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The gift of
Halfdan Lee
Boston , Mass.

(m_ HARVARD COLLEGE

Q2I487- G51
=

LONDON :
RR. CLAY, BON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,
BREAD STREET HILL.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

Tae present edition of this work has been delayed by
the author's absence abroad for some years, and by other
causes which need not be detailed here. It has now been
carefully revised, and enriched with much new matter.
Indeed, nothing is so striking as the alterations which this
interval has necessitated—the ravages which death has
made in the ranks of our great poets since the last edition
was issued. Southey, Wordsworth, Moore, Wilson, Mont-
gomery, Elliott, Joanna Baillie, Caroline Bowles Southey,
and Rogers, have since then disappeared from the scene.
In Rogers, was snapped the link which bound living authors
to a long-past period. He tells us himself that he could
remember seeing one of the heads of the rebels of 1745
still remaining on Temple Bar. He had seen Garrick act;
he was cotemporary with Johnson and Boswell, Gibbon,
Cowper, Horace Walpole, Howard the philanthropist; and
saw General Oglethorpe, the founder of Georgia, who
said he had shot snipes in Conduit Street. He had
associated with Mrs. Piozzi; heard Sir Joshua Reynolds

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

THE subject of the present work is very extensive, and
it was soon found necessary to leave out the Dramatic
Poets for separate treatment. To them may possibly be
added such other of our eminent poets as could not be
included in the present work. It will be recollected that
it is professedly on the Homes and Haunts of the Poets,
and is not strictly biographical. For this reason there are
some poets of considerable eminence, who will find com-
paratively small mention; and others none, not because
they are not entitled to much notice, but because there
is little or nothing of deep interest or novelty connected
with their homes and abodes.

Since the publication of the former edition of this
work, many fresh incidents in the lives of the poets in-
cluded in it have taken place, and a considerable number
of those then living are now deceased. In order to notice
accurately these changes, the whole work has been care-
fally revised.

Loxpos, 1847.

CONTENTS.
vorts TaLusrRAtioss.
CHAUCER . . . . . Tabard Inn, Southwark . 2... . 1
SPENSER. . . . . . Kilcolman Castle on Fire... . . . 10
SHAKSPEARE. . . . Shakspeare reading to Queen Elisabeth. . 29
COWLEY. . . . . . Howeat Chertey ........ 40
MILTON | | | |. . Cottage at Chalfont... ss ss 48
BUTLER... . . . Indlow Cattle. 2... 1
DRYDEN. . . . . . BurleighHowe .... 2... . 78
ADDISON. . . . . . Holland Howe .. 1... 88
POPE ...... . Villaat Twickenham . 2... 2. 9
SWIFT... . . . . Laracor Church... 1... 1118
Stella's Howe. 2 ew we 182
Ruina of Swifts Howe... . . . . 140
THOMSON . . . . . Cottagein KewLane ..... . . 11
SHENSTONE . . . . Leasowr. 2... 2. 1. . 1 155
CHATTERTON . . . Muniment Room... .. 2. . . 188
GRAY) fo gowveridin tie tuat ees meh ® Son G SRD
GOLDSMITH . . . . Roomat Walker's Hotel... . . 195
BURNS . .. . . . Bumneand Mary parting... . . . 229
Tincluden Abbey... 4 2. 5s. 268
COWPER. . . . . . Houeat Wetm.. 2... 2. 260
MRS.TIGHE ... . + 281
KEATS... . . . Tombs of Keats and Shelley at Rome. . 292
SHELLEY . . . . . Shelley Bodyfound, . . . . 301
BYRON. |... . Annecy Hall. 2). 1 ss 898
CRABBE. . . . . . Belvoir Castle. 2... 1 1 ss 5 B50

HOGG. a a. Bg we Sele da gdh wg Op Gwe SE La BMD

rorrs. runoermar
COLERIDGE . . . . Coleridge Enlising . . .
MRS.HEMANS . . . Residence at Rhyllon. . .
LEL ..... . GapeCoast Castle... .
SCOTT ..... . Adbotsford 1...
Tomb, Dryburgh Adbey .
CAMPBELL . . . . . Gateway of Glasgow College
SOUTHEY . . . . . Residence at Kervick . .
Birthplace at Bristol. .
BAW ip. ol Mae aS Hea oe
WORDSWORTH . . . Grasmere... 1.
MONTGOMERY . . . Pulneck Moravian Settlement
LANDOR. . . . . . Residence near Fiewole . .
LEIGH HUNT. . . . Birthplace at Southgate. . .
ROGERS . . . . . . House in St. Jamets Place .
MOORE . . . . . . Cottage at Slopertom .
ELLIOTT. . . . . . The“ Ranter” Preaching .
WELSON |S iia) i 20 se Sb se tare bec
PROCTER (spire We seen
TENNYSON. . . . . Birthplace at Somersby .
Antique Crow...
ConcwupmoRmanes . 2...

‘Whether a creature, or a goddess graced
‘With heavenly gifts from heavea first enraced |

To be the fourth with these three other placed
‘Yet was she certes but a country lasse ;
‘Yet ahe all other country lasses far did pasto,
fo far, as doth the danghter of the day
All other lesser lights in light excell :
{Go far doth she in beautifal array
bore all other lasses ear the ball:

Have for more honour brought her to this place,
And gractd her so much to be another Grace,

‘That all her peres can not with her compare,
But quite are dimméd when she is in places
‘She made me often pipe, and now to pipe apace
Sunne of the world, great glory of the aky,
‘That all the earth doth lighten with thy rayes, 4
Great Gloriana, greatest majesty,
Pardon thy shepherd, ‘mongat 60 many lays
‘As he hsth sung of thee in all his da
‘To make one mencine of thy poor handmald,
And underneath thy feet to place her praise,
‘That when thy glory shall be far displayed
In fatare age, of her this meation may be made,’
‘Faerie Queens, b. v3.0. 10,

These were known in Spenser’a days to be an affectionate monument
of immortal verse to his wife, still more nobly erected in his
Epithalamion ; and to identify it more, in his Amoretti he tells us
that his queen, his mother, and his wife, were all of the same namo
“ha which tea times three happy hah me made

With gifts of body, fortune, and of minde,

Yo tree Bitzabels, for ever live,

‘That thus such graces unto me did give.”

Here, too, he enjoyed the memorable visit of Sir Walter Raleigh,
which he commemorates in Colin Clout. He had now ready for the
press the three first books of his Feorie Queene ; and these he read
to Raleigh during his visit, probably as he has described it in pastoral
Style, an thay sat togettes aniar the green alders onthe banks of
the Mulla. “Taate, as was my trade,

Under the oot of Moles inoustai bare,
Of the grees deh by the Muilare shores
There eetrange shepherd chanced to fed me out;
‘Whether allurea with my pipe’s delight,
‘Whoue pleasing sound yebrifed far sboxt,

Or thither led by chance, T knew not right,
Groom when {erked from what place Re came,
{And how he bight, nimeeif he di yeleep

The Shepherd 6 the Ocean by nase,

‘And said he came far from the main sea deep.
Fe, alting te beride in that vame shade,
Provoked ie @ play some pleasant ft.

SPENSER. a7

st the expense of the Earl of Hasex; “hin hearse attended,” saya
jen, #2, and mournful elegies an with the
that wroto thom, thrown into his tomb.” Leg
There is much that we naturally are anxious to know connected
with the final fate and family of Spenser. How his children actually
escaped? What became of them, and their claim on the property 1
When the property of Kilcolman was lost to the poet’s descendants ?
Of all this neXt to nothing is known. The literati of that age do
not seem to have given themselves any trouble to preserve the facts
of the history of their illustrious cotemporaries. Shakspeare and
Spenser were left to the cold keeping of careless tradition. The
particulars, beyond what we have already givon, are very fow.
Spenser's widow returned to Ireland, and there brought up her
cbildren, Of these Sylvanus, as eldest son, inherited Rennie and
Kilcolman. It appears that he found some difficulty with his
mother, Spenser's widow, who married agin, to a Roger Seckerstone,
and was obliged to petition the Lord Chancellor of Ireland, to obtain
from his mother and her new husband documents belonging to his
estate, which they withheld. He married, as already stated, Ellen
Nagle, of Monanimy, south of Kilcolman, of a Catholic family, a
circumstance which had a great effect on the fortunes of their
descendants, as connecting them with the unsuccessful party in the
troubles of Ireland. His eldest son died without issue, and his
second son, William, succeeded to Kilcolman. The property of
William, being seized on by the Commonwealth party, was ordered
to be restored to him by Cromwell, but is supposed to have only
heen regained at the Restoration. He had three other grants of land
in the counties of Galway and Roscommon ; in the latter, the estate
of Ballinasloe. At the Revolution he joined King Williams, who for
his services granted him the estate of his cousin Hugoline, of
Rennie. This Hugoline was the son of Peregrine, the poet’s youngest
son, who had Rennie made over to him by his eldest’ brother,
Sslvanus. Hugoline took part with his Catholic relatives, and
siding with King James at the Revolution, was outlawed, and his
property at Rennie made over to his cousin William. Thus the
descendants of Sylvanus, or the eldest son of the post, became the
only known posterity of the poet. The descendants of William,
and therefore of Sylvanus Spenser, the elder male line,
Rennie till 1734, soon after which this line became extinct. There
are still in Ireland persons claiming to be descendants, by the
mother’s side, from Spenser ; and the Travers, of Clifton, near Cork,
are lineal descendants of Spenser’s sister Sarah and John Travers, &
friend of the poet's, who accompanied him to Ireland, and had the
townlands of Ardenbone and Knocknacaple given to him by Spenser
as his sister’s marriage dowry. The descendants of this sister
umber amongst many distinguished families of Ireland, thoso of the
aris of Cork and Orrery, Earl Shannon, Lord Doneraile, Earl of

william, eto.
‘The fame of Spenser is not quite rooted out of the minds of the
neighbouring peasantry. I inquired of an old man and his family,

SHAKSPEARE. 3a

long after he had mounted into an actor himself within the theatre,
the name of Shakspearv's boys, That he became “an actor at one of
the playhouses, and did act exceedingly well,” Aubrey tells us. He
is supposed to have acted Old Knowell in Ben Jonson's “Every Man
in his Humonr ;” and Oldys tells us that a relative of Shi .
then in advanced age, but who in his youth had been in the habit of
visiting London for the purpose of seeing him act in some of his
own playa, told Mr. Jones of Tarbeck, that “ he bad a faint recollection
of having’ once seen him act a part in, one of his own comedies,
wherein, being to personate adecrepit old man, he wore a long beard,
and speared so weak and drooping, and unable to walk, that he was

to be supported, and carried by another person to s table, at
which he was seated amongst some company who were eating, and
one of them sang a song.” This is supposed to have been in the
character of Adam, in “As you like it;” and henoo it has been
inferred, in connexion with his acting the Ghost in Hamlet, and Old

‘And make those fights upon the balks
‘That so did take Elisa and our James.”

When the two monarchs under whom Shakspeare lived admired
and patronized him, we may be sure that Shakspeare’s great merits
were perceived, and that vividly, though the age had not that
intellectual expansion which could enable it to rise above its

sjudices against a player, and comprehend that Shakspeare’s
Tremas were not metely the most wonkerful dramas, but the most
wonderful expositions of human life and nature that had ever
appeared, People were too busy enjoying the splendid scenes

nted to them by this great genius, to note down for the

gatification of posterity the daily doings, connexion, and where-

abouts of the man with whom they were so familiar. He grew rich,

however, by their flocking to his theatre, and disappeared from
‘them.

amongst

In this theatre of Blackfriars he rose to great popularity both as
an actor and dramatic author, and became a proprietor. It was
under the ment of Richard Burbage, who was also a share-
holder in the Globe Theatre at Bankside. To the theatre at
Bankside, Shakspeare also transferred himself, and there he became,
in 1603, the lessee. There he seems to have continued about ten
years, or till 1613; having, however, so early as 1597, purchased one
of the best houses in his native town of Stratford, repaired and
improved it, and that so much, that he named it New Place. To
this, as bis proper home, he yearly retired when the theatrical
veazon closed; und having made a comfortable fortune, when the
theatre was burnt down in 1613 retired from public life altogether.

SHAKSPEARE, 33

there was @ dreadfal fire in Stratford, which consumed a good part
of the town, and put his own house into extreme danger.

‘These were the scenes where acted, for which he wrote
his dramas, and where, like a and thriving man as he was,
be made a fortune before he was forty, calculated to be equal to
1,000/. a-year at present. He had a brother, also, on the stage at the
mame time with himself, who died in 1607, and was buried in St.
Seviour’s Church, Southwark, where his name is entered in the parish

ister as “Edmund Shakspeare, a player.”
place where he was accustomed particularly to resort for
social recreation was the Mermaid Tavern, Friday-street, Cheapside.
‘This was the wits’ house for a long period. There a club for beans
aprits was established by Sir Walter Raleigh, and here oame, in their
gereral days and times, Spenser, Shakspeare, Pip Sidney, Jonson,
Bescmonf and Matcher, Masrngor, Marlow, Selden, Cotton, Care,
in, Donne, Wotton, ani e brave spirits of ‘
Here Jonson and used to shing out by tho briliancy of
their powers, and in their“ witcombats,” in which Fuller desoribea
Jonson as a Spanish great galleon, and Shakspeare as the lish man-
Master Jonson, like the former, was built, ‘ar higher in
ing ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakspeare, with the
ish tman-of-war, lesser in bulk but lighter in sailing, could turn
ith all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the
ickness of his wit and his invention.” Enough has been said of
is celebrated club by a variety of writers. There can be no doubt
that there wit and merriment abounded to that degree, that, as
Beaumont has said in his epistle to Jonson, one of their meetings
was enough to make up for all the stupidity of the city for three
days past, and supply it for long to come ; to make the worst com-
ions right witty, and “downright fools more wise.” ‘There is as
Bite doubt, however, that with Jonson in the chair, drinking would
be as nent as the wit. The verses which he had inscribed
over the door of the Apollo room, at the Devil Tavern, another of
their resorts, are, spite of all vindications by ingenious pens, too
indicative of that.

+ Welcome, all who lead or follow,
To the oracle of Apollo

And the poet's horse accounted: *
Ply it, and you all are mounted.

the true Phoebian liquor,
Cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker,
‘Pays all debts, cures all diseases,
‘And af once tree senses pleases.

TEE

4 Hen “4
i al vate at irl
oy (Piles Ue

aga
a

the

y other mr a

‘with Fortune dhe,
ike the éyer's hand >—
dring

2ymy
a

‘To what it works in,
then,
‘ith what a Desutial part

food wish T were renewed.
same
the ‘irk Toru ef the

wake Jo
iden
‘better for
ibeo, dear friend, and F assure Fe.
reti

ven that yeur pity ie envogh to eure mie.

Nor double penance te eetreet eorreetion.
‘We cannot read these and

“Oh, for
ean
Pity me, 1

The.
oh a acs

ano Wit

vrtingeted.

FEECEER|

sai are connected wil
town, which have tended

recite
dake

SHAKSPEARE, 39

them to make their way in the world, should be left so to make their
way. Tho nation would then have discharged its parental duties
towards them, and they could expect no more. should
educated to expect no more, and niore should not be extended to
them, except in case of utter misfortune or destitution, and then
on @ scale that should be in iteelf no temptation.

an estate, founded by the people, would be the noblest
monument ever yet erected to any man, or on any occasion. Shak-
speare bas a decent monument at Stratford, and an indifferent one
in Westminster Abbey; this would be one worthy of him and of the
nation which produced him. It would take away from us s melan-
choly opprobrium, and confer on him and the British people an

‘But though such s magnificont event, we foar, is very far distant,
it Peon to be able to state, that the house in which the poet
was born has been as well as the adjoining houses, so as to
be able to isolate the birthplog, and make it more secure from fire

ts, adjoining the birthplace on the western side, were

the Stratford Committos, some years ago for 8204, and

7e been paid for e portion of the pro own

tr the birtuplare: Roading the Swen and ‘Matlostesd: Lam ses

at public auction in 1847, by the Stratford and London

ittecs, for 3,000, and conveyed in trust to Lord Carlisle, Mr.

Thomas Amyott, Mr. Payne Collier, Dr. Thomas Thomson, of

ington; and Mr. Flower of Stratford and other gentlemen are
trustees for the former purchases.

Since then, Mr.John Shakspeare, the Orientalist, who claims to be
descended from an ancestor of the poet, has munificently paid into
the Stratford Bank, in the name of ning local trustees, the sum of
25001, for the of purchasing and taking down the buildings
immediately adjoining the house, 80 as to carry out the plan of its
tecure isolation, and to put it into thorough repair. I understand
that Mr. Shakspeare is desirous to have the whole house enclosed in
aminiature Crystal Palace, to defend it from the destroying influences
of the weather. The house is now shown to the public free of
charge, but any one is at liberty to give a trifle towards the necessary
expense of keeping it open to inspection.

OowLEY. al

ancients have continued to delight through all the changes of human
manners, he contented himself with a deciduous laurel, of which the
verdure in its spring was bright and gay, but which time has been
coatinually stealing from his brows.”
In Cowley, in fact, you will find many besutiful sentiments, and
much learning; but he seems always playing with his matter, not
carnostiy with it; constructing toys and gowgews, not
everlasting structures, You have artifice instead feeling, and
conceits and often downright fustian instead of heart, soul, and
human pession. Who would now willingly wade through pages of
such doggrel as this |
's monstrous land

io
‘Were ready stil at hand,
‘And all at the old serpent’s frst command.
too gaped, and they too hist,
‘And thoy their threatening tails did twist,
‘But strait on both the Hebrew serpent flew,
‘Broke both their active backs, and both jt slew.”

As 8 specimen of his fiction, Johnson has quoted his description
of the archangel Gabriel: ° # *

“He took for skin a clond most soft and bright,
‘That eer the mid-day sun pleroed throug

Upon hs cheeks a lvely blush be 9
‘Wasi’d from the moraing beauties’

. ‘The cholcest plece cut out, a scarf is'made.”

This comes but indifferently after a passage of Byron or Shelley.
Bat, in fact, Cowley seems to have been a man who could not be
permanently and decidedly anything. He could not rise out of
affectations, and dubious, halfway sort of positions, either in pootry
or in life, He would fain pass for an ardent lover and general
admirer of the fair sex, and published a poem called “The Mistress,”
on the ground stated in the preface to one of its editions, “That
poets are scarcely thought freemen of their company, without
paying some duties, or obliging themselves to be true to love.” This
is genuine Cowley: he did not write a poem on a love subject

he was fall of the subject, but because it seemed to be
expected of a poet. It was not passion and admiration that fired
him, but it was necessary to appearances that he should do it. He
was unluckily always spying about on the outside of his subject, and
never plunging boldly into it, He was like a man who, instead of
enjoying his house, should always bo standing in the front, and
ing passengers what they thought of it, and if it did not look very
fine 1 or, if not, where he could lay on some plaster, or put up
a veranda? ‘This sentiment is strikingly expressed by tho very
opening line of his poems :—
What shall I do to be for ever known!”

OOWLEY. 45

was
South Western Railway ; then, it was a journey—they took a night’s

the way ! His let om thio place & y
his enjoyment of the place

“To Da, Toomas Sprat.
“Chertsey, May 21, 1665,

“The first night that I camie hither, I ca
a defluxion of

have broke your wo! to come, even thor

a told Mr. Bois you would. This is what they call Monstri pam

do hope to recover my lete hurt so far within five or six days,
‘though it be uncertain yet whether I shall ever recover it, as to walk
about again. And then, methinks, you and I, and the Dean, might
be merry upon St. Ann’s-hill You might very conveniently
come hither the way of Hampton Town, lying there one night.
I write this in pain, and can say no more." Verbum sapienti:?

Poor Cowley did not long enjoy his retreat here, if he did enjoy it
atall akterrs two si he dict the Foreh house (in 1667), in
the forty-ninth year of his age. He was buried with grest pomp in
Westminster Abbey, near Chaucer and Spenser.

68 MILTON.

‘Thus the Prince of Poets, as Hazlitt styled him,
company. The times in which he lived, and the part
them, were certain to load his name with obloquy ant
sentation ; but the solemn dignity of his life, and tho lofty

rinciple of his writings, more and more sufioe not anly to vind
fim, but to commend him to posterity. ‘No man ever loved lberty
and’ virtue with » purer affection ; no man ever laboured in their
cause With @ more distinguished zeal; no man ever brought to the
task a more glorious genius, accomplished with @ more consummate
learning. Milton was the noblest model of a devoted patriot and

ile

greatness,

ADDIBON. 93

maphatio words—“See in what poaco a Christin can die!” died

himself, in 1721, but two years afterwards.
devalved to’Lord Kensington, descended from Robert ech Earl of
Warwick, who sold it, about 1763, to the Right Honourable Henry
Fox, afterwards Lo1 ere the early cor of the great
Charles "Samos were passed; and here lived the late

spirits of the age. Is sn es seaman th te resent amiable
+t possessor, his son, apni
Senorable dad remarkable mansion “Beek tong it never did, and
hover could, for a moment enter his mind, which feels to proudly
the honours of intellect and taste, far above all mere rank, whicl
there surround his name and family.

and

2 ail

none have

ig od

dis
ce,
‘of the world, and ita
06; of the viows of
or climbing the cliffs of
i prpenakrnpgr obey teers

carthqual
¢ hunter's perils and the hunter's

—whose life is but the life of a butt
‘man, would
‘mult
which ho has
3
4m ebeatly hall of gery renown i"
of the tro}

-w]
life of a

i
Eig 3
j wil

‘those
home and

Amongxt those who have used the voice of poctry given them of
nective life at

God to rouse their fellow-men to a life of beneficon

‘we pans

i
i
H
A
i
i

Whoo f¢ should be th

Hdl

238
i

| iy it 4

154 ‘THOMSON.

The vicinity of the royal washhouse pe gertainy de does not improve Lord
Shaftesbury’s residence here, especi sally ss uare, and most
unsightly tower, most probebly. int intended to an soot from the
drying fires pretty high, overlooks his grounds. But it will not
disturb the remains of the post and Tet us hope that the Quean’s
finen will enjoy the benefit of ll the Seerom, from this close
neighbourhi

‘homson is buried in Richmond church, at the west end of the
north aisle. There is a square brass tablet, well secured into the
wall with ten large screws, bearing this inscription —

«In the earth below this Tablet
‘Are the remains of *

Jauxe Tuousox,

Author of the beautiful Poems entitled, The Seanons, Castle of Tndolence, ete. ete

Who died af Richmond on the 27th day of August, and was buried

on the 29th, old atyle, 1748, ‘The Earl of Buchan, unwilling that

10 good a man and sw ree pot ud be ‘without &
‘memorial has denoted the place ofhisnter-
‘ment for the satis
mize, in the eat of
our Lord 1798."

“ Pather of light and life, thon Good 8uy
(O teach me what is good ;

senscious ponte, oc irtoa pare,
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss !""— Winter.

288

aHT

ai ay
2 a
BP TP

Poems

mney Pe

"Phe chief of his Row!

(CBATIERTON.

history of Chatterton. Horo you bohola the very forms which, from
the early dawn of his life, filled the mind of the pout-child with the
deepest sense of admiration. It was here, before these recumbent
figures that he asod. toe found siting in profound thought and
wl the reeding of the wealth, the prin merchant: aod
the manificent deeds of William Canyngo, had t the inanimate
stone with the hues of long-past ldo and tho halo of solemn and
Ddesutiful dveds,—the this fair eburch the most beautiful of
all,—then was it these became the germ of the great Rowle:

fable, the anciont and mngnificont, now the merchant ani

‘now tho shaven priest and dean, arose once morv at the touch of the

goodly tombs in our churches, had they
Sttention of tie Iitile chasityrboy, the descendaut of the nostons of

the church.

Last, but far most striking of all the haxnts of Chatterton, is that
muniment-room over tho worth porch. When you ascond the dark
and winding stair, and onter this dim and stony berber ir

jing on its floor the seven very chests of the
story, old and mouldoring, their lids, some of them circular a tt
bewn out of solid trees, broken off, ote

woted with them

ene of fame :
a4 # brilliant mystery for a moment ; hence the proad
boy gloried in its swiden blaze, aa in that of a recognising glory from
heaven ; and then

onar.
‘The fourth bears this inscription >—

+ This Monument, in honour of
Taowas Gray,
‘Wes erected 4... 1792,
‘Among the scenery
‘Celebrated Yy that great Lyvie and Eleglae Poet,
Bre died in 1771,

‘And lies annoted in the adjolning Chureh-yard,
Under the Tomb-atone on which he plourly
Ani pathetically recorded the interment
Of his Aunt and leenented Bother.

This monumont is enclosed in a neatly k len-like enclosure,
with a winding walk spproaching from jnof the: paleporg
troos, To the right, across the park at some little distance, bacl
a stands tho rural little church and churchyard, whore

wrote his Elegy, and where he lies, As you walk on to thia,
the mansion closes distant viow between the woods with fine

sido, and the towor and finely
| spire ing nbov the north-west corner, The
church is hung with ivy, where
© The moping owl may to the moon corn]
Sis ss atereniey be"

‘The structuro is as ae and old-fashioned, both without and

seithin, aa any villago church oan well bo. No village, howover, ia to
be seen. Sie nia sy of ettord bows td tin re
in the midst of the park. In the churchyard,

* orp ened Sept ke, that yew-tree's —

cares the tart tn caany 4 ooulserng
Each tn his harrow cell or eret laldy <=
‘The rude forefithers of the hamlet aleep.”

194 par.
burial there, The whole scene is well

ages.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

‘Or all our posts, there is pane who moro completely vorified the
words of Crabbo than Oliver Goldsmith -— page|

Anil newer mortal left this world of ais,
ike the infant thas Re entered Ln.

iratrument, os

tion from study, he was fond. He was umally shut up in

ea during the day, went out ia the evenings and

hours. His habits otherwise were nocia he bad several
6 0

own writ he professes to have

ited wheraver were to be found, .
related that Goldsmith's landlord, having fallen
; Glare who owed
his wife to ussist

ee
sae gee ten eas
afterwards discover i

free

feroe snd riolont and, os it < ra
‘tho diagrace of duplicit; result of his generous act.
opp beter connected with his residence hore,

ita as

People below,

beet
tit
ln

soLDaaITit,

an eloquent baker, at the conclusion of one of which Goldsmith

cxclsimed to his Derrick, “That man was meant

nature fora Jord ebancellor;" to which Derrick replied, “ No, no,

not so high; he was only intended for master of the rolls.” The man

actually 0 @ magistrate in Middlesex, and, #5 was said, a first-
one.

rate
Tn 1768 Goldamith quitted Wino-offi and took lodgings in
the boos ofa ten Kidabeth Fleming, in tlig Ihington, "his eat ote
near his friend and publisher, Mr, Newbery, who resided at Canon-
bany;hous, near to Mrs Fletning'x | Hore he eentinued 40 1764
chiefy employed uj work for his ‘ewbery 5 am
he raost Hrportant, tha Leta of a Nobleman to Tus Sha, and

History of England. He used to relieve the Sorgen
wweokly visita to the Literary Glob, of which J and
4 Peete gel wat wae tt a

were principal members,

oyes was the circumstance
Tt was here Goldsmith
eas Swe aay
apartment, It was o relic of the ‘style of the castle, wit
rin wn Goths win T was plessed with its air
been the residence of ”

1 Author” in this room

at the city through the tel
eir own chimneys.”
ay nee Author” in Canon-

“ eae Leserhod Ne lt, the Moses fend,

es,
of his heart; now
na ati

BORNE,

tinctions are but the clothes which the figure—the figure itself
oh To be 6 man, in his eye, was to be the mast
forks thing that we have any conception ef on thes side of
ven j—to an honest man, was to “tho noblest work of
God!” That was the great. sentiment which animated him, and
made bit come forth from between the stilts of his plough, from
bis bara or his into the presence of wealth and title, with
sary a iy bearing which pater iby sesiciol

a ni OUAe,

hak were taay tot Aha ttieer wigs ste heel fathered cbt
him for his pride or his comfort] It was for (4e mes that they were
created and gathored together. Without /he mew they wore nothing,
had no value, could have no existence. Without that solid and

sentiment,—that wondrous mystery
chained by matter to one corner
endowed with power to

worship at the footstool of the Framer and Uphotder of suns and
» tho Father of all being, In him the poet

thistles of his own fields. That the doctrine
created and sent forth to preach. Robert Burns was the apostic of
the dignity of man,—man, in his own ture, standit
and invincibly above artful di:
btn from his place in Got?
and the base, When
“A man’s a man for x that!”

burst like a lightning flash from the poet's bosom, and became the
besroalipetaunredictisteaedon inosine
The King can cnako & belted kuteht,
renin meee
‘A man's 4 man Gor,

The carrot lowe 0! weel-placed love,
Laexarlantly indulge it;
hut never tormpt the lielt rove

‘Tho nnething should divulge its
1 waive the gudnttim othe aa,

‘of comeealing
But, och! it hardens a° within,
ink

dank gainer eae every

tester gear by every wile
‘Taat's justified by honours

Nat fee to hide Itin a hedge,
Yor for a train attendant

Mat for the glorious privilege
‘0€ being independent.

BURSA 37

(© The four o hell's @ hangman's whip
"To baud the wretch ln orders
Bat where ye feel your howonr EMP,
Let tliat aye be Your border
Ais slightest touebes, instant pause—
Debat a side pretences s
And tesolutely Keep ite Lime,
‘Vnearing consequences,
‘The quest Creator bo revere
‘MUst sure become the ereatare,
Bovt still the preaching cant forbear,
‘And wr'n the rigid feature;
‘Vou ne'er with site profane to range,
Hig complaiaanes extendat:
‘An Athelat laugh's a poor exchange
Vor betty lltuded

«When ranting round in pleasures ring,

Meligion may be blinded ,

Or if sho giv a random sting,
It voay be little minded,

But when 0 life we're tetapert-deiven,
A conscience Dut « eanke!

A corsespondersce fxd wi"
Is sure a nuble anchor |

‘These aro’ golden words, wotthy'to be committed to ‘memory b
‘young person ; they are full of the deepeat wistom, But aud
ied, ole follen ine wo might oto fom alost every page
of Barns. In his Epistle tc Durie, bow cordially does he enter into
all the tulaerica of the poor, yet flow euoquently does ho alao dwell on
those Blosaings which God’ fas given to all, end which ino, clzoum-
stances can away!
To the In kilas and barns af e'en,
Era he hiss rather
Wicca pee tite

Yet there are other seasons when Nature, even to the most abject
teump, pours out royal pleasures.

= Waser though, tke eommouers of sir,
We wunder vut ve Anow ni where,
but wither Bouse or hat t
‘Yer wature’s carne, the hills and wots,
‘The amceping valer, sad fearing Hood,
- Ne to al

1 days
‘Aind Disekblrds whsthe eleac.
With hones: joy our Swarts wil Sound
"To bee the coulog year.
‘On hse whos We please, then,
‘We'll aa and jowth « tune :
Sore chyme tal, we'll ene Ul",
‘And sing 't when we hae dove.

2% fo in titles nor in rank
ie

‘We mayo ston. ee see Se Breet,
‘Bururver canbe Wate

slant rapa tia carpe

contemplated at the moment of conociving his poem.
panera eerie
whine ‘hagly pressed wi Calm,
ae cout
the left abouts
ingen clerk hed nisnbered tra,
lane tower bad

fi
‘The chilly frost, benoath the silver beam.
Crept, gently erastin

ie Ger the gliteericg at
From this scene * the di

and Wallace tower,—
presenting now a
of tho town.

if you plone tak
the 20a, wit its

shee

nuns, 241

Tcould not hel, glancing at the thin, figure, which went
sa eohily at oy fie weit wen pees amar ‘wonder that
the poor pon Scotland, and that the
pated a eee se hx ative plson had clung 20 fondly to the
i peegttattanpalan tae! spot.
Can you explain to me,” J asked, “ what it is that makes Burns
such « favourite with you all in Scotland ? Other poets you have,
tid gros! onoal; out of the mime clam, ton, you hed Hogs, but I do

not perceive tho same instant fas tt wey of an electric feeling
when any name ia nared but dat ot Baste

“J can tell,” said he, “why it ix. It is because he had the heart
of a man in him. a ate et ce and there's

Re sk conrege aod temo tbe ie ies uke

I es crock wes the admirable criticiam of the poor artizan
ius is like the acutencss of a

of Burns, nora more excellent guide to
Shotian Ho now stopped ma, We were.en the

(iwi Kirk All drawing:
connate a

‘Mungo’s mither hanged be hersel.™

‘The whins, the birks wore gone: all was now one scene of richest

A garden still projected tho

iy a oe
ion 10 cot ni an

xige ‘Painted out the Coditionary couran of Ten on at send

PS a eee tn Don pu ae:
‘The doudliey storm the wosds,
‘An Tights Daah from pote 0 poles”
Some of these scenes lay yet far before us ; 25 the well

‘© Where Mungo's mither banged hersel;"

DURE, m3

fe, which poured thems:tves forth, as well in Tum o* Shanter, as in
the grave and the beantifal Cotter's Saturday Night.

Having insisted on my worthy guide getti
we again mllied forth to make a more thor

Temory—a
cap, anid su]
on the right-!

before you reach any of these obj
“did in whlch ores held theybure

By this report it
‘Low Green of Ayr, near
in the morning, and consisted of

magistrates of
bodies, farmers mamrous freemsons loves wardens,
johnny in character, accompanied by attendants w:

pormons in the
calculated at eighty eee
ere the

a
= F

ALANS. 245

as it wore, with « musing
worthy guide
ita beauties

ares ie

carried away by the au
but srohate td of Alloway manfi

neat. The
‘eyes, is now

tho post’

inscription »

‘Agnes Browns, hia spouse, who died the iith
piri She was interred in Bolton Churchyard, East

fallings leaned to virtuds aldo.

EPe
ci

mia

3
Hl

f
&

the menareenty ad ut to alow other the groap oF the reson
tr that he refered me Taiping bel}

ue
23h
at

ae ioe wonder Bette
Tig 4 some little Astanos up tho atrena aad
very beantifal, You sxe surrounded by
bonnie Doon,” steop, bi fing
At some little distance still farther up the stream,
old mill of Alloway, half buried in we trees and
woodland fields ut the feet of the hills, Tho bri
Sr ibsstgs paarversesatin OO gy ddan ey Sapcekan OE
on thia remarkable old grey com}
bitod a trait of deUoate and genuine. sia nema of
most id edcation JU seal of
ering a xprig of ivy, be ai
Fee recs leave
frae the ke
it ia now

a
sgt
Pa

peee

yee leddy too,
on of that walk has beet

vith «dricer well acquainted with tho country,
to visit all tho various residences of Bui

ine. Barns in bis life seemed Uiko 6 bird
‘next, Ha took two or three short fiat oe ha flow ite

‘but she died on her way back, and
le, as we have seen, has
Alloway. Wherever this

the
t
Baas pan nls Kod
As, underneath their fragrant shade,
iaaaes oe rears
‘hor ail stands tho Cora, calla by all the country,“ Highland
a Thorn.’
MT nara pask are weld or lnaed by tho Karlof Rgiioton to
aeoliciter in Ayr. “My driver 9 afraid of going into the
iog “tho weiter” that is tke solicitor, waa © queer fellow.

not let an; to the thorn, and certainly a board
aS Gi eC Ey en baie

‘park

a a to confirm the man’s opinion; but, having come.

far, I did not mean to without a glance at the parting scene

and . L bade him drive down to the house,

assured by heen or iaapent |
al

Bo
of Burns

woods,
‘Stair, Logan, Dane, Caton Dagad
many others.
firm of Mossgiel, which
igh, and 2 Gilbert, tho brother of Burns, desoribed
bot ‘The fara oveupled by dhe Boros daeally
ia nape ete 5

nen. 255
bids Clarinda look up nt his window as sho occasionally gocs
and in another Ler Dame she Rows sa bak eh ee a
bard’s lodgings, and #0 he perceives her on! ing at one
Tower winduerne IE wate $y Ballevs th wekioa of nes quoted by
Burns, we must suppose Clarinda to have been unhappily married :

Tall not of love, it gives me palin,
For love hos been mry toe 3

‘He bound tne with an bron ehatn,
‘And plunged me deep in mon”

inda,
passionately attached to her indeed ;
©” Who «hall say that fortune grieves his,
‘While the star af hope sho hint
‘Me, ase eheerfu’ twinkle lights mos
‘Dark despair around ehts men

Dever RATS
‘Wehad ne'er deen brvken hearted.”
Of the gonerous and true-hearted disposition of Clarinda we sball
b Scxpel asin ogee we reflect
a jongor the lion of the day.
io

So flttery waa over. The

orati
subsided into their nstivo icy contempt o
Tis bid pees aad endured in Tdlabargh

his second visit, admoni:

bility opem
it mi
spice Teste and
im eniapeeiepticd apaited Groce eau,
await coming
® tardy courtesy ; he was rooeived

stat

BORNE,
pair of glasses which Burns had presented to ber in the days of their
juaintance ; and with

ven in Mr. Nichol's
Damnste Works, vol.

intream, and 7

be mado into the Highlands, with
friend William Nicol, During this excursion he seers to have laxuri-
ated on all tho gloriows sconery of thono regions, and rovellod with
high and low ; foll in love with Charlotte Hamilton, the sister of his
friend Gavin, and several other ladies; did and said many wild, and
clever, and some foolish this

on Edin!
obscure omniay Be whiok he saw wel

ublinea were to be Weld to hich people ofall raake
pisghiy teaenda at a time ; tho man who was to
take the highest mk of all the posts of Sootlani,—

Whose lines are moltoes of the heart,
‘Whose truths eleetsity the sage,~

Eee

43
a
F
i
é
E

iB
a

anne oy We put sli it
eucat abn Fs 4
eae ic

53° #82

i
H
i
i

fekets; and
joular in his toilet while
Tem,

fae wa es

<r)
Yai,

snip slit!

jographers, a
y and whose
Tsu

bi
Burns,
‘That arm which

with their
ir did riot look at his

The

ible to all his cow
just, like

kept locked, and the menu

ding at the gato i
ing their observations as T arrived at it,

‘and listened to them.
cn Leoprye y; thore stands Robi

still holding
ike
is

no horses to it.”

| drawn, is not she?
the noulpta
button on that is to be sea.”

that

ion mentioned
plain

vain itself are
just stan

+ picture,’

the tomb of a man

I did not observe if; and the

of the

BR gahed Of se mascacl
were

i
3
a
i
:
4
3
|

7, that ts Sah, Itis

saitertan
; or if he bad been sitting on his plough, as T have

a ia
oe Pree

fag tite inseriptt
on
in

‘again enclosed within a
ap ee ve

Sy od

Hull

The lon,

ment

‘that

bers Caep ay or gree Thos

ife, shunning its tumults and its highways, one
pou. In fie petay there wax foun no fa
3.9) rong nothing can surpass the
cation themnted delusions even to the

there ix no delusion in hi All there is
consistent, Like bis Divine Master, bo mony truly:
bruised for our mkes. Aso man, nervous
him, and unfit him for active life; but a1 a
nerves, all terrors, into the noblest beroism,
nntinue to fit others for life, ao long as just and
most beautiful piety, and the

the homage of mankind,

could vanquish
above

august of
surpasses bin. He shows tho sooret of hia doap and untiring sttach-
ment to nature, in the love of Him who made it.
"Hels tho Feeemsn, whom the truth makes free,
‘peride. roe chats

it
ie
i
Ee

Ht
1h
iy

nnn

WILLIAM COWPEL.

und in England so woll known in i
red eee at oie and Weston ; thore ix fie

tek 0, ue Toe mom an i fous
‘a now

Unwins, ‘Austen and Lady Ti the ‘Theckmostoo and
the rost, pane of the simplest end mest natuml character,

the whole publio mind, The life, the apirit,
and the ae of

Cowpet pean, when taken & most
combination, He was timid in his re er ea bala in his
5 melancholy in the tone of bik mind, but full of fun and
ving in his correspondence ; wretched to an extraordinary
gion made the whole nation merely his John Gage
morons writings; dempairing evve of. God'a mercy and
‘of salvation, his religious postry is of most cheerful and oven
triumphansly glad charactor;
"Fie wane of Ware Linde nt an”

Filled with this joyous bite paral elare ce eaea bie are eye on the
spectacle of crea yemex of noblest gruti-

Otte fee tate the eae ‘and exclaims —

dy Austen, k
particularly concerns us is, the
of his homes and haunts here, ‘To thous the scouss ix

ly an i house.
‘compared it to a prison. It had no charma whatever of
“fine heey le Gee!
ay the fiat there!
Karin ited fo iabod by a rpeon. ‘He Mad ie bs You,
inhabit a mu. He had, in his turn,
Hing ef 3a tho wan ded its tre tonetmetia One was
litle grocur's the other part in front was an infant ecboo!, and
the of somo kind. The house was altogether
‘late, ‘no marks of having at any time been
That which was once the
‘and a small gard

‘3

cowrnn, 275

wo havo spoken. Tho situation of Olnoy ix on the flat, near the river
Ouse, and subject to its fogs. The town was dull, It is much now
fed vidaget itn promt potsation inenly $200. To moon pass

vil te ylation ia anly in such a place,
eats every man Tne all his anaes Ae Tt was too
expoted place for a man of Cowpe fon, and yot had
none of that bustle which gives a ce Py get out of it ain the

oving from it to the was but passing

y around Olney, morearer, bees fae
meana striking in ita foatures, Tt in Hko a thousand other
England, somewhat ft i somewhat andulating, and rather =|
of trees.) W ich, he now saat was about a mile west-

a Shs en, and flee
Troon grew along tho strest, and
‘of England. Luckily be
‘of England, nor the finest sorbe
or other countries. ‘To him, therefor, the country was
“é innagined of lovely, and all that he destroh, It never tired,
lost its hold upon ‘his fancy and his heart,

the highs

woods ; its little church-tower overl the valley
Behind ws lies Olney, page he tees nobly into the sky ;
and close Penestt it the Ouse emenges into sight, s ing round
the water-mills which figure i i the poet's works, and

several different streams, as he mays, slong

green meadows, in which the scenes of Dee and Water-lily,
and The Field occur. On this eminence stood Maier
with Mary Unwin on bis arm; and thus he addresses her, as be
Sy ean view —

27
it hand,
chard.

on the

the fact.
kin bedroom, which is at, the

Pail Rite
Wai
He Hale

ifs
ito, howaver,
ts the tree

room,

Ti
se ol

of his life, when

ithe

Weston for Norfolk, whore

len, still remain two lines,
», the hh

® pict
inthe ereet
doors on this side of the
tt
‘ros
8

2
: seas } a
i reter ssiec

‘llage, adjoin
time

the
teeth
few
failing, and
interest,

— = eter

of the window shut!

the

Farewell, dear scenes, for ever closed te mo!
‘Ob for what sorrow must I now exchange you?
dates stand
ee

both
a doo}

if one of these

ing nbrul
distatsocs.

se 325 BS g:
ut Hey

€reotion o!

7 love behind a rian
‘Beems sunk, and shorten

At this point of view you find the poet's praises of the scenery
ere eants aes eee rere else The park here has a scesnty
itary, splendidly w air, and spreada its green slopes, ani
gives its of ita secluded dell thet aro piquant to tho imagination.
i still the walk, of a mile or mory, to the ancivat chuse is equally
impressive. The vast extent of the forest which ft
Jou gives a deep feeling of silence and ancient
into a valley, and Kilwick’s echoing wood
en the upland. You pass through it, and como out opposite to
Jonely farm-house, where, in the opening of the forest, you wee the
remains of very ancient oaks standing here and thers, You feet
eat yon are on & that has maintained ita connexion with the
world of # thou: years ago ; and amid these venerable trees, you
‘one which ty ius bulk, its hollow trunk, and its lopped
idated crown, needs not to be pointed out as the YaRper
Cowper was fond of sitting within the hollow boll for
hours ; around him stretching the old woods, with heir solitude and

prepare diffarent articles from.
stop the Laberge ‘that not sufficient,
Progress of sufficient
has affixed a board bearing this pacha ion +" Out of respect to
the mamory of tho poet Cow » the jis of Northampton is
loalaclydeirous of ig thls cab, Notice ia baceby
any person ing, ov otherwise injuring it, wil Vises
according to law." In ateppin, ound tho ‘ardly it appeared
Rissae tobe iy sic fete neo tat teen alate Nomen
Every step here shows you some picture sketched by Cowper.

“Lace mcclummn of stow shsing sme
O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild.
A vagabond and sete tribe there eat

MRS. TIGHE, THE AUTHOR OF PSYCHE.

iter Take Wines boon more eee
cs ith every means of giving to
UP hee 1 ballewe.n0 mich. fa existences ab
been able to = one. ‘The following bricf perticulars
ivate hand : “Mrs. je was born in
Nin, in 1774. ey an Rey. William Blachford, was librarian
‘a Hbrary, Jchro, in that city.
eetieata ily whose st has been, and is
Sg ep ee in for Killet
fos for Kilkenny ins
famnent, and suthor of a Count a ee
was boreditary in Mrs Ti ly, and ite
with her womanhood.

rae
ul

fer Af
“i

county Wicklow

tae

to
Asylum in Wicklow,
ward. She died on the 24th of March, 1810,
in ieee beneath a ae by
from tho finest marble of Italy. Mrs. Hemann,
ve dont homage o her genius, or lamented ove ita clip.
North, in nthe io Ambrosianm,” ne the assistance of
Timothy Ti: her compliment. But ber
‘been adequately

low littls is known of Mrs. Tighe, when #0 short an acc
the best that a countryman of hers can seo

uns. TIGER. 283

the MOUs it, the intrepid ire of the brow, are
all stated mith te i gusuine Dal af post t and we ve follow the
wanderers with everdecpening entmincement.
himself has excelled Mra. Tighe in the field of
allegory. Passion in the form of the lion subdued by the Knight ;
Paycho botrayed by Vanity and Flattery to Ambition ; the Bower of
Loose Delight; tho attacks of Slander ; the Castle of Suspicion ; the
Court of Bpleen the arse Island of Indiffervacn i and the final
Stina apothecais of the gentle soul,—are ly con-
and a excited with a living Se ‘The pleasure with
Seeehahe imei tae Sani a expressed in the graceful opening
stanzas of t! be Bit canto,
* Delightful vislons of my lonely hours!
‘Charm of my life and solace of my caret
‘Oh! would the muse but lend ie pe powers,

Ané sive me ae
he wonders which sie iy ny ney sare,
When w: ta her

Bir, and wazble through the ay.
nt T the swily-glancing seewes reeallt
fit ak the rostaie tlouds of summer evr,
ieams which bold my sat Ho willing Caray
0 Gecely,

a ray *
Ht scarce { yeek the slry threads to weave,
Wipes quick sonfealen taocke We fulion pal

And all the airy forms are vanished fram my Balt.

“Fond dreamer! meditate thine idle vongt
Betot tue Mis song nenele Rabari

sotibud
‘hat though it atm ne moma Bar thy
‘Though thy loved Payee smile for thee a
Bul shal it sled thee pl

ety 908
‘Then soe eta une ber happy ee

Moore hos recorded his sdiniration of Pxyche ina ‘jeie of which
these stanzas are not tho least expressive,

* Ti a the witeing tae agra,
year OF eat

Hes an 40 went, 49 pre stats,

aie 30 west to brea

gate Tey s own. She iets wpe
abe wrote The Grave of a Poetess ; and the
descriptive of Mrs, Tighe’a:

‘through
we areal by

rit
tH
lin

jouse, Com:
and over a wide extent of country.

i
:
fe
Fd

In
‘Tighe
around

thor, ‘Ts one direction sho might traverse
Waban Sain fe aarp pe Seven Churches ;
tho might descend tho yale of Avoca, and cross nomo of
finest. parts of Carlow to Kilkenny. T took Tatter route. No
of Bugland is more beautiful, or mare richly cultivated than
in: thick woods, fertile flolds, well-to-do villages,
houses abounded. From the little town of Rathdram
descend rapidly into the vale tho

two | flowil

aller ht engi, and

sivoners about it, It is what the Germans call * ig

the word. You descend down and down, and feel

ey ee so ‘To me tt bad « fooling as if

from the Alps into a champaign coustry. Long ranges of hills on
¢ither hand ever and anon terminated, us if to admit of a into

MRS, TIGER, 267

culars connected with my inquiry, “He could not exy7—
east Mbaly ke x o'cboky tas Umar boon" k paniaed So.call
my way towards Avoca, about balCan-hour before that: time, that
Lmight not interfere with Mr. Tighe’s dinner hour. Idid sa. Mr,
‘Tighe was now stending in his field, not a hundred from his
Huse Ax soon as tho servant appeared, ho amvured me Mr. Tighe
was not at home: he could not tell where he was. 1 immediately
directed bis attention to where he stood looking at wome men at
work, The man did not choose to see him; and, under the circum

ble. A willing master makes
Hwvas walking oof and Mem Th

portrai arming poctess, Bi

ES tatin Supland woold havo boon nach fartausle,—Mr. Tighe
at home,

that the

resent it to Mr. Tighe. Ho did so; and returned
id T was at iserty fo wre te grounds, but not the

the
‘when ten thousand country aquires could
there icture of Mrs, Tighe, the that I might be
ot know.” Waa

‘MES. TIGHE. 291

Reynolds with the imagination and delicacy of a Cypriani, and the
flowing jponcl of « Rubens. I noticed a Jewish igo ores whom I
sav in the synagogue last year, and two other gentlemen of London,
whohad sat at her request. With all these accomplishments, she dis-
girs «modesty and humility which, united with a strong undor-
sanding and a devout heart, set her as far above the common level
of mortals as the summit of the Alps rises superior to the vales

“iss Caroline is remarkable for nothing but an amazing vivacity
ted continual flow of spirits, unless it be those accomplishments
wish azo common to the family—e fuency in tho French, language,
tad an elegant touch of the harpsichord and organ. ‘The third

| fensle is s cousin; but I was not enough in her company to ascer-
fain mach of her character. ‘The last thing she talked to me about
Wat the wish sho had to enter a nunnery, and take the veil. Hor
+ dipesition seems naturally recluse, though not unamiable.”
i To this pleasing insight into the family of the Tighes, in which the
with the roses in her hair, and her husband, with his noble
‘aspect, constitute the chief figures, Mr. Pierce adds a mention
ofthe private tutor of the youngest son, and the curate of the parish,
‘tho had a house in the corner of the orchard. He also informs us
ete beneyolence of the elder Mrs Tighe, hor schools for poor
dhilren, and of her pressing desire that he should come and settle
‘weer Rosanna.

KEATS 208

the state of mind of this fine young at this crisia. ~The hunter
had atrickon him, death was busy with bim, and the pain of fv.
tions anessured of areas ing his other encmios to pull
him down, “Sooing him once," says Mr. (reHunt, t, " chango countenince
in a manner more han etal; aan het bod elaaly eyeing
ths country out ofthe window I pressed him to let me know how
be felt, in’ order that he might onable mo to do what I could for
him ; poh which he mid, that his feelings were almost roore than
he could bear, and that he feared for his semos, prego say
x» should take a coach and ride about the country together, to
if possible, the immediate impresicn, which was sometimes athe
was Ie, and would come to ‘nothi sect

ing? ub Rowerer, was upon iH fat ny Wh
had reason to know wos groundless; and ng bis
residence at the last house that he as Soria before he went abroad,
he was at times more than tranq
‘This house, it ay wae i M rentmorth lave, Dowrsehive-bill,
Tanned ty by Poud street lived tho zug
Indy arene ngnged, Mr. Hunt accompanied Keats au
this ial keting Ry to the place of embarkation in a coach, and maw
ayia It'was & most trying moment. teeter
tain to see each other again in life, yet each endeavor
to wal a feaiias of anch a teat Swag hcsike ayes
composure, ‘was accompanied on his voyage excellent
artist, Mr. Seve and who, to quote agnin the mae aobnpotent au
tort all that could recommend him for « eampanion +

juaintenceship, great animal ive tenderness, ai
iutind os capable of sppeciting beret pee a ‘They first wont to
Naples, and afterwards ta Rome, where they occapied the mame
house, at ‘the corner of the Piszza di Spagna Mr. Severn made
carp Ae pean fags ‘both. on the voyage a erate

i late La ee
ly Keats di

300 KEATS.

“Pade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

‘What thou among the leaves hast never known,
fever, and the fret,

4 hear each other groan;

“A little before he died, he said that he ‘felt the daisies growing
over him But he made’ still more touching remark respecting
his epitaph. ‘If any,’ said he, ‘were put over him, he wished it to
consist of nothing but these words :—Here lies one whose name was
writ in water j—8o little did he think of the more than promise he
had given; of the fine and lasting things he had added to the stock
of postry. The physicians expressed their astonishment that he had
held out 20 long the lungs turning out, on inspection, to have been
almost obliterated. ‘They said he tust have Lived upon the mere
strength of the spirit within him. He was interred in the English
burying-ground at Rome, near the monument of Caius Cestius,
whero fie friend and poetical mourner, Mr. Shelloy, was ahortly 6

join him.”

Such is the brief but deeply interesting account of John Keats,
drawr mostly from the written narrative, and partly from the con-
versation of his true friend and fellow-poet. It is not possible to
close it in more just or appropriate words than those of this admiring
but discriminating friend :—*So much for the mortal life of as true

Ree |

tna

ing, “Gibboa bad
ote inaliaaiion. to
tl great
The
as it ame

ibegon

ing © week of rain,
‘ores and gavo a m
ee ‘To this wo owe the Vampi
of Bal,
in his boat

ce attributed to

fis vain
‘The Ma

ghost
matellite of a
wring

acon!
each other's houses; and, du

on its first a}

Haag
Bis Hed MGGLRIHE ll

ais, aml that sublime

eee with German

aati

Koats, under a beautiful ruined tower in tho English burial-ground
Be ROMACTINs wie: reucaciabloy Shay alisy image eid aR ne pre
sentiment of evil evr to him, oxy an unusual olevation
of spirits, When he was Jast seen, just before ombarking for bis
returp, he was said to be in most iant spirits. On the con~
try, Mrs. Sbolloy says,—"If ovor shadow wir evil darkened the
present hour, such was over my mind when they wont. During the
whole of our stay at Lerici an intense presentiment of coming evil
brooded over my mind, and covered this besntiful plico and genial
summer with the shadow of coming n * be Ay
scarce!

ie from eae a nest it to be file ‘with the unreal,
now, a4 it Sie Neate his
own ag nc ;. fae whon the mind a, iat if wrapped from
— by the thunder-storm, a4 it was soen. Be the purple
and then a the cloud of the tempest passed away, no sign
of whore it had boen,—who but will regard as a prophecy the lust
stanz of the Adonais [— ’

‘The breath, whose might I ave invoked in erg,
Desens do me uy pus bark

Tem born dainty, fetal,

oy
Whilst bur ihe inmost ved of heaven,
te putng iva te bana»

Weacons from the abode where the eternal are."

2h a
He
7

pynos, 320

le; and « market-house, I in extent, con~
Wecbceco ct ercageoent acd supe aietiorte pone i ha eget
C2 ers ape opel ek pi ocetppee ‘a time, are
much more like what you would have looked f
more ordi character,

About a mile to the north of the new town lies Old Aberdeen. Tr
advancing towards it you become every moment more aware of its
far greater antiquity. “It looks as if it had a fixed attachment to the
past, and had refused to move. There in a quictness, a stationariness
about it, One old house or villa after aciber stands in ite garden
or court, as it has dono for centuries. The country about has an ald
Saxon look. It carried me a into Germany, with its unfenced
fields of corn and vtoes ; vil seon in distance, glso un-
fenced, bat with a few trees clustered about them; and the country
naked, excopt for its corn. To the right lay the nea, to the left this
‘open country; and on before arose, one beyond the other, tower and
spire of an antique character, as of a very ancient city. Presently
Toame to the King’s College, with the royal crown of Scot.
land surmounting its tower, in fine and ample dimensions, and its
courts and corridors seen through the ancient gateway. ‘Thon, on
the other hand, the equally antique gateway to the park of Mr
Ports Leslie, with its two tall round towers of mest ancient fashion,
with galleries and spires surmounted with crescents. Theo, onwards,
tho ancient, massy cathedral, with its two stono spires, and tall
western window of numerous narrow windowlets, and ponderous
walls running along the roadside, with coping of a yard high, and

Everything had n heavy, ancient, and German character.

T conld have imagined myself in Saxony or Franconia; and, to

augment the lusion, » woinan at cottage door, inquiring the time

of day, received the answer, “half twa,” as near as iblo “half

two” in Plat-deutsch. Still further to increase the illusion, the

people talked of tho bridge as" she." Truly, the repose of centuries,

and the fashion of a fur-gone time, so far as relates to our country,
orer the whole place.

lind now to inquire my way to the lirig of Balgounie, » spot

wich makes» oompionou Agure fn Byron's Layiah Beton The

brig of Don,” in a note in Don Juan, Canto X.

‘ould “of Aberdeen, with ite one arch, and

memory as Maen Lstill

ry perhaps I may misquote, the ar bh which

pause to cross it, and yet Isan over it

delight, ben it least by the mother’s side. The sayi:
te nostoctel by mareas thin bol Libsverurver haar or some fF
since I was nine years of age i—

ise derenh retiree gree

Down thalt chow i eae
How accurate was his recollection of this old bri a proof of the
Fai mop h tin this scenery. Wo are told that
ou belidsy afternoons he get down to the sewuide and find

: Ly a
Bt if He

AA falas

abi
2 geesesta nae

z ae: 2425282
ig rH 4 4 Ba

scarlet |

35588

‘Brno.

‘with the noble mountain views opposite to you,
ecived. At about two miles on the road, after ing under
atapendous dark cliffs that show themselves above the craggy
atecp forest, you find a couple of rows of honsns, and here
‘waters issuing out of pipes into stone basing Going still form:
wa come out upon the wild moorlands. Above you, on igh

id, rise the desolate hills ; below, on the left, wanders on the

amid its birch woods; and the valley is one of those scenes
, Which perhaps the eae ey chow. It isa sca

of heath-clad little hills, sprinkled with the light green birch-troos,
and hers and there adark Scotch fir, It ie a fairy land of

beauty, such as seems to beloug to old romance, and where
people of old romance might be mot without wonder, And through
all goea the sonnd of the rivor like a distant ocean. Those whohave
been in the Highlands know and recollect such scenes, 60

with the crimson hoather, so beautified with the light-l fair

tage I went, and out came a woman with
: a ae but sh:
x) er to say—" Here!” 0
ico T will abow you, for it is:not
And so'on wo went for another quarter of « mile

vec

BYRON,

which tho good lay of the house claimm to bave boon written tho
ino of them.” He never saw tho attack of
had entirely left Southwell, ‘The house

i -
te Ha

shallow that
mop,

wy
‘or just

deposited in tho church.
enter, there ia a monument,

3 eH ast Hild
eae

out to

toi aed So

‘ioved

blic, and the finish was put

‘wore,

bel

stretched
wh: a furious storm of

i
i
:

the
co

7
4%,

hotel,
'a-atree!

Hal ie

onde

und §, St, James
first tour he took, on a
Sey seat 18 Pe Albany.

Ei i

which have terrified the sorvants #0 as to incommode me extremely.
‘Thero ia one place where poople were evidently wailed wp; for there
ix but one ble passage, broken the wall, and then meant
again uy inmate, 8. Bouse cnee, belonged ito

Jhi fanaily, the same mentioned by Ugolina in his dream,

ith Sismondi, and haa had ‘owner or two

‘by all accounts to have
izing about, one o'clock

‘ine forest stret he
to the outside of the-aty to avoid the take ‘of the
ot ; then mounted his hi

Visited with heap interest by Englishmen, and Shelley’

two great pects, in Jullan and Maddalo, a» they

™ Upon the bank of land which breaks tho tow
‘Aérta toward
Of billocks, braped from and,
‘Matted with thistles and ssuphitious wees,”
is one of everlasting value, Returning to dinner ab six
he conversed with his friends till midnight, and then mt

ife was thero ever more to applaud and
at and to deplore. From those heruditar;

BYRON. uo

—the hardest moralist could not desire a sadder retribution ; and
they who love rather to seck in the corrupt mass of humanity for the
original germs of the divine nature, will turn with Thomas Moore to
the fair side, and acquiesce most cordially in the concluding words
of his biography. “It would not be in the power, i of the
most poetical friend to allege anything more convincingly favourable
of his character than is contained in the fow simple facta, that,
through life, with all his fault, he never lost a friend; that those
about him in his youth, whether as companions, teachers, or servants,
remained attached to him to tho last ; thet the woman to whom he
gave the love of his maturer years idolizes his name ; and that, with
a single unhappy exception, acaroe an instance is to be found of any
one once brought, however briefly, into relations of amity with him
that did not feel towards him a kind regard in life and retain a
fondness for his memory.”

In his last momenta bis heart fondly turned to his wife and child ;
and he commissioned his old servant, Fletcher, to deliver to them
messages of an affection which then rose sublimely above all the
resentments of earth.

‘wiles of er deterinined foes:
ing thus adtewtured, Chor endured
lover, are for life secured,

to
life.

CRABB, a7
‘and most Peder eon Leena tl and the same may be said of the

whole line
vat ‘ae Hod

Danks and saltweet bound the fleet,
nod sga-wooks withering 90 the mbdi

ch ‘span the ple...
quay! mae
‘arta aes tae ate.

sen of alk

“For one destined to distinction as a

‘bub
wome of those dark tragedies in which bis future
eee ‘The common people of Aidborough

Woo aa wie aped| neyiet
eared "fete and social By,
‘Ant eww! at strnpes with nogptious eye!™

JAMES HOGG, THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

Astoxost the many remarkable mon which the humble walks of life
in Scotland have furnished to the list of poots, Hogg, the Rttrick
Belieg lit tnever, sas an pegtanse) Alas Coantogting, ten

A r, Burns, the pl qi Cunnit the
stonecutter, Tannahill and Thor, the weavers. been no
Burns, Hogg would have been regarded as a miraclo for a rural poet;
yet how infinite is the distance between the two! Duras's Booty
3s full of that true philosophy of life, of those noblo and manly
which are expressions for eternity of what lives in every bosom, but
cannot form itself on every tongue,

++ File Hines are mottees of the heart,
His fraths eleetrity the rage”

Such a pect becames at once and for ever enshrined in the heart of

strange and wi
on pepe eae pads a Row SoCee storie
aml 3 i in ir own ts i
time, He wrote The Wako, in tnitatien of Soobt roatrioal
and that he had beaten in in his-awn line
poets

evlertul oaer fF a

em fn a volume, by which to raise
Byron consmnted, and dewtinod
sae at once refused, not approving

foherace aon Pa + igs 420%
pie
a di BiH
3

egca

te
i

RedR

cal ae

: is
i iG ia

ena i ie bee a

393 Hoga.

covered and used on his African tour; the length of time
took coming to the top indicating the comparative

ing whethor he might venture to ford the stream or not.
Park again set out for Africa, never to return, “There,
the wool,” added my companion. But do you see,” again
on, “the meadow there below us, lying between those two ai
—"Yes."— Well, there meet the Ettrick and Yarrow, and
the Tweed; and’ the meadow between is no other than
Carlerhaugh ; you've heard of it in the old ballads. I buy
wool off that farm.” Ihave no doubt if the jolly fellow had
in with the fairies on Carterhaugh, he would have tried to buy
wool too.

Ever and anon, out of the gig he sprung, and bolted into « hi
Hore there was a sudden burst of exclamations, a violent shakit
hands. Out he came again, and a whole troop of people after
“Well but, Mr. —, don't you take my wool this time ?” Oh!
not? What iait? what weight? what do you want?” “It is so
so, and I want so much for it” “Oh, fie, mon! I'll ge ye so mu
“That's too little.” “ Well, that’s what I'll gi'e—yo can send it,
like the prico;” and away we drove—the man all life and jo
giving me a poke in the side with his elbow, and a ing |
with—“Ho'll send it! It won’t do to spend much time overt
little lots ;” and away we went, At one house, no sooner di
enter, than out came a bonny lass with a glast and the wii
bottle, most earnestly and respectfully pressing that I should
a glass!“ What could the bouny girl mean by being so urgent

cui iy," sy sp spo a
Understandings of those who, perhaps, will hovers thal
Tamm aiming to do in exercisiog thelr reason?
Disappointed in becoming « shoomaker, he ‘was a
become a surgeon, "His brother Luke was now i I,
the London hospitals. Here every Saturday he got 1
delighted beyond everything if he, wee paasteian
plasters or attend dressings’ He now plunged
Of medicine, Latin, Greek, or Euglish devoured 1
dictionaries ; then fell from physic to |
writings of infdels ; fell in Ibva, like all
verse. Ho was, however, destined neither to
bones, but for the University; whither he went i 2}
of nineteen, being cloctod to Tests Coll i
Hore bis friend Middleton, afterwards Bishop of.
been his most distinguished schoolfellow ut Christe
rood him, and was an undergraduate at Pembroke
jendship was revived, and Coleridge used to go to 1
Joge sometimes to read with him. One
intent on his book, having on a long pai
Knees, and beside him, on a chair nest to the one
a pistol. Coleridgo had scarcaly eat down before Ihe
the report of the pistol. “Did you see: that 1
wee what 17 mid hlersige, “Tint a 1 un en
again. Did you feol the shot? Tt was
ou these boots. Iam frightening these rate from tay
without some precaution, 1 shall have devoured.”
withstanding his hard studios, failed in his contest fo
medal, and 80 in his hopes of a fellowshin.—a stood thi
for him, for it drove him out of «

‘shops.
Coleridge came to the University witt
and learning ; and the Bines, as they ere

Tare anbinicadnd ean

“I think I
ignorant. Silas, wasn’t he a ©

of ki apres

yi
i
He

fil
aes

ica

thought ij

406 COLERIDGE,

ritative tone, “Whose rusty gun is this!” Ip it
asked Coleridge. “ Yes, Comberbatch, it is,” anid the
“Then, Sir,” replied Coleridge, “it must i

of the reply disarmed the officer, and the “poor
without punishment.

There are various anccdotes abroad, at once ill
ridge's queer horsemanship end happy knack at.
a specimen or two may be given here,

P 1B i
thought the rider a fine subject for alittle fun. Dn

thus accosted Coleridge, “T say, y did
on the road” Yeas" replied Coleridge, “f did, ame
I went a little further I should meet a goose.” The go
quite satisfied with what he had got.

Coleridge is represented as being at this time <
a neighbouring raco-course ; that a farmer, at whose
staying, knowing his sorry horsemanship, bad put hi
and poorest animal ho had, with old saddle and bri
stirrups, (On this Rosinanto, Coleridge went in w bl
with black breeches, black silk stockings, and shoa
friends, as better horsemen, were entrusted with bet(
soon left him on the road. At length, reaching the ra

thrusting his way through the crowd, he arrived: q

~~ “Se
a i
forthe der Ge vo eth us

He made ana lo
Southey, on the contrary, stalked into me feartal
fascumed in imagination’ the throne and

“Qa he doctod Mi foes

But this was the worst view of Southey's
moet use ores
aad Sy: :
some of Coleri ve det ri
pry for his family ; Southey helped to provi

‘olerid;
they 1

he failed only in those which perf

OF the li life of Southoy, Coleridge, and
soon after joined them in the west, Thave yot to

ears trounce which had

i sok a end in pantisocracy, in

Poe deed in that part of the ere

some merit eee saw the greab talent
BO Seermapsterpensrnsey aud

leridge thirty guineas for a volume
ata croes ssanbe plossed Saat

truly to have been the pootic idea—.
Tneend Witlarcea Cotta nswea tt had

4i4 COLERIDGE.

“No doubt of it. That poet planted it, as sure as it ia thers 7)
is just one of those people's tricks. Wherever they go

always planting that tree.”
Goud Lord, do they? what odd men they must be!” said |

young woman.

Such is the intelligence of the common people in the west, an!
many other parts of England. Is it any wonder that the pare
of these people took Coleridge for a spy, and Wordsworth for «d
traitor? But these young women wore very civil, if ont ¥
enlightened, As I returned through the house, the young Janilla

idently desirous to enter into further di came smiling
and said, “It's very pleasant to see relations to the
place”? Not knowing exactly what she meant, bul
that she imagined T had come to see the honse because
wan tolation of ‘ming, I mid, ° Very) bu) Dame

oats.”
g “No ! and yet you come to see the house ; and perhaps you hi
come a good way ?”

“Yes ; from London.”

From London! what, on purpose 7”

Yes, entirely on purpose.”

Here the amazement of herself, her sister, and the men drink}
grew astoundingly. “Ah!” I added, “he was a great man—e *
great man—he was a particular friend of Mr. Poole’s!*

“Oh, indeed !” said they. “Ay, he must haye been a gentlem

than far My Paola wasn vary erent man and a instion™

be fairly before tho public; and her fame, from

tinued steadily to advance. There is 801

manner in which Mrs, Hemans, as a deserted

now being dead, and at such a distance from the

marched on her way, and at every step won some.

honour. During this period she made a firm and fa

Dr. Luxmore, the bishop of St, Asaph, and, at his
juainted with Reginald Heber, Her sister

coeniny: where one of her brothers then

a atore of G

literature. Thi:

‘MRS, MEWANS.

tenderness and feeling was manifest in all she

an almost constant writer in Blackwood’s and ae “
Schiller, Goethe, Korner, and Tieck—how sensibly is

of their spirit felt in The Forest Sanctuary ; how differant wus t)
tone of this to all which had gone before! ‘Tho cold classical mol

was abandoned, the heart and the spoke out in every
warm, free, solemn, and tenderly orate ‘She the z
in The Vespers of Palermo; and thongh the s cn
used in London, she bore up bravely against the ness,
was afterwards rewarded by a reception of it in

Ny 1
cordially rapturous, and which brought her the friendship of 4
Walter Scott. _

430 ‘MES. HEMANS,

viding sums of money
baa obliged me to waste oe aie eae
e

My wish ever was to plea a my me
production of some more noble and complete
pure and holy excellence which might pormanen
the work of a British poetess, I have always } 0
in the breaking times of storms and :
even yet be too late to accomplish what I th
feal my health so deeply penetrated that Tc
am erer to be raised np again,
cares, of which I have been obliged to bear
tility, tay do much to restore me 5
realy sul ee by long sickness, I fecl the po
maturity.”

‘his is a plain enough confession and it is the

stony of genius fighting for the world, and
Mi “which should be ita friend.) Oniow iiean

thousandth time, under such circumstances, We

Seigene *-O.what a eobte mint ts here oerthnown T*_ 4

We have here the bi hearted, fi
Me ee en ee One ee ae

438 LEL
of uttering the pearls and diamonds of fancy and wit, knew

express scorn, or anger, or pride, as well os it knew how t
winningly, or to pour forth those short, quick, ringing laughs,
not even excepting her don-mofs and aphorisms, were th
delightful things that issued from it.”

‘This may be considered a very fair portrait of Miss I
Your first ‘impressions of her were,—what a little, Hight,
merry-looking girl. If you had not been aware of her t
popular poetess, you would have suspected her of 1
more than an agreeable, bright, and joyous young lady. ‘This i
tion in her own houne, or armongat a few congenial people, was:
followed by a fecling of the kind-heartedness and goodness
her. You felt that you could not be long with her without
her. Thero was a frankness and a generosity in her nature th
extremely upon you. On the other hand, in mixed com}
and conversant as she was, you had a feeling that she was
assumed . Her manner and conversation were not
reverse of the tone and sentiment of her poems, but she seemed
things for the sake of astonishing you with the contrast
felt not only no confidence in the truth of what she was am
but a strong assurance that it was said merely for the sake of
what her hearers would least expect to hear her say. Ire
once meeting her in company, ai a time when there wasa
report that she was actually thongh secretly married. Mra H
on her entering the room, went up to her in her plaiiz, stra
ward way, and said, “Ah! my doar, what must I call ‘you!

LE. 445

would not believe it, but a grate would be the first of luxuries
Koys, scissors, everything rusts, * * ® find the servanta civil
and not wanting in intelligence, but industry. Each has servants
to wait on him, whom they call sense boys, #.¢. they wait on them
to be taught. "Scouring is done by the prisoners. Fancy three
men employed to clean a room, which, in England, an old woman
could do in an hour, while a soldier stands over them with a drawn
bayonet.”

Such was the last, strange, solitary home of L. E.L.; such the
strange lif of one who had been before employed only in diffusii
her beautiful fancies amid her countrymen. Here she was rising
seven, giving out flour, sugar, &c, from the stores, seeing what room
she would have cleaned, and then sitting down to write. In the
tnidst ofthis new species of existence, she is suddenly plunged into
the grave, leaving the wherefore a wonder. ‘The land which was the
attraction of her childhood, singularly enough, thus became her
sepulchre. A marblo slab, with a Latin inscription, is said to be
erected there by her husband.

‘We may now add that Captain Maclean himself died st Cape
Const on the 224 of May, 1840

452 B0Orr.

—was, in truth, a real prviloge, The fame of Seott, before great,
now became unbounded. It flew over sea and His novds
wero translated into every language which could boast of a printing
press; and the glory of two such men as himself and
still more proud the renown of that invincible is
against all the assaults of Napoleon, and had now even
terrible conqueror, as its captive, on a far sea-rock.

I say the fame of Scott was thus augmented by
Novels. Yes, they were, long before they were owned
by the public to be nobody clso’s. The question might
agitated, but still there was a tacit feeling that Scott was their
far and wide diffused. Donse, indeed, must they have been who
could doubt it, What were they but prose amplifications of bi
Lady of the Lake, his Marmion, and his of the Isles? So early
us 1822, rambling on foot with Mrs. Howitt in the Hi we
came to Aberfoil, where the minister, Mr. Graham, who had writteo
Sketches of the Scenery of Perthshire, accompanied us to in
that neighbourhood which are marked ones in the novel of Bob Bay.

be anybody elso?” he replied. “If the whole spirit and
those stories did not show it, his visits here during the
Rob Roy would have beon decisive enough. He came

454 S00TF,

features of a regular beauty,
“a form that was fashioned a8 light as a ;
clearest and the brightest olive; eyes large, dee,
of the finest Italian

pretty Englskwotssn, who has not xngted ig
pretty Englishwoman who has not mi in mt
Mid & cortain natural archness and gelety that Taitod well with te
accompaniment of a French accent. A lovelier vision, as all wh
remember hor in the bloom of her days have assured me,
hardly havo been imagined.”

With his charming young wife, Soott setled at Lenewade,
seven miles from Edinburgh. Here he hed a lonely and retired
cottage, in a most beautiful neighbourhood ; and was within an ety
listance of Edinburgh, and his practice there as an advocate.
he busied himself in his literary pursuits, and made those exours
into Liddesdale, and Ettrick forest, and other parts of the borde
country, in quest of materials for bis Border Minst i
found such exquisite delight. Here he found Sh
law,—men all enthusiastic in the same pursuits and

moors.
nothing in any biography which strikes me so full of the enjo:
of life as Scott's svids, as he called them, into Lidd

Power } bl:
had departed an
& man te

460 BOOTR.
appearance, nor from its vicinage. When

for the public convenience, Mr. Scott received a good prit

he had some time | before qemoved to, house on
Gcorge's-square, whero Sir Walter is school

dae ‘At the same time that Mr. Boott lived. in the third

two lower floors were occupied as one house by Mr. Keith, W.
grandfather to the late Sir Alexander Keith, knight-marischal d
Scotland.

“Tn the course of a walk through this part of the town in 182,
Sir Walter did the present writer the honour to point out the site
of the house in which he had been born. On Sir Walter mentioning
that his father had got a good price for his share of it, in order th
it might be taken down for the public convenience, the individall
who accompanied him took the liberty of expressing his belief tht
more money might havo been mado of it, and the public sack se:
gratified, if it had remained to be shown as the birthplace of sma
who had written so many Popular books, ¢ ‘g ay,” said Sir Walte,
‘thut is very well; but Iam afraid it would have been neceeazy
for mo to dic first, and that, you know, would not have been ®
comfortable.’”

Thus, tho birthplace of Scott remained, st the time of my vith
exactly in the condition described above, being used for a wood
yard, and separated from North Collego-street merely by a wooden
ence.

‘Tho other spots in Edinburgh connected with Scott, are his
father’s house in George’s-square ; his own house, 39, North Caitl=

juired to be destroyed

the second story at’ the back

have seen any and at ‘work i

bbangh Rage! Pr
w.

The houses and places of bu

<1 moos as if it

on which it sands,
ing of grim whic
day, theese the

470 BCOTT.

thi docks ; one oj ‘ite to the tall
PAM A mtg p eh ae inka te howe ae

tands, near the house, in a atill amaller rr"
lurge sycarore-tree. The paddocks are all
grown trees, and they shut in the place to perfect Mt
the ond of the low range lics « capital large kitchen-garlen, with
plenty of fruit-trees ; and this extends to the buck lane,
towards the valley of the Esk. ‘The neighbourhood is fall of the
houses of people of wealth and taste, Here for many Lived
Henry Mackenaic, the Man of Feoling. Hers at this vhtamy bow
te r bed

ever Secluded, Scott found plenty of literary He was
with his German translations of Lenore, Géte yon.
and his Border Minstrelay, Here Mat, Lewis, and Heber, the

of rare books, visited him ; ool a be a re
rough and impatient Leyden put to fight. Then eame Wordaworth
and his sister Dorothy, from a tour in the Highlands; and Scott set
off with them on a ramble down to Melrose and Teviotdals, He bad
hore partly written the Lay of the Last Minstrel, and edited and
published Sir Tristram. These facts are enough to give » lastiar
interest: to the cottage of Lasswade. The duties of his sherifidom
now called him frequently to the forest of Ettrick, and he fixed his
abode af the lovely but solitary Ashestiel- pee a
Ashestiel occupied as an sbode a mar
Scott's life; He was now a happy husband, the happy re .
lovely young fanaily. Fortune was smiling on him, He held as

471

‘the poem

mory and the some: of
taxhon, Uhsen SHAR

AshestieL The introductions to the different

Hatt
a

: gbeigeeeit
aa : fej, ulna Bishi

ith. In

mmion ‘will for ever nical the moi

i
e
i

tio reputation ascended to its zonil

fine

his
of

4v4 SCOTT.
y were lonnging about in motley throngs. The rt

like a fair for people, and the iutelligent aad vr.
inan who shows them said that every yeur the niu!
ul that every year foreigners seemed to arrive frow 2:

ant rain; yet, both at the inu aud.
alin S it had appeared to muke uo d
y lad been constantly full, As L drove up towards Abbots!
tt : ving, and I feared inight be almrst
Ft through the house ; but [inet three u: f
il

money
It the hous kceper gets it all, as she ree!
utually match the old housekeeper of the Ls
"hatsworth, who is suid to have died a few yea
and still most anxious to secure the rev
r nicee, but in vain; the Duke probably,
a hat there should be turn about even in the
~ liberal door
Abbotsford, al

airs’ interval, an

nd having then!

476 8COTT.
pointed arches, runs a row of escutcheons of Svott's family, two or

three at one end boing empty, the post not able to trace the
maternal lineage so high as the paternal. jese were painted
accordingly, ix xubibus, with the motto,—Nor alte velat. Bound the
door at one end are emblazoned the shields of his most intimate
friends, as Erskine, Moritt, Rose, &o, and all round the cornice na
the emblazoned shields of the old chieftains of the Border, with
this motto, in old English letters :—“ THESE BE THE Coat ARMOURIB
or THe Cuaxnis aNp Cuizr Mzy OF NAME WHO KERPI Tur
Marcuys oF ScoTLAND IN THE AULDE TYME OF THE Kino. Taxvt

sign their names, lies the huge tawny lion akin, sent by Thoms
Pringle from South Africa niles

‘A passage leading from the entrance 6 breakfast-rom
has a fine groined ceiling, copied from M Molrooe’, and the open se
at the end, two small full-length paintings of Miss Soot and
Anne Scott.

In the breakfast-room, where Scott often used to read, there iss
table, constructed eomething like » pyramid, wh hich turns ‘turns round. 02
cach side of this he laid books of reference, and turned the tables
ho wanted one urthe tthor. Hore is also anal oak table, at which
he breakfasted. His daughter Anne used generally to joit him st

473 scorr.

torture in prison, and of the bloodiest: mode of exccntic:
There the if not—as was a poor tailor of Ki
IS -chraks jae Wheel inch by i ling a dish
ron the plitform, with his head against a pos!
eooutioner strike The heal falls, the blued spou
k. and falls iu a crimsou shower «
le!
these swords is an inseriptiun t

1: from sleepless grave,
oul to save.”

f the thumbikins
fon i 3 the iron crown of the martyr
. sud in his at Waterloo ;
nding to the fashion
t keys of the Tolboot!
the mob who seized ati
cther objects of the lik:
ours thi
evo Seats, inmediately a
“ rains to
Tt in iy Atsdas Caweod, amd, to any fanes
ives a efter notion of the beaut
atraits, But the hair
ataLhy the historians. There is a cous

in this room, A fin

1 posit rait

480 soore,

of the Eildon Hills, down by the Rhy 's glen and
It is amazing what @ large stretch of poor Sir Walt
together. It is not particularly romantic, for the
ground of the Eildon Hills ; but Sir Walter saw
tyes of poetic tradition. He saw things which
and sung of; and all was beautiful to hii
“trees are better grown, and have a more vari
plantations are more broken up, it will be beautiful.
the higher grounds are not so now. Down at the hi
have so grown and closed up the prospect, that you
a single glimpse of the river ; but when you
come to an opening on the hills, you see up and down
and wide. Near smonint in the plantations, on which an
stone is reared, and held upright by iron stays, moarkin
the soene of some border skirmish, there are sente Font ton whic
you have fine views. You see below Abbotaford, where the
water comes sweeping into the Tweed, and where Galashiels lit
smoking beyond, all compact, like a busy little town as it ia AD
in another direction, the towers and town of Melrose are disceme
at the foot of the bare but airy Eildon Hills ; and, still further, th
black summit of the Cowdenknowes.
Something beyond this spot, after issuing out of the first mam¢
plantations, and esconding a narrow lane, t came to « farm-hou
asked a boy in the yard what the farm was called; and s thi
went through me when he answered—Kazsrpe. It was the farmé
William Laidlaw, the stoward and the friend of Sir Walter. We bat

4b4 Scort.

it ix up a lane overhung with old ashes. There are primitive-locc:
cottages, also overshadowed by great trees.

There are crofts, ¥:
thick tall hedges, and cattle lying in them with a syberitic lum;

indulence. You are still, ax you proceed, surrounded by an ccesz
foliage and ancient stoms ; and a dream-like feeling of past a2
sors to pervade not only the air but the ground. I do net ka:
how it is, but [think it must be by a mesmeric influence ths:
monks and the holy dreamers of old have left on the spots wL:
they inhabited their peculiar character, You could not ov
now, taking the most favourable materials for it. T:
tered spot. full of old timber and cottages, and o!d >
-inploy all the art that you could, to give it a 10xé:
r—it, would be in vain, You would feel it at on
would not admit it to be genuine. No, the old mon
The very ground, atl the
Dig up the soil, it has a mousse:
and black, and crumbling. The trees are ac
wes. ‘They stand and dream of the Middle
nt -age aid doings they have no feelings, no
keep a perpetual vigil, and the sound of ant:
jas entered into their very substance, They are solemn pie:
the condensed silem ges, of cloistered musings ; and ¢
whisperings of their leaves seemed to be muttered aves aud o

This fecling lies all over Dryburgh like a living trance ; and tt
Arran, sof these odil Buchans for admi "a

HAE

496 CAMPBELL.

From planet whir!"d to planet more remote,
He sisita realms beyond the reach of thought :
Bur wheeln ‘ard, when his course fe ran,
Curbs the and mingles with the sun!
Ro hath the vf earth unfurl'd

Hert from the world ;

2 wings, emer

And o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Rprung to het aburee, the bosom of her God!"

After this, it ix ax rational to compare anything of Moore's t
as to compare a cock-boat to a man-of-war.

It is worth remark, that it was only three years after the deat!
Burns that Campbell thus rose into sudden ‘glory in the same f
Abundance of work was now poured in upon him ; and be was
gaged hy Mundell to write a great Scoto-national poem, to be ca
ti Queen of the North, but which never throve. In his:
familiar intercourse with the most accomplished men of Ediuba
Campbell felt an advantage which they had over him in their
qnaintance with other countries. He believed that travel gave g1
wealth of mind and imagery, and he determined to command ¢
Sir WaltorSeott was bringing German literature into notice,andCat
Vell resulved to visit Germany. He boped to have had the comp
of his friend Richardson, who, however, could not go, and with
brother Daniel he passed over to Hamburg in June, of 1800. I:

hazardous time to visit Germany. War was raging t

1 conquered a great part_of Bavaria, an
vaded, ‘The valley of the Danube was menaced w

the horrors of invasion, ppbell's brother found that his be
of inercantile advantage in Germany w at an end bu

ee,
been introdi Sir
“Mackintosh, the Vind
and took me with him
—a place dedicated to

however, as the wit anc

sound refsoning and del
devious ane of conver
t ic to to
eerie
:

one fault

an Engl:
time of his death
+ aH

ceremony in which
Colonel’ Szyrms) t:
m the tomb of)
was a worthy tribut
to immortalize the 1
cause 80 fectly

through ‘the aisles <
came.

514 SOUTHEY,

of Lord Byron a nevor-satiating aliment and refreshment—a
substance on which you live and grow, and by its influence «
draw nearer to the world of mind and of eternit Ly. Souther’
seems @ beautiful manufacture, not a part of himself,

you in it, as in an enchanted cloud, to Arabia, India, or An
to tho celestial Muru, to the dolorous deptha of Padalon, or
Domdaniel caves under the roots of the ocean ; but he do
seem to entertain you at home; to take uu down into h
He does not seem to be at rest there, or to have there “hisa

It is oxactly the samo iu regard to the country in which he live
scemed to live there as a stranger and a sojourner. ‘That be
the lakes and mountains around, there can be no question; b
he linked his poetry with them? Has he, like Words
his verse into almost ovory crevice of gery rock 1 Cast the 5
his enchantment upon every stream ? the hills, the
the hamlets, and the people, part and parcel of his life and his |
Wo seek in vain for any such amalgamation. With the except
the cataract of Lolore, there is scarcely a line of his poetry |
localizes itself in the fairy region where he lived forty
When Wordsworth died, ho left on the mountains, and in a
1, an everlasting people of his creation.
Wanderer, and the n of the Excursion, Michael
Matthew, and the r, and Peter Bell, Ruth, and m
picturesque vagrant, will linger there for ever. ‘The Shepherd
will hunt his ancient hills and castles, and th J

vales of Cumberlan

luired his a
the letter, but
nce,

It is a mel.
labours, could n
Killing effects o
of his immense

friend Bedford

& Year, but that {
about ‘eighty mi
rist, surveyor, m
with these other
Was that of a rey

ings, Bu

mind of his wife »
Cuthbert Southey’
is cause,—“ An a

ighly precarious ne
nervous constitutia

Is that spea
oh! how far off ,
old ballad :—
be 3
A

a) ee

next The
@ from ‘bis books aa

And hark | how blithe the throat sings
He, tog iano mean preacher
Come forth into the light uf things,
‘Let Nature be your re

“She has a world of ready wealth
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Bpontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
‘Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

“* Bwoet is the lore which Nature brings ;
Our meddling intellect
‘Mix-abapes the beauteous forms of things;
‘We murder to dissect.

“ Enough of science and of art;

Now, if George Fox had written , that is exactly what he
would ‘have written. So completely does it embody the grand
Quaker doctrine, that Clarkson, in his Portraiture of Quakerism, has
quoted it as an illustration, without, however, perceiving that the
grand and complete fabrio of Wordsworth’s postry is built on this

ion: that this dogma of quitting men, books, and theori
and sitting down quietly to receive the unerring intimations
influences of the spirit of the universe, is identical in Fox and
‘Wordsworth—is the very same in the poetry of the one as in the
religion of the other. ‘The two reformers acquired their faith by the
same process, and in the same manner. They went out into solitud
into night, and into woods to sock the oracle of truth. | Fox retire
toa hollow oak, as he tells us, and with prayers and tears sought
after the truth, and came at length to see that it lay not in schools,
colleges, and pulpits, but in the teaching of the great Father of
Spirite ; and that to receive this divine intuition the human soul
must withdraw from outward objects, and become wholly passive
tnd receptive. Wordswcrth retired to the

« Mountains, to the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
‘Wherever Nature fed.”

And he tells us to this practice he owed.
+ Another gift
Of aspect most sublime; that blessed mood
In which the burden of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight

‘WORDSWORTH. 5i9

confidently appeal in all cases ; for it is tho voice of God himself.
‘With the povt and the Friends tho result of this divine philosophy
is the samc—the most perfect patience, the most holy confidence in
the ever-present divinity ; connected with no forms, no creeds, no
particular conditions of mon ; not confined by, not approachable
‘only in temples and churches, but free as his own winds, boundless
as his own seas, universal os his own sunshino over all his varied
lands and people; whispering peaco in the lonely forest, courage on
the ecas, aloration on the mountain tops, hope under the burning
tropics and the blistering lash of tho savage whito man, joy in the
dungeon, and glory on the death-bed.
“ Religion tells of amity sublime,
Which no eondltion ean preclude

Who sees all suffering, compreber
All weakness fathoms, can suppl}

‘There is an illumination for the critics! For these thirty years
bave they been astounding thomselves at tho originality of Words.
worth’s philosophy, and expounding it by all imaginable aids of
metaphysics. We have heard cndless lectures on the ideality, the
psychological profundity, the abstract doctrines of the poet; his
new views, his spiritual communion with and exposition of the
mysteries of nature, and of the soul in harmony with nature, &. &c.

is the simple olution ; it is Quakerism in poetry, neither more
nor less. The question is, how Wordsworth stumbled on this doo-
trine—a doctrine on which hia great poetical reputation is, in fact,
built. Possibly, like George Fox, he found it in his solitary wander-
ings and cogitations ; but more probably he drew it direct from George
Fox's Journal itself.’ It is a curious but a well-known fact, that all
that knot of young and enthusiastic writers at Bristol, and aftor-
wards at Stowey and Allfoxden, Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge,
were deeply read and imbued with the old Quaker worthies. Pro-
Yably they were made acquainted with them by their two Quaker
friends, Lovell and Lloyd. Coleridge was so impressed with their
principles, that, though he preached, he did it in o blue coat and
white waistooat, that, as he said, “he might not have a rag of the
woman of Babylon on him” He imbibed and proclaimed all the
Quaker hatred of elavery and war. He declares in his Biographia
Literaria his admiration of Fox. “One assertion I will venture to
make, as suggested by my own experience, that tliere exist folios on
the human understanding, and the nature of man, which would have
afar juster claim to their high rank and celebrity, if, in the whole
huge volume, there could be found as much fulness of heart and
intellect as burst forth in many a simple page of George Fox.”
Southey always cherished the idea of writing the life of George Fox,
bat never accomplished it. Charles Lamb, another visitor of Stowey,
tt the time of this youthfal effervescence, has recorded his visit to
Friends’ meeting, and says, that in it he soon Legan to ask himself
far more questions than ‘he could quickly enawer. Ho declares
Sewell’s History of the Quakers worth all ecclesiastical history put
together. Wordsworth was not only as deeply read in these books

Ez
ae

&
He
pisif

MONTGOMERY, 517

Montgomery died at the Mount, April 30th, 1854, in the eighty-
third year of his ago. His townspeople honoured him by « public
faneral, and he was interred in a beautiful epot of the cemetery, near
the western end of the church ; one of his own beautiful hymns
being sung over the uncovered grave, at the conclusion of the usual
burial service, by the choir of the parish church and the children of
tho boys and girls’ charity-schocls, to which the post had long been
& benefactor, and to which he left bequests in his will.

‘With a wisdom, founded not on calculation, but on a sacred sense
of duty, Montgomery made even his ambition subservient to his

rations as 8 Christian, and he thus reared for himself a pedestal

in the poctic Walhalla of 4 peculiarly his own. ‘The loi
his fame endures, and the wider it spreads, the better it will be for
virtue and for man.

OBE LANDOR,

Who looks upon his children, each one led
By its gay handmaid from the bigh aleove,
Abd hears them once a day ; not only he
Who hath forgoiten, when his guest inquire
The naine of some far village all his own;
jose rivers bound the province, and whot
uch the last clouds upon the level aby
better men still better love their count
the old mansion of their earliest frends
The chapel of thelr frat nud best devotions
When violence or perfidy invades,
Orwhen unworthy lords hold wassall there,
And wiser heads aredrooping round its moa
AC last th ir steady and stiff eye,
t re alone, stand while the trumpet
And view the hostile flames above
Spire, with a bilter and del

is not less truth than satire in this -—

Inall rts that Th
The dea ners, the
His Jain auong the prose

I shall have oevasion to quote a few more vei
Mr, Landor's life. His nary Conversatio:
which his fame, a worthy und well-earned fame, v
great experience of men of various nations, and hi
auce with both ancient and modern literature, hy
to introduce the greatest variety of characters
make the dialogues a perfect treasury of the |
vlevatcd axioms of practical wisdom. As I ]
station and interests have not been a
the claims of universal justice. He attacks all f

from above; yet every day th
the truths they bave collected,
of beauties they have gathered
ness, picking up some gem tha
shar them, till eventually oot
the world with a sudden flash
truths, beauties, and precious
man, who was actually wiser t
Landor live to see the fruit of I
into the substance of society !

4ne poet has recently ;
Vs Lica geal Panion of so many eventfu
eet

This i
AY lone

ROGERS. 613

A new clement of style also marks the progress of this poem.
‘There are more animated invocations, and a greater pomp of versifi-
cation, It looks as if the muse of Darwin had infused its more
ambitious tone, without leading the poet away from his purely
legitimate subjecta. By whatever passing influences, or processes
of thought, this change was produced, there it is’ ‘This poom,
and this peculiar style of versification, soon caught the ear and
fascinated the mind of Campbell when s very young man,and out of
the Pleasures of Memory sprung the Pleasures of Hope. ‘The direct
imitation of both style, manner, subject, and cast of subject, by
Campbell, is one of the most striking things in the language ; the
peculiarities of the atyle and phrascology only, as was natural by
fa enthusiastio youth, much exnggernted. In Campbell, that
which in Rogers is somewhat sounding and high-toned, becomes,

with all its beauty, turgid, and often bordering on bombast.
very epithets are the same. “Tho wild bee's wing” “the war
worn courser,” and “pensive twilight in her dusky car,” con-
tinually in the Pleasures of Hope remind you of the Pleasures of
Memory.
“ Hark, the bee winds her small but mellow hora,
Bite to elat the anny sae of orm,

Now vainly sats the scenes she ef bein
Its orb so full, its vision s0 confined |

‘With conscious truth retrace the masy cl
Of summer scents, that charmed her as she flew!

Hel, Memory, bai! thy univerel eign

Guards the lesst link of belng’s glorious chain.”—Roozas.

In the disciple the manner is reproduced, and yet modified as in
‘these lines :-—

lian organ play,
And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought aw

How well the master and the scholar may be again recognised in
the following passages :—

“So, when the mild Torra dared explore
‘Arta yet untanght, and worlds unknown before;
ied Tithe tae of ene wooed the ge

at rsing, swelled thetr strange expanse of sa;
0 when be breathed his frm, yet fond adieu,
Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe,
‘And all his soa! beat loved, auch tear he shed
‘White each soft

3;
Prasseee 352% i sue ie

‘ROGERS. 615

onward, and sustains us in sorrow, and soothes us under the infliction
of wrong.—the glory of public good, and the hallowed charm of
domestic affection, is thrown into this poem, with the art of a master
and the great soul of a sanctified experience. Nor were the varied
lish life ever more sweetly described. The weddii

the village wake and the field sports, the battle an
the victory, all are blended inimitably into the great picture of
existence, and at times the aged minstrel rises into a strain of power
and animation, such as rebuke the doubters of thoao attributes
in

“Then fs the age of sdmiration—Then
Gods walk the earth, or beings more than m<n;
Who breathe the soul of inspiration round,

‘Whose very shadows consecrate the ground!
An} then comes thronging many a wild desire,
8, and thought of fire!

And high

FPhantias, at upward pint, befor him pss,

‘Asin the cave athwart the wisard’s gles

‘They, that on youth a gracey a lust ah

Of every age, the living and the dead

Still this poem of Human Life is but the life of one section of our
fellow-men—that of the gentry. It is curious, that it does not
deseend into the midst of tho multitude, and give us any of those
deep and sombre shades which abound so much in Crabbe, The
reason is obvious, Crabbe hed ween it and ae Hi had boon born
arnonget it, ani jimeelf to struggle. gone on that
cany path of life that is paved with gold, and “the huts whero poor
men fia," therefore, probably nover for & moment protruded. them:
gelves through the charmed circle of his posticingpiration, Happil
fot him his were wholly the Pleasures of Memory. Yet, as we have said,
it is not the less true, or less honourable, that in actual life, there was
no man who has remembered the struggling more sympathetically, nor
has held out a more generous hand to the aid of unfriended merit.
From the Voyage of Columbus the following extract will afford an
example of the beautiful description and rich imaginative power
which abound in that poem.
Hx w2W wort.

Long on the deep the mists of morning lay,
‘Then rose, revealing, as they rolled away,

‘Sweep with thel
‘And say,—when all

my, iven,
Embraced and

‘ROGERS, 617

here his Pleasures of Memory, which appeared a short time before
Berets oe: ae Bs v a é

in quitting Newington-green, Mr. Rogers took chambers in the
Temple, where he wankiucd to reside Bee years, or till about 1800,
when be removed to the house which he occupied for more than
half a century. In this house, 22, St. James's-place, he not only
wrote every one of his chief poems except the Pleasures of Memory,
but he was visited by a vast number of the most celebrated men
of his time, amongst them Byron, Scott, Moore, Crabbe, Fox,
Campbell, Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, &.

‘At an early period of his life he was anxious to purchase an estate
in the country, not too far from London, where he could build »
house after his own taste. He pitched on Fredley farm, in Norbury
Park, near Mickleham, in Surrey, which was to be disposed of. By
some means it escaped him, and, disappointed in his object, he seems
to have given up the search for another situation, and contented
himself with building his house on paper. ‘The result was the abode
described in his Epistle to a Friend, published in 1798, His villa is
placed in a rustic hamlet, has few apartments, but is not without
ita library and cold bath, and is furnished with prints after the
best painters, and casts from the antique. The whole of this poet
breathes the love of the country, of simplicity of life, and condemns
the pomp and the follies of London fashionable society. Its accom-

imenta, its exterior and interior, aro all of the same unostents-
jous character,—it is an abode that any man of taste might possess

without any great wealth,
* Sail must my partial pencl love to dwell
‘Dowerprospects of thy hermal-ell

The mossy -greet
Here bid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses teen;
‘And the brown patt w
Binks, and is lost among the trees below.

Still must it trace (the flattering tinte forgive]
Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape five,

ani

‘The idling shepherd-boy with rude delight,

Whistling bis dog to mark the pebble’ fight

And, in her kerchief blue, the cottage maid,

With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade.
ale retires,

ts ream, nor nameless nor unsung.
And through the various year, the ¥1 i
‘What acenes of glory burst and melt away!”

His interior embellishment shall be my last extract :-—

Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold 5
‘Yet modest ornament, with use combined,

From every point a ray of genfus flows!
Be mine to bl
‘That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will)

‘ROGERS, 621

of Christ have, however, suffored a little, The figures are about a
third the size of life.

“The finished sketch for the celebrated picture, known by the
name of La Gloria di Tiziano, which he afterwards, by the command
of Philip IL, king of Spain, painted for the church of the convent
where the emperor Charles V. died, is also very remarkable. It is
a rich, but not very plossing composition. ‘The ides of having tho
coffin of the emperor carried up to heaven, where God the Father
and Son are enthroned, is certainly not a happy one. The painting
is throughout excellont, and of a rich, deep toue in the fledh, Une
fortunately it ia not wanting in re-touches, The large picture is now
in the Eacurial.

“AAs the genuine pictures of Giorgione are so very rare, I will
briefly, mentions young ‘knight, small full-length, noblo and
powerfal in face and figure; the head is masterly, treated in his
glowing tone; the armour with great force and clearness in the

ro.

“The original sketch of Tintoretto, for his celebrated picture of
St. Mark coming to the assistance of a martyr, is as spirited as it is
fall and deep in the tone.

“The rich man and Lazurus, by Giacomo Bassano, is, in execution
and glow of colouring spproaching to Rembrandt, one of the best
pictures of the master.

“There are some fine cabinet pictures of the school of Carracci :
a Virgin and Child, worshipped by six saints, by Lodovico Carracci,
is one of his most pleasing pictures in imitation of Correggio.
Among four pictures by Domeniching, two landscapes, with the
Punishment of Marsyas, and Tobit with the fib, are very attractive,

the poetry of the composition and the delicacy of the finish,
Another likewise very fine one of Bird-catching, from the Borghese
has unfortunately turned quite dark. A Christ, by Guido, is

ly and spiritedly touched in his finest silver tone.
a ee gis gee tear
evening lonely shepherd, wit al flocks, is
playing the pipe. Of the master’s earlier time ; admirable in the
im careful and delicate, decided and soft, all in s warm
tone. In the Liber Veritatis, marked No. 11. Few pictures
inspire, like this, a feeling for the delicious stillness of a summer's

"SIA landscape by Nicolas Poussin, rather large, of a very postic
composition and careful execution, inspires, on the other hand, in
the brownish silver tone, the sensation of the freshness of morning.
‘There is quite a reviving coolness in the dark water and under the
trees of the foreground,

“Two smaller historical pictures by Poussin, of his earlier time,
elass among his careful and good works.

_“Of the Flemish school there are a few, but very good spe-

cimens.
“There is e highly interesting picture by Rubens. During bis
residence in Mantua, he was so pleased with the Triumph of Julius

cles of antique ort

skilful as could be made in our times,

“Of the many Greek vases in terra ‘
them large, in the antique taste, with blag
ground, which are of considerable importan¢
outer aide of which five young men are rubbin

il, and five washing themselves, yellow o}
be with vases of the first rank, for th
invention, and the beauty and elegance of #]
collection, it is excelled only by a rout
must be placed in a peoulisr land fered
Penthesilea is represented upon it, likewise.
composition, consisting of thirteen figures, is
este, not only of all representations of the
of all representations of combats which
vases, in the beauty and variety of the attitud
ing, as well as in the spirit and delicacy of
the happy medium between the severe and 4
that in the faces there are some traces of thy
Besides these, the articles of ancient and mo
ivory carving, illustrated missals and MSS, sp
Greek, and Italian artistic manufictures, were |
‘To these treasures of art were added those:

oy
e

still more melancholy is the conteniplation)|
end of Robert Tannal al the popula song-w
hill was no doubt stimulated by the fame)
not the genius of Burns, but genius he

in many of those songs which during his
enthusiasm by his countrymen. Tannahill
Paisley. The cottage where he lived is s
ordinary weaver’s cottage in an ordinary stre
he drowned himself may be seen too at t]
This is one of the most dismal places ix wl
nated bis carver, Tannahill, like Barns, wa
umid his comrades in a public-house, By
weaving of calico did not agree. ‘The world
patronize ; disappointment in fame and im 4
4 nervous temperament, disordered his mind
frenzy of despair, resolved to terminate his
Paisley there is a place where a small stren)
‘To facilitate this passage a deep pit ia sum
waters is made under the bottom of the eang
eightoen feet deep, It is built round with 4
off at its mouth, so that any one falling in ea
get out, for there is nothing to lay hol of,
might grasp and grasp in yain foran edge to sq
back aud back till he was exhausted and saa
fannahill in moments of gloomy observatiot
at midaight he came, stripped off his coat,
took the fatal plunge. No cry could reach hu
rible abyss; no effort of the strongest sy
sustain him: soon worn out he must go doy
boiling torrent be borne through the subten

countable is, THAD Moore's own practice
contained nothing objectionable, except it mig]
rather hard upon the private character of so
tion with Madame de Steel, and a
Romilly, which he admits could have been m
by a true version in a note. They could not
would think, for Moore lent them ‘about amo
Lady Holland, Lady Mildmay, &, and they et
remonstrences or disapprobation, Indeed, ha
objectionable, he confesses that he had
Byron to alter or annul.

‘One of tho secrets of Mr. Moore's success!
may be found in the fact that, spite of his sec
all the fascinations of society for a man of his
plishments, he lived the greater part of his life

e country. What is also highly commends
of life wits ie wealthy aristocracy never sedy

sive houses, All his residences areof the
and of a rent seldom passing 40/. a-year, und f
his life, as we have seen, only 25/. Vet we |
this prudence originated with his wif, for
whenever Moore came into possession of money
ithe bogan tolive expensively.—Bornowed a lad
downe, at Richmond, one summer; borrowed |
gave great dinners and fétes champétres; and,
of his death, though ho confesses to home 7

gs, he had nothing to leave to his wife,
his Disry in MS. Amongst the various place
were residences of much durution, These
near Ashbourne, in Derbyshire, and Slopertom

Focite Greck to him; and ‘the ‘py

memory is very reten' 1
forget has once leaned.
familiar with the chssic poets of Greece and
tragedians, Aischylus is his favourite ; whom
original and sublime of the Athenian dramat
is extensive, and it has not been confined t
litical economy seem to have been his fave
Kas inspired some of his most’ adinired. pi
prose as well as verse, and the style of some
Corn-laws has the condensed fire and om
polished, indeed, but equally pointed and se
e is rapid and short ; his ‘sentences, when |
subject on which he is speaking, have all th
) in oratory ; they are w of flame ;
calamity and woe—as, in his opi ane
adhering to the present system :
his own language, ‘his gloom is fre’ In 4
of his countenance is eloquent ; and whem ui
with Noy eri it resembles a wint
his dark bushy brows writhing above
by the tempest. You see at once, in his ¢
how much Es ha suffered ; like Dante, he
through his own hell! His voice, when

nein wien Sine nn

catten

ee ep ava senantnrnnane omen nea
Tron axp SreeL WAREHOUSE,” Painted in
front. This was the place where the Corn-law
pursued trade and poetry, with equal success,
in the hands of two of his sons. On entering
however, you are prevented doing till a little
way is first opened for you you find
of Pee eae a eae sizes
to massy bars, on every i
thete ts bat jase som b5 get amongst thera |
an ‘stands aloft a cast of
Raleigh ruff round his neck, and mor
forwanls, ponctrates a large warehouse being
and occupation. On the left hand is a
you direlly look, for the door is open, if doot
is, properly, the counting-houss, but is nearly a
iron burs all round as the rest.

‘The son of Mr, Elliott, whom I found
enartet good-nature, and seeing me look in!
OW:

like, all buried in the dust of the iron age
accumulated. To be used as a desk appears

it is th wrter of old che me
Pare ireyeereerme |

Close by, on the hill, two or three aati
warrel, as they called it, where huge block
fave been dog for mahy and inaliy eyes
visited this tree. They said they could not
for th’ view.” I asked them if they never h
weached under it in Meery VIIl"* time: at
fect shriek of delight at the joke. A Sheff
be mystified like a Jerry Chopsticks,

Our next visit was to the valley of the R
Elliott's poetry, The Rivelin is one of the
the moorland hills, and join near Sheffield ,
peculiar, from the singular features which |
to those of nature. The river is one of 4
their mountain origin by their rapid flaw
scattered with masses of stone. It atin
is overhung by woods and alternate 1
clothed with the bilberry-plant. But what
most striking character, are the forges andi
are called, scattered along them. Formerly
amongst the neighbouring hills, being turn
descend from them, and you still find them
valleys ; the rivulets andrivers which run al
up into a chain of ponds, which give a py
scene, These ponds look dark brown, as fron
is ground off with the water, and are
or are overhung by the woods which clothe
and you now come to a forge, where the bl

es out from the sooty chimney- an
and tinkle in various cadences from within; 4

buildings, with huge wheels revolving betwee!

JOHN WILSON.

‘Tue progress of my work warns me to be brief where I would fain
be most voluminous. To John Wilson, of the Isle of Palms, the City
of the Plague, and other beautiful poetry, it would be a delightful
tank to devote a volume. The biography of Professor Wilson is not
yet given to the world from an authoritative source. When written,
as I trust it will be, by his accomplished son-in-law, Professor Ferrier,
2 will be a most curious and intensely interesting book. ‘The poet
and the periodical writer—Christopher North at the Noctes and in
his shooting jacket, and John Wilson, the free, open-hearted, yet
eccentric man—would, combined, furnish forth, with glimpses of his
cotemporaries and social doings, a most fascinating work. As it is,
wre must take but a glimpse, aud a hasty glimpse, at his residences,
and avail ourselves of the information furnished us by a very elo-
quent Memorial and Estimate by one of his students,

John Wilson was born at Paisley. His father was a wealthy manu-
facturer, and the house which he inhabited, and where the professor
first saw the light, was perhaps the best and largest house in the
town, standing in High-street. It was a large old house, standing
in amplo old gardens and shrubberies. The futuro poet, critic
and moral philosopher, is supposed to have first seen the light
in that house in the year 1785 or 1786, and on the 19th of May;
“consequently,” says his enthusiastic scholar and admirer, “ when
Robert Burns was still bearing up against misfortune, and Mirabeau
was yet the life of those turmoils which brought in the French
revolution ; while Adam Smith, Boswell, Gibbon, Robertson, Burke,
—men of a defunct era,—had not yet shuffled off the stage ; some
fow years later than most of the famous persons who have preceded
him’ also in their departure...He was the eldest, we believo, of
at least three brothers, each eventually occupying a high position in
Edinburgh society : James Wilson being now long well known to
scientific men as a naturalist ; Robert Wilson in business circles as
the manager of the Royal Bank. Of the sisters, one became the
mother of Professor Ferrier, of St. Andrews, who subsequently mar-
ried his cousin, a daughter of Professor Wilson ; the other, Lady

‘WILSON, 671

yrose writings. “Our boyhood was environed by the beautiful, its
Eome waa anongst the moors and mountains, which people in toms
call dreary, but which we knew to be the cheerfulest and most
gladsome perish in all braid Scotland,—and well it might be, for it
‘was in her very heart. Only, however, as the heart lies to the left of
the body. ... Seck, and you will find it either in Renfrewshire, or in
Utopia, or in the moon. As for its name, men call it the Mearna,
M'Culloch, the great Glasgow painter—and in Scotland he has no
superior—will perhaps accompany you to what was once the Moor.
© wild moorland, sylvan, and pastoral parish! . - ‘Though round
and round thy boundaries in half an hour could fy the flapping
dove—though the martens wheeling to and fro that ivied and wall-
flowered ruin of a castle, central in its own domain, scern in their
jore distant flight to glance their crescont wings over a vale re-
icing apart in another kirk spire—yet how rich in streams, and
Tivulets, and rills, each with its own peculiar murmur, art thou
with thy bold bleak exposure, sloping upwards in ever-lustrous
undulations to the portals of the East! How endless the inter-
change of woods and meadows, glens, dells, and broomy nooks with-
out number, among thy banks and braes!””

Te was at some pleasant manse in this paradise of his early youth
that Wilson was educated by a clergyman, with a few other boys.
To those “Manse Boys” ho often reverts with deep affection, and
expecially to “tho leader of their wildest pastimes, full of glee and
boldness, who was from Ireland, and afterwards forgot the songs of
the inland woods in the moanings that haunt the very heart of the
tumultuous sea,—of whose ship nothing was ever known but that
she perished. Here, too, the grave and thoughtful English boy,
whose exquisite scholarship we all so much admired, without one
single particle of hopeless envy! ‘Friend! dearest to our soul!
loving us far better than we deserved! Gone, too, for ever art thou,
our beloved Edward Harrington! and after a fow brilliant years in
an Oriental clime,

“On Hooghly's bank

‘ar,
‘Looks down on thy lone tomb the evening star.”

“Our Parish ;” “the tall elm-clump by Cathcart Castle;” the farm
of Mount Pleasant that they used to haunt, with its huge sycamore
spreading before it, called by them The Goxx or Movxz PreasaNT;
the old farmer, the hearty dame, who did not ask them, “which they
wad hae, hinney or jam 1” but “which will ye hae first?” and the

ter, the aweot but early failing daughter, Mary Morrison, “ who
alone of all singers in hut or hall that ever drew tears, left nothing
for the heart or imagination to desire in any one of Scotland's ancient
melodies,”—were visions of delight in his memory all through life.

“The dairy of Mount Pleasant consisted of twenty cows, almost
all spring calves, and of the Ayrshire breed; so you may guess what
cream! The spoon could not stand in it,—it was not so thick as
that, for that was too thick ; but the spoon when placed upright in
it, retained its perpendicularity for awhile, and then, when uncer-
tain on which side to fall, was grasped by the hand of hungry

eget

adunlid

poasas

i
i
2
a
&
i
3
3
i
i
4
=
H
Z

Sands, wii

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER.

As the most beautiful flowers are found in the most arid deserte, so
aut of the dry study of law comes forth now and then the most genial
and tender spirit of poetry. Such has been thecase with Mr.
Procter, or Cornwall, for we delight in that old favourite nom
de guerre; and although I have been able to obtain but little know-
I of his homes and haunts, still these volumes would be incom-
plete without some notice of a man whose writings hold so firm
8 place in the public heart.

‘About seven-and-thirty years ago, Mr. Procter, then a youn;
man, just called to tho bar’ and in’ very delicate health, pabli
his first volume of poetry.’ Byron, Shelley, Keats, Campbell, and
Leigh Hunt, were then pouring out volume after volume ; and Scott,
who was crowned with the laurels of his metrical romances,
was riveting the attention of the whole world by his prose ones;
whilst Crabbe, as if woke up out of his slumber of twenty-two
years by this eat constellation of genius, had just put forth his
new work, the Tales of the Hall. It was not a moment when a post
of ordinary power had any chance of sustaining his existence ; but
the young aspirant stood among those gigantic men, as one who, if
not equal to them in all points at that moment, was yet kindred
with them; and although the Sicilian story, Diego de Montilla,
Mirandola, and the Flood of Thosealy, have rather become pleasant
Tomorios than the actualities of the presoat dey, the poet has
established a lasting reputation by his volume of English Songs,
und other: fcoall Poems,—a welnme ia which there. aa ms of a
noble and perfect poetry as any in the languag which abounc
with tho most healthy, manly sentiment, and the broadest, eym-

thies with suffering and struggling humanity. It is now the

thion to sympathise with the peoplo—and a noble fashion it is—
the ouly fear being of this otherwise holy Christian sentiment
becoming, in some minds, morbid, if not mawkish, In Barry Corn-
all it is as gonuino as any other part of his nature; feigning and
falschood are as impossible to it as darkness to the sun. He has the

PROCTER. 669
Again, here is another poets, worthy to take its place beside Burns's
a ’s a Man for a’ that.
run AnD ravrT,
“ ¢ of Jewels,—coronets,— ** Running o'er with tears and weakuens;
*eGrmie--purpe: al you can Flaming likes mountain ey,
‘There is that within them nobler;— ‘Racked by hate and hateful passion
fit we all mani ound Anout by wil desires
Tost 4 ‘ mi
Tae roe Pa Lee
nto archangel; th, und pity, —virtue,—courage,—
AS isto archangel Ged "Thoughtsthat 8 beyond the stars!

Take the gems, the crowns, the ermine

Mr. Procter was born and spent his youth at Finchley, in a house
which we understand is now pulled down. He was educated for the
bar. He was some years at school at Harrow, where he was the
cotem| of the present Duke of Devonshire, Lord Byron, and
Sir Robert Peel. On leaving Harrow, it had been the intention of
his father to send him to one of the Universities ; but from this he
was deterred, in consequence of the son of some friend or acquaint-
ance having run a wild and ruinous career at one of these seminaries
of extravagance and dissipation. From Harrow he, therefore, went
to Calng, in Wiltahire, where he remained for some time under the
care of an excellent man of the name of Atherton, who lived, it was
said, in the house which at one time had been the residence of Cole-
ridge, and opposite to another called the “Doctor's House,” because
it had once been occupied by Dr. Priestley. ‘Two miles from Calne
was Bremhill, the rector of which place, William Lisle Bowles, was
on friendly terms with young Procter.

‘With a head and heart much more fitted for the noble business of
poetry than law, Mr. Procter devoted himself for twenty years to his
profession, until some years ago he was appointed one of the Govern-
ment Commissioners of Lunacy, with a good income, but with less
leisure than ever for his favourite studies. He has resided altogether
in London, for some time, in Gray’s-inn ; and, after his marriage with
the step-daughter of Mr, Basil Montague, in what was in those days
a very pretty cottage and suitable poet’s home, at No. 5, Grove-end-
place, St. John’s-wood ; latterly, in Upper Harley-street, Cavendish-
Zyuare; and now in Weymouthtrest, Portiand-place? where we
sincerely hope be may yet find leisure, if not to write some noble
drama, for which we consider him eminently qualified, at lesst to
enrich the lyrical poetry of his country with fresh lays that will add
honour to his reputation, at the same time that they assist struggling
humanity in its great contest with the cruelty and selfishness of the
world,

‘There is a healthy, active vigour about all the later writings of
Bary Cornvall, that 'show thet he has never yet fairly and fully

ped his whole power. His reputation is of the first olass ; but
rr

600 PROCTER.

every one feels, in reading ene of hia tysion, Shimt lop weold stan th
prise us now to come forth with some and stirring drama of
real life, that would sanp hin ae poet. The elements
of this lie everywhere in his poems, There is a clear and detided

dramatic tact and cast of thought, Pathos and indignation
‘wrong, live efgailly and vividly tut Wiz gx bgt tae
aro put forth with a genuineness and a perspicuous life, that

once on the reader, making him feel how real and how earnest is hit
spirit, Spite of the long and continuous of his ‘Tif
we shall still trust to some future outburst of his powers and im
pulses in a fitting form. ~ ~ wnt the prompt and quict
ante fe Iyries is doit ce to the cause of progress fer
and wi

‘He has recently pubi
Dramatic Sketches, with

‘TENNYSON. ToL

So mush for the poetry ; but stil where is the poet?” Tt may bo
supposed, by what has already been said, that he is not very readily
to'bo found. Next to nothing has yet beon known of him or hit
haunts. It has been said that his pootry showed from internal evi-
dence that he came somewhere out of the fens. In three-fourths of
his verses there is something about “glooming fate,” “the clustered
marish-mosses”—a poplar, a water-loving tree, that

7 + Shook alway,
for lenguss no other fre did mar
‘Tho level waste, the rounding grey.”

Or a whole Lincolnshire landscape of—
“A sand-boilt

‘Where from the frequent bridge,
Like emblems of infinity,
‘The trenched waters run from sky to sky.”
There are
“ Long dim wolds ribbed with snow.
‘Willows whiten, aspens shiver ;”

thorough fen-land objects ;

A still salt pool, locked in with bare of sand;
Left on the shore.”"

‘Theso images show a familiarity with fen-lands, and flat sea-coast, to
a certainty ; but Alfred Tennyson, after all, though a Lincolnshire
man, is not a native of the fens. He was born near enough to know
them well, but not in them. His native place is Somersby, a little

illage lying about midway between the market towns of Spilsby
and Horncastle, and containing less than a hundred inhabitants. His
father, George Clayton Tennyson, LL.D. was rector of that and the
adjoining parish of Enderby. Ho was a man of very various talents—
something of a poet, a painter, an architect, and # musician, He was
also considerable linguist and mathematician, Ds. Tennyson was
the elder brother of Mr. Tennyson D’Eyncourt. Alfred Tennyson,
one of several children, was born at the parsonage at Someraby, of
which a view stands at the head of this chapter. From the age of
seven till about nine or ten, he went to the far-school of Louth,
in the same county, and after that returned home, and was educated
by his father, till he went to Trinity College, Cambridge.

Tho native village of Tennyson is not situated in the fong but in
a pretty pastoral district of softly sloping hills and large aah-treoe.
It is not based on bogs, but on a clean sandstone. There is a little
glen in the neighbourhood, called by the old monkish name of Holy-
well.. Over the gateway leading to it, some bygone squire has put
up an inscription, » medley of Virgil and Horace—

Intus aque dulces, vivoque sedilia saxo
‘Et paulum sllve superest. His utere mecum ;”

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Full text of "Homes and haunts of the most eminent British poets"

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