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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1026c90 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68195 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68195) diff --git a/old/68195-0.txt b/old/68195-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 82f2842..0000000 --- a/old/68195-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5095 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A happy half-century and other essays, -by Agnes Repplier - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A happy half-century and other essays - -Author: Agnes Repplier - -Release Date: May 29, 2022 [eBook #68195] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY AND -OTHER ESSAYS *** - - - - - - A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY - AND OTHER ESSAYS - - - - - A - HAPPY HALF-CENTURY - _AND OTHER ESSAYS_ - - BY - AGNES REPPLIER, LITT. D. - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - - The Riverside Press Cambridge - 1908 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY AGNES REPPLIER - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - _Published September 1908_ - - - - - TO - J. WILLIAM WHITE - - - - -PREFACE - - -The half-century, whose more familiar aspects this little book is -designed to illustrate, has spread its boundary lines. Nothing is so -hard to deal with as a period. Nothing is so unmanageable as a date. -People will be born a few years too early; they will live a few years -too long. Events will happen out of time. The closely linked decades -refuse to be separated, and my half-century, that I thought so compact, -widened imperceptibly while I wrote. - -I have filled my canvas with trivial things, with intimate details, -with what now seem the insignificant aspects of life. But the -insignificant aspects of life concern us mightily while we live; and -it is by their help that we understand the insignificant people who -are sometimes reckoned of importance. A hundred years ago many men and -women were reckoned of importance, at whose claims their successors -to-day smile scornfully. Yet they and their work were woven into the -tissue of things, into the warp and woof of social conditions, into the -literary history of England. An hour is not too precious to waste upon -them, however feeble their pretensions. Perhaps some idle reader in the -future will do as much by us. - - A. R. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY 1 - - THE PERILS OF IMMORTALITY 16 - - WHEN LALLA ROOKH WAS YOUNG 32 - - THE CORRESPONDENT 51 - - THE NOVELIST 73 - - ON THE SLOPES OF PARNASSUS 94 - - THE LITERARY LADY 116 - - THE CHILD 138 - - THE EDUCATOR 155 - - THE PIETIST 177 - - THE ACCURSED ANNUAL 196 - - OUR ACCOMPLISHED GREAT-GRANDMOTHER 217 - - THE ALBUM AMICORUM 234 - - -“A Happy Half-Century,” “The Perils of Immortality,” and “The -Correspondent” appeared first in _Harper’s Magazine_, “Our Accomplished -Great-Grandmother” in _Harper’s Bazar_, and “On the Slopes of -Parnassus” in the _Atlantic Monthly_; they are here reprinted by -permission of the publishers of those magazines. - - - - -A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY - - This damn’d unmasculine canting age! - - CHARLES LAMB. - - -There are few of us who do not occasionally wish we had been born in -other days, in days for which we have some secret affinity, and which -shine for us with a mellow light in the deceitful pages of history. -Mr. Austin Dobson, for example, must have sighed more than once to see -Queen Anne on Queen Victoria’s throne; and the Rt. Hon. Cecil Rhodes -must have realized that the reign of Elizabeth was the reign for him. -There is a great deal lost in being born out of date. What freak of -fortune thrust Galileo into the world three centuries too soon, and -held back Richard Burton’s restless soul until he was three centuries -too late? - -For myself, I confess that the last twenty-five years of the eighteenth -century and the first twenty-five years of the nineteenth make up my -chosen period, and that my motive for so choosing is contemptible. -It was not a time distinguished--in England at least--for wit or -wisdom, for public virtues or for private charm; but it _was_ a time -when literary reputations were so cheaply gained that nobody needed -to despair of one. A taste for platitudes, a tinge of Pharisaism, an -appreciation of the commonplace,--and the thing was done. It was in -the latter half of this blissful period that we find that enthusiastic -chronicler, Mrs. Cowley, writing in “Public Characters” of “the proud -preëminence which, in all the varieties of excellence produced by the -pen, the pencil, or the lyre, the ladies of Great Britain have attained -over contemporaries in every other country in Europe.” - -When we search for proofs of this proud preëminence, what do we find? -Roughly speaking, the period begins with Miss Burney, and closes -with Miss Terrier and Miss Jane Porter. It includes--besides Miss -Burney--one star of the first magnitude, Miss Austen (whose light never -dazzled Mrs. Cowley’s eyes), and one mild but steadfast planet, Miss -Edgeworth. The rest of Great Britain’s literary ladies were enjoying -a degree of fame and fortune so utterly disproportionate to their -merits that their toiling successors to-day may be pardoned for wishing -themselves part of that happy sisterhood. Think of being able to find a -market for an interminable essay entitled “Against Inconsistency in our -Expectations”! There lingers in all our hearts a desire to utter moral -platitudes, to dwell lingeringly and lovingly upon the obvious; but -alas! we are not Mrs. Barbaulds, and this is not the year 1780. Foolish -and inconsequent we are permitted to be, but tedious, never! And think -of hearing one’s own brother burst into song, that he might fondly -eulogize our - - Sacred gifts whose meed is deathless praise, - Whose potent charm the enraptured soul can raise. - -There are few things more difficult to conceive than an enthusiastic -brother tunefully entreating his sister to go on enrapturing the world -with her pen. Oh, thrice-favoured Anna Letitia Barbauld, who could warm -even the calm fraternal heart into a glow of sensibility. - -The publication of “Evelina” was the first notable event in our happy -half-century. Its freshness and vivacity charmed all London; and Miss -Burney, like Sheridan, had her applause “dashed in her face, sounded -in her ears,” for the rest of a long and meritorious life. Her second -novel, “Cecilia,” was received with such universal transport, that in -a very moral epilogue of a rather immoral play we find it seriously -commended to the public as an antidote to vice:-- - - Let sweet Cecilia gain your just applause, - Whose every passion yields to nature’s laws. - -Miss Burney, blushing in the royal box, had the satisfaction of hearing -this stately advertisement of her wares. Virtue was not left to be its -own reward in those fruitful and generous years. - -Indeed, the most comfortable characteristic of the period, and the one -which incites our deepest envy, is the universal willingness to accept -a good purpose as a substitute for good work. Even Madame d’Arblay, -shrewd, caustic, and quick-witted, forbears from unkind criticism of -the well-intentioned. She has nothing but praise for Mrs. Barbauld’s -poems, because of “the piety and worth they exhibit”; and she rises to -absolute enthusiasm over the anti-slavery epistle, declaring that its -energy “springs from the real spirit of virtue.” Yet to us the picture -of the depraved and luxurious West Indian ladies--about whom it is -safe to say good Mrs. Barbauld knew very little--seems one of the most -unconsciously humorous things in English verse. - - Lo! where reclined, pale Beauty courts the breeze, - Diffused on sofas of voluptuous ease. - - * * * * * - - With languid tones imperious mandates urge, - With arm recumbent wield the household scourge. - -There are moments when Mrs. Barbauld soars to the inimitable, when -she reaches the highest and happiest effect that absurdity is able to -produce. - - With arm recumbent wield the household scourge - -is one of these inspirations; and another is this pregnant sentence, -which occurs in a chapter of advice to young girls: “An ass is much -better adapted than a horse to show off a lady.” - -To point to Hannah More as a brilliant and bewildering example of -sustained success is to give the most convincing proof that it was a -good thing to be born in the year 1745. Miss More’s reputation was -already established at the dawning of my cherished half-century, and, -for the whole fifty years, her life was a series of social, literary, -and religious triumphs. In her youth, she was mistaken for a wit. In -her old age, she was revered as a saint. In her youth, Garrick called -her “Nine,”--gracefully intimating that she embodied the attributes of -all the Muses. In her old age, an acquaintance wrote to her: “You who -are secure of the approbation of angels may well hold human applause -to be of small consequence.” In her youth, she wrote a play that -everybody went to see. In her old age, she wrote tracts that everybody -bought and distributed. Prelates composed Latin verses in her honour; -and when her “Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable World” was -published anonymously, the Bishop of London exclaimed in a kind of -pious transport, “Aut Morus, aut Angelus!” Her tragedy, “Percy,” melted -the heart of London. Men “shed tears in abundance,” and women were -“choked with emotion” over the “affecting circumstances of the Piece.” -Sir William Pepys confessed that “Percy” “broke his heart”; and that he -thought it “a kind of profanation” to wipe his eyes, and go from the -theatre to Lady Harcourt’s assembly. Four thousand copies of the play -were sold in a fortnight; and the Duke of Northumberland sent a special -messenger to Miss More to thank her for the honour she had done his -historic name. - -As a novelist, Hannah was equally successful. Twenty thousand copies of -“Cœlebs in Search of a Wife” were sold in England, and thirty thousand -in America. “The Americans are a very approving people,” acknowledged -the gratified authoress. In Iceland “Cœlebs” was read--so Miss More -says--“with great apparent profit”; while certain very popular tracts, -like “Charles the Footman” and “The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,” -made their edifying way to Moscow, and were found by the missionary -Gericke in the library of the Rajah of Tanjore. “All this and Heaven, -too!” as a reward for being born in 1745. The injustice of the thing -stings us to the soul. Yet it was the unhesitating assumption of -Heaven’s co-partnership which gave to Hannah More the best part of -her earthly prestige, and made her verdicts a little like Protestant -Bulls. When she objected to “Marmion” and “The Lady of the Lake” for -their lack of “practical precept,” these sinless poems were withdrawn -from Evangelical book-shelves. Her biographer, Mr. Thompson, thought -it necessary to apologize for her correspondence with that agreeable -worldling, Horace Walpole, and to assure us that “the fascinations of -Walpole’s false wit must have retired before the bright ascendant of -her pure and prevailing superiority.” As she waxed old, and affluent, -and disputatious, it was deemed well to encourage a timid public with -the reminder that her genius, though “great and commanding,” was -still “lovely and kind.” And when she died, it was recorded that “a -cultivated taste for moral scenery was one of her distinctions”;--as -though Nature herself attended a class of ethics before venturing to -allure too freely the mistress of Barley Wood. - -It is in the contemplation of such sunlight mediocrity that the -hardship of being born too late is felt with crushing force. Why -cannot we write “Letters on the Improvement of the Mind,” and be held, -like Mrs. Chapone, to be an authority on education all the rest of -our lives; and have people entreating us, as they entreated her, to -undertake, at any cost, the intellectual guidance of their daughters? -When we consider all that a modern educator is expected to know--from -bird-calls to metric measures--we sigh over the days which demanded -nothing more difficult than the polite expression of truisms. - -“Our feelings are not given us for our ornament, but to spur us on to -right action. Compassion, for instance, is not impressed upon the human -heart, only to adorn the fair face with tears, and to give an agreeable -languor to the eyes. It is designed to excite our utmost endeavour to -relieve the sufferer.” - -Was it really worth while to say this even in 1775? Is it possible -that young ladies were then in danger of thinking that the office -of compassion was to “adorn a face with tears”? and did they try to -be sorry for the poor and sick, only that their bright eyes might -be softened into languor? Yet we know that Mrs. Chapone’s little -volume was held to have rendered signal service to society. It has -the honour to be one of the books which Miss Lydia Languish lays out -ostentatiously on her table--in company with Fordyce’s sermons--when -she anticipates a visit from Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony. Some -halting verses of the period exalt it as the beacon light of youth; -and Mrs. Delany, writing to her six-year-old niece, counsels the -little girl to read the “Letters” once a year until she is grown up. -“They speak to the heart as well as to the head,” she assures the poor -infant; “and I know no book (next to the Bible) more entertaining and -edifying.” - -Mrs. Montagu gave dinners. The real and very solid foundation of _her_ -reputation was the admirable manner in which she fed her lions. A -mysterious halo of intellectuality surrounded this excellent hostess. -“The female Mæcenas of Hill Street,” Hannah More elegantly termed her, -adding,--to prove that she herself was not unduly influenced by gross -food and drink,--“But what are baubles, when speaking of a Montagu!” -Dr. Johnson praised her conversation,--especially when he wanted to -tease jealous Mrs. Thrale,--but sternly discountenanced her attempts -at authorship. When Sir Joshua Reynolds observed that the “Essay on -the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare” did its authoress honour, Dr. -Johnson retorted contemptuously: “It does _her_ honour, but it would do -honour to nobody else,”--which strikes me as a singularly unpleasant -thing to hear said about one’s literary masterpiece. Like the fabled -Caliph who stood by the Sultan’s throne, translating the flowers of -Persian speech into comprehensible and unflattering truths, so Dr. -Johnson stands undeceived in this pleasant half-century of pretence, -translating its ornate nonsense into language we can too readily -understand. - -But how comfortable and how comforting the pretence must have been, -and how kindly tolerant all the pretenders were to one another! If, -in those happy days, you wrote an essay on “The Harmony of Numbers -and Versification,” you unhesitatingly asked your friends to come and -have it read aloud to them; and your friends--instead of leaving town -next day--came, and listened, and called it a “Miltonic evening.” If, -like Mrs. Montagu, you had a taste for letter-writing, you filled up -innumerable sheets with such breathless egotisms as this:-- - -“I come, a happy guest, to the general feast Nature spreads for all her -children, my spirits dance in the sunbeams, or take a sweet repose in -the shade. I rejoice in the grand chorus of the day, and feel content -in the silent serene of night, while I listen to the morning hymn of -the whole animal creation, I recollect how beautiful it is, sum’d up in -the works of our great poet, Milton, every rivulet murmurs in poetical -cadence, and to the melody of the nightingale I add the harmonious -verses she has inspired in many languages.” - -So highly were these rhapsodies appreciated, and so far were -correspondents from demanding either coherence or punctuation, that -four volumes of Mrs. Montagu’s letters were published after her death; -and we find Miss More praising Mrs. Boscawen because she approached -this standard of excellence: “Mrs. Palk tells me her letters are -hardly inferior to Mrs. Montagu’s.” - -Those were the days to live in, and sensible people made haste to be -born in time. The close of the eighteenth century saw quiet country -families tearing the freshly published “Mysteries of Udolpho” into -a dozen parts, because no one could wait his turn to read the book. -All England held its breath while Emily explored the haunted chambers -of her prison-house. The beginning of the nineteenth century found -Mrs. Opie enthroned as a peerless novel-writer, and the “Edinburgh -Review” praising “Adeline Mowbray, or Mother and Daughter,” as the most -pathetic story in the English language. Indeed, one sensitive gentleman -wrote to its authoress that he had lain awake all night, bathed in -tears, after reading it. About this time, too, we begin to hear “the -mellow tones of Felicia Hemans,” whom Christopher North reverently -admired; and who, we are assured, found her way to all hearts that -were open to “the holy sympathies of religion and virtue.” Murray’s -heart was so open that he paid two hundred guineas for the “Vespers of -Palermo”; and Miss Edgeworth considered that the “Siege of Valencia” -contained the most beautiful poetry she had read for years. Finally -Miss Jane Porter looms darkly on the horizon, with novels five volumes -long. All the Porters worked on a heroic scale. Anna Maria’s stories -were more interminable than Jane’s; and their brother Robert painted -on a single canvas, “The Storming of Seringapatam,” seven hundred -life-sized figures. - -“Thaddeus of Warsaw” and “The Scottish Chiefs” were books familiar -to our infancy. They stretched vastly and vaguely over many tender -years,--stories after the order of Melchisedec, without beginning and -without end. But when our grandmothers were young, and my chosen period -had still years to run, they were read on two continents, and in many -tongues. The King of Würtemberg was so pleased with “Thaddeus” that -he made Miss Porter a “lady of the Chapter of St. Joachim,”--which -sounds both imposing and mysterious. The badge of the order was a gold -cross; and this unusual decoration, coupled with the lady’s habit -of draping herself in flowing veils like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s -heroines, so confused an honest British public that it was deemed -necessary to explain to agitated Protestants that Miss Porter had no -Popish proclivities, and must not be mistaken for a nun. In our own -country her novels were exceedingly popular, and her American admirers -sent her a rose-wood armchair in token of appreciation and esteem. -It is possible she would have preferred a royalty on her books; but -the armchair was graciously accepted, and a pen-and-ink sketch in an -album of celebrities represents Miss Porter seated majestically on its -cushions, “in the quiet and ladylike occupation of taking a cup of -coffee.” - -And so my happy half-century draws to its appointed end. A new era, -cold, critical, contentious, deprecated the old genial absurdities, -chilled the old sentimental outpourings, questioned the old profitable -pietism. Unfortunates, born a hundred years too late, look back with -wistful eyes upon the golden age which they feel themselves qualified -to adorn. - - - - -THE PERILS OF IMMORTALITY - - Peu de génie, point de grâce. - - -There is no harder fate than to be immortalized as a fool; to have -one’s name--which merits nothing sterner than obliteration--handed -down to generations as an example of silliness, or stupidity, or -presumption; to be enshrined pitilessly in the amber of the “Dunciad”; -to be laughed at forever because of Charles Lamb’s impatient and -inextinguishable raillery. When an industrious young authoress named -Elizabeth Ogilvy Benger--a model of painstaking insignificance--invited -Charles and Mary Lamb to drink tea with her one cold December night, -she little dreamed she was achieving a deathless and unenviable fame; -and that, when her half dozen books should have lapsed into comfortable -oblivion, she herself should never be fortunate enough to be forgotten. -It is a cruel chance which crystallizes the folly of an hour, and makes -it outlive our most serious endeavours. Perhaps we should do well to -consider this painful possibility before hazarding an acquaintance -with the Immortals. - -Miss Benger did more than hazard. She pursued the Immortals with -insensate zeal. She bribed Mrs. Inchbald’s servant-maid into lending -her cap, and apron, and tea-tray; and, so equipped, penetrated into -the inmost sanctuary of that literary lady, who seems to have taken -the intrusion in good part. She was equally adroit in seducing Mary -Lamb--as the Serpent seduced Eve--when Charles Lamb was the ultimate -object of her designs. Coming home to dinner one day, “hungry as a -hunter,” he found to his dismay the two women closeted together, and -trusted he was in time to prevent their exchanging vows of eternal -friendship, though not--as he discovered later--in time to save himself -from an engagement to drink tea with the stranger (“I had never seen -her before, and could not tell who the devil it was that was so -familiar”), the following night. - -What happened is told in a letter to Coleridge; one of the best-known -and one of the longest letters Lamb ever wrote,--he is so brimful of -his grievance. Miss Benger’s lodgings were up two flights of stairs in -East Street. She entertained her guests with tea, coffee, macaroons, -and “much love.” She talked to them, or rather _at_ them, upon purely -literary topics,--as, for example, Miss Hannah More’s “Strictures on -Female Education,” which they had never read. She addressed Mary Lamb -in French,--“possibly having heard that neither Mary nor I understood -French,”--and she favoured them with Miss Seward’s opinion of Pope. She -asked Lamb, who was growing more miserable every minute, if he agreed -with D’Israeli as to the influence of organism upon intellect; and -when he tried to parry the question with a pun upon organ--“which went -off very flat”--she despised him for his feeble flippancy. She advised -Mary to carry home two translations of “Pizarro,” so that she might -compare them _verbatim_ (an offer hastily declined), and she made them -both promise to return the following week--which they never did--to -meet Miss Jane Porter and her sister, “who, it seems, have heard much -of Mr. Coleridge, and wish to meet _us_ because we are _his_ friends.” -It is a _comédie larmoyante_. We sympathize hotly with Lamb when we -read his letter; but there is something piteous in the thought of the -poor little hostess going complacently to bed that night, and never -realizing that she had made her one unhappy flight to fame. - -There were people, strange as it may seem, who liked Miss Benger’s -evenings. Miss Aikin assures us that “her circle of acquaintances -extended with her reputation, and with the knowledge of her excellent -qualities, and she was often enabled to assemble as guests at her -humble tea-table names whose celebrity would have insured attention -in the proudest salons of the metropolis.” Crabb Robinson, who was -a frequent visitor, used to encounter large parties of sentimental -ladies; among them, Miss Porter, Miss Landon, and the “eccentric but -amiable” Miss Wesley,--John Wesley’s niece,--who prided herself upon -being broad-minded enough to have friends of varying religions, and -who, having written two unread novels, remarked complacently to Miss -Edgeworth: “We sisters of the quill ought to know one another.” - -The formidable Lady de Crespigny of Campion Lodge was also Miss -Benger’s condescending friend and patroness, and this august -matron--of insipid mind and imperious temper--was held to sanctify -in some mysterious manner all whom she honoured with her notice. The -praises lavished upon Lady de Crespigny by her contemporaries would -have made Hypatia blush, and Sappho hang her head. Like Mrs. Jarley, -she was the delight of the nobility and gentry. She corresponded, so we -are told, with the _literati_ of England; she published, like a British -Cornelia, her letters of counsel to her son; she was “courted by the -gay and admired by the clever”; and she mingled at Campion Lodge “the -festivity of fashionable parties with the pleasures of intellectual -society, and the comforts of domestic peace.” - -To this array of feminine virtue and feminine authorship, Lamb was -singularly unresponsive. He was not one of the _literati_ honoured -by Lady de Crespigny’s correspondence. He eluded the society of Miss -Porter, though she was held to be handsome,--for a novelist. (“The only -literary lady I ever knew,” writes Miss Mitford, “who didn’t look like -a scarecrow to keep birds from cherries.”) He said unkindly of Miss -Landon that, if she belonged to him, he would lock her up and feed her -on bread and water until she left off writing poetry. And for Miss -Wesley he entertained a cordial animosity, only one degree less lively -than his sentiments towards Miss Benger. Miss Wesley had a lamentable -habit of sending her effusions to be read by reluctant men of letters. -She asked Lamb for Coleridge’s address, which he, to divert the evil -from his own head, cheerfully gave. Coleridge, very angry, reproached -his friend for this disloyal baseness; but Lamb, with the desperate -instinct of self-preservation, refused all promise of amendment. “You -encouraged that mopsey, Miss Wesley, to dance after you,” he wrote -tartly, “in the hope of having her nonsense put into a nonsensical -Anthology. We have pretty well shaken her off by that simple expedient -of referring her to you; but there are more burs in the wind.”... “Of -all God’s creatures,” he cries again, in an excess of ill-humour, “I -detest letters-affecting, authors-hunting ladies.” Alas for Miss Benger -when she hunted hard, and the quarry turned at bay! - -An atmosphere of inexpressible dreariness hangs over the little coterie -of respectable, unilluminated writers, who, to use Lamb’s priceless -phrase, encouraged one another in mediocrity. A vapid propriety, a -mawkish sensibility were their substitutes for real distinction of -character or mind. They read Mary Wollstonecraft’s books, but would -not know the author; and when, years later, Mrs. Gaskell presented -the widowed Mrs. Shelley to Miss Lucy Aikin, that outraged spinster -turned her back upon the erring one, to the profound embarrassment -of her hostess. Of Mrs. Inchbald, we read in “Public Characters” for -1811: “Her moral qualities constitute her principal excellence; and -though useful talents and personal accomplishments, of themselves, form -materials for an agreeable picture, moral character gives the polish -which fascinates the heart.” The conception of goodness then in vogue -is pleasingly illustrated by a passage from one of Miss Elizabeth -Hamilton’s books, which Miss Benger in her biography of that lady (now -lost to fame) quotes appreciatively:-- - -“It was past twelve o’clock. Already had the active and judicious -Harriet performed every domestic task; and, having completely regulated -the family economy for the day, was quietly seated at work with her -aunt and sister, listening to Hume’s ‘History of England,’ as it was -read to her by some orphan girl whom she had herself instructed.” - -So truly ladylike had the feminine mind grown by this time, that the -very language it used was refined to the point of ambiguity. Mrs. -Barbauld writes genteelly of the behaviour of young girls “to the -other half of their species,” as though she could not bear to say, -simply and coarsely, men. So full of content were the little circles -who listened to the “elegant lyric poetess,” Mrs. Hemans, or to “the -female Shakespeare of her age,” Miss Joanna Baillie (we owe both these -phrases to the poet Campbell), that when Crabb Robinson was asked by -Miss Wakefield whether he would like to know Mrs. Barbauld, he cried -enthusiastically: “You might as well ask me whether I should like to -know the Angel Gabriel!” - -In the midst of these sentimentalities and raptures, we catch now -and then forlorn glimpses of the Immortals,--of Wordsworth at a -literary entertainment in the house of Mr. Hoare of Hampstead, sitting -mute and miserable all evening in a corner,--which, as Miss Aikin -truly remarked, was “disappointing and provoking;” of Lamb carried -by the indefatigable Crabb Robinson to call on Mrs. Barbauld. This -visit appears to have been a distinct failure. Lamb’s one recorded -observation was that Gilbert Wakefield had a peevish face,--an awkward -remark, as Wakefield’s daughter sat close at hand and listening. -“Lamb,” writes Mr. Robinson, “was vexed, but got out of the scrape -tolerably well,”--having had, indeed, plenty of former experiences to -help him on the way. - -There is a delightful passage in Miss Jane Porter’s diary which -describes at length an evening spent at the house of Mrs. Fenwick, “the -amiable authoress of ‘Secrecy.’” (Everybody was the amiable authoress -of something. It was a day, like our own, given over to the worship of -ink.) The company consisted of Miss Porter and her sister Maria, Miss -Benger and her brother, the poet Campbell, and his nephew, a young -man barely twenty years of age. The lion of the little party was of -course the poet, who endeared himself to Mrs. Fenwick’s heart by his -attentions to her son, “a beautiful boy of six.” - -“This child’s innocence and caresses,” writes Miss Porter gushingly, -“seemed to unbend the lovely feelings of Campbell’s heart. Every -restraint but those which the guardian angels of tender infancy -acknowledge was thrown aside. I never saw Man in a more interesting -point of view. I felt how much I esteemed the author of the ‘Pleasures -of Hope.’ When we returned home, we walked. It was a charming summer -night. The moon shone brightly. Maria leaned on Campbell’s arm. I did -the same by Benger’s. Campbell made some observations on _pedantic_ -women. I did not like it, being anxious for the respect of this man. -I was jealous about how nearly he might think _we_ resembled that -character. When the Bengers parted from us, Campbell observed my -abstraction, and with sincerity I confessed the cause. I know not what -were his replies; but they were so gratifying, so endearing, so marked -with truth, that when we arrived at the door, and he shook us by the -hand, as a sign of adieu immediately prior to his next day’s journey to -Scotland, we parted with evident marks of being all in tears.” - -It is rather disappointing, after this outburst of emotion, to find -Campbell, in a letter to his sister, describing Miss Porter in language -of chilling moderation: “Among the company was Miss Jane Porter, whose -talents my _nephew_ adores. She is a pleasing woman, and made quite a -conquest of him.” - -Miss Benger was only one of the many aspirants to literary honours -whose futile endeavours vexed and affronted Charles Lamb. In reality -she burdened him far less than others who, like Miss Betham and Miss -Stoddart, succeeded in sending him their verses for criticism, or who -begged him to forward the effusions to Southey,--an office he gladly -fulfilled. Perhaps Miss Benger’s vivacity jarred upon his taste. He was -fastidious about the gayety of women. Madame de Staël considered her -one of the most interesting persons she had met in England; but the -approval of this “impudent clever” Frenchwoman would have been the -least possible recommendation to Lamb. If he had known how hard had -been Miss Benger’s struggles, and how scanty her rewards, he might have -forgiven her that sad perversity which kept her toiling in the field -of letters. She had had the misfortune to be a precocious child, and -had written at the age of thirteen a poem called “The Female Geniad,” -which was dedicated to Lady de Crespigny, and published under the -patronage of that honoured dame. Youthful prodigies were then much in -favour. Miss Mitford comments very sensibly upon them, being filled -with pity for one Mary Anne Browne, “a fine tall girl of fourteen, and -a full-fledged authoress,” who was extravagantly courted and caressed -one season, and cruelly ignored the next. The “Female Geniad” sealed -Miss Benger’s fate. When one has written a poem at thirteen, and that -poem has been printed and praised, there is nothing for it but to keep -on writing until Death mercifully removes the obligation. - -It is needless to say that the drama--which then, as now, was the -goal of every author’s ambition--first fired Miss Benger’s zeal. When -we think of Miss Hannah More as a successful playwright, it is hard to -understand how any one could fail; yet fail Miss Benger did, although -we are assured by her biographer that “her genius appeared in many ways -well adapted to the stage.” She next wrote a mercilessly long poem upon -the abolition of the slave-trade (which was read only by anti-slavery -agitators), and two novels,--“Marian,” and “Valsinore: or, the Heart -and the Fancy.” Of these we are told that “their excellences were such -as genius only can reach”; and if they also missed their mark, it must -have been because--as Miss Aikin delicately insinuates--“no judicious -reader could fail to perceive that the artist was superior to the -work.” This is always unfortunate. It is the work, and not the artist, -which is offered for sale in the market-place. Miss Benger’s work is -not much worse than a great deal which did sell, and she possessed -at least the grace of an unflinching and courageous perseverance. -Deliberately, and without aptitude or training, she began to write -history, and in this most difficult of all fields won for herself a -hearing. Her “Life of Anne Boleyn,” and her “Memoirs of Mary, Queen -of Scots,” were read in many an English schoolroom; their propriety -and Protestantism making them acceptable to the anxious parental mind. -A single sentence from “Anne Boleyn” will suffice to show the ease -of Miss Benger’s mental attitude, and the comfortable nature of her -views:-- - -“It would be ungrateful to forget that the mother of Queen Elizabeth -was the early and zealous advocate of the Reformation, and that, by -her efforts to dispel the gloom of ignorance and superstition, she -conferred on the English people a benefit of which, in the present -advanced state of knowledge and civilization, it would be difficult to -conceive or to appreciate the real value and importance.” - -The “active and judicious Harriet” would have listened to this with as -much complacence as to Hume. - -In “La Belle Assemblée” for April, 1823, there is an engraving -of Miss Smirke’s portrait of Miss Benger. She is painted in an -imposing turban, with tight little curls, and an air of formidable -sprightliness. It was this sprightliness which was so much admired. -“Wound up by a cup of coffee,” she would talk for hours, and her -friends really seem to have liked it. “Her lively imagination,” -writes Miss Aikin, “and the flow of eloquence it inspired, aided by -one of the most melodious of voices, lent an inexpressible charm to -her conversation, which was heightened by an intuitive discernment of -character, rare in itself, and still more so in combination with such -fertility of fancy and ardency of feeling.” - -This leaves little to be desired. It is not at all like the Miss -Benger of Lamb’s letter, with her vapid pretensions and her stupid -insolence. Unhappily, we see through Lamb’s eyes, and we cannot see -through Miss Aikin’s. Of one thing only I feel sure. Had Miss Benger, -instead of airing her trivial acquirements, told Lamb that when she was -a little girl, bookless and penniless, at Chatham, she used to read -the open volumes in the booksellers’ windows, and go back again and -again, hoping that the leaves might be turned, she would have touched -a responsive chord in his heart. Who does not remember his exquisite -sympathy for “street-readers,” and his unlikely story of Martin B----, -who “got through two volumes of ‘Clarissa,’” in this desultory fashion. -Had he but known of the shabby, eager child, staring wistfully at the -coveted books, he would never have written the most amusing of his -letters, and Miss Benger’s name would be to-day unknown. - - - - -WHEN LALLA ROOKH WAS YOUNG - - And give you, mixed with western sentimentalism, - Some glimpses of the finest orientalism. - - -“Stick to the East,” wrote Byron to Moore, in 1813. “The oracle, Staël, -told me it was the only poetic policy. The North, South, and West have -all been exhausted; but from the East we have nothing but Southey’s -unsaleables, and these he has contrived to spoil by adopting only their -most outrageous fictions. His personages don’t interest us, and yours -will. You will have no competitors; and, if you had, you ought to be -glad of it. The little I have done in that way is merely a ‘voice in -the wilderness’ for you; and if it has had any success, that also will -prove that the public are orientalizing, and pave the way for you.” - -There is something admirably business-like in this advice. Byron, who -four months before had sold the “Giaour” and the “Bride of Abydos” to -Murray for a thousand guineas, was beginning to realize the commercial -value of poetry; and, like a true man of affairs, knew what it meant -to corner a poetic market. He was generous enough to give Moore the -tip, and to hold out a helping hand as well; for he sent him six -volumes of Castellan’s “Mœurs des Ottomans,” and three volumes of -Toderini’s “De la Littérature des Turcs.” The orientalism afforded by -text-books was the kind that England loved. - -From the publication of “Lalla Rookh” in 1817 to the publication of -Thackeray’s “Our Street” in 1847, Byron’s far-sighted policy continued -to bear golden fruit. For thirty years Caliphs and Deevs, Brahmins -and Circassians, rioted through English verse; mosques and seraglios -were the stage properties of English fiction; the bowers of Rochnabed, -the Lake of Cashmere, became as familiar as Richmond and the Thames -to English readers. Some feeble washings of this great tidal wave -crossed the estranging sea, to tint the pages of the New York “Mirror,” -and kindred journals in the United States. Harems and slave-markets, -with beautiful Georgians and sad, slender Arab girls, thrilled our -grandmothers’ kind hearts. Tales of Moorish Lochinvars, who snatch -away the fair daughters--or perhaps the fair wives--of powerful rajahs, -captivated their imaginations. Gazelles trot like poodles through these -stories, and lend colour to their robust Saxon atmosphere. In one, a -neglected “favourite” wins back her lord’s affection by the help of a -slave-girl’s amulet; and the inconstant Moslem, entering the harem, -exclaims, “Beshrew me that I ever thought another fair!”--which sounds -like a penitent Tudor. - - A Persian’s Heaven is easily made, - ’Tis but black eyes and lemonade; - -and our oriental literature was compounded of the same simple -ingredients. When the New York “Mirror,” under the guidance of the -versatile Mr. Willis, tried to be impassioned and sensuous, it dropped -into such wanton lines as these to a “Sultana”:-- - - She came,--soft leaning on her favourite’s arm, - She came, warm panting from the sultry hours, - To rove mid fragrant shades of orange bowers, - A veil light shadowing each voluptuous charm. - -And for this must Lord Byron stand responsible. - -The happy experiment of grafting Turkish roses upon English boxwood -led up to some curious complications, not the least of which was the -necessity of stiffening the moral fibre of the Orient--which was -esteemed to be but lax--until it could bear itself in seemly fashion -before English eyes. The England of 1817 was not, like the England of -1908, prepared to give critical attention to the decadent. It presented -a solid front of denial to habits and ideas which had not received the -sanction of British custom; which had not, through national adoption, -become part of the established order of the universe. The line of -demarcation between Providence and the constitution was lightly drawn. -Jeffrey, a self-constituted arbiter of tastes and morals, assured -his nervous countrymen that, although Moore’s verse was glowing, his -principles were sound. - -“The characters and sentiments of ‘Lalla Rookh’ belong to the poetry -of rational, honourable, considerate, and humane Europe; and not to -the childishness, cruelty, and profligacy of Asia. So far as we have -yet seen, there is no sound sense, firmness of purpose, or principled -goodness, except among the natives of Europe and their genuine -descendants.” - -Starting with this magnificent assumption, it became a delicate and a -difficult task to unite the customs of the East with the “principled -goodness” of the West; the “sound sense” of the Briton with the fervour -and fanaticism of the Turk. Jeffrey held that Moore had effected this -alliance in the most tactful manner, and had thereby “redeemed the -character of oriental poetry”; just as Mr. Thomas Haynes Bayly, ten -years later, “reclaimed festive song from vulgarity.” More carping -critics, however, worried their readers a good deal on this point; and -the nonconformist conscience cherished uneasy doubts as to Hafed’s -irregular courtship and Nourmahal’s marriage lines. From across the sea -came the accusing voice of young Mr. Channing in the “North American,” -proclaiming that “harlotry has found in Moore a bard to smooth her -coarseness and veil her effrontery, to give her languor for modesty, -and affectation for virtue.” The English “Monthly Review,” less open -to alarm, confessed with a sigh “a depressing regret that, with the -exception of ‘Paradise and the Peri,’ no great moral effect is either -attained or attempted by ‘Lalla Rookh.’ To what purpose all this -sweetness and delicacy of thought and language, all this labour and -profusion of Oriental learning? What head is set right in one erroneous -notion, what heart is softened in one obdurate feeling, by this -luxurious quarto?” - -It is a lamentable truth that Anacreon exhibits none of Dante’s -spiritual depth, and that la reine Margot fell short of Queen -Victoria’s fireside qualities. Nothing could make a moralist of Moore. -The light-hearted creature was a model of kindness, of courage, of -conjugal fidelity; but--reversing the common rule of life--he preached -none of the virtues that he practised. His pathetic attempts to adjust -his tales to the established conventions of society failed signally -of their purpose. Even Byron wrote him that little Allegra (as yet -unfamiliar with her alphabet) should not be permitted to read “Lalla -Rookh”; partly because it wasn’t proper, and partly--which was prettily -said--lest she should discover “that there was a better poet than -Papa.” It was reserved for Moore’s followers to present their verses -and stories in the chastened form acceptable to English drawing-rooms, -and permitted to English youth. “La Belle Assemblée” published in -1819 an Eastern tale called “Jahia and Meimoune,” in which the lovers -converse like the virtuous characters in “Camilla.” Jahia becomes the -guest of an infamous sheik, who intoxicates him with a sherbet composed -of “sugar, musk, and amber,” and presents him with five thousand -sequins and a beautiful Circassian slave. When he is left alone with -this damsel, she addresses him thus: “I feel interested in you, and -present circumstances will save me from the charge of immodesty, when -I say that I also love you. This love inspires me with fresh horror at -the crimes that are here committed.” - -Jahia protests that he respectfully returns her passion, and that his -intentions are of an honourable character, whereupon the circumspect -maiden rejoins: “Since such are your sentiments, I will perish with you -if I fail in delivering you”; and conducts him, through a tangle of -adventures, to safety. Jahia then places Meimoune under the chaperonage -of his mother until their wedding day; after which we are happy to -know that “they passed their lives in the enjoyment of every comfort -attending on domestic felicity. If their lot was not splendid or -magnificent, they were rich in mutual affection; and they experienced -that fortunate medium which, far removed from indigence, aspires not to -the accumulation of immense wealth, and laughs at the unenvied load of -pomp and splendour, which it neither seeks, nor desires to obtain.” - -It is to be hoped that many obdurate hearts were softened, and many -erroneous notions were set right by the influence of a story like -this. In the “Monthly Museum” an endless narrative poem, “Abdallah,” -stretched its slow length along from number to number, blooming with -fresh moral sentiments on every page; while from an arid wilderness of -Moorish love songs, and Persian love songs, and Circassian love songs, -and Hindu love songs, I quote this “Arabian” love song, peerless amid -its peers:-- - - Thy hair is black as the starless sky, - And clasps thy neck as it loved its home; - Yet it moves at the sound of thy faintest sigh, - Like the snake that lies on the white sea-foam. - - I love thee, Ibla. Thou art bright - As the white snow on the hills afar; - Thy face is sweet as the moon by night, - And thine eye like the clear and rolling star. - - But the snow is poor and withers soon, - While thou art firm and rich in hope; - And never (like thine) from the face of the moon - Flamed the dark eye of the antelope. - -The truth and accuracy of this last observation should commend the poem -to all lovers of nature. - -It is the custom in these days of morbid accuracy to laugh at the -second-hand knowledge which Moore so proudly and so innocently -displayed. Even Mr. Saintsbury says some unkind things about the notes -to “Lalla Rookh,”--scraps of twentieth-hand knowledge, _he_ calls -them,--while pleasantly recording his affection for the poem itself, an -affection based upon the reasonable ground of childish recollections. -In the well-ordered home of his infancy, none but “Sunday books” might -be read on Sundays in nursery or schoolroom. “But this severity -was tempered by one of those easements often occurring in a world, -which, if not the best, is certainly not the worst of all possible -worlds. For the convenience of servants, or for some other reason, the -children were much more in the drawing-room on Sundays than on any -other day; and it was an unwritten rule that any book that lived in -the drawing-room was fit Sunday reading. The consequence was that from -the time I could read until childish things were put away, I used to -spend a considerable part of the first day of the week in reading and -re-reading a collection of books, four of which were Scott’s poems, -‘Lalla Rookh,’ ‘The Essays of Elia,’ and Southey’s ‘Doctor.’ Therefore -it may be that I rank ‘Lalla Rookh’ too high.” - -Blessed memories, and thrice blessed influences of childhood! But if -“Lalla Rookh,” like “Vathek,” was written to be the joy of imaginative -little boys and girls (alas for those who now replace it with “Allan -in Alaska,” and “Little Cora on the Continent”), the notes to “Lalla -Rookh” were, to my infant mind, even more enthralling than the poem. -There was a sketchiness about them, a detachment from time and -circumstance--I always hated being told the whole of everything--which -led me day after day into fresh fields of conjecture. The nymph who -was encircled by a rainbow, and bore a radiant son; the scimitars that -were so dazzling they made the warriors wink; the sacred well which -reflected the moon at midday; and the great embassy that was sent -“from some port of the Indies”--a welcome vagueness of geography--to -recover a monkey’s tooth, snatched away by some equally nameless -conqueror;--what child could fail to love such floating stars of -erudition? - -Our great-grandfathers were profoundly impressed by Moore’s text-book -acquirements. The “Monthly Review” quoted a solid page of the notes -to dazzle British readers, who confessed themselves amazed to find a -fellow countryman so much “at home” in Persia and Arabia. Blackwood -authoritatively announced that Moore was familiar, not only “with the -grandest regions of the human soul,”--which is expected of a poet,--but -also with the remotest boundaries of the East; and that in every tone -and hue and form he was “purely and intensely Asiatic.” “The carping -criticism of paltry tastes and limited understandings faded before -that burst of admiration with which all enlightened spirits hailed the -beauty and magnificence of ‘Lalla Rookh.’” - -Few people care to confess to “paltry tastes” and “limited -understandings.” They would rather join in any general acclamation. -“Browning’s poetry obscure!” I once heard a lecturer say with scorn. -“Let us ask ourselves, ‘Obscure to whom?’ No doubt a great many things -are obscure to long-tailed Brazilian apes.” After which his audience, -with one accord, admitted that it understood “Sordello.” So when -Jeffrey--great umpire of games whose rules he never knew--informed -the British public that there was not in “Lalla Rookh” “a simile, -a description, a name, a trait of history, or allusion of romance -that does not indicate entire familiarity with the life, nature, and -learning of the East,” the public contentedly took his word for it. -When he remarked that “the dazzling splendours, the breathing odours” -of Araby were without doubt Moore’s “native element,” the public, -whose native element was neither splendid nor sweet-smelling, envied -the Irishman his softer joys. “Lalla Rookh” might be “voluptuous” (a -word we find in every review of the period), but its orientalism was -beyond dispute. Did not Mrs. Skinner tell Moore that she had, when in -India, translated the prose interludes into Bengali, for the benefit -of her moonshee, and that the man was amazed at the accuracy of the -costumes? Did not the nephew of the Persian ambassador in Paris tell -Mr. Stretch, who told Moore, that “Lalla Rookh” had been translated -into Persian; that the songs--particularly “Bendemeer’s Stream”--were -sung “everywhere”; and that the happy natives could hardly believe the -whole work had not been taken originally from a Persian manuscript? - - I’m told, dear Moore, your lays are sung - (Can it be true, you lucky man?) - By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, - Along the streets of Ispahan. - -And not of Ispahan only; for in the winter of 1821 the Berlin court -presented “Lalla Rookh” with such splendour, such wealth of detail, -and such titled actors, that Moore’s heart was melted and his head -was turned (as any other heart would have been melted, and any other -head would have been turned) by the reports thereof. A Grand Duchess -of Russia took the part of Lalla Rookh; the Duke of Cumberland was -Aurungzebe; and a beautiful young sister of Prince Radzivil enchanted -all beholders as the Peri. “Nothing else was talked about in Berlin” -(it must have been a limited conversation); the King of Prussia had -a set of engravings made of the noble actors in their costumes; and -the Crown Prince sent word to Moore that he slept always with a copy -of “Lalla Rookh” under his pillow, which was foolish, but flattering. -Hardly had the echoes of this royal fête died away, when Spontini -brought out in Berlin his opera “The Feast of Roses,” and Moore’s -triumph in Prussia was complete. Byron, infinitely amused at the -success of his own good advice, wrote to the happy poet: “Your Berlin -drama is an honour unknown since the days of Elkanah Settle, whose -‘Empress of Morocco’ was presented by the court ladies, which was, as -Johnson remarks, ‘the last blast of inflammation to poor Dryden.’” - -Who shall say that this comparison is without its dash of malice? There -is a natural limit to the success we wish our friends, even when we -have spurred them on their way. - -If the English court did not lend itself with much gayety or grace -to dramatic entertainments, English society was quick to respond -to the delights of a modified orientalism. That is to say, it sang -melting songs about bulbuls and Shiraz wine; wore ravishing Turkish -costumes whenever it had a chance (like the beautiful Mrs. Winkworth -in the charades at Gaunt House); and covered its locks--if they were -feminine locks--with turbans of portentous size and splendour. When -Mrs. Fitzherbert, aged seventy-three, gave a fancy dress ball, so many -of her guests appeared as Turks, and Georgians, and sultanas, that it -was hard to believe that Brighton, and not Stamboul, was the scene of -the festivity. At an earlier entertainment, “a rural breakfast and -promenade,” given by Mrs. Hobart at her villa near Fulham, and “graced -by the presence of royalty,” the leading attraction was Mrs. Bristow, -who represented Queen Nourjahad in the “Garden of Roses.” “Draped in -all the magnificence of Eastern grandeur, Mrs. Bristow was seated in -the larger drawing-room (which was very beautifully fitted up with -cushions in the Indian style), smoking her hookah amidst all sorts -of the choicest perfumes. Mrs. Bristow was very profuse with otto of -roses, drops of which were thrown about the ladies’ dresses. The whole -house was scented with the delicious fragrance.” - -The “European Magazine,” the “Monthly Museum,” all the dim old -periodicals published in the early part of the last century for -feminine readers, teem with such “society notes.” From them, too, we -learn that by 1823 turbans of “rainbow striped gauze frosted with gold” -were in universal demand; while “black velvet turbans, enormously -large, and worn very much on one side,” must have given a rakish -appearance to stout British matrons. “La Belle Assemblée” describes for -us with tender enthusiasm a ravishing turban, “in the Turkish style,” -worn in the winter of 1823 at the theatre and at evening parties. This -masterpiece was of “pink oriental crêpe, beautifully folded in front, -and richly ornamented with pearls. The folds are fastened on the left -side, just above the ear, with a Turkish scimitar of pearls; and on the -right side are tassels of pearls, surmounted by a crescent and a star.” - -Here we have Lady Jane or Lady Amelia transformed at once into young -Nourmahal; and, to aid the illusion, a “Circassian corset” was devised, -free from encroaching steel or whalebone, and warranted to give its -English wearers the “flowing and luxurious lines” admired in the -overfed inmates of the harem. When the passion for orientalism began -to subside in London, remote rural districts caught and prolonged the -infection. I have sympathized all my life with the innocent ambition -of Miss Matty Jenkyns to possess a sea-green turban, like the one worn -by Queen Adelaide; and have never been able to forgive that ruthlessly -sensible Mary Smith--the chronicler of Cranford--for taking her a -“neat middle-aged cap” instead. “I was most particularly anxious to -prevent her from disfiguring her small gentle mousy face with a great -Saracen’s head turban,” says the judicious Miss Smith with a smirk of -self-commendation; and poor Miss Matty--the cap being bought--has to -bow to this arbiter of fate. How much we all suffer in life from the -discretion of our families and friends! - -Thackeray laughed the dim ghost of “Lalla Rookh” out of England. He -mocked at the turbans, and at the old ladies who wore them; at the -vapid love songs, and at the young ladies who sang them. - - I am a little brown bulbul. Come and listen in the moonlight. Praise - be to Allah! I am a merry bard. - -He derided the “breathing odours of Araby,” and the Eastern travellers -who imported this exotic atmosphere into Grosvenor Square. Yonng -Bedwin Sands, who has “lived under tents,” who has published a quarto, -ornamented with his own portrait in various oriental costumes, and -who goes about accompanied by a black servant of most unprepossessing -appearance, “just like another Brian de Bois Guilbert,” is only a -degree less ridiculous than Clarence Bulbul, who gives Miss Tokely a -piece of the sack in which an indiscreet Zuleika was drowned, and -whose servant says to callers: “Mon maître est au divan,” or “Monsieur -trouvera Monsieur dans son sérail.... He has coffee and pipes for -everybody. I should like you to have seen the face of old Bowly, his -college tutor, called upon to sit cross-legged on a divan, a little -cup of bitter black mocha put into his hand, and a large amber-muzzled -pipe stuck into his mouth before he could say it was a fine day. Bowly -almost thought he had compromised his principles by consenting so far -to this Turkish manner.” Bulbul’s sure and simple method of commending -himself to young ladies is by telling them they remind him of a girl -he knew in Circassia,--Ameena, the sister of Schamyle Bey. “Do you -know, Miss Pim,” he thoughtfully observes, “that you would fetch twenty -thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople?” Whereupon Miss -Pim is filled with embarrassed elation. An English girl, conscious -of being in no great demand at home, was naturally flattered as well -as fluttered by the thought of having market value elsewhere. And -perhaps this feminine instinct was at the root of “Lalla Rookh’s” long -popularity in England. - - - - -THE CORRESPONDENT - - Correspondences are like small-clothes before the invention of - suspenders; it is impossible to keep them up.--SYDNEY SMITH to MRS. - CROWE. - - -In this lamentable admission, in this blunt and revolutionary -sentiment, we hear the first clear striking of a modern note, the -first gasping protest against the limitless demands of letter-writing. -When Sydney Smith was a little boy, it was not impossible to keep a -correspondence up; it was impossible to let it go. He was ten years -old when Sir William Pepys copied out long portions of Mrs. Montagu’s -letters, and left them as a legacy to his heirs. He was twelve years -old when Miss Anna Seward--the “Swan of Lichfield”--copied thirteen -pages of description which the Rev. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley had -written her from Switzerland, and sent them to her friend, Mr. William -Hayley. She called this “snatching him to the Continent by Whalleyan -magic.” What Mr. Hayley called it we do not know; but he had his -revenge, for the impartial “Swan” copied eight verses of an “impromptu” -which Mr. Hayley had written upon her, and sent them in turn to Mr. -Whalley;--thus making each friend a scourge to the other, and widening -the network of correspondence which had enmeshed the world. - -It is impossible not to feel a trifle envious of Mr. Whalley, who -looms before us as the most petted and accomplished of clerical -bores, of “literary and chess-playing divines.” He was but twenty-six -when the kind-hearted Bishop of Ely presented him with the living of -Hagworthingham, stipulating that he should not take up his residence -there,--the neighbourhood of the Lincolnshire fens being considered an -unhealthy one. Mr. Whalley cheerfully complied with this condition; -and for fifty years the duties were discharged by curates, who -could not afford good health; while the rector spent his winters -in Europe, and his summers at Mendip Lodge. He was of an amorous -disposition,--“sentimentally pathetic,” Miss Burney calls him,--and -married three times, two of his wives being women of fortune. He -lived in good society, and beyond his means, like a gentleman; was -painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds (who has very delicately and maliciously -accentuated his resemblance to the tiny spaniel he holds in his arms); -and died of old age, in the comfortable assurance that he had lost -nothing the world could give. A voluminous correspondence--afterwards -published in two volumes--afforded scope for that clerical diffuseness -which should have found its legitimate outlet in the Hagworthingham -pulpit. - -The Rev. Augustus Jessup has recorded a passionate admiration for -Cicero’s letters, on the ground that they never describe scenery; but -Mr. Whalley’s letters seldom do anything else. He wrote to Miss Sophia -Weston a description of Vaucluse, which fills three closely printed -pages. Miss Weston copied every word, and sent it to Miss Seward, who -copied every word of her copy, and sent it to the long-suffering Mr. -Hayley, with the remark that Mr. Whalley and Petrarch were “kindred -spirits.” Later on this kinship was made pleasantly manifest by the -publication of “Edwy and Edilda,” which is described as a “domestic -epic,” and which Mr. Whalley’s friends considered to be a moral -bulwark as well as an epoch-making poem. Indeed, we find Miss Seward -imploring him to republish it, on the extraordinary ground that it will -add to his happiness in heaven to know that the fruits of his industry -“continue to inspire virtuous pleasure through passing generations.” -It is animating to contemplate the celestial choirs congratulating -the angel Whalley at intervals on the “virtuous pleasure” inspired by -“Edwy and Edilda.” “This,” says Mr. Kenwigs, “is an ewent at which Evin -itself looks down.” - -There was no escape from the letter-writer who, a hundred or a hundred -and twenty-five years ago, captured a coveted correspondent. It would -have been as easy to shake off an octopus or a boa-constrictor. Miss -Seward opened her attack upon Sir Walter Scott, whom she had never -seen, with a long and passionate letter, lamenting the death of a -friend whom Scott had never seen. She conjured him not to answer this -letter, because she was “dead to the world.” Scott gladly obeyed, -content that the lady should be at least dead to him, which was the -last possibility she contemplated. Before twelve months were out they -were in brisk correspondence, an acquaintance was established, and when -she died in earnest, some years later, he found himself one of her -literary executors, and twelve quarto manuscript volumes of her letters -waiting to be published. These Scott wisely refused to touch; but he -edited her poems,--a task he much disliked,--wrote the epitaph on her -monument in Lichfield Cathedral, and kindly maintained that, although -her sentimentality appalled him, and her enthusiasm chilled his soul, -she was a talented and pleasing person. - -The most formidable thing about the letters of this period--apart from -their length--is their eloquence. It bubbles and seethes over every -page. Miss Seward, writing to Mrs. Knowles in 1789 upon the dawning of -the French Revolution, of which she understood no more than a canary, -pipes an ecstatic trill. “So France has dipped her lilies in the living -stream of American freedom, and bids her sons be slaves no longer. In -such a contest the vital sluices must be wastefully opened; but few -English hearts I hope there are that do not wish victory may sit upon -the swords that freedom has unsheathed.” It sounds so exactly like the -Americans in “Martin Chuzzlewit” that one doubts whether Mr. Jefferson -Brick or the Honourable Elijah Pogram really uttered the sentiment; -while surely to Mrs. Hominy, and not to the Lichfield Swan, must be -credited this beautiful passage about a middle-aged but newly married -couple: “The berries of holly, with which Hymen formed that garland, -blush through the snows of time, and dispute the prize of happiness -with the roses of youth;--and they are certainly less subject to the -blights of expectation and palling fancy.” - -It is hard to conceive of a time when letters like these were sacredly -treasured by the recipients (our best friend, the waste-paper basket, -seems to have been then unknown); when the writers thereof bequeathed -them as a legacy to the world; and when the public--being under no -compulsion--bought six volumes of them as a contribution to English -literature. It is hard to think of a girl of twenty-one writing to an -intimate friend as Elizabeth Robinson, afterwards the “great” Mrs. -Montagu, wrote to the young Duchess of Portland, who appears to have -ventured upon a hope that they were having a mild winter in Kent. - -“I am obliged to your Grace for your good wishes of fair weather; -sunshine gilds every object, but, alas! December is but cloudy weather, -how few seasons boast many days of calm! April, which is the blooming -youth of the year, is as famous for hasty showers as for gentle -sunshine. May, June, and July have too much heat and violence, the -Autumn withers the Summer’s gayety, and in the Winter the hopeful -blossoms of Spring and fair fruits of Summer are decayed, and storms -and clouds arise.” - -After these obvious truths, for which the almanac stands responsible, -Miss Robinson proceeds to compare human life to the changing year, -winding up at the close of a dozen pages: “Happy and worthy are those -few whose youth is not impetuous, nor their age sullen; they indeed -should be esteemed, and their happy influence courted.” - -Twenty-one, and ripe for moral platitudes! What wonder that we find the -same lady, when crowned with years and honours, writing to the son of -her friend, Lord Lyttelton, a remorselessly long letter of precept and -good counsel, which that young gentleman (being afterwards known as the -wicked Lord Lyttelton) seems never to have taken to heart. - -“The morning of life, like the morning of the day, should be dedicated -to business. Give it therefore, dear Mr. Lyttelton, to strenuous -exertion and labour of mind, before the indolence of the meridian hour, -or the unabated fervour of the exhausted day, renders you unfit for -severe application.” - -“Unabated fervour of the exhausted day” is a phrase to be commended. -We remember with awe that Mrs. Montagu was the brightest star in the -chaste firmament of female intellect;--“the first woman for literary -knowledge in England,” wrote Mrs. Thrale; “and, if in England, I hope I -may say in the world.” We hope so, indeed. None but a libertine would -doubt it. And no one less contumelious than Dr. Johnson ever questioned -Mrs. Montagu’s supremacy. She was, according to her great-grandniece, -Miss Climenson, “adored by men,” while “purest of the pure”; which -was equally pleasant for herself and for Mr. Montagu. She wrote more -letters, with fewer punctuation marks, than any Englishwoman of her -day; and her nephew, the fourth Baron Rokeby, nearly blinded himself -in deciphering the two volumes of undated correspondence which were -printed in 1810. Two more followed in 1813, after which the gallant -Baron either died at his post or was smitten with despair; for -sixty-eight cases of letters lay undisturbed for the best part of a -century, when they passed into Miss Climenson’s hands. This intrepid -lady received them--so she says--with “unbounded joy”; and has already -published two fat volumes, with the promise of several others in the -near future. “Les morts n’écrivent point,” said Madame de Maintenon -hopefully; but of what benefit is this inactivity, when we still -continue to receive their letters? - -Miss Elizabeth Carter, called by courtesy Mrs. Carter, was the most -vigorous of Mrs. Montagu’s correspondents. Although a lady of learning, -who read Greek and had dipped into Hebrew, she was far too “humble and -unambitious” to claim an acquaintance with the exalted mistress of -Montagu House; but that patroness of literature treated her with such -true condescension that they were soon on the happiest terms. When Mrs. -Montagu writes to Miss Carter that she has seen the splendid coronation -of George III, Miss Carter hastens to remind her that such splendour is -for majesty alone. - -“High rank and power require every external aid of pomp and éclat that -may awe and astonish spectators by the ideas of the magnificent and -sublime; while the ornaments of more equal conditions should be adapted -to the quiet tenour of general life, and be content to charm and engage -by the gentler graces of the beautiful and pleasing.” - -Mrs. Montagu _was_ fond of display. All her friends admitted, and -some deplored the fact. But surely there was no likelihood of -her appropriating the coronation services as a feature for the -entertainments at Portman Square. - -Advice, however, was the order of the day. As the excellent Mrs. -Chapone wrote to Sir William Pepys: “It is a dangerous commerce for -friends to praise each other’s Virtues, instead of reminding each other -of duties and of failings.” Yet a too robust candour carried perils of -its own, for Miss Seward having written to her “beloved Sophia Weston” -with “an ingenuousness which I thought necessary for her welfare, but -which her high spirits would not brook,” Sophia was so unaffectedly -angry that twelve years of soothing silence followed. - -Another wonderful thing about the letter-writers, especially the female -letter-writers, of this engaging period is the wealth of hyperbole in -which they rioted. Nothing is told in plain terms. Tropes, metaphors, -and similes adorn every page; and the supreme elegance of the language -is rivalled only by the elusiveness of the idea, which is lost in an -eddy of words. Marriage is always alluded to as the “hymeneal torch,” -or the “hymeneal chain,” or “hymeneal emancipation from parental care.” -Birds are “feathered muses,” and a heart is a “vital urn.” When Mrs. -Montagu writes to Mr. Gilbert West, that “miracle of the Moral World,” -to condole with him on his gout, she laments that his “writing hand, -first dedicated to the Muses, then with maturer judgment consecrated -to the Nymphs of Solyma, should be led captive by the cruel foe.” If -Mr. West chanced not to know who or what the Nymphs of Solyma were, he -had the intelligent pleasure of finding out. Miss Seward describes Mrs. -Tighe’s sprightly charms as “Aonian inspiration added to the cestus -of Venus”; and speaks of the elderly “ladies of Llangollen” as, “in -all but the voluptuous sense, Armidas of its bowers.” Duelling is to -her “the murderous punctilio of Luciferian honour.” A Scotch gentleman -who writes verse is “a Cambrian Orpheus”; a Lichfield gentleman who -sketches is “our Lichfield Claude”; and a budding clerical writer is -“our young sacerdotal Marcellus.” When the “Swan” wished to apprise -Scott of Dr. Darwin’s death, it never occurred to her to write, as -we in this dull age should do: “Dr. Darwin died last night,” or, -“Poor Dr. Darwin died last night.” She wrote: “A bright luminary -in this neighbourhood recently shot from his sphere with awful and -deplorable suddenness”;--thus pricking Sir Walter’s imagination to -the wonder point before descending to facts. Even the rain and snow -were never spoken of in the plain language of the Weather Bureau; -and the elements had a set of allegories all their own. Miss Carter -would have scorned to take a walk by the sea. She “chased the ebbing -Neptune.” Mrs. Chapone was not blown by the wind. She was “buffeted -by Eolus and his sons.” Miss Seward does not hope that Mr. Whalley’s -rheumatism is better; but that he has overcome “the malinfluence of -marine damps, and the monotonous murmuring of boundless waters.” -Perhaps the most triumphant instance on record of sustained metaphor -is Madame d’Arblay’s account of Mrs. Montagu’s yearly dinner to the -London chimney-sweeps, in which the word sweep is never once used, so -that the editor was actually compelled to add a footnote to explain -what the lady meant. The boys are “jetty objects,” “degraded outcasts -from society,” and “sooty little agents of our most blessed luxury.” -They are “hapless artificers who perform the most abject offices of -any authorized calling”; they are “active guardians of our blazing -hearth”; but plain chimney-sweeps, never! Madame d’Arblay would have -perished at the stake before using so vulgar and obvious a term. - -How was this mass of correspondence preserved? How did it happen that -the letters were never torn up, or made into spills,--the common fate -of all such missives when I was a little girl. Granted that Miss Carter -treasured Mrs. Montagu’s letters (she declared fervidly she could never -be so barbarous as to destroy one), and that Mrs. Montagu treasured -Miss Carter’s. Granted that Miss Weston treasured Mr. Whalley’s, and -that Mr. Whalley treasured Miss Weston’s. Granted that Miss Seward -provided against all contingencies by copying her own letters into -fat blank books before they were mailed, elaborating her spineless -sentences, and omitting everything she deemed too trivial or too -domestic for the public ear. But is it likely that young Lyttelton at -Oxford laid sacredly away Mrs. Montagu’s pages of good counsel, or -that young Franks at Cambridge preserved the ponderous dissertations -of Sir William Pepys? Sir William was a Baronet, a Master in Chancery, -and--unlike his famous ancestor--a most respectable and exemplary -gentleman. His innocent ambition was to be on terms of intimacy with -the literary lights of his day. He knew and ardently admired Dr. -Johnson, who in return detested him cordially. He knew and revered, “in -unison with the rest of the world,” Miss Hannah More. He corresponded -at great length with lesser lights,--with Mrs. Chapone, and Mrs. -Hartley, and Sir Nathaniel Wraxall. He wrote endless commentaries on -Homer and Virgil to young Franks, and reams of good advice to his -little son at Eton. There is something pathetic in his regret that the -limitations of life will not permit him to be as verbose as he would -like. “I could write for an hour,” he assures poor Franks, “upon that -most delightful of all passages, the Lion deprived of its Young; but -the few minutes one can catch amidst the Noise, hurry and confusion of -an Assize town will not admit of any Classical discussions. But was I -in the calm retirement of your Study at Acton, I have much to say to -you, to which I can only allude.” - -The publication of scores and scores of such letters, all written -to one unresponsive young man at Cambridge (who is repeatedly -reproached for not answering them), makes us wonder afresh who kept the -correspondence; and the problem is deepened by the appearance of Sir -William’s letters to his son. This is the way the first one begins:-- - - “MY DEAR BOY,--I cannot let a Post escape me without giving you the - Pleasure of knowing how much you have gladdened the Hearts of two - as affectionate Parents as ever lived; when you tell us that the - Principles of Religion begin already to exert their efficacy in - making you look down with contempt on the wretched grovelling Vices - with which you are surrounded, you make the most delightful Return - you can ever make for our Parental Care and Affection; you make Us - at Peace with Ourselves; and enable us to hope that our dear Boy - will Persevere in that Path which will ensure the greatest Share of - Comfort here, and a certainty of everlasting Happiness hereafter.” - -I am disposed to think that Sir William made a fair copy of this letter -and of others like it, and laid them aside as models of parental -exhortation. Whether young Pepys was a little prig, or a particularly -accomplished little scamp (and both possibilities are open to -consideration), it seems equally unlikely that an Eton boy’s desk would -have proved a safe repository for such ample and admirable discourses. - -The publication of Cowper’s letters in 1803 and 1804 struck a chill -into the hearts of accomplished and erudite correspondents. Poor Miss -Seward never rallied from the shock of their “commonness,” and of -their popularity. Here was a man who wrote about beggars and postmen, -about cats and kittens, about buttered toast and the kitchen table. -Here was a man who actually looked at things before he described them -(which was a startling innovation); who called the wind the wind, and -buttercups buttercups, and a hedgehog a hedgehog. Miss Seward honestly -despised Cowper’s letters. She said they were without “imagination or -eloquence,” without “discriminative criticism,” without “characteristic -investigation.” Investigating the relations between the family cat and -an intrusive viper was, from her point of view, unworthy the dignity -of an author. Cowper’s love of detail, his terrestrial turn of mind, -his humour, and his veracity were disconcerting in an artificial age. -When Miss Carter took a country walk, she did not stoop to observe -the trivial things she saw. Apparently she never saw anything. What -she described were the sentiments and emotions awakened in her by a -featureless principle called Nature. Even the ocean--which is too big -to be overlooked--started her on a train of moral reflections, in which -she passed easily from the grandeur of the elements to the brevity -of life, and the paltriness of earthly ambitions. “How vast are the -capacities of the soul, and how little and contemptible its aims and -pursuits.” With this original remark, the editor of the letters (a -nephew and a clergyman) was so delighted that he added a pious comment -of his own. - -“If such be the case, how strong and conclusive is the argument deduced -from it, that the soul must be destined to another state more suitable -to its views and powers. It is much to be lamented that Mrs. Carter did -not pursue this line of thought any further.” - -People who bought nine volumes of a correspondence like this were -expected, as the editor warns them, to derive from it “moral, literary, -and religious improvement.” It was in every way worthy of a lady who -had translated Epictetus, and who had the “great” Mrs. Montagu for a -friend. But, as Miss Seward pathetically remarked, “any well-educated -person, with talents not above the common level, produces every day -letters as well worth attention as most of Cowper’s, especially as -to diction.” The perverseness of the public in buying, in reading, -in praising these letters, filled her with pained bewilderment. Not -even the writer’s sincere and sad piety, his tendency to moralize, and -the transparent innocence of his life could reconcile her to plain -transcripts from nature, or to such an unaffecting incident as this:-- - -“A neighbour of mine in Silver End keeps an ass; the ass lives on the -other side of the garden wall, and I am writing in the greenhouse. It -happens that he is this morning most musically disposed; either cheered -by the fine weather, or by some new tune which he has just acquired, -or by finding his voice more harmonious than usual. It would be cruel -to mortify so fine a singer, therefore I do not tell him that he -interrupts and hinders me; but I venture to tell you so, and to plead -his performance in excuse of my abrupt conclusion.” - -Here is not only the “common” diction which Miss Seward condemned, but -a very common casualty, which she would have naturally deemed beneath -notice. Cowper wrote a great deal about animals, and always with fine -and humorous appreciation. He sought relief from the hidden torment of -his soul in the contemplation of creatures who fill their place in life -without morals, and without misgivings. We know what safe companions -they were for him when we read his account of his hares, of his kitten -dancing on her hind legs,--“an exercise which she performs with all -the grace imaginable,”--and of his goldfinches amorously kissing each -other between the cage wires. When Miss Seward bent her mind to “the -lower orders of creation,” she did not describe them at all; she gave -them the benefit of that “discriminative criticism” which she felt that -Cowper lacked. Here, for example, is her thoughtful analysis of man’s -loyal servitor, the dog:-- - -“That a dog is a noble, grateful, faithful animal we must all be -conscious, and deserves a portion of man’s tenderness and care;--yet, -from its utter incapacity of more than glimpses of rationality, -there is a degree of insanity, as well as of impoliteness to his -acquaintance, and of unkindness to his friends, in lavishing so much -more of his attention in the first instance, and of affection in the -latter, upon it than upon them.” - -It sounds like a parody on a great living master of complex prose. -By its side, Cowper’s description of Beau is certainly open to the -reproach of plainness. - -“My dog is a spaniel. Till Miss Gunning begged him, he was the property -of a farmer, and had been accustomed to lie in the chimney corner among -the embers till the hair was singed from his back, and nothing was -left of his tail but the gristle. Allowing for these disadvantages, -he is really handsome; and when nature shall have furnished him with -a new coat, a gift which, in consideration of the ragged condition -of his old one, it is hoped she will not long delay, he will then be -unrivalled in personal endowments by any dog in this country.” - -No wonder the Lichfield Swan was daunted by the inconceivable -popularity of such letters. No wonder Miss Hannah More preferred -Akenside to Cowper. What had these eloquent ladies to do with quiet -observation, with sober felicity of phrase, with “the style of honest -men”! - - - - -THE NOVELIST - - Soft Sensibility, sweet Beauty’s soul! - Keeps her coy state, and animates the whole. - - HAYLEY. - - -Readers of Miss Burney’s Diary will remember her maidenly confusion -when Colonel Fairly (the Honourable Stephen Digby) recommends to -her a novel called “Original Love-Letters between a Lady of Quality -and a Person of Inferior Station.” The authoress of “Evelina” and -“Cecilia”--then thirty-six years of age--is embarrassed by the glaring -impropriety of this title. In vain Colonel Fairly assures her that -the book contains “nothing but good sense, moral reflections, and -refined ideas, clothed in the most expressive and elegant language.” -Fanny, though longing to read a work of such estimable character, -cannot consent to borrow, or even discuss, anything so compromising -as love-letters; and, with her customary coyness, murmurs a few words -of denial. Colonel Fairly, however, is not easily daunted. Three days -later he actually brings the volume to that virginal bower, and asks -permission to read portions of it aloud, excusing his audacity with the -solemn assurance that there was no person, not even his own daughter, -in whose hands he would hesitate to place it. “It was now impossible -to avoid saying that I should like to hear it,” confesses Miss Burney. -“I should seem else to doubt either his taste or his delicacy, while -I have the highest opinion of both.” So the book is produced, and -the fair listener, bending over her needlework to hide her blushes, -acknowledges it to be “moral, elegant, feeling, and rational,” while -lamenting that the unhappy nature of its title makes its presence a -source of embarrassment. - -This edifying little anecdote sheds light upon a palmy period of -propriety. Miss Burney’s self-consciousness, her superhuman diffidence, -and the “delicious confusion” which overwhelmed her upon the most -insignificant occasions, were beacon lights to her “sisters of -Parnassus,” to the less distinguished women who followed her brilliant -lead. The passion for novel-reading was asserting itself for the first -time in the history of the world as a dominant note of femininity. The -sentimentalities of fiction expanded to meet the woman’s standard, to -satisfy her irrational demands. “If the story-teller had always had -mere men for an audience,” says an acute English critic, “there would -have been no romance; nothing but the improving fable, or the indecent -anecdote.” It was the woman who, as Miss Seward sorrowfully observed, -sucked the “sweet poison” which the novelist administered; it was the -woman who stooped conspicuously to the “reigning folly” of the day. - -The particular occasion of this outbreak on Miss Seward’s part was the -extraordinary success of a novel, now long forgotten by the world, but -which in its time rivalled in popularity “Evelina,” and the well-loved -“Mysteries of Udolpho.” Its plaintive name is “Emmeline; or the Orphan -of the Castle,” and its authoress, Charlotte Smith, was a woman of -courage, character, and good ability; also of a cheerful temperament, -which we should never have surmised from her works. It is said that -her son owed his advancement in the East India Company solely to the -admiration felt for “Emmeline,” which was being read as assiduously in -Bengal as in London. Sir Walter Scott, always the gentlest of critics, -held that it belonged to the “highest branch of fictitious narrative.” -The Queen, who considered it a masterpiece, lent it to Miss Burney, who -in turn gave it to Colonel Fairly, who ventured to observe that it was -not “piquant,” and asked for a “Rambler” instead. - -“Emmeline” is _not_ piquant. Its heroine has more tears than Niobe. -“Formed of the softest elements, and with a mind calculated for select -friendship and domestic happiness,” it is her misfortune to be loved -by all the men she meets. The “interesting languor” of a countenance -habitually “wet with tears” proves their undoing. Her “deep convulsive -sobs” charm them more than the laughter of other maidens. When the -orphan leaves the castle for the first time, she weeps bitterly -for an hour; when she converses with her uncle, she can “no longer -command her tears, sobs obliged her to cease speaking”; and when he -urges upon her the advantages of a worldly marriage, she--as if that -were possible--“wept more than before.” When Delamere, maddened by -rejection, carries her off in a post-chaise (a delightful frontispiece -illustrates this episode), “a shower of tears fell from her eyes”; and -even a rescue fails to raise her spirits. Her response to Godolphin’s -tenderest approaches is to “wipe away the involuntary betrayers of her -emotion”; and when he exclaims in a transport: “Enchanting softness! -Is then the safety of Godolphin so dear to that angelic bosom?” she -answers him with “audible sobs.” - -The other characters in the book are nearly as tearful. When Delamere -is not striking his forehead with his clenched fist, he is weeping at -Emmeline’s feet. The repentant Fitz-Edward lays his head on a chair, -and weeps “like a woman.” Lady Adelina, who has stooped to folly, -naturally sheds many tears, and writes an “Ode to Despair”; while -Emmeline from time to time gives “vent to a full heart” by weeping -over Lady Adelina’s infant. Godolphin sobs loudly when he sees his -frail sister; and when he meets Lord Westhaven after an absence of -four years, “the manly eyes of both brothers were filled with tears.” -We wonder how Scott, whose heroines cry so little and whose heroes -never cry at all, stood all this weeping; and, when we remember the -perfunctory nature of Sir Walter’s love scenes,--wedged in any way -among more important matters,--we wonder still more how he endured the -ravings of Delamere, or the melancholy verses with which Godolphin from -time to time soothes his despondent soul. - - In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind - Will to the deaf cold elements complain; - And tell the embosomed grief, however vain, - To sullen surges and the viewless wind. - -It was not, however, the mournfulness of “Emmeline” which displeased -Miss Seward, but rather the occasional intrusion of “low characters”; -of those underbred and unimpassioned persons who--as in Miss Burney’s -and Miss Ferrier’s novels--are naturally and almost cheerfully vulgar. -That Mr. William Hayley, author of “The Triumphs of Temper,” and her -own most ardent admirer, should tune his inconstant lyre in praise -of Mrs. Smith was more than Miss Seward could bear. “My very foes -acquit me of harbouring one grain of envy in my bosom,” she writes -him feelingly; “yet it is surely by no means inconsistent with that -exemption to feel a little indignant, and to enter one’s protest, -when compositions of mere mediocrity are extolled far above those of -real genius.” She then proceeds to point out the “indelicacy” of Lady -Adelina’s fall from grace, and the use of “kitchen phrases,” such as -“she grew white at the intelligence.” “White instead of pale,” comments -Miss Seward severely, “I have often heard servants say, but never a -gentleman or a gentlewoman.” If Mr. Hayley desires to read novels, -she urges upon him the charms of another popular heroine, Caroline de -Lichtfield, in whom he will find “simplicity, wit, pathos, and the -most exalted generosity”; and the history of whose adventures “makes -curiosity gasp, admiration kindle, and pity dissolve.” - -Caroline, “the gay child of Artless Nonchalance,” is at least a more -cheerful young person than the Orphan. Her story, translated from -the French of Madame de Montolieu, was widely read in England and on -the Continent; and Miss Seward tells us that its author was indebted -“to the merits and graces of these volumes for a transition from -incompetence to the comforts of wealth; from the unprotected dependence -of waning virginity to the social pleasures of wedded friendship.” -In plain words, we are given to understand that a rich and elderly -German widower read the book, sought an acquaintance with the writer, -and married her. “Hymen,” exclaims Miss Seward, “passed by the fane -of Cytherea and the shrine of Plutus, to light his torch at the altar -of genius”;--which beautiful burst of eloquence makes it painful to -add the chilling truth, and say that “Caroline de Lichtfield” was -written six years after its author’s marriage with M. de Montolieu, -who was a Swiss, and her second husband. She espoused her first, M. de -Crousaz, when she was eighteen, and still comfortably remote from the -terrors of waning virginity. Accurate information was not, however, a -distinguishing characteristic of the day. Sir Walter Scott, writing -some years later of Madame de Montolieu, ignores both marriages -altogether, and calls her Mademoiselle. - -No rich reward lay in wait for poor Charlotte Smith, whose husband -was systematically impecunious, and whose large family of children -were supported wholly by her pen. “Emmeline, or the Orphan of the -Castle” was followed by “Ethelinda, or the Recluse of the Lake,” and -that by “The Old Manor House,” which was esteemed her masterpiece. Its -heroine bears the interesting name of Monimia; and when she marries -her Orlando, “every subsequent hour of their lives was marked by some -act of benevolence,”--a breathless and philanthropic career. By this -time the false-hearted Hayley had so far transferred to Mrs. Smith -the homage due to Miss Seward that he was rewarded with the painful -privilege of reading “The Old Manor House” in manuscript,--a privilege -reserved in those days for tried and patient friends. The poet had -himself dallied a little with fiction, having written, “solely to -promote the interests of religion,” a novel called “The Young Widow,” -which no one appears to have read, except perhaps the Archbishop of -Canterbury, to whom its author sent a copy. - -In purity of motive Mr. Hayley was rivalled only by Mrs. Brunton, -whose two novels, “Self-Control” and “Discipline,” were designed “to -procure admission for the religion of a sound mind and of the Bible -where it cannot find access in any other form.” Mrs. Brunton was -perhaps the most commended novelist of her time. The inexorable titles -of her stories secured for them a place upon the guarded book-shelves -of the young. Many a demure English girl must have blessed these -deluding titles, just as, forty years later, many an English boy -blessed the inspiration which had impelled George Borrow to misname -his immortal book “The Bible in Spain.” When the wife of a clergyman -undertook to write a novel in the interests of religion and the -Scriptures; when she called it “Discipline,” and drew up a stately -apology for employing fiction as a medium for the lessons she meant -to convey, what parent could refuse to be beguiled? There is nothing -trivial in Mrs. Brunton’s conception of a good novel, in the standard -she proposes to the world. - -“Let the admirable construction of fable in ‘Tom Jones’ be employed to -unfold characters like Miss Edgeworth’s; let it lead to a moral like -Richardson’s; let it be told with the elegance of Rousseau, and with -the simplicity of Goldsmith; let it be all this, and Milton need not -have been ashamed of the work.” - -How far “Discipline” and “Self-Control” approach this composite -standard of perfection it would be invidious to ask; but they -accomplished a miracle of their own in being both popular and -permitted, in pleasing the frivolous, and edifying the devout. -Dedicated to Miss Joanna Baillie, sanctioned by Miss Hannah More, -they stood above reproach, though not without a flavour of depravity. -Mrs. Brunton’s outlook upon life was singularly uncomplicated. All -her women of fashion are heartless and inane. All her men of fashion -cherish dishonourable designs upon female youth and innocence. Indeed -the strenuous efforts of Laura, in “Self-Control,” to preserve her -virginity may be thought a trifle explicit for very youthful readers. -We find her in the first chapter--she is seventeen--fainting at the -feet of her lover, who has just revealed the unworthy nature of his -intentions; and we follow her through a series of swoons to the last -pages, where she “sinks senseless” into--of all vessels!--a canoe; -and is carried many miles down a Canadian river in a state of nicely -balanced unconsciousness. Her self-control (the crowning virtue which -gives its title to the book) is so marked that when she dismisses -Hargrave on probation, and then meets him accidentally in a London -print-shop after a four months’ absence, she “neither screamed nor -fainted”; only “trembled violently, and leant against the counter -to recover strength and composure.” It is not until he turns, and, -“regardless of the inquisitive looks of the spectators, clasped her -to his breast,” that “her head sunk upon his shoulder, and she lost -all consciousness.” As for her heroic behaviour when the same Hargrave -(having lapsed from grace) shoots the virtuous De Courcy in Lady -Pelham’s summer-house, it must be described in the author’s own words. -No others could do it justice. - -“To the plants which their beauty had recommended to Lady Pelham, Laura -had added a few of which the usefulness was known to her. Agaric of -the oak was of the number; and she had often applied it where many a -hand less fair would have shrunk from the task. Nor did she hesitate -now. The ball had entered near the neck; and the feminine, the delicate -Laura herself disengaged the wound from its covering; the feeling, the -tender Laura herself performed an office from which false sensibility -would have recoiled in horror.” - -Is it possible that anybody except Miss Burney could have shrunk -modestly from the sight of a lover’s neck, especially when it had -a bullet in it? Could a sense of decorum be more overwhelmingly -expressed? Yet the same novel which held up to our youthful -great-grandmothers this unapproachable standard of propriety presented -to their consideration the most intimate details of libertinism. There -was then, as now, no escape from the moralist’s devastating disclosures. - -One characteristic is common to all these faded romances, which in -their time were read with far more fervour and sympathy than are -their successors to-day. This is the undying and undeviating nature -of their heroes’ affections. Written by ladies who took no count of -man’s proverbial inconstancy, they express a touching belief in the -supremacy of feminine charms. A heroine of seventeen (she is seldom -older), with ringlets, and a “faltering timidity,” inflames both the -virtuous and the profligate with such imperishable passions, that -when triumphant morality leads her to the altar, defeated vice cannot -survive her loss. Her suitors, reversing the enviable experience of Ben -Bolt,-- - - weep with delight when she gives them a smile, - And tremble with fear at her frown. - -They grow faint with rapture when they enter her presence, and, -when she repels their advances, they signify their disappointment -by gnashing their teeth, and beating their heads against the wall. -Rejection cannot alienate their faithful hearts; years and absence -cannot chill their fervour. They belong to a race of men who, if they -ever existed at all, are now as extinct as the mastodon. - -It was Miss Jane Porter who successfully transferred to a conquering -hero that exquisite sensibility of soul which had erstwhile belonged -to the conquering heroine,--to the Emmelines and Adelinas of fiction. -Dipping her pen “in the tears of Poland,” she conveyed the glittering -drops to the eyes of “Thaddeus of Warsaw,” whence they gush in -rills,--like those of the Prisoner of Chillon’s brother. Thaddeus is of -such exalted virtue that strangers in London address him as “excellent -young gentleman,” and his friends speak of him as “incomparable -young man.” He rescues children from horses’ hoofs and from burning -buildings. He nurses them through small-pox, and leaves their bedsides -in the most casual manner, to mingle in crowds and go to the play. -He saves women from insult on the streets. He is kind even to “that -poor slandered and abused animal, the cat,”--which is certainly to -his credit. Wrapped in a sable cloak, wearing “hearse-like plumes” on -his hat, a star upon his breast, and a sabre by his side, he moves -with Hamlet’s melancholy grace through the five hundred pages of the -story. “His unrestrained and elegant conversation acquired new pathos -from the anguish that was driven back to his heart: like the beds of -rivers which infuse their own nature with the current, his hidden grief -imparted an indescribable interest and charm to all his sentiments and -actions.” - -What wonder that such a youth is passionately loved by all the women -who cross his path, but whom he regards for the most part with “that -lofty tranquillity which is inseparable from high rank when it is -accompanied by virtue.” In vain Miss Euphemia Dundas writes him amorous -notes, and entraps him into embarrassing situations. In vain Lady -Sara Roos--married, I regret to say--pursues him to his lodgings, and -wrings “her snowy arms” while she confesses the hopeless nature of her -infatuation. The irreproachable Thaddeus replaces her tenderly but -firmly on a sofa, and as soon as possible sends her home in a cab. It -is only when the “orphan heiress,” Miss Beaufort, makes her appearance -on the scene, “a large Turkish shawl enveloping her fine form, a modest -grace observable in every limb,” that the exile’s haughty soul succumbs -to love. Miss Beaufort has been admirably brought up by her aunt, -Lady Somerset, who is a person of great distinction, and who gives -“conversaziones,” as famous in their way as Mrs. Proudie’s.--“There -the young Mary Beaufort listened to pious divines of every Christian -persuasion. There she gathered wisdom from real philosophers; and, in -the society of our best living poets, cherished an enthusiasm for all -that is great and good. On these evenings, Sir Robert Somerset’s house -reminded the visitor of what he had read or imagined of the School of -Athens.” - -Never do hero and heroine approach each other with such spasms of -modesty as Thaddeus and Miss Beaufort. Their hearts expand with -emotion, but their mutual sense of propriety keeps them remote from all -vulgar understandings. In vain “Mary’s rosy lips seemed to breathe balm -while she spoke.” In vain “her beautiful eyes shone with benevolence.” -The exile, standing proudly aloof, watches with bitter composure the -attentions of more frivolous suitors. “His arms were folded, his hat -pulled over his forehead; and his long dark eye-lashes shading his -downcast eyes imparted a dejection to his whole air, which wrapped her -weeping heart round and round with regretful pangs.” What with his -lashes, and his hidden griefs, the majesty of his mournful moods, and -the pleasing pensiveness of his lighter ones, Thaddeus so far eclipses -his English rivals that they may be pardoned for wishing he had kept -his charms in Poland. Who that has read the matchless paragraph which -describes the first unveiling of the hero’s symmetrical leg can forget -the sensation it produces? - -“Owing to the warmth of the weather, Thaddeus came out this morning -without boots; and it being the first time the exquisite proportion -of his limb had been seen by any of the present company excepting -Euphemia” (why had Euphemia been so favoured?), “Lascelles, bursting -with an emotion which he would not call envy, measured the count’s fine -leg with his scornful eye.” - -When Thaddeus at last expresses his attachment for Miss Beaufort, he -does so kneeling respectfully in her uncle’s presence, and in these -well-chosen words: “Dearest Miss Beaufort, may I indulge myself in the -idea that I am blessed with your esteem?” Whereupon Mary whispers to -Sir Robert: “Pray, Sir, desire him to rise. I am already sufficiently -overwhelmed!” and the solemn deed is done. - -“Thaddeus of Warsaw” may be called the “Last of the Heroes,” and take -rank with the “Last of the Mohicans,” the “Last of the Barons,” the -“Last of the Cavaliers,” and all the finalities of fiction. With him -died that noble race who expressed our great-grandmothers’ artless -ideals of perfection. Seventy years later, D’Israeli made a desperate -effort to revive a pale phantom of departed glory in “Lothair,” that -nursling of the gods, who is emphatically a hero, and nothing more. -“London,” we are gravely told, “was at Lothair’s feet.” He is at once -the hope of United Italy, and the bulwark of the English Establishment. -He is--at twenty-two--the pivot of fashionable, political, and clerical -diplomacy. He is beloved by the female aristocracy of Great Britain; -and mysterious ladies, whose lofty souls stoop to no conventionalities, -die happy with his kisses on their lips. Five hundred mounted gentlemen -compose his simple country escort, and the coat of his groom of the -chambers is made in Saville Row. What more could a hero want? What more -could be lavished upon him by the most indulgent of authors? Yet who -shall compare Lothair to the noble Thaddeus nodding his hearse-like -plumes,--Thaddeus dedicated to the “urbanity of the brave,” and -embalmed in the tears of Poland? The inscrutable creator of Lothair -presented his puppet to a mocking world; but all England and much of -the Continent dilated with correct emotions when Thaddeus, “uniting -to the courage of a man the sensibility of a woman, and the exalted -goodness of an angel” (I quote from an appreciative critic), knelt at -Miss Beaufort’s feet. - -Ten years later “Pride and Prejudice” made its unobtrusive appearance, -and was read by that “saving remnant” to whom is confided the -intellectual welfare of their land. Mrs. Elwood, the biographer of -England’s “Literary Ladies,” tells us, in the few careless pages -which she deems sufficient for Miss Austen’s novels, that there _are_ -people who think these stories “worthy of ranking with those of Madame -d’Arblay and Miss Edgeworth”; but that in their author’s estimation -(and, by inference, in her own), “they took up a much more humble -station.” Yet, tolerant even of such inferiority, Mrs. Elwood bids -us remember that although “the character of Emma is perhaps too -manœuvring and too plotting to be perfectly amiable,” that of Catherine -Morland “will not suffer greatly even from a comparison with Miss -Burney’s interesting Evelina”; and that “although one is occasionally -annoyed by the underbred personages of Miss Austen’s novels, the -annoyance is only such as we should feel if we were actually in their -company.” - -It was thus that our genteel great-grandmothers, enamoured of lofty -merit and of refined sensibility, regarded Elizabeth Bennet’s -relations. - - - - -ON THE SLOPES OF PARNASSUS - - Perhaps no man ever thought a line superfluous when he wrote it. We - are seldom tiresome to ourselves.--DR. JOHNSON. - - -It is commonly believed that the extinction of verse--of verse in the -bulk, which is the way in which our great-grandfathers consumed it--is -due to the vitality of the novel. People, we are told, read rhyme -and metre with docility, only because they wanted to hear a story, -only because there was no other way in which they could get plenty of -sentiment and romance. As soon as the novel supplied them with all -the sentiment they wanted, as soon as it told them the story in plain -prose, they turned their backs upon poetry forever. - -There is a transparent inadequacy in this solution of a problem which -still confronts the patient reader of buried masterpieces. Novels were -plenty when Mr. William Hayley’s “Triumphs of Temper” went through -twelve editions, and when Dr. Darwin’s “Botanic Garden” was received -with deferential delight. But could any dearth of fiction persuade us -now to read the “Botanic Garden”? Were we shipwrecked in company with -the “Triumphs of Temper,” would we ever finish the first canto? Novels -stood on every English book-shelf when Fox read “Madoc” aloud at night -to his friends, and they stayed up, so he says, an hour after their -bedtime to hear it. Could that miracle be worked to-day? Sir Walter -Scott, with indestructible amiability, reread “Madoc” to please Miss -Seward, who, having “steeped” her own eyes “in transports of tears and -sympathy,” wrote to him that it carried “a master-key to every bosom -which common good sense and anything resembling a human heart inhabit.” -Scott, unwilling to resign all pretensions to a human heart, tried hard -to share the Swan’s emotions, and failed. “I cannot feel quite the -interest I would like to do,” he patiently confessed. - -If Southey’s poems were not read as Scott’s and Moore’s and Byron’s -were read (give us another Byron, and we will read him with forty -thousand novels knocking at our doors!); if they were not paid for -out of the miraculous depths of Murray’s Fortunatus’s purse, they -nevertheless enjoyed a solid reputation of their own. They are -mentioned in all the letters of the period (save and except Lord -Byron’s ribald pages) with carefully measured praise, and they enabled -their author to accept the laureateship on self-respecting terms. They -are at least, as Sir Leslie Stephen reminds us, more readable than -Glover’s “Leonidas,” or Wilkie’s “Epigoniad,” and they are shorter, -too. Yet the “Leonidas,” an epic in nine books, went through four -editions; whereupon its elate author expanded it into twelve books; and -the public, undaunted, kept on buying it for years. The “Epigoniad” -is also in nine books. It is on record that Hume, who seldom dallied -with the poets, read all nine, and praised them warmly. Mr. Wilkie was -christened the “Scottish Homer,” and he bore that modest title until -his death. It was the golden age of epics. The ultimatum of the modern -publisher, “No poet need apply!” had not yet blighted the hopes and -dimmed the lustre of genius. “Everybody thinks he can write verse,” -observed Sir Walter mournfully, when called upon for the hundredth -time to help a budding aspirant to fame. - -With so many competitors in the field, it was uncommonly astute in -Mr. Hayley to address himself exclusively to that sex which poets -and orators call “fair.” There is a formal playfulness, a ponderous -vivacity about the “Triumphs of Temper,” which made it especially -welcome to women. In the preface of the first edition the author -gallantly laid his laurels at their feet, observing modestly that it -was his desire, however “ineffectual,” “to unite the sportive wildness -of Ariosto and the more serious sublime painting of Dante with some -portion of the enchanting elegance, the refined imagination, and the -moral graces of Pope; and to do this, if possible, without violating -those rules of propriety which Mr. Cambridge has illustrated, by -example as well as by precept, in the ‘Scribleriad,’ and in his -sensible preface to that elegant and learned poem.” - -Accustomed as we are to the confusions of literary perspective, -this grouping of Dante, Ariosto, and Mr. Cambridge does seem a -trifle foreshortened. But our ancestors had none of that sensitive -shrinking from comparisons which is so characteristic of our timid and -thin-skinned generation. They did not edge off from the immortals, -afraid to breathe their names lest it be held lèse-majesté; they used -them as the common currency of criticism. Why should not Mr. Hayley -have challenged a contrast with Dante and Ariosto, when Miss Seward -assured her little world--which was also Mr. Hayley’s world--that -he had the “wit and ease” of Prior, a “more varied versification” -than Pope, and “the fire and the invention of Dryden, without any -of Dryden’s absurdity”? Why should he have questioned her judgment, -when she wrote to him that Cowper’s “Task” would “please and instruct -the race of common readers,” who could not rise to the beauties of -Akenside, or Mason, or Milton, or of his (Mr. Hayley’s) “exquisite -‘Triumphs of Temper’”? There was a time, indeed, when she sorrowed lest -his “inventive, classical, and elegant muse” should be “deplorably -infected” by the growing influence of Wordsworth; but, that peril past, -he rose again, the bright particular star of a wide feminine horizon. - -Mr. Hayley’s didacticism is admirably adapted to his readers. The men -of the eighteenth century were not expected to keep their tempers; -it was the sweet prerogative of wives and daughters to smooth the -roughened current of family life. Accordingly the heroine of the -“Triumphs,” being bullied by her father, a fine old gentleman of the -Squire Western type, maintains a superhuman cheerfulness, gives up the -ball for which she is already dressed, wreathes her countenance in -smiles, and - - with sportive ease, - Prest her Piano-forte’s favourite keys. - -The men of the eighteenth century were all hard drinkers. Therefore Mr. -Hayley conjures the “gentle fair” to avoid even the mild debauchery of -siruped fruits,-- - - For the sly fiend, of every art possest, - Steals on th’ affection of her female guest; - And, by her soft address, seducing each, - Eager she plies them with a brandy peach. - They with keen lip the luscious fruit devour, - But swiftly feel its peace-destroying power. - Quick through each vein new tides of frenzy roll, - All evil passions kindle in the soul; - Drive from each feature every cheerful grace, - And glare ferocious in the sallow face; - The wounded nerves in furious conflict tear, - Then sink in blank dejection and despair. - -All this combustle, to use Gray’s favourite word, about a brandy peach! -But women have ever loved to hear their little errors magnified. In the -matter of poets, preachers and confessors, they are sure to choose the -denunciatory. - -Dr. Darwin, as became a scientist and a sceptic, addressed his -ponderous “Botanic Garden” to male readers. It is true that he offers -much good advice to women, urging upon them especially those duties and -devotions from which he, as a man, was exempt. It is true also that -when he first contemplated writing his epic, he asked Miss Seward--so, -at least, she said--to be his collaborator; an honour which she -modestly declined, as not “strictly proper for a female pen.” But the -peculiar solidity, the encyclopædic qualities of this masterpiece, -fitted it for such grave students as Mr. Edgeworth, who loved to -be amply instructed. It is a poem replete with information, and -information of that disconnected order in which the Edgeworthian soul -took true delight. We are told, not only about flowers and vegetables, -but about electric fishes, and the salt mines of Poland; about Dr. -Franklin’s lightning rod, and Mrs. Damer’s bust of the Duchess of -Devonshire; about the treatment of paralytics, and the mechanism of the -common pump. We pass from the death of General Wolfe at Quebec to the -equally lamented demise of a lady botanist at Derby. We turn from the -contemplation of Hannibal crossing the Alps to consider the charities -of a benevolent young woman named Jones. - - Sound, Nymphs of Helicon! the trump of Fame, - And teach Hibernian echoes Jones’s name; - Bind round her polished brow the civic bay, - And drag the fair Philanthropist to day. - -Pagan divinities disport themselves on one page, and Christian -saints on another. St. Anthony preaches, not to the little fishes of -the brooks and streams, but to the monsters of the deep,--sharks, -porpoises, whales, seals and dolphins, that assemble in a sort of -aquatic camp-meeting on the shores of the Adriatic, and “get religion” -in the true revivalist spirit. - - The listening shoals the quick contagion feel, - Pant on the floods, inebriate with their zeal; - Ope their wide jaws, and bow their slimy heads, - And dash with frantic fins their foamy beds. - -For a freethinker, Dr. Darwin is curiously literal in his treatment -of hagiology and the Scriptures. His Nebuchadnezzar (introduced as an -illustration of the “Loves of the Plants”) is not a bestialized mortal, -but a veritable beast, like one of Circe’s swine, only less easily -classified in natural history. - - Long eagle plumes his arching neck invest, - Steal round his arms and clasp his sharpened breast; - Dark brindled hairs in bristling ranks behind, - Rise o’er his back and rustle in the wind; - Clothe his lank sides, his shrivelled limbs surround, - And human hands with talons print the ground. - Lolls his red tongue, and from the reedy side - Of slow Euphrates laps the muddy tide. - Silent, in shining troups, the Courtier throng - Pursue their monarch as he crawls along; - E’en Beauty pleads in vain with smiles and tears, - Not Flattery’s self can pierce his pendant ears. - -The picture of the embarrassed courtiers promenading slowly after this -royal phenomenon, and of the lovely inconsiderates proffering their -vain allurements, is so ludicrous as to be painful. Even Miss Seward, -who held that the “Botanic Garden” combined “the sublimity of Michael -Angelo, the correctness and elegance of Raphael, with the glow of -Titian,” was shocked by Nebuchadnezzar’s pendant ears, and admitted -that the passage was likely to provoke inconsiderate laughter. - -The first part of Dr. Darwin’s poem, “The Economy of Vegetation,” was -warmly praised by critics and reviewers. Its name alone secured for it -esteem. A few steadfast souls, like Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, refused to -accept even vegetation from a sceptic’s hands; but it was generally -conceded that the poet had “entwined the Parnassian laurel with the -balm of Pharmacy” in a very creditable manner. The last four cantos, -however,--indiscreetly entitled “The Loves of the Plants,”--awakened -grave concern. They were held unfit for female youth, which, being -then taught driblets of science in a guarded and muffled fashion, was -not supposed to know that flowers had any sex, much less that they -practised polygamy. The glaring indiscretion of their behaviour in -the “Botanic Garden,” their seraglios, their amorous embraces and -involuntary libertinism, offended British decorum, and, what was -worse, exposed the poem to Canning’s pungent ridicule. When the “Loves -of the Triangles” appeared in the “Anti-Jacobin,” all England--except -Whigs and patriots who never laughed at Canning’s jokes--was moved to -inextinguishable mirth. The mock seriousness of the introduction and -argument, the “horrid industry” of the notes, the contrast between -the pensiveness of the Cycloid and the innocent playfulness of the -Pendulum, the solemn headshake over the licentious disposition of -Optics, and the description of the three Curves that requite the -passion of the Rectangle, all burlesque with unfeeling delight Dr. -Darwin’s ornate pedantry. - - Let shrill Acoustics tune the tiny lyre, - With Euclid sage fair Algebra conspire; - Let Hydrostatics, simpering as they go, - Lead the light Naiads on fantastic toe. - -The indignant poet, frigidly vain, and immaculately free from any -taint of humour, was as much scandalized as hurt by this light-hearted -mockery. Being a dictator in his own little circle at Derby, he was -naturally disposed to consider the “Anti-Jacobin” a menace to genius -and to patriotism. His criticisms and his prescriptions had hitherto -been received with equal submission. When he told his friends that -Akenside was a better poet than Milton,--“more polished, pure, and -dignified,” they listened with respect. When he told his patients -to eat acid fruits with plenty of sugar and cream, they obeyed -with alacrity. He had a taste for inventions, and first made Mr. -Edgeworth’s acquaintance by showing him an ingenious carriage of his -own contrivance, which was designed to facilitate the movements of the -horse, and enable it to turn with ease. The fact that Dr. Darwin was -three times thrown from this vehicle, and that the third accident lamed -him for life, in no way disconcerted the inventor or his friends, who -loved mechanism for its own sake, and apart from any given results. Dr. -Darwin defined a fool as one who never in his life tried an experiment. -So did Mr. Day, of “Sandford and Merton” fame, who experimented in the -training of animals, and was killed by an active young colt that had -failed to grasp the system. - -The “Botanic Garden” was translated into French, Italian, and -Portuguese, to the great relief of Miss Seward, who hated to think -that the immortality of such a work depended upon the preservation -of a single tongue. “Should that tongue perish,” she wrote proudly, -“translations would at least retain all the host of beauties which do -not depend upon felicities of verbal expression.” - -If the interminable epics which were so popular in these halcyon days -had condescended to the telling of stories, we might believe that they -were read, or at least occasionally read, as a substitute for prose -fiction. But the truth is that most of them are solid treatises on -morality, or agriculture, or therapeutics, cast into the blankest of -blank verse, and valued, presumably, for the sake of the information -they conveyed. Their very titles savour of statement rather than of -inspiration. Nobody in search of romance would take up Dr. Grainger’s -“Sugar Cane,” or Dyer’s “Fleece,” or the Rev. Richard Polwhele’s -“English Orator.” Nobody desiring to be idly amused would read the -“Vales of Weaver,” or a long didactic poem on “The Influence of Local -Attachment.” It was not because he felt himself to be a poet that Dr. -Grainger wrote the “Sugar Cane” in verse, but because that was the form -most acceptable to the public. The ever famous line, - - “Now Muse, let’s sing of rats!” - -which made merry Sir Joshua Reynolds and his friends, is indicative of -the good doctor’s struggles to employ an uncongenial medium. He wanted -to tell his readers how to farm successfully in the West Indies; how -to keep well in a treacherous climate; what food to eat, what drugs -to take, how to look after the physical condition of negro servants, -and guard them from prevalent maladies. These were matters on which -the author was qualified to speak, and on which he does speak with -all a physician’s frankness; but they do not lend themselves to lofty -strains. Whole pages of the “Sugar Cane” read like prescriptions and -dietaries done into verse. It is as difficult to sing with dignity -about a disordered stomach as about rats and cockroaches; and Dr. -Grainger’s determination to leave nothing untold leads him to dwell -with much feeling, but little grace, on all the disadvantages of the -tropics. - - Musquitoes, sand-flies, seek the sheltered roof, - And with fell rage the stranger guest assail, - Nor spare the sportive child; from their retreats - Cockroaches crawl displeasingly abroad. - -The truthfulness and sobriety of this last line deserve commendation. -Cockroaches in the open _are_ displeasing to sensitive souls; and a -footnote, half a page long, tells us everything we could possibly -desire--or fear--to know about these insects. As an example of Dr. -Grainger’s thoroughness in the treatment of such themes, I quote with -delight his approved method of poisoning alligators. - - With Misnian arsenic, deleterious bane, - Pound up the ripe cassada’s well-rasped root, - And form in pellets; these profusely spread - Round the Cane-groves where skulk the vermin-breed. - They, greedy, and unweeting of the bait, - Crowd to the inviting cates, and swift devour - Their palatable Death; for soon they seek - The neighbouring spring; and drink, and swell, and die. - -Then follow some very sensible remarks about the unwholesomeness of the -water in which the dead alligators are decomposing,--remarks which Mr. -Kipling has unconsciously parodied:-- - - But ’e gets into the drinking casks, and then o’ course we dies. - -The wonderful thing about the “Sugar Cane” is that it was read;--nay, -more, that it was read aloud at the house of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and -though the audience laughed, it listened. Dodsley published the poem in -handsome style; a second edition was called for; it was reprinted in -Jamaica, and pirated (what were the pirates thinking about!) in 1766. -Even Dr. Johnson wrote a friendly notice in the London “Chronicle,” -though he always maintained that the poet might just as well have sung -the beauties of a parsley-bed or of a cabbage garden. He took the same -high ground when Boswell called his attention to Dyer’s “Fleece.”--“The -subject, Sir, cannot be made poetical. How can a man write poetically -of serges and druggets?” - -It was not for the sake of sentiment or story that the English public -read “The Fleece.” Nor could it have been for practical guidance; for -farmers, even in 1757, must have had some musty almanacs, some plain -prose manuals to advise them. They could never have waited to learn -from an epic poem that - - the coughing pest - From their green pastures sweeps whole flocks away, - -or that - - Sheep also pleurisies and dropsies know, - -or that - - The infectious scab, arising from extremes - Of want or surfeit, is by water cured - Of lime, or sodden stave-acre, or oil - Dispersive of Norwegian tar. - -Did the British woolen-drapers of the period require to be told in -verse about - - Cheyney, and bayse, and serge, and alepine, - Tammy, and crape, and the long countless list - Of woolen webs. - -Surely they knew more about their own dry-goods than did Mr. Dyer. Is -it possible that British parsons read Mr. Polwhele’s “English Orator” -for the sake of his somewhat confused advice to preachers?-- - - Meantime thy Style familiar, that alludes - With pleasing Retrospect to recent Scenes - Or Incidents amidst thy Flock, fresh graved - On Memory, shall recall their scattered Thoughts, - And interest every Bosom. With the Voice - Of condescending Gentleness address - Thy kindred People. - -It was Miss Seward’s opinion that the neglect of Mr. Polwhele’s “poetic -writings” was a disgrace to literary England, from which we conclude -that the reverend author outwore the patience of his readers. “Mature -in dulness from his earliest years,” he had wisely adopted a profession -which gave his qualities room for expansion. What his congregation must -have suffered when he addressed it with “condescending gentleness,” we -hardly like to think; but free-born Englishmen, who were so fortunate -as not to hear him, refused to make good their loss by reading the -“English Orator,” even after it had been revised by a bishop. Miss -Seward praised it highly; in return for which devotion she was hailed -as a “Parnassian sister” in six benedictory stanzas. - - Still gratitude her stores among, - Shall bid the plausive poet sing; - And, if the last of all the throng - That rise on the poetic wing, - Yet not regardless of his destined way, - If Seward’s envied sanction stamps the lay. - -The Swan, indeed, was never without admirers. Her “Louisa; a Poetical -Novel in four Epistles,” was favourably noticed; Dr. Johnson praised -her ode on the death of Captain Cook; and no contributor to the Bath -Easton vase received more myrtle wreaths than she did. “Warble” was the -word commonly used by partial critics in extolling her verse. “Long may -she continue to warble as heretofore, in such numbers as few even of -our favourite bards would be shy to own.” Scott sorrowfully admitted -to Miss Baillie that he found these warblings--of which he was the -reluctant editor--“execrable”; and that the despair which filled his -soul on receiving Miss Seward’s letters gave him a lifelong horror -of sentiment; but for once it is impossible to sympathize with Sir -Walter’s sufferings. If he had never praised the verses, he would never -have been called upon to edit them; and James Ballantyne would have -been saved the printing of an unsalable book. There is no lie so little -worth the telling as that which is spoken in pure kindness to spare a -wholesome pang. - -It was, however, the pleasant custom of the time to commend and -encourage female poets, as we commend and encourage a child’s unsteady -footsteps. The generous Hayley welcomed with open arms these fair -competitors for fame. - - The bards of Britain with unjaundiced eyes - Will glory to behold such rivals rise. - -He ardently flattered Miss Seward, and for Miss Hannah More his -enthusiasm knew no bounds. - - But with a magical control, - Thy spirit-moving strain - Dispels the languor of the soul, - Annihilating pain. - -“Spirit-moving” seems the last epithet in the world to apply to Miss -More’s strains; but there is no doubt that the public believed her -to be as good a poet as a preacher, and that it supported her high -estimate of her own powers. After a visit to another lambent flame, -Mrs. Barbauld, she writes with irresistible gravity: - -“Mrs. B. and I have found out that we feel as little envy and malice -towards each other, as though we had neither of us attempted to ‘build -the lofty rhyme’; although she says this is what the envious and the -malicious can never be brought to believe.” - -Think of the author of “The Search after Happiness” and the author of -“A Poetical Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce” loudly refusing to envy each -other’s eminence! There is nothing like it in the strife-laden annals -of fame. - -Finally there stepped into the arena that charming embodiment of -the female muse, Mrs. Hemans; and the manly heart of Protestant -England warmed into homage at her shrine. From the days she “first -carolled forth her poetic talents under the animating influence of -an affectionate and admiring circle,” to the days when she faded -gracefully out of life, her “half-etherealized spirit” rousing itself -to dictate a last “Sabbath Sonnet,” she was crowned and garlanded -with bays. In the first place, she was fair to see,--Fletcher’s bust -shows real loveliness; and it was Christopher North’s opinion that “no -really ugly woman ever wrote a truly beautiful poem the length of her -little finger.” In the second place, she was sincerely pious; and the -Ettrick Shepherd reflected the opinion of his day when he said that -“without religion, a woman’s just an even-down deevil.” The appealing -helplessness of Mrs. Hemans’s gentle and affectionate nature, the -narrowness of her sympathies, and the limitations of her art were all -equally acceptable to critics like Gifford and Jeffrey, who held strict -views as to the rounding of a woman’s circle. Even Byron heartily -approved of a pious and pretty woman writing pious and pretty poems. -Even Wordsworth flung her lordly words of praise. Even Shelley wrote -her letters so eager and ardent that her very sensible mamma, Mrs. -Browne, requested him to cease. And as for Scott, though he confessed -she was too poetical for his taste, he gave her always the honest -friendship she deserved. It was to her he said, when some tourists left -them hurriedly at Newark Tower: “Ah, Mrs. Hemans, they little know what -two lions they are running away from.” It was to her he said, when she -was leaving Abbotsford: “There are some whom we meet, and should like -ever after to claim as kith and kin; and you are of this number.” - -Who would not gladly have written “The Siege of Valencia” and “The -Vespers of Palermo,” to have heard Sir Walter say these words? - - - - -THE LITERARY LADY - - Out-pensioners of Parnassus.--HORACE WALPOLE. - - -In this overrated century of progress, when women have few favours -shown them, but are asked to do their work or acknowledge their -deficiencies, the thoughtful mind turns disconsolately back to those -urbane days when every tottering step they took was patronized and -praised. It must have been very pleasant to be able to publish -“Paraphrases and Imitations of Horace,” without knowing a word of -Latin. Latin is a difficult language to study, and much useful time -may be wasted in acquiring it; therefore Miss Anna Seward eschewed -the tedious process which most translators deem essential. Yet her -paraphrases were held to have caught the true Horatian spirit; and -critics praised them all the more indulgently because of their author’s -feminine attitude to the classics. “Over the lyre of Horace,” she wrote -elegantly to Mr. Repton, “I throw an unfettered hand.” - -It may be said that critics were invariably indulgent to female -writers (listen to Christopher North purring over Mrs. Hemans!) until -they stepped, like Charlotte Brontë, from their appointed spheres, and -hotly challenged the competition of the world. This was a disagreeable -and a disconcerting thing for them to do. Nobody could patronize “Jane -Eyre,” and none of the pleasant things which were habitually murmured -about “female excellence and talent” seemed to fit this firebrand of a -book. Had Charlotte Brontë taken to heart Mrs. King’s “justly approved -work” on “The Beneficial Effects of the Christian Temper upon Domestic -Happiness,” she would not have shocked and pained the sensitive -reviewer of the “Quarterly.” - -It was in imitation of that beacon light, Miss Hannah More, that -Mrs. King wrote her famous treatise. It was in imitation of Miss -Hannah More that Mrs. Trimmer (abhorred by Lamb) wrote “The Servant’s -Friend,” “Help to the Unlearned,” and the “Charity School Spelling -Book,”--works which have passed out of the hands of men, but whose -titles survive to fill us with wonder and admiration. Was there ever -a time when the unlearned frankly recognized their ignorance, and when -a mistress ventured to give her housemaids a “Servant’s Friend”? Was -spelling in the charity schools different from spelling elsewhere, or -were charity-school children taught a limited vocabulary, from which -all words of rank had been eliminated? Those were days when the upper -classes were affable and condescending, when the rural poor--if not -intoxicated--curtsied and invoked blessings on their benefactors all -day long, and when benevolent ladies told the village politicians -what it was well for them to know. But even at this restful period, -a “Charity School Spelling Book” seems ill calculated to inspire the -youthful student with enthusiasm. - -Mrs. Trimmer’s attitude to the public was marked by that refined -diffidence which was considered becoming in a female. Her biographer -assures us that she never coveted literary distinction, although her -name was celebrated “wherever Christianity was established, and the -English language was spoken.” Royalty took her by the hand, and bishops -expressed their overwhelming sense of obligation. We sigh to think -how many ladies became famous against their wills a hundred and fifty -years ago, and how hard it is now to raise our aspiring heads. There -was Miss ---- or, as she preferred to be called, Mrs. ---- Carter, who -read Greek, and translated Epictetus, who was admired by “the great, -the gay, the good, and the learned”; yet who could with difficulty be -persuaded to bear the burden of her own eminence. It was the opinion of -her friends that Miss Carter had conferred a good deal of distinction -upon Epictetus by her translation,--by setting, as Dr. Young elegantly -phrased it, this Pagan jewel in gold. We find Mrs. Montagu writing -to this effect, and expressing in round terms her sense of the -philosopher’s obligation. “Might not such an honour from a fair hand -make even an Epictetus proud, without being censured for it? Nor let -Mrs. Carter’s amiable modesty become blameable by taking offence at the -truth, but stand the shock of applause which she has brought upon her -own head.” - -It was very comforting to receive letters like this, to be called -upon to brace one’s self against the shock of applause, instead of -against the chilly douche of disparagement. Miss Carter retorted, as in -duty bound, by imploring her friend to employ her splendid abilities -upon some epoch-making work,--some work which, while it entertained -the world, “would be applauded by angels, and registered in Heaven.” -Perhaps the uncertainty of angelic readers daunted even Mrs. Montagu, -for she never responded to this and many similar appeals; but suffered -her literary reputation to rest secure on her defence of Shakespeare, -and three papers contributed to Lord Lyttelton’s “Dialogues of the -Dead.” Why, indeed, should she have laboured further, when, to the end -of her long and honoured life, men spoke of her “transcendent talents,” -her “magnificent attainments”? Had she written a history of the world, -she could not have been more reverently praised. Lord Lyttelton, -transported with pride at having so distinguished a collaborator, wrote -to her that the French translation of the “Dialogues” was as well -done as “the poverty of the French tongue would permit”; and added -unctuously, “but such eloquence as yours must lose by being translated -into _any_ other language. Your form and manner would seduce Apollo -himself on his throne of criticism on Parnassus.” - -Lord Lyttelton was perhaps more remarkable for amiability than for -judgment; but Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, who wrote good letters himself, -ardently admired Mrs. Montagu’s, and pronounced her “the Madame du -Deffand of the English capital.” Cowper meekly admitted that she stood -at the head “of all that is called learned,” and that every critic -“veiled his bonnet before her superior judgment.” Even Dr. Johnson, -though he despised the “Dialogues,” and protested to the end of his -life that Shakespeare stood in no need of Mrs. Montagu’s championship, -acknowledged that the lady was well informed and intelligent. -“Conversing with her,” he said, “you may find variety in one”; and this -charming phrase stands now as the most generous interpretation of her -fame. It is something we can credit amid the bewildering nonsense which -was talked and written about a woman whose hospitality dazzled society, -and whose assertiveness dominated her friends. - -There were other literary ladies belonging to this charmed circle -whose reputations rested on frailer foundations. Mrs. Montagu _did_ -write the essay on Shakespeare and the three dialogues. Miss Carter -_did_ translate Epictetus. Mrs. Chapone _did_ write “Letters on the -Improvement of the Mind,” which so gratified George the Third and -Queen Charlotte that they entreated her to compose a second volume; -and she _did_ dally a little with verse, for one of her odes was -prefixed--Heaven knows why!--to Miss Carter’s “Epictetus”; and the -Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, even little Prince William, were -all familiar with this masterpiece. There never was a lady more -popular with a reigning house, and, when we dip into her pages, we -know the reason why. A firm insistence upon admitted truths, a loving -presentation of the obvious, a generous championship of those sweet -commonplaces we all deem dignified and safe, made her especially -pleasing to good King George and his consort. Even her letters are -models of sapiency. “Tho’ I meet with no absolutely perfect character,” -she writes to Sir William Pepys, “yet where I find a good disposition, -improved by good principles and virtuous habits, I feel a moral -assurance that I shall not find any flagrant vices in the same person, -and that I shall never see him fall into any very criminal action.” - -The breadth and tolerance of this admission must have startled her -correspondent, seasoned though he was to intellectual audacity. Nor was -Mrs. Chapone lacking in the gentle art of self-advancement; for, when -about to publish a volume of “Miscellanies,” she requested Sir William -to write an essay on “Affection and Simplicity,” or “Enthusiasm and -Indifference,” and permit her to print it as her own. “If your ideas -suit my way of thinking,” she tells him encouragingly, “I can cool -them down to my manner of writing, for we must not have a hotchpotch -of Styles; and if, for any reason, I should not be able to make use of -them, you will still have had the benefit of having written them, and -may peaceably possess your own property.” - -There are many ways of asking a favour; but to assume that you are -granting the favour that you ask shows spirit and invention. Had Mrs. -Chapone written nothing but this model of all begging letters, she -would be worthy to take high rank among the literary ladies of Great -Britain. - -It is more difficult to establish the claim of Mrs. Boscawen, who looms -nebulously on the horizon as the wife of an admiral, and the friend of -Miss Hannah More, from whom she received flowing compliments in the -“Bas Bleu.” - - Each art of conversation knowing, - High-bred, elegant Boscawen. - -We are told that this lady was “distinguished by the strength of her -understanding, the poignancy of her humour, and the brilliancy of -her wit”; but there does not survive the mildest joke, the smallest -word of wisdom to illustrate these qualities. Then there was Mrs. -Schimmelpenninck, whose name alone was a guarantee of immortality; -and the “sprightly and pleasing Mrs. Ironmonger”; and Miss Lee, -who could repeat the whole of Miss Burney’s “Cecilia” (a shocking -accomplishment); and the vivacious Miss Monckton, whom Johnson called -a dunce; and Miss Elizabeth Hamilton, a useful person, “equally -competent to form the minds and manners of the daughters of a nobleman, -and to reform the simple but idle habits of the peasantry”; and Mrs. -Bennet, whose letters--so Miss Seward tells us--“breathed Ciceronean -spirit and eloquence,” and whose poems revealed “the terse neatness, -humour, and gayety of Swift,” which makes it doubly distressful that -neither letters nor poems have survived. Above all, there was the -mysterious “Sylph,” who glides--sylphlike--through a misty atmosphere -of conjecture and adulation; and about whom we feel some of the fond -solicitude expressed over and over again by the letter-writers of this -engaging period. - -Translated into prose, the Sylph becomes Mrs. Agmondesham Vesey,-- - - Vesey, of verse the judge and friend,-- - -a fatuous deaf lady, with a taste for literary society, and a talent -for arranging chairs. She it was who first gathered the “Blues” -together, placing them in little groups--generally back to back--and -flitting so rapidly from one group to another, her ear-trumpet hung -around her neck, that she never heard more than a few broken sentences -of conversation. She had what Miss Hannah More amiably called “plastic -genius,” which meant that she fidgeted perpetually; and what Miss -Carter termed “a delightful spirit of innocent irregularity,” which -meant that she was inconsequent to the danger point. “She united,” -said Madame d’Arblay, “the unguardedness of childhood to a Hibernian -bewilderment of ideas which cast her incessantly into some burlesque -situation.” But her kind-heartedness (she proposed having her -drawing-room gravelled, so that a lame friend could walk on it without -slipping) made even her absurdities lovable, and her most fantastic -behaviour was tolerated as proof of her aerial essence. “There is -nothing of mere vulgar mortality about our Sylph,” wrote Miss Carter -proudly. - -It was in accordance with this pleasing illusion that, when Mrs. -Vesey took a sea voyage, her friends spoke of her as though she were -a mermaid, disporting herself in, instead of on, the ocean. They not -only held “the uproar of a stormy sea to be as well adapted to the -sublime of her imagination as the soft murmur of a gliding stream to -the gentleness of her temper” (so much might at a pinch be said about -any of us); but we find Miss Carter writing to Mrs. Montagu in this -perplexing strain:-- - -“I fancy our Sylph has not yet left the coral groves and submarine -palaces in which she would meet with so many of her fellow nymphs on -her way to England. I think if she had landed, we should have had some -information about it, either from herself or from somebody else who -knows her consequence to us.” - -The poor Sylph seems to have had rather a hard time of it after the -death of the Honourable Agmondesham, who relished his wife’s vagaries -so little, or feared them so much, that he left the bulk of his estate -to his nephew, a respectable young man with no unearthly qualities. -The heir, however, behaved generously to his widowed aunt, giving her -an income large enough to permit her to live with comfort, and to keep -her coach. Miss Carter was decidedly of the opinion that Mr. Vesey made -such a “detestable” will because he was lacking in sound religious -principles, and she expressed in plain terms her displeasure with her -friend for mourning persistently over the loss of one who “so little -deserved her tears.” But the Sylph, lonely, middle-aged, and deaf, -realized perhaps that her little day was over. Mrs. Montagu’s profuse -hospitality had supplanted “the biscuit’s ample sacrifice.” People no -longer cared to sit back to back, talking platitudes through long and -hungry evenings. The “innocent irregularity” deepened into melancholy, -into madness; and the Sylph, a piteous mockery of her old sweet foolish -self, faded away, dissolving like Niobe in tears. - -It may be noted that the mission of the literary lady throughout all -these happy years was to elevate and refine. Her attitude towards -matters of the intellect was one of obtrusive humility. It is recorded -that “an accomplished and elegant female writer” (the name, alas! -withheld) requested Sir William Pepys to mark all the passages in -Madame de Staël’s works which he considered “above her comprehension.” -Sir William “with ready wit” declined this invidious task; but agreed -to mark all he deemed “worthy of her attention.” We hardly know what -to admire the most in a story like this;--the lady’s modesty, Sir -William’s tact, or the revelation it affords of infinite leisure. When -we remember the relentless copiousness of Madame de Staël’s books, we -wonder if the amiable annotator lived long enough to finish his task. - -In matters of morality, however, the female pen was held to be a -bulwark of Great Britain. The ambition to prove that--albeit a -woman--one may be on terms of literary intimacy with the seven deadly -sins (“Je ne suis qu’un pauvre diable de perruquier, mais je ne crois -pas en Dieu plus que les autres”) had not yet dawned upon the feminine -horizon. The literary lady accepted with enthusiasm the limitations -of her sex, and turned them to practical account; she laid with them -the foundations of her fame. Mrs. Montagu, an astute woman of the -world, recognized in what we should now call an enfeebling propriety -her most valuable asset. It sanctified her attack upon Voltaire, it -enabled her to snub Dr. Johnson, and it made her, in the opinion of -her friends, the natural and worthy opponent of Lord Chesterfield. She -was entreated to come to the rescue of British morality by denouncing -that nobleman’s “profligate” letters; and we find the Rev. Montagu -Pennington lamenting years afterwards her refusal “to apply her wit and -genius to counteract the mischief which Lord Chesterfield’s volumes had -done.” - -Miss Hannah More’s dazzling renown rested on the same solid support. -She was so strong morally that to have cavilled at her intellectual -feebleness would have been deemed profane. Her advice (she spent the -best part of eighty-eight years in offering it) was so estimable that -its general inadequacy was never ascertained. Rich people begged her -to advise the poor. Great people begged her to advise the humble. -Satisfied people begged her to advise the discontented. Sir William -Pepys wrote to her in 1792, imploring her to avert from England the -threatened dangers of radicalism and a division of land by writing a -dialogue “between two persons of the lowest order,” in which should -be set forth the discomforts of land ownership, and the advantages -of labouring for small wages at trades. This simple and childlike -scheme would, in Sir William’s opinion, go far towards making English -workmen contented with their lot, and might eventually save the country -from the terrible bloodshed of France. Was ever higher tribute paid -to sustained and triumphant propriety? Look at Mary Wollstonecraft -vindicating the rights of woman in sordid poverty, in tears and shame; -and look at Hannah More, an object of pious pilgrimage at Cowslip -Green. Her sisters were awestruck at finding themselves the guardians -of such preëminence. Miss Seward eloquently addressed them as - - sweet satellites that gently bear - Your lesser radiance round this beamy star; - -and, being the humblest sisters ever known, they seemed to have liked -the appellation. They guarded their luminary from common contact with -mankind; they spoke of her as “she” (like Mr. Rider Haggard’s heroine), -and they explained to visitors how good and great she was, and what a -condescension it would be on her part to see them, when two peeresses -and a bishop had been turned away the day before. “It is an exquisite -pleasure,” wrote Miss Carter enthusiastically, “to find distinguished -talents and sublime virtue placed in such an advantageous situation”; -and the modern reader is reminded against his will of the lively old -actress who sighed out to the painter Mulready her unavailing regrets -over a misspent life. “Ah, Mulready, if I had only been virtuous, it -would have been pounds and pounds in my pocket.” - -“Harmonious virgins,” sneered Horace Walpole, “whose thoughts and -phrases are like their gowns, old remnants cut and turned”; and it -is painful to know that in these ribald words he is alluding to the -Swan of Lichfield, and to the “glowing daughter of Apollo,” Miss Helen -Maria Williams. The Swan probably never did have her gowns cut and -turned, for she was a well-to-do lady with an income of four hundred -pounds; and she lived very grandly in the bishop’s palace at Lichfield, -where her father (“an angel, but an ass,” according to Coleridge) had -been for many years a canon. But Apollo having, after the fashion of -gods, bequeathed nothing to his glowing daughter but the gift of song, -Miss Williams might occasionally have been glad of a gown to turn. -Her juvenile poem “Edwin and Eltruda” enriched her in fame only; but -“Peru,” being published by subscription (blessed days when friends -could be turned into subscribers!), must have been fairly remunerative; -and we hear of its author in London giving “literary breakfasts,” a -popular but depressing form of entertainment. If ever literature be -“alien to the natural man,” it is at the breakfast hour. Miss Williams -subsequently went to Paris, and became an ardent revolutionist, -greatly to the distress of poor Miss Seward, whose enthusiasm for the -cause of freedom had suffered a decline, and who kept imploring her -friend to come home. “Fly, my dear Helen, that land of carnage!” she -wrote beseechingly. But Helen couldn’t fly, being then imprisoned by -the ungrateful revolutionists, who seemed unable, or unwilling, to -distinguish friends from foes. She had moreover by that time allied -herself to Mr. John Hurford Stone, a gentleman of the strictest -religious views, but without moral prejudices, who abandoned his lawful -wife for Apollo’s offspring, and who, as a consequence, preferred -living on the Continent. Therefore Miss Williams fell forever from the -bright circle of literary stars; and Lady Morgan, who met her years -afterwards in Paris, had nothing more interesting to record than that -she had grown “immensely fat,”--an unpoetic and unworthy thing to do. -“For when corpulence, which is a gift of evil, cometh upon age, then -are vanished the days of romance and of stirring deeds.” - -Yet sentiment, if not romance, clung illusively to the literary lady, -even when she surrendered nothing to persuasion. Strange shadowy -stories of courtship are told with pathetic simplicity. Miss Carter, -“when she had nearly attained the mature age of thirty,” was wooed -by a nameless gentleman of unexceptionable character, whom “she was -induced eventually to refuse, in consequence of his having written -some verses, of the nature of which she disapproved.” Whether these -verses were improper (perish the thought!) or merely ill-advised, we -shall never know; but as the rejected suitor “expressed ever after a -strong sense of Miss Carter’s handsome behaviour to him,” there seems -to have been on his part something perilously akin to acquiescence. “I -wonder,” says the wise Elizabeth Bennet, “who first discovered the -efficacy of poetry in driving away love.” It is a pleasure to turn from -such uncertainties to the firm outlines and providential issues of -Miss Hannah More’s early attachment. When the wealthy Mr. Turner, who -had wooed and won the lady, manifested an unworthy reluctance to marry -her, she consented to receive, in lieu of his heart and hand, an income -of two hundred pounds a year, which enabled her to give up teaching, -and commence author at the age of twenty-two. The wedding day had been -fixed, the wedding dress was made, but the wedding bells were never -rung, and the couple--like the lovers in the story-books--lived happily -ever after. The only measure of retaliation which Miss More permitted -herself was to send Mr. Turner a copy of every book and of every tract -she wrote; while that gentleman was often heard to say, when the tracts -came thick and fast, that Providence had overruled his desire to make -so admirable a lady his wife, because she was destined for higher -things. - -It was reserved for the Lichfield Swan to work the miracle of -miracles, and rob love of inconstancy. She was but eighteen when she -inspired a passion “as fervent as it was lasting” in the breast of -Colonel Taylor, mentioned by discreet biographers as Colonel T. The -young man being without income, Mr. Seward, who was not altogether -an ass, declined the alliance; and when, four years later, a timely -inheritance permitted a renewal of the suit, Miss Seward had wearied of -her lover. Colonel Taylor accordingly married another young woman; but -the remembrance of the Swan, and an unfortunate habit he had acquired -of openly bewailing her loss, “clouded with gloom the first years of -their married life.” The patient Mrs. Taylor became in time so deeply -interested in the object of her husband’s devotion that she opened a -correspondence with Miss Seward,--who was the champion letter-writer -of England,--repeatedly sought to make her acquaintance, and “with -melancholy enthusiasm was induced to invest her with all the charms -imagination could devise, or which had been lavished upon her by -description.” - -This state of affairs lasted thirty years, at the end of which time -Colonel Taylor formed the desperate resolution of going to Lichfield, -and seeing his beloved one again. He went, he handed the parlour-maid -a prosaic card; and while Miss Seward--a stoutish, middle-aged, lame -lady--was adjusting her cap and kerchief, he strode into the hall, cast -one impassioned glance up the stairway, and rapidly left the house. -When asked by his wife why he had not stayed, he answered solemnly: -“The gratification must have been followed by pain and regret that -would have punished the temerity of the attempt. I had no sooner -entered the house than I became sensible of the perilous state of my -feelings, and fled with precipitation.” - -And the Swan was fifty-two! Well may we sigh over the days when the -Literary Lady not only was petted and praised, not only was the bulwark -of Church and State; but when she accomplished the impossible, and -kindled in man’s inconstant heart an inextinguishable flame. - - - - -THE CHILD - - I was not initiated into any rudiments ’till near four years of - age.--JOHN EVELYN. - - -The courage of mothers is proverbial. There is no danger which they -will not brave in behalf of their offspring. But I have always thought -that, for sheer foolhardiness, no one ever approached the English lady -who asked Dr. Johnson to read her young daughter’s translation from -Horace. He did read it, because the gods provided no escape; and he -told his experience to Miss Reynolds, who said soothingly, “And how -was it, Sir?” “Why, very well for a young Miss’s verses,” was the -contemptuous reply. “That is to say, as compared with excellence, -nothing; but very well for the person who wrote them. I am vexed at -being shown verses in that manner.” - -The fashion of focussing attention upon children had not in Dr. -Johnson’s day assumed the fell proportions which, a few years later, -practically extinguished childhood. It is true that he objected to -Mr. Bennet Langton’s connubial felicity, because the children were -“too much about”; and that he betrayed an unworthy impatience when the -ten little Langtons recited fables, or said their alphabets in Hebrew -for his delectation. It is true also that he answered with pardonable -rudeness when asked what was the best way to begin a little boy’s -education. He said it mattered no more how it was begun, that is, -what the child was taught first, than it mattered which of his little -legs he first thrust into his breeches,--a callous speech, painful to -parents’ ears. Dr. Johnson had been dead four years when Mrs. Hartley, -daughter of Dr. David Hartley of Bath, wrote to Sir William Pepys:-- - -“Education is the rage of the times. Everybody tries to make their -children more wonderful than any children of their acquaintance. The -poor little things are so crammed with knowledge that there is scant -time for them to obtain by exercise, and play, and _vacancy of mind_, -that strength of body which is much more necessary in childhood than -learning.” - -I am glad this letter went to Sir William, who was himself determined -that his children should not, at any rate, be less wonderful than -other people’s bantlings. When his eldest son had reached the mature -age of six, we find him writing to Miss Hannah More and Mrs. Chapone, -asking what books he shall give the poor infant to read, and explaining -to these august ladies his own theories of education. Mrs. Chapone, -with an enthusiasm worthy of Mrs. Blimber, replies that she sympathizes -with the rare delight it must be to him to teach little William Latin; -and that she feels jealous for the younger children, who, being yet -in the nursery, are denied their brother’s privileges. When the boy -is ten, Sir William reads to him “The Faerie Queene,” and finds -that he grasps “the beauty of the description and the force of the -allegory.” At eleven he has “an animated relish for Ovid and Virgil.” -And the more the happy father has to tell about the precocity of his -child, the more Mrs. Chapone stimulates and confounds him with tales -of other children’s prowess. When she hears that the “sweet Boy” is -to be introduced, at five, to the English classics, she writes at -once about a little girl, who, when “rather younger than he is” (the -bitterness of that!), “had several parts of Milton by heart.” These -“she understood so well as to apply to her Mother the speech of the -Elder Brother in ‘Comus,’ when she saw her uneasy for want of a letter -from the Dean; and began of her own accord with - - ‘Peace, Mother, be not over exquisite - To cast the fashion of uncertain evils’”;-- - -advice which would have exasperated a normal parent to the boxing point. - -There were few normal parents left, however, at this period, to stem -the tide of infantile precocity. Child-study was dawning as a new and -fascinating pursuit upon the English world; and the babes of Britain -responded nobly to the demands made upon their incapacity. Miss Anna -Seward lisped Milton at three, “recited poetical passages, with eyes -brimming with delight,” at five, and versified her favourite psalms at -nine. Her father, who viewed these alarming symptoms with delight, was -so ill-advised as to offer her, when she was ten, a whole half-crown, -if she would write a poem on Spring; whereupon she “swiftly penned” -twenty-five lines, which have been preserved to an ungrateful world, -and which shadow forth the painful prolixity of future days. At four -years of age, little Hannah More was already composing verses with -ominous ease. At five, she “struck mute” the respected clergyman of -the parish by her exhaustive knowledge of the catechism. At eight, -we are told her talents “were of such a manifestly superior order -that her father did not scruple to combine with the study of Latin -some elementary instruction in mathematics; a fact which her readers -might very naturally infer from the clear and logical cast of her -argumentative writings.” - -It is not altogether easy to trace the connection between Miss More’s -early sums and her argumentative writings; but, as an illustration of -her logical mind, I may venture to quote a “characteristic” anecdote, -reverently told by her biographer, Mr. Thompson. A young lady, -whose sketches showed an unusual degree of talent, was visiting in -Bristol; and her work was warmly admired by Miss Mary, Miss Sally, -Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Patty More. Hannah alone withheld all word -of commendation, sitting in stony silence whenever the drawings were -produced; until one day she found the artist hard at work, putting a -new binding on a petticoat. _Then_, “fixing her brilliant eyes with -an expression of entire approbation upon the girl, she said: ‘Now, my -dear, that I find you can employ yourself usefully, I will no longer -forbear to express my admiration of your drawings.’” - -Only an early familiarity with the multiplication table could have made -so ruthless a logician. - -If Dr. Johnson, being childless, found other people’s children in -his way, how fared the bachelors and spinsters who, as time went on, -were confronted by a host of infant prodigies; who heard little Anna -Letitia Aikin--afterwards Mrs. Barbauld--read “as well as most women” -at two and a half years of age; and little Anna Maria Porter declaim -Shakespeare “with precision of emphasis and firmness of voice” at -five; and little Alphonso Hayley recite a Greek ode at six. We wonder -if anybody ever went twice to homes that harboured childhood; and we -sympathize with Miss Ferrier’s bitterness of soul, when she describes a -family dinner at which Eliza’s sampler and Alexander’s copy-book are -handed round to the guests, and Anthony stands up and repeats “My name -is Norval” from beginning to end, and William Pitt is prevailed upon to -sing the whole of “God save the King.” It was also a pleasant fashion -of the time to write eulogies on one’s kith and kin. Sisters celebrated -their brothers’ talents in affectionate verse, and fathers confided to -the world what marvellous children they had. Even Dr. Burney, a man of -sense, poetizes thus on his daughter Susan:-- - - Nor did her intellectual powers require - The usual aid of labour to inspire - Her soul with prudence, wisdom, and a taste - Unerring in refinement, sound and chaste. - -This was fortunate for Susan, as most young people of the period were -compelled to labour hard. There was a ghastly pretence on the part -of parents that children loved their tasks, and that to keep them -employed was to keep them happy. Sir William Pepys persuaded himself -without much difficulty that little William, who had weak eyes and -nervous headaches, relished Ovid and Virgil. A wonderful and terrible -letter written in 1786 by the Baroness de Bode, an Englishwoman -married to a German and living at Deux-Ponts, lays bare the process by -which ordinary children were converted into the required miracles of -precocity. Her eldest boys, aged eight and nine, appear to have been -the principal victims. The business of their tutor was to see that they -were “fully employed,” and this is an account of their day. - -“In their walks he [the tutor] teaches them natural history and botany, -not dryly as a task, but practically, which amuses them very much. In -their hours of study come drawing, writing, reading, and summing. Their -lesson in writing consists of a theme which they are to translate into -three languages, and sometimes into Latin, for they learn that a little -also. The boys learn Latin as a recreation, and not as a task, as is -the custom in England. Perhaps _one or two hours a day_ is at most all -that is given to that study. ’Tis certainly not so dry a study, when -learnt like modern languages. We have bought them the whole of the -Classical Authors, so that they can instruct themselves if they will; -between ninety and a hundred volumes in large octavo. You would be -surprised,--even Charles Auguste, who is only five, reads German well, -and French tolerably. They all write very good hands, both in Roman and -German texts. Clem and Harry shall write you a letter in English, and -send you a specimen of their drawing. Harry (the second) writes musick, -too. He is a charming boy, improves very much in all his studies, plays -very prettily indeed upon the harpsichord, and plays, too, all tunes -by ear. Clem will, I think, play well on the violin; but ’tis more -difficult in the beginning than the harpsichord. He is at this moment -taking his lesson, the master accompanying him on the pianoforte; and -when Henry plays that, the master accompanies on the violin, which -forms them both, and pleases them at the same time. In the evening -their tutor generally recounts to them very minutely some anecdote from -history, which imprints it on the memory, amuses them, and hurts no -eyes.” - -There is nothing like it on record except the rule of life which -Frederick William the First drew up for little Prince Fritz, when that -unfortunate child was nine years old, and which disposed of his day, -hour by hour, and minute by minute. But then Frederick William--a -truth-teller if a tyrant--made no idle pretence of pleasing and amusing -his son. The unpardonable thing about the Baroness de Bode is her -smiling assurance that one or two hours of Latin a day afforded a -pleasant pastime for children of eight and nine. - -This was, however, the accepted theory of education. It is faithfully -reflected in all the letters and literature of the time. When Miss -More’s redoubtable “Cœlebs” asks Lucilla Stanley’s little sister why -she is crowned with woodbine, the child replies: “Oh, sir, it is -because it is my birthday. I am eight years old to-day. I gave up all -my gilt books with pictures this day twelvemonth; and to-day I give -up all my story-books, and I am now going to read such books as men -and women read.” Whereupon the little girl’s father--that model father -whose wisdom flowers into many chapters of counsel--explains that he -makes the renouncing of baby books a kind of epoch in his daughters’ -lives; and that by thus distinctly marking the period, he wards off -any return to the immature pleasures of childhood. “We have in our -domestic plan several of these artificial divisions of life. These -little celebrations are eras that we use as marking-posts from which we -set out on some new course.” - -Yet the “gilt books,” so ruthlessly discarded at eight years of age, -were not all of an infantile character. For half a century these famous -little volumes, bound in Dutch gilt paper--whence their name--found -their way into every English nursery, and provided amusement and -instruction for every English child. They varied from the “histories” -of Goody Two-Shoes and Miss Sally Spellwell to the “histories” of Tom -Jones and Clarissa Harlowe, “abridged for the amusement of youth”; and -from “The Seven Champions of Christendom” to “The First Principles -of Religion, and the Existence of a Deity; Explained in a Series -of Conversations, Adapted to the Capacity of the Infant Mind.” The -capacity of the infant mind at the close of the eighteenth century must -have been something very different from the capacity of the infant mind -to-day. In a gilt-book dialogue (1792) I find a father asking his tiny -son: “Dick, have you got ten lines of Ovid by heart?” - -“Yes, Papa, and I’ve wrote my exercise.” - -“Very well, then, you shall ride with me. The boy who does a little at -seven years old, will do a great deal when he is fourteen.” - -This was poor encouragement for Dick, who had already tasted the sweets -of application. It was better worth while for Miss Sally Spellwell to -reach the perfection which her name implies, for _she_ was adopted by -a rich old lady with a marriageable son,--“a young Gentleman of such -purity of Morals and good Understanding as is not everywhere to be -found.” In the breast of this paragon “strange emotions arise” at sight -of the well-informed orphan; his mother, who sets a proper value on -orthography, gives her full consent to their union; and we are swept -from the contemplation of samplers and hornbooks to the triumphant -conclusion: “Miss Sally Spellwell now rides in her coach and six.” Then -follows the unmistakable moral:-- - - If Virtue, Learning, Goodness are your Aim, - Each pretty Miss may hope to do the same; - -an anticipation which must have spurred many a female child to -diligence. There was no ill-advised questioning of values in our -great-grandmothers’ day to disturb this point of view. As the excellent -Mrs. West observed in her “Letters to a young Lady,” a book sanctioned -by bishops, and dedicated to the Queen: “We unquestionably were created -to be the wedded mates of man. Nature intended that man should sue, and -woman coyly yield.” - -The most appalling thing about the precocious young people of this -period was the ease with which they slipped into print. Publishers were -not then the adamantine race whose province it is now to blight the -hopes of youth. They beamed with benevolence when the first fruits of -genius were confided to their hands. Bishop Thirlwall’s first fruits, -his “Primitiæ,” were published when he was eleven years old, with a -preface telling the public what a wonderful boy little Connop was;--how -he studied Latin at three, and read Greek with ease and fluency at -four, and wrote with distinction at seven. It is true that the parent -Thirlwall appears to have paid the costs, to have launched his son’s -“slender bark” upon seas which proved to be stormless. It is true also -that the bishop suffered acutely in later years from this youthful -production, and destroyed every copy he could find. But there was no -proud and wealthy father to back young Richard Polwhele, who managed, -when he was a schoolboy in Cornwall, to get his first volume of verse -published anonymously. It was called “The Fate of Llewellyn,” and was -consistently bad, though no worse, on the whole, than his maturer -efforts. The title-page stated modestly that the writer was “a young -gentleman of Truro School”; whereupon an ill-disposed critic in the -“Monthly Review” intimated that the master of Truro School would do -well to keep his young gentlemen out of print. Dr. Cardew, the said -master, retorted hotly that the book had been published without his -knowledge, and evinced a lack of appreciation, which makes us fear that -his talented pupil had a bad half-hour at his hands. - -Miss Anna Maria Porter--she who delighted “critical audiences” by -reciting Shakespeare at five--published her “Artless Tales” at -fifteen; and Mrs. Hemans was younger still when her “Blossoms of -Spring” bloomed sweetly upon English soil. Some of the “Blossoms” had -been written before she was ten. The volume was a “fashionable quarto,” -was dedicated to that hardy annual, the Prince Regent, and appears to -have been read by adults. It is recorded that an unkind notice sent the -little girl crying to bed; but as her “England and Spain; or Valour -and Patriotism” was published nine months later, and as at eighteen -she “beamed forth with a strength and brilliancy that must have shamed -her reviewer,” we cannot feel that her poetic development was very -seriously retarded. - -And what of the marvellous children whose subsequent histories have -been lost to the world? What of the two young prodigies of Lichfield, -“Aonian flowers of early beauty and intelligence,” who startled Miss -Seward and her friends by their “shining poetic talents,” and then -lapsed into restful obscurity? What of the wonderful little girl (ten -years old) whom Miss Burney saw at Tunbridge Wells; who sang “like -an angel,” conversed like “an informed, cultivated, and sagacious -woman,” played, danced, acted with all the grace of a comédienne, wept -tears of emotion without disfiguring her pretty face, and, when asked -if she read the novels of the day (what a question!), replied with a -sigh: “But too often! I wish I did not.” Miss Burney and Mrs. Thrale -were so impressed--as well they might be--by this little Selina Birch, -that they speculated long and fondly upon the destiny reserved for one -who so easily eclipsed the other miraculous children of this highly -miraculous age. - -“Doubtful as it is whether we shall ever see the sweet Syren again,” -writes Miss Burney, “nothing, as Mrs. Thrale said to her” (this, too, -was well advised), “can be more certain than that we shall hear of her -again, let her go whither she will. Charmed as we all were, we agreed -that to have the care of her would be distraction. ‘She seems the girl -in the world,’ Mrs. Thrale wisely said, ‘to attain the highest reach -of human perfection as a man’s mistress. As such she would be a second -Cleopatra, and have the world at her command.’ - -“Poor thing! I hope to Heaven she will escape such sovereignty and such -honours!” - -She did escape scot-free. Whoever married--let us hope he married--Miss -Birch, was no Mark Antony to draw fame to her feet. His very name -is unknown to the world. Perhaps, as “Mrs.--Something--Rogers,” she -illustrated in her respectable middle age that beneficent process by -which Nature frustrates the educator, and converts the infant Cleopatra -or the infant Hypatia into the rotund matron, of whom she stands -permanently in need. - - - - -THE EDUCATOR - - The Schoolmaster is abroad.--LORD BROUGHAM. - - -It is recorded that Boswell once said to Dr. Johnson, “If you had had -children, would you have taught them anything?” and that Dr. Johnson, -out of the fulness of his wisdom, made reply: “I hope that I should -have willingly lived on bread and water to obtain instruction for them; -but I would not have set their future friendship to hazard for the -sake of thrusting into their heads knowledge of things for which they -might have neither taste nor necessity. You teach your daughters the -diameters of the planets, and wonder, when you have done it, that they -do not delight in your company.” - -It is the irony of circumstance that Dr. Johnson and Charles Lamb -should have been childless, for they were the two eminent Englishmen -who, for the best part of a century, respected the independence of -childhood. They were the two eminent Englishmen who could have been -trusted to let their children alone. Lamb was nine years old when Dr. -Johnson died. He was twenty-seven when he hurled his impotent anathemas -at the heads of “the cursed Barbauld crew,” “blights and blasts of all -that is human in man and child.” By that time the educator’s hand lay -heavy on schoolroom and nursery. In France, Rousseau and Mme. de Genlis -had succeeded in interesting parents so profoundly in their children -that French babies led a _vie de parade_. Their toilets and their -meals were as open to the public as were the toilets and the meals of -royalty. Their bassinettes appeared in salons, and in private boxes -at the playhouse; and it was an inspiring sight to behold a French -mother fulfilling her sacred office while she enjoyed the spectacle -on the stage. In England, the Edgeworths and Mr. Day had projected a -system of education which isolated children from common currents of -life, placed them at variance with the accepted usages of society, -and denied them that wholesome neglect which is an important factor -in self-development. The Edgeworthian child became the pivot of the -household, which revolved warily around him, instructing him whenever -it had the ghost of a chance, and guarding him from the four winds -of heaven. He was not permitted to remain ignorant upon any subject, -however remote from his requirements; but all information came filtered -through the parental mind, so that the one thing he never knew was the -world of childish beliefs and happenings. Intercourse with servants was -prohibited; and it is pleasant to record that Miss Edgeworth found even -Mrs. Barbauld a dangerous guide, because little Charles of the “Early -Lessons” asks his nurse to dress him in the mornings. Such a personal -appeal, showing that Charles was on speaking terms with the domestics, -was something which, in Miss Edgeworth’s opinion, no child should ever -read; and she praises the solicitude of a mother who blotted out this, -and all similar passages, before confiding the book to her infant son. -He might--who knows?--have been so far corrupted as to ask his own -nurse to button him up the next day. - -Another parent, still more highly commended, found something to erase -in _all_ her children’s books; and Miss Edgeworth describes with -grave complacency this pathetic little library, scored, blotted, and -mutilated, before being placed on the nursery shelves. The volumes -were, she admits, hopelessly disfigured; “but shall the education of a -family be sacrificed to the beauty of a page? Few books can safely be -given to children without the previous use of the pen, the pencil, and -the scissors. These, in their corrected state, have sometimes a few -words erased, sometimes half a page. Sometimes many pages are cut out.” - -Even now one feels a pang of pity for the little children who, more -than a hundred years ago, were stopped midway in a story by the -absence of half a dozen pages. Even now one wonders how much furtive -curiosity was awakened by this process of elimination. To hover -perpetually on the brink of the concealed and the forbidden does not -seem a wholesome situation; and a careful perusal of that condemned -classic, “Bluebeard,” might have awakened this excellent mother to -the risks she ran. There can be no heavier handicap to any child than -a superhumanly wise and watchful custodian, whether the custody be -parental, or relegated to some phœnix of a tutor like Mr. Barlow, or -that cock-sure experimentalist who mounts guard over “Émile,” teaching -him with elaborate artifice the simplest things of life. We know how -Tommy Merton fell from grace when separated from Mr. Barlow; but what -_would_ have become of Émile if “Jean Jacques” had providentially -broken his neck? What would have become of little Caroline and Mary -in Mary Wollstonecraft’s “Original Stories,” if Mrs. Mason--who is -Mr. Barlow in petticoats--had ceased for a short time “regulating the -affections and forming the minds” of her helpless charges? All these -young people are so scrutinized, directed, and controlled, that their -personal responsibility has been minimized to the danger point. In the -name of nature, in the name of democracy, in the name of morality, they -are pushed aside from the blessed fellowship of childhood, and from the -beaten paths of life. - -That Mary Wollstonecraft should have written the most priggish little -book of her day is one of those pleasant ironies which relieves the -tenseness of our pity for her fate. Its publication is the only -incident of her life which permits the shadow of a smile; and even here -our amusement is tempered by sympathy for the poor innocents who were -compelled to read the “Original Stories,” and to whom even Blake’s -charming illustrations must have brought scant relief. The plan of the -work is one common to most juvenile fiction of the period. Caroline -and Mary, being motherless, are placed under the care of Mrs. Mason, a -lady of obtrusive wisdom and goodness, who shadows their infant lives, -moralizes over every insignificant episode, and praises herself with -honest assiduity. If Caroline is afraid of thunderstorms, Mrs. Mason -explains that _she_ fears no tempest, because “a mind is never truly -great until the love of virtue overcomes the fear of death.” If Mary -behaves rudely to a visitor, Mrs. Mason contrasts her pupil’s conduct -with her own. “I have accustomed myself to think of others, and what -they will suffer on all occasions,” she observes; “and this loathness -to offend, or even to hurt the feelings of another, is an instantaneous -spring which actuates my conduct, and makes me kindly affected to -everything that breathes.... Perhaps the greatest pleasure I have -ever received has arisen from the habitual exercise of charity in its -various branches.” - -The stories with which this monitress illustrates her precepts are -drawn from the edifying annals of the neighbourhood, which is rich -in examples of vice and virtue. On the one hand we have the pious -Mrs. Trueman, the curate’s wife, who lives in a rose-covered cottage, -furnished with books and musical instruments; and on the other, we have -“the profligate Lord Sly,” and Miss Jane Fretful, who begins by kicking -the furniture when she is in a temper, and ends by alienating all her -friends (including her doctor), and dying unloved and unlamented. -How far her mother should be held responsible for this excess of -peevishness, when she rashly married a gentleman named Fretful, is -not made clear; but all the characters in the book live nobly, or -ignobly, up to their patronymics. When Mary neglects to wash her -face--apparently that was all she ever washed--or brush her teeth in -the mornings, Mrs. Mason for some time only hints her displeasure, -“not wishing to burden her with precepts”; and waits for a “glaring -example” to show the little girl the unloveliness of permanent dirt. -This example is soon afforded by Mrs. Dowdy, who comes opportunely to -visit them, and whose reluctance to perform even the simple ablutions -common to the period is as resolute as Slovenly Peter’s. - -In the matter of tuition, Mrs. Mason is comparatively lenient. Caroline -and Mary, though warned that “idleness must always be intolerable, -because it is only an irksome consciousness of existence” (words -which happily have no meaning for childhood), are, on the whole, -less saturated with knowledge than Miss Edgeworth’s Harry and Lucy; -and Harry and Lucy lead rollicking lives by contrast with “Edwin and -Henry,” or “Anna and Louisa,” or any other little pair of heroes and -heroines. Edwin and Henry are particularly ill used, for they are -supposed to be enjoying a holiday with their father, “the worthy Mr. -Friendly,” who makes “every domestic incident, the vegetable world, -sickness and death, a real source of instruction to his beloved -offspring.” How glad those boys must have been to get back to school! -Yet they court disaster by asking so many questions. All the children -in our great-grandmothers’ story-books ask questions. All lay -themselves open to attack. If they drink a cup of chocolate, they want -to know what it is made of, and where cocoanuts grow. If they have a -pudding for dinner, they are far more eager to learn about sago and the -East Indies than to eat it. They put intelligent queries concerning the -slave-trade, and make remarks that might be quoted in Parliament; yet -they are as ignorant of the common things of life as though new-born -into the world. In a book called “Summer Rambles, or Conversations -Instructive and Amusing, for the Use of Children,” published in 1801, -a little girl says to her mother: “Vegetables? I do not know what they -are. Will you tell me?” And the mother graciously responds: “Yes, with -a great deal of pleasure. Peas, beans, potatoes, carrots, turnips, and -cabbages are vegetables.” - -At least the good lady’s information was correct as far as it went, -which was not always the case. The talented governess in “Little -Truths” warns her pupils not to swallow young frogs out of bravado, -lest perchance they should mistake and swallow a toad, which would -poison them; and in a “History of Birds and Beasts,” intended for very -young children, we find, underneath a woodcut of a porcupine, this -unwarranted and irrelevant assertion:-- - - This creature shoots his pointed quills, - And beasts destroys, and men; - But more the ravenous lawyer kills - With his half-quill, the pen. - -It was thus that natural history was taught in the year 1767. - -The publication in 1798 of Mr. Edgeworth’s “Practical Education” (Miss -Edgeworth was responsible for some of the chapters) gave a profound -impetus to child-study. Little boys and girls were dragged from the -obscure haven of the nursery, from their hornbooks, and the casual -slappings of nursery-maids, to be taught and tested in the light of -day. The process appears to have been deeply engrossing. Irregular -instruction, object lessons, and experimental play afforded scant -respite to parent or to child. “Square and circular bits of wood, -balls, cubes, and triangles” were Mr. Edgeworth’s first substitutes -for toys; to be followed by “card, pasteboard, substantial but not -sharp-pointed scissors, wire, gum, and wax.” It took an active mother -to superintend this home kindergarten, to see that the baby did not -poke the triangle into its eye, and to relieve Tommy at intervals -from his coating of gum and wax. When we read further that “children -are very fond of attempting experiments in dyeing, and are very -curious about vegetable dyes,” we gain a fearful insight into parental -pleasures and responsibilities a hundred years ago. - -Text-book knowledge was frowned upon by the Edgeworths. We know how the -“good French governess” laughs at her clever pupil who has studied the -“Tablet of Memory,” and who can say when potatoes were first brought -into England, and when hair powder was first used, and when the first -white paper was made. The new theory of education banished the “Tablet -of Memory,” and made it incumbent upon parent or teacher to impart -in conversation such facts concerning potatoes, powder, and paper -as she desired her pupils to know. If books were used, they were of -the deceptive order, which purposed to be friendly and entertaining. -A London bookseller actually proposed to Godwin “a delightful work -for children,” which was to be called “A Tour through Papa’s House.” -The object of this precious volume was to explain casually how and -where Papa’s furniture was made, his carpets were woven, his curtains -dyed, his kitchen pots and pans called into existence. Even Godwin, -who was not a bubbling fountain of humour, saw the absurdity of such -a book; and recommended in its place “Robinson Crusoe,” “if weeded -of its Methodism” (alas! poor Robinson!), “The Seven Champions of -Christendom,” and “The Arabian Nights.” - -The one great obstacle in the educator’s path (it has not yet been -wholly levelled) was the proper apportioning of knowledge between -boys and girls. It was hard to speed the male child up the stony -heights of erudition; but it was harder still to check the female -child at the crucial point, and keep her tottering decorously behind -her brother. In 1774 a few rash innovators conceived the project of -an advanced school for girls; one that should approach from afar -a college standard, and teach with thoroughness what it taught at -all; one that might be trusted to broaden the intelligence of women, -without lessening their much-prized femininity. It was even proposed -that Mrs. Barbauld, who was esteemed a very learned lady, should take -charge of such an establishment; but the plan met with no approbation -at her hands. In the first place she held that fifteen was not an age -for school-life and study, because then “the empire of the passions -is coming on”; and in the second place there was nothing she so -strongly discountenanced as thoroughness in a girl’s education. On -this point she had no doubts, and no reserves. “Young ladies,” she -wrote, “ought to have only such a general tincture of knowledge as to -make them agreeable companions to a man of sense, and to enable them -to find rational entertainment for a solitary hour. They should gain -these accomplishments in a quiet and unobserved manner. The thefts of -knowledge in our sex are connived at, only while carefully concealed; -and, if displayed, are punished with disgrace. The best way for women -to acquire knowledge is from conversation with a father, a brother, or -a friend; and by such a course of reading as they may recommend.” - -There was no danger that an education conducted on these lines would -result in an undue development of intelligence, would lift the young -lady above “her own mild and chastened sphere.” In justice to Mrs. -Barbauld we must admit that she but echoed the sentiments of her day. -“Girls,” said Miss Hannah More, “should be led to distrust their own -judgments.” They should be taught to give up their opinions, and to -avoid disputes, “even if they know they are right.” The one fact -impressed upon the female child was her secondary place in the scheme -of creation; the one virtue she was taught to affect was delicacy; the -one vice permitted to her weakness was dissimulation. Even her play was -not like her brother’s play,--a reckless abandonment to high spirits; -it was play within the conscious limits of propriety. In one of Mrs. -Trimmer’s books, a model mother hesitates to allow her eleven-year-old -daughter to climb three rounds of a ladder, and look into a robin’s -nest, four feet from the ground. It was not a genteel thing for a -little girl to do. Even her schoolbooks were not like her brother’s -schoolbooks. They were carefully adapted to her limitations. Mr. Thomas -Gisborne, who wrote a much-admired work entitled “An Enquiry into the -Duties of the Female Sex,” was of the opinion that geography might -be taught to girls without reserve; but that they should learn only -“select parts” of natural history, and, in the way of science, only a -few “popular and amusing facts.” A “Young Lady’s Guide to Astronomy” -was something vastly different from the comprehensive system imparted -to her brother. - -In a very able and subtle little book called “A Father’s Legacy to his -Daughters,” by Dr. John Gregory of Edinburgh,-- - - He whom each virtue fired, each grace refined, - Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind![1] - ---we find much earnest counsel on this subject. Dr. Gregory was an -affectionate parent. He grudged his daughters no material and no -intellectual advantage; but he was well aware that by too great -liberality he imperilled their worldly prospects. Therefore, although -he desired them to be well read and well informed, he bade them never -to betray their knowledge to the world. Therefore, although he desired -them to be strong and vigorous,--to walk, to ride, to live much in -the open air,--he bade them never to make a boast of their endurance. -Rude health, no less than scholarship, was the exclusive prerogative -of men. His deliberate purpose was to make them rational creatures, -taking clear and temperate views of life; but he warned them all the -more earnestly against the dangerous indulgence of seeming wiser than -their neighbours. “Be even cautious in displaying your good sense,” -writes this astute and anxious father. “It will be thought you assume -a superiority over the rest of your company. But if you happen to have -any learning, keep it a profound secret, especially from men, who are -apt to look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts -and cultivated understanding.” - -This is plain speaking. And it must be remembered that “learning” was -not in 1774, nor for many years afterwards, the comprehensive word it -is to-day. A young lady who could translate a page of Cicero was held -to be learned to the point of pedantry. What reader of “Cœlebs”--if -“Cœlebs” still boasts a reader--can forget that agitating moment when, -through the inadvertence of a child, it is revealed to the breakfast -table that Lucilla Stanley studies Latin every morning with her father. -Overpowered by the intelligence, Cœlebs casts “a timid eye” upon his -mistress, who is covered with confusion. She puts the sugar into the -cream jug, and the tea into the sugar basin; and finally, unable to -bear the mingled awe and admiration awakened by this disclosure of -her scholarship, she slips out of the room, followed by her younger -sister, and commiserated by her father, who knows what a shock her -native delicacy has received. Had the fair Lucilla admitted herself -to be an expert tight-rope dancer, she could hardly have created more -consternation. - -No wonder Dr. Gregory counselled his daughters to silence. Lovers -less generous than Cœlebs might well have been alienated by such -disqualifications. “Oh, how lovely is a maid’s ignorance!” sighs -Rousseau, contemplating with rapture the many things that Sophie -does not know. “Happy the man who is destined to teach her. She will -never aspire to be the tutor of her husband, but will be content to -remain his pupil. She will not endeavour to mould his tastes, but will -relinquish her own. She will be more estimable to him than if she were -learned. It will be his pleasure to enlighten her.” - -This was a well-established point of view, and English Sophies were -trained to meet it with becoming deference. They heard no idle prating -about an equality which has never existed, and which never can exist. -“Had a third order been necessary,” said an eighteenth-century -schoolmistress to her pupils, “doubtless one would have been created, -a midway kind of being.” In default of such a connecting link, any -impious attempt to bridge the chasm between the sexes met with the -failure it deserved. When Mrs. Knowles, a Quaker lady, not destitute -of self-esteem, observed to Boswell that she hoped men and women would -be equal in another world, that gentleman replied with spirit: “Madam, -you are too ambitious. _We_ might as well desire to be equal with the -angels.” - -The dissimulation which Dr. Gregory urged upon his daughters, and which -is the safeguard of all misplaced intelligence, extended to matters -more vital than Latin and astronomy. He warned them, as they valued -their earthly happiness, never to make a confidante of a married woman, -“especially if she lives happily with her husband”; and never to reveal -to their own husbands the excess of their wifely affection. “Do not -discover to any man the full extent of your love, no, not although you -marry him. _That_ sufficiently shows your preference, which is all he -is entitled to know. If he has delicacy, he will ask for no stronger -proof of your affection, for your sake; if he has sense, he will not -ask it, for his own. Violent love cannot subsist, at least cannot be -expressed, for any time together on both sides. Nature in this case has -laid the reserve on you.” In the passivity of women, no less than in -their refined duplicity, did this acute observer recognize the secret -strength of sex. - -A vastly different counsellor of youth was Mrs. West, who wrote a -volume of “Letters to a Young Lady” (the young lady was Miss Maunsell, -and she died after reading them), which were held to embody the -soundest morality of the day. Mrs. West is as dull as Dr. Gregory -is penetrating, as verbose as he is laconic, as obvious as he is -individual. She devotes many agitated pages to theology, and many more -to irrefutable, though one hopes unnecessary, arguments in behalf of -female virtue. But she also advises a careful submission, a belittling -insincerity, as woman’s best safeguards in life. It is not only a -wife’s duty to tolerate her husband’s follies, but it is the part of -wisdom to conceal from him any knowledge of his derelictions. Bad he -may be; but it is necessary to his comfort to believe that his wife -thinks him good. “The lordly nature of man so strongly revolts from -the suspicion of inferiority,” explains this excellent monitress, -“that a susceptible husband can never feel easy in the society of -his wife when he knows that she is acquainted with his vices, though -he is well assured that her prudence, generosity, and affection will -prevent her from being a severe accuser.” One is reminded of the old -French gentleman who said he was aware that he cheated at cards, but he -disliked any allusion to the subject. - -To be “easy” in a wife’s society, to relax spiritually as well as -mentally, and to be immune from criticism;--these were the privileges -which men demanded, and which well-trained women were ready to accord. -In 1808 the “Belle Assemblée” printed a model letter, which purported -to come from a young wife whose husband had deserted her and her child -for the more lively society of his mistress. It expressed in pathetic -language the sentiments then deemed correct,--sentiments which embodied -the patience of Griselda, without her acquiescence in fate. The wife -tells her husband that she has retired to the country for economy, and -to avoid scandalous gossip; that by careful management she is able to -live on the pittance he has given her; that “little Emily” is working -a pair of ruffles for him; that his presence would make their poor -cottage seem a palace. “Pardon my interrupting you,” she winds up with -ostentatious meekness. “I mean to give you satisfaction. Though I am -deeply wronged by your error, I am not resentful. I wish you all the -happiness of which you are capable, and am your once loved and still -affectionate, Emilia.” - -That last sentence is not without dignity, and certainly not without -its sting. One doubts whether Emilia’s husband, for all her promises -and protestations, could ever again have felt perfectly “easy” in his -wife’s society. He probably therefore stayed away, and soothed his soul -elsewhere. “We can with tranquillity forgive in ourselves the sins of -which no one accuses us.” - - - - -THE PIETIST - - They go the fairest way to Heaven that would serve God without a - Hell.--_Religio Medici._ - - -“How cutting it is to be the means of bringing children into the world -to be the subjects of the Kingdom of Darkness, to dwell with Divils and -Damned Spirits.” - -In this temper of pardonable regret the mother of William Godwin -wrote to her erring son; and while the maternal point of view -deserves consideration (no parent could be expected to relish such a -prospect), the letter is noteworthy as being one of the few written -to Godwin, or about Godwin, which forces us to sympathize with the -philosopher. The boy who was reproved for picking up the family cat on -Sunday--“demeaning myself with such profaneness on the Lord’s day”--was -little likely to find his religion “all pure profit.” His account -of the books he read as a child, and of his precocious and unctuous -piety, is probably over-emphasized for the sake of colour; but the -Evangelical literature of his day, whether designed for young people or -for adults, was of a melancholy and discouraging character. The “Pious -Deaths of Many Godly Children” (sad monitor of the Godwin nursery) -appears to have been read off the face of the earth; but there have -descended to us sundry volumes of a like character, which even now stab -us with pity for the little readers long since laid in their graves. -The most frivolous occupation of the good boy in these old story-books -is searching the Bible, “with mamma’s permission,” for texts in which -David “praises God for the weather.” More serious-minded children weep -floods of tears because they are “lost sinners.” In a book of “Sermons -for the Very Young,” published by the Vicar of Walthamstow in the -beginning of the last century, we find the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah -selected as an appropriate theme for infancy, and its lessons driven -home with all the force of a direct personal application. “Think, -little child, of the fearful story. The wrath of God is upon them. Do -they now repent of their sins? It is all too late. Do they cry for -mercy? There is none to hear them.... Your heart, little child, is -full of sin. You think of what is not right, and then you wish it, and -that is sin.... Ah, what shall sinners do when the last day comes upon -them? What will they think when God shall punish them forever?” - -Children brought up on these lines passed swiftly from one form of -hysteria to another, from self-exaltation and the assurance of grace -to fears which had no easement. There is nothing more terrible in -literature than Borrow’s account of the Welsh preacher who believed -that when he was a child of seven he had committed the unpardonable -sin, and whose whole life was shadowed by fear. At the same time that -little William Godwin was composing beautiful death-bed speeches for -the possible edification of his parents and neighbours, we find Miss -Elizabeth Carter writing to Mrs. Montagu about her own nephew, who -realized, at seven years of age, how much he and all creatures stood in -need of pardon; and who, being ill, pitifully entreated his father to -pray that his sins might be forgiven. Commenting upon which incident, -the reverent Montagu Pennington, who edited Miss Carter’s letters, -bids us remember that it reflects more credit on the parents who -brought their child up with so just a sense of religion than it does on -the poor infant himself. “Innocence,” says the inflexible Mr. Stanley, -in “Cœlebs in Search of a Wife,” “can never be pleaded as a ground of -acceptance, because the thing does not exist.” - -With the dawning of the nineteenth century came the controversial -novel; and to understand its popularity we have but to glance at -the books which preceded it, and compared to which it presented an -animated and contentious aspect. One must needs have read “Elements of -Morality” at ten, and “Strictures on Female Education” at fifteen, to -be able to relish “Father Clement” at twenty. Sedate young women, whose -lightest available literature was “Cœlebs,” or “Hints towards forming -the Character of a Princess,” and who had been presented on successive -birthdays with Mrs. Chapone’s “Letters on the Improvement of the Mind,” -and Mrs. West’s “Letters to a Young Lady,” and Miss Hamilton’s “Letters -to the Daughter of a Nobleman,” found a natural relief in studying -the dangers of dissent, or the secret machinations of the Jesuits. -Many a dull hour was quickened into pleasurable apprehension of -Jesuitical intrigues, from the days when Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, -stoutly refused to take cinchona--a form of quinine--because it -was then known as Jesuit’s bark, and might be trusted to poison a -British constitution, to the days when Sir William Pepys wrote in all -seriousness to Hannah More: “You surprise me by saying that your good -Archbishop has been in danger from the Jesuits; but I believe they are -concealed in places where they are less likely to be found than in -Ireland.” - -Just what they were going to do to the good Archbishop does not appear, -for Sir William at this point abruptly abandons the prelate to tell the -story of a Norwich butcher, who for some mysterious and unexplained -reason was hiding from the inquisitors of Lisbon. No dignitary was too -high, no orphan child too low to be the objects of a Popish plot. Miss -Carter writes to Mrs. Montagu, in 1775, about a little foundling whom -Mrs. Chapone had placed at service with some country neighbours. - -“She behaves very prettily, and with great affection to the people -with whom she is living,” says Miss Carter. “One of the reasons she -assigns for her fondness is that they give her enough food, which she -represents as a deficient article in the workhouse; and says that on -Fridays particularly she never had any dinner. _Surely the parish -officers have not made a Papist the mistress!_ If this is not the case, -the loss of one dinner in a week is of no great consequence.” - -To the poor hungry child it was probably of much greater consequence -than the theological bias of the matron. Nor does a dinnerless Friday -appear the surest way to win youthful converts to the fold. But -devout ladies who had read Canon Seward’s celebrated tract on the -“Comparison between Paganism and Popery” (in which he found little to -choose between them) were well on their guard against the insidious -advances of Rome. “When I had no religion at all,” confesses Cowper -to Lady Hesketh, “I had yet a terrible dread of the Pope.” The worst -to be apprehended from Methodists was their lamentable tendency to -enthusiasm, and their ill-advised meddling with the poor. It is true -that a farmer of Cheddar told Miss Patty More that a Methodist minister -had once preached under his mother’s best apple tree, and that the -sensitive tree had never borne another apple; but this was an extreme -case. The Cheddar vestry resolved to protect their orchards from blight -by stoning the next preacher who invaded the parish, and their example -was followed with more or less fervour throughout England. In a quiet -letter written from Margate (1768), by the Rev. John Lyon, we find this -casual allusion to the process:-- - -“We had a Methodist preacher hold forth last night. I came home just as -he had finished. I believe the poor man fared badly, for I saw, as I -passed, eggs, stones, etc., fly pretty thick.” - -It was all in the day’s work. The Rev. Lyon, who was a scholar and -an antiquarian, and who wrote an exhaustive history of Dover, had no -further interest in matters obviously aloof from his consideration. - -This simple and robust treatment, so quieting to the nerves of the -practitioners, was unserviceable for Papists, who did not preach in -the open; and a great deal of suppressed irritation found no better -outlet than print. It appears to have been a difficult matter in -those days to write upon any subject without reverting sooner or -later to the misdeeds of Rome. Miss Seward pauses in her praise of -Blair’s sermons to lament the “boastful egotism” of St. Gregory of -Nazianzus, who seems tolerably remote; and Mr. John Dyer, when wrapped -in peaceful contemplation of the British wool-market, suddenly and -fervently denounces the “black clouds” of bigotry, and the “fiery -bolts of superstition,” which lay desolate “Papal realms.” In vain Mr. -Edgeworth, stooping from his high estate, counselled serenity of mind, -and that calm tolerance born of a godlike certitude; in vain he urged -the benignant attitude of infallibility. “The absurdities of Popery are -so manifest,” he wrote, “that to be hated they need but to be seen. But -for the peace and prosperity of this country, the misguided Catholic -should not be rendered odious; he should rather be pointed out as an -object of compassion. His ignorance should not be imputed to him as a -crime; nor should it be presupposed that his life cannot be right, -whose tenets are erroneous. Thank God that I am a Protestant! should be -a mental thanksgiving, not a public taunt.” - -Mr. Edgeworth was nearly seventy when the famous “Protestant’s Manual; -or, Papacy Unveiled” (endeared forever to our hearts by its association -with Mrs. Varden and Miggs), bowled over these pleasant and peaceful -arguments. There was no mawkish charity about the “Manual,” which -made its way into every corner of England, stood for twenty years -on thousands of British book-shelves, and was given as a reward to -children so unfortunate as to be meritorious. It sold for a shilling -(nine shillings a dozen when purchased for distribution), so Mrs. -Varden’s two post-octavo volumes must have been a special edition. -Reviewers recommended it earnestly to parents and teachers; and it -was deemed indispensable to all who desired “to preserve the rising -generation from the wiles of Papacy and the snares of priestcraft. -They will be rendered sensible of the evils and probable consequences -of Catholic emancipation; and be confirmed in those opinions, civil, -political, and religious, which have hitherto constituted the happiness -and formed the strength of their native country.” - -This was a strong appeal. A universal uneasiness prevailed, manifesting -itself in hostility to innovations, however innocent and orthodox. -Miss Hannah More’s Sunday Schools were stoutly opposed, as savouring -of Methodism (a religion she disliked), and of radicalism, for which -she had all the natural horror of a well-to-do, middle-class Christian. -Even Mrs. West, an oppressively pious writer, misdoubted the influence -of Sunday Schools, for the simple reason that it was difficult to keep -the lower orders from learning more than was good for them. “Hard toil -and humble diligence are indispensably needful to the community,” -said this excellent lady. “Writing and accounts appear superfluous -instructions in the humblest walks of life; and, when imparted to -servants, have the general effect of making them ambitious, and -disgusted with the servile offices which they are required to perform.” - -Humility was a virtue consecrated to the poor, to the rural poor -especially; and what with Methodism on the one hand, and the jarring -echoes of the French Revolution on the other, the British ploughman -was obviously growing less humble every day. Crabbe, who cherished no -illusions, painted him in colours grim enough to fill the reader with -despair; but Miss More entertained a feminine conviction that Bibles -and flannel waistcoats fulfilled his earthly needs. In all her stories -and tracts the villagers are as artificial as the happy peasantry of -an old-fashioned opera. They group themselves deferentially around the -squire and the rector; they wear costumes of uncompromising rusticity; -and they sing a chorus of praise to the kind young ladies who have -brought them a bowl of soup. It is curious to turn from this atmosphere -of abasement, from perpetual curtsies and the lowliest of lowly -virtues, to the journal of the painter Haydon, who was a sincerely -pious man, yet who cannot restrain his wonder and admiration at seeing -the Duke of Wellington behave respectfully in church. That a person so -august should stand when the congregation stood, and kneel when the -congregation knelt, seemed to Haydon an immense condescension. “Here -was the greatest hero in the world,” he writes ecstatically, “who had -conquered the greatest genius, prostrating his heart and being before -his God in his venerable age, and praying for His mercy.” - -It is the most naïve impression on record. That the Duke and the Duke’s -scullion might perchance stand equidistant from the Almighty was an -idea which failed to present itself to Haydon’s ardent mind. - -The pious fiction put forward in the interest of dissent was more -impressive, more emotional, more belligerent, and, in some odd way, -more human than “Cœlebs,” or “The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.” Miss -Grace Kennedy’s stories are as absurd as Miss More’s, and--though -the thing may sound incredible--much duller; but they give one an -impression of painful earnestness, and of that heavy atmosphere -engendered by too close a contemplation of Hell. A pious Christian -lady, with local standards, a narrow intelligence, and a comprehensive -ignorance of life, is not by election a novelist. Neither do polemics -lend themselves with elasticity to the varying demands of fiction. -There are, in fact, few things less calculated to instruct the -intellect or to enlarge the heart than the perusal of controversial -novels. - -But Miss Kennedy had at least the striking quality of temerity. She was -not afraid of being ridiculous. She was undaunted in her ignorance. -And she was on fire with all the bitter ardour of the separatist. Miss -More, on the contrary, entertained a judicial mistrust for fervour, -fanaticism, the rush of ardent hopes and fears and transports, for all -those vehement emotions which are apt to be disconcerting to ladies -of settled views and incomes. Her model Christian, Candidus, “avoids -enthusiasm as naturally as a wise man avoids folly, or as a sober man -shuns extravagance. He laments when he encounters a real enthusiast, -because he knows that, even if honest, he is pernicious.” In the -same guarded spirit, Mrs. Montagu praises the benevolence of Lady -Bab Montagu and Mrs. Scott, who had the village girls taught plain -sewing and the catechism. “These good works are often performed by -the Methodist ladies in the heat of enthusiasm; but, thank God! my -sister’s is a calm and rational piety.” “Surtout point de zèle,” was -the dignified motto of the day. - -There is none of this chill sobriety about Miss Kennedy’s Bible -Christians, who, a hundred years ago, preached to a listening world. -They are aflame with a zeal which knows no doubts and recognizes no -forbearance. Their methods are akin to those of the irrepressible -Miss J----, who undertook, Bible in hand, the conversion of that -pious gentleman, the Duke of Wellington; or of Miss Lewis, who went -to Constantinople to convert that equally pious gentleman, the -Sultan. Miss Kennedy’s heroes and heroines stand ready to convert the -world. They would delight in expounding the Scriptures to the Pope -and the Patriarch of Constantinople. Controversy affords their only -conversation. Dogma of the most unrelenting kind is their only food -for thought. Piety provides their only avenue for emotions. Elderly -bankers weep profusely over their beloved pastor’s eloquence, and -fashionable ladies melt into tears at the inspiring sight of a village -Sunday School. Young gentlemen, when off on a holiday, take with -them “no companion but a Bible”; and the lowest reach of worldliness -is laid bare when an unconverted mother asks her daughter if she can -sing something more cheerful than a hymn. Conformity to the Church of -England is denounced with unsparing warmth; and the Church of Rome is -honoured by having a whole novel, the once famous “Father Clement,” -devoted to its permanent downfall. - -Dr. Greenhill, who has written a sympathetic notice of Miss Kennedy in -the “Dictionary of National Biography,” considers that “Father Clement” -was composed “with an evident wish to state fairly the doctrines and -practices of the Roman Catholic Church, even while the authoress -strongly disapproves of them”;--a point of view which compels us to -believe that the biographer spared himself (and who shall blame him?) -the reading of this melancholy tale. That George Eliot, who spared -herself nothing, was well acquainted with its context, is evidenced -by the conversation of the ladies who, in “Janet’s Repentance,” meet -to cover and label the books of the Paddiford Lending Library. Miss -Pratt, the autocrat of the circle, observes that the story of “Father -Clement” is, in itself, a library on the errors of Romanism, whereupon -old Mrs. Linnet very sensibly replies: “One ’ud think there didn’t want -much to drive people away from a religion as makes ’em walk barefoot -over stone floors, like that girl in ‘Father Clement,’ sending the -blood up to the head frightful. Anybody might see that was an unnat’ral -creed.” - -So they might; and a more unnatural creed than Father Clement’s -Catholicism was never devised for the extinction of man’s flickering -reason. Only the mental debility of the Clarenham family can account -for their holding such views long enough to admit of their being -converted from them by the Montagus. Only the militant spirit of the -Clarenham chaplain and the Montagu chaplain makes possible several -hundred pages of polemics. Montagu Bibles run the blockade, are -discovered in the hands of truth-seeking Clarenhams, and are hurled -back upon the spiritual assailants. The determination of Father Dennis -that the Scriptures shall be quoted in Latin only (a practice which is -scholarly but inconvenient), and the determination of Edward Montagu -“not to speak Latin in the presence of ladies,” embarrass social -intercourse. Catherine Clarenham, the young person who walks barefooted -over stone floors, has been so blighted by this pious exercise that -she cannot, at twenty, translate the Pater Noster or Ave Maria into -English, and remains a melancholy illustration of Latinity. When young -Basil Clarenham shows symptoms of yielding to Montagu arguments, and -begins to want a Bible of his own, he is spirited away to Rome, and -confined in a monastery of the Inquisition, where he spends his time -reading “books forbidden by the Inquisitors,” and especially “a New -Testament with the prohibitory mark of the Holy Office upon it,” which -the weak-minded monks have amiably placed at his disposal. Indeed, the -monastery library, to which the captive is made kindly welcome, seems -to have been well stocked with interdicted literature; and, after -browsing in these pastures for several tranquil months, Basil tells -his astonished hosts that their books have taught him that “the Romish -Church is the most corrupt of all churches professing Christianity.” -Having accomplished this unexpected but happy result, the Inquisition -exacts from him a solemn vow that he will never reveal its secrets, -and sends him back to England, where he loses no time in becoming an -excellent Protestant. His sister Maria follows his example (her virtues -have pointed steadfastly to this conclusion); but Catherine enters a -convent, full of stone floors and idolatrous images, where she becomes -a “tool” of the Jesuits, and says her prayers in Latin until she dies. - -No wonder “Father Clement” went through twelve editions, and made its -authoress as famous in her day as the authoress of “Elsie Dinsmore” is -in ours. No wonder the Paddiford Lending Library revered its sterling -worth. And no wonder it provoked from Catholics reprisals which Dr. -Greenhill stigmatizes as “flippant.” To-day it lives by virtue of half -a dozen mocking lines in George Eliot’s least-read story: but for a -hundred years its progeny has infested the earth,--a crooked progeny, -like Peer Gynt’s, which can never be straightened into sincerity, or -softened into good-will. “For first the Church of Rome condemneth -us, we likewise them,” observes Sir Thomas Browne with equanimity; -“and thus we go to Heaven against each others’ wills, conceits, and -opinions.” - - - - -THE ACCURSED ANNUAL - - Why, by dabbling in those accursed Annuals, I have become a by-word - of infamy all over the kingdom.--CHARLES LAMB. - - -The great dividing line between books that are made to be read and -books that are made to be bought is not the purely modern thing it -seems. We can trace it, if we try, back to the first printing-presses, -which catered indulgently to hungry scholars and to noble patrons; -and we can see it in another generation separating “Waverley” and -“The Corsair,” which everybody knew by heart, from the gorgeous -“Annual” (bound in Lord Palmerston’s cast-off waistcoats, hinted -Thackeray), which formed a decorative feature of well-appointed English -drawing-rooms. The perfectly natural thing to do with an unreadable -book is to give it away; and the publication, for more than a quarter -of a century, of volumes which fulfilled this one purpose and no other -is a pleasant proof, if proof were needed, of the business principles -which underlay the enlightened activity of publishers. - -The wave of sentimentality which submerged England when the -clear-headed, hard-hearted eighteenth century had done its appointed -work, and lay a-dying, the prodigious advance in gentility from the -days of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to the days of the Countess of -Blessington, found their natural expression in letters. It was a period -of emotions which were not too deep for words, and of decorum which -measured goodness by conventionalities. Turn where we will, we see -a tear in every eye, or a simper of self-complacency on every lip. -Moore wept when he beheld a balloon ascension at Tivoli, because he -had not seen a balloon since he was a little boy. The excellent Mr. -Hall explained in his “Memories of a Long Life” that, owing to Lady -Blessington’s anomalous position with Count D’Orsay, “Mrs. Hall never -accompanied me to her evenings, though she was a frequent day caller.” -Criticism was controlled by politics, and sweetened by gallantry. The -Whig and Tory reviewers supported their respective candidates to fame, -and softened their masculine sternness to affability when Mrs. Hemans -or Miss Landon, “the Sappho of the age,” contributed their glowing -numbers to the world. Miss Landon having breathed a poetic sigh in the -“Amulet” for 1832, a reviewer in “Fraser’s” magnanimously observed: -“This gentle and fair young lady, so undeservedly neglected by critics, -we mean to take under our special protection.” Could it ever have -lain within the power of any woman, even a poetess, to merit such -condescension as this? - -Of a society so organized, the Christmas annual was an appropriate and -ornamental feature. It was costly,--a guinea or a guinea and a half -being the usual subscription. It was richly bound in crimson silk or -pea-green levant; Solomon in all his glory was less magnificent. It was -as free from stimulus as eau sucrée. It was always genteel, and not -infrequently aristocratic,--having been known to rise in happy years to -the schoolboy verses of a royal duke. It was made, like Peter Pindar’s -razors, to sell, and it was bought to be given away; at which point -its career of usefulness was closed. Its languishing steel engravings -of Corfu, Ayesha, The Suliote Mother, and The Wounded Brigand, may -have beguiled a few heavy moments after dinner; and perhaps little -children in frilled pantalets and laced slippers peeped between the -gorgeous covers, to marvel at the Sultana’s pearls, or ask in innocence -who was the dying Haidee. Death, we may remark, was always a prominent -feature of annuals. Their artists and poets vied with one another in -the selection of mortuary subjects. Charles Lamb was first “hooked into -the ‘Gem’” with some lines on the editor’s dead infant. From a partial -list, extending over a dozen years, I cull this funeral wreath:-- - - The Dying Child. _Poem._ - - The Orphans. _Steel engraving._ - - The Orphan’s Tears. _Poem._ - - The Gypsy’s Grave. _Steel engraving._ - - The Lonely Grave. _Poem._ - - On a Child’s Grave. _Poem._ - - The Dying Mother to her Infant. _Poem._ - -Blithesome reading for the Christmas-tide! - -The annual was as orthodox as it was aristocratic. “The Shepherd of -Salisbury Plain” was not more edifying. “The Washerwoman of Finchley -Common” was less conspicuously virtuous. Here in “The Winter’s Wreath” -is a long poem in blank verse, by a nameless clergyman, on “The -Efficacy of Religion.” Here in the “Amulet,” Mrs. Hemans, “leading -the way as she deserves to do” (I quote from the “Monthly Review”), -“clothes in her own pure and fascinating language the invitations which -angels whisper into mortal ears.” And here in the “Forget-Me-Not,” -Leontine hurls mild defiance at the spirit of doubt:-- - - Thou sceptic of the hardened brow, - Attend to Nature’s cry! - Her sacred essence breathes the glow - O’er that thou wouldst deny; - ---an argument which would have carried conviction to Huxley’s soul, had -he been more than eight years old when it was written. Poor Coleridge, -always in need of a guinea or two, was bidden to write some descriptive -lines for the “Keepsake,” on an engraving by Parris of the Garden of -Boccaccio; a delightful picture of nine ladies and three gentlemen -picnicking in a park, with arcades as tall as aqueducts, a fountain -as vast as Niagara, and butterflies twice the size of the rabbits. -Coleridge, exempt by nature from an unserviceable sense of humour, -executed this commission in three pages of painstaking verse, and was -severely censured for mentioning “in terms not sufficiently guarded, -one of the most impure and mischievous books that could find its way -into the hands of an innocent female.” - -The system of first securing an illustration, and then ordering a poem -to match it, seemed right and reasonable to the editor of the annual, -who paid a great deal for his engravings, and little or nothing for his -poetry. Sometimes the poet was not even granted a sight of the picture -he was expected to describe. We find Lady Blessington writing to Dr. -William Beattie,--the best-natured man of his day,--requesting “three -or four stanzas” for an annual called “Buds and Blossoms,” which was -to contain portraits of the children of noble families. The particular -“buds” whose unfolding he was asked to immortalize were the three sons -of the Duke of Buccleuch; and it was gently hinted that “an allusion -to the family would add interest to the subject”;--in plain words, -that a little well-timed flattery might be trusted to expand the sales. -Another year the same unblushing petitioner was even more hardy in her -demand. - -“Will you write me a page of verse for the portrait of Miss Forester? -The young lady is seated with a little dog on her lap, which she looks -at rather pensively. She is fair, with light hair, and is in mourning.” - -Here is an inspiration for a poet. A picture, which he has not seen, of -a young lady in mourning looking pensively at a little dog! And poor -Beattie was never paid a cent for these effusions. His sole rewards -were a few words of thanks, and Lady Blessington’s cards for parties he -was too ill to attend. - -More business-like poets made a specialty of fitting pictures with -verses, as a tailor fits customers with coats. A certain Mr. Harvey, -otherwise lost to fame, was held to be unrivalled in this art. For many -years his “chaste and classic pen” supplied the annuals with flowing -stanzas, equally adapted to the timorous taste of editors, and to -the limitations of the “innocent females” for whom the volumes were -predestined. “Mr. Harvey embodies in two or three lines the expression -of a whole picture,” says an enthusiastic reviewer, “and at the same -time turns his inscription into a little gem of poetry.” As a specimen -gem, I quote one of four verses accompanying an engraving called -Morning Dreams,--a young woman reclining on a couch, and simpering -vapidly at the curtains:-- - - She has been dreaming, and her thoughts are still - On their far journey in the land of dreams; - The forms we call--but may not chase--at will, - And sweet low voices, soft as distant streams. - -This is a fair sample of the verse supplied for Christmas annuals, -which, however “chaste and classic,” was surely never intended to be -read. It is only right, however, to remember that Thackeray’s “Piscator -and Piscatrix” was written at Lady Blessington’s behest, to accompany -Wattier’s engraving of The Happy Anglers; and that Thackeray told -Locker he was so much pleased with this picture, and so engrossed with -his own poem, that he forgot to shave for the two whole days he was -working at it. To write “good occasional verse,” by which he meant -verse begged or ordered for some such desperate emergency as Lady -Blessington’s, was, in his eyes, an intellectual feat. It represented -difficulties overcome, like those wonderful old Italian frescoes fitted -so harmoniously into unaccommodating spaces. Nothing can be more -charming than “Piscator and Piscatrix,” and nothing can be more insipid -than the engraving which inspired the lively rhymes: - - As on this pictured page I look, - This pretty tale of line and hook, - As though it were a novel-book, - Amuses and engages: - I know them both, the boy and girl, - She is the daughter of an Earl, - The lad (that has his hair in curl) - My lord the County’s page is. - - A pleasant place for such a pair! - The fields lie basking in the glare; - No breath of wind the heavy air - Of lazy summer quickens. - Hard by you see the castle tall, - The village nestles round the wall, - As round about the hen, its small - Young progeny of chickens. - -The verses may be read in any edition of Thackeray’s ballads; but when -we have hunted up the “pictured page” in a mouldy old “Keepsake,” and -see an expressionless girl, a featureless boy, an indistinguishable -castle, and no village, we are tempted to agree with Charles Lamb, who -swore that he liked poems to explain pictures, and not pictures to -illustrate poems. “Your woodcut is a rueful _lignum mortis_.” - -There was a not unnatural ambition on the part of publishers and -editors to secure for their annuals one or two names of repute, with -which to leaven the mass of mediocrity. It mattered little if the -distinguished writer conscientiously contributed the feeblest offspring -of his pen; that was a reasonable reckoning,--distinguished writers -do the same to-day; but it mattered a great deal if, as too often -happened, he broke his word, and failed to contribute anything. Then -the unhappy editor was compelled to publish some such apologetic note -as this, from the “Amulet” of 1833. “The first sheet of the ‘Amulet’ -was reserved for my friend Mr. Bulwer, who had kindly tendered me his -assistance; but, in consequence of various unavoidable circumstances” -(a pleasure trip on the Rhine), “he has been compelled to postpone -his aid until next year.” On such occasions, the “reserved” pages -were filled by some veteran annualist, like Mr. Alaric Attila Watts, -editor of the “Literary Souvenir”; or perhaps Mr. Thomas Haynes Bailey, -he who wrote “I’d be a Butterfly,” and “Gaily the Troubadour,” was -persuaded to warble some such appropriate sentiment as this in the -“Forget-Me-Not”:-- - - It is a book we christen thus, - Less fleeting than the flower; - And ’twill recall the past to us - With talismanic power; - -which was a true word spoken in rhyme. Nothing recalls that faded past, -with its simpering sentimentality, its reposeful ethics, its shut-in -standards, and its differentiation of the masculine and feminine -intellects, like the yellow pages of an annual. - -Tom Moore, favourite of gods and men, was singled out by publishers as -the lode-star of their destinies, as the poet who could be best trusted -to impart to the “Amethyst” or the “Talisman” (how like Pullman cars -they sound!) that “elegant lightness” which befitted its mission in -life. His accounts of the repeated attacks made on his virtue, and the -repeated repulses he administered, fill by no means the least amusing -pages of his journal. The first attempt was made by Orne, who, in -1826, proposed that Moore should edit a new annual on the plan of the -“Souvenir”; and who assured the poet--always as deep in difficulties -as Micawber--that, if the enterprise proved successful, it would yield -him from five hundred to a thousand pounds a year. Moore, dazzled but -not duped, declined the task; and the following summer, the engraver -Heath made him a similar proposition, but on more assured terms. Heath -was then preparing to launch upon the world of fashion his gorgeous -“Keepsake”--“the toy-shop of literature,” Lockhart called it; and he -offered Moore, first five hundred, and then seven hundred pounds a -year, if he would accept the editorship. Seven hundred pounds loomed -large in the poet’s fancy, but pride forbade the bargain. The author of -“Lalla Rookh” could not consent to bow his laurelled head, and pilot -the feeble Fatimas and Zelicas, the noble infants in coral necklets, -and the still nobler ladies with pearl pendants on their brows, into -the safe harbour of boudoir and drawing-room. He made this clear to -Heath, who, nothing daunted, set off at once for Abbotsford, and laid -his proposals at the feet of Sir Walter Scott, adding to his bribe -another hundred pounds. - -Scott, the last man in Christendom to have undertaken such an office, -or to have succeeded in it, softened his refusal with a good-natured -promise to contribute to the “Keepsake” when it was launched. He was -not nervous about his literary standing, and he had no sensitive fear -of lowering it by journeyman’s work. “I have neither the right nor -the wish,” he wrote once to Murray, “to be considered above a common -labourer in the trenches.” Moore, however, was far from sharing -this modest unconcern. When Reynolds, on whom the editorship of the -“Keepsake” finally devolved, asked him for some verses, he peremptorily -declined. Then began a system of pursuit and escape, of assault and -repulse, which casts the temptations of St. Anthony into the shade. -“By day and night,” so Moore declares, Reynolds was “after” him, -always increasing the magnitude of his bribe. At last he forced a check -for a hundred pounds into the poet’s empty pocket (for all the world -like a scene in Caran d’Ache’s “Histoire d’un Chèque”), imploring in -return a hundred lines of verse. But Moore’s virtue--or his vanity--was -impregnable. “The task was but light, and the money would have been -convenient,” he confesses; “but I forced it back on him again. The fact -is, it is my _name_ brings these offers, and my name would suffer by -accepting them.” - -One might suppose that the baffled tempter would now have permanently -withdrawn, save that the strength of tempters lies in their never -knowing when they are beaten. Three years later, Heath renewed the -attack, proposing that Moore should furnish _all_ the letter-press, -prose and verse, of the “Keepsake” for 1832, receiving in payment -the generous sum of one thousand pounds. Strange to say, Moore took -rather kindly to this appalling suggestion, admitted he liked it -better than its predecessors, and consented to think the matter over -for a fortnight. In the end, however, he adhered to his original -determination to hold himself virgin of annuals; and refused the -thousand pounds, which would have paid all his debts, only to fall, as -fall men must, a victim to female blandishments. He was cajoled into -writing some lines for the “Casket,” edited by Mrs. Blencoe; and had -afterwards the pleasure of discovering that the astute lady had added -to her list of attractions another old poem of his, which, to avoid -sameness, she obligingly credited to Lord Byron;--enough to make that -ill-used poet turn uneasily in his grave. - -Charles Lamb’s detestation of annuals dates naturally enough from the -hour he was first seduced into becoming a contributor; and every time -he lapsed from virtue, his rage blazed out afresh. When his ill-timed -sympathy for a bereaved parent--and that parent an editor--landed -him in the pages of the “Gem,” he wrote to Barton in an access of -ill-humour which could find no phrases sharp enough to feed it. - -“I hate the paper, the type, the gloss, the dandy plates, the names of -contributors poked up into your eyes in the first page, and whistled -through all the covers of magazines, the bare-faced sort of emulation, -the immodest candidateship, brought into so little space; in short I -detest to appear in an annual.... Don’t think I set up for being proud -on this point; I like a bit of flattery tickling my vanity as well as -any one. But these pompous masquerades without masks (naked names or -faces) I hate. So there’s a bit of my mind.” - -“Frippery,” “frumpery,” “show and emptiness,” are the mildest epithets -at Lamb’s command, as often as he laments his repeated falls from -grace; and a few years before his death, when that “dumb soporifical -good-for-nothingness” (curse of the Enfield lanes) weighted his pen, -and dulled the lively processes of his brain, he writes with poignant -melancholy:-- - -“I cannot scribble a long letter. I am, when not on foot, very -desolate, and take no interest in anything, scarce hate anything but -annuals.” It is the last expression of a just antipathy, an instinctive -clinging to something which can be reasonably hated to the end. - -The most pretentious and the most aristocratic of the annuals was the -ever famous “Book of Beauty,” edited for many years by the Countess -of Blessington. Resting on a solid foundation of personal vanity (a -superstructure never known to fail), it reached a heroic measure of -success, and yielded an income which permitted the charming woman who -conducted it to live as far beyond her means as any leader of the -fashionable world in London. It was estimated that Lady Blessington -earned by the “gorgeous inanities” she edited, and by the vapid tales -she wrote, an income of from two thousand to three thousand pounds; -but she would never have been paid so well for her work had she not -supported her social position by an expenditure of twice that sum. -Charles Greville, who spares no scorn he can heap upon her editorial -methods, declares that she attained her ends “by puffing and stuffing, -and untiring industry, by practising on the vanity of some and the -good-nature of others. And though I never met with any one who had read -her books, except the ‘Conversations with Byron,’ which are too good to -be hers, they are unquestionably a source of considerable profit, and -she takes her place confidently and complacently as one of the literary -celebrities of her day.” - -Greville’s instinctive unkindness leaves him often wide of the mark, -but on this occasion we can only say that he might have spoken his -truths more humanely. If Lady Blessington helped to create the demand -which she supplied, if she turned her friendships to account, and -made of hospitality a means to an end (a line of conduct not unknown -to-day), she worked with unsparing diligence, and with a sort of -desperate courage for over twenty years. Rival Books of Beauty were -launched upon a surfeited market, but she maintained her precedence. -For ten years she edited the “Keepsake,” and made it a source of -revenue, until the unhappy bankruptcy and death of Heath. In her -annuals we breathe the pure air of ducal households, and consort with -the peeresses of England, turning condescendingly now and then to -contemplate a rusticity so obviously artificial, it can be trusted -never to offend. That her standard of art (she had no standard of -letters) was acceptable to the British public is proved by the -rapturous praise of critics and reviewers. Thackeray, indeed, professed -to think the sumptuous ladies, who loll and languish in the pages of -the year-book, underclad and indecorous; but this was in the spirit -of hypercriticism. Hear rather how a writer in “Fraser’s Magazine” -describes in a voice trembling with emotion the opulent charms of one -of the Countess of Blessington’s “Beauties”:-- - -“There leans the tall and imperial form of the enchantress, with -raven tresses surmounted by the cachemire of sparkling red; while -her ringlets flow in exuberant waves over the full-formed neck; and -barbaric pearls, each one worth a king’s ransom, rest in marvellous -contrast with her dark and mysterious loveliness.” - -“Here’s richness!” to quote our friend Mr. Squeers. Here’s something of -which it is hard to think a public could ever tire. Yet sixteen years -later, when the Countess of Blessington died in poverty and exile, but -full of courage to the end, the “Examiner” tepidly observed that the -probable extinction of the year-book “would be the least of the sad -regrets attending her loss.” - -For between 1823 and 1850 three hundred annuals had been published in -England, and the end was very near. Exhausted nature was crying for -release. It is terrible to find an able and honest writer like Miss -Mitford editing a preposterous volume called the “Iris,” of inhuman -bulk and superhuman inanity; a book which she well knew could never, -under any press of circumstances, be read by mortal man or woman. -There were annuals to meet every demand, and to please every class -of purchaser. Comic annuals for those who hoped to laugh; a “Botanic -Annual” for girls who took country walks with their governess; an -“Oriental Annual” for readers of Byron and Moore; a “Landscape -Annual” for lovers of nature; “The Christian Keepsake” for ladies of -serious minds; and “The Protestant Annual” for those who feared that -Christianity might possibly embrace the Romish Church. There were -five annuals for English children; from one of which, “The Juvenile -Keepsake,” I quote these lines, so admirably adapted to the childish -mind. Newton is supposed to speak them in his study:-- - - Pure and ethereal essence, fairest light, - Come hither, and before my watchful eyes - Disclose thy hidden nature, and unbind - Thy mystic, fine-attenuated parts; - That so, intently marking, I the source - May learn of colours, Nature’s matchless gifts. - -There are three pages of this poem, all in the same simple language, -from which it is fair to infer that the child’s annual, like its -grown-up neighbour, was made to be bought, not read. - - - - -OUR ACCOMPLISHED GREAT-GRANDMOTHER - - Next to mere idleness, I think knotting is to be reckoned in the - scale of insignificance.--DR. JOHNSON. - - -Readers of Dickens (which ought to mean all men and women who have -mastered the English alphabet) will remember how that estimable -schoolmistress, Miss Monflathers, elucidated Dr. Watts’s masterpiece, -which had been quoted somewhat rashly by a teacher. “‘The little busy -bee,’” said Miss Monflathers, drawing herself up, “is applicable only -to genteel children. - - In books, or work, or healthful play, - -is quite right as far as they are concerned; and the work means -painting on velvet, fancy needlework, or embroidery.” - -It also meant, in the good Miss Monflathers’s day, making filigree -baskets that would not hold anything, Ionic temples of Bristol-board, -shell flowers, and paper landscapes. It meant pricking pictures with -pins, taking “impressions” of butterflies’ wings on sheets of gummed -paper, and messing with strange, mysterious compounds called diaphanie -and potichomanie, by means of which a harmless glass tumbler or a -respectable window-pane could be turned into an object of desolation. -Indeed, when the genteel young ladies of this period were not reading -“Merit opposed to Fascination; exemplified in the story of Eugenio,” -or “An Essay on the Refined Felicity which may arise from the Marriage -Contract,” they were cultivating what were then called “ornamental -arts,” but which later on became known as “accomplishments.” “It is -amazing to me,” says that most amiable of sub-heroes, Mr. Bingley, “how -young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all -are. They paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know -any one who cannot do all this; and I am sure I never heard a young -lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was -very accomplished.” - -We leave the unamiable Mr. Darcy snorting at his friend’s remark, to -consider the paucity of Mr. Bingley’s list. Tables, screens, and -purses represent but the first beginnings of that misdirected energy -which for the best part of a century embellished English homes. The -truly accomplished young lady in Miss More’s “Cœlebs” paints flowers -and shells, draws ruins, gilds and varnishes wood, is an adept in Japan -work, and stands ready to begin modelling, etching, and engraving. The -great principle of ornamental art was the reproduction of an object--of -any object--in an alien material. The less adapted this material was -to its purpose, the greater the difficulties it presented to the -artist, the more precious became the monstrous masterpiece. To take a -plain sheet of paper and draw a design upon it was ignominious in its -simplicity; but to construct the same design out of paper spirals, -rolling up some five hundred slips with uniform tightness, setting -them on end, side by side, and painting or gilding the tops,--that was -a feat of which any young lady might be proud. It was so uncommonly -hard to do, it ought to have been impossible. Cutting paper with -fine sharp scissors and a knife was taught in schools (probably in -Miss Monflathers’s school, though Dickens does not mention it) as -a fashionable pastime. The “white design”--animals, landscape, or -marine--was printed on a black background, which was cut away with -great dexterity, the spaces being small and intricate. When all the -black paper had been removed, the flimsy tracery was pasted on a piece -of coloured paper, thus presenting--after hours of patient labour--much -the same appearance that it had in the beginning. It was then glassed, -framed, and presented to appreciative parents, as a proof of their -daughter’s industry and taste. - -The most famous work of art ever made out of paper was probably -the celebrated “herbal” of Mrs. Delany,--Mrs. Delany whom Burke -pronounced “the model of an accomplished gentlewoman.” She acquired -her accomplishments at an age when most people seek to relinquish -theirs,--having learned to draw when she was thirty, to paint when -she was forty, and to write verse when she was eighty-two. She also -“excelled in embroidery and shell-work”; and when Miss Burney made -her first visit to St. James’s Place, she found Mrs. Delany’s walls -covered with “ornaments of her own execution of striking elegance, -in cuttings and variegated stained papers.” The herbal, however, was -the crowning achievement of her life. It contained nearly a thousand -plants, made of thin strips of coloured paper, pasted layer over layer -with the utmost nicety upon a black background, and producing an effect -“richer than painting.” - - Cold Winter views amid his realms of snow - Delany’s vegetable statues blow; - Smoothes his stern brow, delays his hoary wing, - And eyes with wonder all the blooms of Spring. - -The flowers were copied accurately from nature, and florists all over -the kingdom vied with one another in sending Mrs. Delany rare and -beautiful specimens. The Queen ardently admired this herbal, and the -King, who regarded it with veneration not untinged by awe, expressed -his feelings by giving its creator a house at Windsor, and settling -upon her an annuity of three hundred pounds. Yet Miss Seward complained -that although England “teemed with genius,” George III was “no Cæsar -Augustus,” to encourage and patronize the arts. To the best of his -ability, he did. His conception of genius and art may not have tallied -with that of Augustus; but when an old lady made paper flowers to -perfection, he gave her a royal reward. - -Mrs. Delany’s example was followed in court circles, and in the humbler -walks of life. Shell-work, which was one of her accomplishments, became -the rage. Her illustrious friend, the Duchess of Portland, “made shell -frames and feather designs, adorned grottoes, and collected endless -objects in the animal and vegetable kingdom.” Young ladies of taste -made flowers out of shells, dyeing the white ones with Brazil wood, and -varnishing them with gum arabic. A rose of red shells, with a heart -of knotted yellow silk, was almost as much admired as a picture of -birds with their feathers pasted on the paper. This last triumph of -realism presented a host of difficulties to the perpetrator. When the -bill and legs of the bird had been painted in water colours on heavy -Bristol-board, the space for its body was covered with a paste of gum -arabic as thick as a shilling. This paste was kept “tacky or clammy” -to hold the feathers, which were stripped off the poor little dead -bird, and stuck on the prepared surface, the quills being cut down -with a knife. Weights were used to keep the feathers in place, the -result being that most of them adhered to the lead instead of to the -Bristol-board, and came off discouragingly when the work was nearly -done. As a combination of art and nature, the bird picture had no rival -except the butterfly picture, where the clipped wings of butterflies -were laid between two sheets of gummed paper, and the “impressions” -thus taken, reinforced with a little gilding, were attached to a -painted body. It may be observed that the quality of mercy was then -a good deal strained. Mrs. Montagu’s famous “feather-room,” in her -house on Portman Square, was ornamented with hangings made by herself -from the plumage of hundreds of birds, every attainable variety being -represented; yet no one of her friends, not even the sainted Hannah -More, ever breathed a sigh of regret over the merry little lives that -were wasted for its meretricious decorations. - -Much time and ingenuity were devoted by industrious young people to -the making of baskets, and no material, however unexpected, came amiss -to their patient hands. Allspice berries, steeped in brandy to soften -them and strung on wire, were very popular; and rice baskets had a -chaste simplicity of their own. These last were made of pasteboard, -lined with silk or paper, the grains of rice being gummed on in solid -diamond-shaped designs. If the decoration appeared a trifle monotonous, -as well it might, it was diversified with coloured glass beads. -Indeed, we are assured that “baskets of this description may be very -elegantly ornamented with groups of small shells, little artificial -bouquets, crystals, and the fine feathers from the heads of birds of -beautiful plumage”;--with anything, in short, that could be pasted -on and persuaded to stick. When the supply of glue gave out, wafer -baskets--wafers required only moistening--or alum baskets (made of wire -wrapped round with worsted, and steeped in a solution of alum, which -was coloured yellow with saffron or purple with logwood) were held in -the highest estimation. The modern mind, with its puny resources, is -bewildered by the multiplicity of materials which seem to have lain -scattered around the domestic hearth a hundred years ago. There is a -famous old receipt for “silvering paper without silver,” a process -designed to be economical, but which requires so many messy and alien -ingredients, like “Indian glue,” and “Muscovy talc,” and “Venice -turpentine,” and “Japan size,” and “Chinese varnish,” that mere silver -seems by comparison a cheap and common thing. Young ladies whose thrift -equalled their ingenuity made their own varnish by boiling isinglass in -a quart of brandy,--a lamentable waste of supplies. - -Genteel parcels were always wrapped in silver paper. We remember how -Miss Edgeworth’s Rosamond tries in vain to make one sheet cover the -famous “filigree basket,” which was her birthday present to her Cousin -Bell, and which pointed its own moral by falling to pieces before it -was presented. Rosamond’s father derides this basket because he is -implored not to grasp it by its myrtle-wreathed handle. “But what is -the use of the handle,” he asks, in the conclusive, irritating fashion -of the Edgeworthian parent, “if we are not to take hold of it? And -pray is this the thing you have been about all week? I have seen you -dabbling with paste and rags, and could not conceive what you were -doing.” - -Rosamond’s half-guinea--her godmother’s gift--is spent buying filigree -paper, and medallions, and a “frost ground” for this basket, and she is -ruthlessly shamed by its unstable character; whereas Laura, who gives -her money secretly to a little lace-maker, has her generosity revealed -at exactly the proper moment, and is admired and praised by all the -company. Apart from Miss Edgeworth’s conception of life, as made up of -well-adjusted punishments and rewards, a half-guinea does seem a good -deal to spend on filigree paper; but then a single sheet of gold paper -cost six shillings, unless gilded at home, after the following process, -which was highly commended for economy:-- - -“Take yellow ochre, grind it with rain-water, and lay a ground with it -all over the paper, which should be fine wove. When dry, take the white -of an egg and about a quarter of an ounce of sugar candy, and beat -them together until the sugar candy is dissolved. Then strike it all -over the ground with a varnish brush, and immediately lay on the gold -leaf, pressing it down with a piece of fine cotton. When dry, polish it -with a dog’s tooth or agate. A sheet of this paper may be prepared for -eighteen pence.” - -No wonder little Rosamond was unequal to such labour, and her -half-guinea was squandered in extravagant purchases. Miss Edgeworth, -trained in her father’s theory that children should be always -occupied, was a good deal distressed by the fruits of their industry. -The “chatting girls cutting up silk and gold paper,” whom Miss -Austen watched with unconcern, would have fretted Miss Edgeworth’s -soul, unless she knew that sensible needle-cases, pin-cushions, and -work-bags were in process of construction. Yet the celebrated “rational -toy-shop,” with its hand-looms instead of dolls, and its machines for -drawing in perspective instead of tin soldiers and Noah’s arks, stood -responsible for the inutilities she scorned. And what of the charitable -lady in “Lazy Lawrence,” who is “making a grotto,” and buying shells -and fossils for its decoration? Even a filigree basket, which had at -least the grace of impermanence, seems desirable by comparison with a -grotto. It will be remembered also that Madame de Rosier, the “Good -French Governess,” traces her lost son, that “promising young man of -fourteen,” by means of a box he has made out of refuse bits of shell -thrown aside in a London restaurant; while the son in turn discovers a -faithful family servant through the medium of a painted pasteboard dog, -which the equally ingenious domestic has exposed for sale in a shop. It -was a good thing in Miss Edgeworth’s day to cultivate the “ornamental -arts,” were it only for the reunion of families. - -Pasteboard, a most ungrateful and unyielding material, was the basis -of so many household decorations that a little volume, published in -the beginning of the last century, is devoted exclusively to its -possibilities. This book, which went through repeated editions, is -called “The Art of Working in Pasteboard upon Scientific Principles”; -and it gives minute directions for making boxes, baskets, tea-trays, -caddies,--even candlesticks, and “an inkstand in the shape of a castle -with a tower,”--a baffling architectural design. What patience and -ingenuity must have been expended upon this pasteboard castle, which -had a wing for the ink well, a wing for the sand box, five circular -steps leading up to the principal entrance, a terrace which was a -drawer, a balcony surrounded by a “crenelled screen,” a tower to hold -the quills, a vaulted cupola which lifted like a lid, and a lantern -with a “quadrilateral pyramid” for its roof, surmounted by a real pea -or a glass bead as the final bit of decoration. There is a drawing of -this edifice, which is as imposing as its dimensions will permit; and -there are four pages of mysterious instructions which make the reader -feel as though he were studying architecture by correspondence. - -Far more difficult of accomplishment, and far more useless when -accomplished,--for they could not even hold pens and ink,--were the -Grecian temples and Gothic towers, made of pasteboard covered with -marbled paper, and designed as “elegant ornaments for the mantelpiece.” -A small Ionic temple requires ten pages of directions. It is built of -“the best Bristol-board, except the shafts of the pillars and some -of the decorations, which are made of royal drawing-paper”; and its -manufacturers are implored not to spare time, trouble, or material, -if they would attain to anything so classic. “The art of working in -pasteboard,” says the preface of this engaging little book, “may -be carried to a high degree of usefulness and perfection, and may -eventually be productive of substantial benefits to young persons of -both sexes, who wisely devote their leisure hours to pleasing, quiet, -and useful recreations, preferably to frivolous, noisy, and expensive -amusements.” - -A pleasing, quiet, and useful recreation which wasted nothing but -eyesight,--and that nobody valued,--was pricking pictures with pins. -The broad lines and heavy shadows were pricked with stout pins, the -fine lines and high lights with little ones, while a toothed wheel, -sharply pointed, was used for large spaces and simple decorative -designs. This was an ambitious field of art, much of the work being -of a microscopic delicacy. The folds of a lady’s dress could be -pricked in such film-like waves that only close scrutiny revealed the -thousand tiny holes of which its billowy softness was composed. The -cleanness and dryness of pins commend them to our taste after a long -contemplation of varnish and glue pots; of “poonah work,” which was a -sticky sort of stencilling; of “Japan work,” in which embossed figures -were made of “gum-water, thickened to a proper consistence with equal -parts of bole ammoniac and whiting”; of “Chinese enamel,” which was a -base imitation of ebony inlaid with ivory; and of “potichomanie,” which -converted a piece of English glass into something that “not one in a -hundred could tell from French china.” We sympathize with the refined -editor of the “Monthly Museum,” who recommends knotting to his female -readers, not only because it had the sanction of a queen, - - Who, when she rode in coach abroad, - Was always knotting threads; - -but because of its “pure nature” and “innocent simplicity.” “I cannot -but think,” says this true friend of my sex, “that shirts and smocks -are unfit for any lady of delicacy to handle; but the shuttle is an -easy flowing object, to which the eye may remove with propriety and -grace.” - -Grace was never overlooked in our great-grandmother’s day, but took -rank as an important factor in education. A London schoolmistress, -offering in 1815 some advice as to the music “best fitted for ladies,” -confesses that it is hard to decide between the “wide range” of the -pianoforte and the harp-player’s “elegance of position,” which gives to -her instrument “no small powers of rivalry.” Sentiment was interwoven -with every accomplishment. Tender mottoes, like those which Miss -Euphemia Dundas entreats Thaddeus of Warsaw to design for her, were -painted upon boxes and hand-screens. Who can forget the white leather -“souvenir,” adorned with the words “Toujours cher,” which Miss Euphemia -presses upon Thaddeus, and which that attractive but virtuous exile -is modestly reluctant to accept. A velvet bracelet embroidered with -forget-me-nots symbolized friendship. A handkerchief, designed as a -gift from a young girl to her betrothed, had a celestial sphere worked -in one corner, to indicate the purity of their flame; a bouquet of -buds and blossoms in another, to mark the pleasures and the brevity of -life; and, in a third, Cupid playing with a spaniel, “as an emblem of -the most passionate fidelity.” Even samplers, which represented the -first step in the pursuit of accomplishments, had their emblematic -designs no less than their moral axioms. The village schoolmistress, -whom Miss Mitford knew and loved, complained that all her pupils -wanted to work samplers instead of learning to sew; and that all their -mothers valued these works of art more than they did the neatest of -caps and aprons. The sampler stood for gentility as well as industry. -It reflected credit on the family as well as on the child. At the -bottom of a faded canvas, worked more than a hundred years ago, and now -hanging in a great museum of art, is this inspiring verse:-- - - I have done this that you may see - What care my parents took of me. - And when I’m dead and in my grave, - This piece of work I trust you’ll save. - -If the little girl who embodied her high hopes in the painful precision -of cross-stitch could but know of their splendid fulfilment! - - - - -THE ALBUM AMICORUM - - She kept an album too, at home, - Well stocked with all an album’s glories, - Paintings of butterflies and Rome, - Patterns for trimmings, Persian stories. - - PRAED. - - -Modern authors who object to being asked for their autographs, and who -complain piteously of the persecutions they endure in this regard, -would do well to consider what they have gained by being born in an age -when commercialism has supplanted compliment. Had they been their own -great-grandfathers, they would have been expected to present to their -female friends the verses they now sell to magazines. They would have -written a few playful and affectionate lines every time they dined -out, and have paid for a week’s hospitality with sentimental tributes -to their hostess. And not their hostess only. Her budding daughters -would have looked for some recognition of their charms, and her infant -son would have presented a theme too obvious for disregard. It is -recorded that when Campbell spent two days at the country seat of Mr. -James Craig, the Misses Craig kept him busy most of that time composing -verses for their albums,--a pleasant way of entertaining a poet guest. -On another occasion he writes to Mrs. Arkwright, lamenting, though with -much good-humour, the importunities of mothers. “Mrs. Grahame has a -plot upon me that I should write a poem upon her boy, three years old. -Oh, such a boy! But in the way of writing lines on lovely children, I -am engaged three deep, and dare not promise.” - -It seems that parents not only petitioned for these poetic windfalls, -but pressed their claims hard. Campbell, one of the most amiable of -men, yielded in time to this demand, as he had yielded to many others, -and sent to little Master Grahame some verses of singular ineptitude. - - Sweet bud of life! thy future doom - Is present to my eyes, - And joyously I see thee bloom - In Fortune’s fairest skies. - - One day that breast, scarce conscious now, - Shall burn with patriot flame; - And, fraught with love, that little brow - Shall wear the wreath of fame. - -There are many more stanzas, but these are enough to make us wonder -why parents did not let the poet alone. Perhaps, if they had, he would -have volunteered his services. We know that when young Fanny Kemble -showed him her nosegay at a ball, and asked how she should keep the -flowers from fading, he answered hardily: “Give them to me, and I will -immortalize them,”--an enviable assurance of renown. - -Album verses date from the old easy days, when rhyming was regarded -as a gentlemanly accomplishment rather than as a means of livelihood. -Titled authors, poets wealthy and well-born--for there were always -such--naturally addressed themselves to the ladies of their -acquaintance. They could say with Lord Chesterfield that they thanked -Heaven they did not have to live by their brains. It was a theory, -long and fondly cherished, that poetry was not common merchandise, to -be bought and sold like meal and malt; that it was, as Burns admirably -said, either above price or worth nothing at all. Later on, when -poets became excellent men of business, when Byron had been seduced -by Murray’s generosity, when Moore drove his wonderful bargains, and -poetic narrative was the best-selling commodity in the market, we hear -a rising murmur of protest against the uncommercial exactions of the -album. Sonneteers who could sell their wares for hard cash no longer -felt repaid by a word of flattery. Even the myrtle wreaths which -crowned the victors of the Bath Easton contests appeared but slender -compensation, save in Miss Seward’s eyes, or in Mrs. Hayley’s. When -Mrs. Hayley went to Bath in 1781, and witnessed the solemn ceremonies -inaugurated by Lady Miller; when she saw the laurels, and myrtles, -and fluttering ribbons, her soul was fired with longing, and she set -to work to persuade her husband that the Bath Easton prize was not -wholly beneath his notice. The author of “The Triumphs of Temper” -was naturally fearful of lowering his dignity by sporting with minor -poets; and there was much wifely artifice in her assumption that such -playfulness on his part would be recognized as true condescension. -“If you should feel disposed to honour this slight amusement with a -light composition, I am persuaded you will oblige very highly.” The -responsive Hayley was not unwilling to oblige, provided no one would -suspect him of being in earnest. He “scribbled” the desired lines “in -the most rapid manner,” “literally in a morning and a half” (Byron did -not take much longer to write “The Corsair”), and sent them off to -Bath, where they were “admired beyond description,” and won the prize, -so that the gratified Mrs. Hayley appeared that night with the myrtle -wreath woven in her hair. The one famous contributor to the Bath Easton -vase who did _not_ win a prize was Sheridan. He, being entreated to -write for it some verses on “Charity,” complied in these heartless -lines:-- - - THE VASE SPEAKS - - For heaven’s sake bestow on me - A little wit, for that would be - Indeed an act of charity. - -Complimentary addresses--those flowery tributes which seem so ardent -and so facile--were beginning to drag a little, even in Walpole’s -day. He himself was an adept in the art of polite adulation, and wrote -without a blush the obliging comparison between the Princess Amelia and -Venus (greatly to the disparagement of Venus), which the flattered lady -found in the hand of the marble Apollo at Stowe. “All women like all -or any praise,” said Lord Byron, who had reason to know the sex. The -Princess Amelia, stout, sixty, and “strong as a Brunswick lion,” was -pleased to be designated as a “Nymph,” and to be told she had routed -Venus from the field. Walpole also presented to Madame de Boufflers a -“petite gentillesse,” when she visited Strawberry Hill; and it became -the painful duty of the Duc de Nivernois to translate these lines into -French, on the occasion of Miss Pelham’s grand fête at Esher Place. -The task kept him absorbed and preoccupied most of the day, “lagging -behind” while the others made a cheerful tour of the farms, or listened -to the French horns and hautboys on the lawn. Finally, when all the -guests were drinking tea and coffee in the Belvidere, poor Nivernois -was delivered of his verselets, which were received with a polite -semblance of gratification, and for the remaining hours his spirit was -at peace. But it does seem a hard return to exact for hospitality, and -must often have suggested to men of letters the felicity of staying at -home. - -Miss Seward made it her happy boast that the number and the warmth -of Mr. Hayley’s tributes--inserted duly in her album--raised her to -a rivalry with Swift’s Stella, or Prior’s Chloe. “Our four years’ -correspondence has been enriched with a galaxy of little poetic gems -of the first water.” Nor was the lady backward in returning compliment -for compliment. That barter of praise, that exchange of felicitation, -which is both so polite and so profitable, was as well understood by -our sentimental ancestors as it is in this hard-headed age. Indeed, -I am not sure that the Muse did not sometimes calculate more closely -then than she ventures to do to-day. We know that Canon Seward wrote -an elegiac poem on a young nobleman who was held to be dying, but -who--perversely enough--recovered; whereupon the reverend eulogist -changed the name, and transferred his heartfelt lamentations to -another youth whose death was fully assured. In the same business-like -spirit Miss Seward paid back Mr. Hayley flattery for flattery, until -even the slow-witted satirists of the period made merry over this -commerce of applause. - - _Miss Seward._ Pride of Sussex, England’s glory, - Mr. Hayley, is that you? - - _Mr. Hayley._ Ma’am, you carry all before you, - Trust me, Lichfield swan, you do. - - _Miss Seward._ Ode, dramatic, epic, sonnet, - Mr. Hayley, you’re divine! - - _Mr. Hayley._ Ma’am, I’ll give my word upon it, - You yourself are all the Nine. - -Moore, as became a poet of ardent temperament, wrote the most gallant -album verses of his day; for which reason, and because his star of -fame rode high, he endured sharp persecution at the hands of admiring -but covetous friends. Young ladies asked him in the most offhand -manner to “address a poem” to them; and women of rank smiled on him -in ballrooms, and confided to him that they were keeping their albums -virgin of verse until “an introduction to Mr. Moore” should enable them -to request _him_ to write on the opening page. “I fight this off as -well as I can,” he tells Lord Byron, who knew both the relentlessness -of such demands and the compliant nature of his friend. On one occasion -Lady Holland showed Moore some stanzas which Lord Holland had written -in Latin and in English, on the subject of a snuff-box given her by -Napoleon; bidding him imperiously “do something of the kind,” and -adding that she greatly desired a corresponding tribute from Lord -Byron. Moore wisely declined to make any promises for Byron (one doubts -whether the four lines which that nobleman eventually contributed -afforded her ladyship much pleasure), but wrote his own verses before -he was out of bed the next morning, and carried them to Holland House, -expecting to breakfast with its mistress. He found her, however, in -such a captious mood, so out of temper with all her little world, -that, although he sat down to the table, he did not venture to hint -his hunger; and as no one asked him to eat or drink, he slipped off in -half an hour, and sought (his poem still in his pocket) the more genial -hospitality of Rosset’s restaurant. Had all this happened twenty years -earlier, Moore’s self-esteem would have been deeply wounded; but the -poet was by now a man of mark, and could afford to laugh at his own -discomfiture. - -Moore’s album verses may be said to make up in warmth what they lack -in address. Minor poets--minims like William Robert Spencer--surpassed -him easily in adroitness; and sometimes won for themselves slender but -abiding reputations by expressing with consummate ease sentiments they -did not feel. Spencer’s pretty lines beginning,-- - - Too late I stayed,--forgive the crime! - Unheeded flew the hours: - How noiseless falls the foot of time - That only treads on flowers! - ---lines which all our grandmothers had by heart--may still be found in -compilations of English verse. Their dexterous allusions to the diamond -sparks in Time’s hour-glass, and to the bird-of-paradise plumage in his -grey wings, their veiled and graceful flattery, contrast pleasantly -with Moore’s Hibernian boldness, with his offhand demand to be paid in -kisses for his songs-- - - That rosy mouth alone can bring - What makes the bard divine; - Oh, Lady! how my lip would sing, - If once ’twere prest to thine. - -A discreet young woman might have hesitated to show _this_ album page -to friends. - -Byron’s “tributes,” when he paid them, were singularly chill. He may -have buried his heart at Mrs. Spencer Smith’s feet; but the lines -in her album which record this interment are eloquent of a speedy -resurrection. When Lady Blessington demanded some verses, he wrote -them; but he explained with almost insulting lucidity that his heart -was as grey as his head (he was thirty-one), and that he had nothing -warmer than friendship to offer in place of extinguished affections. -Moore must have wearied painfully of albums and of their rapacious -demands; yet to the end of his life he could be harassed into feigning -a poetic passion; but Byron stood at bay. He was a hunted creature, and -the instinct of self-preservation taught him savage methods of escape. - -There are people who, from some delicacy of mental fibre, find it -exceedingly difficult to be rude; and there are people who--like -Charles Lamb--have a curious habit of doing what they do not want to -do, and what they know is not worth doing, for the sake of giving -pleasure to some utterly insignificant acquaintance. The first class -lacks a valuable weapon in life’s warfare. The second class is so -small, and the motives which govern it are so inscrutable, that we are -apt to be exasperated by its amiability. It is easy to sympathize with -Thackeray, who, being badgered to write in an album already graced -by the signatures of several distinguished musicians, said curtly: -“What! among all those fiddlers!” This hardy British superciliousness -commends itself to our sense of humour, no less than to our sense of -self-protection. A great deal has been said, especially by Frenchmen, -about the wisdom of polite denials; but a rough word, spoken in time, -is seldom without weight in England. - -Yet, for a friend, Thackeray found no labour hard. The genial tolerance -of “The Pen and the Album” suggests something akin to affection for -these pillaging little books when the right people owned them,--when -they belonged to “Chesham Place.” Locker tells a pleasant story of -meeting Thackeray in Pall Mall, on his way to Kensington, and offering -to join him in his walk. This offer was declined, Thackeray explaining -that he had some rhymes trotting through his head, and that he was -trying to polish them off in the course of a solitary stroll. A few -days later they met again, and Thackeray said, “I finished those -verses, and they are very nearly being very good. I call them ‘Mrs. -Katherine’s Lantern.’ I did them for Dickens’s daughter.” - -“Very nearly being very good!” This is an author’s modest estimate. -Readers there are who have found them so absolutely good that they -leaven the whole heavy mass of album verse. Shall not a century of -extortion on the one side and debility on the other be forgiven, -because upon one blank page, the property of one thrice fortunate young -woman, were written these lines, fragrant with imperishable sentiment:-- - - When he was young as you are young, - When he was young, and lutes were strung, - And love-lamps in the casement hung. - -But when we turn to Lamb, and find him driving his pen along its -unwilling way, and admitting ruefully that the road was hard, we see -the reverse of the medal, and we resent that inexplicable sweetness of -temper which left him defenceless before marauders. - - My feeble Muse, that fain her best would - Write at command of Frances Westwood, - But feels her wits not in their best mood. - -Why should Frances Westwood have commanded his services? Why should -Frances Brown, “engaged to a Mr. White,” have wrung from him a dozen -lines of what we should now call “copy”? She had no recognizable right -to that copy; but Lamb confided to Mrs. Moxon that he had sent it to -her at twenty-four hours’ notice, because she was going to be married -and start with her husband for India. Also that he had forgotten what -he had written, save only two lines:-- - - May your fame - And fortune, Frances, Whiten with your name! - -of which conceit he was innocently proud. - -Mrs. Moxon (Emma Isola) was herself an old and hardened offender. Her -album, enriched with the spoils of a predatory warfare, travelled far -afield, extorting its tribute of verse. We find Lamb first paying, -as was natural, his own tithes, and then actually aiding and abetting -injustice by sending the book to Mr. Procter (Barry Cornwall), with an -irresistible appeal for support. - -“I have another favour to beg, which is the beggarliest of beggings; -a few lines of verse for a young friend’s album (six will be enough). -M. Burney will tell you who I want ’em for. A girl of gold. Six -lines--make ’em eight--signed Barry C----. They need not be very good, -as I chiefly want ’em as a foil to mine. But I shall be seriously -obliged by any refuse scraps. We are in the last ages of the world, -when St. Paul prophesied that women should be ‘headstrong lovers of -their own wills, having albums.’ I fled hither to escape the albumean -persecution, and had not been in my new house twenty-four hours when -a daughter of the next house came in with a friend’s album, to beg a -contribution, and, the following day, intimated she had one of her own. -Two more have sprung up since. ‘If I take the wings of the morning, -and fly unto the uttermost parts of the earth, there will albums be.’ -New Holland has albums. The age is to be complied with.” - - * * * * * - -“Ask for this little book a token of remembrance from friends, and from -fellow students, and from wayfarers whom you may never see again. He -who gives you his name and a few kind words, gives you a treasure which -shall keep his memory green.” - -So wrote Goethe--out of the abyss of German sentimentality--in his -son’s album; and the words have a pleasant ring of good fellowship -and unforced fraternity. They are akin to those gracious phrases with -which the French monarchy--“despotism tempered by epigram”--was wont -to designate the taxes that devoured the land. There was a charming -politeness in the assumption that taxes were free gifts, gladly given; -but those who gave them knew. - - - - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - U . S . A - - - - -FOOTNOTE: - -[1] Beattie’s _Minstrel_. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is - entered into the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY AND OTHER -ESSAYS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A happy half-century and other essays</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Agnes Repplier</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 29, 2022 [eBook #68195]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY AND OTHER ESSAYS ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h1>A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY<br /> -<small>AND OTHER ESSAYS</small></h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p class="ph2">A<br /> -HAPPY HALF-CENTURY<br /> -<small><i>AND OTHER ESSAYS</i></small></p> - -<p>BY<br /> -<span class="large">AGNES REPPLIER, <span class="smcap">Litt. D.</span></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepagelogo.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="large">HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</span><br /> - -<span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press Cambridge</span><br /> -1908</p> - -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY AGNES REPPLIER<br /> - -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> - -<i>Published September 1908</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1"> -TO<br /> -J. WILLIAM WHITE</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> half-century, whose more familiar aspects -this little book is designed to illustrate, has -spread its boundary lines. Nothing is so hard -to deal with as a period. Nothing is so unmanageable -as a date. People will be born a -few years too early; they will live a few years -too long. Events will happen out of time. The -closely linked decades refuse to be separated, -and my half-century, that I thought so compact, -widened imperceptibly while I wrote.</p> - -<p>I have filled my canvas with trivial things, -with intimate details, with what now seem the -insignificant aspects of life. But the insignificant -aspects of life concern us mightily while -we live; and it is by their help that we understand -the insignificant people who are sometimes -reckoned of importance. A hundred -years ago many men and women were reckoned -of importance, at whose claims their successors -to-day smile scornfully. Yet they and their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span> -work were woven into the tissue of things, into -the warp and woof of social conditions, into -the literary history of England. An hour is -not too precious to waste upon them, however -feeble their pretensions. Perhaps some idle -reader in the future will do as much by us.</p> - -<p class="right">A. R.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Happy Half-Century</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Perils of Immortality</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_16"> 16</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">When Lalla Rookh was Young</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_32"> 32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Correspondent</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_51"> 51</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Novelist</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73"> 73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">On the Slopes of Parnassus</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_94"> 94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Literary Lady</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_116"> 116</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Child</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138"> 138</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Educator</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155"> 155</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Pietist</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177"> 177</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Accursed Annual</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_196"> 196</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Our Accomplished Great-Grandmother</span>     </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217"> 217</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Album Amicorum</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_234"> 234</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>“A Happy Half-Century,” “The Perils of Immortality,” and “The -Correspondent” appeared first in <i>Harper’s Magazine</i>, “Our Accomplished -Great-Grandmother” in <i>Harper’s Bazar</i>, and “On the Slopes -of Parnassus” in the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>; they are here reprinted by -permission of the publishers of those magazines.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">This damn’d unmasculine canting age!</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="indentleft"><span class="smcap">Charles Lamb.</span></span></p> - - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are few of us who do not occasionally -wish we had been born in other days, in days -for which we have some secret affinity, and -which shine for us with a mellow light in the -deceitful pages of history. Mr. Austin Dobson, -for example, must have sighed more than once -to see Queen Anne on Queen Victoria’s throne; -and the Rt. Hon. Cecil Rhodes must have realized -that the reign of Elizabeth was the reign -for him. There is a great deal lost in being -born out of date. What freak of fortune thrust -Galileo into the world three centuries too soon, -and held back Richard Burton’s restless soul -until he was three centuries too late?</p> - -<p>For myself, I confess that the last twenty-five -years of the eighteenth century and the -first twenty-five years of the nineteenth make -up my chosen period, and that my motive for -so choosing is contemptible. It was not a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> -time distinguished—in England at least—for -wit or wisdom, for public virtues or for -private charm; but it <i>was</i> a time when literary -reputations were so cheaply gained that nobody -needed to despair of one. A taste for platitudes, -a tinge of Pharisaism, an appreciation of the -commonplace,—and the thing was done. It -was in the latter half of this blissful period -that we find that enthusiastic chronicler, Mrs. -Cowley, writing in “Public Characters” of -“the proud preëminence which, in all the varieties -of excellence produced by the pen, the -pencil, or the lyre, the ladies of Great Britain -have attained over contemporaries in every -other country in Europe.”</p> - -<p>When we search for proofs of this proud -preëminence, what do we find? Roughly speaking, -the period begins with Miss Burney, and -closes with Miss Terrier and Miss Jane Porter. -It includes—besides Miss Burney—one -star of the first magnitude, Miss Austen -(whose light never dazzled Mrs. Cowley’s eyes), -and one mild but steadfast planet, Miss Edgeworth. -The rest of Great Britain’s literary -ladies were enjoying a degree of fame and fortune<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> -so utterly disproportionate to their merits -that their toiling successors to-day may be pardoned -for wishing themselves part of that -happy sisterhood. Think of being able to find -a market for an interminable essay entitled -“Against Inconsistency in our Expectations”! -There lingers in all our hearts a desire to utter -moral platitudes, to dwell lingeringly and lovingly -upon the obvious; but alas! we are not -Mrs. Barbaulds, and this is not the year 1780. -Foolish and inconsequent we are permitted to -be, but tedious, never! And think of hearing -one’s own brother burst into song, that he -might fondly eulogize our</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Sacred gifts whose meed is deathless praise,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose potent charm the enraptured soul can raise.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>There are few things more difficult to conceive -than an enthusiastic brother tunefully entreating -his sister to go on enrapturing the world -with her pen. Oh, thrice-favoured Anna Letitia -Barbauld, who could warm even the calm -fraternal heart into a glow of sensibility.</p> - -<p>The publication of “Evelina” was the first -notable event in our happy half-century. Its -freshness and vivacity charmed all London;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -and Miss Burney, like Sheridan, had her applause -“dashed in her face, sounded in her -ears,” for the rest of a long and meritorious -life. Her second novel, “Cecilia,” was received -with such universal transport, that in a very -moral epilogue of a rather immoral play we -find it seriously commended to the public as -an antidote to vice:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Let sweet Cecilia gain your just applause,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose every passion yields to nature’s laws.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Miss Burney, blushing in the royal box, had -the satisfaction of hearing this stately advertisement -of her wares. Virtue was not left to -be its own reward in those fruitful and generous -years.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the most comfortable characteristic -of the period, and the one which incites our -deepest envy, is the universal willingness to -accept a good purpose as a substitute for good -work. Even Madame d’Arblay, shrewd, caustic, -and quick-witted, forbears from unkind -criticism of the well-intentioned. She has nothing -but praise for Mrs. Barbauld’s poems, because -of “the piety and worth they exhibit”; -and she rises to absolute enthusiasm over the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> -anti-slavery epistle, declaring that its energy -“springs from the real spirit of virtue.” Yet -to us the picture of the depraved and luxurious -West Indian ladies—about whom it is -safe to say good Mrs. Barbauld knew very -little—seems one of the most unconsciously -humorous things in English verse.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -Lo! where reclined, pale Beauty courts the breeze,</div> -<div class="verse">Diffused on sofas of voluptuous ease.</div> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<div class="verse">With languid tones imperious mandates urge,</div> -<div class="verse">With arm recumbent wield the household scourge.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>There are moments when Mrs. Barbauld soars -to the inimitable, when she reaches the highest -and happiest effect that absurdity is able to -produce.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">With arm recumbent wield the household scourge</div> -</div></div> - -<p>is one of these inspirations; and another is this -pregnant sentence, which occurs in a chapter -of advice to young girls: “An ass is much -better adapted than a horse to show off a -lady.”</p> - -<p>To point to Hannah More as a brilliant and -bewildering example of sustained success is to -give the most convincing proof that it was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -good thing to be born in the year 1745. Miss -More’s reputation was already established at -the dawning of my cherished half-century, and, -for the whole fifty years, her life was a series -of social, literary, and religious triumphs. In -her youth, she was mistaken for a wit. In her -old age, she was revered as a saint. In her -youth, Garrick called her “Nine,”—gracefully -intimating that she embodied the attributes of -all the Muses. In her old age, an acquaintance -wrote to her: “You who are secure of the -approbation of angels may well hold human -applause to be of small consequence.” In her -youth, she wrote a play that everybody went -to see. In her old age, she wrote tracts that -everybody bought and distributed. Prelates -composed Latin verses in her honour; and -when her “Estimate of the Religion of the -Fashionable World” was published anonymously, -the Bishop of London exclaimed in -a kind of pious transport, “Aut Morus, aut -Angelus!” Her tragedy, “Percy,” melted the -heart of London. Men “shed tears in abundance,” -and women were “choked with emotion” -over the “affecting circumstances of the Piece.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -Sir William Pepys confessed that “Percy” -“broke his heart”; and that he thought it “a -kind of profanation” to wipe his eyes, and go -from the theatre to Lady Harcourt’s assembly. -Four thousand copies of the play were sold in -a fortnight; and the Duke of Northumberland -sent a special messenger to Miss More to -thank her for the honour she had done his -historic name.</p> - -<p>As a novelist, Hannah was equally successful. -Twenty thousand copies of “Cœlebs in -Search of a Wife” were sold in England, and -thirty thousand in America. “The Americans -are a very approving people,” acknowledged -the gratified authoress. In Iceland “Cœlebs” -was read—so Miss More says—“with great -apparent profit”; while certain very popular -tracts, like “Charles the Footman” and “The -Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,” made their edifying -way to Moscow, and were found by the -missionary Gericke in the library of the Rajah -of Tanjore. “All this and Heaven, too!” as a -reward for being born in 1745. The injustice -of the thing stings us to the soul. Yet it was -the unhesitating assumption of Heaven’s co-partnership<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -which gave to Hannah More the -best part of her earthly prestige, and made her -verdicts a little like Protestant Bulls. When -she objected to “Marmion” and “The Lady -of the Lake” for their lack of “practical precept,” -these sinless poems were withdrawn from -Evangelical book-shelves. Her biographer, Mr. -Thompson, thought it necessary to apologize -for her correspondence with that agreeable -worldling, Horace Walpole, and to assure us -that “the fascinations of Walpole’s false wit -must have retired before the bright ascendant -of her pure and prevailing superiority.” As -she waxed old, and affluent, and disputatious, -it was deemed well to encourage a timid public -with the reminder that her genius, though -“great and commanding,” was still “lovely and -kind.” And when she died, it was recorded -that “a cultivated taste for moral scenery was -one of her distinctions”;—as though Nature -herself attended a class of ethics before venturing -to allure too freely the mistress of Barley -Wood.</p> - -<p>It is in the contemplation of such sunlight -mediocrity that the hardship of being born too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -late is felt with crushing force. Why cannot -we write “Letters on the Improvement of the -Mind,” and be held, like Mrs. Chapone, to be -an authority on education all the rest of our -lives; and have people entreating us, as they -entreated her, to undertake, at any cost, the -intellectual guidance of their daughters? When -we consider all that a modern educator is -expected to know—from bird-calls to metric -measures—we sigh over the days which demanded -nothing more difficult than the polite -expression of truisms.</p> - -<p>“Our feelings are not given us for our ornament, -but to spur us on to right action. Compassion, -for instance, is not impressed upon the -human heart, only to adorn the fair face with -tears, and to give an agreeable languor to the -eyes. It is designed to excite our utmost endeavour -to relieve the sufferer.”</p> - -<p>Was it really worth while to say this even -in 1775? Is it possible that young ladies were -then in danger of thinking that the office of -compassion was to “adorn a face with tears”? -and did they try to be sorry for the poor and -sick, only that their bright eyes might be softened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -into languor? Yet we know that Mrs. -Chapone’s little volume was held to have rendered -signal service to society. It has the honour -to be one of the books which Miss Lydia -Languish lays out ostentatiously on her table—in -company with Fordyce’s sermons—when -she anticipates a visit from Mrs. Malaprop -and Sir Anthony. Some halting verses of the -period exalt it as the beacon light of youth; -and Mrs. Delany, writing to her six-year-old -niece, counsels the little girl to read the -“Letters” once a year until she is grown up. -“They speak to the heart as well as to the -head,” she assures the poor infant; “and I -know no book (next to the Bible) more entertaining -and edifying.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Montagu gave dinners. The real and -very solid foundation of <i>her</i> reputation was the -admirable manner in which she fed her lions. -A mysterious halo of intellectuality surrounded -this excellent hostess. “The female Mæcenas -of Hill Street,” Hannah More elegantly termed -her, adding,—to prove that she herself was -not unduly influenced by gross food and drink,—“But -what are baubles, when speaking of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -a Montagu!” Dr. Johnson praised her conversation,—especially -when he wanted to tease -jealous Mrs. Thrale,—but sternly discountenanced -her attempts at authorship. When Sir -Joshua Reynolds observed that the “Essay on -the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare” did -its authoress honour, Dr. Johnson retorted -contemptuously: “It does <i>her</i> honour, but it -would do honour to nobody else,”—which -strikes me as a singularly unpleasant thing to -hear said about one’s literary masterpiece. -Like the fabled Caliph who stood by the Sultan’s -throne, translating the flowers of Persian -speech into comprehensible and unflattering -truths, so Dr. Johnson stands undeceived -in this pleasant half-century of pretence, translating -its ornate nonsense into language we -can too readily understand.</p> - -<p>But how comfortable and how comforting -the pretence must have been, and how kindly -tolerant all the pretenders were to one another! -If, in those happy days, you wrote an essay on -“The Harmony of Numbers and Versification,” -you unhesitatingly asked your friends to -come and have it read aloud to them; and your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -friends—instead of leaving town next day—came, -and listened, and called it a “Miltonic -evening.” If, like Mrs. Montagu, you had a -taste for letter-writing, you filled up innumerable -sheets with such breathless egotisms as -this:—</p> - -<p>“I come, a happy guest, to the general feast -Nature spreads for all her children, my spirits -dance in the sunbeams, or take a sweet repose -in the shade. I rejoice in the grand chorus of -the day, and feel content in the silent serene -of night, while I listen to the morning hymn -of the whole animal creation, I recollect how -beautiful it is, sum’d up in the works of our -great poet, Milton, every rivulet murmurs in -poetical cadence, and to the melody of the -nightingale I add the harmonious verses she -has inspired in many languages.”</p> - -<p>So highly were these rhapsodies appreciated, -and so far were correspondents from demanding -either coherence or punctuation, that four -volumes of Mrs. Montagu’s letters were published -after her death; and we find Miss More -praising Mrs. Boscawen because she approached -this standard of excellence: “Mrs. Palk tells<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -me her letters are hardly inferior to Mrs. Montagu’s.”</p> - -<p>Those were the days to live in, and sensible -people made haste to be born in time. The -close of the eighteenth century saw quiet -country families tearing the freshly published -“Mysteries of Udolpho” into a dozen parts, -because no one could wait his turn to read the -book. All England held its breath while Emily -explored the haunted chambers of her prison-house. -The beginning of the nineteenth century -found Mrs. Opie enthroned as a peerless -novel-writer, and the “Edinburgh Review” -praising “Adeline Mowbray, or Mother and -Daughter,” as the most pathetic story in the -English language. Indeed, one sensitive gentleman -wrote to its authoress that he had lain -awake all night, bathed in tears, after reading -it. About this time, too, we begin to hear “the -mellow tones of Felicia Hemans,” whom Christopher -North reverently admired; and who, we -are assured, found her way to all hearts that -were open to “the holy sympathies of religion -and virtue.” Murray’s heart was so open that -he paid two hundred guineas for the “Vespers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -of Palermo”; and Miss Edgeworth considered -that the “Siege of Valencia” contained the -most beautiful poetry she had read for years. -Finally Miss Jane Porter looms darkly on the -horizon, with novels five volumes long. All -the Porters worked on a heroic scale. Anna -Maria’s stories were more interminable than -Jane’s; and their brother Robert painted on a -single canvas, “The Storming of Seringapatam,” -seven hundred life-sized figures.</p> - -<p>“Thaddeus of Warsaw” and “The Scottish -Chiefs” were books familiar to our infancy. -They stretched vastly and vaguely over many -tender years,—stories after the order of Melchisedec, -without beginning and without end. -But when our grandmothers were young, and -my chosen period had still years to run, they -were read on two continents, and in many -tongues. The King of Würtemberg was so -pleased with “Thaddeus” that he made Miss -Porter a “lady of the Chapter of St. Joachim,”—which -sounds both imposing and mysterious. -The badge of the order was a gold cross; and -this unusual decoration, coupled with the lady’s -habit of draping herself in flowing veils like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s heroines, so confused -an honest British public that it was deemed -necessary to explain to agitated Protestants -that Miss Porter had no Popish proclivities, -and must not be mistaken for a nun. In our -own country her novels were exceedingly popular, -and her American admirers sent her a rose-wood -armchair in token of appreciation and -esteem. It is possible she would have preferred -a royalty on her books; but the armchair was -graciously accepted, and a pen-and-ink sketch -in an album of celebrities represents Miss Porter -seated majestically on its cushions, “in the -quiet and ladylike occupation of taking a cup -of coffee.”</p> - -<p>And so my happy half-century draws to its -appointed end. A new era, cold, critical, contentious, -deprecated the old genial absurdities, -chilled the old sentimental outpourings, questioned -the old profitable pietism. Unfortunates, -born a hundred years too late, look back with -wistful eyes upon the golden age which they -feel themselves qualified to adorn.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE PERILS OF IMMORTALITY</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">Peu de génie, point de grâce.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is no harder fate than to be immortalized -as a fool; to have one’s name—which merits -nothing sterner than obliteration—handed -down to generations as an example of silliness, -or stupidity, or presumption; to be enshrined -pitilessly in the amber of the “Dunciad”; to be -laughed at forever because of Charles Lamb’s -impatient and inextinguishable raillery. When -an industrious young authoress named Elizabeth -Ogilvy Benger—a model of painstaking insignificance—invited -Charles and Mary Lamb to -drink tea with her one cold December night, she -little dreamed she was achieving a deathless and -unenviable fame; and that, when her half dozen -books should have lapsed into comfortable oblivion, -she herself should never be fortunate enough -to be forgotten. It is a cruel chance which crystallizes -the folly of an hour, and makes it outlive -our most serious endeavours. Perhaps we -should do well to consider this painful possibility<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -before hazarding an acquaintance with -the Immortals.</p> - -<p>Miss Benger did more than hazard. She -pursued the Immortals with insensate zeal. She -bribed Mrs. Inchbald’s servant-maid into lending -her cap, and apron, and tea-tray; and, so -equipped, penetrated into the inmost sanctuary -of that literary lady, who seems to have taken -the intrusion in good part. She was equally -adroit in seducing Mary Lamb—as the Serpent -seduced Eve—when Charles Lamb was the -ultimate object of her designs. Coming home -to dinner one day, “hungry as a hunter,” he -found to his dismay the two women closeted -together, and trusted he was in time to prevent -their exchanging vows of eternal friendship, -though not—as he discovered later—in time -to save himself from an engagement to drink -tea with the stranger (“I had never seen her -before, and could not tell who the devil it was -that was so familiar”), the following night.</p> - -<p>What happened is told in a letter to Coleridge; -one of the best-known and one of the longest -letters Lamb ever wrote,—he is so brimful -of his grievance. Miss Benger’s lodgings were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -up two flights of stairs in East Street. She entertained -her guests with tea, coffee, macaroons, -and “much love.” She talked to them, or rather -<i>at</i> them, upon purely literary topics,—as, for -example, Miss Hannah More’s “Strictures on -Female Education,” which they had never read. -She addressed Mary Lamb in French,—“possibly -having heard that neither Mary nor I -understood French,”—and she favoured them -with Miss Seward’s opinion of Pope. She -asked Lamb, who was growing more miserable -every minute, if he agreed with D’Israeli as to the -influence of organism upon intellect; and when -he tried to parry the question with a pun upon -organ—“which went off very flat”—she despised -him for his feeble flippancy. She advised -Mary to carry home two translations of “Pizarro,” -so that she might compare them <i>verbatim</i> -(an offer hastily declined), and she made -them both promise to return the following week—which -they never did—to meet Miss Jane -Porter and her sister, “who, it seems, have -heard much of Mr. Coleridge, and wish to meet -<i>us</i> because we are <i>his</i> friends.” It is a <i>comédie -larmoyante</i>. We sympathize hotly with Lamb<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -when we read his letter; but there is something -piteous in the thought of the poor little hostess -going complacently to bed that night, and never -realizing that she had made her one unhappy -flight to fame.</p> - -<p>There were people, strange as it may seem, -who liked Miss Benger’s evenings. Miss Aikin -assures us that “her circle of acquaintances -extended with her reputation, and with the -knowledge of her excellent qualities, and she -was often enabled to assemble as guests at her -humble tea-table names whose celebrity would -have insured attention in the proudest salons -of the metropolis.” Crabb Robinson, who was -a frequent visitor, used to encounter large -parties of sentimental ladies; among them, Miss -Porter, Miss Landon, and the “eccentric but -amiable” Miss Wesley,—John Wesley’s niece,—who -prided herself upon being broad-minded -enough to have friends of varying religions, -and who, having written two unread novels, remarked -complacently to Miss Edgeworth: “We -sisters of the quill ought to know one another.”</p> - -<p>The formidable Lady de Crespigny of Campion -Lodge was also Miss Benger’s condescending<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -friend and patroness, and this august matron—of -insipid mind and imperious temper—was -held to sanctify in some mysterious manner -all whom she honoured with her notice. -The praises lavished upon Lady de Crespigny -by her contemporaries would have made Hypatia -blush, and Sappho hang her head. Like -Mrs. Jarley, she was the delight of the nobility -and gentry. She corresponded, so we are told, -with the <i>literati</i> of England; she published, -like a British Cornelia, her letters of counsel -to her son; she was “courted by the gay and -admired by the clever”; and she mingled at -Campion Lodge “the festivity of fashionable -parties with the pleasures of intellectual society, -and the comforts of domestic peace.”</p> - -<p>To this array of feminine virtue and feminine -authorship, Lamb was singularly unresponsive. -He was not one of the <i>literati</i> honoured -by Lady de Crespigny’s correspondence. -He eluded the society of Miss Porter, though -she was held to be handsome,—for a novelist. -(“The only literary lady I ever knew,” writes -Miss Mitford, “who didn’t look like a scarecrow -to keep birds from cherries.”) He said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -unkindly of Miss Landon that, if she belonged -to him, he would lock her up and feed her on -bread and water until she left off writing poetry. -And for Miss Wesley he entertained a -cordial animosity, only one degree less lively -than his sentiments towards Miss Benger. -Miss Wesley had a lamentable habit of sending -her effusions to be read by reluctant men -of letters. She asked Lamb for Coleridge’s address, -which he, to divert the evil from his own -head, cheerfully gave. Coleridge, very angry, -reproached his friend for this disloyal baseness; -but Lamb, with the desperate instinct of -self-preservation, refused all promise of amendment. -“You encouraged that mopsey, Miss -Wesley, to dance after you,” he wrote tartly, -“in the hope of having her nonsense put into -a nonsensical Anthology. We have pretty well -shaken her off by that simple expedient of -referring her to you; but there are more burs -in the wind.”... “Of all God’s creatures,” -he cries again, in an excess of ill-humour, “I -detest letters-affecting, authors-hunting ladies.” -Alas for Miss Benger when she hunted hard, -and the quarry turned at bay!</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>An atmosphere of inexpressible dreariness -hangs over the little coterie of respectable, unilluminated -writers, who, to use Lamb’s priceless -phrase, encouraged one another in mediocrity. -A vapid propriety, a mawkish sensibility -were their substitutes for real distinction of -character or mind. They read Mary Wollstonecraft’s -books, but would not know the author; -and when, years later, Mrs. Gaskell presented -the widowed Mrs. Shelley to Miss Lucy Aikin, -that outraged spinster turned her back upon -the erring one, to the profound embarrassment -of her hostess. Of Mrs. Inchbald, we read in -“Public Characters” for 1811: “Her moral -qualities constitute her principal excellence; -and though useful talents and personal accomplishments, -of themselves, form materials for -an agreeable picture, moral character gives the -polish which fascinates the heart.” The conception -of goodness then in vogue is pleasingly -illustrated by a passage from one of Miss -Elizabeth Hamilton’s books, which Miss Benger -in her biography of that lady (now lost to -fame) quotes appreciatively:—</p> - -<p>“It was past twelve o’clock. Already had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -the active and judicious Harriet performed -every domestic task; and, having completely -regulated the family economy for the day, was -quietly seated at work with her aunt and sister, -listening to Hume’s ‘History of England,’ as -it was read to her by some orphan girl whom -she had herself instructed.”</p> - -<p>So truly ladylike had the feminine mind -grown by this time, that the very language it -used was refined to the point of ambiguity. -Mrs. Barbauld writes genteelly of the behaviour -of young girls “to the other half of their -species,” as though she could not bear to say, -simply and coarsely, men. So full of content -were the little circles who listened to the “elegant -lyric poetess,” Mrs. Hemans, or to “the -female Shakespeare of her age,” Miss Joanna -Baillie (we owe both these phrases to the poet -Campbell), that when Crabb Robinson was -asked by Miss Wakefield whether he would -like to know Mrs. Barbauld, he cried enthusiastically: -“You might as well ask me whether -I should like to know the Angel Gabriel!”</p> - -<p>In the midst of these sentimentalities and raptures, -we catch now and then forlorn glimpses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -of the Immortals,—of Wordsworth at a literary -entertainment in the house of Mr. Hoare -of Hampstead, sitting mute and miserable all -evening in a corner,—which, as Miss Aikin -truly remarked, was “disappointing and provoking;” -of Lamb carried by the indefatigable -Crabb Robinson to call on Mrs. Barbauld. -This visit appears to have been a distinct failure. -Lamb’s one recorded observation was that -Gilbert Wakefield had a peevish face,—an -awkward remark, as Wakefield’s daughter sat -close at hand and listening. “Lamb,” writes -Mr. Robinson, “was vexed, but got out of the -scrape tolerably well,”—having had, indeed, -plenty of former experiences to help him on -the way.</p> - -<p>There is a delightful passage in Miss Jane -Porter’s diary which describes at length an -evening spent at the house of Mrs. Fenwick, -“the amiable authoress of ‘Secrecy.’” (Everybody -was the amiable authoress of something. -It was a day, like our own, given over to the -worship of ink.) The company consisted of -Miss Porter and her sister Maria, Miss Benger -and her brother, the poet Campbell, and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -nephew, a young man barely twenty years of -age. The lion of the little party was of course -the poet, who endeared himself to Mrs. Fenwick’s -heart by his attentions to her son, “a -beautiful boy of six.”</p> - -<p>“This child’s innocence and caresses,” writes -Miss Porter gushingly, “seemed to unbend the -lovely feelings of Campbell’s heart. Every restraint -but those which the guardian angels of -tender infancy acknowledge was thrown aside. -I never saw Man in a more interesting point -of view. I felt how much I esteemed the author -of the ‘Pleasures of Hope.’ When we returned -home, we walked. It was a charming summer -night. The moon shone brightly. Maria leaned -on Campbell’s arm. I did the same by Benger’s. -Campbell made some observations on <i>pedantic</i> -women. I did not like it, being anxious for -the respect of this man. I was jealous about -how nearly he might think <i>we</i> resembled that -character. When the Bengers parted from us, -Campbell observed my abstraction, and with -sincerity I confessed the cause. I know not -what were his replies; but they were so gratifying, -so endearing, so marked with truth, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -when we arrived at the door, and he shook us -by the hand, as a sign of adieu immediately -prior to his next day’s journey to Scotland, -we parted with evident marks of being all in -tears.”</p> - -<p>It is rather disappointing, after this outburst -of emotion, to find Campbell, in a letter to -his sister, describing Miss Porter in language -of chilling moderation: “Among the company -was Miss Jane Porter, whose talents my <i>nephew</i> -adores. She is a pleasing woman, and made -quite a conquest of him.”</p> - -<p>Miss Benger was only one of the many -aspirants to literary honours whose futile endeavours -vexed and affronted Charles Lamb. -In reality she burdened him far less than -others who, like Miss Betham and Miss Stoddart, -succeeded in sending him their verses for -criticism, or who begged him to forward the -effusions to Southey,—an office he gladly fulfilled. -Perhaps Miss Benger’s vivacity jarred -upon his taste. He was fastidious about the -gayety of women. Madame de Staël considered -her one of the most interesting persons she -had met in England; but the approval of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -“impudent clever” Frenchwoman would have -been the least possible recommendation to -Lamb. If he had known how hard had been -Miss Benger’s struggles, and how scanty her -rewards, he might have forgiven her that sad -perversity which kept her toiling in the field -of letters. She had had the misfortune to be a -precocious child, and had written at the age -of thirteen a poem called “The Female Geniad,” -which was dedicated to Lady de Crespigny, -and published under the patronage of -that honoured dame. Youthful prodigies were -then much in favour. Miss Mitford comments -very sensibly upon them, being filled with pity -for one Mary Anne Browne, “a fine tall girl -of fourteen, and a full-fledged authoress,” who -was extravagantly courted and caressed one -season, and cruelly ignored the next. The -“Female Geniad” sealed Miss Benger’s fate. -When one has written a poem at thirteen, -and that poem has been printed and praised, -there is nothing for it but to keep on writing -until Death mercifully removes the obligation.</p> - -<p>It is needless to say that the drama—which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -then, as now, was the goal of every author’s -ambition—first fired Miss Benger’s zeal. -When we think of Miss Hannah More as a -successful playwright, it is hard to understand -how any one could fail; yet fail Miss Benger -did, although we are assured by her biographer -that “her genius appeared in many ways well -adapted to the stage.” She next wrote a mercilessly -long poem upon the abolition of the slave-trade -(which was read only by anti-slavery agitators), -and two novels,—“Marian,” and -“Valsinore: or, the Heart and the Fancy.” -Of these we are told that “their excellences -were such as genius only can reach”; and if -they also missed their mark, it must have been -because—as Miss Aikin delicately insinuates—“no -judicious reader could fail to perceive -that the artist was superior to the work.” This -is always unfortunate. It is the work, and not -the artist, which is offered for sale in the market-place. -Miss Benger’s work is not much worse -than a great deal which did sell, and she possessed -at least the grace of an unflinching and -courageous perseverance. Deliberately, and -without aptitude or training, she began to write<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -history, and in this most difficult of all fields -won for herself a hearing. Her “Life of Anne -Boleyn,” and her “Memoirs of Mary, Queen -of Scots,” were read in many an English schoolroom; -their propriety and Protestantism making -them acceptable to the anxious parental mind. -A single sentence from “Anne Boleyn” will -suffice to show the ease of Miss Benger’s mental -attitude, and the comfortable nature of her -views:—</p> - -<p>“It would be ungrateful to forget that the -mother of Queen Elizabeth was the early and -zealous advocate of the Reformation, and that, -by her efforts to dispel the gloom of ignorance -and superstition, she conferred on the English -people a benefit of which, in the present advanced -state of knowledge and civilization, it -would be difficult to conceive or to appreciate -the real value and importance.”</p> - -<p>The “active and judicious Harriet” would -have listened to this with as much complacence -as to Hume.</p> - -<p>In “La Belle Assemblée” for April, 1823, -there is an engraving of Miss Smirke’s portrait -of Miss Benger. She is painted in an imposing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -turban, with tight little curls, and an -air of formidable sprightliness. It was this -sprightliness which was so much admired. -“Wound up by a cup of coffee,” she would -talk for hours, and her friends really seem to -have liked it. “Her lively imagination,” writes -Miss Aikin, “and the flow of eloquence it inspired, -aided by one of the most melodious of -voices, lent an inexpressible charm to her conversation, -which was heightened by an intuitive -discernment of character, rare in itself, and -still more so in combination with such fertility -of fancy and ardency of feeling.”</p> - -<p>This leaves little to be desired. It is not at -all like the Miss Benger of Lamb’s letter, with -her vapid pretensions and her stupid insolence. -Unhappily, we see through Lamb’s eyes, and -we cannot see through Miss Aikin’s. Of one -thing only I feel sure. Had Miss Benger, -instead of airing her trivial acquirements, told -Lamb that when she was a little girl, bookless -and penniless, at Chatham, she used to read -the open volumes in the booksellers’ windows, -and go back again and again, hoping that the -leaves might be turned, she would have touched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -a responsive chord in his heart. Who does not -remember his exquisite sympathy for “street-readers,” -and his unlikely story of Martin -B——, who “got through two volumes of -‘Clarissa,’” in this desultory fashion. Had he -but known of the shabby, eager child, staring -wistfully at the coveted books, he would never -have written the most amusing of his letters, -and Miss Benger’s name would be to-day unknown.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">WHEN LALLA ROOKH WAS YOUNG</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">And give you, mixed with western sentimentalism,</div> -<div class="verse">Some glimpses of the finest orientalism.</div> -</div></div> - - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Stick</span> to the East,” wrote Byron to Moore, in -1813. “The oracle, Staël, told me it was the -only poetic policy. The North, South, and West -have all been exhausted; but from the East we -have nothing but Southey’s unsaleables, and -these he has contrived to spoil by adopting only -their most outrageous fictions. His personages -don’t interest us, and yours will. You will have -no competitors; and, if you had, you ought to -be glad of it. The little I have done in that -way is merely a ‘voice in the wilderness’ for -you; and if it has had any success, that also will -prove that the public are orientalizing, and pave -the way for you.”</p> - -<p>There is something admirably business-like -in this advice. Byron, who four months before -had sold the “Giaour” and the “Bride of Abydos” -to Murray for a thousand guineas, was -beginning to realize the commercial value of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -poetry; and, like a true man of affairs, knew -what it meant to corner a poetic market. He -was generous enough to give Moore the tip, -and to hold out a helping hand as well; for he -sent him six volumes of Castellan’s “Mœurs -des Ottomans,” and three volumes of Toderini’s -“De la Littérature des Turcs.” The orientalism -afforded by text-books was the kind that -England loved.</p> - -<p>From the publication of “Lalla Rookh” in -1817 to the publication of Thackeray’s “Our -Street” in 1847, Byron’s far-sighted policy continued -to bear golden fruit. For thirty years -Caliphs and Deevs, Brahmins and Circassians, -rioted through English verse; mosques and -seraglios were the stage properties of English -fiction; the bowers of Rochnabed, the Lake of -Cashmere, became as familiar as Richmond and -the Thames to English readers. Some feeble -washings of this great tidal wave crossed the -estranging sea, to tint the pages of the New -York “Mirror,” and kindred journals in the -United States. Harems and slave-markets, with -beautiful Georgians and sad, slender Arab girls, -thrilled our grandmothers’ kind hearts. Tales<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -of Moorish Lochinvars, who snatch away the -fair daughters—or perhaps the fair wives—of -powerful rajahs, captivated their imaginations. -Gazelles trot like poodles through these -stories, and lend colour to their robust Saxon -atmosphere. In one, a neglected “favourite” -wins back her lord’s affection by the help of a -slave-girl’s amulet; and the inconstant Moslem, -entering the harem, exclaims, “Beshrew me -that I ever thought another fair!”—which -sounds like a penitent Tudor.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">A Persian’s Heaven is easily made,</div> -<div class="verse">’Tis but black eyes and lemonade;</div> -</div></div> - -<p>and our oriental literature was compounded of -the same simple ingredients. When the New -York “Mirror,” under the guidance of the versatile -Mr. Willis, tried to be impassioned and -sensuous, it dropped into such wanton lines as -these to a “Sultana”:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">She came,—soft leaning on her favourite’s arm,</div> -<div class="verse">She came, warm panting from the sultry hours,</div> -<div class="verse">To rove mid fragrant shades of orange bowers,</div> -<div class="verse">A veil light shadowing each voluptuous charm.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>And for this must Lord Byron stand responsible.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>The happy experiment of grafting Turkish -roses upon English boxwood led up to some curious -complications, not the least of which was -the necessity of stiffening the moral fibre of the -Orient—which was esteemed to be but lax—until -it could bear itself in seemly fashion before -English eyes. The England of 1817 was -not, like the England of 1908, prepared to give -critical attention to the decadent. It presented -a solid front of denial to habits and ideas which -had not received the sanction of British custom; -which had not, through national adoption, -become part of the established order of the universe. -The line of demarcation between Providence -and the constitution was lightly drawn. -Jeffrey, a self-constituted arbiter of tastes and -morals, assured his nervous countrymen that, -although Moore’s verse was glowing, his principles -were sound.</p> - -<p>“The characters and sentiments of ‘Lalla -Rookh’ belong to the poetry of rational, honourable, -considerate, and humane Europe; and -not to the childishness, cruelty, and profligacy -of Asia. So far as we have yet seen, there is -no sound sense, firmness of purpose, or principled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -goodness, except among the natives of -Europe and their genuine descendants.”</p> - -<p>Starting with this magnificent assumption, -it became a delicate and a difficult task to unite -the customs of the East with the “principled -goodness” of the West; the “sound sense” of -the Briton with the fervour and fanaticism of -the Turk. Jeffrey held that Moore had effected -this alliance in the most tactful manner, and -had thereby “redeemed the character of oriental -poetry”; just as Mr. Thomas Haynes -Bayly, ten years later, “reclaimed festive song -from vulgarity.” More carping critics, however, -worried their readers a good deal on this -point; and the nonconformist conscience cherished -uneasy doubts as to Hafed’s irregular -courtship and Nourmahal’s marriage lines. -From across the sea came the accusing voice of -young Mr. Channing in the “North American,” -proclaiming that “harlotry has found in Moore -a bard to smooth her coarseness and veil her -effrontery, to give her languor for modesty, -and affectation for virtue.” The English -“Monthly Review,” less open to alarm, confessed -with a sigh “a depressing regret that,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -with the exception of ‘Paradise and the Peri,’ -no great moral effect is either attained or attempted -by ‘Lalla Rookh.’ To what purpose -all this sweetness and delicacy of thought and -language, all this labour and profusion of -Oriental learning? What head is set right -in one erroneous notion, what heart is softened -in one obdurate feeling, by this luxurious -quarto?”</p> - -<p>It is a lamentable truth that Anacreon exhibits -none of Dante’s spiritual depth, and that -la reine Margot fell short of Queen Victoria’s -fireside qualities. Nothing could make a moralist -of Moore. The light-hearted creature was a -model of kindness, of courage, of conjugal fidelity; -but—reversing the common rule of life—he -preached none of the virtues that he practised. -His pathetic attempts to adjust his tales -to the established conventions of society failed -signally of their purpose. Even Byron wrote -him that little Allegra (as yet unfamiliar with -her alphabet) should not be permitted to read -“Lalla Rookh”; partly because it wasn’t proper, -and partly—which was prettily said—lest -she should discover “that there was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -better poet than Papa.” It was reserved for -Moore’s followers to present their verses and -stories in the chastened form acceptable to -English drawing-rooms, and permitted to English -youth. “La Belle Assemblée” published in -1819 an Eastern tale called “Jahia and Meimoune,” -in which the lovers converse like the -virtuous characters in “Camilla.” Jahia becomes -the guest of an infamous sheik, who intoxicates -him with a sherbet composed of “sugar, -musk, and amber,” and presents him with five -thousand sequins and a beautiful Circassian -slave. When he is left alone with this damsel, -she addresses him thus: “I feel interested in -you, and present circumstances will save me -from the charge of immodesty, when I say -that I also love you. This love inspires me -with fresh horror at the crimes that are here -committed.”</p> - -<p>Jahia protests that he respectfully returns -her passion, and that his intentions are of an -honourable character, whereupon the circumspect -maiden rejoins: “Since such are your -sentiments, I will perish with you if I fail in -delivering you”; and conducts him, through a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -tangle of adventures, to safety. Jahia then -places Meimoune under the chaperonage of -his mother until their wedding day; after -which we are happy to know that “they passed -their lives in the enjoyment of every comfort -attending on domestic felicity. If their lot was -not splendid or magnificent, they were rich in -mutual affection; and they experienced that -fortunate medium which, far removed from -indigence, aspires not to the accumulation of -immense wealth, and laughs at the unenvied -load of pomp and splendour, which it neither -seeks, nor desires to obtain.”</p> - -<p>It is to be hoped that many obdurate hearts -were softened, and many erroneous notions -were set right by the influence of a story like -this. In the “Monthly Museum” an endless -narrative poem, “Abdallah,” stretched its slow -length along from number to number, blooming -with fresh moral sentiments on every page; -while from an arid wilderness of Moorish -love songs, and Persian love songs, and Circassian -love songs, and Hindu love songs, I -quote this “Arabian” love song, peerless amid -its peers:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Thy hair is black as the starless sky,</div> -<div class="indent">And clasps thy neck as it loved its home;</div> -<div class="verse">Yet it moves at the sound of thy faintest sigh,</div> -<div class="indent">Like the snake that lies on the white sea-foam.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I love thee, Ibla. Thou art bright</div> -<div class="indent">As the white snow on the hills afar;</div> -<div class="verse">Thy face is sweet as the moon by night,</div> -<div class="indent">And thine eye like the clear and rolling star.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But the snow is poor and withers soon,</div> -<div class="indent">While thou art firm and rich in hope;</div> -<div class="verse">And never (like thine) from the face of the moon</div> -<div class="indent">Flamed the dark eye of the antelope.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The truth and accuracy of this last observation -should commend the poem to all lovers of -nature.</p> - -<p>It is the custom in these days of morbid accuracy -to laugh at the second-hand knowledge -which Moore so proudly and so innocently displayed. -Even Mr. Saintsbury says some unkind -things about the notes to “Lalla Rookh,”—scraps -of twentieth-hand knowledge, <i>he</i> calls -them,—while pleasantly recording his affection -for the poem itself, an affection based upon the -reasonable ground of childish recollections. In -the well-ordered home of his infancy, none but -“Sunday books” might be read on Sundays -in nursery or schoolroom. “But this severity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -was tempered by one of those easements often -occurring in a world, which, if not the best, is -certainly not the worst of all possible worlds. -For the convenience of servants, or for some -other reason, the children were much more -in the drawing-room on Sundays than on any -other day; and it was an unwritten rule that -any book that lived in the drawing-room was -fit Sunday reading. The consequence was that -from the time I could read until childish things -were put away, I used to spend a considerable -part of the first day of the week in reading and -re-reading a collection of books, four of which -were Scott’s poems, ‘Lalla Rookh,’ ‘The Essays -of Elia,’ and Southey’s ‘Doctor.’ Therefore -it may be that I rank ‘Lalla Rookh’ too -high.”</p> - -<p>Blessed memories, and thrice blessed influences -of childhood! But if “Lalla Rookh,” -like “Vathek,” was written to be the joy of -imaginative little boys and girls (alas for those -who now replace it with “Allan in Alaska,” -and “Little Cora on the Continent”), the notes -to “Lalla Rookh” were, to my infant mind, -even more enthralling than the poem. There<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -was a sketchiness about them, a detachment -from time and circumstance—I always hated -being told the whole of everything—which -led me day after day into fresh fields of conjecture. -The nymph who was encircled by a -rainbow, and bore a radiant son; the scimitars -that were so dazzling they made the warriors -wink; the sacred well which reflected the moon -at midday; and the great embassy that was -sent “from some port of the Indies”—a welcome -vagueness of geography—to recover a -monkey’s tooth, snatched away by some equally -nameless conqueror;—what child could fail to -love such floating stars of erudition?</p> - -<p>Our great-grandfathers were profoundly -impressed by Moore’s text-book acquirements. -The “Monthly Review” quoted a solid page -of the notes to dazzle British readers, who confessed -themselves amazed to find a fellow countryman -so much “at home” in Persia and -Arabia. Blackwood authoritatively announced -that Moore was familiar, not only “with the -grandest regions of the human soul,”—which -is expected of a poet,—but also with the -remotest boundaries of the East; and that in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -every tone and hue and form he was “purely -and intensely Asiatic.” “The carping criticism -of paltry tastes and limited understandings -faded before that burst of admiration with -which all enlightened spirits hailed the beauty -and magnificence of ‘Lalla Rookh.’”</p> - -<p>Few people care to confess to “paltry tastes” -and “limited understandings.” They would -rather join in any general acclamation. “Browning’s -poetry obscure!” I once heard a lecturer -say with scorn. “Let us ask ourselves, ‘Obscure -to whom?’ No doubt a great many things are -obscure to long-tailed Brazilian apes.” After -which his audience, with one accord, admitted -that it understood “Sordello.” So when Jeffrey—great -umpire of games whose rules he never -knew—informed the British public that there -was not in “Lalla Rookh” “a simile, a description, -a name, a trait of history, or allusion of -romance that does not indicate entire familiarity -with the life, nature, and learning of the -East,” the public contentedly took his word -for it. When he remarked that “the dazzling -splendours, the breathing odours” of Araby -were without doubt Moore’s “native element,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -the public, whose native element was neither -splendid nor sweet-smelling, envied the Irishman -his softer joys. “Lalla Rookh” might be -“voluptuous” (a word we find in every review -of the period), but its orientalism was beyond -dispute. Did not Mrs. Skinner tell Moore that -she had, when in India, translated the prose -interludes into Bengali, for the benefit of her -moonshee, and that the man was amazed at the -accuracy of the costumes? Did not the nephew -of the Persian ambassador in Paris tell Mr. -Stretch, who told Moore, that “Lalla Rookh” -had been translated into Persian; that the -songs—particularly “Bendemeer’s Stream”—were -sung “everywhere”; and that the -happy natives could hardly believe the whole -work had not been taken originally from a -Persian manuscript?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">I’m told, dear Moore, your lays are sung</div> -<div class="indent">(Can it be true, you lucky man?)</div> -<div class="verse">By moonlight, in the Persian tongue,</div> -<div class="indent">Along the streets of Ispahan.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>And not of Ispahan only; for in the winter -of 1821 the Berlin court presented “Lalla -Rookh” with such splendour, such wealth of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -detail, and such titled actors, that Moore’s -heart was melted and his head was turned (as -any other heart would have been melted, and -any other head would have been turned) by -the reports thereof. A Grand Duchess of Russia -took the part of Lalla Rookh; the Duke of -Cumberland was Aurungzebe; and a beautiful -young sister of Prince Radzivil enchanted all -beholders as the Peri. “Nothing else was -talked about in Berlin” (it must have been a -limited conversation); the King of Prussia had -a set of engravings made of the noble actors in -their costumes; and the Crown Prince sent -word to Moore that he slept always with a copy -of “Lalla Rookh” under his pillow, which was -foolish, but flattering. Hardly had the echoes -of this royal fête died away, when Spontini -brought out in Berlin his opera “The Feast -of Roses,” and Moore’s triumph in Prussia -was complete. Byron, infinitely amused at the -success of his own good advice, wrote to the -happy poet: “Your Berlin drama is an honour -unknown since the days of Elkanah Settle, -whose ‘Empress of Morocco’ was presented -by the court ladies, which was, as Johnson remarks,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -‘the last blast of inflammation to poor -Dryden.’”</p> - -<p>Who shall say that this comparison is without -its dash of malice? There is a natural limit -to the success we wish our friends, even when -we have spurred them on their way.</p> - -<p>If the English court did not lend itself with -much gayety or grace to dramatic entertainments, -English society was quick to respond to -the delights of a modified orientalism. That is -to say, it sang melting songs about bulbuls and -Shiraz wine; wore ravishing Turkish costumes -whenever it had a chance (like the beautiful -Mrs. Winkworth in the charades at Gaunt -House); and covered its locks—if they were -feminine locks—with turbans of portentous -size and splendour. When Mrs. Fitzherbert, -aged seventy-three, gave a fancy dress ball, so -many of her guests appeared as Turks, and -Georgians, and sultanas, that it was hard to -believe that Brighton, and not Stamboul, was -the scene of the festivity. At an earlier entertainment, -“a rural breakfast and promenade,” -given by Mrs. Hobart at her villa near Fulham, -and “graced by the presence of royalty,” the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -leading attraction was Mrs. Bristow, who represented -Queen Nourjahad in the “Garden -of Roses.” “Draped in all the magnificence of -Eastern grandeur, Mrs. Bristow was seated in -the larger drawing-room (which was very beautifully -fitted up with cushions in the Indian -style), smoking her hookah amidst all sorts of -the choicest perfumes. Mrs. Bristow was very -profuse with otto of roses, drops of which were -thrown about the ladies’ dresses. The whole -house was scented with the delicious fragrance.”</p> - -<p>The “European Magazine,” the “Monthly -Museum,” all the dim old periodicals published -in the early part of the last century for feminine -readers, teem with such “society notes.” -From them, too, we learn that by 1823 turbans -of “rainbow striped gauze frosted with gold” -were in universal demand; while “black velvet -turbans, enormously large, and worn very much -on one side,” must have given a rakish appearance -to stout British matrons. “La Belle Assemblée” -describes for us with tender enthusiasm -a ravishing turban, “in the Turkish style,” -worn in the winter of 1823 at the theatre and -at evening parties. This masterpiece was of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -“pink oriental crêpe, beautifully folded in -front, and richly ornamented with pearls. The -folds are fastened on the left side, just above -the ear, with a Turkish scimitar of pearls; and -on the right side are tassels of pearls, surmounted -by a crescent and a star.”</p> - -<p>Here we have Lady Jane or Lady Amelia -transformed at once into young Nourmahal; -and, to aid the illusion, a “Circassian corset” -was devised, free from encroaching steel or -whalebone, and warranted to give its English -wearers the “flowing and luxurious lines” admired -in the overfed inmates of the harem. -When the passion for orientalism began to subside -in London, remote rural districts caught -and prolonged the infection. I have sympathized -all my life with the innocent ambition -of Miss Matty Jenkyns to possess a sea-green -turban, like the one worn by Queen Adelaide; -and have never been able to forgive that ruthlessly -sensible Mary Smith—the chronicler of -Cranford—for taking her a “neat middle-aged -cap” instead. “I was most particularly anxious -to prevent her from disfiguring her small gentle -mousy face with a great Saracen’s head turban,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -says the judicious Miss Smith with -a smirk of self-commendation; and poor Miss -Matty—the cap being bought—has to bow -to this arbiter of fate. How much we all suffer -in life from the discretion of our families and -friends!</p> - -<p>Thackeray laughed the dim ghost of “Lalla -Rookh” out of England. He mocked at the -turbans, and at the old ladies who wore them; -at the vapid love songs, and at the young ladies -who sang them.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I am a little brown bulbul. Come and listen in the moonlight. -Praise be to Allah! I am a merry bard.</p> -</div> - -<p>He derided the “breathing odours of Araby,” -and the Eastern travellers who imported this -exotic atmosphere into Grosvenor Square. -Yonng Bedwin Sands, who has “lived under -tents,” who has published a quarto, ornamented -with his own portrait in various oriental costumes, -and who goes about accompanied by a -black servant of most unprepossessing appearance, -“just like another Brian de Bois Guilbert,” -is only a degree less ridiculous than -Clarence Bulbul, who gives Miss Tokely a piece -of the sack in which an indiscreet Zuleika was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -drowned, and whose servant says to callers: -“Mon maître est au divan,” or “Monsieur trouvera -Monsieur dans son sérail.... He has -coffee and pipes for everybody. I should like -you to have seen the face of old Bowly, his -college tutor, called upon to sit cross-legged -on a divan, a little cup of bitter black mocha -put into his hand, and a large amber-muzzled -pipe stuck into his mouth before he could say -it was a fine day. Bowly almost thought he had -compromised his principles by consenting so far -to this Turkish manner.” Bulbul’s sure and -simple method of commending himself to young -ladies is by telling them they remind him of a -girl he knew in Circassia,—Ameena, the sister -of Schamyle Bey. “Do you know, Miss Pim,” -he thoughtfully observes, “that you would fetch -twenty thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople?” -Whereupon Miss Pim is filled -with embarrassed elation. An English girl, conscious -of being in no great demand at home, was -naturally flattered as well as fluttered by the -thought of having market value elsewhere. And -perhaps this feminine instinct was at the root of -“Lalla Rookh’s” long popularity in England.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE CORRESPONDENT</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="center">Correspondences are like small-clothes before the invention -of suspenders; it is impossible to keep them up.—<span class="smcap">Sydney -Smith</span> to <span class="smcap">Mrs. Crowe</span>.</p> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> this lamentable admission, in this blunt and -revolutionary sentiment, we hear the first clear -striking of a modern note, the first gasping protest -against the limitless demands of letter-writing. -When Sydney Smith was a little boy, it -was not impossible to keep a correspondence -up; it was impossible to let it go. He was ten -years old when Sir William Pepys copied out -long portions of Mrs. Montagu’s letters, and -left them as a legacy to his heirs. He was -twelve years old when Miss Anna Seward—the -“Swan of Lichfield”—copied thirteen -pages of description which the Rev. Thomas -Sedgwick Whalley had written her from Switzerland, -and sent them to her friend, Mr. William -Hayley. She called this “snatching him -to the Continent by Whalleyan magic.” What -Mr. Hayley called it we do not know; but he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -had his revenge, for the impartial “Swan” -copied eight verses of an “impromptu” which -Mr. Hayley had written upon her, and sent -them in turn to Mr. Whalley;—thus making -each friend a scourge to the other, and widening -the network of correspondence which had -enmeshed the world.</p> - -<p>It is impossible not to feel a trifle envious of -Mr. Whalley, who looms before us as the most -petted and accomplished of clerical bores, of -“literary and chess-playing divines.” He was -but twenty-six when the kind-hearted Bishop -of Ely presented him with the living of Hagworthingham, -stipulating that he should not -take up his residence there,—the neighbourhood -of the Lincolnshire fens being considered -an unhealthy one. Mr. Whalley cheerfully complied -with this condition; and for fifty years -the duties were discharged by curates, who -could not afford good health; while the rector -spent his winters in Europe, and his summers -at Mendip Lodge. He was of an amorous disposition,—“sentimentally -pathetic,” Miss Burney -calls him,—and married three times, two -of his wives being women of fortune. He lived<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -in good society, and beyond his means, like a -gentleman; was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds -(who has very delicately and maliciously -accentuated his resemblance to the tiny spaniel -he holds in his arms); and died of old age, in -the comfortable assurance that he had lost -nothing the world could give. A voluminous -correspondence—afterwards published in two -volumes—afforded scope for that clerical diffuseness -which should have found its legitimate -outlet in the Hagworthingham pulpit.</p> - -<p>The Rev. Augustus Jessup has recorded a -passionate admiration for Cicero’s letters, on -the ground that they never describe scenery; -but Mr. Whalley’s letters seldom do anything -else. He wrote to Miss Sophia Weston a description -of Vaucluse, which fills three closely -printed pages. Miss Weston copied every word, -and sent it to Miss Seward, who copied every -word of her copy, and sent it to the long-suffering -Mr. Hayley, with the remark that Mr. -Whalley and Petrarch were “kindred spirits.” -Later on this kinship was made pleasantly manifest -by the publication of “Edwy and Edilda,” -which is described as a “domestic epic,” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -which Mr. Whalley’s friends considered to be -a moral bulwark as well as an epoch-making -poem. Indeed, we find Miss Seward imploring -him to republish it, on the extraordinary ground -that it will add to his happiness in heaven to -know that the fruits of his industry “continue -to inspire virtuous pleasure through passing -generations.” It is animating to contemplate -the celestial choirs congratulating the angel -Whalley at intervals on the “virtuous pleasure” -inspired by “Edwy and Edilda.” “This,” says -Mr. Kenwigs, “is an ewent at which Evin itself -looks down.”</p> - -<p>There was no escape from the letter-writer -who, a hundred or a hundred and twenty-five -years ago, captured a coveted correspondent. -It would have been as easy to shake off an octopus -or a boa-constrictor. Miss Seward opened -her attack upon Sir Walter Scott, whom she -had never seen, with a long and passionate letter, -lamenting the death of a friend whom Scott -had never seen. She conjured him not to answer -this letter, because she was “dead to the -world.” Scott gladly obeyed, content that the -lady should be at least dead to him, which was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -the last possibility she contemplated. Before -twelve months were out they were in brisk correspondence, -an acquaintance was established, -and when she died in earnest, some years later, -he found himself one of her literary executors, -and twelve quarto manuscript volumes of her -letters waiting to be published. These Scott -wisely refused to touch; but he edited her -poems,—a task he much disliked,—wrote the -epitaph on her monument in Lichfield Cathedral, -and kindly maintained that, although her -sentimentality appalled him, and her enthusiasm -chilled his soul, she was a talented and -pleasing person.</p> - -<p>The most formidable thing about the letters -of this period—apart from their length—is -their eloquence. It bubbles and seethes over -every page. Miss Seward, writing to Mrs. -Knowles in 1789 upon the dawning of the -French Revolution, of which she understood no -more than a canary, pipes an ecstatic trill. “So -France has dipped her lilies in the living stream -of American freedom, and bids her sons be -slaves no longer. In such a contest the vital -sluices must be wastefully opened; but few English<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -hearts I hope there are that do not wish -victory may sit upon the swords that freedom -has unsheathed.” It sounds so exactly like the -Americans in “Martin Chuzzlewit” that one -doubts whether Mr. Jefferson Brick or the -Honourable Elijah Pogram really uttered the -sentiment; while surely to Mrs. Hominy, and -not to the Lichfield Swan, must be credited -this beautiful passage about a middle-aged but -newly married couple: “The berries of holly, -with which Hymen formed that garland, blush -through the snows of time, and dispute the prize -of happiness with the roses of youth;—and -they are certainly less subject to the blights of -expectation and palling fancy.”</p> - -<p>It is hard to conceive of a time when letters -like these were sacredly treasured by the recipients -(our best friend, the waste-paper basket, -seems to have been then unknown); when -the writers thereof bequeathed them as a legacy -to the world; and when the public—being -under no compulsion—bought six volumes of -them as a contribution to English literature. -It is hard to think of a girl of twenty-one writing -to an intimate friend as Elizabeth Robinson,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -afterwards the “great” Mrs. Montagu, wrote -to the young Duchess of Portland, who appears -to have ventured upon a hope that they were -having a mild winter in Kent.</p> - -<p>“I am obliged to your Grace for your good -wishes of fair weather; sunshine gilds every -object, but, alas! December is but cloudy weather, -how few seasons boast many days of calm! -April, which is the blooming youth of the year, -is as famous for hasty showers as for gentle sunshine. -May, June, and July have too much heat -and violence, the Autumn withers the Summer’s -gayety, and in the Winter the hopeful blossoms -of Spring and fair fruits of Summer are decayed, -and storms and clouds arise.”</p> - -<p>After these obvious truths, for which the -almanac stands responsible, Miss Robinson proceeds -to compare human life to the changing -year, winding up at the close of a dozen pages: -“Happy and worthy are those few whose youth -is not impetuous, nor their age sullen; they -indeed should be esteemed, and their happy -influence courted.”</p> - -<p>Twenty-one, and ripe for moral platitudes! -What wonder that we find the same lady, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -crowned with years and honours, writing to the -son of her friend, Lord Lyttelton, a remorselessly -long letter of precept and good counsel, -which that young gentleman (being afterwards -known as the wicked Lord Lyttelton) seems -never to have taken to heart.</p> - -<p>“The morning of life, like the morning of -the day, should be dedicated to business. Give it -therefore, dear Mr. Lyttelton, to strenuous exertion -and labour of mind, before the indolence -of the meridian hour, or the unabated fervour -of the exhausted day, renders you unfit for -severe application.”</p> - -<p>“Unabated fervour of the exhausted day” -is a phrase to be commended. We remember -with awe that Mrs. Montagu was the brightest -star in the chaste firmament of female intellect;—“the -first woman for literary knowledge -in England,” wrote Mrs. Thrale; “and, if in -England, I hope I may say in the world.” We -hope so, indeed. None but a libertine would -doubt it. And no one less contumelious than -Dr. Johnson ever questioned Mrs. Montagu’s -supremacy. She was, according to her great-grandniece, -Miss Climenson, “adored by men,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -while “purest of the pure”; which was equally -pleasant for herself and for Mr. Montagu. -She wrote more letters, with fewer punctuation -marks, than any Englishwoman of her -day; and her nephew, the fourth Baron Rokeby, -nearly blinded himself in deciphering the two -volumes of undated correspondence which were -printed in 1810. Two more followed in 1813, -after which the gallant Baron either died at his -post or was smitten with despair; for sixty-eight -cases of letters lay undisturbed for the -best part of a century, when they passed into -Miss Climenson’s hands. This intrepid lady -received them—so she says—with “unbounded -joy”; and has already published two -fat volumes, with the promise of several others -in the near future. “Les morts n’écrivent -point,” said Madame de Maintenon hopefully; -but of what benefit is this inactivity, -when we still continue to receive their letters?</p> - -<p>Miss Elizabeth Carter, called by courtesy -Mrs. Carter, was the most vigorous of Mrs. -Montagu’s correspondents. Although a lady -of learning, who read Greek and had dipped -into Hebrew, she was far too “humble and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -unambitious” to claim an acquaintance with -the exalted mistress of Montagu House; but -that patroness of literature treated her with -such true condescension that they were soon -on the happiest terms. When Mrs. Montagu -writes to Miss Carter that she has seen the -splendid coronation of George III, Miss Carter -hastens to remind her that such splendour is -for majesty alone.</p> - -<p>“High rank and power require every external -aid of pomp and éclat that may awe and -astonish spectators by the ideas of the magnificent -and sublime; while the ornaments of -more equal conditions should be adapted to the -quiet tenour of general life, and be content to -charm and engage by the gentler graces of the -beautiful and pleasing.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Montagu <i>was</i> fond of display. All her -friends admitted, and some deplored the fact. -But surely there was no likelihood of her appropriating -the coronation services as a feature -for the entertainments at Portman Square.</p> - -<p>Advice, however, was the order of the day. -As the excellent Mrs. Chapone wrote to Sir -William Pepys: “It is a dangerous commerce<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -for friends to praise each other’s Virtues, instead -of reminding each other of duties and -of failings.” Yet a too robust candour carried -perils of its own, for Miss Seward having -written to her “beloved Sophia Weston” with -“an ingenuousness which I thought necessary -for her welfare, but which her high spirits -would not brook,” Sophia was so unaffectedly -angry that twelve years of soothing silence -followed.</p> - -<p>Another wonderful thing about the letter-writers, -especially the female letter-writers, of -this engaging period is the wealth of hyperbole -in which they rioted. Nothing is told in plain -terms. Tropes, metaphors, and similes adorn -every page; and the supreme elegance of the -language is rivalled only by the elusiveness of -the idea, which is lost in an eddy of words. -Marriage is always alluded to as the “hymeneal -torch,” or the “hymeneal chain,” or “hymeneal -emancipation from parental care.” Birds -are “feathered muses,” and a heart is a “vital -urn.” When Mrs. Montagu writes to Mr. Gilbert -West, that “miracle of the Moral World,” -to condole with him on his gout, she laments<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -that his “writing hand, first dedicated to the -Muses, then with maturer judgment consecrated -to the Nymphs of Solyma, should be -led captive by the cruel foe.” If Mr. West -chanced not to know who or what the Nymphs -of Solyma were, he had the intelligent pleasure -of finding out. Miss Seward describes Mrs. -Tighe’s sprightly charms as “Aonian inspiration -added to the cestus of Venus”; and speaks -of the elderly “ladies of Llangollen” as, “in -all but the voluptuous sense, Armidas of its -bowers.” Duelling is to her “the murderous -punctilio of Luciferian honour.” A Scotch -gentleman who writes verse is “a Cambrian -Orpheus”; a Lichfield gentleman who sketches -is “our Lichfield Claude”; and a budding -clerical writer is “our young sacerdotal Marcellus.” -When the “Swan” wished to apprise -Scott of Dr. Darwin’s death, it never occurred -to her to write, as we in this dull age should -do: “Dr. Darwin died last night,” or, “Poor -Dr. Darwin died last night.” She wrote: “A -bright luminary in this neighbourhood recently -shot from his sphere with awful and deplorable -suddenness”;—thus pricking Sir Walter’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -imagination to the wonder point before -descending to facts. Even the rain and snow -were never spoken of in the plain language -of the Weather Bureau; and the elements had -a set of allegories all their own. Miss Carter -would have scorned to take a walk by the sea. -She “chased the ebbing Neptune.” Mrs. Chapone -was not blown by the wind. She was -“buffeted by Eolus and his sons.” Miss Seward -does not hope that Mr. Whalley’s rheumatism -is better; but that he has overcome “the malinfluence -of marine damps, and the monotonous -murmuring of boundless waters.” Perhaps -the most triumphant instance on record of sustained -metaphor is Madame d’Arblay’s account -of Mrs. Montagu’s yearly dinner to the London -chimney-sweeps, in which the word sweep is -never once used, so that the editor was actually -compelled to add a footnote to explain what -the lady meant. The boys are “jetty objects,” -“degraded outcasts from society,” and “sooty -little agents of our most blessed luxury.” They -are “hapless artificers who perform the most -abject offices of any authorized calling”; they -are “active guardians of our blazing hearth”;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -but plain chimney-sweeps, never! Madame -d’Arblay would have perished at the stake -before using so vulgar and obvious a term.</p> - -<p>How was this mass of correspondence preserved? -How did it happen that the letters -were never torn up, or made into spills,—the -common fate of all such missives when I was a -little girl. Granted that Miss Carter treasured -Mrs. Montagu’s letters (she declared fervidly -she could never be so barbarous as to destroy -one), and that Mrs. Montagu treasured Miss -Carter’s. Granted that Miss Weston treasured -Mr. Whalley’s, and that Mr. Whalley treasured -Miss Weston’s. Granted that Miss Seward -provided against all contingencies by copying -her own letters into fat blank books before -they were mailed, elaborating her spineless -sentences, and omitting everything she deemed -too trivial or too domestic for the public ear. -But is it likely that young Lyttelton at Oxford -laid sacredly away Mrs. Montagu’s pages -of good counsel, or that young Franks at Cambridge -preserved the ponderous dissertations of -Sir William Pepys? Sir William was a Baronet, -a Master in Chancery, and—unlike his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -famous ancestor—a most respectable and exemplary -gentleman. His innocent ambition was -to be on terms of intimacy with the literary -lights of his day. He knew and ardently admired -Dr. Johnson, who in return detested him -cordially. He knew and revered, “in unison -with the rest of the world,” Miss Hannah More. -He corresponded at great length with lesser -lights,—with Mrs. Chapone, and Mrs. Hartley, -and Sir Nathaniel Wraxall. He wrote -endless commentaries on Homer and Virgil to -young Franks, and reams of good advice to his -little son at Eton. There is something pathetic -in his regret that the limitations of life will not -permit him to be as verbose as he would like. -“I could write for an hour,” he assures poor -Franks, “upon that most delightful of all passages, -the Lion deprived of its Young; but the -few minutes one can catch amidst the Noise, -hurry and confusion of an Assize town will not -admit of any Classical discussions. But was I -in the calm retirement of your Study at Acton, -I have much to say to you, to which I can only -allude.”</p> - -<p>The publication of scores and scores of such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -letters, all written to one unresponsive young -man at Cambridge (who is repeatedly reproached -for not answering them), makes us wonder -afresh who kept the correspondence; and the -problem is deepened by the appearance of Sir -William’s letters to his son. This is the way -the first one begins:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Boy</span>,—I cannot let a Post escape -me without giving you the Pleasure of -knowing how much you have gladdened the -Hearts of two as affectionate Parents as ever -lived; when you tell us that the Principles of -Religion begin already to exert their efficacy -in making you look down with contempt on the -wretched grovelling Vices with which you are -surrounded, you make the most delightful Return -you can ever make for our Parental Care -and Affection; you make Us at Peace with -Ourselves; and enable us to hope that our -dear Boy will Persevere in that Path which will -ensure the greatest Share of Comfort here, and -a certainty of everlasting Happiness hereafter.”</p> -</div> - -<p>I am disposed to think that Sir William -made a fair copy of this letter and of others<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -like it, and laid them aside as models of parental -exhortation. Whether young Pepys was -a little prig, or a particularly accomplished little -scamp (and both possibilities are open to consideration), -it seems equally unlikely that an Eton -boy’s desk would have proved a safe repository -for such ample and admirable discourses.</p> - -<p>The publication of Cowper’s letters in 1803 -and 1804 struck a chill into the hearts of accomplished -and erudite correspondents. Poor -Miss Seward never rallied from the shock of -their “commonness,” and of their popularity. -Here was a man who wrote about beggars and -postmen, about cats and kittens, about buttered -toast and the kitchen table. Here was a man -who actually looked at things before he described -them (which was a startling innovation); -who called the wind the wind, and buttercups -buttercups, and a hedgehog a hedgehog. -Miss Seward honestly despised Cowper’s letters. -She said they were without “imagination or -eloquence,” without “discriminative criticism,” -without “characteristic investigation.” Investigating -the relations between the family cat and -an intrusive viper was, from her point of view,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -unworthy the dignity of an author. Cowper’s -love of detail, his terrestrial turn of mind, his -humour, and his veracity were disconcerting -in an artificial age. When Miss Carter took a -country walk, she did not stoop to observe the -trivial things she saw. Apparently she never -saw anything. What she described were the -sentiments and emotions awakened in her by a -featureless principle called Nature. Even the -ocean—which is too big to be overlooked—started -her on a train of moral reflections, in -which she passed easily from the grandeur of the -elements to the brevity of life, and the paltriness -of earthly ambitions. “How vast are the -capacities of the soul, and how little and contemptible -its aims and pursuits.” With this -original remark, the editor of the letters (a -nephew and a clergyman) was so delighted that -he added a pious comment of his own.</p> - -<p>“If such be the case, how strong and conclusive -is the argument deduced from it, that the -soul must be destined to another state more -suitable to its views and powers. It is much to -be lamented that Mrs. Carter did not pursue -this line of thought any further.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>People who bought nine volumes of a correspondence -like this were expected, as the editor -warns them, to derive from it “moral, literary, -and religious improvement.” It was in every -way worthy of a lady who had translated Epictetus, -and who had the “great” Mrs. Montagu -for a friend. But, as Miss Seward pathetically -remarked, “any well-educated person, with -talents not above the common level, produces -every day letters as well worth attention as -most of Cowper’s, especially as to diction.” -The perverseness of the public in buying, in -reading, in praising these letters, filled her with -pained bewilderment. Not even the writer’s -sincere and sad piety, his tendency to moralize, -and the transparent innocence of his life could -reconcile her to plain transcripts from nature, -or to such an unaffecting incident as this:—</p> - -<p>“A neighbour of mine in Silver End keeps -an ass; the ass lives on the other side of the -garden wall, and I am writing in the greenhouse. -It happens that he is this morning most -musically disposed; either cheered by the fine -weather, or by some new tune which he has -just acquired, or by finding his voice more harmonious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -than usual. It would be cruel to mortify -so fine a singer, therefore I do not tell him -that he interrupts and hinders me; but I venture -to tell you so, and to plead his performance -in excuse of my abrupt conclusion.”</p> - -<p>Here is not only the “common” diction -which Miss Seward condemned, but a very common -casualty, which she would have naturally -deemed beneath notice. Cowper wrote a great -deal about animals, and always with fine and -humorous appreciation. He sought relief from -the hidden torment of his soul in the contemplation -of creatures who fill their place in life -without morals, and without misgivings. We -know what safe companions they were for him -when we read his account of his hares, of his -kitten dancing on her hind legs,—“an exercise -which she performs with all the grace -imaginable,”—and of his goldfinches amorously -kissing each other between the cage wires. -When Miss Seward bent her mind to “the -lower orders of creation,” she did not describe -them at all; she gave them the benefit of that -“discriminative criticism” which she felt that -Cowper lacked. Here, for example, is her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -thoughtful analysis of man’s loyal servitor, the -dog:—</p> - -<p>“That a dog is a noble, grateful, faithful -animal we must all be conscious, and deserves -a portion of man’s tenderness and care;—yet, -from its utter incapacity of more than glimpses -of rationality, there is a degree of insanity, as -well as of impoliteness to his acquaintance, and -of unkindness to his friends, in lavishing so -much more of his attention in the first instance, -and of affection in the latter, upon it than -upon them.”</p> - -<p>It sounds like a parody on a great living -master of complex prose. By its side, Cowper’s -description of Beau is certainly open to the -reproach of plainness.</p> - -<p>“My dog is a spaniel. Till Miss Gunning -begged him, he was the property of a farmer, -and had been accustomed to lie in the chimney -corner among the embers till the hair was -singed from his back, and nothing was left of -his tail but the gristle. Allowing for these -disadvantages, he is really handsome; and -when nature shall have furnished him with -a new coat, a gift which, in consideration of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -the ragged condition of his old one, it is hoped -she will not long delay, he will then be unrivalled -in personal endowments by any dog in -this country.”</p> - -<p>No wonder the Lichfield Swan was daunted -by the inconceivable popularity of such letters. -No wonder Miss Hannah More preferred Akenside -to Cowper. What had these eloquent -ladies to do with quiet observation, with sober -felicity of phrase, with “the style of honest -men”!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE NOVELIST</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Soft Sensibility, sweet Beauty’s soul!</div> -<div class="verse">Keeps her coy state, and animates the whole.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Hayley.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Readers</span> of Miss Burney’s Diary will remember -her maidenly confusion when Colonel Fairly -(the Honourable Stephen Digby) recommends -to her a novel called “Original Love-Letters -between a Lady of Quality and a Person of Inferior -Station.” The authoress of “Evelina” -and “Cecilia”—then thirty-six years of age—is -embarrassed by the glaring impropriety of -this title. In vain Colonel Fairly assures her -that the book contains “nothing but good sense, -moral reflections, and refined ideas, clothed in -the most expressive and elegant language.” -Fanny, though longing to read a work of such -estimable character, cannot consent to borrow, -or even discuss, anything so compromising as -love-letters; and, with her customary coyness, -murmurs a few words of denial. Colonel Fairly, -however, is not easily daunted. Three days later<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -he actually brings the volume to that virginal -bower, and asks permission to read portions of -it aloud, excusing his audacity with the solemn -assurance that there was no person, not even -his own daughter, in whose hands he would -hesitate to place it. “It was now impossible to -avoid saying that I should like to hear it,” -confesses Miss Burney. “I should seem else to -doubt either his taste or his delicacy, while I -have the highest opinion of both.” So the book -is produced, and the fair listener, bending over -her needlework to hide her blushes, acknowledges -it to be “moral, elegant, feeling, and -rational,” while lamenting that the unhappy -nature of its title makes its presence a source -of embarrassment.</p> - -<p>This edifying little anecdote sheds light upon -a palmy period of propriety. Miss Burney’s -self-consciousness, her superhuman diffidence, -and the “delicious confusion” which overwhelmed -her upon the most insignificant occasions, -were beacon lights to her “sisters of Parnassus,” -to the less distinguished women who -followed her brilliant lead. The passion for -novel-reading was asserting itself for the first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -time in the history of the world as a dominant -note of femininity. The sentimentalities of fiction -expanded to meet the woman’s standard, to -satisfy her irrational demands. “If the story-teller -had always had mere men for an audience,” -says an acute English critic, “there -would have been no romance; nothing but the -improving fable, or the indecent anecdote.” It -was the woman who, as Miss Seward sorrowfully -observed, sucked the “sweet poison” -which the novelist administered; it was the -woman who stooped conspicuously to the “reigning -folly” of the day.</p> - -<p>The particular occasion of this outbreak on -Miss Seward’s part was the extraordinary success -of a novel, now long forgotten by the -world, but which in its time rivalled in popularity -“Evelina,” and the well-loved “Mysteries -of Udolpho.” Its plaintive name is “Emmeline; -or the Orphan of the Castle,” and its authoress, -Charlotte Smith, was a woman of courage, -character, and good ability; also of a cheerful -temperament, which we should never have surmised -from her works. It is said that her son -owed his advancement in the East India Company<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -solely to the admiration felt for “Emmeline,” -which was being read as assiduously in -Bengal as in London. Sir Walter Scott, always -the gentlest of critics, held that it belonged to -the “highest branch of fictitious narrative.” -The Queen, who considered it a masterpiece, -lent it to Miss Burney, who in turn gave it to -Colonel Fairly, who ventured to observe that it -was not “piquant,” and asked for a “Rambler” -instead.</p> - -<p>“Emmeline” is <i>not</i> piquant. Its heroine -has more tears than Niobe. “Formed of the -softest elements, and with a mind calculated for -select friendship and domestic happiness,” it is -her misfortune to be loved by all the men she -meets. The “interesting languor” of a countenance -habitually “wet with tears” proves -their undoing. Her “deep convulsive sobs” -charm them more than the laughter of other -maidens. When the orphan leaves the castle -for the first time, she weeps bitterly for an -hour; when she converses with her uncle, she -can “no longer command her tears, sobs -obliged her to cease speaking”; and when he -urges upon her the advantages of a worldly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -marriage, she—as if that were possible—“wept -more than before.” When Delamere, -maddened by rejection, carries her off in a post-chaise -(a delightful frontispiece illustrates this -episode), “a shower of tears fell from her eyes”; -and even a rescue fails to raise her spirits. -Her response to Godolphin’s tenderest approaches -is to “wipe away the involuntary betrayers -of her emotion”; and when he exclaims -in a transport: “Enchanting softness! Is then -the safety of Godolphin so dear to that angelic -bosom?” she answers him with “audible sobs.”</p> - -<p>The other characters in the book are nearly -as tearful. When Delamere is not striking his -forehead with his clenched fist, he is weeping -at Emmeline’s feet. The repentant Fitz-Edward -lays his head on a chair, and weeps “like -a woman.” Lady Adelina, who has stooped to -folly, naturally sheds many tears, and writes an -“Ode to Despair”; while Emmeline from time -to time gives “vent to a full heart” by weeping -over Lady Adelina’s infant. Godolphin sobs -loudly when he sees his frail sister; and when -he meets Lord Westhaven after an absence of -four years, “the manly eyes of both brothers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -were filled with tears.” We wonder how Scott, -whose heroines cry so little and whose heroes -never cry at all, stood all this weeping; and, -when we remember the perfunctory nature of -Sir Walter’s love scenes,—wedged in any -way among more important matters,—we wonder -still more how he endured the ravings of -Delamere, or the melancholy verses with which -Godolphin from time to time soothes his despondent -soul.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind</div> -<div class="indent">Will to the deaf cold elements complain;</div> -<div class="indent">And tell the embosomed grief, however vain,</div> -<div class="verse">To sullen surges and the viewless wind.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>It was not, however, the mournfulness of -“Emmeline” which displeased Miss Seward, -but rather the occasional intrusion of “low -characters”; of those underbred and unimpassioned -persons who—as in Miss Burney’s and -Miss Ferrier’s novels—are naturally and almost -cheerfully vulgar. That Mr. William -Hayley, author of “The Triumphs of Temper,” -and her own most ardent admirer, should tune -his inconstant lyre in praise of Mrs. Smith was -more than Miss Seward could bear. “My very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -foes acquit me of harbouring one grain of envy -in my bosom,” she writes him feelingly; “yet -it is surely by no means inconsistent with that -exemption to feel a little indignant, and to -enter one’s protest, when compositions of mere -mediocrity are extolled far above those of real -genius.” She then proceeds to point out the -“indelicacy” of Lady Adelina’s fall from grace, -and the use of “kitchen phrases,” such as “she -grew white at the intelligence.” “White instead -of pale,” comments Miss Seward severely, -“I have often heard servants say, but never a -gentleman or a gentlewoman.” If Mr. Hayley -desires to read novels, she urges upon him the -charms of another popular heroine, Caroline de -Lichtfield, in whom he will find “simplicity, -wit, pathos, and the most exalted generosity”; -and the history of whose adventures “makes -curiosity gasp, admiration kindle, and pity dissolve.”</p> - -<p>Caroline, “the gay child of Artless Nonchalance,” -is at least a more cheerful young -person than the Orphan. Her story, translated -from the French of Madame de Montolieu, -was widely read in England and on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -Continent; and Miss Seward tells us that its -author was indebted “to the merits and graces -of these volumes for a transition from incompetence -to the comforts of wealth; from the -unprotected dependence of waning virginity to -the social pleasures of wedded friendship.” In -plain words, we are given to understand that -a rich and elderly German widower read the -book, sought an acquaintance with the writer, -and married her. “Hymen,” exclaims Miss -Seward, “passed by the fane of Cytherea and -the shrine of Plutus, to light his torch at the -altar of genius”;—which beautiful burst of -eloquence makes it painful to add the chilling -truth, and say that “Caroline de Lichtfield” -was written six years after its author’s marriage -with M. de Montolieu, who was a Swiss, and her -second husband. She espoused her first, M. de -Crousaz, when she was eighteen, and still comfortably -remote from the terrors of waning -virginity. Accurate information was not, however, -a distinguishing characteristic of the day. -Sir Walter Scott, writing some years later of -Madame de Montolieu, ignores both marriages -altogether, and calls her Mademoiselle.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>No rich reward lay in wait for poor Charlotte -Smith, whose husband was systematically -impecunious, and whose large family of children -were supported wholly by her pen. “Emmeline, -or the Orphan of the Castle” was followed -by “Ethelinda, or the Recluse of the Lake,” and -that by “The Old Manor House,” which was -esteemed her masterpiece. Its heroine bears the -interesting name of Monimia; and when she -marries her Orlando, “every subsequent hour -of their lives was marked by some act of -benevolence,”—a breathless and philanthropic -career. By this time the false-hearted Hayley -had so far transferred to Mrs. Smith the homage -due to Miss Seward that he was rewarded -with the painful privilege of reading “The -Old Manor House” in manuscript,—a privilege -reserved in those days for tried and patient -friends. The poet had himself dallied a little -with fiction, having written, “solely to promote -the interests of religion,” a novel called “The -Young Widow,” which no one appears to have -read, except perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury, -to whom its author sent a copy.</p> - -<p>In purity of motive Mr. Hayley was rivalled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -only by Mrs. Brunton, whose two novels, “Self-Control” -and “Discipline,” were designed “to -procure admission for the religion of a sound -mind and of the Bible where it cannot find access -in any other form.” Mrs. Brunton was perhaps -the most commended novelist of her time. -The inexorable titles of her stories secured for -them a place upon the guarded book-shelves of -the young. Many a demure English girl must -have blessed these deluding titles, just as, forty -years later, many an English boy blessed the -inspiration which had impelled George Borrow -to misname his immortal book “The Bible in -Spain.” When the wife of a clergyman undertook -to write a novel in the interests of religion -and the Scriptures; when she called it -“Discipline,” and drew up a stately apology -for employing fiction as a medium for the lessons -she meant to convey, what parent could -refuse to be beguiled? There is nothing trivial -in Mrs. Brunton’s conception of a good novel, -in the standard she proposes to the world.</p> - -<p>“Let the admirable construction of fable in -‘Tom Jones’ be employed to unfold characters -like Miss Edgeworth’s; let it lead to a moral<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -like Richardson’s; let it be told with the elegance -of Rousseau, and with the simplicity of -Goldsmith; let it be all this, and Milton need -not have been ashamed of the work.”</p> - -<p>How far “Discipline” and “Self-Control” -approach this composite standard of perfection -it would be invidious to ask; but they accomplished -a miracle of their own in being both -popular and permitted, in pleasing the frivolous, -and edifying the devout. Dedicated to -Miss Joanna Baillie, sanctioned by Miss Hannah -More, they stood above reproach, though -not without a flavour of depravity. Mrs. Brunton’s -outlook upon life was singularly uncomplicated. -All her women of fashion are heartless -and inane. All her men of fashion cherish -dishonourable designs upon female youth and -innocence. Indeed the strenuous efforts of -Laura, in “Self-Control,” to preserve her virginity -may be thought a trifle explicit for very -youthful readers. We find her in the first -chapter—she is seventeen—fainting at the -feet of her lover, who has just revealed the unworthy -nature of his intentions; and we follow -her through a series of swoons to the last pages,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -where she “sinks senseless” into—of all vessels!—a -canoe; and is carried many miles down -a Canadian river in a state of nicely balanced -unconsciousness. Her self-control (the crowning -virtue which gives its title to the book) is -so marked that when she dismisses Hargrave -on probation, and then meets him accidentally -in a London print-shop after a four months’ -absence, she “neither screamed nor fainted”; -only “trembled violently, and leant against the -counter to recover strength and composure.” -It is not until he turns, and, “regardless of the -inquisitive looks of the spectators, clasped her -to his breast,” that “her head sunk upon his -shoulder, and she lost all consciousness.” As -for her heroic behaviour when the same Hargrave -(having lapsed from grace) shoots the -virtuous De Courcy in Lady Pelham’s summer-house, -it must be described in the author’s own -words. No others could do it justice.</p> - -<p>“To the plants which their beauty had recommended -to Lady Pelham, Laura had added a -few of which the usefulness was known to her. -Agaric of the oak was of the number; and she -had often applied it where many a hand less<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -fair would have shrunk from the task. Nor did -she hesitate now. The ball had entered near -the neck; and the feminine, the delicate Laura -herself disengaged the wound from its covering; -the feeling, the tender Laura herself performed -an office from which false sensibility would have -recoiled in horror.”</p> - -<p>Is it possible that anybody except Miss Burney -could have shrunk modestly from the sight -of a lover’s neck, especially when it had a bullet -in it? Could a sense of decorum be more overwhelmingly -expressed? Yet the same novel -which held up to our youthful great-grandmothers -this unapproachable standard of propriety -presented to their consideration the most -intimate details of libertinism. There was then, -as now, no escape from the moralist’s devastating -disclosures.</p> - -<p>One characteristic is common to all these -faded romances, which in their time were read -with far more fervour and sympathy than are -their successors to-day. This is the undying and -undeviating nature of their heroes’ affections. -Written by ladies who took no count of man’s -proverbial inconstancy, they express a touching<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -belief in the supremacy of feminine charms. A -heroine of seventeen (she is seldom older), with -ringlets, and a “faltering timidity,” inflames -both the virtuous and the profligate with such -imperishable passions, that when triumphant -morality leads her to the altar, defeated vice -cannot survive her loss. Her suitors, reversing -the enviable experience of Ben Bolt,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">weep with delight when she gives them a smile,</div> -<div class="indent">And tremble with fear at her frown.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>They grow faint with rapture when they enter -her presence, and, when she repels their advances, -they signify their disappointment by -gnashing their teeth, and beating their heads -against the wall. Rejection cannot alienate their -faithful hearts; years and absence cannot chill -their fervour. They belong to a race of men -who, if they ever existed at all, are now as -extinct as the mastodon.</p> - -<p>It was Miss Jane Porter who successfully -transferred to a conquering hero that exquisite -sensibility of soul which had erstwhile belonged -to the conquering heroine,—to the Emmelines -and Adelinas of fiction. Dipping her pen “in -the tears of Poland,” she conveyed the glittering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -drops to the eyes of “Thaddeus of Warsaw,” -whence they gush in rills,—like those of -the Prisoner of Chillon’s brother. Thaddeus is of -such exalted virtue that strangers in London address -him as “excellent young gentleman,” and -his friends speak of him as “incomparable young -man.” He rescues children from horses’ hoofs -and from burning buildings. He nurses them -through small-pox, and leaves their bedsides -in the most casual manner, to mingle in crowds -and go to the play. He saves women from insult -on the streets. He is kind even to “that -poor slandered and abused animal, the cat,”—which -is certainly to his credit. Wrapped in a -sable cloak, wearing “hearse-like plumes” on -his hat, a star upon his breast, and a sabre by -his side, he moves with Hamlet’s melancholy -grace through the five hundred pages of the -story. “His unrestrained and elegant conversation -acquired new pathos from the anguish that -was driven back to his heart: like the beds of -rivers which infuse their own nature with the -current, his hidden grief imparted an indescribable -interest and charm to all his sentiments -and actions.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>What wonder that such a youth is passionately -loved by all the women who cross his path, -but whom he regards for the most part with -“that lofty tranquillity which is inseparable -from high rank when it is accompanied by virtue.” -In vain Miss Euphemia Dundas writes -him amorous notes, and entraps him into embarrassing -situations. In vain Lady Sara Roos—married, -I regret to say—pursues him to -his lodgings, and wrings “her snowy arms” -while she confesses the hopeless nature of her -infatuation. The irreproachable Thaddeus replaces -her tenderly but firmly on a sofa, and -as soon as possible sends her home in a cab. It -is only when the “orphan heiress,” Miss Beaufort, -makes her appearance on the scene, “a -large Turkish shawl enveloping her fine form, -a modest grace observable in every limb,” that -the exile’s haughty soul succumbs to love. Miss -Beaufort has been admirably brought up by her -aunt, Lady Somerset, who is a person of great -distinction, and who gives “conversaziones,” -as famous in their way as Mrs. Proudie’s.—“There -the young Mary Beaufort listened to -pious divines of every Christian persuasion.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -There she gathered wisdom from real philosophers; -and, in the society of our best living -poets, cherished an enthusiasm for all that is -great and good. On these evenings, Sir Robert -Somerset’s house reminded the visitor of -what he had read or imagined of the School of -Athens.”</p> - -<p>Never do hero and heroine approach each -other with such spasms of modesty as Thaddeus -and Miss Beaufort. Their hearts expand with -emotion, but their mutual sense of propriety -keeps them remote from all vulgar understandings. -In vain “Mary’s rosy lips seemed to -breathe balm while she spoke.” In vain “her -beautiful eyes shone with benevolence.” The -exile, standing proudly aloof, watches with bitter -composure the attentions of more frivolous -suitors. “His arms were folded, his hat pulled -over his forehead; and his long dark eye-lashes -shading his downcast eyes imparted a dejection -to his whole air, which wrapped her weeping -heart round and round with regretful pangs.” -What with his lashes, and his hidden griefs, -the majesty of his mournful moods, and the -pleasing pensiveness of his lighter ones, Thaddeus<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -so far eclipses his English rivals that they -may be pardoned for wishing he had kept his -charms in Poland. Who that has read the -matchless paragraph which describes the first -unveiling of the hero’s symmetrical leg can forget -the sensation it produces?</p> - -<p>“Owing to the warmth of the weather, Thaddeus -came out this morning without boots; and -it being the first time the exquisite proportion -of his limb had been seen by any of the present -company excepting Euphemia” (why had Euphemia -been so favoured?), “Lascelles, bursting -with an emotion which he would not call -envy, measured the count’s fine leg with his -scornful eye.”</p> - -<p>When Thaddeus at last expresses his attachment -for Miss Beaufort, he does so kneeling respectfully -in her uncle’s presence, and in these -well-chosen words: “Dearest Miss Beaufort, -may I indulge myself in the idea that I am -blessed with your esteem?” Whereupon Mary -whispers to Sir Robert: “Pray, Sir, desire -him to rise. I am already sufficiently overwhelmed!” -and the solemn deed is done.</p> - -<p>“Thaddeus of Warsaw” may be called the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -“Last of the Heroes,” and take rank with the -“Last of the Mohicans,” the “Last of the -Barons,” the “Last of the Cavaliers,” and all -the finalities of fiction. With him died that -noble race who expressed our great-grandmothers’ -artless ideals of perfection. Seventy -years later, D’Israeli made a desperate effort -to revive a pale phantom of departed glory -in “Lothair,” that nursling of the gods, who -is emphatically a hero, and nothing more. -“London,” we are gravely told, “was at Lothair’s -feet.” He is at once the hope of United -Italy, and the bulwark of the English Establishment. -He is—at twenty-two—the pivot -of fashionable, political, and clerical diplomacy. -He is beloved by the female aristocracy -of Great Britain; and mysterious ladies, whose -lofty souls stoop to no conventionalities, die -happy with his kisses on their lips. Five hundred -mounted gentlemen compose his simple -country escort, and the coat of his groom of -the chambers is made in Saville Row. What -more could a hero want? What more could be -lavished upon him by the most indulgent of -authors? Yet who shall compare Lothair to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -the noble Thaddeus nodding his hearse-like -plumes,—Thaddeus dedicated to the “urbanity -of the brave,” and embalmed in the tears of -Poland? The inscrutable creator of Lothair -presented his puppet to a mocking world; but -all England and much of the Continent dilated -with correct emotions when Thaddeus, “uniting -to the courage of a man the sensibility of a -woman, and the exalted goodness of an angel” -(I quote from an appreciative critic), knelt at -Miss Beaufort’s feet.</p> - -<p>Ten years later “Pride and Prejudice” made -its unobtrusive appearance, and was read by -that “saving remnant” to whom is confided -the intellectual welfare of their land. Mrs. Elwood, -the biographer of England’s “Literary -Ladies,” tells us, in the few careless pages -which she deems sufficient for Miss Austen’s -novels, that there <i>are</i> people who think these -stories “worthy of ranking with those of Madame -d’Arblay and Miss Edgeworth”; but that -in their author’s estimation (and, by inference, -in her own), “they took up a much more humble -station.” Yet, tolerant even of such inferiority, -Mrs. Elwood bids us remember that although<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -“the character of Emma is perhaps too -manœuvring and too plotting to be perfectly -amiable,” that of Catherine Morland “will not -suffer greatly even from a comparison with -Miss Burney’s interesting Evelina”; and that -“although one is occasionally annoyed by the -underbred personages of Miss Austen’s novels, -the annoyance is only such as we should feel if -we were actually in their company.”</p> - -<p>It was thus that our genteel great-grandmothers, -enamoured of lofty merit and of refined -sensibility, regarded Elizabeth Bennet’s -relations.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">ON THE SLOPES OF PARNASSUS</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Perhaps no man ever thought a line superfluous when -he wrote it. We are seldom tiresome to ourselves.—<span class="smcap">Dr. -Johnson.</span></p> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is commonly believed that the extinction of -verse—of verse in the bulk, which is the way -in which our great-grandfathers consumed it—is -due to the vitality of the novel. People, -we are told, read rhyme and metre with docility, -only because they wanted to hear a story, -only because there was no other way in which -they could get plenty of sentiment and romance. -As soon as the novel supplied them -with all the sentiment they wanted, as soon as -it told them the story in plain prose, they -turned their backs upon poetry forever.</p> - -<p>There is a transparent inadequacy in this -solution of a problem which still confronts the -patient reader of buried masterpieces. Novels -were plenty when Mr. William Hayley’s -“Triumphs of Temper” went through twelve -editions, and when Dr. Darwin’s “Botanic -Garden” was received with deferential delight.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -But could any dearth of fiction persuade -us now to read the “Botanic Garden”? -Were we shipwrecked in company with the -“Triumphs of Temper,” would we ever finish -the first canto? Novels stood on every English -book-shelf when Fox read “Madoc” aloud at -night to his friends, and they stayed up, so he -says, an hour after their bedtime to hear it. -Could that miracle be worked to-day? Sir -Walter Scott, with indestructible amiability, -reread “Madoc” to please Miss Seward, who, -having “steeped” her own eyes “in transports -of tears and sympathy,” wrote to him that it -carried “a master-key to every bosom which -common good sense and anything resembling -a human heart inhabit.” Scott, unwilling to -resign all pretensions to a human heart, tried -hard to share the Swan’s emotions, and failed. -“I cannot feel quite the interest I would like -to do,” he patiently confessed.</p> - -<p>If Southey’s poems were not read as Scott’s -and Moore’s and Byron’s were read (give us -another Byron, and we will read him with forty -thousand novels knocking at our doors!); if -they were not paid for out of the miraculous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -depths of Murray’s Fortunatus’s purse, they -nevertheless enjoyed a solid reputation of their -own. They are mentioned in all the letters of -the period (save and except Lord Byron’s -ribald pages) with carefully measured praise, -and they enabled their author to accept the -laureateship on self-respecting terms. They are -at least, as Sir Leslie Stephen reminds us, more -readable than Glover’s “Leonidas,” or Wilkie’s -“Epigoniad,” and they are shorter, too. Yet -the “Leonidas,” an epic in nine books, went -through four editions; whereupon its elate -author expanded it into twelve books; and the -public, undaunted, kept on buying it for years. -The “Epigoniad” is also in nine books. It is -on record that Hume, who seldom dallied with -the poets, read all nine, and praised them -warmly. Mr. Wilkie was christened the “Scottish -Homer,” and he bore that modest title -until his death. It was the golden age of epics. -The ultimatum of the modern publisher, “No -poet need apply!” had not yet blighted the -hopes and dimmed the lustre of genius. “Everybody -thinks he can write verse,” observed Sir -Walter mournfully, when called upon for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -hundredth time to help a budding aspirant to -fame.</p> - -<p>With so many competitors in the field, it -was uncommonly astute in Mr. Hayley to -address himself exclusively to that sex which -poets and orators call “fair.” There is a -formal playfulness, a ponderous vivacity about -the “Triumphs of Temper,” which made it -especially welcome to women. In the preface -of the first edition the author gallantly laid -his laurels at their feet, observing modestly -that it was his desire, however “ineffectual,” -“to unite the sportive wildness of Ariosto and -the more serious sublime painting of Dante -with some portion of the enchanting elegance, -the refined imagination, and the moral graces -of Pope; and to do this, if possible, without -violating those rules of propriety which Mr. -Cambridge has illustrated, by example as well -as by precept, in the ‘Scribleriad,’ and in his -sensible preface to that elegant and learned -poem.”</p> - -<p>Accustomed as we are to the confusions of -literary perspective, this grouping of Dante, -Ariosto, and Mr. Cambridge does seem a trifle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -foreshortened. But our ancestors had none -of that sensitive shrinking from comparisons -which is so characteristic of our timid and -thin-skinned generation. They did not edge -off from the immortals, afraid to breathe their -names lest it be held lèse-majesté; they used -them as the common currency of criticism. -Why should not Mr. Hayley have challenged -a contrast with Dante and Ariosto, when Miss -Seward assured her little world—which was -also Mr. Hayley’s world—that he had the -“wit and ease” of Prior, a “more varied versification” -than Pope, and “the fire and the -invention of Dryden, without any of Dryden’s -absurdity”? Why should he have questioned -her judgment, when she wrote to him that -Cowper’s “Task” would “please and instruct -the race of common readers,” who could not -rise to the beauties of Akenside, or Mason, or -Milton, or of his (Mr. Hayley’s) “exquisite -‘Triumphs of Temper’”? There was a time, -indeed, when she sorrowed lest his “inventive, -classical, and elegant muse” should be “deplorably -infected” by the growing influence -of Wordsworth; but, that peril past, he rose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -again, the bright particular star of a wide -feminine horizon.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hayley’s didacticism is admirably -adapted to his readers. The men of the -eighteenth century were not expected to keep -their tempers; it was the sweet prerogative of -wives and daughters to smooth the roughened -current of family life. Accordingly the heroine -of the “Triumphs,” being bullied by her father, -a fine old gentleman of the Squire Western type, -maintains a superhuman cheerfulness, gives -up the ball for which she is already dressed, -wreathes her countenance in smiles, and</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent10"> -with sportive ease,</div> -<div class="verse">Prest her Piano-forte’s favourite keys.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The men of the eighteenth century were all -hard drinkers. Therefore Mr. Hayley conjures -the “gentle fair” to avoid even the mild debauchery -of siruped fruits,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">For the sly fiend, of every art possest,</div> -<div class="verse">Steals on th’ affection of her female guest;</div> -<div class="verse">And, by her soft address, seducing each,</div> -<div class="verse">Eager she plies them with a brandy peach.</div> -<div class="verse">They with keen lip the luscious fruit devour,</div> -<div class="verse">But swiftly feel its peace-destroying power.</div> -<div class="verse">Quick through each vein new tides of frenzy roll,</div> -<div class="verse">All evil passions kindle in the soul;</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -<div class="verse">Drive from each feature every cheerful grace,</div> -<div class="verse">And glare ferocious in the sallow face;</div> -<div class="verse">The wounded nerves in furious conflict tear,</div> -<div class="verse">Then sink in blank dejection and despair.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>All this combustle, to use Gray’s favourite word, -about a brandy peach! But women have ever -loved to hear their little errors magnified. In -the matter of poets, preachers and confessors, -they are sure to choose the denunciatory.</p> - -<p>Dr. Darwin, as became a scientist and a -sceptic, addressed his ponderous “Botanic -Garden” to male readers. It is true that he -offers much good advice to women, urging -upon them especially those duties and devotions -from which he, as a man, was exempt. -It is true also that when he first contemplated -writing his epic, he asked Miss Seward—so, -at least, she said—to be his collaborator; an -honour which she modestly declined, as not -“strictly proper for a female pen.” But the -peculiar solidity, the encyclopædic qualities of -this masterpiece, fitted it for such grave students -as Mr. Edgeworth, who loved to be -amply instructed. It is a poem replete with -information, and information of that disconnected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -order in which the Edgeworthian soul -took true delight. We are told, not only about -flowers and vegetables, but about electric fishes, -and the salt mines of Poland; about Dr. Franklin’s -lightning rod, and Mrs. Damer’s bust of -the Duchess of Devonshire; about the treatment -of paralytics, and the mechanism of the -common pump. We pass from the death of -General Wolfe at Quebec to the equally lamented -demise of a lady botanist at Derby. -We turn from the contemplation of Hannibal -crossing the Alps to consider the charities of -a benevolent young woman named Jones.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Sound, Nymphs of Helicon! the trump of Fame,</div> -<div class="verse">And teach Hibernian echoes Jones’s name;</div> -<div class="verse">Bind round her polished brow the civic bay,</div> -<div class="verse">And drag the fair Philanthropist to day.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Pagan divinities disport themselves on one page, -and Christian saints on another. St. Anthony -preaches, not to the little fishes of the brooks -and streams, but to the monsters of the deep,—sharks, -porpoises, whales, seals and dolphins, -that assemble in a sort of aquatic camp-meeting -on the shores of the Adriatic, and “get -religion” in the true revivalist spirit.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">The listening shoals the quick contagion feel,</div> -<div class="verse">Pant on the floods, inebriate with their zeal;</div> -<div class="verse">Ope their wide jaws, and bow their slimy heads,</div> -<div class="verse">And dash with frantic fins their foamy beds.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>For a freethinker, Dr. Darwin is curiously -literal in his treatment of hagiology and the -Scriptures. His Nebuchadnezzar (introduced as -an illustration of the “Loves of the Plants”) -is not a bestialized mortal, but a veritable beast, -like one of Circe’s swine, only less easily classified -in natural history.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Long eagle plumes his arching neck invest,</div> -<div class="verse">Steal round his arms and clasp his sharpened breast;</div> -<div class="verse">Dark brindled hairs in bristling ranks behind,</div> -<div class="verse">Rise o’er his back and rustle in the wind;</div> -<div class="verse">Clothe his lank sides, his shrivelled limbs surround,</div> -<div class="verse">And human hands with talons print the ground.</div> -<div class="verse">Lolls his red tongue, and from the reedy side</div> -<div class="verse">Of slow Euphrates laps the muddy tide.</div> -<div class="verse">Silent, in shining troups, the Courtier throng</div> -<div class="verse">Pursue their monarch as he crawls along;</div> -<div class="verse">E’en Beauty pleads in vain with smiles and tears,</div> -<div class="verse">Not Flattery’s self can pierce his pendant ears.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The picture of the embarrassed courtiers promenading -slowly after this royal phenomenon, -and of the lovely inconsiderates proffering their -vain allurements, is so ludicrous as to be painful. -Even Miss Seward, who held that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -“Botanic Garden” combined “the sublimity of -Michael Angelo, the correctness and elegance -of Raphael, with the glow of Titian,” was -shocked by Nebuchadnezzar’s pendant ears, and -admitted that the passage was likely to provoke -inconsiderate laughter.</p> - -<p>The first part of Dr. Darwin’s poem, “The -Economy of Vegetation,” was warmly praised -by critics and reviewers. Its name alone secured -for it esteem. A few steadfast souls, like -Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, refused to accept even -vegetation from a sceptic’s hands; but it was -generally conceded that the poet had “entwined -the Parnassian laurel with the balm of Pharmacy” -in a very creditable manner. The last -four cantos, however,—indiscreetly entitled -“The Loves of the Plants,”—awakened grave -concern. They were held unfit for female youth, -which, being then taught driblets of science in -a guarded and muffled fashion, was not supposed -to know that flowers had any sex, much -less that they practised polygamy. The glaring -indiscretion of their behaviour in the “Botanic -Garden,” their seraglios, their amorous -embraces and involuntary libertinism, offended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -British decorum, and, what was worse, exposed -the poem to Canning’s pungent ridicule. When -the “Loves of the Triangles” appeared in the -“Anti-Jacobin,” all England—except Whigs -and patriots who never laughed at Canning’s -jokes—was moved to inextinguishable mirth. -The mock seriousness of the introduction and -argument, the “horrid industry” of the notes, -the contrast between the pensiveness of the Cycloid -and the innocent playfulness of the Pendulum, -the solemn headshake over the licentious -disposition of Optics, and the description -of the three Curves that requite the passion of -the Rectangle, all burlesque with unfeeling -delight Dr. Darwin’s ornate pedantry.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Let shrill Acoustics tune the tiny lyre,</div> -<div class="verse">With Euclid sage fair Algebra conspire;</div> -<div class="verse">Let Hydrostatics, simpering as they go,</div> -<div class="verse">Lead the light Naiads on fantastic toe.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The indignant poet, frigidly vain, and immaculately -free from any taint of humour, was -as much scandalized as hurt by this light-hearted -mockery. Being a dictator in his own little -circle at Derby, he was naturally disposed to -consider the “Anti-Jacobin” a menace to genius<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> -and to patriotism. His criticisms and his prescriptions -had hitherto been received with equal -submission. When he told his friends that -Akenside was a better poet than Milton,—“more -polished, pure, and dignified,” they listened -with respect. When he told his patients -to eat acid fruits with plenty of sugar and -cream, they obeyed with alacrity. He had a -taste for inventions, and first made Mr. Edgeworth’s -acquaintance by showing him an ingenious -carriage of his own contrivance, which -was designed to facilitate the movements of the -horse, and enable it to turn with ease. The -fact that Dr. Darwin was three times thrown -from this vehicle, and that the third accident -lamed him for life, in no way disconcerted the -inventor or his friends, who loved mechanism -for its own sake, and apart from any given results. -Dr. Darwin defined a fool as one who -never in his life tried an experiment. So did -Mr. Day, of “Sandford and Merton” fame, -who experimented in the training of animals, -and was killed by an active young colt that had -failed to grasp the system.</p> - -<p>The “Botanic Garden” was translated into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -French, Italian, and Portuguese, to the great -relief of Miss Seward, who hated to think that -the immortality of such a work depended upon -the preservation of a single tongue. “Should -that tongue perish,” she wrote proudly, “translations -would at least retain all the host of -beauties which do not depend upon felicities -of verbal expression.”</p> - -<p>If the interminable epics which were so -popular in these halcyon days had condescended -to the telling of stories, we might believe that -they were read, or at least occasionally read, as -a substitute for prose fiction. But the truth is -that most of them are solid treatises on morality, -or agriculture, or therapeutics, cast into -the blankest of blank verse, and valued, presumably, -for the sake of the information they -conveyed. Their very titles savour of statement -rather than of inspiration. Nobody in search -of romance would take up Dr. Grainger’s -“Sugar Cane,” or Dyer’s “Fleece,” or the -Rev. Richard Polwhele’s “English Orator.” -Nobody desiring to be idly amused would read -the “Vales of Weaver,” or a long didactic -poem on “The Influence of Local Attachment.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -It was not because he felt himself to -be a poet that Dr. Grainger wrote the “Sugar -Cane” in verse, but because that was the form -most acceptable to the public. The ever famous -line,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Now Muse, let’s sing of rats!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>which made merry Sir Joshua Reynolds and -his friends, is indicative of the good doctor’s -struggles to employ an uncongenial medium. -He wanted to tell his readers how to farm successfully -in the West Indies; how to keep well -in a treacherous climate; what food to eat, what -drugs to take, how to look after the physical -condition of negro servants, and guard them -from prevalent maladies. These were matters -on which the author was qualified to speak, and -on which he does speak with all a physician’s -frankness; but they do not lend themselves to -lofty strains. Whole pages of the “Sugar -Cane” read like prescriptions and dietaries -done into verse. It is as difficult to sing -with dignity about a disordered stomach as -about rats and cockroaches; and Dr. Grainger’s -determination to leave nothing untold -leads him to dwell with much feeling, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -little grace, on all the disadvantages of the -tropics.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Musquitoes, sand-flies, seek the sheltered roof,</div> -<div class="verse">And with fell rage the stranger guest assail,</div> -<div class="verse">Nor spare the sportive child; from their retreats</div> -<div class="verse">Cockroaches crawl displeasingly abroad.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The truthfulness and sobriety of this last line -deserve commendation. Cockroaches in the -open <i>are</i> displeasing to sensitive souls; and a -footnote, half a page long, tells us everything -we could possibly desire—or fear—to know -about these insects. As an example of Dr. -Grainger’s thoroughness in the treatment of -such themes, I quote with delight his approved -method of poisoning alligators.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">With Misnian arsenic, deleterious bane,</div> -<div class="verse">Pound up the ripe cassada’s well-rasped root,</div> -<div class="verse">And form in pellets; these profusely spread</div> -<div class="verse">Round the Cane-groves where skulk the vermin-breed.</div> -<div class="verse">They, greedy, and unweeting of the bait,</div> -<div class="verse">Crowd to the inviting cates, and swift devour</div> -<div class="verse">Their palatable Death; for soon they seek</div> -<div class="verse">The neighbouring spring; and drink, and swell, and die.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Then follow some very sensible remarks about -the unwholesomeness of the water in which the -dead alligators are decomposing,—remarks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -which Mr. Kipling has unconsciously parodied:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">But ’e gets into the drinking casks, and then o’ course we dies.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The wonderful thing about the “Sugar Cane” -is that it was read;—nay, more, that -it was read aloud at the house of Sir Joshua -Reynolds, and though the audience laughed, it -listened. Dodsley published the poem in handsome -style; a second edition was called for; it -was reprinted in Jamaica, and pirated (what -were the pirates thinking about!) in 1766. -Even Dr. Johnson wrote a friendly notice in -the London “Chronicle,” though he always -maintained that the poet might just as well -have sung the beauties of a parsley-bed or of a -cabbage garden. He took the same high ground -when Boswell called his attention to Dyer’s -“Fleece.”—“The subject, Sir, cannot be -made poetical. How can a man write poetically -of serges and druggets?”</p> - -<p>It was not for the sake of sentiment or story -that the English public read “The Fleece.” -Nor could it have been for practical guidance; -for farmers, even in 1757, must have had some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -musty almanacs, some plain prose manuals to -advise them. They could never have waited to -learn from an epic poem that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent13">the coughing pest</div> -<div class="verse">From their green pastures sweeps whole flocks away,</div> -</div></div> - -<p>or that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Sheep also pleurisies and dropsies know,</div> -</div></div> - -<p>or that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">The infectious scab, arising from extremes</div> -<div class="verse">Of want or surfeit, is by water cured</div> -<div class="verse">Of lime, or sodden stave-acre, or oil</div> -<div class="verse">Dispersive of Norwegian tar.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Did the British woolen-drapers of the period -require to be told in verse about</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Cheyney, and bayse, and serge, and alepine,</div> -<div class="verse">Tammy, and crape, and the long countless list</div> -<div class="verse">Of woolen webs.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Surely they knew more about their own dry-goods -than did Mr. Dyer. Is it possible that -British parsons read Mr. Polwhele’s “English -Orator” for the sake of his somewhat confused -advice to preachers?—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Meantime thy Style familiar, that alludes</div> -<div class="verse">With pleasing Retrospect to recent Scenes</div> -<div class="verse">Or Incidents amidst thy Flock, fresh graved</div> -<div class="verse">On Memory, shall recall their scattered Thoughts,</div> -<div class="verse">And interest every Bosom. With the Voice</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -<div class="verse">Of condescending Gentleness address</div> -<div class="verse">Thy kindred People.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>It was Miss Seward’s opinion that the neglect -of Mr. Polwhele’s “poetic writings” was -a disgrace to literary England, from which we -conclude that the reverend author outwore the -patience of his readers. “Mature in dulness -from his earliest years,” he had wisely adopted -a profession which gave his qualities room for -expansion. What his congregation must have -suffered when he addressed it with “condescending -gentleness,” we hardly like to think; -but free-born Englishmen, who were so fortunate -as not to hear him, refused to make good -their loss by reading the “English Orator,” -even after it had been revised by a bishop. -Miss Seward praised it highly; in return for -which devotion she was hailed as a “Parnassian -sister” in six benedictory stanzas.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Still gratitude her stores among,</div> -<div class="indent">Shall bid the plausive poet sing;</div> -<div class="verse">And, if the last of all the throng</div> -<div class="indent">That rise on the poetic wing,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet not regardless of his destined way,</div> -<div class="verse">If Seward’s envied sanction stamps the lay.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The Swan, indeed, was never without admirers.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -Her “Louisa; a Poetical Novel in four -Epistles,” was favourably noticed; Dr. Johnson -praised her ode on the death of Captain -Cook; and no contributor to the Bath Easton -vase received more myrtle wreaths than she -did. “Warble” was the word commonly used -by partial critics in extolling her verse. “Long -may she continue to warble as heretofore, in -such numbers as few even of our favourite -bards would be shy to own.” Scott sorrowfully -admitted to Miss Baillie that he found these -warblings—of which he was the reluctant editor—“execrable”; -and that the despair which -filled his soul on receiving Miss Seward’s letters -gave him a lifelong horror of sentiment; -but for once it is impossible to sympathize -with Sir Walter’s sufferings. If he had never -praised the verses, he would never have been -called upon to edit them; and James Ballantyne -would have been saved the printing of an -unsalable book. There is no lie so little worth -the telling as that which is spoken in pure -kindness to spare a wholesome pang.</p> - -<p>It was, however, the pleasant custom of the -time to commend and encourage female poets, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -we commend and encourage a child’s unsteady -footsteps. The generous Hayley welcomed with -open arms these fair competitors for fame.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">The bards of Britain with unjaundiced eyes</div> -<div class="verse">Will glory to behold such rivals rise.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>He ardently flattered Miss Seward, and for -Miss Hannah More his enthusiasm knew no -bounds.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">But with a magical control,</div> -<div class="indent">Thy spirit-moving strain</div> -<div class="verse">Dispels the languor of the soul,</div> -<div class="indent">Annihilating pain.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“Spirit-moving” seems the last epithet in the -world to apply to Miss More’s strains; but -there is no doubt that the public believed her -to be as good a poet as a preacher, and that it -supported her high estimate of her own powers. -After a visit to another lambent flame, Mrs. -Barbauld, she writes with irresistible gravity:</p> - -<p>“Mrs. B. and I have found out that we feel -as little envy and malice towards each other, -as though we had neither of us attempted to -‘build the lofty rhyme’; although she says -this is what the envious and the malicious can -never be brought to believe.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>Think of the author of “The Search after -Happiness” and the author of “A Poetical -Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce” loudly refusing to -envy each other’s eminence! There is nothing -like it in the strife-laden annals of fame.</p> - -<p>Finally there stepped into the arena that -charming embodiment of the female muse, Mrs. -Hemans; and the manly heart of Protestant -England warmed into homage at her shrine. -From the days she “first carolled forth her -poetic talents under the animating influence -of an affectionate and admiring circle,” to the -days when she faded gracefully out of life, her -“half-etherealized spirit” rousing itself to dictate -a last “Sabbath Sonnet,” she was crowned -and garlanded with bays. In the first place, she -was fair to see,—Fletcher’s bust shows real -loveliness; and it was Christopher North’s -opinion that “no really ugly woman ever wrote -a truly beautiful poem the length of her little -finger.” In the second place, she was sincerely -pious; and the Ettrick Shepherd reflected the -opinion of his day when he said that “without -religion, a woman’s just an even-down deevil.” -The appealing helplessness of Mrs. Hemans’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -gentle and affectionate nature, the narrowness -of her sympathies, and the limitations of her -art were all equally acceptable to critics like -Gifford and Jeffrey, who held strict views as -to the rounding of a woman’s circle. Even -Byron heartily approved of a pious and pretty -woman writing pious and pretty poems. Even -Wordsworth flung her lordly words of praise. -Even Shelley wrote her letters so eager and -ardent that her very sensible mamma, Mrs. -Browne, requested him to cease. And as for -Scott, though he confessed she was too poetical -for his taste, he gave her always the honest -friendship she deserved. It was to her he said, -when some tourists left them hurriedly at Newark -Tower: “Ah, Mrs. Hemans, they little -know what two lions they are running away -from.” It was to her he said, when she was -leaving Abbotsford: “There are some whom -we meet, and should like ever after to claim as -kith and kin; and you are of this number.”</p> - -<p>Who would not gladly have written “The -Siege of Valencia” and “The Vespers of Palermo,” -to have heard Sir Walter say these -words?</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE LITERARY LADY</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">Out-pensioners of Parnassus.—<span class="smcap">Horace Walpole.</span></p> - - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> this overrated century of progress, when -women have few favours shown them, but are -asked to do their work or acknowledge their -deficiencies, the thoughtful mind turns disconsolately -back to those urbane days when every -tottering step they took was patronized and -praised. It must have been very pleasant to be -able to publish “Paraphrases and Imitations -of Horace,” without knowing a word of Latin. -Latin is a difficult language to study, and much -useful time may be wasted in acquiring it; therefore -Miss Anna Seward eschewed the tedious -process which most translators deem essential. -Yet her paraphrases were held to have caught -the true Horatian spirit; and critics praised -them all the more indulgently because of their -author’s feminine attitude to the classics. -“Over the lyre of Horace,” she wrote elegantly -to Mr. Repton, “I throw an unfettered hand.”</p> - -<p>It may be said that critics were invariably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -indulgent to female writers (listen to Christopher -North purring over Mrs. Hemans!) until -they stepped, like Charlotte Brontë, from their -appointed spheres, and hotly challenged the -competition of the world. This was a disagreeable -and a disconcerting thing for them to do. -Nobody could patronize “Jane Eyre,” and none -of the pleasant things which were habitually -murmured about “female excellence and talent” -seemed to fit this firebrand of a book. Had -Charlotte Brontë taken to heart Mrs. King’s -“justly approved work” on “The Beneficial -Effects of the Christian Temper upon Domestic -Happiness,” she would not have shocked and -pained the sensitive reviewer of the “Quarterly.”</p> - -<p>It was in imitation of that beacon light, Miss -Hannah More, that Mrs. King wrote her -famous treatise. It was in imitation of Miss -Hannah More that Mrs. Trimmer (abhorred by -Lamb) wrote “The Servant’s Friend,” “Help -to the Unlearned,” and the “Charity School -Spelling Book,”—works which have passed out -of the hands of men, but whose titles survive to -fill us with wonder and admiration. Was there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -ever a time when the unlearned frankly recognized -their ignorance, and when a mistress -ventured to give her housemaids a “Servant’s -Friend”? Was spelling in the charity schools -different from spelling elsewhere, or were -charity-school children taught a limited vocabulary, -from which all words of rank had been -eliminated? Those were days when the upper -classes were affable and condescending, when -the rural poor—if not intoxicated—curtsied -and invoked blessings on their benefactors all -day long, and when benevolent ladies told the -village politicians what it was well for them to -know. But even at this restful period, a -“Charity School Spelling Book” seems ill calculated -to inspire the youthful student with -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trimmer’s attitude to the public was -marked by that refined diffidence which was -considered becoming in a female. Her biographer -assures us that she never coveted literary -distinction, although her name was celebrated -“wherever Christianity was established, and the -English language was spoken.” Royalty took -her by the hand, and bishops expressed their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -overwhelming sense of obligation. We sigh to -think how many ladies became famous against -their wills a hundred and fifty years ago, and -how hard it is now to raise our aspiring heads. -There was Miss —— or, as she preferred to be -called, Mrs. —— Carter, who read Greek, and -translated Epictetus, who was admired by “the -great, the gay, the good, and the learned”; yet -who could with difficulty be persuaded to bear -the burden of her own eminence. It was the -opinion of her friends that Miss Carter had -conferred a good deal of distinction upon Epictetus -by her translation,—by setting, as Dr. -Young elegantly phrased it, this Pagan jewel -in gold. We find Mrs. Montagu writing to this -effect, and expressing in round terms her sense -of the philosopher’s obligation. “Might not -such an honour from a fair hand make even an -Epictetus proud, without being censured for it? -Nor let Mrs. Carter’s amiable modesty become -blameable by taking offence at the truth, but -stand the shock of applause which she has -brought upon her own head.”</p> - -<p>It was very comforting to receive letters like -this, to be called upon to brace one’s self against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -the shock of applause, instead of against the -chilly douche of disparagement. Miss Carter -retorted, as in duty bound, by imploring her -friend to employ her splendid abilities upon -some epoch-making work,—some work which, -while it entertained the world, “would be applauded -by angels, and registered in Heaven.” -Perhaps the uncertainty of angelic readers -daunted even Mrs. Montagu, for she never responded -to this and many similar appeals; but -suffered her literary reputation to rest secure -on her defence of Shakespeare, and three papers -contributed to Lord Lyttelton’s “Dialogues of -the Dead.” Why, indeed, should she have laboured -further, when, to the end of her long and -honoured life, men spoke of her “transcendent -talents,” her “magnificent attainments”? -Had she written a history of the world, she -could not have been more reverently praised. -Lord Lyttelton, transported with pride at having -so distinguished a collaborator, wrote to her -that the French translation of the “Dialogues” -was as well done as “the poverty of the French -tongue would permit”; and added unctuously, -“but such eloquence as yours must lose by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -being translated into <i>any</i> other language. Your -form and manner would seduce Apollo himself -on his throne of criticism on Parnassus.”</p> - -<p>Lord Lyttelton was perhaps more remarkable -for amiability than for judgment; but Sir -Nathaniel Wraxall, who wrote good letters himself, -ardently admired Mrs. Montagu’s, and -pronounced her “the Madame du Deffand of -the English capital.” Cowper meekly admitted -that she stood at the head “of all that is called -learned,” and that every critic “veiled his bonnet -before her superior judgment.” Even Dr. -Johnson, though he despised the “Dialogues,” -and protested to the end of his life that Shakespeare -stood in no need of Mrs. Montagu’s -championship, acknowledged that the lady was -well informed and intelligent. “Conversing -with her,” he said, “you may find variety in -one”; and this charming phrase stands now as -the most generous interpretation of her fame. -It is something we can credit amid the bewildering -nonsense which was talked and written -about a woman whose hospitality dazzled -society, and whose assertiveness dominated her -friends.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>There were other literary ladies belonging to -this charmed circle whose reputations rested -on frailer foundations. Mrs. Montagu <i>did</i> -write the essay on Shakespeare and the three -dialogues. Miss Carter <i>did</i> translate Epictetus. -Mrs. Chapone <i>did</i> write “Letters on the -Improvement of the Mind,” which so gratified -George the Third and Queen Charlotte that -they entreated her to compose a second volume; -and she <i>did</i> dally a little with verse, for one of -her odes was prefixed—Heaven knows why!—to -Miss Carter’s “Epictetus”; and the -Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, even little -Prince William, were all familiar with this -masterpiece. There never was a lady more -popular with a reigning house, and, when we -dip into her pages, we know the reason why. -A firm insistence upon admitted truths, a loving -presentation of the obvious, a generous -championship of those sweet commonplaces we -all deem dignified and safe, made her especially -pleasing to good King George and his consort. -Even her letters are models of sapiency. “Tho’ -I meet with no absolutely perfect character,” -she writes to Sir William Pepys, “yet where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -I find a good disposition, improved by good -principles and virtuous habits, I feel a moral -assurance that I shall not find any flagrant -vices in the same person, and that I shall never -see him fall into any very criminal action.”</p> - -<p>The breadth and tolerance of this admission -must have startled her correspondent, seasoned -though he was to intellectual audacity. Nor -was Mrs. Chapone lacking in the gentle art of -self-advancement; for, when about to publish a -volume of “Miscellanies,” she requested Sir -William to write an essay on “Affection and -Simplicity,” or “Enthusiasm and Indifference,” -and permit her to print it as her own. -“If your ideas suit my way of thinking,” she -tells him encouragingly, “I can cool them -down to my manner of writing, for we must -not have a hotchpotch of Styles; and if, for -any reason, I should not be able to make use -of them, you will still have had the benefit of -having written them, and may peaceably possess -your own property.”</p> - -<p>There are many ways of asking a favour; but -to assume that you are granting the favour -that you ask shows spirit and invention. Had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -Mrs. Chapone written nothing but this model -of all begging letters, she would be worthy to -take high rank among the literary ladies of -Great Britain.</p> - -<p>It is more difficult to establish the claim of -Mrs. Boscawen, who looms nebulously on the -horizon as the wife of an admiral, and the -friend of Miss Hannah More, from whom she -received flowing compliments in the “Bas -Bleu.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Each art of conversation knowing,</div> -<div class="verse">High-bred, elegant Boscawen.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>We are told that this lady was “distinguished -by the strength of her understanding, the -poignancy of her humour, and the brilliancy of -her wit”; but there does not survive the mildest -joke, the smallest word of wisdom to illustrate -these qualities. Then there was Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, -whose name alone was a guarantee -of immortality; and the “sprightly and pleasing -Mrs. Ironmonger”; and Miss Lee, who -could repeat the whole of Miss Burney’s “Cecilia” -(a shocking accomplishment); and the -vivacious Miss Monckton, whom Johnson called -a dunce; and Miss Elizabeth Hamilton, a useful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -person, “equally competent to form the -minds and manners of the daughters of a nobleman, -and to reform the simple but idle -habits of the peasantry”; and Mrs. Bennet, -whose letters—so Miss Seward tells us—“breathed -Ciceronean spirit and eloquence,” -and whose poems revealed “the terse neatness, -humour, and gayety of Swift,” which makes -it doubly distressful that neither letters nor -poems have survived. Above all, there was the -mysterious “Sylph,” who glides—sylphlike—through -a misty atmosphere of conjecture and -adulation; and about whom we feel some of the -fond solicitude expressed over and over again -by the letter-writers of this engaging period.</p> - -<p>Translated into prose, the Sylph becomes -Mrs. Agmondesham Vesey,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Vesey, of verse the judge and friend,—</div> -</div></div> - -<p>a fatuous deaf lady, with a taste for literary -society, and a talent for arranging chairs. She -it was who first gathered the “Blues” together, -placing them in little groups—generally -back to back—and flitting so rapidly -from one group to another, her ear-trumpet -hung around her neck, that she never heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -more than a few broken sentences of conversation. -She had what Miss Hannah More -amiably called “plastic genius,” which meant -that she fidgeted perpetually; and what Miss -Carter termed “a delightful spirit of innocent -irregularity,” which meant that she was inconsequent -to the danger point. “She united,” said -Madame d’Arblay, “the unguardedness of childhood -to a Hibernian bewilderment of ideas -which cast her incessantly into some burlesque -situation.” But her kind-heartedness (she proposed -having her drawing-room gravelled, so -that a lame friend could walk on it without -slipping) made even her absurdities lovable, -and her most fantastic behaviour was tolerated -as proof of her aerial essence. “There is nothing -of mere vulgar mortality about our -Sylph,” wrote Miss Carter proudly.</p> - -<p>It was in accordance with this pleasing illusion -that, when Mrs. Vesey took a sea voyage, -her friends spoke of her as though she were a -mermaid, disporting herself in, instead of on, -the ocean. They not only held “the uproar of -a stormy sea to be as well adapted to the sublime -of her imagination as the soft murmur of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -a gliding stream to the gentleness of her temper” -(so much might at a pinch be said about -any of us); but we find Miss Carter writing -to Mrs. Montagu in this perplexing strain:—</p> - -<p>“I fancy our Sylph has not yet left the -coral groves and submarine palaces in which -she would meet with so many of her fellow -nymphs on her way to England. I think if she -had landed, we should have had some information -about it, either from herself or from somebody -else who knows her consequence to us.”</p> - -<p>The poor Sylph seems to have had rather a -hard time of it after the death of the Honourable -Agmondesham, who relished his wife’s -vagaries so little, or feared them so much, that -he left the bulk of his estate to his nephew, a -respectable young man with no unearthly qualities. -The heir, however, behaved generously -to his widowed aunt, giving her an income -large enough to permit her to live with comfort, -and to keep her coach. Miss Carter was -decidedly of the opinion that Mr. Vesey made -such a “detestable” will because he was lacking -in sound religious principles, and she expressed -in plain terms her displeasure with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -her friend for mourning persistently over the -loss of one who “so little deserved her tears.” -But the Sylph, lonely, middle-aged, and deaf, -realized perhaps that her little day was over. -Mrs. Montagu’s profuse hospitality had supplanted -“the biscuit’s ample sacrifice.” People -no longer cared to sit back to back, talking -platitudes through long and hungry evenings. -The “innocent irregularity” deepened into -melancholy, into madness; and the Sylph, a -piteous mockery of her old sweet foolish self, -faded away, dissolving like Niobe in tears.</p> - -<p>It may be noted that the mission of the -literary lady throughout all these happy years -was to elevate and refine. Her attitude towards -matters of the intellect was one of obtrusive -humility. It is recorded that “an accomplished -and elegant female writer” (the name, alas! -withheld) requested Sir William Pepys to -mark all the passages in Madame de Staël’s -works which he considered “above her comprehension.” -Sir William “with ready wit” -declined this invidious task; but agreed to -mark all he deemed “worthy of her attention.” -We hardly know what to admire the most in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -a story like this;—the lady’s modesty, Sir -William’s tact, or the revelation it affords of infinite -leisure. When we remember the relentless -copiousness of Madame de Staël’s books, -we wonder if the amiable annotator lived long -enough to finish his task.</p> - -<p>In matters of morality, however, the female -pen was held to be a bulwark of Great Britain. -The ambition to prove that—albeit a woman—one -may be on terms of literary intimacy -with the seven deadly sins (“Je ne suis qu’un -pauvre diable de perruquier, mais je ne crois -pas en Dieu plus que les autres”) had not yet -dawned upon the feminine horizon. The literary -lady accepted with enthusiasm the limitations -of her sex, and turned them to practical -account; she laid with them the foundations of -her fame. Mrs. Montagu, an astute woman of -the world, recognized in what we should now -call an enfeebling propriety her most valuable -asset. It sanctified her attack upon Voltaire, -it enabled her to snub Dr. Johnson, and it -made her, in the opinion of her friends, the -natural and worthy opponent of Lord Chesterfield. -She was entreated to come to the rescue<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -of British morality by denouncing that nobleman’s -“profligate” letters; and we find the Rev. -Montagu Pennington lamenting years afterwards -her refusal “to apply her wit and genius -to counteract the mischief which Lord Chesterfield’s -volumes had done.”</p> - -<p>Miss Hannah More’s dazzling renown rested -on the same solid support. She was so strong -morally that to have cavilled at her intellectual -feebleness would have been deemed profane. -Her advice (she spent the best part of eighty-eight -years in offering it) was so estimable that -its general inadequacy was never ascertained. -Rich people begged her to advise the poor. -Great people begged her to advise the humble. -Satisfied people begged her to advise the discontented. -Sir William Pepys wrote to her in -1792, imploring her to avert from England the -threatened dangers of radicalism and a division -of land by writing a dialogue “between two -persons of the lowest order,” in which should -be set forth the discomforts of land ownership, -and the advantages of labouring for small -wages at trades. This simple and childlike -scheme would, in Sir William’s opinion, go far<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -towards making English workmen contented -with their lot, and might eventually save the -country from the terrible bloodshed of France. -Was ever higher tribute paid to sustained and -triumphant propriety? Look at Mary Wollstonecraft -vindicating the rights of woman in -sordid poverty, in tears and shame; and look -at Hannah More, an object of pious pilgrimage -at Cowslip Green. Her sisters were awestruck -at finding themselves the guardians of such preëminence. -Miss Seward eloquently addressed -them as</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent7">sweet satellites that gently bear</div> -<div class="verse">Your lesser radiance round this beamy star;</div> -</div></div> - -<p>and, being the humblest sisters ever known, -they seemed to have liked the appellation. -They guarded their luminary from common -contact with mankind; they spoke of her as -“she” (like Mr. Rider Haggard’s heroine), -and they explained to visitors how good and -great she was, and what a condescension it -would be on her part to see them, when two -peeresses and a bishop had been turned away -the day before. “It is an exquisite pleasure,” -wrote Miss Carter enthusiastically, “to find<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -distinguished talents and sublime virtue placed -in such an advantageous situation”; and the -modern reader is reminded against his will of -the lively old actress who sighed out to the -painter Mulready her unavailing regrets over -a misspent life. “Ah, Mulready, if I had only -been virtuous, it would have been pounds and -pounds in my pocket.”</p> - -<p>“Harmonious virgins,” sneered Horace Walpole, -“whose thoughts and phrases are like their -gowns, old remnants cut and turned”; and it is -painful to know that in these ribald words he -is alluding to the Swan of Lichfield, and to the -“glowing daughter of Apollo,” Miss Helen -Maria Williams. The Swan probably never -did have her gowns cut and turned, for she -was a well-to-do lady with an income of four -hundred pounds; and she lived very grandly -in the bishop’s palace at Lichfield, where her -father (“an angel, but an ass,” according to -Coleridge) had been for many years a canon. -But Apollo having, after the fashion of gods, -bequeathed nothing to his glowing daughter -but the gift of song, Miss Williams might occasionally -have been glad of a gown to turn.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -Her juvenile poem “Edwin and Eltruda” enriched -her in fame only; but “Peru,” being -published by subscription (blessed days when -friends could be turned into subscribers!), -must have been fairly remunerative; and we -hear of its author in London giving “literary -breakfasts,” a popular but depressing form of -entertainment. If ever literature be “alien to -the natural man,” it is at the breakfast hour. -Miss Williams subsequently went to Paris, and -became an ardent revolutionist, greatly to the -distress of poor Miss Seward, whose enthusiasm -for the cause of freedom had suffered a decline, -and who kept imploring her friend to come -home. “Fly, my dear Helen, that land of carnage!” -she wrote beseechingly. But Helen -couldn’t fly, being then imprisoned by the ungrateful -revolutionists, who seemed unable, or -unwilling, to distinguish friends from foes. She -had moreover by that time allied herself to Mr. -John Hurford Stone, a gentleman of the strictest -religious views, but without moral prejudices, -who abandoned his lawful wife for Apollo’s -offspring, and who, as a consequence, preferred -living on the Continent. Therefore Miss<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -Williams fell forever from the bright circle of -literary stars; and Lady Morgan, who met her -years afterwards in Paris, had nothing more -interesting to record than that she had grown -“immensely fat,”—an unpoetic and unworthy -thing to do. “For when corpulence, which is a -gift of evil, cometh upon age, then are vanished -the days of romance and of stirring deeds.”</p> - -<p>Yet sentiment, if not romance, clung illusively -to the literary lady, even when she -surrendered nothing to persuasion. Strange -shadowy stories of courtship are told with pathetic -simplicity. Miss Carter, “when she had -nearly attained the mature age of thirty,” was -wooed by a nameless gentleman of unexceptionable -character, whom “she was induced -eventually to refuse, in consequence of his -having written some verses, of the nature of -which she disapproved.” Whether these verses -were improper (perish the thought!) or merely -ill-advised, we shall never know; but as the rejected -suitor “expressed ever after a strong sense -of Miss Carter’s handsome behaviour to him,” -there seems to have been on his part something -perilously akin to acquiescence. “I wonder,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -says the wise Elizabeth Bennet, “who first discovered -the efficacy of poetry in driving away -love.” It is a pleasure to turn from such uncertainties -to the firm outlines and providential -issues of Miss Hannah More’s early attachment. -When the wealthy Mr. Turner, who had -wooed and won the lady, manifested an unworthy -reluctance to marry her, she consented -to receive, in lieu of his heart and hand, an income -of two hundred pounds a year, which -enabled her to give up teaching, and commence -author at the age of twenty-two. The -wedding day had been fixed, the wedding dress -was made, but the wedding bells were never -rung, and the couple—like the lovers in the -story-books—lived happily ever after. The only -measure of retaliation which Miss More permitted -herself was to send Mr. Turner a copy -of every book and of every tract she wrote; -while that gentleman was often heard to say, -when the tracts came thick and fast, that Providence -had overruled his desire to make so admirable -a lady his wife, because she was destined -for higher things.</p> - -<p>It was reserved for the Lichfield Swan to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -work the miracle of miracles, and rob love of -inconstancy. She was but eighteen when she -inspired a passion “as fervent as it was lasting” -in the breast of Colonel Taylor, mentioned -by discreet biographers as Colonel T. -The young man being without income, Mr. -Seward, who was not altogether an ass, declined -the alliance; and when, four years later, -a timely inheritance permitted a renewal of the -suit, Miss Seward had wearied of her lover. -Colonel Taylor accordingly married another -young woman; but the remembrance of the -Swan, and an unfortunate habit he had acquired -of openly bewailing her loss, “clouded -with gloom the first years of their married -life.” The patient Mrs. Taylor became in time -so deeply interested in the object of her husband’s -devotion that she opened a correspondence -with Miss Seward,—who was the champion -letter-writer of England,—repeatedly -sought to make her acquaintance, and “with -melancholy enthusiasm was induced to invest -her with all the charms imagination could devise, -or which had been lavished upon her by -description.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>This state of affairs lasted thirty years, at -the end of which time Colonel Taylor formed -the desperate resolution of going to Lichfield, -and seeing his beloved one again. He went, -he handed the parlour-maid a prosaic card; and -while Miss Seward—a stoutish, middle-aged, -lame lady—was adjusting her cap and kerchief, -he strode into the hall, cast one impassioned -glance up the stairway, and rapidly left -the house. When asked by his wife why he -had not stayed, he answered solemnly: “The -gratification must have been followed by pain -and regret that would have punished the temerity -of the attempt. I had no sooner entered -the house than I became sensible of the perilous -state of my feelings, and fled with precipitation.”</p> - -<p>And the Swan was fifty-two! Well may we -sigh over the days when the Literary Lady -not only was petted and praised, not only was -the bulwark of Church and State; but when -she accomplished the impossible, and kindled -in man’s inconstant heart an inextinguishable -flame.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE CHILD</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">I was not initiated into any rudiments ’till near four years -of age.—<span class="smcap">John Evelyn.</span></p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> courage of mothers is proverbial. There -is no danger which they will not brave in behalf -of their offspring. But I have always -thought that, for sheer foolhardiness, no one -ever approached the English lady who asked -Dr. Johnson to read her young daughter’s -translation from Horace. He did read it, because -the gods provided no escape; and he told -his experience to Miss Reynolds, who said -soothingly, “And how was it, Sir?” “Why, -very well for a young Miss’s verses,” was the -contemptuous reply. “That is to say, as compared -with excellence, nothing; but very well -for the person who wrote them. I am vexed at -being shown verses in that manner.”</p> - -<p>The fashion of focussing attention upon -children had not in Dr. Johnson’s day assumed -the fell proportions which, a few years later, -practically extinguished childhood. It is true -that he objected to Mr. Bennet Langton’s connubial<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -felicity, because the children were “too -much about”; and that he betrayed an unworthy -impatience when the ten little Langtons -recited fables, or said their alphabets in Hebrew -for his delectation. It is true also that he answered -with pardonable rudeness when asked -what was the best way to begin a little boy’s -education. He said it mattered no more how -it was begun, that is, what the child was -taught first, than it mattered which of his little -legs he first thrust into his breeches,—a callous -speech, painful to parents’ ears. Dr. -Johnson had been dead four years when Mrs. -Hartley, daughter of Dr. David Hartley of -Bath, wrote to Sir William Pepys:—</p> - -<p>“Education is the rage of the times. Everybody -tries to make their children more wonderful -than any children of their acquaintance. -The poor little things are so crammed with -knowledge that there is scant time for them to -obtain by exercise, and play, and <i>vacancy of -mind</i>, that strength of body which is much -more necessary in childhood than learning.”</p> - -<p>I am glad this letter went to Sir William, -who was himself determined that his children<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -should not, at any rate, be less wonderful than -other people’s bantlings. When his eldest son -had reached the mature age of six, we find him -writing to Miss Hannah More and Mrs. Chapone, -asking what books he shall give the poor -infant to read, and explaining to these august -ladies his own theories of education. Mrs. -Chapone, with an enthusiasm worthy of Mrs. -Blimber, replies that she sympathizes with the -rare delight it must be to him to teach little -William Latin; and that she feels jealous for -the younger children, who, being yet in the -nursery, are denied their brother’s privileges. -When the boy is ten, Sir William reads to him -“The Faerie Queene,” and finds that he grasps -“the beauty of the description and the force -of the allegory.” At eleven he has “an animated -relish for Ovid and Virgil.” And the -more the happy father has to tell about the -precocity of his child, the more Mrs. Chapone -stimulates and confounds him with tales of -other children’s prowess. When she hears that -the “sweet Boy” is to be introduced, at five, -to the English classics, she writes at once about -a little girl, who, when “rather younger than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -he is” (the bitterness of that!), “had several -parts of Milton by heart.” These “she understood -so well as to apply to her Mother the -speech of the Elder Brother in ‘Comus,’ when -she saw her uneasy for want of a letter from -the Dean; and began of her own accord with</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">‘Peace, Mother, be not over exquisite</div> -<div class="verse">To cast the fashion of uncertain evils’”;—</div> -</div></div> - -<p>advice which would have exasperated a normal -parent to the boxing point.</p> - -<p>There were few normal parents left, however, -at this period, to stem the tide of infantile -precocity. Child-study was dawning as a new -and fascinating pursuit upon the English world; -and the babes of Britain responded nobly to -the demands made upon their incapacity. Miss -Anna Seward lisped Milton at three, “recited -poetical passages, with eyes brimming with delight,” -at five, and versified her favourite psalms -at nine. Her father, who viewed these alarming -symptoms with delight, was so ill-advised as to -offer her, when she was ten, a whole half-crown, -if she would write a poem on Spring; whereupon -she “swiftly penned” twenty-five lines, which -have been preserved to an ungrateful world,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -and which shadow forth the painful prolixity of -future days. At four years of age, little Hannah -More was already composing verses with ominous -ease. At five, she “struck mute” the -respected clergyman of the parish by her exhaustive -knowledge of the catechism. At eight, -we are told her talents “were of such a manifestly -superior order that her father did not -scruple to combine with the study of Latin -some elementary instruction in mathematics; -a fact which her readers might very naturally -infer from the clear and logical cast of her -argumentative writings.”</p> - -<p>It is not altogether easy to trace the connection -between Miss More’s early sums and her -argumentative writings; but, as an illustration -of her logical mind, I may venture to quote a -“characteristic” anecdote, reverently told by -her biographer, Mr. Thompson. A young lady, -whose sketches showed an unusual degree of -talent, was visiting in Bristol; and her work -was warmly admired by Miss Mary, Miss Sally, -Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Patty More. Hannah -alone withheld all word of commendation, sitting -in stony silence whenever the drawings<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -were produced; until one day she found the -artist hard at work, putting a new binding on -a petticoat. <i>Then</i>, “fixing her brilliant eyes -with an expression of entire approbation upon -the girl, she said: ‘Now, my dear, that I find you -can employ yourself usefully, I will no longer -forbear to express my admiration of your drawings.’”</p> - -<p>Only an early familiarity with the multiplication -table could have made so ruthless a -logician.</p> - -<p>If Dr. Johnson, being childless, found other -people’s children in his way, how fared the -bachelors and spinsters who, as time went on, -were confronted by a host of infant prodigies; -who heard little Anna Letitia Aikin—afterwards -Mrs. Barbauld—read “as well as most -women” at two and a half years of age; and -little Anna Maria Porter declaim Shakespeare -“with precision of emphasis and firmness of -voice” at five; and little Alphonso Hayley recite -a Greek ode at six. We wonder if anybody -ever went twice to homes that harboured childhood; -and we sympathize with Miss Ferrier’s -bitterness of soul, when she describes a family<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -dinner at which Eliza’s sampler and Alexander’s -copy-book are handed round to the -guests, and Anthony stands up and repeats -“My name is Norval” from beginning to end, -and William Pitt is prevailed upon to sing the -whole of “God save the King.” It was also a -pleasant fashion of the time to write eulogies -on one’s kith and kin. Sisters celebrated their -brothers’ talents in affectionate verse, and fathers -confided to the world what marvellous -children they had. Even Dr. Burney, a man -of sense, poetizes thus on his daughter Susan:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Nor did her intellectual powers require</div> -<div class="verse">The usual aid of labour to inspire</div> -<div class="verse">Her soul with prudence, wisdom, and a taste</div> -<div class="verse">Unerring in refinement, sound and chaste.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>This was fortunate for Susan, as most young -people of the period were compelled to labour -hard. There was a ghastly pretence on the part -of parents that children loved their tasks, and -that to keep them employed was to keep them -happy. Sir William Pepys persuaded himself -without much difficulty that little William, who -had weak eyes and nervous headaches, relished -Ovid and Virgil. A wonderful and terrible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -letter written in 1786 by the Baroness de Bode, -an Englishwoman married to a German and -living at Deux-Ponts, lays bare the process by -which ordinary children were converted into -the required miracles of precocity. Her eldest -boys, aged eight and nine, appear to have been -the principal victims. The business of their -tutor was to see that they were “fully employed,” -and this is an account of their day.</p> - -<p>“In their walks he [the tutor] teaches them -natural history and botany, not dryly as a task, -but practically, which amuses them very much. -In their hours of study come drawing, writing, -reading, and summing. Their lesson in writing -consists of a theme which they are to translate -into three languages, and sometimes into -Latin, for they learn that a little also. The -boys learn Latin as a recreation, and not as a -task, as is the custom in England. Perhaps <i>one -or two hours a day</i> is at most all that is given -to that study. ’Tis certainly not so dry a study, -when learnt like modern languages. We have -bought them the whole of the Classical Authors, -so that they can instruct themselves if they -will; between ninety and a hundred volumes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -in large octavo. You would be surprised,—even -Charles Auguste, who is only five, reads -German well, and French tolerably. They all -write very good hands, both in Roman and -German texts. Clem and Harry shall write you -a letter in English, and send you a specimen -of their drawing. Harry (the second) writes -musick, too. He is a charming boy, improves -very much in all his studies, plays very prettily -indeed upon the harpsichord, and plays, too, all -tunes by ear. Clem will, I think, play well on the -violin; but ’tis more difficult in the beginning -than the harpsichord. He is at this moment -taking his lesson, the master accompanying him -on the pianoforte; and when Henry plays that, -the master accompanies on the violin, which -forms them both, and pleases them at the same -time. In the evening their tutor generally recounts -to them very minutely some anecdote -from history, which imprints it on the memory, -amuses them, and hurts no eyes.”</p> - -<p>There is nothing like it on record except the -rule of life which Frederick William the First -drew up for little Prince Fritz, when that unfortunate -child was nine years old, and which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -disposed of his day, hour by hour, and minute -by minute. But then Frederick William—a -truth-teller if a tyrant—made no idle pretence -of pleasing and amusing his son. The unpardonable -thing about the Baroness de Bode is her -smiling assurance that one or two hours of -Latin a day afforded a pleasant pastime for -children of eight and nine.</p> - -<p>This was, however, the accepted theory of -education. It is faithfully reflected in all the -letters and literature of the time. When Miss -More’s redoubtable “Cœlebs” asks Lucilla -Stanley’s little sister why she is crowned with -woodbine, the child replies: “Oh, sir, it is because -it is my birthday. I am eight years old -to-day. I gave up all my gilt books with pictures -this day twelvemonth; and to-day I give -up all my story-books, and I am now going -to read such books as men and women read.” -Whereupon the little girl’s father—that model -father whose wisdom flowers into many chapters -of counsel—explains that he makes the -renouncing of baby books a kind of epoch in -his daughters’ lives; and that by thus distinctly -marking the period, he wards off any return to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -the immature pleasures of childhood. “We have -in our domestic plan several of these artificial -divisions of life. These little celebrations are -eras that we use as marking-posts from which -we set out on some new course.”</p> - -<p>Yet the “gilt books,” so ruthlessly discarded -at eight years of age, were not all of an infantile -character. For half a century these famous -little volumes, bound in Dutch gilt paper—whence -their name—found their way into -every English nursery, and provided amusement -and instruction for every English child. -They varied from the “histories” of Goody -Two-Shoes and Miss Sally Spellwell to the -“histories” of Tom Jones and Clarissa Harlowe, -“abridged for the amusement of youth”; -and from “The Seven Champions of Christendom” -to “The First Principles of Religion, -and the Existence of a Deity; Explained in a -Series of Conversations, Adapted to the Capacity -of the Infant Mind.” The capacity of the -infant mind at the close of the eighteenth century -must have been something very different -from the capacity of the infant mind to-day. -In a gilt-book dialogue (1792) I find a father<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -asking his tiny son: “Dick, have you got ten -lines of Ovid by heart?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Papa, and I’ve wrote my exercise.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, then, you shall ride with me. -The boy who does a little at seven years old, -will do a great deal when he is fourteen.”</p> - -<p>This was poor encouragement for Dick, who -had already tasted the sweets of application. It -was better worth while for Miss Sally Spellwell -to reach the perfection which her name -implies, for <i>she</i> was adopted by a rich old lady -with a marriageable son,—“a young Gentleman -of such purity of Morals and good Understanding -as is not everywhere to be found.” In -the breast of this paragon “strange emotions -arise” at sight of the well-informed orphan; -his mother, who sets a proper value on orthography, -gives her full consent to their union; -and we are swept from the contemplation of -samplers and hornbooks to the triumphant conclusion: -“Miss Sally Spellwell now rides in her -coach and six.” Then follows the unmistakable -moral:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">If Virtue, Learning, Goodness are your Aim,</div> -<div class="verse">Each pretty Miss may hope to do the same;</div> -</div></div> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>an anticipation which must have spurred many -a female child to diligence. There was no ill-advised -questioning of values in our great-grandmothers’ -day to disturb this point of view. -As the excellent Mrs. West observed in her -“Letters to a young Lady,” a book sanctioned -by bishops, and dedicated to the Queen: “We -unquestionably were created to be the wedded -mates of man. Nature intended that man -should sue, and woman coyly yield.”</p> - -<p>The most appalling thing about the precocious -young people of this period was the ease -with which they slipped into print. Publishers -were not then the adamantine race whose province -it is now to blight the hopes of youth. -They beamed with benevolence when the first -fruits of genius were confided to their hands. -Bishop Thirlwall’s first fruits, his “Primitiæ,” -were published when he was eleven years old, -with a preface telling the public what a wonderful -boy little Connop was;—how he studied -Latin at three, and read Greek with ease and -fluency at four, and wrote with distinction at -seven. It is true that the parent Thirlwall appears -to have paid the costs, to have launched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -his son’s “slender bark” upon seas which -proved to be stormless. It is true also that the -bishop suffered acutely in later years from this -youthful production, and destroyed every copy -he could find. But there was no proud and -wealthy father to back young Richard Polwhele, -who managed, when he was a schoolboy -in Cornwall, to get his first volume of verse -published anonymously. It was called “The -Fate of Llewellyn,” and was consistently bad, -though no worse, on the whole, than his maturer -efforts. The title-page stated modestly -that the writer was “a young gentleman of -Truro School”; whereupon an ill-disposed -critic in the “Monthly Review” intimated that -the master of Truro School would do well to -keep his young gentlemen out of print. Dr. -Cardew, the said master, retorted hotly that -the book had been published without his knowledge, -and evinced a lack of appreciation, which -makes us fear that his talented pupil had a bad -half-hour at his hands.</p> - -<p>Miss Anna Maria Porter—she who delighted -“critical audiences” by reciting Shakespeare -at five—published her “Artless Tales”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -at fifteen; and Mrs. Hemans was younger still -when her “Blossoms of Spring” bloomed -sweetly upon English soil. Some of the “Blossoms” -had been written before she was ten. -The volume was a “fashionable quarto,” was -dedicated to that hardy annual, the Prince -Regent, and appears to have been read by -adults. It is recorded that an unkind notice -sent the little girl crying to bed; but as her -“England and Spain; or Valour and Patriotism” -was published nine months later, and -as at eighteen she “beamed forth with a -strength and brilliancy that must have shamed -her reviewer,” we cannot feel that her poetic -development was very seriously retarded.</p> - -<p>And what of the marvellous children whose -subsequent histories have been lost to the -world? What of the two young prodigies of -Lichfield, “Aonian flowers of early beauty and -intelligence,” who startled Miss Seward and -her friends by their “shining poetic talents,” -and then lapsed into restful obscurity? What -of the wonderful little girl (ten years old) -whom Miss Burney saw at Tunbridge Wells; -who sang “like an angel,” conversed like “an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -informed, cultivated, and sagacious woman,” -played, danced, acted with all the grace of a -comédienne, wept tears of emotion without -disfiguring her pretty face, and, when asked -if she read the novels of the day (what a question!), -replied with a sigh: “But too often! -I wish I did not.” Miss Burney and Mrs. -Thrale were so impressed—as well they might -be—by this little Selina Birch, that they -speculated long and fondly upon the destiny -reserved for one who so easily eclipsed the -other miraculous children of this highly -miraculous age.</p> - -<p>“Doubtful as it is whether we shall ever see -the sweet Syren again,” writes Miss Burney, -“nothing, as Mrs. Thrale said to her” (this, -too, was well advised), “can be more certain -than that we shall hear of her again, let her go -whither she will. Charmed as we all were, we -agreed that to have the care of her would be -distraction. ‘She seems the girl in the world,’ -Mrs. Thrale wisely said, ‘to attain the highest -reach of human perfection as a man’s mistress. -As such she would be a second Cleopatra, and -have the world at her command.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>“Poor thing! I hope to Heaven she will -escape such sovereignty and such honours!”</p> - -<p>She did escape scot-free. Whoever married—let -us hope he married—Miss Birch, was -no Mark Antony to draw fame to her feet. -His very name is unknown to the world. Perhaps, -as “Mrs.—Something—Rogers,” she -illustrated in her respectable middle age that -beneficent process by which Nature frustrates -the educator, and converts the infant Cleopatra -or the infant Hypatia into the rotund matron, -of whom she stands permanently in need.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE EDUCATOR</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">The Schoolmaster is abroad.—<span class="smcap">Lord Brougham.</span></p> - - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is recorded that Boswell once said to Dr. -Johnson, “If you had had children, would you -have taught them anything?” and that Dr. -Johnson, out of the fulness of his wisdom, made -reply: “I hope that I should have willingly -lived on bread and water to obtain instruction -for them; but I would not have set their -future friendship to hazard for the sake of -thrusting into their heads knowledge of things -for which they might have neither taste nor -necessity. You teach your daughters the diameters -of the planets, and wonder, when you -have done it, that they do not delight in your -company.”</p> - -<p>It is the irony of circumstance that Dr. -Johnson and Charles Lamb should have been -childless, for they were the two eminent Englishmen -who, for the best part of a century, -respected the independence of childhood. They -were the two eminent Englishmen who could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -have been trusted to let their children alone. -Lamb was nine years old when Dr. Johnson -died. He was twenty-seven when he hurled his -impotent anathemas at the heads of “the cursed -Barbauld crew,” “blights and blasts of all that -is human in man and child.” By that time the -educator’s hand lay heavy on schoolroom and -nursery. In France, Rousseau and Mme. de -Genlis had succeeded in interesting parents so -profoundly in their children that French babies -led a <i>vie de parade</i>. Their toilets and their -meals were as open to the public as were the -toilets and the meals of royalty. Their bassinettes -appeared in salons, and in private boxes -at the playhouse; and it was an inspiring sight -to behold a French mother fulfilling her sacred -office while she enjoyed the spectacle on the -stage. In England, the Edgeworths and Mr. -Day had projected a system of education which -isolated children from common currents of life, -placed them at variance with the accepted -usages of society, and denied them that wholesome -neglect which is an important factor in -self-development. The Edgeworthian child became -the pivot of the household, which revolved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -warily around him, instructing him whenever -it had the ghost of a chance, and guarding him -from the four winds of heaven. He was not -permitted to remain ignorant upon any subject, -however remote from his requirements; but all -information came filtered through the parental -mind, so that the one thing he never knew was -the world of childish beliefs and happenings. -Intercourse with servants was prohibited; and -it is pleasant to record that Miss Edgeworth -found even Mrs. Barbauld a dangerous guide, -because little Charles of the “Early Lessons” -asks his nurse to dress him in the mornings. -Such a personal appeal, showing that Charles -was on speaking terms with the domestics, was -something which, in Miss Edgeworth’s opinion, -no child should ever read; and she praises the -solicitude of a mother who blotted out this, and -all similar passages, before confiding the book -to her infant son. He might—who knows?—have -been so far corrupted as to ask his own -nurse to button him up the next day.</p> - -<p>Another parent, still more highly commended, -found something to erase in <i>all</i> her children’s -books; and Miss Edgeworth describes with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -grave complacency this pathetic little library, -scored, blotted, and mutilated, before being -placed on the nursery shelves. The volumes -were, she admits, hopelessly disfigured; “but -shall the education of a family be sacrificed to -the beauty of a page? Few books can safely -be given to children without the previous use -of the pen, the pencil, and the scissors. These, -in their corrected state, have sometimes a few -words erased, sometimes half a page. Sometimes -many pages are cut out.”</p> - -<p>Even now one feels a pang of pity for the -little children who, more than a hundred years -ago, were stopped midway in a story by the -absence of half a dozen pages. Even now one -wonders how much furtive curiosity was awakened -by this process of elimination. To hover -perpetually on the brink of the concealed and -the forbidden does not seem a wholesome situation; -and a careful perusal of that condemned -classic, “Bluebeard,” might have awakened -this excellent mother to the risks she ran. -There can be no heavier handicap to any child -than a superhumanly wise and watchful custodian, -whether the custody be parental, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -relegated to some phœnix of a tutor like Mr. -Barlow, or that cock-sure experimentalist who -mounts guard over “Émile,” teaching him with -elaborate artifice the simplest things of life. -We know how Tommy Merton fell from grace -when separated from Mr. Barlow; but what -<i>would</i> have become of Émile if “Jean Jacques” -had providentially broken his neck? What -would have become of little Caroline and Mary -in Mary Wollstonecraft’s “Original Stories,” -if Mrs. Mason—who is Mr. Barlow in petticoats—had -ceased for a short time “regulating -the affections and forming the minds” of -her helpless charges? All these young people -are so scrutinized, directed, and controlled, -that their personal responsibility has been -minimized to the danger point. In the name -of nature, in the name of democracy, in the -name of morality, they are pushed aside from -the blessed fellowship of childhood, and from -the beaten paths of life.</p> - -<p>That Mary Wollstonecraft should have written -the most priggish little book of her day is -one of those pleasant ironies which relieves the -tenseness of our pity for her fate. Its publication<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> -is the only incident of her life which -permits the shadow of a smile; and even -here our amusement is tempered by sympathy -for the poor innocents who were compelled -to read the “Original Stories,” and to whom -even Blake’s charming illustrations must have -brought scant relief. The plan of the work is -one common to most juvenile fiction of the -period. Caroline and Mary, being motherless, -are placed under the care of Mrs. Mason, a -lady of obtrusive wisdom and goodness, who -shadows their infant lives, moralizes over every -insignificant episode, and praises herself with -honest assiduity. If Caroline is afraid of thunderstorms, -Mrs. Mason explains that <i>she</i> fears -no tempest, because “a mind is never truly -great until the love of virtue overcomes the -fear of death.” If Mary behaves rudely to a -visitor, Mrs. Mason contrasts her pupil’s conduct -with her own. “I have accustomed myself -to think of others, and what they will -suffer on all occasions,” she observes; “and -this loathness to offend, or even to hurt the -feelings of another, is an instantaneous spring -which actuates my conduct, and makes me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -kindly affected to everything that breathes.... -Perhaps the greatest pleasure I have ever -received has arisen from the habitual exercise -of charity in its various branches.”</p> - -<p>The stories with which this monitress illustrates -her precepts are drawn from the edifying -annals of the neighbourhood, which is rich -in examples of vice and virtue. On the one -hand we have the pious Mrs. Trueman, the -curate’s wife, who lives in a rose-covered cottage, -furnished with books and musical instruments; -and on the other, we have “the profligate -Lord Sly,” and Miss Jane Fretful, who -begins by kicking the furniture when she is in -a temper, and ends by alienating all her friends -(including her doctor), and dying unloved and -unlamented. How far her mother should be -held responsible for this excess of peevishness, -when she rashly married a gentleman named -Fretful, is not made clear; but all the characters -in the book live nobly, or ignobly, up -to their patronymics. When Mary neglects to -wash her face—apparently that was all she -ever washed—or brush her teeth in the mornings, -Mrs. Mason for some time only hints her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -displeasure, “not wishing to burden her with -precepts”; and waits for a “glaring example” -to show the little girl the unloveliness of permanent -dirt. This example is soon afforded -by Mrs. Dowdy, who comes opportunely to -visit them, and whose reluctance to perform -even the simple ablutions common to the period -is as resolute as Slovenly Peter’s.</p> - -<p>In the matter of tuition, Mrs. Mason is -comparatively lenient. Caroline and Mary, -though warned that “idleness must always be -intolerable, because it is only an irksome consciousness -of existence” (words which happily -have no meaning for childhood), are, on the -whole, less saturated with knowledge than -Miss Edgeworth’s Harry and Lucy; and -Harry and Lucy lead rollicking lives by contrast -with “Edwin and Henry,” or “Anna -and Louisa,” or any other little pair of heroes -and heroines. Edwin and Henry are particularly -ill used, for they are supposed to be enjoying -a holiday with their father, “the worthy -Mr. Friendly,” who makes “every domestic -incident, the vegetable world, sickness and -death, a real source of instruction to his beloved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -offspring.” How glad those boys must -have been to get back to school! Yet they -court disaster by asking so many questions. -All the children in our great-grandmothers’ -story-books ask questions. All lay themselves -open to attack. If they drink a cup of chocolate, -they want to know what it is made of, -and where cocoanuts grow. If they have a pudding -for dinner, they are far more eager to -learn about sago and the East Indies than to -eat it. They put intelligent queries concerning -the slave-trade, and make remarks that might -be quoted in Parliament; yet they are as ignorant -of the common things of life as though -new-born into the world. In a book called -“Summer Rambles, or Conversations Instructive -and Amusing, for the Use of Children,” -published in 1801, a little girl says to her -mother: “Vegetables? I do not know what -they are. Will you tell me?” And the mother -graciously responds: “Yes, with a great deal -of pleasure. Peas, beans, potatoes, carrots, turnips, -and cabbages are vegetables.”</p> - -<p>At least the good lady’s information was -correct as far as it went, which was not always<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -the case. The talented governess in “Little -Truths” warns her pupils not to swallow -young frogs out of bravado, lest perchance -they should mistake and swallow a toad, which -would poison them; and in a “History of -Birds and Beasts,” intended for very young -children, we find, underneath a woodcut of a -porcupine, this unwarranted and irrelevant assertion:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">This creature shoots his pointed quills,</div> -<div class="indent">And beasts destroys, and men;</div> -<div class="verse">But more the ravenous lawyer kills</div> -<div class="indent">With his half-quill, the pen.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>It was thus that natural history was taught in -the year 1767.</p> - -<p>The publication in 1798 of Mr. Edgeworth’s -“Practical Education” (Miss Edgeworth was -responsible for some of the chapters) gave a -profound impetus to child-study. Little boys -and girls were dragged from the obscure haven -of the nursery, from their hornbooks, and the -casual slappings of nursery-maids, to be taught -and tested in the light of day. The process appears -to have been deeply engrossing. Irregular -instruction, object lessons, and experimental<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -play afforded scant respite to parent or to child. -“Square and circular bits of wood, balls, cubes, -and triangles” were Mr. Edgeworth’s first -substitutes for toys; to be followed by “card, -pasteboard, substantial but not sharp-pointed -scissors, wire, gum, and wax.” It took an -active mother to superintend this home kindergarten, -to see that the baby did not poke the -triangle into its eye, and to relieve Tommy at -intervals from his coating of gum and wax. -When we read further that “children are very -fond of attempting experiments in dyeing, and -are very curious about vegetable dyes,” we -gain a fearful insight into parental pleasures -and responsibilities a hundred years ago.</p> - -<p>Text-book knowledge was frowned upon by -the Edgeworths. We know how the “good -French governess” laughs at her clever pupil -who has studied the “Tablet of Memory,” and -who can say when potatoes were first brought -into England, and when hair powder was first -used, and when the first white paper was made. -The new theory of education banished the -“Tablet of Memory,” and made it incumbent -upon parent or teacher to impart in conversation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -such facts concerning potatoes, powder, -and paper as she desired her pupils to know. -If books were used, they were of the deceptive -order, which purposed to be friendly and entertaining. -A London bookseller actually proposed -to Godwin “a delightful work for -children,” which was to be called “A Tour -through Papa’s House.” The object of this -precious volume was to explain casually how -and where Papa’s furniture was made, his carpets -were woven, his curtains dyed, his kitchen -pots and pans called into existence. Even Godwin, -who was not a bubbling fountain of humour, -saw the absurdity of such a book; and -recommended in its place “Robinson Crusoe,” -“if weeded of its Methodism” (alas! poor -Robinson!), “The Seven Champions of Christendom,” -and “The Arabian Nights.”</p> - -<p>The one great obstacle in the educator’s -path (it has not yet been wholly levelled) was -the proper apportioning of knowledge between -boys and girls. It was hard to speed the male -child up the stony heights of erudition; but it -was harder still to check the female child at -the crucial point, and keep her tottering decorously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -behind her brother. In 1774 a few rash -innovators conceived the project of an advanced -school for girls; one that should approach from -afar a college standard, and teach with thoroughness -what it taught at all; one that might -be trusted to broaden the intelligence of -women, without lessening their much-prized -femininity. It was even proposed that Mrs. -Barbauld, who was esteemed a very learned -lady, should take charge of such an establishment; -but the plan met with no approbation -at her hands. In the first place she held that -fifteen was not an age for school-life and study, -because then “the empire of the passions is -coming on”; and in the second place there was -nothing she so strongly discountenanced as -thoroughness in a girl’s education. On this -point she had no doubts, and no reserves. -“Young ladies,” she wrote, “ought to have -only such a general tincture of knowledge as -to make them agreeable companions to a man -of sense, and to enable them to find rational -entertainment for a solitary hour. They should -gain these accomplishments in a quiet and unobserved -manner. The thefts of knowledge in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -our sex are connived at, only while carefully -concealed; and, if displayed, are punished with -disgrace. The best way for women to acquire -knowledge is from conversation with a father, -a brother, or a friend; and by such a course of -reading as they may recommend.”</p> - -<p>There was no danger that an education conducted -on these lines would result in an undue -development of intelligence, would lift the -young lady above “her own mild and chastened -sphere.” In justice to Mrs. Barbauld we -must admit that she but echoed the sentiments -of her day. “Girls,” said Miss Hannah More, -“should be led to distrust their own judgments.” -They should be taught to give up their -opinions, and to avoid disputes, “even if they -know they are right.” The one fact impressed -upon the female child was her secondary place -in the scheme of creation; the one virtue she -was taught to affect was delicacy; the one vice -permitted to her weakness was dissimulation. -Even her play was not like her brother’s play,—a -reckless abandonment to high spirits; it -was play within the conscious limits of propriety. -In one of Mrs. Trimmer’s books, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -model mother hesitates to allow her eleven-year-old -daughter to climb three rounds of a -ladder, and look into a robin’s nest, four feet -from the ground. It was not a genteel thing -for a little girl to do. Even her schoolbooks -were not like her brother’s schoolbooks. They -were carefully adapted to her limitations. Mr. -Thomas Gisborne, who wrote a much-admired -work entitled “An Enquiry into the Duties of -the Female Sex,” was of the opinion that geography -might be taught to girls without reserve; -but that they should learn only “select -parts” of natural history, and, in the way of -science, only a few “popular and amusing -facts.” A “Young Lady’s Guide to Astronomy” -was something vastly different from the -comprehensive system imparted to her brother.</p> - -<p>In a very able and subtle little book called -“A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters,” by Dr. -John Gregory of Edinburgh,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">He whom each virtue fired, each grace refined,</div> -<div class="verse">Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></div> -</div></div> - -<p>—we find much earnest counsel on this subject. -Dr. Gregory was an affectionate parent. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -grudged his daughters no material and no intellectual -advantage; but he was well aware -that by too great liberality he imperilled their -worldly prospects. Therefore, although he desired -them to be well read and well informed, -he bade them never to betray their knowledge -to the world. Therefore, although he desired -them to be strong and vigorous,—to walk, to -ride, to live much in the open air,—he bade -them never to make a boast of their endurance. -Rude health, no less than scholarship, -was the exclusive prerogative of men. His -deliberate purpose was to make them rational -creatures, taking clear and temperate views of -life; but he warned them all the more earnestly -against the dangerous indulgence of -seeming wiser than their neighbours. “Be -even cautious in displaying your good sense,” -writes this astute and anxious father. “It will -be thought you assume a superiority over the -rest of your company. But if you happen to -have any learning, keep it a profound secret, -especially from men, who are apt to look with -a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of -great parts and cultivated understanding.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>This is plain speaking. And it must be remembered -that “learning” was not in 1774, -nor for many years afterwards, the comprehensive -word it is to-day. A young lady who -could translate a page of Cicero was held to -be learned to the point of pedantry. What -reader of “Cœlebs”—if “Cœlebs” still boasts -a reader—can forget that agitating moment -when, through the inadvertence of a child, it -is revealed to the breakfast table that Lucilla -Stanley studies Latin every morning with her -father. Overpowered by the intelligence, Cœlebs -casts “a timid eye” upon his mistress, who is -covered with confusion. She puts the sugar -into the cream jug, and the tea into the sugar -basin; and finally, unable to bear the mingled -awe and admiration awakened by this disclosure -of her scholarship, she slips out of the -room, followed by her younger sister, and commiserated -by her father, who knows what a -shock her native delicacy has received. Had -the fair Lucilla admitted herself to be an expert -tight-rope dancer, she could hardly have -created more consternation.</p> - -<p>No wonder Dr. Gregory counselled his daughters<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -to silence. Lovers less generous than -Cœlebs might well have been alienated by such -disqualifications. “Oh, how lovely is a maid’s -ignorance!” sighs Rousseau, contemplating -with rapture the many things that Sophie does -not know. “Happy the man who is destined -to teach her. She will never aspire to be the -tutor of her husband, but will be content to -remain his pupil. She will not endeavour to -mould his tastes, but will relinquish her own. -She will be more estimable to him than if she -were learned. It will be his pleasure to enlighten -her.”</p> - -<p>This was a well-established point of view, -and English Sophies were trained to meet it -with becoming deference. They heard no idle -prating about an equality which has never -existed, and which never can exist. “Had a -third order been necessary,” said an eighteenth-century -schoolmistress to her pupils, “doubtless -one would have been created, a midway -kind of being.” In default of such a connecting -link, any impious attempt to bridge the -chasm between the sexes met with the failure -it deserved. When Mrs. Knowles, a Quaker<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -lady, not destitute of self-esteem, observed to -Boswell that she hoped men and women would -be equal in another world, that gentleman replied -with spirit: “Madam, you are too ambitious. -<i>We</i> might as well desire to be equal -with the angels.”</p> - -<p>The dissimulation which Dr. Gregory urged -upon his daughters, and which is the safeguard -of all misplaced intelligence, extended to -matters more vital than Latin and astronomy. -He warned them, as they valued their earthly -happiness, never to make a confidante of a -married woman, “especially if she lives happily -with her husband”; and never to reveal to -their own husbands the excess of their wifely -affection. “Do not discover to any man the -full extent of your love, no, not although you -marry him. <i>That</i> sufficiently shows your preference, -which is all he is entitled to know. If -he has delicacy, he will ask for no stronger -proof of your affection, for your sake; if he -has sense, he will not ask it, for his own. Violent -love cannot subsist, at least cannot be -expressed, for any time together on both sides. -Nature in this case has laid the reserve on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -you.” In the passivity of women, no less than -in their refined duplicity, did this acute observer -recognize the secret strength of sex.</p> - -<p>A vastly different counsellor of youth was -Mrs. West, who wrote a volume of “Letters -to a Young Lady” (the young lady was Miss -Maunsell, and she died after reading them), -which were held to embody the soundest morality -of the day. Mrs. West is as dull as Dr. -Gregory is penetrating, as verbose as he is -laconic, as obvious as he is individual. She -devotes many agitated pages to theology, and -many more to irrefutable, though one hopes -unnecessary, arguments in behalf of female -virtue. But she also advises a careful submission, -a belittling insincerity, as woman’s best -safeguards in life. It is not only a wife’s duty -to tolerate her husband’s follies, but it is the -part of wisdom to conceal from him any knowledge -of his derelictions. Bad he may be; but -it is necessary to his comfort to believe that -his wife thinks him good. “The lordly nature -of man so strongly revolts from the suspicion -of inferiority,” explains this excellent monitress, -“that a susceptible husband can never feel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -easy in the society of his wife when he knows -that she is acquainted with his vices, though -he is well assured that her prudence, generosity, -and affection will prevent her from being -a severe accuser.” One is reminded of the -old French gentleman who said he was aware -that he cheated at cards, but he disliked any -allusion to the subject.</p> - -<p>To be “easy” in a wife’s society, to relax -spiritually as well as mentally, and to be immune -from criticism;—these were the privileges -which men demanded, and which well-trained -women were ready to accord. In 1808 -the “Belle Assemblée” printed a model letter, -which purported to come from a young wife -whose husband had deserted her and her child -for the more lively society of his mistress. It -expressed in pathetic language the sentiments -then deemed correct,—sentiments which embodied -the patience of Griselda, without her -acquiescence in fate. The wife tells her husband -that she has retired to the country for economy, -and to avoid scandalous gossip; that by careful -management she is able to live on the pittance -he has given her; that “little Emily” is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> -working a pair of ruffles for him; that his -presence would make their poor cottage seem -a palace. “Pardon my interrupting you,” she -winds up with ostentatious meekness. “I mean -to give you satisfaction. Though I am deeply -wronged by your error, I am not resentful. I -wish you all the happiness of which you are -capable, and am your once loved and still -affectionate, Emilia.”</p> - -<p>That last sentence is not without dignity, -and certainly not without its sting. One doubts -whether Emilia’s husband, for all her promises -and protestations, could ever again have felt -perfectly “easy” in his wife’s society. He -probably therefore stayed away, and soothed -his soul elsewhere. “We can with tranquillity -forgive in ourselves the sins of which no one -accuses us.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE PIETIST</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">They go the fairest way to Heaven that would serve God -without a Hell.—<i>Religio Medici.</i></p> - - - -<p>“<span class="smcap">How</span> cutting it is to be the means of bringing -children into the world to be the subjects of -the Kingdom of Darkness, to dwell with Divils -and Damned Spirits.”</p> - -<p>In this temper of pardonable regret the -mother of William Godwin wrote to her erring -son; and while the maternal point of view -deserves consideration (no parent could be -expected to relish such a prospect), the letter -is noteworthy as being one of the few written -to Godwin, or about Godwin, which forces us to -sympathize with the philosopher. The boy who -was reproved for picking up the family cat on -Sunday—“demeaning myself with such profaneness -on the Lord’s day”—was little likely -to find his religion “all pure profit.” His account -of the books he read as a child, and of -his precocious and unctuous piety, is probably -over-emphasized for the sake of colour; but the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -Evangelical literature of his day, whether designed -for young people or for adults, was of -a melancholy and discouraging character. The -“Pious Deaths of Many Godly Children” (sad -monitor of the Godwin nursery) appears to -have been read off the face of the earth; but -there have descended to us sundry volumes of -a like character, which even now stab us with -pity for the little readers long since laid in -their graves. The most frivolous occupation of -the good boy in these old story-books is searching -the Bible, “with mamma’s permission,” for -texts in which David “praises God for the -weather.” More serious-minded children weep -floods of tears because they are “lost sinners.” -In a book of “Sermons for the Very Young,” -published by the Vicar of Walthamstow in the -beginning of the last century, we find the fall -of Sodom and Gomorrah selected as an appropriate -theme for infancy, and its lessons driven -home with all the force of a direct personal -application. “Think, little child, of the fearful -story. The wrath of God is upon them. Do -they now repent of their sins? It is all too -late. Do they cry for mercy? There is none to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -hear them.... Your heart, little child, is full -of sin. You think of what is not right, and -then you wish it, and that is sin.... Ah, -what shall sinners do when the last day comes -upon them? What will they think when God -shall punish them forever?”</p> - -<p>Children brought up on these lines passed -swiftly from one form of hysteria to another, -from self-exaltation and the assurance of grace -to fears which had no easement. There is nothing -more terrible in literature than Borrow’s -account of the Welsh preacher who believed -that when he was a child of seven he had committed -the unpardonable sin, and whose whole -life was shadowed by fear. At the same time -that little William Godwin was composing -beautiful death-bed speeches for the possible -edification of his parents and neighbours, we -find Miss Elizabeth Carter writing to Mrs. -Montagu about her own nephew, who realized, -at seven years of age, how much he and all -creatures stood in need of pardon; and who, -being ill, pitifully entreated his father to pray -that his sins might be forgiven. Commenting -upon which incident, the reverent Montagu<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -Pennington, who edited Miss Carter’s letters, -bids us remember that it reflects more credit -on the parents who brought their child up with -so just a sense of religion than it does on the -poor infant himself. “Innocence,” says the inflexible -Mr. Stanley, in “Cœlebs in Search of -a Wife,” “can never be pleaded as a ground of -acceptance, because the thing does not exist.”</p> - -<p>With the dawning of the nineteenth century -came the controversial novel; and to understand -its popularity we have but to glance at -the books which preceded it, and compared to -which it presented an animated and contentious -aspect. One must needs have read “Elements -of Morality” at ten, and “Strictures on Female -Education” at fifteen, to be able to relish -“Father Clement” at twenty. Sedate young -women, whose lightest available literature was -“Cœlebs,” or “Hints towards forming the -Character of a Princess,” and who had been -presented on successive birthdays with Mrs. -Chapone’s “Letters on the Improvement of the -Mind,” and Mrs. West’s “Letters to a Young -Lady,” and Miss Hamilton’s “Letters to the -Daughter of a Nobleman,” found a natural relief<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -in studying the dangers of dissent, or the -secret machinations of the Jesuits. Many a dull -hour was quickened into pleasurable apprehension -of Jesuitical intrigues, from the days when -Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, stoutly refused -to take cinchona—a form of quinine—because -it was then known as Jesuit’s bark, and -might be trusted to poison a British constitution, -to the days when Sir William Pepys wrote -in all seriousness to Hannah More: “You surprise -me by saying that your good Archbishop -has been in danger from the Jesuits; but I believe -they are concealed in places where they -are less likely to be found than in Ireland.”</p> - -<p>Just what they were going to do to the good -Archbishop does not appear, for Sir William -at this point abruptly abandons the prelate to -tell the story of a Norwich butcher, who for -some mysterious and unexplained reason was -hiding from the inquisitors of Lisbon. No dignitary -was too high, no orphan child too low to -be the objects of a Popish plot. Miss Carter -writes to Mrs. Montagu, in 1775, about a little -foundling whom Mrs. Chapone had placed at -service with some country neighbours.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>“She behaves very prettily, and with great -affection to the people with whom she is living,” -says Miss Carter. “One of the reasons she -assigns for her fondness is that they give her -enough food, which she represents as a deficient -article in the workhouse; and says that on Fridays -particularly she never had any dinner. -<i>Surely the parish officers have not made a -Papist the mistress!</i> If this is not the case, -the loss of one dinner in a week is of no great -consequence.”</p> - -<p>To the poor hungry child it was probably of -much greater consequence than the theological -bias of the matron. Nor does a dinnerless Friday -appear the surest way to win youthful converts -to the fold. But devout ladies who had read -Canon Seward’s celebrated tract on the “Comparison -between Paganism and Popery” (in -which he found little to choose between them) -were well on their guard against the insidious -advances of Rome. “When I had no religion -at all,” confesses Cowper to Lady Hesketh, “I -had yet a terrible dread of the Pope.” The -worst to be apprehended from Methodists was -their lamentable tendency to enthusiasm, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -their ill-advised meddling with the poor. It is -true that a farmer of Cheddar told Miss Patty -More that a Methodist minister had once -preached under his mother’s best apple tree, and -that the sensitive tree had never borne another -apple; but this was an extreme case. The Cheddar -vestry resolved to protect their orchards -from blight by stoning the next preacher who -invaded the parish, and their example was followed -with more or less fervour throughout -England. In a quiet letter written from Margate -(1768), by the Rev. John Lyon, we find this -casual allusion to the process:—</p> - -<p>“We had a Methodist preacher hold forth -last night. I came home just as he had finished. -I believe the poor man fared badly, for I saw, -as I passed, eggs, stones, etc., fly pretty thick.”</p> - -<p>It was all in the day’s work. The Rev. Lyon, -who was a scholar and an antiquarian, and who -wrote an exhaustive history of Dover, had no -further interest in matters obviously aloof from -his consideration.</p> - -<p>This simple and robust treatment, so quieting -to the nerves of the practitioners, was unserviceable -for Papists, who did not preach in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -the open; and a great deal of suppressed irritation -found no better outlet than print. It -appears to have been a difficult matter in those -days to write upon any subject without reverting -sooner or later to the misdeeds of Rome. -Miss Seward pauses in her praise of Blair’s -sermons to lament the “boastful egotism” of -St. Gregory of Nazianzus, who seems tolerably -remote; and Mr. John Dyer, when wrapped -in peaceful contemplation of the British wool-market, -suddenly and fervently denounces the -“black clouds” of bigotry, and the “fiery bolts -of superstition,” which lay desolate “Papal -realms.” In vain Mr. Edgeworth, stooping from -his high estate, counselled serenity of mind, and -that calm tolerance born of a godlike certitude; -in vain he urged the benignant attitude of infallibility. -“The absurdities of Popery are so -manifest,” he wrote, “that to be hated they -need but to be seen. But for the peace and -prosperity of this country, the misguided Catholic -should not be rendered odious; he should -rather be pointed out as an object of compassion. -His ignorance should not be imputed to -him as a crime; nor should it be presupposed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -that his life cannot be right, whose tenets are -erroneous. Thank God that I am a Protestant! -should be a mental thanksgiving, not a public -taunt.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Edgeworth was nearly seventy when -the famous “Protestant’s Manual; or, Papacy -Unveiled” (endeared forever to our hearts by -its association with Mrs. Varden and Miggs), -bowled over these pleasant and peaceful arguments. -There was no mawkish charity about -the “Manual,” which made its way into every -corner of England, stood for twenty years on -thousands of British book-shelves, and was -given as a reward to children so unfortunate -as to be meritorious. It sold for a shilling (nine -shillings a dozen when purchased for distribution), -so Mrs. Varden’s two post-octavo volumes -must have been a special edition. Reviewers -recommended it earnestly to parents and teachers; -and it was deemed indispensable to all -who desired “to preserve the rising generation -from the wiles of Papacy and the snares of -priestcraft. They will be rendered sensible of -the evils and probable consequences of Catholic -emancipation; and be confirmed in those opinions,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> -civil, political, and religious, which have -hitherto constituted the happiness and formed -the strength of their native country.”</p> - -<p>This was a strong appeal. A universal uneasiness -prevailed, manifesting itself in hostility -to innovations, however innocent and orthodox. -Miss Hannah More’s Sunday Schools were -stoutly opposed, as savouring of Methodism (a -religion she disliked), and of radicalism, for -which she had all the natural horror of a well-to-do, -middle-class Christian. Even Mrs. West, -an oppressively pious writer, misdoubted the -influence of Sunday Schools, for the simple -reason that it was difficult to keep the lower -orders from learning more than was good for -them. “Hard toil and humble diligence are -indispensably needful to the community,” said -this excellent lady. “Writing and accounts -appear superfluous instructions in the humblest -walks of life; and, when imparted to servants, -have the general effect of making them ambitious, -and disgusted with the servile offices -which they are required to perform.”</p> - -<p>Humility was a virtue consecrated to the -poor, to the rural poor especially; and what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -with Methodism on the one hand, and the jarring -echoes of the French Revolution on the -other, the British ploughman was obviously -growing less humble every day. Crabbe, who -cherished no illusions, painted him in colours -grim enough to fill the reader with despair; -but Miss More entertained a feminine conviction -that Bibles and flannel waistcoats fulfilled -his earthly needs. In all her stories and tracts -the villagers are as artificial as the happy peasantry -of an old-fashioned opera. They group -themselves deferentially around the squire and -the rector; they wear costumes of uncompromising -rusticity; and they sing a chorus of -praise to the kind young ladies who have -brought them a bowl of soup. It is curious to -turn from this atmosphere of abasement, from -perpetual curtsies and the lowliest of lowly -virtues, to the journal of the painter Haydon, -who was a sincerely pious man, yet who cannot -restrain his wonder and admiration at seeing -the Duke of Wellington behave respectfully -in church. That a person so august should -stand when the congregation stood, and kneel -when the congregation knelt, seemed to Haydon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -an immense condescension. “Here was the -greatest hero in the world,” he writes ecstatically, -“who had conquered the greatest genius, -prostrating his heart and being before his God -in his venerable age, and praying for His -mercy.”</p> - -<p>It is the most naïve impression on record. -That the Duke and the Duke’s scullion might -perchance stand equidistant from the Almighty -was an idea which failed to present itself to -Haydon’s ardent mind.</p> - -<p>The pious fiction put forward in the interest -of dissent was more impressive, more emotional, -more belligerent, and, in some odd way, more -human than “Cœlebs,” or “The Shepherd of -Salisbury Plain.” Miss Grace Kennedy’s stories -are as absurd as Miss More’s, and—though -the thing may sound incredible—much duller; -but they give one an impression of painful -earnestness, and of that heavy atmosphere engendered -by too close a contemplation of Hell. -A pious Christian lady, with local standards, a -narrow intelligence, and a comprehensive ignorance -of life, is not by election a novelist. Neither -do polemics lend themselves with elasticity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -to the varying demands of fiction. There are, -in fact, few things less calculated to instruct -the intellect or to enlarge the heart than the -perusal of controversial novels.</p> - -<p>But Miss Kennedy had at least the striking -quality of temerity. She was not afraid of being -ridiculous. She was undaunted in her ignorance. -And she was on fire with all the bitter -ardour of the separatist. Miss More, on the -contrary, entertained a judicial mistrust for -fervour, fanaticism, the rush of ardent hopes -and fears and transports, for all those vehement -emotions which are apt to be disconcerting -to ladies of settled views and incomes. -Her model Christian, Candidus, “avoids enthusiasm -as naturally as a wise man avoids -folly, or as a sober man shuns extravagance. -He laments when he encounters a real enthusiast, -because he knows that, even if honest, he -is pernicious.” In the same guarded spirit, -Mrs. Montagu praises the benevolence of Lady -Bab Montagu and Mrs. Scott, who had the -village girls taught plain sewing and the catechism. -“These good works are often performed -by the Methodist ladies in the heat of enthusiasm;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -but, thank God! my sister’s is a calm -and rational piety.” “Surtout point de zèle,” -was the dignified motto of the day.</p> - -<p>There is none of this chill sobriety about -Miss Kennedy’s Bible Christians, who, a hundred -years ago, preached to a listening world. -They are aflame with a zeal which knows no -doubts and recognizes no forbearance. Their -methods are akin to those of the irrepressible -Miss J——, who undertook, Bible in hand, -the conversion of that pious gentleman, the -Duke of Wellington; or of Miss Lewis, who -went to Constantinople to convert that equally -pious gentleman, the Sultan. Miss Kennedy’s -heroes and heroines stand ready to convert the -world. They would delight in expounding the -Scriptures to the Pope and the Patriarch of -Constantinople. Controversy affords their only -conversation. Dogma of the most unrelenting -kind is their only food for thought. Piety provides -their only avenue for emotions. Elderly -bankers weep profusely over their beloved pastor’s -eloquence, and fashionable ladies melt into -tears at the inspiring sight of a village Sunday -School. Young gentlemen, when off on a holiday,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -take with them “no companion but a -Bible”; and the lowest reach of worldliness is -laid bare when an unconverted mother asks -her daughter if she can sing something more -cheerful than a hymn. Conformity to the -Church of England is denounced with unsparing -warmth; and the Church of Rome is honoured -by having a whole novel, the once famous -“Father Clement,” devoted to its permanent -downfall.</p> - -<p>Dr. Greenhill, who has written a sympathetic -notice of Miss Kennedy in the “Dictionary -of National Biography,” considers that -“Father Clement” was composed “with an -evident wish to state fairly the doctrines and -practices of the Roman Catholic Church, even -while the authoress strongly disapproves of -them”;—a point of view which compels us -to believe that the biographer spared himself -(and who shall blame him?) the reading of this -melancholy tale. That George Eliot, who spared -herself nothing, was well acquainted with its -context, is evidenced by the conversation of -the ladies who, in “Janet’s Repentance,” meet -to cover and label the books of the Paddiford<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -Lending Library. Miss Pratt, the autocrat of -the circle, observes that the story of “Father -Clement” is, in itself, a library on the errors -of Romanism, whereupon old Mrs. Linnet very -sensibly replies: “One ’ud think there didn’t -want much to drive people away from a religion -as makes ’em walk barefoot over stone -floors, like that girl in ‘Father Clement,’ sending -the blood up to the head frightful. Anybody -might see that was an unnat’ral creed.”</p> - -<p>So they might; and a more unnatural creed -than Father Clement’s Catholicism was never -devised for the extinction of man’s flickering -reason. Only the mental debility of the Clarenham -family can account for their holding such -views long enough to admit of their being converted -from them by the Montagus. Only the -militant spirit of the Clarenham chaplain and -the Montagu chaplain makes possible several -hundred pages of polemics. Montagu Bibles -run the blockade, are discovered in the hands -of truth-seeking Clarenhams, and are hurled -back upon the spiritual assailants. The determination -of Father Dennis that the Scriptures -shall be quoted in Latin only (a practice which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -is scholarly but inconvenient), and the determination -of Edward Montagu “not to speak -Latin in the presence of ladies,” embarrass -social intercourse. Catherine Clarenham, the -young person who walks barefooted over stone -floors, has been so blighted by this pious exercise -that she cannot, at twenty, translate the -Pater Noster or Ave Maria into English, and -remains a melancholy illustration of Latinity. -When young Basil Clarenham shows symptoms -of yielding to Montagu arguments, and begins -to want a Bible of his own, he is spirited away -to Rome, and confined in a monastery of the -Inquisition, where he spends his time reading -“books forbidden by the Inquisitors,” and especially -“a New Testament with the prohibitory -mark of the Holy Office upon it,” which the -weak-minded monks have amiably placed at his -disposal. Indeed, the monastery library, to which -the captive is made kindly welcome, seems to -have been well stocked with interdicted literature; -and, after browsing in these pastures for -several tranquil months, Basil tells his astonished -hosts that their books have taught him -that “the Romish Church is the most corrupt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -of all churches professing Christianity.” Having -accomplished this unexpected but happy -result, the Inquisition exacts from him a solemn -vow that he will never reveal its secrets, -and sends him back to England, where he loses -no time in becoming an excellent Protestant. -His sister Maria follows his example (her virtues -have pointed steadfastly to this conclusion); -but Catherine enters a convent, full of -stone floors and idolatrous images, where she -becomes a “tool” of the Jesuits, and says her -prayers in Latin until she dies.</p> - -<p>No wonder “Father Clement” went through -twelve editions, and made its authoress as famous -in her day as the authoress of “Elsie -Dinsmore” is in ours. No wonder the Paddiford -Lending Library revered its sterling worth. -And no wonder it provoked from Catholics reprisals -which Dr. Greenhill stigmatizes as “flippant.” -To-day it lives by virtue of half a dozen -mocking lines in George Eliot’s least-read story: -but for a hundred years its progeny has infested -the earth,—a crooked progeny, like Peer Gynt’s, -which can never be straightened into sincerity, -or softened into good-will. “For first the Church<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> -of Rome condemneth us, we likewise them,” observes -Sir Thomas Browne with equanimity; -“and thus we go to Heaven against each others’ -wills, conceits, and opinions.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE ACCURSED ANNUAL</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Why, by dabbling in those accursed Annuals, I have become -a by-word of infamy all over the kingdom.—<span class="smcap">Charles -Lamb.</span></p> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> great dividing line between books that -are made to be read and books that are made -to be bought is not the purely modern thing it -seems. We can trace it, if we try, back to the -first printing-presses, which catered indulgently -to hungry scholars and to noble patrons; and -we can see it in another generation separating -“Waverley” and “The Corsair,” which everybody -knew by heart, from the gorgeous “Annual” -(bound in Lord Palmerston’s cast-off -waistcoats, hinted Thackeray), which formed a -decorative feature of well-appointed English -drawing-rooms. The perfectly natural thing to -do with an unreadable book is to give it away; -and the publication, for more than a quarter of -a century, of volumes which fulfilled this one -purpose and no other is a pleasant proof, if -proof were needed, of the business principles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -which underlay the enlightened activity of -publishers.</p> - -<p>The wave of sentimentality which submerged -England when the clear-headed, hard-hearted -eighteenth century had done its appointed work, -and lay a-dying, the prodigious advance in gentility -from the days of Lady Mary Wortley -Montagu to the days of the Countess of Blessington, -found their natural expression in letters. -It was a period of emotions which were not too -deep for words, and of decorum which measured -goodness by conventionalities. Turn -where we will, we see a tear in every eye, or a -simper of self-complacency on every lip. Moore -wept when he beheld a balloon ascension at -Tivoli, because he had not seen a balloon since -he was a little boy. The excellent Mr. Hall -explained in his “Memories of a Long Life” -that, owing to Lady Blessington’s anomalous -position with Count D’Orsay, “Mrs. Hall never -accompanied me to her evenings, though she -was a frequent day caller.” Criticism was controlled -by politics, and sweetened by gallantry. -The Whig and Tory reviewers supported their -respective candidates to fame, and softened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -their masculine sternness to affability when -Mrs. Hemans or Miss Landon, “the Sappho -of the age,” contributed their glowing numbers -to the world. Miss Landon having breathed a -poetic sigh in the “Amulet” for 1832, a reviewer -in “Fraser’s” magnanimously observed: -“This gentle and fair young lady, so undeservedly -neglected by critics, we mean to take -under our special protection.” Could it ever -have lain within the power of any woman, even -a poetess, to merit such condescension as this?</p> - -<p>Of a society so organized, the Christmas annual -was an appropriate and ornamental feature. -It was costly,—a guinea or a guinea -and a half being the usual subscription. It -was richly bound in crimson silk or pea-green -levant; Solomon in all his glory was less magnificent. -It was as free from stimulus as eau -sucrée. It was always genteel, and not infrequently -aristocratic,—having been known to -rise in happy years to the schoolboy verses of -a royal duke. It was made, like Peter Pindar’s -razors, to sell, and it was bought to be given -away; at which point its career of usefulness -was closed. Its languishing steel engravings of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -Corfu, Ayesha, The Suliote Mother, and The -Wounded Brigand, may have beguiled a few -heavy moments after dinner; and perhaps little -children in frilled pantalets and laced slippers -peeped between the gorgeous covers, to marvel -at the Sultana’s pearls, or ask in innocence who -was the dying Haidee. Death, we may remark, -was always a prominent feature of annuals. -Their artists and poets vied with one another -in the selection of mortuary subjects. Charles -Lamb was first “hooked into the ‘Gem’” with -some lines on the editor’s dead infant. From a -partial list, extending over a dozen years, I -cull this funeral wreath:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p> -The Dying Child. <i>Poem.</i><br /> - -The Orphans. <i>Steel engraving.</i><br /> - -The Orphan’s Tears. <i>Poem.</i><br /> - -The Gypsy’s Grave. <i>Steel engraving.</i><br /> - -The Lonely Grave. <i>Poem.</i><br /> - -On a Child’s Grave. <i>Poem.</i><br /> - -The Dying Mother to her Infant. <i>Poem.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>Blithesome reading for the Christmas-tide!</p> - -<p>The annual was as orthodox as it was aristocratic. -“The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain” -was not more edifying. “The Washerwoman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -of Finchley Common” was less conspicuously -virtuous. Here in “The Winter’s Wreath” is -a long poem in blank verse, by a nameless -clergyman, on “The Efficacy of Religion.” -Here in the “Amulet,” Mrs. Hemans, “leading -the way as she deserves to do” (I quote -from the “Monthly Review”), “clothes in her -own pure and fascinating language the invitations -which angels whisper into mortal ears.” -And here in the “Forget-Me-Not,” Leontine -hurls mild defiance at the spirit of doubt:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Thou sceptic of the hardened brow,</div> -<div class="indent">Attend to Nature’s cry!</div> -<div class="verse">Her sacred essence breathes the glow</div> -<div class="indent">O’er that thou wouldst deny;</div> -</div></div> - -<p>—an argument which would have carried conviction -to Huxley’s soul, had he been more -than eight years old when it was written. Poor -Coleridge, always in need of a guinea or two, -was bidden to write some descriptive lines for -the “Keepsake,” on an engraving by Parris -of the Garden of Boccaccio; a delightful picture -of nine ladies and three gentlemen picnicking -in a park, with arcades as tall as aqueducts, -a fountain as vast as Niagara, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -butterflies twice the size of the rabbits. Coleridge, -exempt by nature from an unserviceable -sense of humour, executed this commission in -three pages of painstaking verse, and was -severely censured for mentioning “in terms -not sufficiently guarded, one of the most impure -and mischievous books that could find its -way into the hands of an innocent female.”</p> - -<p>The system of first securing an illustration, -and then ordering a poem to match it, seemed -right and reasonable to the editor of the annual, -who paid a great deal for his engravings, -and little or nothing for his poetry. Sometimes -the poet was not even granted a sight of the -picture he was expected to describe. We find -Lady Blessington writing to Dr. William -Beattie,—the best-natured man of his day,—requesting -“three or four stanzas” for an annual -called “Buds and Blossoms,” which was -to contain portraits of the children of noble -families. The particular “buds” whose unfolding -he was asked to immortalize were the three -sons of the Duke of Buccleuch; and it was gently -hinted that “an allusion to the family would -add interest to the subject”;—in plain words,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -that a little well-timed flattery might be trusted -to expand the sales. Another year the same -unblushing petitioner was even more hardy in -her demand.</p> - -<p>“Will you write me a page of verse for the -portrait of Miss Forester? The young lady is -seated with a little dog on her lap, which she -looks at rather pensively. She is fair, with -light hair, and is in mourning.”</p> - -<p>Here is an inspiration for a poet. A picture, -which he has not seen, of a young lady in -mourning looking pensively at a little dog! -And poor Beattie was never paid a cent for -these effusions. His sole rewards were a few -words of thanks, and Lady Blessington’s cards -for parties he was too ill to attend.</p> - -<p>More business-like poets made a specialty of -fitting pictures with verses, as a tailor fits customers -with coats. A certain Mr. Harvey, -otherwise lost to fame, was held to be unrivalled -in this art. For many years his “chaste -and classic pen” supplied the annuals with -flowing stanzas, equally adapted to the timorous -taste of editors, and to the limitations of -the “innocent females” for whom the volumes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -were predestined. “Mr. Harvey embodies in -two or three lines the expression of a whole -picture,” says an enthusiastic reviewer, “and at -the same time turns his inscription into a little -gem of poetry.” As a specimen gem, I quote -one of four verses accompanying an engraving -called Morning Dreams,—a young woman -reclining on a couch, and simpering vapidly at -the curtains:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -She has been dreaming, and her thoughts are still</div> -<div class="indent">On their far journey in the land of dreams;</div> -<div class="verse">The forms we call—but may not chase—at will,</div> -<div class="indent">And sweet low voices, soft as distant streams.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>This is a fair sample of the verse supplied for -Christmas annuals, which, however “chaste -and classic,” was surely never intended to be -read. It is only right, however, to remember -that Thackeray’s “Piscator and Piscatrix” -was written at Lady Blessington’s behest, to -accompany Wattier’s engraving of The Happy -Anglers; and that Thackeray told Locker he -was so much pleased with this picture, and so -engrossed with his own poem, that he forgot to -shave for the two whole days he was working -at it. To write “good occasional verse,” by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -which he meant verse begged or ordered for -some such desperate emergency as Lady Blessington’s, -was, in his eyes, an intellectual feat. -It represented difficulties overcome, like those -wonderful old Italian frescoes fitted so harmoniously -into unaccommodating spaces. Nothing -can be more charming than “Piscator and Piscatrix,” -and nothing can be more insipid than -the engraving which inspired the lively rhymes:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">As on this pictured page I look,</div> -<div class="verse">This pretty tale of line and hook,</div> -<div class="verse">As though it were a novel-book,</div> -<div class="indent">Amuses and engages:</div> -<div class="verse">I know them both, the boy and girl,</div> -<div class="verse">She is the daughter of an Earl,</div> -<div class="verse">The lad (that has his hair in curl)</div> -<div class="indent">My lord the County’s page is.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A pleasant place for such a pair!</div> -<div class="verse">The fields lie basking in the glare;</div> -<div class="verse">No breath of wind the heavy air</div> -<div class="indent">Of lazy summer quickens.</div> -<div class="verse">Hard by you see the castle tall,</div> -<div class="verse">The village nestles round the wall,</div> -<div class="verse">As round about the hen, its small</div> -<div class="indent">Young progeny of chickens.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The verses may be read in any edition of -Thackeray’s ballads; but when we have hunted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -up the “pictured page” in a mouldy old “Keepsake,” -and see an expressionless girl, a featureless -boy, an indistinguishable castle, and no -village, we are tempted to agree with Charles -Lamb, who swore that he liked poems to explain -pictures, and not pictures to illustrate -poems. “Your woodcut is a rueful <i>lignum -mortis</i>.”</p> - -<p>There was a not unnatural ambition on the -part of publishers and editors to secure for -their annuals one or two names of repute, with -which to leaven the mass of mediocrity. It -mattered little if the distinguished writer conscientiously -contributed the feeblest offspring -of his pen; that was a reasonable reckoning,—distinguished -writers do the same to-day; but -it mattered a great deal if, as too often happened, -he broke his word, and failed to contribute -anything. Then the unhappy editor -was compelled to publish some such apologetic -note as this, from the “Amulet” of 1833. “The -first sheet of the ‘Amulet’ was reserved for my -friend Mr. Bulwer, who had kindly tendered -me his assistance; but, in consequence of various -unavoidable circumstances” (a pleasure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -trip on the Rhine), “he has been compelled to -postpone his aid until next year.” On such -occasions, the “reserved” pages were filled by -some veteran annualist, like Mr. Alaric Attila -Watts, editor of the “Literary Souvenir”; -or perhaps Mr. Thomas Haynes Bailey, he who -wrote “I’d be a Butterfly,” and “Gaily the -Troubadour,” was persuaded to warble some -such appropriate sentiment as this in the -“Forget-Me-Not”:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">It is a book we christen thus,</div> -<div class="indent">Less fleeting than the flower;</div> -<div class="verse">And ’twill recall the past to us</div> -<div class="indent">With talismanic power;</div> -</div></div> - -<p>which was a true word spoken in rhyme. Nothing -recalls that faded past, with its simpering -sentimentality, its reposeful ethics, its shut-in -standards, and its differentiation of the masculine -and feminine intellects, like the yellow -pages of an annual.</p> - -<p>Tom Moore, favourite of gods and men, was -singled out by publishers as the lode-star of -their destinies, as the poet who could be best -trusted to impart to the “Amethyst” or the -“Talisman” (how like Pullman cars they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -sound!) that “elegant lightness” which befitted -its mission in life. His accounts of the -repeated attacks made on his virtue, and the -repeated repulses he administered, fill by no -means the least amusing pages of his journal. -The first attempt was made by Orne, who, in -1826, proposed that Moore should edit a new -annual on the plan of the “Souvenir”; and -who assured the poet—always as deep in difficulties -as Micawber—that, if the enterprise -proved successful, it would yield him from five -hundred to a thousand pounds a year. Moore, -dazzled but not duped, declined the task; and -the following summer, the engraver Heath -made him a similar proposition, but on more -assured terms. Heath was then preparing to -launch upon the world of fashion his gorgeous -“Keepsake”—“the toy-shop of literature,” -Lockhart called it; and he offered Moore, first -five hundred, and then seven hundred pounds a -year, if he would accept the editorship. Seven -hundred pounds loomed large in the poet’s -fancy, but pride forbade the bargain. The -author of “Lalla Rookh” could not consent to -bow his laurelled head, and pilot the feeble<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -Fatimas and Zelicas, the noble infants in coral -necklets, and the still nobler ladies with pearl -pendants on their brows, into the safe harbour -of boudoir and drawing-room. He made this -clear to Heath, who, nothing daunted, set off -at once for Abbotsford, and laid his proposals -at the feet of Sir Walter Scott, adding to his -bribe another hundred pounds.</p> - -<p>Scott, the last man in Christendom to have -undertaken such an office, or to have succeeded -in it, softened his refusal with a good-natured -promise to contribute to the “Keepsake” when -it was launched. He was not nervous about his -literary standing, and he had no sensitive fear -of lowering it by journeyman’s work. “I have -neither the right nor the wish,” he wrote once -to Murray, “to be considered above a common -labourer in the trenches.” Moore, however, was -far from sharing this modest unconcern. When -Reynolds, on whom the editorship of the -“Keepsake” finally devolved, asked him for -some verses, he peremptorily declined. Then -began a system of pursuit and escape, of assault -and repulse, which casts the temptations -of St. Anthony into the shade. “By day and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -night,” so Moore declares, Reynolds was “after” -him, always increasing the magnitude of his -bribe. At last he forced a check for a hundred -pounds into the poet’s empty pocket (for all -the world like a scene in Caran d’Ache’s “Histoire -d’un Chèque”), imploring in return a hundred -lines of verse. But Moore’s virtue—or -his vanity—was impregnable. “The task was -but light, and the money would have been convenient,” -he confesses; “but I forced it back -on him again. The fact is, it is my <i>name</i> -brings these offers, and my name would suffer -by accepting them.”</p> - -<p>One might suppose that the baffled tempter -would now have permanently withdrawn, save -that the strength of tempters lies in their -never knowing when they are beaten. Three -years later, Heath renewed the attack, proposing -that Moore should furnish <i>all</i> the letter-press, -prose and verse, of the “Keepsake” for -1832, receiving in payment the generous sum -of one thousand pounds. Strange to say, Moore -took rather kindly to this appalling suggestion, -admitted he liked it better than its predecessors, -and consented to think the matter over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -for a fortnight. In the end, however, he adhered -to his original determination to hold himself -virgin of annuals; and refused the thousand -pounds, which would have paid all his debts, -only to fall, as fall men must, a victim to female -blandishments. He was cajoled into writing -some lines for the “Casket,” edited by Mrs. -Blencoe; and had afterwards the pleasure of -discovering that the astute lady had added -to her list of attractions another old poem -of his, which, to avoid sameness, she obligingly -credited to Lord Byron;—enough to -make that ill-used poet turn uneasily in his -grave.</p> - -<p>Charles Lamb’s detestation of annuals dates -naturally enough from the hour he was first -seduced into becoming a contributor; and every -time he lapsed from virtue, his rage blazed out -afresh. When his ill-timed sympathy for a -bereaved parent—and that parent an editor—landed -him in the pages of the “Gem,” -he wrote to Barton in an access of ill-humour -which could find no phrases sharp enough to -feed it.</p> - -<p>“I hate the paper, the type, the gloss, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -dandy plates, the names of contributors poked -up into your eyes in the first page, and whistled -through all the covers of magazines, the bare-faced -sort of emulation, the immodest candidateship, -brought into so little space; in short -I detest to appear in an annual.... Don’t -think I set up for being proud on this point; I -like a bit of flattery tickling my vanity as well -as any one. But these pompous masquerades -without masks (naked names or faces) I hate. -So there’s a bit of my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Frippery,” “frumpery,” “show and emptiness,” -are the mildest epithets at Lamb’s command, -as often as he laments his repeated falls -from grace; and a few years before his death, -when that “dumb soporifical good-for-nothingness” -(curse of the Enfield lanes) weighted his -pen, and dulled the lively processes of his brain, -he writes with poignant melancholy:—</p> - -<p>“I cannot scribble a long letter. I am, when -not on foot, very desolate, and take no interest -in anything, scarce hate anything but annuals.” -It is the last expression of a just antipathy, an -instinctive clinging to something which can be -reasonably hated to the end.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>The most pretentious and the most aristocratic -of the annuals was the ever famous “Book -of Beauty,” edited for many years by the Countess -of Blessington. Resting on a solid foundation -of personal vanity (a superstructure never -known to fail), it reached a heroic measure of -success, and yielded an income which permitted -the charming woman who conducted it to live -as far beyond her means as any leader of the -fashionable world in London. It was estimated -that Lady Blessington earned by the “gorgeous -inanities” she edited, and by the vapid tales -she wrote, an income of from two thousand to -three thousand pounds; but she would never -have been paid so well for her work had she -not supported her social position by an expenditure -of twice that sum. Charles Greville, who -spares no scorn he can heap upon her editorial -methods, declares that she attained her ends -“by puffing and stuffing, and untiring industry, -by practising on the vanity of some and -the good-nature of others. And though I never -met with any one who had read her books, -except the ‘Conversations with Byron,’ which -are too good to be hers, they are unquestionably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> -a source of considerable profit, and she -takes her place confidently and complacently -as one of the literary celebrities of her day.”</p> - -<p>Greville’s instinctive unkindness leaves him -often wide of the mark, but on this occasion -we can only say that he might have spoken his -truths more humanely. If Lady Blessington -helped to create the demand which she supplied, -if she turned her friendships to account, -and made of hospitality a means to an end (a -line of conduct not unknown to-day), she worked -with unsparing diligence, and with a sort of -desperate courage for over twenty years. Rival -Books of Beauty were launched upon a surfeited -market, but she maintained her precedence. -For ten years she edited the “Keepsake,” -and made it a source of revenue, until -the unhappy bankruptcy and death of Heath. -In her annuals we breathe the pure air of ducal -households, and consort with the peeresses of -England, turning condescendingly now and then -to contemplate a rusticity so obviously artificial, -it can be trusted never to offend. That her -standard of art (she had no standard of letters) -was acceptable to the British public is proved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -by the rapturous praise of critics and reviewers. -Thackeray, indeed, professed to think the -sumptuous ladies, who loll and languish in the -pages of the year-book, underclad and indecorous; -but this was in the spirit of hypercriticism. -Hear rather how a writer in “Fraser’s -Magazine” describes in a voice trembling with -emotion the opulent charms of one of the -Countess of Blessington’s “Beauties”:—</p> - -<p>“There leans the tall and imperial form of -the enchantress, with raven tresses surmounted -by the cachemire of sparkling red; while her -ringlets flow in exuberant waves over the full-formed -neck; and barbaric pearls, each one -worth a king’s ransom, rest in marvellous contrast -with her dark and mysterious loveliness.”</p> - -<p>“Here’s richness!” to quote our friend Mr. -Squeers. Here’s something of which it is hard -to think a public could ever tire. Yet sixteen -years later, when the Countess of Blessington -died in poverty and exile, but full of courage -to the end, the “Examiner” tepidly observed -that the probable extinction of the year-book -“would be the least of the sad regrets attending -her loss.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>For between 1823 and 1850 three hundred -annuals had been published in England, and -the end was very near. Exhausted nature was -crying for release. It is terrible to find an able -and honest writer like Miss Mitford editing a -preposterous volume called the “Iris,” of inhuman -bulk and superhuman inanity; a book -which she well knew could never, under any -press of circumstances, be read by mortal man -or woman. There were annuals to meet every -demand, and to please every class of purchaser. -Comic annuals for those who hoped to laugh; -a “Botanic Annual” for girls who took country -walks with their governess; an “Oriental -Annual” for readers of Byron and Moore; a -“Landscape Annual” for lovers of nature; -“The Christian Keepsake” for ladies of serious -minds; and “The Protestant Annual” for -those who feared that Christianity might possibly -embrace the Romish Church. There were -five annuals for English children; from one of -which, “The Juvenile Keepsake,” I quote these -lines, so admirably adapted to the childish -mind. Newton is supposed to speak them in -his study:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Pure and ethereal essence, fairest light,</div> -<div class="verse">Come hither, and before my watchful eyes</div> -<div class="verse">Disclose thy hidden nature, and unbind</div> -<div class="verse">Thy mystic, fine-attenuated parts;</div> -<div class="verse">That so, intently marking, I the source</div> -<div class="verse">May learn of colours, Nature’s matchless gifts.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>There are three pages of this poem, all in -the same simple language, from which it is fair -to infer that the child’s annual, like its grown-up -neighbour, was made to be bought, not read.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">OUR ACCOMPLISHED GREAT-GRANDMOTHER</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">Next to mere idleness, I think knotting is to be reckoned -in the scale of insignificance.—<span class="smcap">Dr. Johnson.</span></p> - - - -<p><span class="smcap">Readers</span> of Dickens (which ought to mean all -men and women who have mastered the English -alphabet) will remember how that estimable -schoolmistress, Miss Monflathers, elucidated -Dr. Watts’s masterpiece, which had been -quoted somewhat rashly by a teacher. “‘The -little busy bee,’” said Miss Monflathers, drawing -herself up, “is applicable only to genteel -children.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">In books, or work, or healthful play,</div> -</div></div> - -<p>is quite right as far as they are concerned; -and the work means painting on velvet, fancy -needlework, or embroidery.”</p> - -<p>It also meant, in the good Miss Monflathers’s -day, making filigree baskets that would -not hold anything, Ionic temples of Bristol-board, -shell flowers, and paper landscapes. It -meant pricking pictures with pins, taking “impressions”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -of butterflies’ wings on sheets of -gummed paper, and messing with strange, mysterious -compounds called diaphanie and potichomanie, -by means of which a harmless glass -tumbler or a respectable window-pane could be -turned into an object of desolation. Indeed, -when the genteel young ladies of this period -were not reading “Merit opposed to Fascination; -exemplified in the story of Eugenio,” or -“An Essay on the Refined Felicity which may -arise from the Marriage Contract,” they were -cultivating what were then called “ornamental -arts,” but which later on became known as -“accomplishments.” “It is amazing to me,” -says that most amiable of sub-heroes, Mr. Bingley, -“how young ladies can have patience to -be so very accomplished as they all are. They -paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I -scarcely know any one who cannot do all this; -and I am sure I never heard a young lady -spoken of for the first time, without being informed -that she was very accomplished.”</p> - -<p>We leave the unamiable Mr. Darcy snorting -at his friend’s remark, to consider the -paucity of Mr. Bingley’s list. Tables, screens,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -and purses represent but the first beginnings -of that misdirected energy which for the best -part of a century embellished English homes. -The truly accomplished young lady in Miss -More’s “Cœlebs” paints flowers and shells, -draws ruins, gilds and varnishes wood, is an -adept in Japan work, and stands ready to -begin modelling, etching, and engraving. The -great principle of ornamental art was the reproduction -of an object—of any object—in an -alien material. The less adapted this material -was to its purpose, the greater the difficulties -it presented to the artist, the more precious -became the monstrous masterpiece. To take a -plain sheet of paper and draw a design upon it -was ignominious in its simplicity; but to construct -the same design out of paper spirals, -rolling up some five hundred slips with uniform -tightness, setting them on end, side by side, -and painting or gilding the tops,—that was a -feat of which any young lady might be proud. -It was so uncommonly hard to do, it ought to -have been impossible. Cutting paper with fine -sharp scissors and a knife was taught in schools -(probably in Miss Monflathers’s school, though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -Dickens does not mention it) as a fashionable -pastime. The “white design”—animals, landscape, -or marine—was printed on a black -background, which was cut away with great -dexterity, the spaces being small and intricate. -When all the black paper had been removed, -the flimsy tracery was pasted on a piece of -coloured paper, thus presenting—after hours -of patient labour—much the same appearance -that it had in the beginning. It was then -glassed, framed, and presented to appreciative -parents, as a proof of their daughter’s industry -and taste.</p> - -<p>The most famous work of art ever made out -of paper was probably the celebrated “herbal” -of Mrs. Delany,—Mrs. Delany whom Burke -pronounced “the model of an accomplished -gentlewoman.” She acquired her accomplishments -at an age when most people seek to relinquish -theirs,—having learned to draw when -she was thirty, to paint when she was forty, -and to write verse when she was eighty-two. -She also “excelled in embroidery and shell-work”; -and when Miss Burney made her first -visit to St. James’s Place, she found Mrs. Delany’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -walls covered with “ornaments of her -own execution of striking elegance, in cuttings -and variegated stained papers.” The herbal, -however, was the crowning achievement of her -life. It contained nearly a thousand plants, -made of thin strips of coloured paper, pasted -layer over layer with the utmost nicety upon -a black background, and producing an effect -“richer than painting.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Cold Winter views amid his realms of snow</div> -<div class="verse">Delany’s vegetable statues blow;</div> -<div class="verse">Smoothes his stern brow, delays his hoary wing,</div> -<div class="verse">And eyes with wonder all the blooms of Spring.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The flowers were copied accurately from nature, -and florists all over the kingdom vied with one -another in sending Mrs. Delany rare and beautiful -specimens. The Queen ardently admired -this herbal, and the King, who regarded it with -veneration not untinged by awe, expressed -his feelings by giving its creator a house at -Windsor, and settling upon her an annuity of -three hundred pounds. Yet Miss Seward complained -that although England “teemed with -genius,” George III was “no Cæsar Augustus,” -to encourage and patronize the arts. To<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> -the best of his ability, he did. His conception -of genius and art may not have tallied with -that of Augustus; but when an old lady made -paper flowers to perfection, he gave her a royal -reward.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Delany’s example was followed in court -circles, and in the humbler walks of life. Shell-work, -which was one of her accomplishments, -became the rage. Her illustrious friend, the -Duchess of Portland, “made shell frames and -feather designs, adorned grottoes, and collected -endless objects in the animal and vegetable -kingdom.” Young ladies of taste made flowers -out of shells, dyeing the white ones with Brazil -wood, and varnishing them with gum arabic. A -rose of red shells, with a heart of knotted yellow -silk, was almost as much admired as a -picture of birds with their feathers pasted on -the paper. This last triumph of realism presented -a host of difficulties to the perpetrator. -When the bill and legs of the bird had been -painted in water colours on heavy Bristol-board, -the space for its body was covered with -a paste of gum arabic as thick as a shilling. -This paste was kept “tacky or clammy” to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -hold the feathers, which were stripped off the -poor little dead bird, and stuck on the prepared -surface, the quills being cut down with -a knife. Weights were used to keep the feathers -in place, the result being that most of them -adhered to the lead instead of to the Bristol-board, -and came off discouragingly when the -work was nearly done. As a combination of -art and nature, the bird picture had no rival -except the butterfly picture, where the clipped -wings of butterflies were laid between two -sheets of gummed paper, and the “impressions” -thus taken, reinforced with a little gilding, -were attached to a painted body. It may -be observed that the quality of mercy was then -a good deal strained. Mrs. Montagu’s famous -“feather-room,” in her house on Portman -Square, was ornamented with hangings made -by herself from the plumage of hundreds of -birds, every attainable variety being represented; -yet no one of her friends, not even -the sainted Hannah More, ever breathed a -sigh of regret over the merry little lives that -were wasted for its meretricious decorations.</p> - -<p>Much time and ingenuity were devoted by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -industrious young people to the making of -baskets, and no material, however unexpected, -came amiss to their patient hands. Allspice -berries, steeped in brandy to soften them and -strung on wire, were very popular; and rice baskets -had a chaste simplicity of their own. These -last were made of pasteboard, lined with silk -or paper, the grains of rice being gummed on -in solid diamond-shaped designs. If the decoration -appeared a trifle monotonous, as well it -might, it was diversified with coloured glass -beads. Indeed, we are assured that “baskets -of this description may be very elegantly ornamented -with groups of small shells, little artificial -bouquets, crystals, and the fine feathers -from the heads of birds of beautiful plumage”;—with -anything, in short, that could be pasted -on and persuaded to stick. When the supply of -glue gave out, wafer baskets—wafers required -only moistening—or alum baskets (made of -wire wrapped round with worsted, and steeped -in a solution of alum, which was coloured yellow -with saffron or purple with logwood) were held -in the highest estimation. The modern mind, -with its puny resources, is bewildered by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -multiplicity of materials which seem to have -lain scattered around the domestic hearth a hundred -years ago. There is a famous old receipt -for “silvering paper without silver,” a process -designed to be economical, but which requires -so many messy and alien ingredients, -like “Indian glue,” and “Muscovy talc,” and -“Venice turpentine,” and “Japan size,” and -“Chinese varnish,” that mere silver seems by -comparison a cheap and common thing. Young -ladies whose thrift equalled their ingenuity -made their own varnish by boiling isinglass in -a quart of brandy,—a lamentable waste of -supplies.</p> - -<p>Genteel parcels were always wrapped in -silver paper. We remember how Miss Edgeworth’s -Rosamond tries in vain to make one -sheet cover the famous “filigree basket,” which -was her birthday present to her Cousin Bell, -and which pointed its own moral by falling to -pieces before it was presented. Rosamond’s -father derides this basket because he is implored -not to grasp it by its myrtle-wreathed -handle. “But what is the use of the handle,” -he asks, in the conclusive, irritating fashion of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -the Edgeworthian parent, “if we are not to -take hold of it? And pray is this the thing -you have been about all week? I have seen -you dabbling with paste and rags, and could -not conceive what you were doing.”</p> - -<p>Rosamond’s half-guinea—her godmother’s -gift—is spent buying filigree paper, and medallions, -and a “frost ground” for this basket, -and she is ruthlessly shamed by its unstable -character; whereas Laura, who gives her money -secretly to a little lace-maker, has her generosity -revealed at exactly the proper moment, -and is admired and praised by all the company. -Apart from Miss Edgeworth’s conception of -life, as made up of well-adjusted punishments -and rewards, a half-guinea does seem a good -deal to spend on filigree paper; but then a single -sheet of gold paper cost six shillings, unless -gilded at home, after the following process, -which was highly commended for economy:—</p> - -<p>“Take yellow ochre, grind it with rain-water, -and lay a ground with it all over the paper, -which should be fine wove. When dry, take -the white of an egg and about a quarter of an -ounce of sugar candy, and beat them together<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -until the sugar candy is dissolved. Then strike -it all over the ground with a varnish brush, and -immediately lay on the gold leaf, pressing it -down with a piece of fine cotton. When dry, -polish it with a dog’s tooth or agate. A sheet -of this paper may be prepared for eighteen -pence.”</p> - -<p>No wonder little Rosamond was unequal to -such labour, and her half-guinea was squandered -in extravagant purchases. Miss Edgeworth, -trained in her father’s theory that children -should be always occupied, was a good deal -distressed by the fruits of their industry. The -“chatting girls cutting up silk and gold paper,” -whom Miss Austen watched with unconcern, -would have fretted Miss Edgeworth’s soul, unless -she knew that sensible needle-cases, pin-cushions, -and work-bags were in process of construction. -Yet the celebrated “rational toy-shop,” -with its hand-looms instead of dolls, and -its machines for drawing in perspective instead -of tin soldiers and Noah’s arks, stood responsible -for the inutilities she scorned. And what -of the charitable lady in “Lazy Lawrence,” -who is “making a grotto,” and buying shells<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -and fossils for its decoration? Even a filigree -basket, which had at least the grace of impermanence, -seems desirable by comparison with -a grotto. It will be remembered also that -Madame de Rosier, the “Good French Governess,” -traces her lost son, that “promising -young man of fourteen,” by means of a box -he has made out of refuse bits of shell thrown -aside in a London restaurant; while the son -in turn discovers a faithful family servant -through the medium of a painted pasteboard dog, -which the equally ingenious domestic has exposed -for sale in a shop. It was a good thing in Miss -Edgeworth’s day to cultivate the “ornamental -arts,” were it only for the reunion of families.</p> - -<p>Pasteboard, a most ungrateful and unyielding -material, was the basis of so many household -decorations that a little volume, published -in the beginning of the last century, is devoted -exclusively to its possibilities. This book, which -went through repeated editions, is called “The -Art of Working in Pasteboard upon Scientific -Principles”; and it gives minute directions for -making boxes, baskets, tea-trays, caddies,—even -candlesticks, and “an inkstand in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> -shape of a castle with a tower,”—a baffling -architectural design. What patience and ingenuity -must have been expended upon this pasteboard -castle, which had a wing for the ink -well, a wing for the sand box, five circular -steps leading up to the principal entrance, a -terrace which was a drawer, a balcony surrounded -by a “crenelled screen,” a tower to -hold the quills, a vaulted cupola which lifted -like a lid, and a lantern with a “quadrilateral -pyramid” for its roof, surmounted by a real -pea or a glass bead as the final bit of decoration. -There is a drawing of this edifice, which -is as imposing as its dimensions will permit; -and there are four pages of mysterious instructions -which make the reader feel as though he -were studying architecture by correspondence.</p> - -<p>Far more difficult of accomplishment, and -far more useless when accomplished,—for they -could not even hold pens and ink,—were the -Grecian temples and Gothic towers, made of -pasteboard covered with marbled paper, and -designed as “elegant ornaments for the mantelpiece.” -A small Ionic temple requires ten pages -of directions. It is built of “the best Bristol-board,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -except the shafts of the pillars and some -of the decorations, which are made of royal -drawing-paper”; and its manufacturers are -implored not to spare time, trouble, or material, -if they would attain to anything so classic. -“The art of working in pasteboard,” says the -preface of this engaging little book, “may be -carried to a high degree of usefulness and perfection, -and may eventually be productive of -substantial benefits to young persons of both -sexes, who wisely devote their leisure hours to -pleasing, quiet, and useful recreations, preferably -to frivolous, noisy, and expensive amusements.”</p> - -<p>A pleasing, quiet, and useful recreation -which wasted nothing but eyesight,—and that -nobody valued,—was pricking pictures with -pins. The broad lines and heavy shadows were -pricked with stout pins, the fine lines and -high lights with little ones, while a toothed -wheel, sharply pointed, was used for large -spaces and simple decorative designs. This was -an ambitious field of art, much of the work -being of a microscopic delicacy. The folds of a -lady’s dress could be pricked in such film-like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -waves that only close scrutiny revealed the -thousand tiny holes of which its billowy softness -was composed. The cleanness and dryness -of pins commend them to our taste after a -long contemplation of varnish and glue pots; -of “poonah work,” which was a sticky sort of -stencilling; of “Japan work,” in which embossed -figures were made of “gum-water, thickened -to a proper consistence with equal parts -of bole ammoniac and whiting”; of “Chinese -enamel,” which was a base imitation of ebony -inlaid with ivory; and of “potichomanie,” -which converted a piece of English glass into -something that “not one in a hundred could -tell from French china.” We sympathize with -the refined editor of the “Monthly Museum,” -who recommends knotting to his female readers, -not only because it had the sanction of a queen,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Who, when she rode in coach abroad,</div> -<div class="verse">Was always knotting threads;</div> -</div></div> - -<p>but because of its “pure nature” and “innocent -simplicity.” “I cannot but think,” says -this true friend of my sex, “that shirts and -smocks are unfit for any lady of delicacy to -handle; but the shuttle is an easy flowing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -object, to which the eye may remove with propriety -and grace.”</p> - -<p>Grace was never overlooked in our great-grandmother’s -day, but took rank as an important -factor in education. A London schoolmistress, -offering in 1815 some advice as to -the music “best fitted for ladies,” confesses -that it is hard to decide between the “wide -range” of the pianoforte and the harp-player’s -“elegance of position,” which gives to her instrument -“no small powers of rivalry.” Sentiment -was interwoven with every accomplishment. -Tender mottoes, like those which Miss -Euphemia Dundas entreats Thaddeus of Warsaw -to design for her, were painted upon boxes -and hand-screens. Who can forget the white -leather “souvenir,” adorned with the words -“Toujours cher,” which Miss Euphemia presses -upon Thaddeus, and which that attractive but -virtuous exile is modestly reluctant to accept. -A velvet bracelet embroidered with forget-me-nots -symbolized friendship. A handkerchief, -designed as a gift from a young girl to her -betrothed, had a celestial sphere worked in one -corner, to indicate the purity of their flame;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -a bouquet of buds and blossoms in another, to -mark the pleasures and the brevity of life; -and, in a third, Cupid playing with a spaniel, -“as an emblem of the most passionate fidelity.” -Even samplers, which represented the first step -in the pursuit of accomplishments, had their -emblematic designs no less than their moral -axioms. The village schoolmistress, whom Miss -Mitford knew and loved, complained that all -her pupils wanted to work samplers instead of -learning to sew; and that all their mothers -valued these works of art more than they did -the neatest of caps and aprons. The sampler -stood for gentility as well as industry. It reflected -credit on the family as well as on the -child. At the bottom of a faded canvas, worked -more than a hundred years ago, and now hanging -in a great museum of art, is this inspiring -verse:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">I have done this that you may see</div> -<div class="verse">What care my parents took of me.</div> -<div class="verse">And when I’m dead and in my grave,</div> -<div class="verse">This piece of work I trust you’ll save.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>If the little girl who embodied her high -hopes in the painful precision of cross-stitch -could but know of their splendid fulfilment!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE ALBUM AMICORUM</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">She kept an album too, at home,</div> -<div class="indent">Well stocked with all an album’s glories,</div> -<div class="verse">Paintings of butterflies and Rome,</div> -<div class="indent">Patterns for trimmings, Persian stories.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Praed.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Modern</span> authors who object to being asked -for their autographs, and who complain piteously -of the persecutions they endure in this -regard, would do well to consider what they -have gained by being born in an age when -commercialism has supplanted compliment. -Had they been their own great-grandfathers, -they would have been expected to present to -their female friends the verses they now sell -to magazines. They would have written a few -playful and affectionate lines every time they -dined out, and have paid for a week’s hospitality -with sentimental tributes to their hostess. -And not their hostess only. Her budding -daughters would have looked for some recognition -of their charms, and her infant son -would have presented a theme too obvious for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -disregard. It is recorded that when Campbell -spent two days at the country seat of Mr. -James Craig, the Misses Craig kept him busy -most of that time composing verses for their -albums,—a pleasant way of entertaining a -poet guest. On another occasion he writes to -Mrs. Arkwright, lamenting, though with much -good-humour, the importunities of mothers. -“Mrs. Grahame has a plot upon me that I -should write a poem upon her boy, three years -old. Oh, such a boy! But in the way of writing -lines on lovely children, I am engaged -three deep, and dare not promise.”</p> - -<p>It seems that parents not only petitioned for -these poetic windfalls, but pressed their claims -hard. Campbell, one of the most amiable of -men, yielded in time to this demand, as he had -yielded to many others, and sent to little Master -Grahame some verses of singular ineptitude.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Sweet bud of life! thy future doom</div> -<div class="indent">Is present to my eyes,</div> -<div class="verse">And joyously I see thee bloom</div> -<div class="indent">In Fortune’s fairest skies.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">One day that breast, scarce conscious now,</div> -<div class="indent">Shall burn with patriot flame;</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -<div class="verse">And, fraught with love, that little brow</div> -<div class="indent">Shall wear the wreath of fame.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>There are many more stanzas, but these are -enough to make us wonder why parents did not -let the poet alone. Perhaps, if they had, he -would have volunteered his services. We know -that when young Fanny Kemble showed him -her nosegay at a ball, and asked how she should -keep the flowers from fading, he answered -hardily: “Give them to me, and I will immortalize -them,”—an enviable assurance of renown.</p> - -<p>Album verses date from the old easy days, -when rhyming was regarded as a gentlemanly -accomplishment rather than as a means of livelihood. -Titled authors, poets wealthy and well-born—for -there were always such—naturally -addressed themselves to the ladies of their acquaintance. -They could say with Lord Chesterfield -that they thanked Heaven they did not -have to live by their brains. It was a theory, -long and fondly cherished, that poetry was not -common merchandise, to be bought and sold -like meal and malt; that it was, as Burns -admirably said, either above price or worth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> -nothing at all. Later on, when poets became -excellent men of business, when Byron had -been seduced by Murray’s generosity, when -Moore drove his wonderful bargains, and poetic -narrative was the best-selling commodity in the -market, we hear a rising murmur of protest -against the uncommercial exactions of the album. -Sonneteers who could sell their wares -for hard cash no longer felt repaid by a word -of flattery. Even the myrtle wreaths which -crowned the victors of the Bath Easton contests -appeared but slender compensation, save -in Miss Seward’s eyes, or in Mrs. Hayley’s. -When Mrs. Hayley went to Bath in 1781, and -witnessed the solemn ceremonies inaugurated -by Lady Miller; when she saw the laurels, and -myrtles, and fluttering ribbons, her soul was -fired with longing, and she set to work to persuade -her husband that the Bath Easton prize -was not wholly beneath his notice. The author -of “The Triumphs of Temper” was naturally -fearful of lowering his dignity by sporting with -minor poets; and there was much wifely artifice -in her assumption that such playfulness -on his part would be recognized as true condescension.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -“If you should feel disposed to -honour this slight amusement with a light composition, -I am persuaded you will oblige very -highly.” The responsive Hayley was not unwilling -to oblige, provided no one would suspect -him of being in earnest. He “scribbled” -the desired lines “in the most rapid manner,” -“literally in a morning and a half” (Byron -did not take much longer to write “The Corsair”), -and sent them off to Bath, where they -were “admired beyond description,” and won -the prize, so that the gratified Mrs. Hayley -appeared that night with the myrtle wreath -woven in her hair. The one famous contributor -to the Bath Easton vase who did <i>not</i> win -a prize was Sheridan. He, being entreated to -write for it some verses on “Charity,” complied -in these heartless lines:—</p> - - -<p class="center">THE VASE SPEAKS</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">For heaven’s sake bestow on me</div> -<div class="verse">A little wit, for that would be</div> -<div class="verse">Indeed an act of charity.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Complimentary addresses—those flowery -tributes which seem so ardent and so facile—were -beginning to drag a little, even in Walpole’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -day. He himself was an adept in the art -of polite adulation, and wrote without a blush -the obliging comparison between the Princess -Amelia and Venus (greatly to the disparagement -of Venus), which the flattered lady found -in the hand of the marble Apollo at Stowe. -“All women like all or any praise,” said Lord -Byron, who had reason to know the sex. The -Princess Amelia, stout, sixty, and “strong as -a Brunswick lion,” was pleased to be designated -as a “Nymph,” and to be told she had -routed Venus from the field. Walpole also -presented to Madame de Boufflers a “petite -gentillesse,” when she visited Strawberry Hill; -and it became the painful duty of the Duc de -Nivernois to translate these lines into French, -on the occasion of Miss Pelham’s grand fête at -Esher Place. The task kept him absorbed and -preoccupied most of the day, “lagging behind” -while the others made a cheerful tour of the -farms, or listened to the French horns and -hautboys on the lawn. Finally, when all the -guests were drinking tea and coffee in the Belvidere, -poor Nivernois was delivered of his -verselets, which were received with a polite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> -semblance of gratification, and for the remaining -hours his spirit was at peace. But it does -seem a hard return to exact for hospitality, and -must often have suggested to men of letters -the felicity of staying at home.</p> - -<p>Miss Seward made it her happy boast that -the number and the warmth of Mr. Hayley’s -tributes—inserted duly in her album—raised -her to a rivalry with Swift’s Stella, or Prior’s -Chloe. “Our four years’ correspondence has -been enriched with a galaxy of little poetic -gems of the first water.” Nor was the lady backward -in returning compliment for compliment. -That barter of praise, that exchange of felicitation, -which is both so polite and so profitable, -was as well understood by our sentimental ancestors -as it is in this hard-headed age. Indeed, -I am not sure that the Muse did not sometimes -calculate more closely then than she ventures -to do to-day. We know that Canon Seward -wrote an elegiac poem on a young nobleman -who was held to be dying, but who—perversely -enough—recovered; whereupon the -reverend eulogist changed the name, and transferred -his heartfelt lamentations to another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -youth whose death was fully assured. In the -same business-like spirit Miss Seward paid back -Mr. Hayley flattery for flattery, until even -the slow-witted satirists of the period made -merry over this commerce of applause.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - -<div class="verse"><i>Miss Seward.</i> Pride of Sussex, England’s glory,</div> -<div class="indent9">Mr. Hayley, is that you?</div> - - -<div class="verse"><i>Mr. Hayley.</i>    Ma’am, you carry all before you,</div> -<div class="indent9">Trust me, Lichfield swan, you do.</div> - - -<div class="verse"><i>Miss Seward.</i> Ode, dramatic, epic, sonnet,</div> -<div class="indent9">Mr. Hayley, you’re divine!</div> - - -<div class="verse"><i>Mr. Hayley.</i>    Ma’am, I’ll give my word upon it,</div> -<div class="indent9">You yourself are all the Nine.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Moore, as became a poet of ardent temperament, -wrote the most gallant album verses of -his day; for which reason, and because his star -of fame rode high, he endured sharp persecution -at the hands of admiring but covetous -friends. Young ladies asked him in the most -offhand manner to “address a poem” to -them; and women of rank smiled on him in -ballrooms, and confided to him that they were -keeping their albums virgin of verse until -“an introduction to Mr. Moore” should enable -them to request <i>him</i> to write on the opening -page. “I fight this off as well as I can,” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -tells Lord Byron, who knew both the relentlessness -of such demands and the compliant -nature of his friend. On one occasion Lady -Holland showed Moore some stanzas which -Lord Holland had written in Latin and in -English, on the subject of a snuff-box given her -by Napoleon; bidding him imperiously “do -something of the kind,” and adding that she -greatly desired a corresponding tribute from -Lord Byron. Moore wisely declined to make -any promises for Byron (one doubts whether -the four lines which that nobleman eventually -contributed afforded her ladyship much -pleasure), but wrote his own verses before -he was out of bed the next morning, and -carried them to Holland House, expecting to -breakfast with its mistress. He found her, -however, in such a captious mood, so out of -temper with all her little world, that, although -he sat down to the table, he did not venture to -hint his hunger; and as no one asked him to -eat or drink, he slipped off in half an hour, -and sought (his poem still in his pocket) the -more genial hospitality of Rosset’s restaurant. -Had all this happened twenty years earlier,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -Moore’s self-esteem would have been deeply -wounded; but the poet was by now a man of -mark, and could afford to laugh at his own -discomfiture.</p> - -<p>Moore’s album verses may be said to make -up in warmth what they lack in address. Minor -poets—minims like William Robert Spencer—surpassed -him easily in adroitness; and -sometimes won for themselves slender but -abiding reputations by expressing with consummate -ease sentiments they did not feel. -Spencer’s pretty lines beginning,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Too late I stayed,—forgive the crime!</div> -<div class="indent">Unheeded flew the hours:</div> -<div class="verse">How noiseless falls the foot of time</div> -<div class="indent">That only treads on flowers!</div> -</div></div> - -<p>—lines which all our grandmothers had by -heart—may still be found in compilations of -English verse. Their dexterous allusions to -the diamond sparks in Time’s hour-glass, and -to the bird-of-paradise plumage in his grey -wings, their veiled and graceful flattery, contrast -pleasantly with Moore’s Hibernian boldness, -with his offhand demand to be paid in -kisses for his songs—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">That rosy mouth alone can bring</div> -<div class="indent">What makes the bard divine;</div> -<div class="verse">Oh, Lady! how my lip would sing,</div> -<div class="indent">If once ’twere prest to thine.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>A discreet young woman might have hesitated -to show <i>this</i> album page to friends.</p> - -<p>Byron’s “tributes,” when he paid them, were -singularly chill. He may have buried his heart -at Mrs. Spencer Smith’s feet; but the lines in -her album which record this interment are -eloquent of a speedy resurrection. When Lady -Blessington demanded some verses, he wrote -them; but he explained with almost insulting -lucidity that his heart was as grey as his head -(he was thirty-one), and that he had nothing -warmer than friendship to offer in place of extinguished -affections. Moore must have wearied -painfully of albums and of their rapacious demands; -yet to the end of his life he could be -harassed into feigning a poetic passion; but -Byron stood at bay. He was a hunted creature, -and the instinct of self-preservation taught him -savage methods of escape.</p> - -<p>There are people who, from some delicacy of -mental fibre, find it exceedingly difficult to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> -rude; and there are people who—like Charles -Lamb—have a curious habit of doing what -they do not want to do, and what they know is -not worth doing, for the sake of giving pleasure -to some utterly insignificant acquaintance. The -first class lacks a valuable weapon in life’s warfare. -The second class is so small, and the -motives which govern it are so inscrutable, that -we are apt to be exasperated by its amiability. -It is easy to sympathize with Thackeray, who, -being badgered to write in an album already -graced by the signatures of several distinguished -musicians, said curtly: “What! among all those -fiddlers!” This hardy British superciliousness -commends itself to our sense of humour, no -less than to our sense of self-protection. A great -deal has been said, especially by Frenchmen, -about the wisdom of polite denials; but a rough -word, spoken in time, is seldom without weight -in England.</p> - -<p>Yet, for a friend, Thackeray found no labour -hard. The genial tolerance of “The Pen and the -Album” suggests something akin to affection -for these pillaging little books when the right -people owned them,—when they belonged to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -“Chesham Place.” Locker tells a pleasant story -of meeting Thackeray in Pall Mall, on his way -to Kensington, and offering to join him in his -walk. This offer was declined, Thackeray explaining -that he had some rhymes trotting -through his head, and that he was trying to -polish them off in the course of a solitary stroll. -A few days later they met again, and Thackeray -said, “I finished those verses, and they are -very nearly being very good. I call them ‘Mrs. -Katherine’s Lantern.’ I did them for Dickens’s -daughter.”</p> - -<p>“Very nearly being very good!” This is an -author’s modest estimate. Readers there are -who have found them so absolutely good that -they leaven the whole heavy mass of album -verse. Shall not a century of extortion on the -one side and debility on the other be forgiven, -because upon one blank page, the property of -one thrice fortunate young woman, were written -these lines, fragrant with imperishable sentiment:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">When he was young as you are young,</div> -<div class="verse">When he was young, and lutes were strung,</div> -<div class="verse">And love-lamps in the casement hung.</div> -</div></div> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>But when we turn to Lamb, and find him -driving his pen along its unwilling way, and -admitting ruefully that the road was hard, we -see the reverse of the medal, and we resent -that inexplicable sweetness of temper which -left him defenceless before marauders.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">My feeble Muse, that fain her best would</div> -<div class="verse">Write at command of Frances Westwood,</div> -<div class="verse">But feels her wits not in their best mood.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Why should Frances Westwood have commanded -his services? Why should Frances -Brown, “engaged to a Mr. White,” have wrung -from him a dozen lines of what we should now -call “copy”? She had no recognizable right to -that copy; but Lamb confided to Mrs. Moxon -that he had sent it to her at twenty-four hours’ -notice, because she was going to be married and -start with her husband for India. Also that he -had forgotten what he had written, save only -two lines:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - -<div class="indent9">May your fame</div> -<div class="verse">And fortune, Frances, Whiten with your name!</div> -</div></div> - -<p>of which conceit he was innocently proud.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moxon (Emma Isola) was herself an -old and hardened offender. Her album, enriched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> -with the spoils of a predatory warfare, travelled -far afield, extorting its tribute of verse. We -find Lamb first paying, as was natural, his -own tithes, and then actually aiding and abetting -injustice by sending the book to Mr. Procter -(Barry Cornwall), with an irresistible -appeal for support.</p> - -<p>“I have another favour to beg, which is the -beggarliest of beggings; a few lines of verse -for a young friend’s album (six will be enough). -M. Burney will tell you who I want ’em for. -A girl of gold. Six lines—make ’em eight—signed -Barry C——. They need not be very -good, as I chiefly want ’em as a foil to mine. -But I shall be seriously obliged by any refuse -scraps. We are in the last ages of the world, -when St. Paul prophesied that women should -be ‘headstrong lovers of their own wills, having -albums.’ I fled hither to escape the albumean -persecution, and had not been in my new house -twenty-four hours when a daughter of the next -house came in with a friend’s album, to beg a -contribution, and, the following day, intimated -she had one of her own. Two more have sprung -up since. ‘If I take the wings of the morning,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> -and fly unto the uttermost parts of the earth, -there will albums be.’ New Holland has albums. -The age is to be complied with.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Ask for this little book a token of remembrance -from friends, and from fellow students, -and from wayfarers whom you may never see -again. He who gives you his name and a few -kind words, gives you a treasure which shall -keep his memory green.”</p> - -<p>So wrote Goethe—out of the abyss of German -sentimentality—in his son’s album; and -the words have a pleasant ring of good fellowship -and unforced fraternity. They are akin to -those gracious phrases with which the French -monarchy—“despotism tempered by epigram”—was -wont to designate the taxes that devoured -the land. There was a charming politeness -in the assumption that taxes were free -gifts, gladly given; but those who gave them -knew.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - -<p class="center"> -<span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press</span><br /> -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br /> -U . S . A</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1">FOOTNOTE:</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Beattie’s <i>Minstrel</i>.</p> - -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - - - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> - -<p>The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is entered into the public domain.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY HALF-CENTURY AND OTHER ESSAYS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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