fine a gentleman as Charles II.”</p>
-
-<p>It was his cherished plan to educate
-his boys and girls at home, and to give
-them a thorough acquaintance with the
-learned languages. No social engagements
-were to stand in the way of this
-prime exigency. He was in great haste
-to turn his young brood into Masters and
-Mistresses of Arts. Johnson complained
-to Miss Burney, as they were both taking
-tea at Mrs. Thrale’s, that nothing
-would serve Langton but to stand them
-up before company, and get them to repeat
-a fable or the Hebrew alphabet, supplying
-every other word himself, and
-blushing with pride at the vicarious learning
-of his infants. But another of the
-tedious royal jokes, “How does Education
-go on?” actually lessened his devotion
-to his self-set task, and worried him
-like the water-drop in the story, which
-fell forever on a criminal’s head until it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
-had drilled his brain. Again, both he
-and his wife, even after they had moved
-into the retirement of Great George
-Street, Westminster, in pursuance of their
-design, were far too agreeable and too accessible
-to be spared the incursions of society.
-In a word, Minerva found her seat
-shaken, and her altar-fires not very well
-tended, and therefore withdrew. Langton
-impressed one axiom on his young
-scholars which they never forgot: “Next
-best to knowing is to be sensible that
-you do not know.” An entirely superfluous
-waif of a baby was once left at
-the doors of this same many-childrened
-house, to be fed, clothed, and petted by
-Mr. Bennet Langton and Lady Rothes,
-without protest. Dr. Johnson, who made
-friends with all children, was especially
-attached to their third girl, his god-daughter,
-whom he called “pretty Mrs.
-Jane,” and “my own little Jenny.” The
-very last year of his life her “most humble
-servant” sent her a loving letter,
-extant yet, and written purposely in a
-large round hand as clear as print.</p>
-
-<p>“Langton’s children are very pretty,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
-Johnson wrote to Boswell in 1777, “and
-his lady loses her Scotch.” But again,
-during the same year, condescendingly:
-“I dined lately with poor dear Langton.
-I do not think he goes on well. His table
-is rather coarse, and he has his children
-too much about him.” Boswell takes
-occasion, in reproducing this censure, to
-reprehend the custom of introducing the
-children after dinner: a parental indulgence
-to which he, at least, was not addicted.
-The Doctor gave him a mild
-nudge on the subject in remarking later:
-“I left Langton in London. He has
-been down with the militia, and is again
-quiet at home, talking to his little people,
-as I suppose you do sometimes.” While
-Langton was in camp on Warley Common,
-in command of the Lincolnshire
-troops, Johnson spent with him five delightful
-days, admiring his tall captain’s
-blossoming energies, and poking about
-curiously among the tents. Langton
-had fallen, little by little, into a confirmed
-extravagance, so that the moral of Uncle
-Peregrine’s sagacious living bade fair to
-be lost upon him. Boswell had a quarrel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
-with Johnson on the subject of Langton’s
-expenditure, during the course of which,
-according to his own report, the Laird of
-Auchinleck suffered a “horrible shock”
-by being told that the best way to drive
-Langton out of his costly house would
-be to put him (Boswell) into it. The
-Doctor was truly concerned, nevertheless,
-about his engaging spendthrift; up to
-the very end, he would implore him to
-keep account-books, even if he had to
-omit his Aristophanes. “He complains of
-the ill effects of habit,” grumbled the
-great moralizer, “and he rests content
-upon a confessed indolence. He told his
-father himself that he had ‘no turn for
-economy!’ but a thief might as well plead
-that he had no turn for honesty.” Such
-were the hard hits sacred to those Dr.
-Johnson most esteemed. It transpires
-from his will that, by way of discouragement,
-he had lent Langton £750.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
-<p>In the winter of 1785, Langton came
-from the country, and took lodgings in
-Fleet Street, in order to sit beside Johnson
-as he lay dying, and hold his hand.
-Nor was he alone in his pious offices:
-the Hooles, Mr. Sestre, and several others
-were there, to keep constant vigil.
-Miss Burney met Langton in the passage
-December 11th, two days before the end:
-“He could not,” she wrote in her journal,
-“look at me, nor I at him.” But through
-the foggy and restless nights when Johnson
-tried to cheer himself, like More and
-Master William Lilly, by translating into
-Latin some epigrams from the <i>Anthologia</i>,
-the true Grecian beside him must have
-been his chief comfort. One can picture
-the old eyes turning to him for sympathy,
-perhaps with that same murmured
-“Lanky!” on awaking, which Boswell
-laughed to hear from him one merry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
-Hebridean morning, twelve years before.
-The last summons did not come in Langton’s
-presence. Hurrying over to Bolt
-Court at eight of the fatal evening, he was
-told that all was over three-quarters of
-an hour ago. That large soul had gone
-away, as Leigh Hunt so beautifully said
-of Coleridge, “to an infinitude hardly
-wider than his thoughts.” Then Langton,
-who was wont to shape his words with
-grace and ease, went up-stairs, and tried
-to pen a letter to Boswell, which is more
-touching than tears: “I am now sitting
-in the room where his venerable remains
-exhibit a spectacle, the interesting solemnity
-of which, difficult as it would be
-in any sort to find terms to express, so
-to you, my dear sir, whose sensations
-will paint it so strongly, it would be of
-all men the most superfluous to”—and
-there, hopelessly choked and confused, it
-broke off.</p>
-
-<p>Langton bore Johnson’s pall; and he
-succeeded him as Professor of Ancient
-Literature in the Royal Academy, as Gibbon
-had replaced Goldsmith in the chair
-of Ancient History. He survived many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
-years, the delight of his company to the
-last. He, like others, was given in his
-later years to detailing anecdotes of his
-great friend, with an approximation to
-that friend’s manner. One lady critic, at
-least, thought that these explosive imitations
-did not become “his own serious
-and respectable character.” On December
-18, 1801, in Anspach Place, Southampton,
-a venerable nook “between the
-walls and the sea,” when Wordsworth,
-Scott, and Coleridge were yet in their
-unheralded prime, when Charles Lamb
-was twenty-six, Byron a dreaming boy on
-the Cotswold hills, and Keats and Shelley
-little fair-eyed children, gentle Bennet
-Langton, known to none of these, and
-somewhat forgotten as a loiterer from
-the march of a glorious yesterday, slipped
-out of life. “I am persuaded,” wrote
-one who knew him well, “that all his inactivity,
-all the repugnance he showed to
-putting on the harness of this world’s
-toil, arose from the spirituality of his
-frame of mind . . . I believe his mind was
-in Heaven, wheresoever he corporeally
-existed.” He was laid under the chancel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
-of ancient St. Michael’s at Southampton,
-with Johnson’s fond benison, “Be my
-soul with Langton’s!” inscribed on the
-marble tablet above him.<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> The Rev.
-John Wooll of Midhurst, Joseph Warton’s
-editor, was one of the few present
-at the funeral ceremony, and he leaves
-us to infer that it had a rather neglectful
-privacy, not, indeed, out of keeping with
-the “godly, righteous, and sober life” it
-closed. Langton’s will, drawn up in the
-June of 1800, and preserved in Somerset
-House, devised to the sole executrix,
-his “dear wife,” who outlived him
-by nearly twenty years, his real and personal
-estate, his books, his wines, his
-prints, his horses, and, as a gift particularly
-pretty, his right of navigation in the
-river Wey. George Langton was separately
-provided for, but there were some
-£8000 for the eight younger children.
-The document is crowded with technical
-details, and very long; and the manifest
-inference, on the whole, is that the dear
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>squire’s affairs were in a prodigious tangle.
-There is no wish expressed concerning
-his burial, and, what is more curious,
-there are no Christian formulas for the
-committal of the <i>animula vagula blandula:</i>
-a lack perhaps not to be wondered
-at in Beauclerk’s concise testament, but
-somewhat notable in the case of a person
-who certainly had a soul.</p>
-
-<p>So went Beauclerk first of the three,
-Langton last, with the good ghost still
-between them, as he in his homespun,
-they in their flowered velvet, had walked
-many a year together on this earth. The
-old companionship had undergone some
-sorry changes ere it fell utterly to dust and
-ashes. Its happy prime had been in the
-Oxford “Longs,” when the Doctor humored
-his lads, and tented under their
-roofs, plucking flowers at one house, and
-romping with dogs at the other; or in
-1764, at the starting of the immortal
-Club, when the two of its founders, who
-had no valid or pretended claim to
-celebrity, perched on the sills like useful
-genii, with a mission to overrule sluggish
-melancholy, and renew the sparkle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
-in abstracted eyes. How supereminently
-they did what they chose to do, and what
-vagaries they roused out of Johnson’s profound
-hypochondria! Did not Topham
-Beauclerk’s mother once have to reprove
-that august author for a suggestion to
-seize some pleasure-grounds which they
-were passing in a carriage? “Putting
-such things into young people’s heads!”
-said she. Where could the innocent
-Beauclerk’s elbow have been at that
-moment, contrary to the canons of polite
-society, but in the innocent Langton’s
-ribs? The gray reprobate, so censured,
-explained to Boswell: “Lady Beauclerk
-has no notion of a joke, sir! She came
-late into life, and has a mighty unpliable
-understanding.” Who can forget the
-Doctor’s visit to Beauclerk at Windsor,
-when, falling into the clutches of that
-gamesome and ungodly youth, he was
-beguiled from church-going of a fine
-Sunday morning, and strolled about outside,
-talking and laughing during sermon-time,
-and finally spread himself at length
-on a mossy tomb, only to be told, with a
-giggle and a pleased rub of the hands,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
-that he was as bad as Hogarth’s Idle
-Apprentice? Or the other visit in the
-north, when, after ceremoniously relieving
-his pockets of keys, knife, pencil, and
-purse, Samuel Johnson, LL.D., deliberately
-rolled down a hill, and landed, betumbled
-out of all recognition, at the
-bottom? Langton had tried to dissuade
-him, for the incline was very steep, and
-the candidate scarcely of the requisite
-suppleness. “Oh, but I haven’t had a roll
-for such a long time!” pleaded his unanswerable
-big guest.</p>
-
-<p>Best of all, we have the history of
-that memorable morning when Beauclerk
-and Langton, having supped together at
-a city tavern, roused Johnson at three
-o’clock at his Inner Temple Lane Chambers,
-and brought him to the door, fearful
-but aggressive, in his shirt and his little
-dark wig, and his slippers down at the
-heels, armed with a poker. “What! and
-is it <span class="smcap">YOU</span>? Faith, I’ll have a frisk with
-you, ye young dogs!” We have visions
-of the Covent Garden inn, and the great
-brimming bowl, with Lord Lansdowne’s
-drinking-song for grace; the hucksters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
-and fruiterers staring at the strange central
-figure, always sure to gather a mob,
-even during the moment he would stand
-by a lady’s coach-door in Fleet Street;
-the merry boat going its way by oar to
-Billingsgate, its mad crew bantering the
-watermen on the river; and two of the
-roisterers (equally wild, despite a little
-chronological disparity of thirty years or
-so) scolding the other for hastening off,
-on an afternoon appointment, “to dine
-with wretched unidea’d girls!” What
-golden vagabondism! “I heard of your
-frolic t’other night; you’ll be in <i>The
-Chronicle!</i> . . . I shall have my old friend
-to bail out of the round-house!” said
-Garrick. “As for Garrick, sirs,” tittered
-the pious Johnson aside to his accomplices,
-“he dare not do such a thing.
-His wife would not let him!” All this
-mirth and whim sweetened the Doctor’s
-heavy life. He had other intimates, other
-disciples. But these were Gay Heart
-and Gentle Heart, who drove his own
-blue-devils away with their idolatrous
-devotion, and whose bearing towards him
-stands ever as the best possible corroboration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
-of his great and warm nature.
-With him and for him, they so fill the
-air of the time that to whomsoever has
-but thought of them that hour, London
-must seem lonely without their idyllic
-figures.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 11em;">—“Our day is gone:</span></div>
-<div class="verse">Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">There are gods as good for the after-years;
-but Odin is down, and his pair of
-unreturning birds have flown west and
-east.</p>
-
-
-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45">[45]</a> A popular eighteenth-century beverage, composed of
-wine, orange, and sugar.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46">[46]</a> Although Langton is recorded on his college books
-as having given the usual £10 for plate, and also as
-having paid his caution money in 1757, his name is
-not down upon the matriculation lists, possibly because
-he failed to appear at the moment the entries were being
-made. In what must have been his destined space upon
-one of the pages, Dr. Ingram made this note: “Q. Num
-Bennet Langton hic inserendus?”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47">[47]</a> A boyish fashion of self-entertainment afterwards in
-great favor with Shelley.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48">[48]</a> It is a pleasant thing to remember that it was Langton,
-always an appreciator of Goldsmith’s lovable genius,
-who suggested “Auburn” as the name for his <i>Deserted
-Village</i>. There is a hamlet called Auborne in Lincolnshire.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49">[49]</a> Langton’s sisters are generally spoken of as three in
-number. But Burke’s <i>History of the Landed Gentry</i>
-mentions but two, Diana and Juliet. There was a younger
-brother, Ferne, who died in boyhood, and the floral
-name, not unlike a girl’s, may have been responsible for
-the confusion.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50">[50]</a> The fruiterer.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51">[51]</a> The bookseller’s.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52">[52]</a> Rochester, in his immortal epigram, had said the
-same of King Charles II.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53">[53]</a> This neat descriptive stroke has been attributed also
-to Richard Paget.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54">[54]</a> The register of St. George’s betrays a little eager
-blunder of Lady Di’s which is amusing. When the officiating
-curate asked her to sign, she wrote “Diana Beauclerk,”
-and was obliged to cross out the signature—one
-knows with what a smile and a flush!—and substitute the
-“Diana Spencer” which stands beside it.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55">[55]</a> Miss Hawkins says “ten,” and may have had the
-extra adopted child in mind.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56">[56]</a> It is a pity he did not live to read the jolly <i>American
-Ballad of Bon Gaultier</i>, which seems to have a sort
-of muddled clairvoyant knowledge of this transaction:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Every day the huge Cawana</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lifted up its monstrous jaws;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And it swallowed Langton Bennet,(!)</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And digested Rufus Dawes.</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Riled, I ween, was Philip Slingsby</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Their untimely deaths to hear;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">For one author owed him money,(!)</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the other loved him dear.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57">[57]</a> The church has since been “restored,” and the fine
-epitaph is now (1890) “skyed” on the south wall of the
-nave.</p></div></div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="chapter"></div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a><br /><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
-
-
-
-<h2>V<br />
-WILLIAM HAZLITT<br />
-<small>1778-1830</small></h2>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a><br /><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div>
- <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i-130-drop-t.jpg" width="101" height="105" alt="T" />
-</div>
-
-<p class="drop-capi">THE titles of William Hazlitt’s
-first books bear witness to
-the ethic spirit in which he
-began life. From his beloved
-father, an Irish dissenting
-minister, he inherited his unworldliness,
-his obstinacy, his love of inexpedient
-truth, and his interest in the emancipation
-and well-being of his fellow-creatures.
-Bred in an air of seriousness and
-integrity, the child of twelve announced
-by post that he had spent “a very agreeable
-day” reading one hundred and sixty
-pages of Priestley, and hearing two good
-sermons. A year later he appeared, under
-a Greek signature, in <i>The Shrewsbury
-Chronicle</i>, protesting against sectarian injustice;
-an infant herald in the great
-modern movement towards fair play.
-The roll of the portentous periods must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
-have made his father weep for pride and
-diversion. William’s young head was
-full of moral philosophy and jurisprudence,
-and he had what is the top of
-luxury for one of his temperament: perfect
-license of mental growth. Alone
-with his parents (one of whom was always
-a student and a recluse), and for
-the most part without the school-fellows
-who are likely to adjust the perilous effects
-of books, he became choked with
-theories, and thought more of the needful
-repeal of the Test Act than of his
-breakfast. He found his way at fourteen
-into the Unitarian College at Hackney,
-but eventually broke from his traces,
-saving his fatherland from the spectacle
-of a unique theologian. During the year
-1795 he saw the pictures at Burleigh
-House, and began to live. Desultory
-but deep study, at home and near home,
-took up the time before his first leisurely
-choice of a profession. His lonely broodings,
-his early love for Miss Railton, his
-four enthusiastic months at the Louvre,
-his silent friendship with Wordsworth
-and with Coleridge; the country walks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
-the pages and prints, the glad tears of his
-youth,—these were the fantastic tutors
-which formed him; nor had he ever
-much respect for any other kind of training.
-The lesson he prized most was the
-lesson straight from life and nature. He
-comments, tartly enough, on the sophism
-that observation in idleness, or the growth
-of bodily skill and social address, or the
-search for the secret of honorable power
-over people, is not in any wise to be accounted
-as learning. Montaigne, who
-was in Hazlitt’s ancestral line, was of this
-mind: “<i>Ce qu’on sçait droictement, on en
-dispose sans regarder au patron, sans tourner
-les yeulx vers son livre.</i>” Hazlitt insists,
-too, that learned men are but “the
-cisterns, not the fountain-heads, of knowledge.”
-He hated the schoolmaster, and
-has said as witty things of him as Mr.
-Oscar Wilde. Yet his little portrait-study
-of the mere book-worm, in <i>The Conversation
-of Authors</i>, has a never-to-be-forgotten
-sweetness. His mental nurture was
-serviceable; it was of his own choosing;
-it fitted him for the work he had to do.
-Like Marcus Aurelius, he congratulated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
-himself that he did not squander his
-youth “chopping logic and scouring the
-heavens.” Hazlitt once entered upon an
-<i>Inquiry whether the Fine Arts are promoted
-by Academies;</i> the answer, from
-him, is readily anticipated.</p>
-
-<div class="center">“If arts and schools reply,”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">he might have added,—and it is a wonder
-that he did not,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Give arts and schools the lie!”</div>
-
-<p>Mr. Matthew Arnold made a famous
-essay on the same topic, and some readers
-recollect distinctly that his verdict,
-for England, would be in the affirmative,
-whereas it was no such matter.
-Now, no man can conceive of Hazlitt
-presenting both sides of a case so impartially
-as to be misunderstood, especially
-upon so vital a subject. He pastured,
-he was not trained; and therefore
-he would have you and your children’s
-children scoff at universities. Indeed,
-though the boy’s lack of discipline told
-on him all through life, his reader regrets
-nothing else which a university<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
-could have given him, except, perhaps,
-milder manners. Hazlitt was perfectly
-aware that he had too little general
-knowledge; but general knowledge he
-did not consider so good a tool for his
-self-set task in life as a persistent, passionate
-study of one or two subjects.
-Again, he is pleased to conjecture, with
-bluntness, that if he had learned more he
-would have thought less. (Perhaps he
-was the friend cited by Elia, who gave
-up reading to improve his originality!
-He was certainly useful to Elia in delicate
-and curious ways: a whole vein of
-rich eccentricity ready for that sweet
-philosopher’s working.) Hear him pronouncing
-upon himself at the very end:
-“I have, then, given proof of some talent
-and more honesty; if there is haste and
-want of method, there is no common-place,
-nor a line that licks the dust. If
-I do not appear to more advantage, I
-at least appear such as I am.” Divorce
-that remark and the truth of it from
-Hazlitt, and there is no Hazlitt left. He
-stood for individualism. He wrote from
-what was, in the highest degree for his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
-purpose, a full mind, and with that blameless
-conscious superiority which a full
-mind must needs feel in this empty
-world. His whole intellectual stand is
-taken on the positive and concrete side
-of things. He has a fine barbaric
-cocksureness; he dwells not with althoughs
-and neverthelesses, like Mr.
-Symonds and Mr. Saintsbury. “I am
-not one of those,” he says, concerning
-Edmund Kean’s first appearance in London,
-“who, when they see the sun breaking
-from behind a cloud, stop to inquire
-whether it is the moon.” And he takes
-enormous interest in his own promulgation,
-because it is inevitably not only
-what he thinks, but what he has long
-thought. He delivers an opinion with the
-air proper to a host who is master of a
-vineyard, and can furnish name and date
-to every flagon he unseals.</p>
-
-<p>None of Hazlitt’s energies went to
-waste: he earned his soul early, and how
-proud he was of the possession! Retrospection
-became his forward horizon. He
-was all aglow at the thought of that
-beatific yesterday; in his every mood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
-“the years that are fled knock at the
-door, and enter.” He struggled no more
-thereafter, having fixed his beliefs and
-found his voice. He saw no occasion to
-change. “As to myself,” he wrote at
-fifty, referring to Lamb’s well-known “surfeits
-of admiration” concerning some objects
-once adored, “as to myself, any one
-knows where to have me!” He adds:
-“In matters of taste and feeling, one
-proof that my conclusions have not been
-quite shallow or hasty is the circumstance
-of their having been lasting. . . . This continuity
-of impression is the only thing on
-which I pride myself.” A fine saying in
-the <i>Boswell Redivivus</i>, attributed to Opie,
-is as clearly expressed elsewhere by Hazlitt’s
-self: that a man in his lifetime can
-do but one thing; that there is but one
-effort and one victory, and all the rest is
-as machinery in motion. “What I write
-costs me nothing, but it cost me a great
-deal twenty years ago. I have added little
-to my stock since then, and taken little
-from it.” His sensations, latterly, were
-“July shoots,” graftings on the old sap.
-It is his boast in almost his final essay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
-that his tenacious brain holds fast while
-the planets are turning. He can look at
-a child’s kite in heaven, to the last, with
-the eyes of a child: “It pulls at my heart.”</p>
-
-<p>His conservative habit, however, seemed
-to teach him everything by inference.
-In 1821, familiar with none of the elder
-dramatists save Shakespeare, he borrowed
-their folios, and shut himself up for six
-weeks at Winterslow Hut on Salisbury
-Plain. He returned to town steeped in
-his theme, and with the beautiful and
-authoritative <i>Lectures</i> written. Appreciation
-of the great Elizabethans is common
-enough now; seventy years ago,
-propagated by Lamb’s <i>Specimens</i>, 1808,
-it was the business only of adventurers
-and pioneers. Here is a critic indeed
-who, without a suspicion of audacity,
-can arise as a stranger to arraign the
-<i>Arcadia</i>, and “shake hands with Signor
-Orlando Friscobaldo as the oldest
-acquaintance” he has! The thing, exceptional
-as it was, proves that William
-Hazlitt knew his resources. His devoted
-friend Patmore attributes his “unpremeditated
-art,” terse, profound, original,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
-and always moving at full speed, to two
-facts: “first, that he never, by choice,
-wrote on any topic or question in which
-he did not, for some reason or other, feel
-a deep personal interest; and, secondly,
-because on all questions on which he did
-so feel, he had thought, meditated, and
-pondered, in the silence and solitude of
-his own heart, for years and years before
-he ever contemplated doing more than
-thinking of them.” Unlike a distinguished
-historian, who, according to Horace
-Walpole, “never understood anything
-until he had written of it,” Hazlitt brought
-to his every task a mind violently made
-up, and a vocation for special pleading
-which nothing could withstand.</p>
-
-<p>Sure as he is, he means to be nobody’s
-hired guide: a resolve for which the general
-reader cannot be too grateful. In
-wilful and mellow study of what chance
-threw in his way his strength grew, and
-his limitations with it. It is small wonder
-that he hated schoolmasters, and the
-public which expected of him schoolmaster
-platitudes. He had a pride of intellect
-not unlike Rousseau’s, and he seems to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
-have had ever in mind Rousseau’s cardinal
-declaration that if he were no better
-than other men, he was at least different
-from them. Hazlitt defined his own
-functions with proper haughtiness, in the
-amusing apology of <i>Capacity and Genius</i>.
-“I was once applied to, in a delicate
-emergency, to write an article on a difficult
-subject for an encyclopædia; and
-was advised to take time, and give it a
-systematic and scientific form; to avail
-myself of all the knowledge that was to
-be obtained upon the subject, and arrange
-it with clearness and method. I made
-answer that, as to the first, I <i>had</i> taken
-time to do all that I ever pretended to
-do, as I had thought incessantly on different
-matters for twenty years of my
-life; that I had no particular knowledge
-of the subject in question, and no head
-for arrangement; that the utmost I could
-do, in such a case, would be, when a systematic
-and scientific article was prepared,
-to write marginal notes upon it,
-to insert a remark or illustration of my
-own (not to be found in former encyclopædias!)
-or to suggest a better definition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
-than had been offered in the text.”<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> Such
-independence nobly became him, and
-none the less because it kept him poor.
-But in the course of time, he had to work,
-and keep on working, under wretched
-disadvantages. He had spurts of revolt,
-after long experience of compulsory composition;
-his darling wish in 1822 (confided
-to his wife, of all persons) being
-that he “could marry some woman with a
-good fortune, that he might not be under
-the necessity of writing another line!”</p>
-
-<p>There was in him absolutely nothing
-of the antiquary and the scholar, as the
-modern world understands those most
-serviceable gentlemen. He was a “surveyor,”
-as he said, erroneously, of Bacon.
-He was continuously drawn into the byway,
-and ever in search of the accidental,
-the occult; he lusted, like Sir Thomas
-Browne, to find the great meanings of
-minor things. The “pompous big-wigs”
-of his day, as Thackeray called them,
-hated his informality, his boldly novel
-methods, his vivacity and enthusiasm.
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>He had, within proscribed bounds, an
-exquisite and affectionate curiosity, like
-that of the Renaissance. “The invention
-of a fable is to me the most enviable exertion
-of human genius: it is the discovery
-of a truth to which there is no clew,
-and which, when once found out, can
-never be forgotten.” “If the world were
-good for nothing else, it would be a fine
-subject for speculation.” It is his deliberate
-dictum that it were “worth a life”
-to sit down by an Italian wayside, and
-work out the reason why the Italian supremacy
-in art has always been along the
-line of color, not along the line of form.</p>
-
-<p>He depended so entirely upon his memory
-that those who knew him best say
-that he never took notes, neither in gallery,
-library, nor theatre; yet his inaccuracies
-are few and slight,<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> and he must
-have secured by this habit a prodigious
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>freedom and luxury in the act of writing.
-He would rather stumble than walk according
-to rule; and he was so pleasantly
-beguiled with some of his own images
-(that, for instance, of immortality the
-bride of the youthful spirit, and of the
-procession of camels seen across the distance
-of three thousand years) that he
-reiterates them upon every fit occasion.
-He cites, twice and thrice, the same passages
-from the Elizabethans. He is a
-masterly quoter, and lingers like a suitor
-upon the borders of old poesy. His infallibility,
-like the Pope’s, is of narrow
-scope and nicely defined. When he
-steps beyond his accustomed tracks,
-which is seldom, his vagaries are entertaining.
-You may account for his declaration
-that Thomas Warton’s sonnets
-rank as the very best in the language, by
-reflecting that he dealt not in sonnets
-and knew nothing of them; if he prefer
-<i>Hercules Raging</i> to any other Greek tragedy,
-it is collateral proof that he was no
-wide-travelled Grecian, nor even Euripideian;
-when he gives his distinguished
-preference to Shakespeare’s Helena, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
-is small need of adding that Mr. Hazlitt,
-albeit with an affectionate friendship for
-Mary Lamb, with a mother, a sister, a
-dynasty of sweethearts, and two wives,
-was notoriously unlearned in women.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p>
-
-<p>The events of his life count for so little
-that they are hardly worth recording.
-He was born into a high-principled and
-intelligent family, at Mitre Lane, Maidstone,
-Kent, on the 10th of April, in the
-year 1778. His infancy was passed there
-and in Ireland, his boyhood in New England
-and in Shropshire. Prior to a long
-visit to Paris, where he made some noble
-copies of Titian, he came in 1802 to
-Bloomsbury, where his elder brother
-John, an advanced Liberal in politics and
-an excellent miniature-painter, had a studio;
-and here he worked at art for several
-joyous years, finally abandoning it
-for literature. The portraits he painted,
-utterly lacking in grace, are fraught with
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>power and meaning; few of these are
-extant, thanks to the fading and cracking
-pigments of the modern schools.
-The old Manchester woman in shadow,
-done in 1803, and the head of his father,
-dating from a twelvemonth later (two
-things to which Hazlitt makes memorable
-reference in his essays), are no longer
-distinguishable, save to a very patient
-eye, upon the blackened canvases in his
-grandson’s possession. The picture of
-the child Hartley Coleridge, begun at the
-Lakes in 1802, has perished from the
-damp; that of Charles Lamb in the Venetian
-doublet survives since 1804, in its
-serious and primitive browns,<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> as the
-best-known example of an English artist
-not in the catalogues. Its historic value,
-however, is not superior to that of two
-portraits of Hazlitt himself: one a study
-in strong light and shade, with a wreath
-upon the head, now very much time-eaten;
-and another representing him at
-about the age of twenty-five, with a three-quarters
-front face looking over the right
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>shoulder, which appeals to the spectator
-like spoken truth. It is all but void of
-the beauty characterizing the striking
-Bewick head (especially as retouched and
-reproduced in Mr. Alexander Ireland’s
-valuable book of 1889, which is a sort of
-Hazlitt anthology), and characterizing, no
-less, John Hazlitt’s charming miniatures
-of William at five and at thirteen; therefore
-it can deal in no self-flattery. Fortunately,
-we have from the hand which
-knew him best the lank, odd, reserved
-youth in whom great possibilities were
-brewing; thought and will predominate
-in this portrait, and it expresses the sincere
-soul. It would be idle to criticise
-the technique of a work disowned by its
-author. Hazlitt had, as we know from
-much testimony, a most interesting and
-perplexing face, with the magnificent
-brow almost belied by shifting eyes, and
-the petulance and distrust of the mouth
-and chin; but a face prepossessing on
-the whole from the clear marble of his
-complexion,<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> remarkable in a land of
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>ruddy cheeks. His lonely and peculiar
-life lent him its own hue; the eager look
-of one indeed a sufferer, but with the
-light full upon him of visions and of
-dreams:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“<i>Chi pallido si fece sotto l’ombra</i></div>
-<div class="verse"><i>Sì di Parnaso, o bevve in sua cisterna?</i>”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>In 1798 Hazlitt had his immortal meeting
-at Wem with Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
-He described himself at this period
-as “dumb, inarticulate, helpless, like
-a worm by the wayside,” striving in vain
-to put on paper the thoughts which oppressed
-him, shedding tears of vexation
-at his inability, and feeling happy if in
-eight years he could write as many pages.
-The abiding influence of his First Poet
-he has acknowledged in an imperishable
-chapter. For a long while he still kept
-in “the o’erdarkened ways” of Malthus
-and Tucker, or in the shadow, dear to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
-him, of Hobbes; but in 1817 the floodgates
-broke, the pure current gushed out;
-and in the <i>Characters of Shakespeare’s
-Plays</i> we have the primal pledge of Hazlitt
-as we know him, “such as had never
-been before him, such as will never be
-again.” From a “dumbness” and diffidence
-extreme, he developed into the
-readiest of writers; his sudden pages,
-year after year, transcribed in his slant
-large hand, went to the printers rapidly
-and at first draft. The longer he used
-his dedicated pen, the freer, the brighter,
-the serener it grew. In the fourteen or
-fifteen of his books which deal with genius
-and the conduct of life, there is,
-throughout, an indescribable unaffected
-zest, a self-same and unwavering certitude
-of handling. Once he learned his
-trade, he gave himself a large field and
-an easy rein. He never warmed towards
-a subject chosen for him. His conversation
-was non-professional. He considered
-a discussion as to the likelihood of
-the weather’s holding up for to-morrow
-as “the end and privilege of a life of
-study.”</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>In London, as soon as he had abandoned
-painting, he became a parliamentary
-reporter, and began to lecture on
-the English philosophers and metaphysicians.
-He furnished his famous dramatic
-criticisms to <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>,
-<i>The Champion</i>, <i>The Examiner</i>, and
-<i>The Times</i>, and he acted later as home
-editor of <i>The Liberal</i>. He married, on
-May-day of 1808, Miss Sarah Stoddart,
-who owned the property near Salisbury
-where he afterwards spent melancholy
-years alone. He fulfilled one human duty
-perfectly, for he loved and reared his son.
-A most singular infatuation for the unlovely
-daughter of his landlady; a second
-inauspicious marriage in 1824 with
-a Mrs. Isabella Bridgwater; a prolonged
-journey on the Continent; the failure of
-the publishers of his <i>Life of Napoleon</i>,
-which thus in his needful days brought
-him no competence; a long illness heroically
-borne, and a burial in the parish
-churchyard of St. Anne’s, under a headstone
-raised, in a romantic remorse after
-an estrangement, by Charles Wells, the
-author of <i>Joseph and his Brethren</i>,—these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
-round out the meagre details of Hazlitt’s
-life. He died in the arms of his son and
-of his old friend Charles Lamb,<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> on the
-18th of September, 1830, at 6 Frith
-Street, Soho.</p>
-
-<p>His domestic experiences, indeed, had
-been nearly as extraordinary as Shelley’s.
-Sarah Walker, of No. 9 Southampton
-Buildings, is a sort of burlesque counterpart
-of that other “spouse, sister, angel,”
-Emilia Viviani. Nothing in literary history
-is much funnier than Mr. Hazlitt’s
-kind assistance to Mrs. Hazlitt in securing
-her divorce, going to visit her at
-Edinburgh, and supplying funds and advice
-over the teacups, while the process
-was pending, unless it be Shelley’s ingenuous
-invitation to his deserted young
-wife to come and dwell forever with
-himself and Mary! The silent dramatic
-withdrawal of the second Mrs. Hazlitt,
-the well-to-do relict of a colonel, who is
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>henceforth swallowed up in complete oblivion,
-is a feature whose like is missing
-in Shelley’s romance. Events in Hazlitt’s
-path were not many, and his inner calamities
-seem somehow subordinated to
-exterior workings. It is not too much
-to say that to the French Revolution and
-the white heat of hope it diffused over
-Europe he owed the renewal of the very
-impetus within him: his moral probity,
-his mental vigor, and his physical cheer.
-His measure of men and things was fixed
-by its standard. Other enthusiasts wavered
-and went back to the flesh-pots of
-Egypt, but not he. <i>Et cuncta terrarum
-subacta præter atrocem animum Catonis.</i>
-Towards the grandest inconsistency this
-world has seen, he bore himself with a
-consistency nothing less than touching.
-Everywhere, always, as a friend who understood
-him well reminds a later generation,
-“Hazlitt was the only man of
-letters in England who dared openly to
-stand by the French Revolution, through
-good and evil report, and who had the
-magnanimity never to turn his back upon
-its child and champion.” The ruin of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
-Napoleon, and the final news that “the
-hunter of greatness and of glory was himself
-a shade,” meant more to him than
-the relinquishment of his early and cherished
-art, or the fading of the long dream
-that his heart “should find a heart to
-speak to.” On his last autumn afternoon,
-he said what no one else would
-have dared to say for him: “I have had
-a happy life.” Such it was, if we are to
-compute happiness by souls, and not by
-the incidents which befall them. What
-were the things which atoned to this reformer
-for the curse of a mind too sentient,
-a heart never far from breaking?
-Over and above all amended and amending
-abuses, the memory of the Rembrandts
-on the walls of Burleigh House;
-the waving crest of the Tuderley woods;
-the sky, the turf, “a winding road, and
-a three-hours’ march to dinner”; the
-impersonator of Richard III. most to
-his mind, who lighted the stage, “and
-fought as if drunk with wounds”; and
-the figure (how pastoral and tender!)
-of the shepherd-boy bringing a nest
-for his young mistress’s sky-lark, “not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
-doomed to dip his wings in the dappled
-dawn.” What heresy to the ancients
-would be this creed of poetic
-compensation! Montesquieu adhered to
-it; but hardly from baffled and impassioned
-Hazlitt, dying in his prime, would
-the avowal have been expected. Yet he
-had written almost always, as Jeffrey saw,
-in “a happy intoxication.” Like the sundial,
-in one of the most charming among
-his miscellaneous essays, he kept count
-only of the hours of joy.</p>
-
-<p>Hazlitt’s erratic levees among coffee-house
-wits and politicians, his slack dress,
-his rich and fitful talk, his beautiful fierce
-head, go to make up any accurate impression
-of the man. Mr. P. G. Patmore
-has drawn him for us; a strange portrait
-from a steady hand: in certain moods
-“an effigy of silence,” pale, anxious, emaciated,
-with an awful look ever and anon,
-like the thunder-cloud in a clear heaven,
-sweeping over his features with still
-fury.<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> He was so much at the mercy of
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>an excitable and extra-sensitive organization
-that an accidental failure to return
-his salute upon the street, or, above
-all, the gaze of a servant as he entered
-a house, plunged him into an excess of
-wrath and misery. Full, at other times,
-of scrupulous good faith and generosity,
-he would, under the stress of a fancied
-hurt, say and write malicious things about
-those he most honored. He must have
-been a general thorn in the flesh, for he
-had no tact whatever. “I love Henry,”
-said one of Thoreau’s friends, “but I cannot
-like him.” Shy, splenetic, with Dryden’s
-“down look,” readier to give than
-to exchange, Hazlitt was a riddle to strangers’
-eyes. His deep voice seemed at
-variance with his gliding step and his
-glance, bright but sullen; his hand felt
-as if it were the limp, cold fin of a fish,
-and was an unlooked-for accompaniment
-to the fiery soul warring everywhere with
-darkness, and drenched in altruism. His
-habit of excessive tea-drinking, like Dr.
-Johnson’s, was to keep down sad thoughts.
-For sixteen years before he died, from
-the day on which he formed his resolution,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
-Hazlitt never touched spirits of any
-kind. Profuse of money when he had it,
-he lacked heart, says Mr. Patmore, to live
-well. Wherever he dwelt there was what
-Carlyle, in Hunt’s case, called “tinkerdom”;
-his marriage, and his residence
-under the august roof which had been
-Milton’s,<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> did not mend matters for him.
-He covered the walls and mantel-pieces
-of London landladies, after the fashion
-of the French bohemian painters, with
-samples of his noblest style; and the
-savor of yesterday’s potions of strong tea
-exhaled into their curtains. Never was
-there, despite his confessional attitude, so
-non-communicative a soul. He never
-corresponded with anybody; he never
-would walk arm in arm with anybody;
-he never, perhaps from horror of the
-“patron” bogie, dedicated a book to anybody.
-De Quincey knew a man warmly
-disposed towards Hazlitt who learned to
-shudder and dread daggers when poor
-Hazlitt, with a gesture habitual to him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
-thrust his right hand between the buttons
-of his waistcoat! And he once
-cheerfully requested of a cheerful colleague:
-“Write a character of me for the
-next number. I want to know why everybody
-has such a dislike to me.” As
-a social factor he was something atrocious.<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a>
-The most humane of men, his
-suspicions and shyings cut him off completely
-from humanity. The base war
-waged upon him by the great Tory magazines
-could not have affected him so
-deeply that it changed his demeanor
-towards his fellows; for he had the mettle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
-of a paladin, which no invective could
-break. But, alas! he had “the canker
-at the heart,” which is no fosterer of
-“the rose upon the cheek.”</p>
-
-<p>With all this fever and heaviness in
-Hazlitt’s blood, he had a hearty laugh,
-musical to hear. Haydon, in his exaggerated
-manner, reports an uncharitable
-conversation held with him once on the
-subject of Leigh Hunt in Italy, during
-which the two misconstruing critics, in
-their great glee, “made more noise than
-all the coaches, wagons, and carts outside
-in Piccadilly.” His smile was singularly
-grave and sweet. Mrs. Shelley wrote, on
-coming back to England, in her widowhood,
-and finding him much changed:
-“His smile brought tears to my eyes; it
-was like melancholy sunlight on a ruin.”
-A man who sincerely laughs and smiles
-is somewhat less than half a cynic. If
-there be any alive at this late hour who
-questions the genuineness of Hazlitt’s
-high spirits, he may be referred to the
-essay <i>On Going a Journey</i>, with the pæan
-about “the gentleman in the parlor,” in
-the finest emulation of Cowley; but chiefly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
-and constantly to <i>The Fight</i>, with its
-lingering De-Foe-like details, sprinkled,
-not in the least ironically, with gold-dust
-of Chaucer and the later poets: the
-rich-ringing, unique <i>Fight</i>,<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> predecessor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
-of Borrow’s famous burst about the “all
-tremendous bruisers” of <i>Lavengro;</i> and
-not to be matched in our peaceful literature
-save with the eulogy and epitaph of
-Jack Cavanagh, by the same hand. Divers
-hints have been circulated, within
-sixty-odd years, that Mr. Hazlitt was a
-timid person, also that he had no turn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
-for jokes. These ingenious calumnies
-may be trusted to meet the fate of the
-Irish pagan fairies, small enough at the
-start, whose punishment it is to dwindle
-ever and ever away, and point a moral
-to succeeding generations. Hazlitt’s
-paradoxes are not of malice prepense,
-but are the ebullitions both of pure
-fun and of the truest philosophy. “The
-only way to be reconciled with old
-friends is to part with them for good.”
-“Goldsmith had the satisfaction of
-good-naturedly relieving the necessities
-of others, and of being harassed to
-death with his own.” “Captain Burney
-had you at an advantage by never
-understanding you.” Scattered mention
-of “people who live on their own estates
-and on other people’s ideas”; of Jeremy
-Bentham, who had been translated into
-French, “when it was the greatest pity
-in the world that he had not been translated
-into English”; of the Coleridge of
-prose, one of whose prefaces is “a masterpiece
-of its kind, having neither beginning,
-middle, nor end”; and even of the
-“singular animal,” John Bull himself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
-since “being the beast he is has made
-a man of him”:—these are no ill shots
-at the sarcastic. Congreve, with all his
-quicksilver wit, could not outgo Hazlitt
-on Thieves, <i>videlicet:</i> “Even a highwayman,
-in the way of trade, may blow
-out your brains; but if he uses foul language
-at the same time, I should say
-he was no gentleman!” Hazlitt’s sense
-of humor has quality, if not quantity.
-How was it this same sense of humor,
-this fine-grained reticence, which
-wrote, nay, printed, in 1823, the piteous
-and ludicrous canticle of the goddess
-Sarah?</p>
-
-<p>Hazlitt was a great pedestrian from his
-boyhood on, and, like Goldsmith, a fair
-hand at the game of fives, which he played
-by the day. Wherever he was, his pocket
-bulged with a book. It gave him keen
-pleasure to set down the hour, the place,
-the mood, and the weather of various
-ecstatic first readings. He became acquainted
-with <i>Love for Love</i> in a low
-wainscoted tavern parlor between Farnham
-and Alton, looking out upon a garden
-of larkspur, with a portrait of Charles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
-II. crowning the chimney-piece; in his
-father’s house he fell across <i>Tom Jones</i>,
-“a child’s Tom Jones, an innocent creature”;
-he bought Milton and Burke at
-Shrewsbury, on the march; he looked up
-from Mrs. Inchbald’s <i>Simple Story</i>, when
-its pathos grew too poignant, to find “a
-summer shower dropping manna” on his
-head, and “an old crazy hand-organ playing
-<i>Robin Adair</i>.” And on April 10, 1798,
-his twentieth birthday, he sat down to a
-volume of the <i>New Eloïse</i>, a book which
-kept its hold upon him, “at the inn of
-Llangollen, over a bottle of sherry and a
-cold chicken!” The frank epicurean catalogue,
-as of equal spiritual and corporeal
-delight, is worth notice. Do we not
-know that Mr. Hazlitt had wood-partridges
-for supper, in his middle age, at
-the Golden Cross, in Rastadt, near Mayence?
-Yet he failed to record what book
-lay by his plate, and distracted his attention
-from her who had been a widow, and
-who was already planning her respectable
-exit from his society. Evidence that
-he was an eater of taste is to be accumulated
-eagerly by his partisans, for eating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
-is one of many engaging human
-characteristics which establish him as
-lovable—that is, posthumously lovable.
-Barry Cornwall was so jealously tender
-of his memory that he would have forbidden
-any one to write of Hazlitt who
-had not known him. As he did not warm
-miscellaneously to everybody, it followed
-that his friends were few. We do not
-forget which one of these, during their
-only difference, thought “to go to his
-grave without finding, or expecting to
-find, such another companion.”<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a></p>
-
-<p>Hazlitt would have set himself down,
-by choice, as a metaphysician. Up to the
-time when his <i>Life of Napoleon</i> was well
-in hand, he used to affirm that the anonymous
-<i>Principles of Human Action</i>, which
-he completed at twenty, in the literary
-style of the azoic age, was his best work.
-He was rather proud, too, of the <i>Characteristics
-in the Manner of Rochefoucauld’s
-Maxims</i>, his one dreary book,
-which contains a couple of inductions
-worthy of Pascal, some sophistries and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
-hollow cynicisms not native to Hazlitt’s
-brain, and a vast number of the very professorisms
-which he scouted. Maxims,
-indeed, are sown broadcast over his pages,
-which Alison the historian classified as
-better to quote than to read; but they
-gain by being incidental, and embedded
-in the body of his fancies. His vein of
-original thought comes nowhere so perfectly
-into play as in its application to
-affairs. His pen is anything but abstruse,</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind.”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He did not recognize that to display his
-highest power he needed deeds and men,
-and their tangible outcome to be criticised.
-His preferences were altogether
-wed to the past. In his essay on <i>Envy</i>
-he excuses, with a wise reflection, his
-comparative indifference to living writers:
-“We try to stifle the sense we have
-of their merit, not because they are new
-or modern, but because we are not sure
-they will ever be old.” Or, as Professor
-Wilson said of him, with tardy but winning
-kindness: “In short, if you want<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
-Hazlitt’s praise, you must die for it . . .
-and it is almost worth dying for.”<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> Yet
-what an eye he has for the idiosyncrasy
-at his elbow, be it in the individual or
-in the race! Every contemporary of his,
-every painter, author, actor, and statesman
-of whom he cared to write at all,
-stands forth under his touch in delicate
-and aggressive outlines from which a wind
-seems to blow back the mortal draperies,
-like a figure in a triumphal procession
-of Mantegna’s. His manner is essentially
-pictorial. His sketches of Cobbett and
-of Northcote, in <i>The Spirit of Obligations;</i>
-of Johnson, in <i>The Periodical Essayists;</i>
-of Sir Thomas Browne and Bishop
-Taylor; and of Coleridge and Lamb,
-drawn more than once, with great power,
-from the life, will never be excelled. His
-philippic on <i>The Spirit of Monarchy</i>, or
-that on <i>The Regal Character</i>, is a pure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
-vitriol flame, to scorch the necks of
-princes. His comments upon English
-and Continental types, if gathered from
-the necessarily promiscuous <i>Notes of a
-Journey</i>, would make a most diverting and
-illuminating duodecimo; the indictment
-of the French is especially masterly. <i>The
-Spirit of the Age</i>, <i>The Plain Speaker</i>,
-the Northcote book, <i>The English Comic
-Writers</i>, and the noble and little-read
-<i>Political Essays</i> are packed with vital personalities.
-So is <i>The Characters of Shakespeare’s
-Plays</i>, full of beautiful metaphysical
-analysis, as well as of vivifying
-criticism. This lavish accumulation of
-material, never put to use according to
-modern methods, must appear to some
-as a collection of interest awaiting the
-broom and the hanging committee; but
-until the end of time it will be a place of
-delight for the scholar and the lover of
-virtue. Hazlitt’s genius for assortment
-and sense of relative values were not developed;
-he was in no wise a constructive
-critic. Mr. R. H. Hutton complained
-once of Mr. Matthew Arnold that he
-ranked his men, but did not portray them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
-Now Hazlitt, whose search is all for character,
-irrespective of the historic position,
-falls into the opposite extreme: he portrays
-his men, but does not rank them. An
-attempt to break up into single file the
-merit which, with him, marches abreast,
-he would look upon as a bit of arrogance
-and rank impiety. He has nothing to
-say of the quality which stamps Bavius
-as the best elegiac poet between Gray
-and Tennyson, or of the irony of Mævius,
-which would place his dramas, were it
-not for their loose construction, next to
-Molière’s. He does not care a fig for comparisons;
-or, rather, he wishes them left
-to the gods, and to his perceiving reader.
-Meanwhile, one face after another
-shines clear upon the wall, and breathes
-enchantment on a passer-by.</p>
-
-<p>It is very difficult to be severe with
-William Hazlitt, who was towards himself
-so outspokenly severe. Every stricture
-upon him, as well as every defence to
-be urged for it, may be taken out of his
-own mouth. Even the <i>Liber Amoris</i>, as
-must always have been discerned, demonstrates
-not only his weakness, but his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
-essential uprightness and innocence. His
-vindication is written large in <i>Depth and
-Superficiality</i>, in <i>The Pleasures of Hating</i>,
-in <i>The Disadvantage of Intellectual
-Superiority</i>. His “true Hamlet” is as
-faithful a sketch of the author as is Newman’s
-celebrated definition of a gentleman.
-Hazlitt says a tender word for Dr.
-Johnson’s prejudices which covers and
-explains many of his own. Who can call
-him irritable, recalling the splendid exposition
-of merely selfish content, in
-the opening paragraphs of the essay on
-<i>Good Nature?</i> Yet, with all his lofty and
-endearing qualities, he had a warped and
-soured mind, a constitutional disability to
-find pleasure in persons or in conditions
-which were quiescent. He would have
-every one as mettlesome and gloomily
-vigilant as he was himself. His perfectly
-proper apostrophe to the lazy Coleridge
-at Highgate to “start up in his promised
-likeness, and shake the pillared rottenness
-of the world,” is somewhat comic. Hazlitt’s
-nerves never lost their tension; to
-the last hour of his last sickness he was
-ready for a bout. Much of his personal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
-grief arose from his refusal to respect
-facts as facts, or to recognize in existing
-evil, including the calamitous perfumed
-figure of Turveydrop gloriously reigning,
-what Vernon Lee calls “part of the mechanism
-for producing good.” He bit at
-the quietist in a hundred ways, and
-with choice venom. “There are persons
-who are never very far from the truth,
-because the slowness of their faculties
-will not suffer them to make much progress
-in error. These are ‘persons of great
-judgment.’ The scales of the mind are
-pretty sure to remain even when there
-is nothing in them.” He was a natural
-snarler at sunshiny people with full pockets
-and feudal ideas, like Sir Walter, who
-got along with the ogre What Is, and
-even asked him to dine. In fact, William
-Hazlitt hated a great many things with
-the utmost enthusiasm, and he was impolite
-enough to say so, in and out of
-season. The Established Church and all
-its tenets and traditions were only less
-monstrous in his eyes than legendry, mediævalism,
-and “the shoal of friars.” He
-knew, from actual experience, the loyalty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
-and purity of the early Unitarians, and
-he praised these with all his heart and
-tongue. As far as one can make out, he
-had not the remotest conception of the
-breadth and texture of Christianity as a
-whole. His theory, for he practised no
-creed except the cheap one of universal
-dissent, was a faint-colored local Puritanism;
-and that, as the Merry Monarch
-(an excellent judge of what was not
-what!) reminds us, is “no religion for a
-gentleman.” But more than this, Hazlitt
-had no apprehension of the supernatural
-in anything; he was very unspiritual.
-It is curious to see how he sidles
-away from the finer English creatures
-whom he had to handle. Sidney almost
-repels him, and he dismisses Shelley, on
-one occasion, with an inadequate but apt
-allusion to the “hectic flutter” of his
-verse. Living in a level country with no
-outlook upon eternity, and no deep insight
-into the human past, nor fully understanding
-those who had wider vision
-and more instructed utterance than his
-own, it follows that beside such men as
-those just named, then as now, Hazlitt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
-has a crude villageous mien. He had
-his refined sophistications; chief among
-them was a surpassing love of natural
-beauty. But he relished, on the whole,
-the beef and beer of life. The normal was
-what he wrote of with “gusto”; a word
-he never tired of using, and which one
-must use in speaking of himself. While
-he is an admirable arbiter of what is or is
-not truly intellectual, he is all at sea when
-he has to discuss, for instance, emotional
-poetry, or, what is yet more difficult to
-him, poetry purely poetic; its inevitable
-touch of the fantastic, the mystical, puts
-his wits completely to rout. The stern,
-lopsided, and magnificent article on Shelley’s
-<i>Posthumous Poems</i> in the <i>Edinburgh
-Review</i> for July, 1824, and his impatience
-with Coleridge at his best, perfectly exemplify
-this limitation. Despite his partiality
-for Rousseau and certain of the early
-Italian painters, most of the men whose
-genius he seizes upon and exalts with
-unerring success are the men who display,
-along with enormous acumen and
-power, nothing which betokens the morbid
-and exquisite thing we have learned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
-to call modern culture. Hazlitt, fortunately
-for us, was not over-civilized, had
-no cinque-cento instincts, and would
-have groaned aloud over such hedonism
-as Mr. Pater’s. Homespun and manly as
-he is, who can help feeling that his was
-but an imperfect development? that, as
-Mr. Arnold said so paternally of Byron,
-“he did not know enough”? He lacked
-both mental discipline and moral governance.
-He has the wayward and appealing
-Celtic utterance; the manner
-made of largeness and simpleness, all
-shot and interwoven with the hues of
-romanticism. Prodigal that he is, he
-cannot stoop to build up his golden
-piecemeal, or to clinch his generalizations,
-thrown down loosely, side by side. Esoteric
-thrift is not in him, nor the spirit
-of co-operation, nor the sweetest of artistic
-anxieties, that of marching in line.
-He has a knight-errant pen; his glad and
-chivalrous services to literature resemble
-those of an outlaw to the commonwealth.
-Despite his personal value, he stands detached;
-he is episodic, and represents
-nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“The earth hath bubbles as the water hath,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And this is of them.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">He misses the white station of a classic;
-for the classics have equipoise, and inter-relationship.
-But it is great cause for
-thankfulness that William Hazlitt cannot
-be made other than he is. Time can
-not take away his height and his red-gold
-garments, bestow on him the “smoother
-head of hair” which Lamb prayed for,
-and shrivel him into one of several very
-wise and weary <i>précieux</i>. No: he stalks
-apart in state, the splendid Pasha of English
-letters.</p>
-
-<p>Hazlitt boasts, and permissibly, of genuine
-disinterestedness: “If you wish to
-see me perfectly calm,” he remarks somewhere,
-“cheat me in a bargain, or tread
-on my toes.”<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> But he cannot promise
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>the same behavior for a sophism repeated
-in his presence, or a truth repelled. In
-his sixth year he had been taken, with
-his brother and sister, to America, and
-he says that he never afterwards got
-out of his mouth the delicious tang of a
-frost-bitten New England barberry. It
-is tolerably sure that the blowy and
-sunny atmosphere of the young republic
-of 1783-7 got into him also. Liberalism
-was his birthright. He flourishes his
-fighting colors; he trembles with eagerness
-to break a lance with the arch-enemies;
-he is a champion, from his cradle,
-against class privilege, of slaves who know
-not what they are, nor how to wish for
-liberty. But he cannot do all this in the
-laughing Horatian way; he cannot keep
-cool; he cannot mind his object. If he
-could, he would be the white devil of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
-debate. There are times when he speaks,
-as does Dr. Johnson, out of all reason,
-because aware of the obstinacy and the
-bad faith of his hearers. Morals are too
-much in his mind, and, after their wont,
-they spoil his manners. Like the Caroline
-Platonist, Henry More, he “has to
-cut his way through a crowd of thoughts
-as through a wood.” His temper breaks
-like a rocket, in little lurid smoking stars,
-over every ninth page; he lays about
-him at random; he raises a dust of side-issues.
-Hazlitt sometimes reminds one
-of Burke himself gone off at half-cock.
-He will not step circumspectly from light
-to light, from security to security. Some
-of his very best essays, as has been noted,
-have either no particular subject, or fail
-to follow the one they have. Nor is he
-any the less attractive if he be heated,
-if he be swearing</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“By the blood so basely shed</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of the pride of Norfolk’s line,”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">or scornfully settling accounts of his own
-with the asinine public. When he is not
-driven about by his moods, Hazlitt is set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
-upon his fact alone; which he thinks is
-the sole concern of a prose-writer. Grace
-and force are collateral affairs. “In seeking
-for truth,” he says proudly, in words
-fit to be the epitome of his career, “I
-sometimes found beauty.”</p>
-
-<p><i>The Edinburgh Review</i>, in an article
-written while Hazlitt was in the full of
-his activity, summed up his shortcomings.
-“There are no great leading principles
-of taste to give singleness to his aims,
-nor any central points in his mind around
-which his feelings may revolve and his
-imaginations cluster. There is no sufficient
-distinction between his intellectual
-and his imaginative faculties. He confounds
-the truths of imagination with
-those of fact, the processes of argument
-with those of feeling, the immunities of
-intellect with those of virtue.” Here is
-an admirable arraignment, which goes
-to the heart of the matter. Hazlitt himself
-corroborates it in a confession of
-gallant directness: “I say what I think;
-I think what I feel.” It is this fatal
-confusion which makes his course now
-rapid and clear, anon clogged with vagaries,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
-as if his rudder had run into a
-mesh of sea-weed; it is this which deflects
-his judgments, and leads him, in
-the shrewd phrase of a modern critic, to
-praise the right things for the wrong
-reasons. Hazlitt’s prejudices are very
-instructive, even while he bewails Landor’s
-or Cobbett’s, and tells you, as it
-were, with a tear in his eye, when he has
-done berating the French, that, after all,
-they are Catholics; and as for manners,
-“Catholics must be allowed to carry it,
-all over the world!” His exquisite treatment
-of Northcote, a winning old sharper
-for whom he cared nothing, is all due
-to his looking like a Titian portrait. So
-with the great Duke: Hazlitt hated the
-sight of him, “as much for his pasteboard
-visor of a face as for anything
-else.” One of his justifications for adoring
-Napoleon was, that at a levee a young
-English officer named Lovelace drew from
-him an endearing recognition: “I perceive,
-sir, that you bear the name of the
-hero of Richardson’s romance.” If you
-look like a Titian portrait, if you read and
-remember Richardson, you may trust a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
-certain author, who knows a distinction
-when he sees it, to set you up for the
-idol of posterity. Hazlitt thought Mr.
-Wordsworth’s long and immobile countenance
-resembled that of a horse; and
-it is not impossible that this conviction,
-twin-born with that other that Mr.
-Wordsworth was a mighty poet, is responsible
-for various gibes at the august
-contemporary whose memory owes so
-much to his pen in other moods.</p>
-
-<p>He is the most ingenuous and agreeable
-egoist we have had since the seventeenth-century
-men. It must be remembered
-how little he was in touch
-outwardly with social and civic affairs;
-how he was content to be the always
-young looker-on. There was nothing for
-him to do but fall back, under given conditions,
-upon his own capacious entity.
-The automaton called William Hazlitt is
-to him a toy made to his hand, to be
-reached without effort; the digest of all
-his study and the applicable test of all
-his assumptions. He knew himself; he
-could, and did, with decorum, approve or
-chastise himself in open court. “His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
-life was of humanity the sphere.” His
-“I” has a strong constituency in the
-other twenty-five initials. In this sense,
-and in our current cant, Hazlitt is nothing
-if not subjective, super-personal. His
-sort of sentimentalism is an anomaly
-in Northern literature, even in the age
-when nearly every literary Englishman of
-note was variously engaged in baring his
-breast. Whether he would carp or sigh,
-he will still hold you by the button, as he
-held host and guest, master and valet,
-to pour into their adjacent ears the mad
-extravagances of the <i>Liber Amoris</i>. He
-gets a little tired at his desk, after battling
-for hours with the slow and stupid
-in behalf of the beauty ever-living;
-he wants fresh air and a reverie; he must
-digress or die. And from abstractions
-bardic as Carlyle’s, he runs gladly to his
-own approved self. This very circumstance,
-which lends Hazlitt’s pages their
-curious blur and stain, is the same which
-stamps his individuality, and gives those
-who are drawn towards him at all an unspeakably
-hearty relish for his company.
-What shall we call it?—the habit, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
-maudlin in him, of speaking out, of
-draining his well of emotion for the
-benefit of the elect; nay, even of delicate
-lyric whimperings, beside which</p>
-
-<div class="center">“Poore Petrarch’s long-deceasèd woes”</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">take on a tinsel glamour. As the dancing-girl
-carries her jewels, every one in sight
-as she moves, so our “Faustus, that was
-wont to make the schools ring with <i>Sic
-probo</i>,” steps into the forum jingling and
-twinkling with personalia. He is quite
-aware of the figure he may cut: he does
-not stumble into an intimacy with you
-because he is absent-minded, or because
-he is liable to an attack of affectation.
-He is as conscious as Poussin’s giants,
-whom he once described as “seated on
-the tops of craggy mountains, playing
-idly on their Pan’s pipes, and knowing
-the beginning and the end of their own
-story.” Many sentences of his, from their
-structure, might be attributed to Coleridge,
-the single person from whom Hazlitt
-admits to have learned anything;<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
-but there is no mistaking his <i>note émue:</i>
-that is as obvious as the syncopations in
-a Scotch tune, or the long eyes of Orcagna’s
-saints.</p>
-
-<p>He wishes you to know, at every
-breathing-space, “how ill’s all here about
-my heart; but ’tis no matter.” Laying
-by or taking up an old print or folio, he
-loosens some fond confidence to that
-surprised novice, the common reader.
-Like Shelley here, as in a few other affectionate
-absurdities, the prince of prose,
-turning from his proper affairs, assures
-you that he, too, is human, hoping, unhappy;
-he also has lived in Arcadia. It
-is in such irrelevancies that he is fully
-himself, Hazlitt freed, Hazlitt autobiographic,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
-“his chariot-wheels hot by driving
-fast.”<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> Who can forget the parentheses
-in his advices to his little son,
-about the scholar having neither mate
-nor fellow, and the god of love clapping
-his wings upon the river-bank to mock
-him as he passes by? Or the noble and
-moving passage in <i>The Pleasures of
-Painting</i>, beginning with “My father was
-willing to sit as long as I pleased,” and
-ending with the longing for the revolution
-of the great Platonic year, that those
-times might come over again! He freshens
-with his own childhood the garden
-of larkspur and mignonette at Walworth,
-and “the rich notes of the thrush that
-startle the ear of winter . . . dear in themselves,
-and dearer for the sake of what is
-departed.” You care not so much for
-the placid stream by Peterborough as for
-his own wistful pilgrimage to the nigh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
-farmhouse gate, where the ten-year-old
-Grace Loftus (his much-beloved mother,
-who survived him) used to gaze upon the
-setting sun. And in a choric outburst
-of praise for Mrs. Siddons, the splendor
-seems to culminate less in “her majestic
-form rising up against misfortune, an
-antagonist power to it” (what a truly
-Shakespearean breadth is in that description!);
-less in the sight of her name
-on the play-bill, “drawing after it a long
-trail of Eastern glory, a joy and felicity
-unutterable,” than in the widening dream
-of the happy lad in the pit, in his sovereign
-vision “of waning time, of Persian
-thrones and them that sat on them”; in
-the human life which appeared to him,
-of a sudden, “far from indifferent,” and
-in his “overwhelming and drowning flood
-of tears.” He can beautify the evening
-star itself, this innovator, who records
-that after a tranced and busy day at the
-easel, the day of Austerlitz, he watched
-it set over a poor man’s cottage with
-other thoughts and feelings than he shall
-ever have again. There is nothing of
-<i>le moi haïssable</i> in all this. It is deliberate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
-naturalism; the rebellion against
-didactics and “tall talk,” the milestone
-of a return, parallel with that of Wordsworth,
-to the fearless contemplation of
-plain and near things. But in a professing
-logician, is it not somewhat peculiar?
-When has even a poet so centred the
-universe in his own heart, without offence?</p>
-
-<p>Hazlitt threw away his brush, as a
-heroic measure, because he foresaw but
-a middling success. Many canvases he
-cut into shreds, in a fury of dissatisfaction
-with himself. Northcote, however,
-thought his lack of patience had spoiled
-a great painter. He was too full of worship
-of the masters to make an attentive
-artisan. The sacrifice, like all his sacrifices,
-great or small, left nothing behind
-but sweetness, the unclouded love of excellence,
-and the capacity of rejoicing
-at another’s attaining whatever he had
-missed. But the sense of disparity between
-supreme intellectual achievement
-and that which is only partial and relative,
-albeit of equal purity, followed him
-like a frenzy. Comparison is yet more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
-difficult in literature than in art, and Hazlitt
-could take some satisfaction in the
-results of his second ardor. He felt his
-power most, perhaps, as a critic of the
-theatre. English actors owe him an incalculable
-debt, and their best spirits are
-not unmindful of it. He was reasonably
-assured of the duration and increase of
-his fame. Has he not, in one of his headstrong
-digressions, called the thoughts
-in his <i>Table-Talk</i> “founded as rock,
-free as air, the tone like an Italian picture?”
-Even there, however, the faint-heartedness
-natural to every true artist
-troubled him. He went home in despair
-from the spectacle of the Indian juggler,
-“in his white dress and tightened turban,”
-tossing the four brass balls. “To
-make them revolve round him at certain
-intervals, like the planets in their spheres,
-to make them chase one another like
-sparkles of fire, or shoot up like flowers
-or meteors, to throw them behind his
-back, and twine them round his neck
-like ribbons or like serpents; to do what
-appears an impossibility, and to do it
-with all the ease, the grace, the carelessness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
-imaginable; to laugh at, to play
-with the glittering mockeries, to follow
-them with his eye as if he could fascinate
-them with its lambent fire, or as if he had
-only to see that they kept time to the
-music on the stage—there is something
-in all this which he who does not admire
-may be quite sure he never really admired
-anything in the whole course of
-his life. It is skill surmounting difficulty,
-and beauty triumphing over skill. . . . It
-makes me ashamed of myself. I ask
-what there is that I can do as well as
-this? Nothing.” A third person must
-give another answer. The whole passage
-offers a very exquisite parallel; for in
-just such a daring, varied, and magical
-way can William Hazlitt write. The astounding
-result, “which costs nothing,”
-is founded, in each case, upon the toil of
-a lifetime. Hazlitt’s style is an incredible
-thing. It is not, like Lamb’s, of one
-warp and woof. It soars to the rhetorical
-sublime, and drops to hard Saxon
-slang. It is for all the world, and not
-only for specialists. Its range and change
-incorporate the utmost of many men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
-The trenchant sweep, the simplicity and
-point of Newman at his best, are
-matched by the pages on <i>Cobbett</i>, on
-<i>Fox</i>, and <i>On the Regal Character;</i> and
-there is, to choose but one opposite
-instance, in the paper <i>On the Unconsciousness
-of Genius</i>, touching Correggio,
-a fragment of pure eloquence of a
-very ornate sort, whose onward bound,
-glow, and volley can give Mr. Swinburne’s
-<i>Essays and Studies</i> a look as of sails waiting
-for the wind. The same hand which
-fills a brief with epic cadences and invocations
-overwrought, throws down, often
-without an adjective, sentence after sentence
-of ringing steel: “Fashion is gentility
-running away from vulgarity, and
-afraid of being overtaken by it.” “It is not
-the omission of individual circumstance,
-but the omission of general truth, which
-constitutes the little, the deformed, and
-the short-lived in art.” The man’s large
-voice in these aphorisms is Hazlitt’s unmistakably.
-If it be not as novel to this
-generation as if he were but just entering
-the lists of authorship, it is because
-his fecundating mind has been long enriching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
-at second-hand the libraries of
-the English world. He comes forth, like
-another outrider, Rossetti, so far behind
-his heralds and disciples, that his mannered
-utterance seems familiar, and an
-echo of theirs. For it may be said at
-last, thanks to the numerous reprints of
-the last seven years, and thanks to a few
-competent critics, whom Mr. Stevenson
-leads, that Hazlitt’s robust work is in a
-fair way to be known and appraised, by a
-public which is a little less unworthy of
-him than his own. His method is entirely
-unscientific, and therefore archaic.
-If we can profit no longer by him, we can
-get out of him cheer and delight: and
-these profit unto immortality. Meanwhile,
-what mere “maker of beautiful
-English” shall be pitted against him
-there where he sits, the despair of a generation
-of experts, continually tossing the
-four brass balls?</p>
-
-<p>It has been said often by shallow reviewers,
-and is said sometimes still, that
-Hazlitt’s style aims at effect; as if an
-effect must not be won, without aiming,
-by a “born man of letters,” as Mr. Saintsbury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
-described him, “who could not
-help turning into literature everything
-he touched.”<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> The “effect,” under given
-conditions, is manifest, unavoidable. Once
-let Hazlitt speak, as he speaks ever, in the
-warmth of conviction, and what an intoxicating
-music begins!—wild as that of the
-gypsies, and with the same magnet-touch
-on the sober senses: enough to subvert
-all “criticism and idle distinction,” and
-to bring back those Theban times when
-the force of a sound, rather than masons
-and surveyors, sent the very walls waltzing
-into their places.</p>
-
-<p>In the face of diction so joyously clear
-as his, so sumptuous and splendid, it
-is well to endorse Mr. Ruskin, that
-“no right style was ever founded save
-out of a sincere heart.” It can never
-be said of William Hazlitt, as Dean
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>Trench well said of those other “great
-stylists,” Landor and De Quincey, that
-he had a lack of moral earnestness.
-What he was determined to impress
-upon his reader, during the quarter-century
-while he held a pen, was not
-that he was knowing, not that he was
-worthy of the renown and fortune which
-passed him by, but only that he had rectitude
-and a consuming passion for good.
-He declares aloud that his escutcheon
-has no bar-sinister: he has not sold himself;
-he has spoken truth in and out of
-season; he has honored the excellent at
-his own risk and cost; he has fought for
-a principle and been slain for it, from his
-youth up. His sole boast is proven. In
-a far deeper sense than Leigh Hunt, for
-whom he forged the lovely compliment,
-he was “the visionary in humanity, the
-fool of virtue,” and the captain of those
-who stood fast, in a hostile day, for ignored
-and eternal ideals. The best thing
-to be said of him, the thing for which,
-in Haydon’s phrase, “everybody must
-love him,” is that he himself loved justice
-and hated iniquity. He shared the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
-groaning of the spirit after mortal welfare
-with Swift and Fielding, with Shelley
-and Matthew Arnold, with Carlyle
-and Ruskin; he was corroded with cares
-and desires not his own. Beside this
-intense devotedness, what personal flaw
-will ultimately show? The host who
-figure in the Roman martyrology hang
-all their claim upon the fact of martyrdom,
-and, according to canon law,
-need not have been saints in their lifetime
-at all. So with such souls as his:
-in the teeth of a thousand acknowledged
-imperfections in life or in art,
-they remain our exemplars. Let them
-do what they will, at some one stroke
-they dignify this earth. It is not Hazlitt,
-“the born man of letters” alone,
-but Hazlitt the born humanist, who bequeaths
-us, from his England of coarse
-misconception and abuse, a memory like
-a loadstar, and a name which is a toast
-to be drunk standing.</p>
-
-
-<div class="center"><small>THE END</small><br /><br /></div>
-
-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58">[58]</a> The article on <i>The Fine Arts</i> in the <i>Encyclopædia
-Britannica</i> is signed “W. H.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59">[59]</a> Mrs. Hazlitt the first, it would appear, undertook to
-verify her husband’s quotations for him. His favorite
-metaphor, “Like the tide which flows on to the Propontic,
-and knows no ebb,” must have passed many times under
-her eye. Any reference to Othello himself, in the great
-scene of Act III., would have shown four lines for William
-Hazlitt’s explicit one.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60">[60]</a> Some of Hazlitt’s comments on women are full of unconscious
-humor. In <i>Great and Little Things</i> he admits
-being snubbed by the fair, and adds with grandiloquence:
-“I took a pride in my disgrace, and concluded that I had
-elsewhere my inheritance!”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61">[61]</a> In the National Portrait Gallery, London.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62">[62]</a> <i>Blackwood’s</i>, in the charming fashion of the time,
-repeatedly refers to Hazlitt’s “pimples”; and Byron
-credited and supplemented the allegation. Hazlitt himself
-says somewhere “that to lay a thing to a person’s
-charge from which he is perfectly free, shows spirit and
-invention!” The calumny is not worth mention, except
-as a fair specimen of the journalistic methods against which
-literary men had to contend some eighty years ago.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63">[63]</a> Lamb had been his groomsman twenty-two years before,
-at the Church of St. Andrew, Holborn, “and like to
-have been turned out several times during the ceremony;
-anything awful makes me laugh!” as he confessed in a
-letter to Southey in 1815.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64">[64]</a> Orrery had seen this same bitter indignation overwhelm
-Swift at times, “so that it is scarcely possible for
-human features to carry in them more terror and austerity.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65">[65]</a> At 19 York Street, Westminster. The house, with
-its tablet “To the Prince of Poets” set by Hazlitt himself,
-was destroyed in 1877.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66">[66]</a> A snappy unpublished letter to Hunt, sold among
-the Hazlitt papers at Sotheby, Wilkinson and Hodge’s, in
-the late autumn of 1893, complains bitterly of kind Basil
-Montagu, who had once put off a proffered visit from
-Hazlitt, on the ground that a party of other guests was
-expected. The deterred one was naturally wroth. “Yet
-after this, I am not to look at him a little <i>in abstracto!</i>
-This is what has soured me and made me sick of friendship
-and acquaintanceship.” Hazlitt confounded cause
-and effect. He was unwelcome in general gatherings
-where his genius was unappreciated; and we may be sure
-Montagu was sorry for it when, in the interests of concord,
-he held up so deprecating and inhospitable a hand. But
-among those who nursed Hazlitt in his last illness, Basil
-Montagu was not the least loyal.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67">[67]</a> <i>The Fight</i> appeared in the <i>New Monthly Magazine</i>
-in 1822. It was itself antedated by <i>The Fancy</i> of
-John Hamilton Reynolds, Keats’s friend and Hood’s
-brother-in-law, which was printed in 1820. The jolly
-iambics are as inspired as the essay. “P. C.” is, of
-course, Pugilistic Club.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Oh, it is life! to see a proud</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And dauntless man step, full of hopes,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Up to the P. C. stakes and ropes,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Throw in his hat, and with a spring</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Get gallantly within the ring;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Eye the wide crown, and walk awhile</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Taking all cheerings with a smile;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To see him strip; his well-trained form,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">White, glowing, muscular, and warm,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All beautiful in conscious power,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Relaxed and quiet, till the hour;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">His glossy and transparent frame,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In radiant plight to strive for fame!</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To look upon the clean shap’d limb</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In silk and flannel clothèd trim;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">While round the waist the kerchief tied</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Makes the flesh glow in richer pride.</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">’Tis more than life to watch him hold</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">His hand forth, tremulous yet bold,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Over his second’s, and to clasp</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">His rival’s in a quiet grasp;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To watch the noble attitude</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">He takes, the crowd in breathless mood;</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And then to see, with adamant start,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The muscles set, and the great heart</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Hurl a courageous splendid light</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Into the eye, and then—the <span class="smcap">Fight</span>!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">But this is general: Hazlitt is specific. His particular
-Fight was the great one between Neate of Bristol and
-Tom Hickman the Gasman, Neate being the victor. On
-May 20, 1823, Neate met Spring of Hertfordshire (so
-translated out of his natural patronymic of Winter), in a
-contest for the championship, and Neate himself went
-under. This latter battle was mock-heroically celebrated
-by Maginn in <i>Blackwood’s</i>, and Hood’s casual meteorological
-simile heaped up honors on the winner:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“The Spring! I shrink and shudder at her name.</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For why? I find her breath a bitter blighter,</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And suffer from her blows as if they came</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From Spring the fighter!”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="unindent">So that literature may be said to have set close to the
-ropes in those days, from first to last.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68">[68]</a> Lamb, in “<i>A Letter to R. Southey, Esq.</i>”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69">[69]</a> The man of Martial’s epigram had other “views.”
-The capital translation is Dr. Goldwin Smith’s:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
- <div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Vacerra lauds no living poet’s lays,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But for departed genius keeps his praise.</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I, alas, live; nor deem it worth my while</span></div>
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To die, that I may win Vacerra’s smile.”</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70">[70]</a> This was the spirit of Henry Fielding on his last
-voyage, hoisted aboard among the watermen at Redcliffe,
-and hearing his emaciated body made the subject of jeers
-and laughter. “No man who knew me,” he writes in
-his journal, “will think I conceived any personal resentment
-at this behavior; but it was a lively picture of that
-cruelty and inhumanity in the nature of man which I
-have often contemplated with concern, and which leads
-the mind into a train of very uncomfortable and melancholy
-thoughts.” It is a fine passage, and a strong heart,
-not given to boasting, penned it. Poor Hazlitt could not
-bear even an unintentional slight without imputing diabolical
-malice to the offender. Yet it was certainly true
-that, in his saner hours, he could suffer personal discomfort
-in public without flinching, and deplore the habit
-which imposed it, rather than the act.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71">[71]</a> If Hazlitt conveyed some of his best mannerisms
-from Coleridge, not always transmuting them, surely the
-balance may be said to be even when one discovers later
-in Hartley Coleridge such an easy inherited use of Hazlitt’s
-“flail of gold” as is exemplified in this summary of
-Roger Ascham’s career. “There was a primitive honesty,
-a kindly innocence about this good old scholar,
-which gave a personal interest to the homeliest details of
-his life. He had the rare felicity of passing through the
-worst of times without persecution and without dishonor.
-He lived with princes and princesses, prelates and diplomatists,
-without offence as without ambition. Though he
-enjoyed the smiles of royalty, his heart was none the
-worse, and his fortunes little the better.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72">[72]</a> The quotation is from Coleridge, and it was applied
-by him to Dryden. Hazlitt himself unconsciously expanded
-and spoiled it in his essay on <i>Burke</i>. “The
-wheels of his imagination did not catch fire from the rottenness
-of the material, but from the rapidity of their
-motion.”</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73">[73]</a> The Rev. H. R. Haweis has another characterization
-of these breathing and burning pages: “long and tiresome
-essays by Hazlitt.” So they are, sure enough, if only
-you be endowed to think so! Hazlitt himself gives the
-diverting fact for what it is worth, that “three chimney-sweeps
-meeting three Chinese in Lincoln’s Inn Fields,
-they laughed at one another till they were ready to drop
-down.”</p></div></div>
-
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-Small 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00.</p></div>
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-of concise narration, and by those who
-read it once will be sought with unfailing delight
-again and again.—<i>Boston Beacon.</i></p>
-
-<p>Miss Guiney writes with a love for her subject
-which makes her fine discrimination all the
-finer, and shows an insight into history all the
-more admirable for the research which it has
-compelled. This tiny volume gives evidence of
-as thorough study as would fit out a post-octavo,
-as some authors understand the writing of
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-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-<p>&nbsp;</p>
-
-<div class="tnote"><div class="center"><b>Transcriber’s Note:</b></div>
-
-<p>Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.</p>
-
-<p>Repeated headings were removed.</p>
-
-<p>Page 56, “Llansaintfraed” changed to “Llansantffraed” (brother’s parish
-of Llansantffraed)</p>
-
-<p>Page 171, Footnote 37, “Farquhare” and “Farqhare” retained as printed from
-the matriculation entry.</p></div>
-
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