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MISCELLANIES OF 

















LITERATURE. 








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Fi 








MISCELLANIES OF LITERATURE, 


BY 


i DISRAELL, ESQ. 

















WITHDRAWN 
FROM 


CIRCULATION. 


-MISCELLANIES OF LITERATURE. 


BY 





THE AUTHOR OF “CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE.” 


A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED. 


— 
LITERARY MISCELLANIES. CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 
QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST. 


THE LITERARY CHARACTER. 


LONDON: 
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 


MDCCCXL. 











LONDON : 
BAADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITRYRIARS. 








D 


1 9DEC1934 
ey 
Cen ne 








PREFACE. 








Public favour has encouraged the republication of these various works, which 
often referred to have long been difficult to procure. It has been deferred from time ' 
to time with the intention of giving the subjects a more enlarged investigation; but . 
I have delayed the task till it cannot be performed. One of the Calamities of 
Authors falls to my lot, the delicate organ of vision with me has suffered a singular 


disorder *,—a disorder which no oculist by his touch can heal, and no physician 


by his experience can expound; so much remains concerning the frame of man 
unrevealed to man ! 


In the midst of my library I am as it were distant from it. My unfinished 
labours, frustrated designs, remain paralysed. In a joyous heat I wander no longer 
through the wide circuit before me. The “strucken deer” has the sad privilege to 
weep when he lies down, perhaps no more to course amid those far-distant woods 
where once he sought to range. 


Although thus compelled to refrain in a great measure from all mental labour, and ' 
incapacitated from the use of the pen and the book, these works notwithstanding 
have received many important corrections, having been read over to me with critical . 
precision. 


Amid this partial darkness I am not left without a distant hope, nor a present ' 
consolation ; and to Her who has so often lent to me the light of her eyes, the 
intelligence of her voice, and the careful work of her hand, the author must ever 
owe “the debt immense” of paternal gratitude. 





London, May, 1840. 





* [record my literary calamity as a warning to my sedentary brothers. When my eyes dwell on any f 
object, or whenever they are closed, there appear on a bluish film, a number of mathematical squares, which 
are the reflection of the fine net-work of the retina, succeeded by blotches which subside into printed characters, 
apparently forming distinct words, arranged in straight lines as in a printed book; the mouosyllables are often 
legible. This is the process of a few seconds. It is remarkable that the usual power of the eye is not 
injured or diminished for distant objects, while those near are clouded over. i 







































CONTENTS. 


LITERARY MISCELLANIES. 


MISCRLLANIBTS 
PREFACES Far oe ee Ce eS CO 


STYLE / ee ee et 


‘GOLDSMITH AND JOHNSON - see eee 


SELF-CHABACTERS Pe er eC 
ON READING «6 ee eH 


ON HABITUATING OURSELVES TO AN INDIVIDUAL PURSUIT. - +4 + + © 


ON NOVELTY IN LITERATURE © © + ss te ht 
vers DE société ce re eee ee ee Cee 
THE GENIUS OF MOLIERE feo ee ae Je ee a 
THE SENSIBILITY OF RACINE «© 6} eee et 
OFSTERNE «© ee eee 
HUME, ROBERTSON, AND BIRCH ~ «eee tt Ht 


OF VOLUMINOUS WORKS INCOMPLETE BY THE DEATHS OF THE AUTHORS i BS 
OF DOMESTIC NOVELTIES AT FIRST CONDEMNED. - 07 + + tt 
DOMESTICITY ; OR A DISSERTATION ON SERVANTS. - eee 


PRINTED LETTERS IN THE VRBNACULAR IDIOM ~~ - + ss te 


CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 


4 + 
PREFACE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . se 
AUTHORS BY PROFESSION,—GUTHRIE AND AMHURST,—DRAKE—SMOLLETT abot 
TUE CASE OF AUTHORS STATED, INCLUDING THE HISTORY OF LITERARY PROPERTY . 


THE SUFFERINGS OF AUTHORS «s/t tt ae E 





A MENDICANT AUTHOR, AND THE PATRONS OF FORMER TIMES 

















CONTENTS. 





COWLEY—OF HIS MELANCHOLY . 

THE PAINS OF FASTIDIOUS RGOTISM =. 

INFLUENCE OF A BAD TEMPER IN CRITICISM 0-0} ee 
DISAPPOINTED GENIUS TAKES A FATAL DIRECTION BY ITS ABUSE. 
THE MALADIES OF AUTHORS 

LITERARY SCOTCHMEN . 

LABORIOUS AUTHORS .  . 

THE DESPAIR OF YOUNG POETS 

THE MIGERIES OF THE FIRST ENGLI! 

THE LIFE OF AN AUTHORESS . 

INDISCRETION OF AN HISTORIAN—CARTE . + +} 
LITERARY RIDICULE, ILLUSTRATED BY SOME ACCOUNT OF A LITERARY 
LITERARY HATRED, EXHIBITING A CONSPIRACY AGAINST AN AUTHOR 
UNDUE SEVERITY OF CRITICISM = «Se 

A VOLUMINOUS AUTHOR WITHOUT JUDGMENT 

GENIUS AND ERUDITION, THE VICTIMS OF IMMODERATE VANITY . 
GENIUS, THE DUPE OV ITS PASSIONS . . . + - 
LITERARY DISAPPOINTMENTS DISORDERING THE INTELLECT . 
REWARDS OF ORIENTAL STUDENTS «> } ss tt 
DANGER INCURRED BY GIVING THE RESULT OF LITERARY INQUIRIES 
A NATIONAL WORK WHICH COULD FIND NO PATRONAGE -  - 
MISERIES OF SUCCESSFUL AUTHORS. + - = - 

THE ILLUSIONS OF WRITERS IN VERSE 


INDEX 


QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 
— 


PREFACE a dees oe OR ah ts PAM a BR Geo gy at 


WARBURTON AND HI8 QUARRELS; INCLUDING AN ILLUSTRATION OF HIS LITERARY 


CHARACTER Ba oe GS wae CRAP SCONES Nay Gd ok: tho. qatare 
POPE AND HIS MISCELLANEOUS QUARRELS © s/w wee 


POPE AND CURLL; OR A NARRATIVE OF THE EXTRAORDINARY TRANSACTIONS 


RESPECTING THR PUBLICATION OF POPE'S LETTERS Rd, Pe she fe Ts 
POPF. AND CIBBER; CONTAINING A VINDICATION OF THE COMIC WRITER . 


POPE AND ADDISON. «+ 





















































CONTENTS. 





BOLINGBROKE’S AND MALLET'S POSTHUMOUS QUARREL WITH POPE . - . + 200 


LINTOT’S ACCOUNT-BOOK . . . . . . . . . . . « «204 


POPE'S EARLIEST SATIRE . . . . . . . . . . . « 206 





THE ROYAL SOCIETY . . . . . . . . . . . . « 208 


i 


SIR JOHN HILL, WITH THE ROYAL SOCIETY, FIELDING, SMART, ETC. 
BOYLE AND BENTLEY . . . . . . . . . . . +» 230 
PARKER AND MARVELL . . . . . . . . . . . « 238 
D'AVENANT AND A CLUB OF WITS . ee wer | | 
THE PAPER WARS OF THE CIVIL WARS . 3 . . . . . . » 250 
| POLITICAL CRITICISM ON LITERARY COMPOSITIONS . . . . soe + + 254 
HOBBES AND HIS QUARRELS; INCLUDING AN ILLUSTRATION OF HIS CHARACTER . 261 
HOBBES'S QUARRELS WITH DR. WALLIS, THE MATHEMATICIAN Cae - 277 
JONSON AND DECKER . . . . . . . . . . + 283 
CAMDEN AND BROOKE . . . . . . . . . . . . 291 
MARTIN MAR-PRELATE . . . . . . . : . . - 296 
SUPPLEMENT TO MARTIN MAB-PRELATE soe nr) + 309 


LITERARY QUARRELS FROM PERSONAL MOTIV! 





INDEX. . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 . . 317 


CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST. 
— 


ADVERTISEMENT . . . . . . . . . . . . « 323 


OF THE FIRST MODERN ASSAILANTS OF THE CHARACTER OF JAMES I,, BURNET, 





BOLINGBROKE AND POPE, HARRIS, MACAULAY, AND WALPOLE . + « 326 





iS PEDANTRY . . . . . . . . . . . . » ib. 


iS POLEMICAL STUDIES * . . . . . . 3 . . « . 327 





—————_ Bow THESE WERE POLITICAL . . . . » 329 


TRE HAMPTON COURT CONFERENCE Gr td nee te ree 9, ORO 





SOME OF HIS WRITINGS . . soe . . . . . . 
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE AGE . . see + . . 
TRE KING'S HABITS OF LIFE THOSE OF A MAN OF LETTERS : . . 


OY THE FACILITY AND COPIOUSNESS OF HIS COMPOSITION . se . 








ELOQUENCE BY i ee Bb HT oh a en GE 48 


or mis wit 








CONTENTS. 








SPECIMENS OF HIS RUMOUR AND OBSERVATIONS ON HUMAN LIFE 

SOME EVIDENCES OF HIS SAGACITY IN THE DISCOVERY OF TRUTH 

OF HIS BASILICON DORON Z ao 

OF HIS IDEA OF A TYRANT AND A KING Pook 3 ect Les 

ADVICE TO PRINCE HENRY IN THE CHOICE OF HIS SERVANTS AND ASSOCIATES 

DESCRIBES THE REVOLUTIONISTS OF HIS TIME 

OF THE NOBILITY OF SCOTLAND 

OF COLONISING 

OF MERCHANTS 

REGULATIONS FOR THE PRINCE'S MANNERS AND HABITS . 

OF HIS IDEA OF THE ROYAL PREROGATIVE 

THE LAWYERS’ IDEA OF THE SAME» 07 eee 

OF HIS ELEVATED CONCEPTION OF THE KINGLY CHARACTER 

HIS DESIGN IN ISSUING ‘THE BOOK OF SPORTS” FOR THE SA) 

THE SABBATARIAN CONTROVERSY . 

THE MOTIVES OF HIS AVERSION TO WAR a 

JAMES ACKNOWLEDGES HIS DEPENDENCE ON THE COMMONS; THEIR CONDUCT 

OF CERTAIN SCANDALOUS CHRONICLES det 8 Ra ea anette, 3S 

A PICTURE OF THE AGE FROM A MANUSCRIPT OF THE TIMES 

ANECDOTES OF THE MANNERS OF THE AGE . . . . . . . + 352 

JAMES I. DISCOVERS THE DISORDERS AND DISCONTENTS OF A PEACE OF MORE THAN 
TWENTY YEARS . . . . . . . . . . . » . 356 


THE KING'S PRIVATE LIFE IN H18 OCCASIONAL RETIREMENTS . + 357 


A DETECTION OF THE DISCREPANCIES OF OPINION AMONG THE DECRIERS OF JAMESI. ib. 


SUMMARY OF HIS CHARACTER + . 359 








CONTENTS. 





LITERARY CHARACTER. 


DEDICATION . 


PREFACE 


CHAPTER L 


OF LITERARY CHARACTERS, AND OF THR LOVERS OF LITERATURE AND ART 


CHAPTER IL. 





OF THE ADVERSARIES OF LITERARY MEN AMONG THEMSELVES.—MATTER-OF-FACT 


MEN, AND MEN OF WIT.—THE POLITICAL ECONOMISTS.—OF THOSE WHO ABANDON 
THEIR STUDIES.—MEN IN OFFICE.—THE ARBITERS OF PUBLIC OPINION.—THO! 


WHO TREAT THE PURSUITS OF LITERATURE WITH LEVITY + 368 


CHAPTER IL. 
OF ARTISTS, IN THE HISTORY OF MEN OF LITERARY GENIUS.—THEIR HABITS AND 
PURSUITS ANALOGOUS.—THE NATURE OF THEIR GENIUS I8 SIMILAR IN THEIR 


DISTINCT WORKS.—SHOWN BY THEIR PARALLEL RAS, AND BY A COMMON END 


PURSUED BY BOTH . 371 


CHAPTER Iv. 


OF NATUBAL GENIUS.—MINDS CONSTITUTIONALLY DIFFERENT CANNOT HAVE AN EQUAL 
APTITUDE.—GENIUS NOT THE RESULT OF HABIT AND EDUCATION.—ORIGINATES. 
IN PECULIAR QUALITIES OF TBE MIND.—THE PREDISPOSITION OF GENIUS.—A 


SUBSTITUTION FOR THE WHITE PAPER OF LOCKE 


CHAPTER V. 
YOUTH OF GENIUS.—ITS FIRST IMPULSES MAY BE ILLUSTRATED BY ITS SUBSEQUENT 
ACTIONS.—PARENTS HAVE ANOTHER ASSOCIATION OF THE MAN OF GENIUS THAN 
WE.—OF GENIUS, ITS FIRST HABITS.— ITS MELANCHOLY. — ITS REVERIES.—ITS 
LOVE OF SOLITUDE.—iTS DISPOSITION TO REPOSE.— OF A YOUTH DISTINGUISHED 
' BY HIS FQUAL8.—FREBLENESS OF ITS FIRST ATTEMPTS.—OF GENIUS NOT DISCOVER- 
ABLE EVEN IN MANHOOD.—THE EDUCATION OF THE YOUTH MAY NOT BE THAT 


OF HIS GENIUS.—AN UNSETTLED IMPULSE, QUERULOUS TILL IT FINDS ITS TRUE 























xii CONTENTS. 








Pack 
OCCUPATION—WITH SOME, CURIOSITY AS INTENSE A FACULTY AS INVENTION.— 


WHAT THE YOUTH FIRST APPLIES TO 1S COMMONLY HIS DELIGHT AFTERWARDS. 


—¥FACTS OF THE DECISIVE CHARACTER OF GENIUS) =. ww ww 8G 


CHAPTER VL 


THE VIRST STUDIES.—THE SELF-EDUCATED ARE MARKED BY STUBBORN PECULIARITIES. 
—TREIR ERRORS.—THEIR IMPROVEMENT FROM THE NEGLECT OR CONTEMPT THEY 
INCUR.—THE HISTORY OF SELF-EDUCATION IN MOSER MENDELSSOHN.—FRIENDS 
USUALLY PREJUDICIAL IN THE YOUTH OF GENIUS.—A REMARKABLE INTERVIEW 
BETWEEN PETRARCH IN HIS FIRST STUDIES, AND HIS LITERARY ADVISER.— 


EXHORTATION Yuet Mas ee ee 886 


CHAPTER VIL 


OF THE IRRITABILITY OF GENIUS.—GENIUS IN SOCIETY OFTEN IN A STATE OF SUF- 
VERING.—RQUALITY OF TEMPER MORE PREVALENT AMONG MEN OF LETTERS.— 
OF THR OCCUPATION OF MAKING A GREAT NAME.—ANXIETIES OF THE MOST 


SUCCKMRFUL,—O¥ THE INVENTORS.—WRITERS OF LEABRNING.—WRITERS OF TASTE. 





—ARTINTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . + 393 


CHAPTER VIIL 





‘THE BPIRIT OF LITERATURE AND THE SPIRIT OF SOCIETY.—THE INVENTORS.—SOCIETY 
OFFERS REDUCTION AND NOT REWARD TO MEN OF GENIUS.—THE NOTIONS OF 


YRANONS OF FASHION OF MEN OF GENIUS.—THE HABITUDES OF THE MAN OF 








GAUNIUM DINTINOT PROM THOSE OF THE MAN OF SOCIETY—STUDY, MEDITATION, 
AND BNTIHUMIAMM, THR PROGRESS OF GENIUS.—THE DISAGREEMENT BETWEEN | 


THM MEN OF THM WORLD AND THE LITERARY CHARACTER . . . - 401 | 


CHAPTER IX. 


ICIENT AGREEABLENESS MAY RESULT 





PONV MMRATIONS OF MEN OF GENIVA—THRIR DI 
vaum 
NOE CHM DUE LOSt TIN CONVERSATIONISTS NOT THE ABLEST WRITERS.—THEIR 


CONVRRMATION CONSISTS OF ASSOCIATIONS WITH THEIR 


i 

i 

AVALETINA WHICH CONDUCK TO THEIR GREATNESS.—SLOW-MINDED MEN | 
| 

AHO BRORELANCH IN 
j 


vvmautre eae ar ee ee ee er: 


CHAPTER X. 


UY =01TH PLEARURES,—OF VISITORS BY PROFESSION. 
. . . . . « 410 





CUED AWE BIE EE I, Ute Oe 


Him date RN TEN lee un # 





pe inst. ae 













CONTENTS. 





CHAPTER XL 


















rar 
THE MEDITATIONS OF GENIUS.—A WORK ON THE ART OF MEDITATION NOT YET PRO- 


DUCED.—PREDISPOSING THE MIND,—IMAGINATION AWAKENS IMAGINATION.- 





GENERATING FEELINGS BY MUSIC.—SLIGHT HABITS.—DARENESS AND SILENCE, 
BY SUSPENDING THE EXERCISE OF OUR SENSES, INCREASE THE VIVACITY OF OUR 
CONCEPTIONS.—THE ARTS OF MEMORY.—MEMORY THE FOUNDATION OF GENIUS. 
INVENTIONS BY SEVERAL TO PRESERVE THEIR OWN MORAL AND LITERARY CHA- 
RACTER—AND TO ASSIST THEIR STUDIES.—THE MEDITATIONS OF GENIUS DEPEND 
ON HABIT.—OF THE NIGHT-TIME.—A DAY OF MEDITATION SHOULD PRECEDE A 
DAY OF COMPOSITION.—WORKS OF MAGNITUDE FROM SLIGHT CONCEPTIONS.—OF 
THOUGHTS NEVER WRITTEN.—THE ART OF MEDITATION EXERCISED AT ALL HOURS 
AND PLACES.—CONTINUITY OF ATTENTION THE SOURCE OF PHILOSOPHICAL DIS- 


COVERIES.—STILLNESS OF MEDITATION THE FIRST STATE OF EXISTENCE IN 
GENIUS . 





3 . . . « 413 














CHAPTER XI 





THE ENTHUSIASM OF GENIUS.—A STATE OF MIND RESEMBLING A WAKING DREAM 

DISTINCT FROM REVERIE,—THE IDEAL PRESENCE DISTINGUISHED FROM THE 
REAL PRESENCE.—THE SENSES ARE REALLY AFYECTED IN THE IDEAL WORLD, 
PROVED BY A VARIETY OF INSTANCES.—OF THE RAPTURE OR SENSATION OF 
DEEP STUDY IN ART, SCIENCE, AND LITERATURE.—OF PERTURBED FEELINGS, 
IN DELIRIUM—IN EXTREME ENDURANCE OF ATTENTION—AND IN VISIONARY 


ILLUSIONS.—ENTHUSIASTS IN LITERATURE AND ART—O¥ THEIR SELF-IMMO- 
LATIONS . 















. . . . . ~ 422 


CHAPTER XIII. 


OF THE JEALOUSY OF GENIUS—JEALOUSY OFTEN PROPORTIONED TO THE DEGREE OF 
GENIUS.—A PERPETUAL FEVER AMONG AUTHORS AND ARTISTS.—INSTANCES OF 


ITS INCREDIBLE EXCESS, AMONG BROTHERS AND BENEFACTORS.—OF A PECULIAR 


SPECIES, WHERE THE FEVER CONSUMES THE SUFFERER, WITHOUT ITS MALIGNANCY 430 


CHAPTER XIV. 


WANT OF MUTUAL ESTEEM, AMONG MEN OF GENIUS, OFTEN ORIGINATES IN A DEFI- 


CIENCY OF ANALOGOUS IDEAS.—IT I8 NOT ALWAYS ENVY OR JEALOUSY WHICH 








INDUCES MEN OF GENIUS TO UNDERVALUE EACH OTHER + 432 

















CONTENTS. 





CHAPTER XV. 


PRAISE OF GENIUS—THE LOVE OF PRAISE INSTINCTIVE IN THE NATURE OF 
GENIUS.—A HIGH OPINION OF THEMSELVES NECESSARY FOR THEIR GREAT 
DESIGNS.—THE ANCIENTS OPENLY CLAIMED THEIR OWN PRAISE.—AND SEVERAL 
MODERNS.—AN AUTHOR KNOWS MORE OF HIS MERITS THAN HIS READERS— 
AND LESS OF HIS DEFECTS.—AUTHORS VERSATILE IN THEIR ADMIRATION AND THEIR 


MALIGNITY 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF GENIUS.—DEFECTS OF GREAT COMPOSITIONS ATTRIBUTED TO 
DOMESTIC INFELICITIES.—THE HOME OF THE LITERARY CHARACTER SHOULD BE 
THE ABODE OF REPOSE AND SILENCE.—OF THE FATHER.—OF THE MOTHER.— 
OF FAMILY GENIUS.—MEN OF GENIUS NOT MORE RESPECTED THAN OTHER 
MEN IN THEIR DOMESTIC CIRCLE.—THE CULTIVATORS OF SCIENCE AND ART DO 
NOT MEET ON EQUAL TERMS WITH OTHERS, IN DOMESTIC LIFE.—THEIR NEGLECT 


OF THOSE AROUND THEM.—OFTEN ACCUSED OF IMAGINARY CRIMES 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE POVERTY OF LITERARY MEN.—POVERTY, A RELATIVE QUALITY.—OF THE 


POVERTY OF LITERARY MEN IN WHAT DEGREE DESIRABLE.—EXTREME POVERTY. 
—TASK-WORK.—OF GRATUITOUS WORKS.—A PROJECT TO PROVIDE AGAINST THE 


WORST STATE OF POVERTY AMONG LITERARY MEN 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE MATRIMONIAL STATE OF LITERATURE.—MATRIMONY SAID NOT TO BE WELL 
SUITED TO THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF GENIUS.—CELIBACY A CONCEALED CAUSE OF 
THE EARLY QUERULOUSNESS OF MEN OF GENIUS.—OF UNHAPPY UNIONS.—NOT 
ABSOLUTRLY NECESSARY THAT THE WIFE SHOULD BE A LITERARY WOMAN.—OF 
THE DOCILITY AND SUSCEPTIBILITY OF THE HIGHER FEMALE CHARACTER.—A 


PICTURE OF A LITERARY WIFE 


CIAPTER XIX. 


LITERARY WRIENDSHIPS.—IN EARLY LIFE.—DIFFERENT FROM THOSE OF MEN OF 
THE WORLD.—THEY SUFFER IN UNRESTRAINED COMMUNICATION OF THEIR IDEAS, 
AND BEAR REPRIMANDS AND EXHOBTATIONS.—UNITY OF FEELINGS.—A SYMPATHY 
NOT OF MANNERS BUT OF FEELINGS.—ADMIT OF DISSIMILAR CHARACTERS.—THEIR 


PECULIAR GLORY.—THEIR SORROW 











CONTENTS. 





CHAPTER XX. 


THE LITERARY AND THE PERSONAL CHARACTER.—THE PERSONAL DISPOSITIONS OF AN 
AUTHOR MAY BE THE REVERSE OF THOSE WHICH APPEAR IN HIS WRITINGS.— 
ERRONEOUS CONCEPTIONS OF THE CHARACTER OF DISTANT AUTHORS.—PARADOX- 
ICAL APPEARANCES IN THE HISTORY OF GENIUS.—WHY THE CHARACTER OF THE 


MAN MAY BE OPPOSITE TO THAT OF HIS: WRITINGS 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE MAN OF LETTERS.—OCCUPIES AN INTERMEDIATE STATION BETWEEN AUTHORS 
AND READERS—HIS SOLITUDE DESORINED—OFTEN THE FATHER OF GENIUS.— 
ATTICUS, A MAN OF LETTERS OF ANTIQUITY.—THE PERFECT CHARACTER OF A 
MODERN MAN OF LETTERS EXHIBITED IN PEIRESC.—THEIR UTILITY TO AUTHORS 


AND ARTISTS . 


CHAPTER XXIL 


LITERARY OLD AGE STILL LEARNING.—INFLUENCE OF LATE STUDIES IN LIFE.— 
OCCUPATIONS IN ADVANCED AGE OF THE LITERARY CHARACTER.—OF LITERARY 


MEN WHO HAVE DIED AT THEIR STUDIES. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


UNIVERSALITY OF GENIUS.—LIMITED NOTION OF GENIUS ENTERTAINED BY THE 


ANCIENTS. — OPPOSITE FACULTIES ACT WITH DIMINISHED FORCE.— MEN OF 


GENIUS EXCEL ONLY IN A SINGLE ART 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


UTERATURE AN AVENUE TO GLORY.—AN INTELLECTUAL NOBILITY NOT CHIMERICAL, 
BUT CREATED BY PUBLIC OPINION.—LITERARY HONOURS OF VARIOUS NATIONS.— 


LOCAL ASSOCIATIONS WITH THE MEMORY OF THR MAN OF GENIUS 


CHAPTER XXv. 


INFLUENCE OF AUTHORS ON SOCIETY, AND OF SOCIETY ON AUTHORS.—NATIONAL 
TASTES A SOURCE OF LITERARY PREJUDICES.—TRUE GENIUS ALWAYS TRE ORGAN 
OF 1T8 NATION. — MASTER-WRITERS PRESERVE THE DISTINCT NATIONAL 


CHABACTER —GENIUS THE ORGAN OF THE STATE OF THE AGE.—CAUSES OF 




















CONTENTS. 














PAGE 
1T8 SUPPRESSION IN A PEOPLE.— OFTEN INVENTED, BUT NEGLECTED.— THE 


NATURAL GRADATIONS OF GENIUS.—MEN OF GENIUS PRODUCE THEIR USEFULNESS 
IN PRIVACY—THE PUBLIC MIND 18 NOW THE CREATION OF THE PUBLIC WRITER. 
POLITICIANS AFFECT TO DENY THIS PRINCIPLE.—AUTHORS STAND BETWEEN 
THE GOVERNORS AND THE GOVERNED.—A VIEW OF THE SOLITARY AUTHOR IN 
HIS STUDY.—THEY CREATE AN EPOCH IN HISTORY.—INFLUENCE OF POPULAR 
AUTHORS,—THE IMMORTALITY OF THOUGHT.—THE FAMILY OF GENIUS ILLUS- 


TRATED BY THEIR GENEALOGY 8». 0} ee ee we AIS 




















LITERARY MISCELLANIES. 











MISCELLANIES. 


are the most popular | knowledge that it seems at times to | 
people; reps energies. Montaigne was censured by 


i 


Bi 


and 
the || 


and « Bentley in his Milton, or « Warburton 
Virgil, had cither = singular imbecility concealed 
under the arrogance of the scholar, or they did not || 
believe what they told the public; the one in his 
extraordinary invention of an interpolating editor, 
and the other in his more extraordinary cxplana- 
tion of the Eleusinian mysteries. But what was 
still worse, the froth of the head became renom, 
when it reached the heart. 

Montaigne has also been censured for an appa- 
rent vanity, in making himself the idol of his 
luevbrations, If be bad not done this, be had not 


enti@re et plus vifue Js conoissance qu'ils ont eu |} 
thinking readers, | de moi." 
‘mysterious; for ‘Those authors who appear sometimes to forget 
irit of all the moral | they are writers, and remember they are men, will 
he has made » | be our favourites. Hie vcho wrties from: (hs Sets 


realy sci on bs sects, ane thay wil not be redo | 
of to tearmed heads, or a distant day. set eee 

















Boileau, “ are my verses read by all ? it is only bee 


Why have some of our fine writers intorestod 


eel deacon tia 
‘hus painted forth his little humours, his indi- 


while in tho impetuous Bratus may be perceived 
‘a man who is resolved to purchase it with his life. 
‘Weknow little of Plutarch ; yet a spirit of honesty 
and persuasion in his works expresses a philoso~ 
phical character capable of imitating, as well as 
admiring, the virtues he records. 

‘Sterne perhaps derives a portion of his celebrity 
from the same influence; he interests us in his 
minutest motions, for he tells us all he feels.— 





of compositions Se ea 


the writer; pennies otk are 
covered in » fagitive state, but to which 


compositions of genins, on a subject in which it 
is most deeply interested ; which it revolves on all 
its sides, which it paints in all its Unts, and |) 
which it finishes with the same ardoar it began. 
Among such works may be placed the exiled || 
Bolingbroke's “‘ Reflections upon Exile;’” the | 
retired Petrarch and Zimmerman's Essays on 
" Solitude,’ the ‘imprisoned Boethius's “ Con~ 
solations of Philosophy ;"" the oppressed Pierius 
Valerianus’s Cataloguo of “ Literary Calamities;"" |} 
the deformed Hay’s Essay on ** Deformity j” 
the projecting De Foc’s 's +" Kasays on Projects i 
the liberal Shenstone’s poem on “ Economy.”* 

We may respect the profound genius of volami- 
nous writers; they ares kind of painters who 
occupy great room, and fill up, as « satirist ex- 
presses it, “ an acre of canvas.’* haps) — 
dwell on those more delicate pieces,—a group: 
Livan cata Loe 
Psyche or an Aglaia, which embellish the cabinet 
of the man of taste. 

It should, indeed, be the characteristic of good 
Miscellanies, to be multifarious and concise. Us- jf 


scot taeebal lserwon of a in 
although they have only written sentences. 


nexion.” La Fontaine agreeably applauds 
compositions: : 
Les bongs ourrages me font posr; 
Loin d'¢pulecr une matiére, 
‘On n'ea doit prendre que ta eur 

















es.” To quote climates in one place, all pana Nea 
‘La¥ontaine, and | { gaze at once on a hundred rainbows, and trace 
is taking | the romantic figures of the shifting clouds. I seem 

mind ; it is touch- Cy Maco nr a Be 


r airy and concise page; and| rately dull? it is a kind of preparatory informa- || 
or thelr, profound obser tion, which may be very useful. It argues a || 

ny interstitial plensures in our| deficiency in taste to turn over an elaborate 
he preface unread; for it is the attar of the suthor’s || 
ents were great admirers of miseellanies; roses ; every drop distilled at an immense cost. 
acopious list of titles of | It is the reason of the reasoning, and the folly of 

ve titles are s0 numerous, and in-| the foolish, ] 
pleasing descriptions, that we| Ido not wish, however, to conceal, that several 


1 mean a preface.” Spence, in the proface to his 
“* Polymetis,”” informs us, that "there is not any 
sort of writing which he sits down to with so 
much unwillingness as that of prefaces; and as he 
believes most people are not much fonder of 
reading them than he is of writing them, he shall 
get ower thin as fast as be can.’ Pelisson warmly 
protested against prefatory composition ; but when 
he published the works of Sarrasin, was wise 
‘and Jongleurs, prac- enough to compose a very 


| 
ieee: yaina ena Sree ee 


“gay, as various and as | to be introduced to the public? the preface is ns 
sof versatility. genuine a panegyric, and nearly as long a one, as 
il in her miscel-| that of Pliny’s on the Emperor Trajan, Such a 
fa volume of mis- | prefiice is ringing an slarum bell for | 
l avidity the titles of | If we look closer into the chamoters of 
c j, a8 if it were | masters of ceremony, who thus sport 











|| aifection for the author, and which, like that of great portion of fife, addressed not merely toa 
another kind of love, makes one commit so many | class of readers, but to literary Evrope. 


first raised, and the measures by | us, as it wore, in spite of ourselves. Works orn 


to it 
‘This observation might be exemplified 


rules they wished to establish might be adapted 
their own pastorals. Han accideat made some 
Ingonious student apply himself to a subordinate 
branch of literature, or to some science which is 
wot highly esteemed—Iook in the preface for its 
sublime panegyric. Collectors of coins, dresses, 
and butterflies, have astonished the world with 
eulogiams which would taise their particular 
studies into the first ranks of philosophy. 

Te would wppear that there ty no lie to which « 


quenen lo Aldas, quickened the sale of his Aris. 
‘Tis ingenious invention of the pre- 
fener of Aristophanes at length was detected by 


of prefaces arises whenever an 


iu 


and even undesirons of its 
rarely conclude euch 9 
Wimeclf, 1 think, that 
wound dinleetic in the 


a 


i 


i 


i 


are afterwards ad-| mented by a finished preface, such ax Johnson not || 


infrequently presented to his friends or his book- | 


speare. In the preface be informed the public, 
that his notes “were among his pounger amuse~ 
ments, when he tarned over these sort of writers.” 


our haughty commentator received from the sar- || 
castic Canons of Criticism. Scudery was a writer 
of some genias, and great variety. His prefaces || 
are remarkable for their gasconades. In his epic |} 
poem of Alaric, he says, "I have such « facility 
in writing verses, and also in my invention, that a |} 
poem of double its length would have cost me 
litte trouble. Although it contains. only eleven || 
thousand lines, I believe that longer epice do not 
exhibit more embellishments than mine." And 
to conclade with one more student of this class, || 
Amelot de la Houssaie, in the preface to bis trans- |] 
lation of * the Prince” of Maehiavel, instructs ms, 
that “he considers his copy as superior to the 
original, because it is everywhere and 
Machiavel is frequently obscure.” I have seen in | 
the play-bills of strollers, a very pompous deserip- | 
tion of the triumphant entry of Alexander into 
Babylon ; had they said nothing about the triumph, 
it might have passed without exciting ridicule; 
and one might not so maliciously have perceived 


phants, and the triumphal car diseowered its 

of atid. But having pre-excited atteation, wehad || 
full leisure to sharpen our eye, ‘To these impra= | 
dent authors and actors we may apply « Spanish 























‘solicits, if a decree of the| plate with awe. 

d him thus to have composed| There is in prefeces a due respect to be shown 
have obtained a dispensation, | to the public, and to ourselves. He that has no 
penne atthe language we sense of self-dignity, will not inspire any reverence 


wreck ital to ttone the mind Soto a harmony of | | 





period, 
To Johnson may be attributed the establish= 
ment of our present refinement, and it is with 


@¢ the earliest commencements of | licentious idioms, and irregular combinations, and 
and the first attempt to restrain | that he has added to the elegance of its construc~ 


} never wholly out of the| of natural ease long afterwards he discovered. But 
 E have learnt from the prac-| great inelegance of diction disgraced our language 
gne,"’ There is no great riek| even so late as in 1736, when the “ Inquiry into 
observation a* an axiom in| the Life of Homer"' was published. That author 
a prefacer loiter, it is never | wa certainly desirous of all the graces of composi- 
"lame persons. by eseaping| tion, and his volume by its singular sculptures 
reader may make a preface as| cvinces his inordinate affection for bis work. This 

fanciful writer had a taste for polished writ 
thor to paint himself in| yet he abounds in expressions whieh now would 
is useful page, without incur-| be considered as impure in Hiterary composition. 
tism. After a writer bas | Such vulgarisms are common—the Grecks fell to 
ous by his industry or| their old trade of one tribe expelling another—the 
oo ecaenss ha nal beagle Spear rant ag os 
himself, Hayley,| some little ji 
bas conveyed an’ ne ae See Sorte evehty Ronee 
, by giving| an article on Mrefaces. 


| 
| 
| 
‘oF readers, and to form a national| tion and to the harmony of its cadence." In this | 
| 








|| snujfet at the suppleness. If such diction hid | defines to be generally the effect of spontaneous 
“not been usual with good writers at that period, | thoughts and « Iaboured style. Adiison was not 


r porerty of | author, as in seeing an object by the light of a 

| his stylo, Warburton, snd his tmitator Hurd, | taper, or by the light of the sun.’” 
und other living critics of that school, are loaded| Maxwenists in style, however great their 
| with familiaridioms, which at present would debase | powers, rather excite the admiration than the 


affection of a man of taste; because their habitual 


novelty | art dissipstes thatiMusion of sincerity, which we love 


Joknson, that every writer in every class ser- 
copied the Iatinived style, ludicrously 
and re-echoing the 


agriculturist ina 
‘turnips, alike aimed st the polysyllabie 
was the 


Fe 


fy 


i 
Ee 


in favour of a natural etyle, and 
opision of many great critics that 
will be accompanied by proper words; 
though supported by the first anthorities, they 
are not perhaps sufficiently precise in their defini- 
tion, Writers may think justly, and yet write with. 
out any effect ; while a splendid style may cover a 
vacuity of thought. Does not this evident fact 
|| prove that style and thinking have not that in- 


in 


A 


ters of Gne taste. There are several modes of 
preventing an idea; vulgar readers are only sus- 
ceptible of the strong and palpable stroke; but 
there are many shades of sentiment, which to seize 
on and to paint, fs the pride and the labour of a 
skilful weiter. A beautiful simplicity itself is a 
| species of refinement, and no writer more solicit 
|| ously corrected his works than Hume, who excels 
in this modo of composition. The philosopher 
| highly approves of Addison's definition of fine 
|| writing, who says, that it consists of sentiments 


|| Shenstone has hit the truth ; for fine writing he 





to believe is the impulse which places the pen in the 
hand of an author. Twoeminent literary manuer- 
ists are Cicero and Johnson. We know these 

decep- 


tive art; of any subject it had been indifferent to 
them which side to adopt; and in reading their 
‘elaborate works, our ear is moro frequently grati- 


asm of their sentiments, Writers who are not 
mannerists, but who seize the appropriate tone of 
their subject, appear to feel a conviction of what 
they attempt to persuade their reader, It is ob 
servable, that it is impossible to imitate with 
uniform felicity the noble simplicity of a pathetic 
writer; while the peculiarities of 1 mannerist are 
s0 far from being ditfioult, that they are displayed 
with nice exactness by middling writers, who, 
although their own natural manner had nothiog 


interesting, have attracted notice by such imita- |] 


tions, We may apply to some monotonous 
mannerists these verses of Boileau: 
* Voules-rous du public mériter les amnours? 
‘Sans conve on éorivant variex vos discourse. 
On lit pou ces auteurs nés pour nous ennater, 
Qui toujours sar un ton scmblent psatmodier.” 
Would you the public's envied favours gain? 
Ceasclesn, tn writing, variegate the stenln ; 
‘The heary author, who the fancy calem, 
‘Bectie in ono tone to chant hie nasal paola 
Every style is excellent, if it be proper; and 
chat style is most proper which can best convey. 
the intentions of the author to his reader. And 


after all, it is srvie alone by which posterity will ] 
judge of a great work, for an anthor cam have 


nothing traly his own bat his style; fhets, eclem- 
tific discoveries, and every kind of information, 
may be seized by all, but an autbor’s diction can 
not be taken from him. Hence very Jearned write 
ers have been neglected, while their 


by writers with more amenity. It is, therefore, | 
duty of an author, to len to write as 
learn to think ; and this art can only be. 


learning hay | 














) verse-maker of the name of isthe sation of lceary onan, Ws pads 
1662, published in the city | cuous talents, are always the same at Paris as in 
containing some thousands of peracdertpdneniisiplcine vac 


‘oval and full face; his fiery and eloquent eyes; 
‘his wermil lips ; his robast constitution, and his 
effervescent passions. He appears to have been 
‘a most petulunt, honest, and diminutive being. 


can be; but I would mot sacrifice my honour to 
my ambition. I am so sensible to contempt, 
| that fF bear a mortal and implacable hatred against 
those who contemn me, and 1 know J could never 
reconcile ‘with them; but I spare no atten- 
tions for those I lore; 1 would give them my 
fortune and my life. I sometimes lie; but gene- 
rally in affairs of gallantry, where I voluntarily 
confirm falsehoods by oaths, without reflection, for 
swearing with me is a habit. Iam told that my 


am often troublesome; for I maintain paradoxes to 
display my genius, which savour too much of 
seholastic subterfuges. L speak too often and too 
Jong; ani ae TL have some reading, and a copious 
memory, 1 am fond of showing whatever 1 know. 
My jodginent is not so solid ax my wit is lively. 
T am often melancholy and unhappy; and this 
nombrous disposition proceeds from my numerous 
disappointments in life. My verse is preferred to 
‘my prese; and it hes been of some use to me in 





‘yerwe, and while he saw the prospects of life closing 
on him, probably considered that the ago was ua- 


or armihilate the obscure comforts of life, and, 
like him, having “been told that their mind is 
brilliant, and that they have a certain manner is 
turning a thought," become writers, and complain 


if the gbscare, yet too sensible writer, can suffer 
‘an entire year, for the enjoyment of a single day! 
But for this, aman must have been bora in 
France. 


_ 


ON READING, 

Waitixe is justly denomioated an art; I think 
that reading claims the same distinction. ‘To 
adorn ideas with elegance is an act of the mind 
superior to that of receiving them ; butto receive || 
them with a bappy discrimination, is the effect of 


« taste, 

Yet it will be found that taste alone is not suf. 
ficient to obtain the proper end of reading, Two || 
persons of equal taste rise from the perusal of the 











us that the trader, habituated to | Dr. Burney’s "Musical Travols,”" it would seom that |] 
Ube waheppy becadte | iusto wes! the prime ‘chject “of buniet Iie iI 





distinct habit accompanies real attach ourselves to an individual object, the more 
life in the activity of his associat- | numerous and the more perfoct are our sensations ; 
not at his work; it is at all times |if we yield to the distracting vuricty of opposite 


ON NOVELTY IN LITRRATURE. 
“ Axx. in said,” exclaims the lively La Braydro 5 


existence ; and an unhappy idea of a wise ancient, 
‘who, even in his day, lamented that “of books 
there is no end,” has been transcribed in many 
bookx He who has critically examined any 
branch of literature has diseovered bow little of 
original invention is to be found even in the most 
‘excellent works. To add a little to his predeces- 
sort, satisfies the ambition of the first geniuses. 
‘The popular notion of literary novelty is an idea 
more fanciful than exact. Many are yet to learn 
that our admired originals are not such aa they 
mistake them to be; that the plans of the most 
‘original have been borrowed ; and 
that the thoughts of the most admired composi. 
tions are not wonderful diseoveries, but only troths, 
which the ingenuity of the author, by arranging the 

















Odyssey, 
‘Our own carly writers have not more originality 
than modern genius may aspire to reach. To 
imitate and to rival thie Italians and the Freneh, 


their powers but by imitating at onoe Don Quixote 
and Monsieur Oulle. Pope, like Boileau, had alt 
‘the ancients and modorne in bis pays the contri- 
butions he levied were not the pillages of « bandit, 
Oh lest ie Swift is much tn 
of his two original 
teraanes hs "Tot ae 
i ‘Cyrano de Hergerne to 
| en sad Some" © writer, who, without 
neateness of Swift, hnw wililer Ausbes of 


who, in bis turs, must have borrowed his work 
from Cyrano. ‘The Tale of a Tub" is an imita- 


imitated Pulcl, and Ariosto, Boiardo. ‘The mad- 
ness of Orlando Farioso, though it wears, by ite | 
a very original air, is only imitated 


extravagance, 

from Sir Lavneelot in the old romance of ** 
Arthur,’ with which, Warton observes, it agrees | 
in every leading circumstance; and what is the 
Cardenio of Cervantes but the Orlando of Ariosto? 











him from his law studies, and | writer, that he was one of the most serious of || 
in among acompany of amateur} men, and even of a melancholic 


‘private theatres, no great| ‘The genius of Moliére, long undiscovered by 
t existing, the resource only of | himself, in its first attempts ina higher walk did 
, and even of the unforta- | not move alone; it was crutched by imitation, 


ithful adventurer affee-| and ft often deigned to plough with 
free admission to the dear| heifer. He 


» Toxave the honour of| stage with a dramatic crowd who were to live 
rs, Pocquelin concealed | on to posterity, had not yet struck at that secret 
ortal name of Molitre. 
cone day was to cast out such a 
invention. His two first comedies, “* L’Etourdi"” 
pilgrim | and “ Le Dépit Amoureux,’’ which he had only 
ventured to bring out in a provincial theatre, were 


senile follies, with lovers sighing at eross-purpases. 
‘The germ of his future powers may, indeed, be 
discovered in these two comedies, for inseasibly to 
Leica lames depres tn 
proposed | simplicity. In " LEtourdi,"* Masoarille, “ 
that his most | roides serviteurs," which Molidre himself admir- 








i 


taste, in its earliest days, may have visited this 
society, for we do not begin such refined follies 


«| without some show of reason. 


tree cea as otias tates chon ctloee 
‘comedy, in a profound knowledge of the heart of 
man, and in the delicate discriminations of indi- 
character, was yet unknown. Moliére was 
‘satisfied to excel his predecessors, but be bad not 


Introduced to the literary coterie of the Hétel 
de Rambouillet, a new view opened on the 
favoured poet. To occupy a seat in this envied | not 


‘sons, at the hotel of the marchioness of Ram- 
‘Douillet, was to give a higher tone to all France, 
‘by the cultivation of the language, the intellectual 


pulous. This critical circle was composed of both 
sexes, They were to be the arbiters of taste, the 
Jogislators of criticisin, and, what was less toler- 
able, the models of genius, No work was to be 
stamped into currency which bore not the mint- 
maurk of the hotel. 


‘The local genius of the hotel was feminine, 


conversaziones, In the novel system 
of gallantry of this great inventor of amorous and 


; |) metaphysical *‘ twaddle,” the ladics were to be 
approached as beings nothing short of celestial 
paragons; they were addressed in « language not 
to be found in any dictionary but their own, and 
their habits were more fantastic than their lan- 





guage: a sort of domestic chivalry formed their 
etiquette. Their baptismal names were to them 


whoever was not admitted into the mysteries was 
not permitted to prolong his existence —that i I 


posing |B ny edb it , 


an aileove ; the toilet was ere 


nthe annals of fashion and literature, no coterie |i 











to study the world." It may be doubtfal whether 
‘the great comic satirist at that moment caught the 


produced till after an interval of twelve years. 

Moliére returned to his old favourite canevar, 
or plots of Italian farces and novels, and Spanish 
comodies, whieh, being always at hand, furnished 
comedies of intrigue, “ L'Kcole des Maris" is an 
inimitable model of this class. 

But comedies which derive their chief interest 
from the ingenious mechanism of their plots, 
however poignant the delight of the artifice of the 
denouement, are somewhat like an epigram, once 
‘known the brilliant point is blunted by repetition, 
‘This is not the fate of those representations of 
men’s actions, passions, and manners, in the more 
enlarged sphere of human nature, where an eternal 
interest is excited, and will charm on the tenth 
repetition. 

No! Molitre had not yet discovered bis trac 
genius ; he was not yet emancipated from his old 


Jealousy, a favourite one on which be wax inoes- 
eantly ruminating. Don Gaurcie de Navarre, 
ou Le Prince Jaloux," the hero personated 
by himself, terminated by the hisses of the 
audience. 

‘The fall of the “Prince Js * was nearly 
fatal to the tender reputation of the poet and the 
‘actor. The world became critical: the marquises, 
and the précieuses, and recently the bourgeois, 
who was sore from “ Sganarelle,ou Le Cocu 
‘Tmaginaire,” were wp in arms; and the rival 
theatre raised the halloo, flattering 
themselves that the comic genius of their dreaded 
rival would be extinguished by the ludicrous con- 
rvulsed hiccough to which Molitve was liable in 














‘THE GENIUS OF MOLIERE. 


| 


i 


‘even when he appropriated the slight inventions 
of others; they have not distinguished the eras of 


favourite pot. In “* L’ Impromptu de Versailles," 
Moliere appears in his own person, and in the 
midst of bis whole company, with all the irritable 
impatience of a manager who had no piece ready. 
Amidst this green-room bustle, Moliére is advising, 


‘the genius of Molicre, and the distinct classes of | their 


his comedies. Molitee had the art of amalga~ 
tating many distinct inventions of others into a 
‘single inimitable whole. Whatever might be the 
‘herbs and the reptiles thrown into the mystical 


‘The truth is, that few of his comedies are finished 
works ; he never satisfied himself, even in his 


thrown out to enliven a royal féte. 

‘This versatility and felicity of composition made 
everything, with Moliére, a subject for comedy. 
He invested two novelties, such as the stage had 
never before witnessed. Instead of a grave defence 





stage. |} 
Sheridan's “ Critic, or A Tragedy rehearsed,'” ie 
of Molicre, 


from the malice of his critics, and the flying gossip | respective 














daughter, some say a younger sister, who had (truly loved. In her absence her image is before 
litherto resided at Avignon, and who she declared me; in her presence, I am deprived of all reflec- | 
i was the offepring of the count of Modena, by a tion; I have no longer eyes for her defects: I 
| Seeret marriage Armande Béjard soon attracted | only view her amisble. Js not this the Inst ex- 
the paternal attentions of the poct, She became the treme of folly? And are you not surprised that I, 
secret idol of his retired moments, while he fondly | reasoning as I do, am only sensible of the weakness || 
F ht that be could mould a young mind, in its which I cannot throw off?” 


‘wour the poet feels her neglect ! with what eager- 
ness be defends her from the animadversions of 
the friend who would have dissolved the spell ! 


al 


minded the world of Molidre tHe roe, exclaim 
ing—“ Have they denied a grave to the man to 
whom Greece would have raised an altar !"” » 














| hin success, and resolved to write no more trage- 


dies. He determined to enter into the austero 


gift from Louis XIV. of » purse of 1000 louis, be 
hastened to embrace his wife, and to show her the 
treasure. But she was full of trouble, for one of 
the children for two days hod not studied! “We 
will talk of this another time,’ exclaimed the 


insisted he ought instantly to reprimand this child, 
and continued hee complaints; while Boileau in 
astonishment paced to and fro, perhaps thinking of 
his Satire on Women, and exclaiming, “What 
insensibility! Is it possiblo, that a purse of 1000 
louis is not worth a thought!” This stoical apathy 
id not arise in Madame Racine from the grandeur, 
but the littleness, of her mind. Her prayer-books 
and hee children were the sale objects that inter- 
ested this good woman. Racine’s sensibility was 
Hot mitigated by his marriage ; domestic sorrows 
weighed heavily on his spirits; when the illness 
Of his children agitated him, he sometimes ex- 

4 Why did Lexposo myself to all this? 


ority of thely fortune. Had you known him in 
‘bia fainily,"” ald Louie Racine, 


‘tumed aside, relinquished its glory, repented of | presence of strangers he darod to be w father, and 


nsed to join us in cur sports. I well remember 


dread unfortunate events, than to hope for happy 
ones ; semper magis adversos rerum exitus metuens 
quam sperans secundos. In the last incident of 
bis life his extreme sensibility led him to imagine 
‘as present a misfortune which might never have 


apartment; he took it up, and after having looked 


that be thinks that he is able to become a states | 
man ?'" al 


have his pension freed from some new tax; and 
added an apology for his presumption in 





was performed by 
Op, and rected its aly parity of his page; while there is scarcely a sub- 
and disgusted. He | ject in human natare for which we might 

Boilean’s opinion, who main- | some apposite illustration. His style, pure ax his 
vexpitel work. ‘1 understand | thoughts, is, however, a magic which ceases to 
“ and the public y revien- | work in all translations, and Cervantes is not Cer= 

‘was & true one, but it was | vantes in English or in French ; yet still he retains 

@ late, long after the death of the | his popularity among all the nations of Europe; 
‘ever appreciated till it was pub- ferent om Se 


derived little or no profit emiiah ik tol eteealees oon peter eee 
‘Boileeu particularly, though | jy genins,and they were read with ms much avidity 
Spee eboenee cs Cada point, thet and delight as the Spaniard. ‘ Le doote Rabelais!” 


tragedies. Those profita | ribaldry and his tiresome balderdash for odd stories 
ral the truth is, the | and flashes of witty humour, Rabelais hardly finds 


tribute offered by the | Corporal Trim! It may now be doubted whether 
Sterne’s natural dispositions were the humorous | 

or the pathetic: the pathetic has survived ! } 
puaplerote 








‘humour, and Steme found it to be| ancedotes which one of his companions} commu 

nd latterly, in despair, he asserted that ‘' the | nicated to me, confirm Garrick’s account pro- 

|| taste for humour is the gift of heaven!” I have| served in Dr. Barney's collections, that “ He was 

=i lpn like the taste | more dissolute in his conduct than his writings, 

‘olives, is even repugnant to some palates, and | and generally drove every female away by his 
have witnessed the epicure of humour lose it all |ribaldry. He degenerated 

r discovering how tome have utterly rejected his | transplanted shrub; the incense of the great spoiled. 

relish! Even me of wit may not taste | his head, and their ragouts his stomach. He grew 

) humour t The celebrated Dr.Cheyne, who was not sickly and proud—an invalid in body and mind.’* 

himuelf deficient in originality of thinking with | Warburton declared that “he was sn irrecoverable 

great learning and knowledge, once entrusted toa| scoundrel.” Authenticated facts are, however, 





friend © remarkable literary confession. Dr. 
| Cheyne assured him that “be could not read*Don 
|| Quixote’ with any pleasure, nor had any taste for 
 Hodibras or Gulliver ; and that what we call wif and 
Ahtemour in these authors, be considered as false 
‘ornarents, and never to be found in those com- 
positions of the ancients which we most admire 
and esteem*."” Cheyne seems to have held Aris- 
topbanes and Lucisn monstrously cheap! The 


wanting for a judicious summary of the real cha- 
racter of the founder of sentimental writing. An 
impenetrable mystery hangs over his family con. |} 
duct ; he has thrown many sweet domestic touches 
in bis own memoirs and letters addressed to his 
daughter: but it would seem that he was often 
parted from his family. After be ad earnestly soll 
cited the return of his wife from France, though 
she did return, he was suffored to die in utter 


ancients, indeed, appear not to hare possessed that | neglect. 


comie quality that we understand as humour, nor 
ean I discover a word which exactly corresponds 
with our term Aumour in any language, ancient or 

|| modern, Cervantes excels in that sly satire which 
hides iteelf under the cloak of gravity, but this is 
‘not the sort of humour which so beautifully plays 
about the delieney of Addison's page ; and both are 
distinct from the broader and strong humour of 
Sterne. 

‘The result of Dr. Cheyne’s honest confession 
wat experienced by Sterne, for while more than half 
of the three kingdoms were convulsed with laugh- 
ter at his humour, the other part were obdurately 
dell to it. Take, for instance, two very opposite 
effects produced by Tristram Shandy on a man of 
strong original humour himself, and a wit who 
had more delicacy and sarcasm than force and ori- 
ginality. The Rev. Philip Skelton declared that 
“after reading Tristram Shandy, he could not for 
two or three days attend seriously to his devotion, 
it filled him with so many ludicrous ideas,” But 
Horace Walpole, who found his “ Sentimental 
Journcy” very pleasing, declares that of * his tire- 
some ‘Tristram Shandy" he could never get through 
‘three volumes.” 

‘The literary life of Sterne was a short one: it 
was a blaze of existence, and it turned his head. 
‘With his personal life we are only acquainted by 
tradition. Was the great sentimentalist himself 
unfeeling, dissolate, and utterly depraved > 


* This friend, it now apposry, wax Dr. King of Oxford, 
‘Whose ancedotes have recently deen published, This 


His sermons have been observed to 
terised by an air of levity; he 
unusual manner. tres pokey ee 
indaced him to introduce one of his sermons in 
“Tristram Shandy ;’* it was fixing a diamond in 
tat be seme han t hes ha = dag 
But he seems then to have had no 


finances, Caleb asked him “if he had no. ( 
like the one in * Tristram Shandy 2?” But Sterae 


relation by his side! o/Misapariee 
companion of the man whose wit found - 
in every street, but whose heart, it would 
could not draw one to his death-bed. We ea 


























‘SUTTER fy 
“My pean Kirrr, 
“Uf this billet catches you in bed, you are a 
sleepy little slut, and I am a giddy, foolish, 
fellow for keeping eke? ese 


|| traction, Kitty, and will love you on so to eternity 
—+0 adieu, and believe, what time will only prove 
‘me, that I am, 


“Yours.” 


‘LETTER 111. 
“My pear Kirry, 
“I have sent you a pot of sweetmests and a 


ness I give you; for if you do I shall send youa 
pot of pickles (by way of contraries) to sweeten 
you up, and bring you to yourself again—what- 
ever changes happen to you, believe me that I am 


Quine changers pas qu'en mourant. 
“nL 8” 


He came up to town in 1760, to publish the two 
‘first volumes of Shandy, of which the first edition 
had appeared at York the preceding year- 


Lerren ry. 
“Landon, May 8, 
“My pear Kirrr, 

“ T have arrived here safe and sound—except 
for the hole in my heart which you have made, 
like a dear enchanting slat 9s you are-—I shall take 
lodgings this morning in Piccadilly or the Hay- 
market, and before I send this letter will let you 
know where to direct @ lottor to me, which letter 
A shall wait for by the return of the post with 
great impatience. 

have the greatest honours paid meand most 
civilities shown me that were ever known from the 
great; andam engaged already to ten noblemen 
and men of fashion to dine. Mr. Garrick pays 
me all and more honour than J could look for: 1 
dined with him to-day—and he has prompted 
‘numbers of great people to carry me to dine with 
them—be has given me an order for the liberty of 
a nclge TN CR egal 


undertaken the whole management, of the book- 
seller, and will procure me # great price—bat 
more of this is my next. 

“And now, my dear girl, let me assure you of || 
the truest friendship for you that ever man bore || 
towards a woman—wherever I am my beart is 
warm towards you, and ever shall be, till it is cold 
for ever. J thank you for the kind proof 
gave me of your desire to make my heart easy 
ordering yourself to be denied to you know who— 
while I am so miserable to be separated from my 
dear dear Kitty, it would have stabbed my eoul to 
have thought such a fellow could have the liberty 
of coming near you.—I therefore take this proof 
F your love a0 good peiscly et bet at 
have as mach faith and dependence upon you in || 
it, as if Iwas at your elbow—would to God I was || 
at this moment—for I am sitting solitary and alone 
in my bedchamber (ten o'clock at night after the 
play), and would give a guinea for a squeeze of || 
your hand, I send my soul perpetually out to |} 
‘see what you are a doing—wish I could convey 
my body with it—adieu, dear and kind girl— 
Ever your kind friend and affectionate admirer 

‘1 goto the oratorio this night. My serve t | 

” 
LETTER V. 

“My vear Kirrr, 

“Though I have but 2 moment's time to 
spare, I would not omit writing you an account 


day given me a hundred and sixty pounds @ year, 
which J hold with all my preferment; so that all || 
or the most part of my sorrows and tears are 
to be wiped away.—I have but one obstacle 
Loppiness now left—and what that is you k 
as well as 1%, 

“1 long most impatiently to see my dear 


bishop—all will do well in time, 
“From morning to night my lodgings, 


the greatest company.—I dined these 
with two Indies of the bedchamber—then 
Lord Rockingham, Lord Edgeumb, Lord W 


“T assure you, my dear Kitty, that 
is the fashion. —Pray to God I may see’ 


* Cun this allude to the death of his wife D 
year he tells his daughter he had taken « houm 
* for your mother and yourself." 

¢ They wer the second house frum St. 
Pall-Mall. 




















uowledge than whst he had taken upon trust. 
“'T painted to him," says Lord Orford, “the diffi- 
culties and the want of materials—but the book- 
(|| sellers will out.argue me.’ Both the historian and 
|| *! the booksellers” had resolved on another history; 
and Robertson looked upon it asa task which he 
|| wished to have set to him, and not a glorious toil 
tong matored in his mind. But how did be come 
prepared to the very dissimilar subjects he 
posed? When be resolved to write the history of 
Charles V., he confesses to Dr. Birch: “ I newer 
had access to any copious libraries, and do not 
pretend to ony extensive of authors ; 
but Ihave made a list of such as T thought most 
-esseotinl to the subject, and haye put them down 
ax I found them mentioned in any book I hap- 
poned to read, Your erudition and knowledge of | 
books is superior to mine, and I doubt 
not bat you will be able to make such additions to 
my catalogue os may be of great use to me. I 
kaow very well, and to my sorrow, how servilely 
historians copy from one another, ani how little 
is to be learned from reading many books ; but at 
the tame time, when one writes upon any particu- 
ter period, it is both necessary and decent for him 
to consult every book relating to it upon which be 
tan Jay hix hands." This avowal proves that 
Robertson knew little of the history of Charles V- 
till he began the task; and he farther confesses 
that “he had no knowledge of the Spanish or 
German," which, for the history of « Spanish 
monarch and a German emperor, was somewhat 
ominous of the nature of the projected history. 
‘Yet Robertson, though he once thus acknow- 
ledged, as we sec, that he “ never had access to any 
coplours libraries, and did not pretend to any 
‘eriensive knowledge of authors,” seems to have 
noquired from his friend, Dr. Birch, who was o 
genting researcher in manuscripts as well as 


History of America ; the most objectionable of his 
Histories, being m perpetual apology for the Spanish 
Government, adapted to the meridian of the court 
of Madrid, rather than to the canse of humanity, 
of truth, and of philosophy. I understand, from 
good authority, that it would not be difficult to 





wrote bet from manuscripts. They are the truc 
materia historica. 

Birch, however, must have enjoyed many a secret 
triumph over our popular historians, who had 
introduced their beautiful philosophical history 
into our literature; the dilemma in which they 
sometimes found themselves must have amused 
him. He has thrown out an oblique stroke at 


pro- | Robertson's “pomp of style, and fine eloquence,” 


which too often tend to disguise the real state of 
the facts*."" When he received from Robertson 
the present of his ‘ Charles V.," after the just 
tribute of his praise, he adds some regret that the | 
historian had not been 80 fortunate as to have seen 
‘s Sta « published since Christ- 
‘mas,” and a manuscript trial of Mary Queen of 
Scots, in Lord Royston’s possession. Alas! such 
is the fate of speculative history ; = Christmans 
may come, and overturn the elaborate castle in 
the air. Can we forbear a smile when we boar 
Robertson, who had projected a history of British 
America, of which we possess two chapters, when 
the rebellion and revolution broke out, congratulate 
himself that he had not made any farther progress? 
It is lucky that my American history was not |} 
finished before this event; how many qilausible |} 
theories thet I should have been entitled to form |} 
are contradicted by what has now happened?” 
A fair confession t I 
Let it not be for one moment imngined, that | 
this article {s designed to depreciate the genius of 
Hume and Robertson, who are the noblest of oar |{ 
modern authors, and exhibit » perfect ides of the 











“IfE had not considered a letter of mere 

as | compliment as an impertinent interraption to one 

where a writer | who is so busy as you commonly are, I would long 
‘trivial merit without | before this have made my acknowledgments to 
y, and as the prejudices | you for the civilitics which you was so good as to 
‘religious and political, | show me while I was in Londo. T had not only 


“The papers to which I got ‘access by your 
means, especially those from Lord Royston, have |) 
rendered my work more perfect than it could bave 
otherwise been. My history is now ready for |} 
publication, and I bave desired Mr. Millar to send || 

which | you a large-paper copy of it in my name, which ¥ || 
beg you may accept us a testimony of my regard || 
and of my gratitude, He will likewise transmit to 
you another copy which I must entreat you to 
present to my Lord Royston, with such acknow- 
ledgments of his favours toward me os are proper 
for me to make. I have printed a short appendix 
of original papers. You will observe that there are 
several inaccuracies in the press work. Mr. Millar 
grew impatient to have the book published, so that 
it was impossible to send down the proofs to mes 

they| T hope, however, the papers will be abundantly 
intelligible. 1 published them only to confirm my 
own system, about particular facts, not ta obtain 
the character of an antiquarian. If upon perusing 
the book you discover any inaccuracies, either with 
regard to atyle or facts, whether of great or of 
small importance I will esteem it a tery great 
favour, if you'll be so good as to communicate 
them tome. I shall likewise be indebted to you, 
if you "il let me know what reception the book 
meets with among the literati of your acquaintance, 
Thope you will be particularly pleased with the 
critical dissertation at the end, which is the pro- 
duction of a.co-partnership between me and your 
friend Mr. Davidson. Both Sir D, Dalrymple and 
he offer compliments to you. If Dean Tucker be |} 


compliments to him. 
Lam w. great regard D" Sir 
“Ye m. obed* S mst. 0. sert 
“ Witttam Ronertsox. 
“ Edinburgh, l Jan. 1759. 
“ My address is, ove of the ministers of Ed.’" 














to read. I beg you would be so good as to look it 
| \ erndition and 

infinitely superior to mine, I doubt not France,’ in which the reigns E 
‘but you'll be able to make such additions to my Henry II. will be proper to be seen by you. 


MSS, in the British Museum, there is a volume of | hit Own Time’, mentions a life of Frederick Blew | 
papers relating to Charles V., it is No, 295. | tor Palatine who first reformed the Palatinate 











paradise of our poetry, when, alas! they closed | and poets, forming Wittle more than the first, and 
him and on us! The most precious portion of | a commencement of the second great division ; to | 


and 
judicious in his decisions, the days of the patriotic 


‘the midst of the great library of the literary 
family of the Lamoignons, and as an act of grati~ 
oe es catalogue in thirty-two 

folio volumes; it indicated not only what any 
author had professedly composed on any subject, 
but also marked those passages relative to the 
subject whieh other writers had touched on. By 
means of this catalogue, the philosophical patron 
of Baillct at a single glance discovered the grost 


( 


i 


4 preliminary sketched one of the most magni- 


i 
He 
4 
i 
: 


i 


i 


Another literary history is the * Bibliothéqae 
Frangoise” of Gouser, left unfinished by bis 
death. He had designed a classified history of | 
French literature, but of its numerous classes he 


writers have only been able to carry down to the 
close of the twelfth century* ! 
Davin Gussie Kookealiesssaaae 


of the author only allowed him to proceed as far | 
as the letter H{ The alphabetical order which | 
some writers have adopted, has often proved a aad |] 


may blush to see 90 hopelessly 
‘When Lx Grasp D'Avssy, whose. 


is | able dress, thoir games, and recreations: 


word, on all the parts which were mort adapted 














table-cloth all their bones and parings. T’o purify | been borrowed from the nice manners of the | 
their tables, the servant hore a long wooden | stately Venetians. This implement of cleanliness | 


Den Rose palsies eller 


“They swoop the tablo with # wooden dagger.” 
Pabling Paganism had probably raised into a deity 
the little man who first tanght us, as Ben Jonson 
describes its excellence— 

°———— the landable use of forks, 

‘To the sparing of napkins 
‘This personage is well known to have been that 
odd com Coryat the traveller, the perpetual 
bat of the wits. He positively claims this immor- 
tality. “CT myself thought good to imitate the 
Ttalian fashion by this rouxup cutting of meat, 
not only while Twas in Italy, but also in Ger- 
many, and oftentimes in England since FE came 
home.” Here the use of forks was, however, long 

i where 


actually against 
the unnatural custom ‘as an insult on Provi- 
dence, not to touch our meat with our fingers.”” 
It is a curious fact, that forks were long inter- 
dicted in the Congregation de St. Maur, and were 
only used after a protracted struggle between the 
old members, zealous for their traditions, and the 
young reformers, for their fingers*. The allusions 
to the use of the fork, which we find in all the 
dramatic writers through the reigns of James the 
First and Charles the First, show that it was still 
considered as a strange affectation and novelty. 
‘The fork does not appear to have been in general 
‘use before the Restoration! On the introduction 
of forks, there appears to have been some diffi- 
culty in the manner they were to be held and 
used. In “The Pox," Sir Politic Would-be, 
counselling Peregrine at Venice, observes— 

“———Thes you must learn the use 
‘And handling of your silver fork at meals” 


Whatever this art may be, either we have yet 
to learn it, or there is more than one way in which 
it may be prectised. D'Archenboltz, in his 
“ Tableau de I'Angleterre,"* asserts that an Eng- 
Hishman may be discovered anywhere, if he be 
observed at table, because be places his fork upon 

‘* Moryeon’s Itinerary, 08, 


t E.Gad this circumstance concerning forks mentloned 
Jn the ~ Dictionnaire de Treveax~ 





Thy case of teoth-picks and thy silver fork !* 
Uxursitas, in my youth, were not 


then hugely disliked, namely, a mincing 

man. At first, a single umbrella seems to have 
been kept at a coffee-house for some extraordinary 
occasion—lent as a coach or chair f 
shower—but not commonly carried by the walkers 
The “ Female Tatler” advertises, “ the young 
xentleman belonging to the custom-house, who, 


come to the maid's pattens”” An umbrells i] 
carried by = man was obviously thes 

as extreme effeminacy. As late as in 1; 

Jobn Macdonald, a footman, who has 

own life, informs us, that when be 

fine silk umbrella, which he had brought 
‘Spain, he could not with any comfort to 


don’t you get a coach ?*" The fact was, 
hackney-coachmen and the chairmen, join} 











‘ryan, sent down to us an invec- 

st, in 1629, dedicated to all who 
© the world running on wheels.” 
manorist and satirist, as well as 
s some information in this rare 
criod when coaches began to be 
— ‘Within our memories our 
could ride well mounted, and 
foot gallantly attended with 

in blue coats, which was a 

r greater than forty of these 


used formerly to 
er serving-men, 





hath forced an army of tall fellows to the gate~ 
houses,” or prisons. Of one of the evil effects of 
this new fashion of coach-riding, this satirist of |} 
the town wittily observes, that ns soon as a man 
was knightod, bis lady was lamed for ever, and 
could not on any account be seen but in a coach. 
As bitberco our females had been accustomed to 
robust exercise, on foot or on horseback, they 
were now forced to substitute a domestic artificial 
exercise in sawing billets, swinging, or rolling the 
great roller in the alleys of their garden. In the 
change of this new fashion they found out the 
inconvenience of a sedentary life passed in their |} 
coaches. 


Even at this early period of the introduction of || 
coaches, they were not only costly in the orna- |] 
ments,—in velvets, damasks, taffetas, silver and 


must be all of a colour, longitude, latitude, cres- 
situde, height, length, thickness, breadth—(I muse |} 
they do not weigh them in i 


the price of all things.” The 

now living, might have acknowledged, that if, in 
the changes of time, some trades disappear, other 
trades rise up, and in an exchange of modes of 
industry the nation loses nothing. The hands 
which, like Taylor's, rowed boats, came to drive 
coaches. These complainers on all novelties, 
unawares always answer themselves. Our satirist 
affords us a most prosperous view of the condition 
of “this new trade of coachmakers, as the gain 
fullest about the town. They are apparelled in 








sattins and velyets, are masters of the parish, ves- 
trymen, and fare like the Emperor Heliogabalus 
and Sardanapalus,—seldom without their macke- 
roones, Parmisants, (macaroni, with Parmeasnn 


swans, pastries hot or cold, red-ieer pies, 
they have from their debtors, worships 


of tobaceo, in which be feared that thore were 
more than seven thousand tobacco houses.’ 
James the First, in his memorable “ Counter-blast 
to Tobaceo,”* only echoed from the throne the 
popular ory ; bat the blnat was too weak against 
the smoke, and vainly his paternal majesty at- 
tempted to terrify his liege children that ‘they 
were making a sooty kitehen in thelr inward parts, 
soiling and infecting them with an unctuous kind 
of soot, ns bath been found in some great tobacco- 
eaters, that after their death were opened.” The 
information was perhaps a pious fraud, This 
tract, which has incurred so much ridicule, was, 
‘in truth, « meritorious effort to allay the extrava- 
ance of the moment, But such popular excesses 
end themselves; and the royal author might have 
Jeft the subject to the town-satirists of the day, 


|| who found the theme inexhaustible for ridicule or 


invective. 

Coat.—The established use of our ordinary 
fuel, coal, may be ascribed to the scarcity of wood 
in the environs of the metropolis. Its recommen- 
dation was its cheapness, however it destroys 
everything about us. It has formed an artificial 

which envelops the great capital, and 
itis acknowledged that a purer air hos often proved 
fatal to him who, from early life, has only breathed 
in sulphur and smoke. Charles Fox once ssid to 
a friend, “* I cannot live in the country; my con- 
stitution is not strong enough.” Evelyn poured 
‘out a fanhous invective against “ London smoke.'" 
“ Tmngine," he cries, “a solid tentorium or canopy 
over Landon, what ® mass of smoke would then 
stick to it! This fuliginous crust now comes down 
every night on the streets, on our houses, the 
waters, and is taken into our bodies. On the 
water it leaves a thin web or pellicle of dust dancing 
‘upon the surface of it, us those who bathe in the 
‘Thames discern, and bring home on their bodies.” 
Evelyn has detailed the gradual dostruction it 





‘effects. on every article of ornament and price? 
‘and “he heard in France, that those parts lying 
south-west of England, complain of being infected 
with smoke from oar coasts, which injured their 


that the books exposed to sale on stalls, however 
old they might be, retained their freshness, and 


in the suburbs, on a complaint of the nobility and 
gentry, that they could not go to London oa |} 
scoount of the noisome smell and thick air. Abowt 
1560, Hollingshed foresaw the general use of sea- 
coal from the neglect of cultivating timber, Coal 
fires have now beon in general use for three cen- 
turies. In the country they persevered in using 
wood and pest. Those who wore accustomed to 
this sweeter smell, declared that they always knew 
a Londoner, by the smell of his clothes, to have 
come from conl-fires. It must be acknowledged 
that our custom of using coal for our fuel has 
prevailed over good reasons why we ought not to 
have preferred it. But man accommodates himself 
even to an offensive thing, whenever his interest 
predominates. 

‘Were we to carry on « speculation of this nature || 
into graver topics, we should have » copious chap- 
ter to write of the opposition to new discoveries. 
Medical history supplies no unimportant number. 
On the improvements in anatomy by Malpighi 
and his followers, the senior of the 
university of Bononia were inflamed to #uck + 
pitch, that they attempted to insert an additional 
clause in the solemn oath taken by the graduates, 
to the effect that they would not permit the pein 
ciples and conclusions of Hippocrates, Aristotle, 
and Galon, which bad been approved of 40 many 
ages, to be overturned by any persou. In phiebo- 
tomy we have a curious instance. In Spain, to the 
sixteenth century, they maintained that when the 
pain was on the one side they onght to bleed on the 
other. A grest physician insisted on a contrary 
practice ; a civil war of opinion divided Spain; at 


emperor, Charles the Fifth; he was om the 
of confirming the decree of the court, when the 
Dake of Savoy died of a pleurisy, having boos 
legitimately bled. ‘This puzzled the emperor, whe 
did not venture on a decision. 

‘The introduction of antimony and the jesus” 
bark also provoked legislativeinterference; decrees | 


persecuted by the public prejudices againat 

















of the | fices and villaniex would serve to pat us on 
yy, that the | guard. The theorist of legislation seems often to || 











picture of the state of the domestics, wheo it 
seems ‘they had expericnced professors 


‘upon, and find out the blind side of their mas- 
ly thumbed in the| tere The footmen, in Mandesille’s ee | 


against 
described and col-| a confederacy which is by no means dissolved. 
on of their arti-| Lord Chesterfield advises his son not to allow 

















ire in the wel-| of their maidens is # little incident in the history 

suro in the dagree that the| of benevolence, which we must, regret’ le. only’ 
i to the base | practised in such limited communities. Malte- 

of the servant. But in Dray Sa i © Salad See: Ye agers Seneca 


eifes 


Hl 


cluding by announcing to the maiden, that 

been brought up in the house, if it be her choice 
to remain, from heneeforwards she shall be con- |} 
sidered as one of the family. Tears of affection 
‘often fall daring this beautiful scene of true 
domesticity, which terminates with « ball for the 











ds of the house. Boys, at an carly 
i in 











DOMESTICITY ; OR, A DISSERTATION ON SERVANTS, 


| “once wealthy, has fallen into misfortunes in her 


infirm old age, I work to maintain her, and at 


| intervals of leisure she leans on my arm to take 


the evening air. I will not be tempted to aban- 
don her, and I renounce the hope of freedom that 
she may know she possesses aslave who never 
will quit ber side," 


fal emotion of domesticity, it is not that we are 
without instances in the private history of families 
among ourselves. I have known more than one 
where the servant has chosen to live without 
wages, rather than quit the master or the mistress 
‘in their decayed fortunes; and another where the 
servant cheerfully worked to support her old Indy 
to her last day. 

‘Would we look on a very opposite mode of ser- 
vitude, turn to the United States. No system of 
servitude was ever 60 A orade no- 
tion of popular freedom in the equality of ranks 
abolished the very designation of “ servant," sub- 
stituting the fantasticterm of “ helps.” If there 
‘be any meaning left in this barbarous neologism, 
their aid amounts to little; their 
are made by the week, and they often quit their 
domicile without the slightest intimation, 

Let none, in the plenitude of pride and egotism, 
imagine that they cist independent of the 
virtues of their domestics. The good conduct 
of the servant stamps a character on the mas- 
ter. In the sphere of domestic life they must 
frequently come in contact with them. On this 
subordinate class, how much the happiness and 
even the welfare of the master may rest! The 
gentle offices of servitude began in his cradle, and 
‘await him at all seasons and all spots, in pleasure 
orin peril. Feelingly observes Sir Walter Scott, 
“Ina free country an individual's happiness is 
more immediately connected with the personal 
character of his ralet, than with that of the 
monarch himself," Let the reflection not 
be deemed extravagant, if 1 venture to add, that 
the habitual obedience of a devoted servant 
is a more immediate source of personal com- 
fort than even the delightfulness of friendship 
and the tenderness of relatives,—for these are but 

+ but the unbidden zeal of the domestic, 
intimate with our habits, and patient of our way- 
wardness, Inbours for us at all hours. It is those 
feet which hasten to us in our solitude; it is thore 
hands which silently administer to our wants, At 
what period of life are even the great exempt from 
the gentle offices of servitude? 

Faithful servants have never been comme- 
morated by more heartfelt affection than by 
those whose pursuits require a perfect freedom 
from domestic cares. Persons of sedentary occu 





pations, and undisturbed habits, abstracted from 
the daily business of life, must yield wnlimited 
trast to the honesty, while they want the hourly 
attentions and all the cheerful zeal, of the thought- 
fal domestic. The mutual affections of the mas- 
ter and the servant baye often been exalted into = 
companionship of feelings. 


raised & monument not only to his father and to 
his mother, but also to the faithful servant who 
had nursed his earliest years, she was so suddenly 
struck by the fuct, that she declared that ** This 
monument of gratitude is the more remarkable for 
its singularity, as 1 know of no other instance.” 
‘Our church yards would have afforded ber vast |] 
number of tomb-stones erected by grateful masters 
to faithful servants *; and a closer intimacy with 
the domestic privacy of many public characters 
might have displayed tho same splendid examples, 
‘The one which appears to have so strongly affected 
her may be found on the cast end of the outside of 
the parish-church of Twickenham. ‘The stone 
bears this inscription :— 


To the memory of Mary Beach, 
who died November 5, 1725, aged 74, 


and constantly attended for thirty-eight year, 
Rroctod this stone 
‘Tn gratitude to a faithful Servant. 


‘The original portrait of Suexsrore was the 
votive gift of m master to his servant; for om its 
back, written by the poct’s own hand, is the fel: 
lowing dedication :—" This picture belongs 0 
Mary Cutler, given her by her master, Willian 
Shenstone, January Ist, 1754, in acknowledg- 
ment of her netive genius, her maguantaalty, Mat ! 


refer to many similar evidences of the domestic | 
gratitude of «uch masters to old and attached 


Night Thoughts’ inscribed an epitaph over: 

grave of his man-servant; the caustic iB 

poured forth an effusion to the memory of «| 

servant, fraught with a melancholy 

which his muse rarely indulged. q 
‘The most pathetic, we had nearly sid and 

said justly, the most sublime, development of thi 

addressed by that powerful genius 

Axoxrto to his friend Vasari, on the 


Urbino, an old and beloved serrant. Publi 
in the voluminous collection of the 


and exhibit many grateful Eerrares ox 











* Pistro Aretino to the Queen of England, 
“The voices of Pealms, the sound of Canticles, 


sudden conversion triumphs our sovereign Pontiff 
Julius, the College and the whole of the clergy, so 
that it seems in Rome as if the shades of the old 
Cesare with visible effect showed it in their very 
statues; meanwhile the pure mind of his most 














countries, solemnity to Easters, abstinence 

Lents, sobriety to Fridays, parsimony to Satur~ 
falfilment to vows, fasts to vigils, obser- 

| vances to eeasons, chrism to creatures, unction to 


lights to lamps, organs to quires, 
to sacristics, and 


i 


iii 


ies; to tierces, noons, vexpers, complins, ave- 
maries and matins, the privilegea of daily ond 
| nightly bells."” 
‘The fortunate temerity of Aretino gave birth to 
subsequent publications by more skilful writers. 
Nicolo Franco closely followed, who bad at first been 
the amanuensis of Aretino, then his rival, and 
concluded his literary adventures by being hanged 
at Rome; # circumstance which at the time must 
have oceasioned regret that Franco had in 
this respect also, been an imitator of his original, 
a man equally feared, flattered and despised. 
‘The greatest personages and the most esteemed 
writers of that age were perhaps pleased to have 
| discovered a new and easy path to fame ; 
since it was ascertained that aman might become 
celebrated by writings never intended for the 
press, and which it was never imagined could 
confer fame on the writers, volumes succeeded 
volumes, and some authors are scarcely known to 
posterity but as letter-writers, We have the too 
elaborate epistles of Brno, secretary to Leo X. 
and the more elegant correspondence of AXNNIBAL 


nephew, 
too undiscerning = publisher, is a model of familiar 
letters. 


‘These collections being found agreeable to the 
taste of their readers, novelty was courted by 
composing letters more expressly adapted to 
public curiosity. The subjects were now diversified 
‘by critical and political topics, till at length they 
descended to one more level with the faculties, 
and more grateful to the passions of the populace 
of readere—Love! Many grave personnges had 
aleeady, without being sensible of the ridiculous, 
Janguished through tedious odes and starch son- 
nets Dows, a bold literary projector, who in- 
vented a literary review both of printed and 
manuscript works, with not inferior ingenuity 


published his Zove-lefters z and with the felicity 
of an Italian diminutive, be fondly entitled them 
*' Pistolette Amorose del Doni, 1552, 8vo.'" These 
Pistole, were designed to be little epistles, or 


authors who have too little time of their own, to 
compose short works. Doni was too facetious to | 
be sentimental, and his quill was not plucked 
from the wing of Love. He was followed by a 
graver podant, who threw a heavy offering on the 
altar of the Graces; Pananosco, who in six 
books of “ Lettere Amorose, 1565, fivo."" wes too 


phlegmatic to sigh over bis ink-stand. 
of 


Denina mentions Lewrs Pasavaticoof Venice 
‘as an improver of these amatory epistles, by 
_ introducinga deeper interest and a more complicate 


j/ narrative. Partial to the Italian literature, De~ 


nina considers this author as having given birth to 
those novels in the form of Jefters, with whieh 
modern Europe bas been inundated; and he 
refers the curious in literary researches, for the 
precursors of these epistolary novels, to the works 
of those Italian wits who flourished in the sixteenth 
century. 

“The Worlds” of Dow1, and the numerous 
whimsical works of Onrsxsio Lawpt, and the 
Circe of Gxuxa, of which we have more than one 
English translation, which under their fantastic 
inventions cover the most profound philosophical 
views, have beon considered the precursors of the 
finer genius of ** The Persian Letters,” that fertile 
‘mother of a numerous progeny, of D'Argens and 
others. 

‘The Italians are justly proud of some valuable 
collections of letters, which seem peculiar to |} 
| themselves, and which may be considered as the 
works of artisis, They have a collection of 
“ Lettere di Tredici Uomioi Elostri,”* which ap 
peared in 1571; another more corious, relating 
to princes—“ Lettere de? Principi le quali o a 
serivono da Princip! a Principi, 0 ragionano di 
Principi ; Venezia, 

‘But a treasure of this kind, peculiarly interest 
ing to the artist, has appeared in more recent 
times, in seven quarto volumes, consisting of the 
original letters of the great painters, from the | 
golden age of Leo X., gradually collected by 
 Borrant, who published them in separate volumes. 
‘They abound in the most interesting facts relative | 
to the arts, and display the characteristic traits of 
their lively writers. Every artist will tam over 
with delight and curiosity these genuine effesions; 
chronicles of the dreams of the days and the 
nights of their vivacious brothers. 

It is a little remarkable that he who elaims tobe 
the first satirist io the English Janguage, claiue 
also, more justly perhaps, the honour of being 
first author who published familiar Letters. Im 




















CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS: 


INCLUDING 


‘ME INQUIRIES RESPECTING THEIR MORAL AND 
LITERARY CHARACTERS. 


“Such a superiority do the pursuits of Literature possess above every other occupation, that even 
he who attains but a mediocrity in them, merits the pre-eminence above those that excel the most in 
the common and vulgar professions."—Hums. 











50 PREFACE TO THE .CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 








confessions, or deduced them from the prevalent events of their lives; and often discovered them in 
their secret history, as it floats on tradition, or lies concealed in authentic and original documents. 
I would paint what bas not been unhappily called the psychological character *. 

I have limited my inquiries to our own country, aud generally to recent times ; for researches more 
curious, and eras more distant, would less forcibly act on our sympathy. If, in attempting to avoid 
the naked brevity of Valerianus, I have taken a more comprehensive view of several of our authors, 
it has been with the hope that I was throwing a new light on their characters, or contributing some 
fresh materials to our literary history. I feel anxious for the fate of the opinions and the feelings 
which have arisen in the progress and diversity of this work ; but whatever their errors may be, it is 
to them that my readers at least owe the materials of which it is formed; these materials will be 
received with consideration, as the confessions and statements of genius itself. In mixing them with 
my own feelings, let me apply beautiful apologue of the Hebrews— The clusters of grapes sent 
out of Babylon, implore favour for the exuberant leaves of the vine; for had there been no leaves, 
you had lost the grapes.”” 





* From: the Grecian Psyche, or the soul, the Germans have borrowed this expressive term. They have a 


Paychologieal Magazine, Some of our own recent authors have adopted the term poculiarly adapted to the historian 
of the humgn mind, 

















ship's future patronage and protection, with 
greater xeal if possible than ever. 
“1 have the honour to be, 
“My Lord, &c. 
“Witriam Guriete.”” 


Unblushing veoality! In one part he shouts 


‘is albert for his price ;—* to serve his Majesty "’ 

| for—‘* his Lordship’s future patronage.” 
Guthrie’s notion of “An Author by Profes- 
|| sion,” entirely derived from his own character, was 
two-fold ; literary task-work, and political degra- 
dation. He was to be s gentleman convertible into 
an historian, at——per sheet ; and, when hehad not 
time to write histories, he chose to sell his name 
to those he never wrote-—These are mysteries of 

the craft of authorship ; in this sense it is only a 

trade, and « yery bad one! But when in his other 

capacity, this gentleman comes to hire himself to 
| one lord as he had to another, no one can doubt 
that the stipendiary would change his principles 
with bis livery *. 

Such have been some of the “ Authors by Pro- 
fession ’ who have worn the literary mask; for 
Titerature was not the first object of thelr designs, 
‘They form a race pecoliar to our country. They 

their career in our first great revolution, 
and flourished during the eventful period of the 
civil wars. In the form of newspapers, their 
“ Mereuries ” and ‘* Diurnals”’ were political pam- 
phletst. Of these, the royalists, being the better 
educated, carried off to their side all the spirit, and 
only left the foam and dregs for the parliamenta- 
rians; otherwise, in lying, they were just like one 
another; for “the father of lies” seems to be of 
‘no party! Were it desirable to instract men by a 
system of political and moral calumny, the com- 
plete art might be drawn from these archives of| 
political lying, during their flourishing era, We 
might discover principles among them which would 
have humbled the genius of Machiavel himself, 
and even have taught Mr. Sheridan's more popu- 
dar scribe, Mr. Puff, a sense of his own inferiority. 

At is koown that, during the administration of 
Harley and Walpole, this class of authors swarmed 


vigilant defender of tho measures of government, 
t Thave elsewhere portrayed; the personal characters 
Of tho hireling chiefs of these paper wars: the versatile 


dues. He had not at last the humblest office to 
bestow, not a comeissionership of wine licences, 
as Tacitus Gordon had: not even a 

‘of the cnstoms in some obscure town, as was the 
wretched worn-out Oldmixon's pittance§; not a 
‘crumb for a mouse! 

‘The captain ofthis banditti in the administration 
of Walpole was Arnall, a young attorney, whose 
mature genius for scurrilous party-papers broke: 

nonage. This hireling was 
“The Eree Briton,” and in “The Gazetteer™® 
Francis Walsingham, Esq., abusing the name of « 
profound statesman. It is said, that he received | 
above ten thousand pounds for his obscure labours ¢ 
and this patriot was suffered to retire with all the 
dignity which a pension could confer. He mot) 
only wrote for hire, but valued himself on 


plea, he wrote without remorse what his 
was forced to pay for, but to disavow. It was: 
a knowledge of these * Authors by 
writers of a faction in the name of the 


statesman Pitt fell into an error which he 
regret. He did not distinguish between 
he confounded the mercenary with the 


+ An ample view of these Iucubrations ts 
the carly volumes of tho Gentleman's Magazine. 
4 Tt was mld of this man that “he had 
Inbour at the pros, like a horse ina mill, till he 








to have been sold in one day. 
{am expelled collegian becomes 
for popular reform, and an 
Sree tLe obese all the 


gcaseof Dr. James Draxs : 
an excellent writer, He 

ble profession,that of medicine, 
trary one, that of becoming an 
for a party. As a tory 
‘extremity of the law, while 
of artifice; he 

vith his MS, to the printers 
was once saved by 


se a 


soned ; of seeing his * Memorials of the Church 
”* burned at Landon, and his “Historia 


some literary impositions. For he has reprinted 
Father Parsons’s famous libel against the Earl of 
Leleester in Elizabeth's reign, under the title of 
“Secret Memoirs of Robert Dudley, Earl of Lei- 
cester, 1706,’ 8vo, with a preface pretending it 
was printed from an old MS. 

Drake was a lover of literature; he left behind |) 


Anatomy, 

of its kind, After all thix turmoil of his literary 
life, neither his masked Indy nor the flaws 
in his indictments availed him.— Government 
sl ocght sail af ean enenly roses Set 
and, abandoned, as usual, by those for whom he had 
annihilated a genius which deserved a better fate, 
his perturbed epirit broke out into a fever, and he 
died raving against cruel persecutors, and patrons 
not much more humane, 

So much for some of those who have been 
“ Authors by Profession’? in one of the two-fold 
capacities which Guthrie designed, that of writing 
for a minister; the other, that of writing for 
the hookseller, though far more honourable, is 
sufficiently calamitous. 

In commereialtimes, the hope of profitis always 
a stiroulating, but a degrading motive ; it dims the 
clearest intellect, it stills the proudest feelings. 
Habit and prejudice will soon reconcile even || 
genius to the work of money, and to avow the 
motive without a blush. ‘ An author by profes. 
sion," at once ingenious and ingenuous, declared 
that, “till fame appears to be worth more than 
money, he would always prefer money to fame." 
Jouxson had a notion that there existed no 
motive for writing, but money! Yet, crowned 
heads have sighed with the ambition of authorship, 
though this great master of the human mind could 
suppose that on this subject men were not actuated 
either by the love of glory or of pleasure ! Freip- 
ENG, an author of great genius and of ‘* the profes- 
sion,'’in one of his Covent-garden Journals asserts, 
that “ An author, in a country where there is no 
public provision for men of genius, is not obliged 
to be a more disinterested patriot than any other. 
Why i he whose Mnelihood is in hix pon, a greater 
monster in using it to serve himself, than he who 
uses his tongue for the same purpose ?”” 


marie the simple change of| But it is a very important question to ask, 


0 aed 
‘its perpetual dis- 
from punish- 
mur of hearing 


Is this “ livelihood in the pen” really such ? 
Authors drudging on in obscurity, and enduring 
miseries which eas never close but with their life 
—shall this be worth even the humble designation | 












THE CASE OF AUTHORS STATED. 











































of a * livelihood?” Tam not now eombating with 
thom whether their task-work degrades them, but 
whether they are receiving an equivalent for the 
violation of their genius, for the weight of the 
fetters they are wearing, and for the entailed mise- 
ries which form an author's sale Iegacies to his 
widow and his children. Far from me is the wish 
to degrade literature by the inquiry ; butit willbe 
‘useful to many a youth of promising talent, who is 


to consider well the calamities in which he will 
most probably participate. 

Among “ Authors hy Profession"’—who has 
displayed a more fruitful genius, and exercised 
more intense industry, with a lofticr sense of his 

than Smotuerr? But look into his 
life and enter into his feelings, and you will be 
shocked at the disparity of his situation with the 
genius of the man. His life was a succession of 
struggles, vexations, and disappointments, yet of 
‘sucorss in his writings. Smollett, who is a great 
poet, though he bas written little in verse, and 
whose rich genius composed the most original 
Pictures of human life, was compelled by his wants 
to debase his name by selling it to voyages and 
translations, which he never could have read. 
‘When he had worn himself down in the service of 
the public, or the booksellers, there reroalned not, 
of all his slender remunecrations, in the last stage 
of life, sufficient to convey him to a cheap country 
‘and a restorative air on the Continent. The father 
may have thought himself fortunate, that the 
daughter whom he loved with more than common 
affection was no more to share in his wants; but 
the husband had by his side the faithful com. 
panion of his life, left without a wreck of fortune. 
Smollett, gradually perishing in 2 foreign land, 
neglected by an admiring public, and without 
fresh resources from the booksellers, who wore 
receiving the income of his works—throw out his 
‘injured feelings in the character of Bramble ; the 
‘warm generosity of his temper, but not his genius, 
seemed fleeting with his breath. In a foreign 
Jnnd his widow marked by a plain monument the 
spot of his burial, and she perished in solitude! 
‘Yet Smollett dead—soon an ornamented column 
is raised at the place of his birth, while the grave 
of the author seemed to multiply the editions of his 
works. There are indeed grateful feclings in the 
public at large for @ favourite author; but the 
awful testimony of those feelings, by its gradual 
progress, must appear beyond the grave! They. 
visit the column consecrated by bis name, and his 
ee ee re most venerated, in the 

Smollett himself shall be the historian of his 
own heart; this most successful Author by 





impatient to abandon all professions for this one, | first professed myself of that venerable fraternity, 


Profession,” who, for his subsistence, composed! sellers, in their coustant intercourse with the most |) | 





rauster-works of genius, and drudged in the toils of 
slavery, shall himself tell us what happened, and ] 
describe that atate between life and desth, par- || 
taking of both, which obscured his faculties, and 
sickened his lofty spirit. 

“Had some of those who were pleased to call 
thomselves my friends been at any pains to deserve 
the character, and told me ingennously what I had 
to expect in the cupacity of an author, when I 


I should in all probability have spared myself 
the incredible labour and chagrin L have since 
undergone.” 

As a relief from literary labour, Smollett ance 
went to revisit his family, and to embrace the 
mother he loved; but such was the irritation of 
his mind and the infirmity of bis health, exhausted 
by the hard labours of authorship, that he never 
passed a more weary summer, nor ever found him= 
self so incapable of indulging the warmest emotions 
of his heart. On his return, in a letter, he gave 
this melancholy narrative of bimself:—"' Betwees 
friends, 1 am now convinced that my brain wae im 
some measure affected ; for 1 bad ¢ kind of Coma 
Vigil upon me from April to November, without 
intermission. In consideration of this circum~ 
stance, 1 know you will forgive all my peevishness: 
and discontent; tell Mrs. Moore that with regard 
to me, she has os yet seen nothing but the wrong 
side of the tapestry.” Thus it happens in the life 
of authors, that they whose comic genius diffuses 
cheerfulness, create a pleasure which they cannot 
themselves participate. 

The Coma Vigil may bo described by a verse of 
Shakespeare :— 

~ Still-waking sleop ! that tv not what St kat 


Of praise und censure, says Smollett in & 
letter to Dr. Moore, * Indeed I am sick of both, | 
and wish to God my circumstances would allow 
me to consign my pen to oblivion.’ A wish, ms 
fervently repeated by many * Authors by Pro- 
fession,” who are not so fully entitled as wns 
Smollett to write when he chose, or to have 
lived in quict for what he had written. An suthor"s: 
life is therefore too often deprived of all social 
comfort, whether he be the writer for a minister, 
or a bookseller—but their case requires to be stated. 


+ 


THE CASE OF AUTHORS STATED, 
INCLUDING THE HISTORY OF LIFERAY PHOFRATY. 
Jounson has dignified the booksellers as * the 
patrons of literature,” which was generous in that 
great author, who had writien well and lived ber 
ill all his life on that patronage, Eminent book= 














concluded that literary property was purely ideal ; 
a phantom which as its author could ncither grasp 
‘nor confine to himself, he must entirely depend on 
the public benevolence for his reward.* 

‘The Ideas, that is, the work of an author, are 
“tangible things.” “There are works,"’ to quote 
‘the words of a near ond dear relative, “ which 
require great learning, great industry, great labour, 
and great capital, in their preparation, They 
aseumne a palpable form. You may fill warehouses: 
‘with thom, and freight ships; and the tenure hy 
which they are held is superior to that of all other 
property, for it is original. It is tenure which 
does not esist in a doubtfal title ; which does not 
spring from any adventitious circumstances ;—it 
‘is not found—it is not purchased—it is not pre- 
‘scriptive—it is original; so it is the most natura) 
of all titles, because it is the most simple and least 
artificial. It is paramount and sovereign, because 
it is @ tenure by creation t.’" 

‘There were indeed some more generous spirits 
and better philosophers fortunately found on the 
same bench ; and the identity of « literary compo- 
sition was resolved into its sentiments and lan- 
guage, besides what was more obviously valuable 
to some persons, the print and paper, On this 
alight principle was issued the profound award 
which accorded a certain term of years to any 
work, howeverimmortal. They could not diminish 
the immortality of a book, but only its reward. 
To all the litigations respecting literary property, 
‘authors were littleconsidered—except somebonour- 
able testimonies due to genius, from the sense 
of Wetes, and the eloquence of Maxsvize. 
Literary property was still disputed, like the rights 
of a parish common, An honest printer, who 
could not always write grammar, bad the shrewd- 
‘ness to make a bold effort in this soramble, and 
perceiving that even by this last favourable award 
all literary property would necessarily centre with 
the booksellers, now stood forward for his own 
body, the printers. This rough advocate observed, 
‘that ‘= few persons, who call themselves book- 
tellers, about the number of twenty-five, have 


+ Sir James Burrows’ Reports an the question concerning 





kept the monopoly of books and copics im their 
hands, to the entire exclusion of all others; but 
more especially the printers, whom they have 
alwnys held it a rale never to Jet become 

in copy.” Nota word for the authore! As for 
them, they were doomed by both parties as the 
fat oblation: they indeed sent forth some meek 
bleatings ; bat what were AuTHORs, between 
judges, booksellers, and printers? the snerificed 
among the saorificers !’ 

All this was reasoning ina circle. Larenary |} 
PRoPeRTY in our nation arose from a new state ef 
society —These lawyers could never develop its 
unture by wild analogies, nor discover it in any 
common-law right ; for our common law, composed 
of immemorial customs, could never have had im | 


life; and ns yet they had no conception of the 
impalpable, invisible, yet sovereign dominion of 


VIII. great authors composed occasionally a book 
in Latin, which none but other great authors 
cared for, and which the people could not read. 
In the reign of Elizabeth, Rooun Awcman ap- 


TO SPEAK AS THE COMMON PROPLE, 70 
AS Wise MEN. His pristine English is 
forcible without pedantry, and still 
without ornament, The illustrious Bacow 


ture was like a revelation ; these men taught us 
our language in books. We became a 

people; and then the demund for books naturally 
produced a new order of authors, who traded in 
literature. It was then, so early as in the Eliza 
bethan nge, that literary property may be said to 


printed without a Heence, there was honour enough f 





in the licensers not to allow other publishers te 








to the first ‘every votary of bumanity, has long felt indignant || 


the office 


of his labours and Lord 
this statute “a universal 


, ab fn 1769, it was still to be 


ees 


* then granted that originally an 

law m property in his work, 

ct ine took away all copyright 
yn Of the terme it permitted. 

‘stands, Jet us address an 

- my pen hesitates to bring 

t to an aryament fitted to '* these 


at that sordid state and all those sccret sorrows 1 


Property; 
to claim at the time the subject was undergoing 
the discussion of the judges, ix however for extend= 
ing the copyright to a century. Could authors 
secure this their natural right, literature would 
acquire a permanent and a nobler reward; for 
‘great authors would then be distinguished by the 
very profits they would receive, from that obscure 


literary property. He) undertook and in pecs 
formed an Hereulean labour, which employed him 
60 many years that the price he obtained was 


yeare, | exhausted befure the work was concluded :—the 


‘be in, were these, as be tells 
when *@ scholar and a beggar 
sery nearly synonymous ferms” 

oly fact that man of genius 

the feather of his pen brushing 
om his lid—without one spontancous 


relnim, ** we ask for justice, not 
Mey would not need to require any 
nny ether than that protection 

cd government, in its wisdom 
must bestow. They would leave 
i dle ‘the sole appreciation of 
book must make its own for- 

mey be cried up, and good 
down; but Faction will soon 
‘Trath acquire one. The cause 
‘not the calamities of indifferent 
whose utility, or whose 
oslo betas which Jat 





wages did not even Jast as long as the labour! 
Where then is the author to look forward, when 
such works are undertaken, for a provision for 
his family, or for his future existence? It would 
naturally arise from the work itself, were authors 
not the most ill-treated and oppressed class of the 
community, ‘The daughter of Microw need not 
have craved the alms of the admirers of her 
father, if the right of authors had been better 
protected ; his own Paradise Lost bad then been 
her better portion, and her most honourable 
inheritance. The children of Burws would have 
required no subseriptions; that annual tribute 
which the public pay to the genius of their parent 
was their due, ond would have been their fortune, 

Authors now submit to have a shorter life than 
their own celebrity. While the book markets of 
Europe are supplied with the writings of English 
authors, ond they have a wider diffusion in Ame- 
Fica than at home, it scems a national ingratitude 
to limit the existence of works for their authors to 
a short number of years, and then to seize on their 
possession for ever, 


— 


TIM SUPPERINGS OP AUTHORS. 
SpePeatnaparhon iets gc 

not having been sufficiently protected, they 
defrauded, not indeed of ther fame, though they 

















‘too late in life that it is the peel of exe ee 
Petpriteaioe are not scrupulous to live by | with 


‘Ido not see the necessity,” was the 
reply. ‘Trade was certainly not the ori- 
of authorship, Most of our great authors 
written from a more impetuous impulse than 


e ERP RLEEEED] 
full 
Paiute 
Hisd 
fre 
Ee i 
Lite 


was opened that leads to the workhouse. A 


wits, who taking advantage of the public 
humour, and yielding their principle to their pen, 
lived to write, and wrote to live; loose livers and 


fair, with baskets of hasty manufactures, fit for 
‘clowns and maidens.” 

Even then flourished the craft of authorship, and 
the mysteries of book-selling. Robert Gauuxe, 
‘the master-wit, wrote “The Art of Coney-catch~ 
ing,” or Cheatery, in which he was ah adept; he 
died of a surfeit of rhenish and pickled herrings, 
at a fatal banquet of authors;—and left as his 
Jegacy among the ‘ Authors by Profession” “ A 

of wit, bought with a million of 
repentance,” One died of another kind of surfeit, 
Another was assassinated in a brothel. But the 
list of the oslamities of all these worthies have 
as great variety as those of the Seven Champions. 
Nor were the stationers, or book-venders, 
publishers of books were first designated, at a 
fault in the mysteries of “ coney-catching."” 
Deceptive and vaunting title-pages were practised 
to such excess, that Tow Nasi, an 


at the title of his ** Pierce Pennilesse,"” which the 
publisher had flourished in the first edition, Like 


* An abundance of these amucing tracts eagerly bought 
“op in their day, but which came in the following genera 
‘or to the tallad-stalls, are in the present «nshetned in 


bread.” 
Such authors as these are unfortunate, before | 
they are criminal ; they often tire out their youth |} 


a mechanic; urged by a loftier motive than | is 


none! The first efforts of men of genius are 
usually honourable ones ; but too often they suffer 
that genius to be debased. Many who would 
have composed history have turned voluminous 
party-writers; many a noble satirist has become 
a hungry libeller. Men who are starved in 
society, hold to it but loosely. They are the 
children of Nemesis! they avenge themselres— 
and with the Satan of Mixxox they exclaim, 


* Evil, be thou my good!” 


Never were their feelings more vehemently 
echoed than by this Nash—the creature of genina, 
of fsmine, and despair. He lived indeed in the” 
age of Elizabeth, but writes as if he had lived ia 
our own, He proclaimed himself to the world aa 
Pierce Pennilesse, and on a retrospect of bis 
literary life, observes that he had “sat up date 
and rose early, contended with the cold, and con | 
versed with searcitie ;’’ he says, * all ny labours | 


‘on my patrons, bit my pen, rent my papers, and 
raged.""—And then comes the 

which so frequently provokes the anger of genius: 

“ How many base men that wanted those parts I |} 
had, enjoyed content at will, and had wealth at 


by dunces, who count it policy to keep them 
‘to follow their books the better.” And then, 


‘the cabinets of the curious Such are the revolutions of | thus utters the cries of — 

















also the weakness of the 
ipl pee Ca ec of eras for he 


will bind him by his 
‘much honour as any 
years in England—bat,’" he 
ent away with a flea in his ear, 
tT will rail on him soundly ; not 
‘while the injury is fresh in 

‘in some elaborate polished poem, 
to the world when Iam dead, | poct 


A MENDIGANT AUTHOR, 
AND THE PATHONS OF FORER THALES 
‘T+ must be confessed, that before “' Authors 
Profession" had fallen into the hands of the 
sellers, they endured peculinr grievances. 
were pitiable retainers of some great family. 


fertile, that his works pass all enumeration. He || 
courted numerous patrons, who valued 
while they left the poet to his own 
contemplations. is ig ae 
which this poet has himself given, he adds 
peor tgp aplicensn ene tira a 
very melancholy, He wrote a book which he could 
never afterwards recover from one of his patrons, 
and adds, ‘* all which book was in as good verno ms 
ever I made; an honourable knight dwelling in the 
Black Friers can witness the same, because I read it 
unto him.” Another accorded him the same remu= 
neration—on which he adds, “ An infinite nomber 
of other songs and sonnets given where they 
cannot be recovered, nor purchase any favour when 
they are craved.’’ Still, however, he announces 
‘twelve long tales for Christmas, dedicated to 
twelve honourable Lords.’ Well might Chureh~ 
yard write his own sad life, under the title of * The 
tragicall Discourse of the haplesse Man's Life." 
It will not be easy to parallel this pathetic 
description of the wretched age of poor neglected 
post mourning over a youth vainly spent. 

« High tne {f Is to baste my carcase hencos 

‘Youth stole any and felt no kind of joys 

And age he left fo travail ever sineo 

‘The wanton daye that maite mo nloe and coy 

‘Were but a dream, a shadiw, and a toy— 

J fook in pliss, and find my chooks so Lean 

‘That ovary hour I do but wikh me dead ¢ 

Now back bends down, and forwards falls the head, 
And hollow eyes in wriniklet brow doth shroud 

As though two stars were creeping under oloud. 

‘The lips wax cold and look both pale and thin, 

‘Tho teeth falls out as mutts form the shell, 

‘The bare bald head but shows where halr hath been, 
‘Tho lively joints wax weary, stlif, and still, 

‘The rondy tongue now falters in his tale; 

‘The courage quails as strength: decays and goes... 
‘The thatcher hath n cottage poor you seo = 

‘Toe shepherd knews where he shat! sleep at might ; 
‘The daily drudge from cares ean quiet ber 

‘Thus fortune sends some rest to avery wight s 

And I was born to house and land by right +. 

















‘Well, ere my breath my body do forsake 
‘My wpleit I bequeath to God above ; 

‘My books, my scrawls, and wongs that did mako, 
Tleavo with friends, that freely did me love... 


Now, friends, shake hands, I must be gono, my boys! 
‘Our mirth takes end, our triumph all fs done ; 

‘Our tickling tatk, our sports and merry toys 

‘Do glide away like shadow of the sun. 

Another comes when I iy race have run, 

Shall pans the time with you in better plight, 

And find good cause of greater things to write.” 


‘Yet Churchyard was no contemptible bard ; he 





composed 

Wales,” which has been reprinted, and will be 
still dear to his ‘« Father-land,'’ as the Hollanders 
expressively denote their natal spot. He wrote, 
in "The Mirrour of Magistrates,” the life of 
Wolsey, which has parts of great dignity ; and the 
life of Jane Shore, which was much noticed in his 
day, for a severe critic of the times writes = 

+ Thath not Shore's wife, although a light-akirt she, 

‘Given him a chaste, long, tasting memorie 2” 

Churchyard and the miseries of his poetical life 
are alluded to by Spenser. He is old Palemon in 
“Colin Clout’s come home again.” Spenser is 
supposed to describe this laborious writer for half 
acentary, whose melancholy pipe, in his old age, 
may make the reader ‘*rew tr’? 

“ Yet he himself may rowed be more right, 

That mung v0 long untill quite hoare be grew." 

His epitaph, preserved by Camden, is extremely 
instructive to all poets, could cpitaphs instruct 
them — 

+ Poverty and poetry his tomb doth inclose ; 

‘Wherefore, good neighbours, be merry in prose.” 

‘At appears also by a confession of Tom Nash, 
that an author would then, pressed by the res 
angusta domi, when the bottom of his purse was 
turned upward,'® submit to compose pieces for 
gentlemen who aspired to authorship. He tells 
Us on some occasion, that he was then in the 
country composing poetry for some country squire; 
—and says, ' 1 am faine to let my plow stand still 
jin the midst of a furrow, to follow these Senior 
Fantasticos, to whose amorous villanellas* 1 
prostitute my pen,” and this, too, “ twice or 
thrice in a month ;" and he complains that it is 
“poverty which alone maketh me so unconstant 
to my determined studics, trudging from place to 
place to and fro, and prosecuting the means to 
keep me from idlenesse." An author was then 
much like = 

Even at a later period, in the reign of the lite- 
rary James, great authors were reduced to a state 

* Fillandllar, of eather “ Villanesosr, ure properly 
comntry rustic songs, bint commonly taken for ingenious 
‘ones made In Imitation of thern."—Pixepa, 






















‘a national poem, “ The Worthiness of |i 



















ish library, living with the dead more 
the living, he was still a student of taste: 
Spenser the poet visited the library of Stowe; 








life, worn out with study and the cares of poverty, 
neglected by that proud metropolis of which he 
had been the historian, his good-humour did mot 
desert him; for being afflicted with sharp jpaime 
‘in his aged feet, he observed that * his affliction 







much use of.” 
and much had he expended, for those treasures of 
antiqaities which had exhausted his fortune, and 
with which be had formed works of great public 
utility. It wos in his eighticth year that Stowe 
at length received a public acknowledgment of 
his services, which will appear to us of a very 
extraordinary nature. He was so reduced in his || 
circumstances that he petitioned James J. for a | 
licence to collect alms for himself | “ 98 a recom || 
pense for his labour and travel of forty-five years, 
in setting forth the Chronicics of England, apd 
right years taken up in the Survey of the Cities of 
London and Westminster, towards bis relief now in 
his old age ; having left his former means of living, 
and only employing himself for the service and || 
good of his country.”” Letters patent under the |} 
great seal were granted. After no penurious 
commendation of Stowe's labours, he is permitted 
“‘to gather the benevolence of well-disposed people 
within this realm of England ; to ask, gather, and 














































take the alms of all oar loving subjects.” These 
letters-patent were to be published by the clergy 
from their pulpit; they prodaced 40 little that 
they were renewed for another twelyemonth: one 
entire parish in the city contributed seven shillings |] 
and sixpence! Such then was the patronage | 
reovived by Stowe, to be a licensed beggar through- 
‘out the kingdom for one twelvemonth! Such was 
the public remuneration of « man who had bees 
useful to his nation, but not to himself | 

Such wax the first age of Patronage, which |) 
branched oat in the last century into an age of |) 

























contributions | were the unlucky hawkers of their own works ; 


r Another age was that 
'*, when the muthor was to lift 
to the skies, in an inverse ratio as 


completed 
author by subscribing it with Mot- 
‘| Worse fared it when authors 


driven to madness by indigence and inault, He 
formed the wild resolution of becoming ® mendi+ 
eant author, the hawker of his own works; and 


the sympathy of s brother. 

Myzes Davins and his works are imperfectly 
known to the most curious of our literary collec 
tors. His name has scarcely reached afew; the 
author and his works are equally extraordinary, 
and claim « right to be preserved in this treatise 
on the Calamities of Authors. 

‘Our author commenced printing a work, diffi- 


cult, from its miscellaneous character, to describe; | 


of which the volumes appeared at different periods. 
The early and the most valuable volumes were 
the first and second; they are a kind of biblio~ 

and critical work, on 


graphical, biographical, 
English Authors, They all bear a gencral title of 
* Athenw Britannica §."" 

Collectora have sometimes met with a very 
curious volume, entitled ‘* Leon Libellorum,"’ and 
sometimes the same book, under another title,— 


§ + Athenee Britannica, or a Critical History of the 
Oxford and Cambridge Writersand Writings, with thosoof 
the Dissentersand Romaniste ax well asather Authors and 
‘Worthies, both Domestic and Foreign, both Ancient and 
‘Modern, ‘Together with an occasional freedom of thought, 
ineriticising and comparing the parallel qualifieations of 
tho most eminent authors and their performances, both 
In MA and print, both at homeand abroad, By MLD. 
London, 171K" On the first volume of this series Dr. 
Parmer, a bloodhound of unfailing seent in curious 
absoure English books, has written on the leat Tinie is 
the only copy I have met with,” ven the great bibllo~ 
gopher, Raker, of Cambridge, never met but with three 
‘Yvolumos (the edition at the British Museums fy tm seven) 
‘ent bim asa greet curlosity by the Earl of Oxford, and 
now deposited in his collection at St, John’s College, 
Bakor bas written this memorandum in the first volume: 
\ Wow copies wore printed, #0 the work ls become scarce, 
and for that reason wilt be valued. The beok fn the: 
(groatest part ls borrowed from modern historians, but yet 
contains somo things more unceenmon, sd not easily to: 
be mat with,” How superlatively rare must be the 
English volumes whieh the eyes of Farmer and Baker 
‘never Lighted on ! 


i 








prove a source, not easily exhausted, 
for their snbsistence. 
‘From the firat volumes of his series much curious 


plan ; and nothing as yet indicates those rambling 

Bumours which his subsequent Inbours exhibit. 

As he proceeded in forming these volumes, 1 

‘suspect, cither that his mind became a little dis- 

ordered, or that he discovered that mere literature 
“the Few ;'’ for, 


of bard-hearted patrons, had driven him into a 
cursed company of door-keeping berds, to meet 
the irrational bratality of those unedncated mis- 
ebievous animals called footmen, house-porters, 
Poetasters, mumpers, apothecaries, attorneys, and 
suchlike beasts of prey,”’ who were, like himself, 
sometimes barred up for hours in the menagerie 
of a great man’s antechamber. In his addresses to 
Drs. Mead and Preind, he declares—“ My mis- 
fortunes drive me to publish my writings for a 
poor livelihood; and nothing but the utmost 
necessity could make any man in his senses to 
endeavour at it, in a method so burthensorme to 
the modesty and education of a scholar.” 

Jn French he dedicates to George 1.5 and in 
the Hortcian MSS. I discovered a long Ietter to 
the Earl of Oxford, by our author, in French, with 
a Latin ode. Never was more innocent bribery 
proffered tos minister! He composed what he 
calls Sirictwrer Pindarice on the **Mughouses, 





alms for a book which he presente—and which, 
whatever may be its value, comes at least as a || 
evidence that the suppliant is « learned man, is 


But Myles Davies is on artiet, in his own 
simple narrative. 


Our author has given the names of several of 


anything of them; and so gave me nothing for 
my last present of books, though they kept them 
gratis et ingratiis, ms 

“Bat his grace of the Dutch extraction im 


present of books and odes, which, being: ( 
up together with a letter and ode upon his grace= 
ship, and carried in by his porter, I was bidto | 
call for un answer five years hence. I asked the 
porter what he meant by that? I suppose, said be, 
four or five days henee—but it proved five or six 
months after, before I could get any 
though I had writ five or six letters in 

with fresh odes upon his graceship, and an 


twelve to four or five o'clock in the evening = 
walking under the fore windows of the 

onee that time his and her grace came 
dinner to stare at me, with open windows and | 
shut mouths, but filled with fair water, which they 
spouted with so much dexterity that they 

the water through their tecth and mouth-skrew, 
flath near my face, ard yet just to mise 
though my nose could not well miss the 
favour of the orange-water showering so 

me. Her grace began tho water-work, 

very gracefully, especially for an 

her description, airs, and 

















} < guage, a mixtare of prose and verse—the man 
| with the poet—the self-painter has sat to himeelf, 
| and, with the utmost simplicity, has copied out 


melancholy Cowley? He employed no poetical 

|| chevidle* for the metre of a yerse which his own 
feclings inspired. 

‘Cowley, at the beginning of the civil war, joined 


‘hat culture, nor of such as must be set In pots; which 
defects, and all others, I hope shortly to seo supplied, ms I 
hope shortly tose your work of Horticulture finished and 
‘published ; and long to be in all things your disciple, as I 
am in all things now, 
Sir, Your most humble, 
and most obedient Servant, F 
A Cowra.” 
‘Such were the ordinary letters which passod between two 
‘men Whom it would be difficult ts parallel, for their elegant 
‘tastes and gentle dispositions. Evelyn's besutiful retreat 
_at Sayos Court at Deptford is desoribed by a contemporary 
as“ n pardon exquisite and most boscaresquo, and, am it 
‘wore, an exemplar of his book of Porest-trees” It was 
‘The entertainment and wonder of the grostest men of 
thoso timos, and inspired tho following lines of Cowley, 
to Evelyn and his Lady, who excelled in tho arts her 
Husband loved; for she designed the frontispicee to his 
vorsion of Lucrotius— 
* In books and gardens thon hast placed aright 
(Thingy well which thou dost understand, 
And bots dost make with thy laborious hand) 
‘Thy noble innocent delight; 
And in thy virtuous wife, where thou again dost meot 
‘Both plowsures more refined and sweet ; 
‘The fairest garden in her looks, 
Anil in hee mind tho wivest books.” 


poets tise to make gut their metre. 


Teat at the best table, and enjoyed the best con- 
veniences that ought to be desired by a man of my 
ition ; yet T could not abstain from renewing 
my old school-boy’s wish, in a copy of verses to 
the same effect :— 
Well then ! I now do plainly see, 
‘This bualo world and I shall ae‘er agree = 


seized on by the ruling powers. At this moment 
he published a preface to his works, which some 
of his party interpreted as a relaxation of his loys 
alty. He has been fully defended. Cowley, with 
all his delicacy of temper, wished sincerely te 
retire from all parties; and saw enough among 
the fiery zealots of his own, to grow diaguated 
‘even with royalists. 

His wish for retirement hus been half censured 
as cowardice, by Johnson; but there was a 

ness of feeling which had ill formed Cowles 
the cunning of party intriguers, and the company: 
of little villains, About this time he might have 
truly distinguished himself as “The melancholy 
Cowley,” 3 
I am only tracing his literary history for 





sem une sprees "wey a 
and formalities of an aetive condition— || 

vcalamliy: io kal Lens pops elie tase 
from that pro-| with foreign manners. He was satiated with the 
to|arts of a court, which sort of Life, though his 


virtue made it innocent to him, yet nothing could || 


make it quiet. These were the reasons that moved || 
him to follow the violent inclination of his own 
mind,” &c. I doubt if either the sarcastic antl- 


papier 
‘of complaints, and seems to have excited more 
contempt than pity.” 
‘Thus the biographers of Cowlcy hare told ua 
‘nothing, and the poet himself has probably not 
told us all. To these calumnies respecting Cow- 
fin HOt all Cowley Kad to wadures| ley's comedy, zaléed’ up by thoes ~ehoen Wood 
disposed to calumninte | designates as “enemies of the muses,’’ it would 
young he had hastily | sppear that others were added of m deeper dye, 


salty 
¢ rewrote it wader the title of] the genius of Brutus, with all the enthusiasm of a 


) Street ;'" a comedy which | votary of liberty. After the king’s retura, when 
Retreat chert: Cowley solicited some reward for his sufferings 
and services in the royal cause, the chancellor i¢ 
said to have turned on him with a severe counte- 
nance, saying, Mr. Cowley, your pardon is your 
reward !’” It seems that ode was then considered 
to be of a dangerous tendcacy among half the 


‘alla 0s that Covey been the true cause of the despondence so prera- 

of his ill success not with so| lent in the latter poctry of ‘the 
have been expected from | Cowley.” And hence the indiscretion of the 
was in trath a great | muse, in a single flight, condemned her to a pain- 


* The aneodote, probably little knows, may be found 

‘common master, were in The judgment of Dr, Prideaux in condemning the 

‘ murder of Julius Cesar by the conspirators ss a snomt 
evidence, Vilanone oot, malatalend, 1771," pale 














Hesiod eliag to have’ ‘THE PAINS OP PASTIDIONS EGOTISM, 


con-| higher circles of society; and fortune had 
im the ample gratification of his 


fault 


a 


melancholy Cowley, he guished rank long suppressed the desire 
shall speak the feelings, which here are not exag-| turing the name he bore to the uncertain 
gerated. In this Chronicle of Literary Calamity,}an author, and the caprice of vulgar eritics, At 


saw Lyttelton, Chesterfield, and other peers, 
of wearing the blue riband of literature ? 


of Chaucer and Spenser; a marble monument| flix taste was highly polished 
was erected by a duke; and his eulogy was! attained to brilliancy® ; and bis 
on the day of his death, from the lipa 


.___ | Spence, I do not thin 1 should havebeen $01 
‘To this ambiguous state of existence he applies | as pr, Kippis with reading his letters 
‘& conceit, not inelegant, from the tenderness Of | natured harmless little soul, but mano ten a 
its imagery : ‘than a genina, ler t 
«Tris speia lorie, tparps Peeves: that had read good boolks, and Kept 
Reatiwena poem acineor ‘war too Srfatag Se wis Ae oni ES 
Ther bisque odoratis conma 
‘Yatis adhuo cinerem calentem,” 
DerATED, 
‘Hero seattor Sowers and short-tved roses bring, 
For Life, though desl, enjoys the flowers of «pring 
With brosthing wreaths of fragrant herbs adorn 
‘The yet warm embbery in the poet's urn, 








THE PAINS OF FASTIDIOUS EGOTISM. 





~ His attack on our peerless Sidney, whose fame | ‘The following literary confessions illustrate this 
owas more mature than his life, was formed on the | character. 
some principle as his ' Historic Doubts’ on 
Richard 111. Horace Walpole was as willing to 
| vilify the truly great, as to beautify deformity, | author ; and, if it would not look like begging you 
when be imagined that the fame he was destroying | to compliment one by contradicting me, t would 
or conferring, reflected back on himself, All these | tell you what I am most seriously convinced of, 
works wore plants of sickly delicacy, which could | that I find what small share of parts I bad, grown 
|) never endure the open air, and only lived im the| dulled, And when I perceiro it myself, F tay 
artificial atmosphere of a private collection.—Yet | well believe that others would not be less sharp- 
at times the flowers, and the planter of the flowers, | sighted. Z¢ és very natural; mine were spirite 
wore shaken by an uncivil breeze. rather than parts; and as time has rebated the 
His  Aneedotes of Painting in England,” is | one, it must surely deatroy thelr resemblance t 


“Sune, 1778. 


* [have taken a thorough dislike to being am | 





‘most entertaining catalogue. He gives the fecl- 
ngs of the distinct eras with regard to the arts ; yet 
his pride was never gratified when he reflected that 
‘he had been writing the work of Vertue, who had 
|| collected the materials, but could not have given 
the philosophy. His great age and his good sense 
opened his eyes on himself; and Horace Walpale 
fees to have judged too contemptuously of 
Horace Walpole. The truth is, he was mortified 
‘be had not and never could obtain, a literary peer 
age; and he never respected the commoner’s seat, 
At these moments, too frequent in his life, he 
contemns authors, and returns toxink back into all 
the self-complacency of aristocratic indifference. 
‘This cold unfeeling disposition for literary men, 
this disguised malice of envy, and this cternal 
Yesation at his own disappointments,—break forth 
in his correspondence with one of those literary 
characters, with whom he kept on terms while they 
were kneeling to him in the bumility of worship, 
or moved about to fetch or ta carry his little quests 
of curiosity in town or country *. 





high a character as be acquired.” How heartlow was the 
polished eyniciams which could dare to hneard this falve 
oritiolam ! Nothing can be more linposing than bis volatile 
‘snd caustio criticisms on the works of James I., yet ho 
had probably never opened that folio he so poignantly 
ridigules, He doubts whother two pieces ++ The Prince's 
Cxbala,” and “The Duty of « King in bis Royal Offioe,” 
wero sennine productions of James I. ‘Thotruth isthat 


both these works aro nothing more than extracts printed | Of 


with thove separate titles and drawn from the king's 
“ Tiasiicon Duron.” We had probably neither road the 
extracts nor the original. 

= Tt was wuch a person as Cole of Milton, his eorro- 
epondent of forty years, who lived at a distance, and 
obeequious to bis wishes, always looking wp to him, 
though never with » parallel glance—with whom ho did 
‘not quarrel, though if Walpole could have rend the private 
‘notes Cole made in his MBS. at the time he wns often 
writing the civilest letters of admiration,—even Cole 
would have been cashiered from his correspondence, 
Waipole could not eadure equality tn Mterary men— 
‘Bentley observed toCole, that Walpole’s pride und hauteur: 
were <xcomive; which betrayed themselves in the troat- 
ment of Gray, who had himeel! too much pride and spirit 


the other.’* 
Tn another letter >— 


am a very faulty one; and as an author, « wery || 
middling one, which whaever thinks a comfortable | 


| 
‘There were times when rinse ET 


tions into air. 

described when the view of King’s College, Cam- 

bridge, throws his mind into meditation ; and the |] 

passion for stady and seclosion instantly 

his emotions, lasting, perhaps, as long ax the better || 

which describes them occupied in writing. 

# 22,2777. 

“The beauty of King’s College, Cambridge, 

now it is restored, penetrated me with a visionary || 

longing to be = monk in it. Though my life has 

been passed in turbulent scenes, in pleasures or 








Ly 








“ Arlington Street, April 27, 1773. 


oly. I cee “Mr. Gough wants to be introdaced to met 
Peta Ties nimertel datectper | soe) eoala non hte, 63 bo hag ben made 


fa man who has no friends, to do 
Sand to me the first position| #2FRing- [laugh at all these things, and write 
‘i, to intend one's friends should | O'Y to laugh st them and divert myvelf: None 
Poy Blot ‘of us are authors of any consequence, and it is the 
cr eile eeededhainied ‘most ridiculous of all vanities to be vain of being 
have said will tell you, what 1 mediocre, A page in a great suthor bumbles me 
to the dust, and the conversation of those that are 
rominds me of what will 
[blush to flatter them, or 
to be flattered by them ; and should dread letters 
. Kable | being published some time or other, in which they 
pemeaes Se would relate our interviews, and we should appear 


Li 


to see Strawberry-hill, or I would help him to any 
in my possession that would assist his 

|, though he js one of those industrious 

are only re-burying the desd—bat I cannot 


lite 
HHT 




















INFLUENCE OF A BAD TEMPER IN CRITICISM. | 
_ J] Altitte Seoteh have sent mo their | authors and artists he had ever 
‘|| works. 1 did not read one of them, because I| with, The Gothic castle at 
‘not understand what is not understood by those | rarely graced with living 


-write about it; and I did not get acquainted | was Horace Walpole himself ; but he had been | 
‘one 0 the writers. I should like to be inti-| long waiting to see realised a magical vision of |} 


‘|| Such a letter seems not to have been written by 
‘a literary man—it is the babble of a thoughtless 
witand a man of the world. But it is worthy of 


| dotes of Painting,” that * want of patronage is 
the apology for want of genius. Milton and La 


from those who knew him was his favourite yet | fruit that hangs in the shade, ripens only 
Be ek be vn specs ptt! fein 
genius, which he wan! ity to protect ! Critic, in his) " ome | 
‘The whole spirit of this man was penury, ? mtr pepe 
Enjoying an affluent income, he only appeared to at 


hitterly reprehends in others who were compelled fivided the town nto two parties) ve 
to practise it, He gratified his avarice at the | bility and satire of Pope and Swift were 
| expense of his vanity; the strongest passion must | serviceable to him, than the partial panegy 


| the midst of their journey through Europe ; Mason | Tas 
| broke with him; even bis humble correspondent 
|| Cole, this “friend of forty years,” was often sent 














is a penurious virtoe- Dennis | ungracious Nature kept fast hold of the mind of 
beyond the cold line of a pre-) Dennis ! 
5 to be pleased, he} His personal manners were characterised by || 
into Aristotle. His learn-| their abrupt riolence. Once dining with Lord. 
of literature. It was ever) Halifax he became so impatient of contradiction, 
sined by Dennis. But in the expla-| that he rushed out of the room, overthrowing | 
the obscure text of bis master, he was|side-board, Inquiring on the next day how be 
i distinctions, and tasteless | had behaved, Moyle observed, ‘You went away 


ed feeling of the mechanical critic 
concealed from the world in the pomp 


flung down the new poem, 
he means me!"’ He is painted to the life. 


Lo! Applus reddens at cach word you mpeak, 
And stures tremendous with a threatening eyes 
‘Like some flerce tyrant tn old tapestry.” 


T complete this picture of Dennis with a very 
extraordinary caricature, which Steele, in one of 
his papers of “The Theatre,"’ has given of 
Dennis. I shall, however, disentangle the threads, 
and pick out what I consider not to be caricature, 
but resemblance. 

“ His motion is quick and sudden, turning on 
all sides, with a suspicion of every object, ns if be 
had done or feared some extraordinary mischief 

ned to oblivion, | YOU see wickedness im his meaning, but folly of 
clam, which, however, he | countenance, that betrays him to be unfit for the 
Fiect with. An odd fate attends | execution of it. He starts, stares, ond looks round 


Letters” one to Tonson, | vacant look of his two cyes gives you to understand, 
against thereputation of Mr. | thet he could never run out of his wits, which 
against wintom, weak=| semed not so much to be lost, as to want employ- 
‘aqainet Dryden. Wa clowes| ene ; they are not so much astray, as they are a 














2 INFLUENCE OF A BAD TEMPER IN CRITICISM. 
i 


Tnlife and in literature we meet with men who: | 
seem endowed with an obliquity of understanding, | 
yot active and busy spirits; but, as activity is only | 


te eee ee 
treated like a cur, till some more sagacious than 
ordinary found hia nature, and used him accord- 


However anger may have # little coloured this 
‘portrait, its trath may be confirmed froma variety 
of sources. If Sullust, with his accustomed 
penetration, in characterising the violent emotions 
of Catiline’s restless mind, did not forget its 
indication in ‘bis walk now quick and now slow,” 
it may be allowed to think that the character of 
Dennis was alike to be detected in his habitual 
surliness. 

Even in his old’ age, for our chain must not 


Ipeticrag sae a varva to ales, eeureel toon 
very poetical thanks, in the name of Dennis. 
‘He was then blind and old, but his critical ferocity 


of 
‘was, perhaps, tho last peevish snuff shaken from 
‘the dismal link of criticism ; for, a few days after, 
was the redoubted Dennis numbered with the 
mighty dead. 

He carried the same fierceness into his style, 
and commits the same Indicrous extravagancies in 
literary composition as in his manners. Was 
Pope really sore at the Zoilian style? He has 
himeclf spared me the trouble of exhibiting Den- 


thow how low false wit and malignity can get to 
‘by hard pains. Twill throw into the note a curious 
‘illustration of the anti-poetical notions of a me- 
Ghanical critic, who has no wing to dip into the 
hues of the imagination f. 


© There is an epigram on Dennis by Savage, which 
Johnson has presorved in his life; and I feel it to bea 
‘very correct likeness, although Johnson censures Savage 
for writing an epigram against Dennis, white ho was living 
In great familiarity with theeritic. Perhaps that was the 
happiest moment to write the epigram. ‘The anecdote in 
the text doubtless prompted *' the fool™ to take this fair 
revenge and just chastisement. Savage has brought out 
the features strongly, in these touches— 


« Say what rovenge on Dennis can be had, 
‘Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad. 

‘On one xo poor you cannot take the law, 
On one wo old your sword you seorn to draw. 
‘Veeaged then, let the hurmicss monster rage, 
‘Secure in dulness, sadness, want, and xgot™ 


+ Dennis points bis heavy cannon of criticisin, and thus 








warped by natare, only becomes more crooked and || 
fantastical. A kind of frantic enthusiasm breaka 
forth in their actions and their longunge, and often 
they scem ferocious when they are only foolish. 
‘We may thus account for the manners and style 
of Dennis, pushed almost to the verge of insanity, 
and acting on him very much like insanity itself; 


ecized on, in the humorous Narrative of Drs } 


‘Dombards that aerial edifice, the “ Rape of the Leck.” 
‘He is Inquiring into the nature of poetical machinery, 
which, he oracularly pronounces, should be religious, oF 
allegorical. or polition) ; amerting (ho * Lautrin™ of Belles: 
tobe a trifle only in appearance, covering the deep political 
design of reforming the Popish church !—With the yard 
of criticism, ho takes measure of tho slender graces and 
tiny olegance of Pope's aerial machines, ms '* less conmtders 
able than the human persons, which Is without prec 
dent. Nothing oan be so contemptible as the persone 


Ariel's speech Is one continued tmpertinence. After be || 
has talked to thom of black omens and dire iaasters that || 
threaton his heroine, those bugbears dwindle to the 
Dreaking a pleco of china, to staining m petticoat, te 
losing a fan, oF @ bottle of ral volatilo—and what makes 


‘spoken, au the safls nnd cordage of Belinda’s barge.” Amd | 
then he compares the Syiphs to the Discord of Famer, || 
whose feet are upon the earth, and head im the sites |] 
They are, indeed, beings so diminutive that they bear | 
the sme proportion to the rest of the intellectual, that 
Eels (n vinegar do to the rest of the material world ; 
latter aro only to be seen through microrwopes, and the | | 
formor only through the false optics of = Resteruelas 
Understanding.” And finally, he decides that ~ these | 
diminutive beings aro only Sawney (that Is, Alexander |} 
Popo), taking the change; for it is he,a ttle Iumpef |) 
font that talks, instead of a little spirit.” Dennis’ pr 
found gravity contributes an additional feature of te 
burlesque to these herolcmnic poems themselves, only 
that Dennis cannot be playful, and will not be good 
humoured, 

‘On tho sane tasteless prinoipte he decides on the tin 
probability of that Incident in tho ** Conscious Lavers™ of 
Stecle, raised by Berit, who, having recetved great obtiea- |} 
tions from his father, has promised not to, . 

his consent. On this Dennis, who rarely im lin exitienl |} 


developing the involved action of an affeeting drums 
Are there critics who would pronounce Dennis te be| 
very nenaidle brother ? 1. n here obese 


Dut this cost, Denix doar ! 

















hint. 

without their motions 

uf soul, because they wunt fire 

Lae eel 

» Who have a great deal of 

organs, feel the fore- 
"pithont the 


ever some misshapen idol of the 
a8 perpetually caressing with the 
td jurigment or monstrous taste. 
ran against the Italian Opera; 
4 Essay on Public Spirit," he ascribes 
jo its unmanly warblings. I have secn 
iby Deante to the Earl of Oxford, 
his lordship on his acces- 
paar THA Wet ogee of fa nation 
of the letter runs on the Italian 
iis instructs the Minister that the 
ty can never be effected while this 
of the three kingdoms lies open! 
than once recorded two ma- 
in the life of a true critic; 
iture and the pudlic neglect. 
doubt,” says he, “that upon 
or part of these letters, the old 


France, that he should be delivered up to the 
Grand Monarque for having written o tragedy, 
which no one could read, against his majesty. 

Tt is melancholy, but it is useful, to record the 
mortifications of such authors, Dennis had, no 
doubt, Inboured with zeal which could never meet 


erting the despotism of a literary dictator, How 
could the mind, that had devoted itself to the con- 
templation of master-pieces only to reward its 
industry by detailing to the public their human 


he had insulted. Having incurred 

neglect, the blind and helpless Cacus in 

sank fhst into contempt, dragged on a 

misery, and in his Jast,days, scarcely 

his fire and smoke, became the most 

feos, eahing he eae MCGEE CHEE 


[be brought against me, and there | genius. 


} awtery among thoughtless people 
man.’ 


—— 


DISAPPOINTED GENIUS 
‘Yakite A VATAL DIRECTION BV FT AnUER, 
How the moral and literary character are re- 
influenced, may be traced in the cha- 
moter of a personage peculiarly apposite to these 
inquiries, This worthy of literature is Onaton 
Haxzny—who is rather known traditionally than 














= M had I not discovered a feature in 
| character of Henley not yet drawn, and con- 
atituting no inferior a 


authors, 


‘Pope"s verse and Warbar- 
notes are the pickle and the bandages for 


‘«Bmbrown'l with native bronm, to! Henley stands, 
‘Tuning his voloe, and balancing his hands; 

‘How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue! 

‘How sweet the periods, neither sald nor sung ! 

Still break the benches, Henley, with thy strain, 
‘While Sherlock, Hare, and Gitson, proach in vain. 
‘Oh ! groat restorer of the sod old stage, 

‘Preacher at once, and Zany of thy age * 1" 


‘Te will surprise when I declare that this buffoon 


signed Peter de Quir, which abounds with local 
wit and quaint humour. He had not attained his 
year when he published a poem, 

“Esther, Queen of Persiat,'' written amid 

graver studies; for throe years after, Henley being 
M.A. published his '* Complote Linguist,” con- 


of oriental studies, with some etymologies 

tho Persic, the Hebrew, and the Greek, 

the nome and person of Abasucrus, 

} makes to be Xerxes. The clove of this 
} gives another unexpected feature in the 


* Its, perhaps, unnecessary to point out this allusion 
of Pope to our ancient mysterics, whore the Clergy were 
actors; among which, the Vice or Punch was intro 


| In four books; by John Henley, B, A. of St, John's 
‘College, Cummibridge. 174" 





modesty ! Henley, alluding to a Greek 
of Barnes, censures his faults without o 


circumstance I hope the candid will consider 
favour of the present writer !’" | 

‘The poem is not destitute of imagination and 
harmony. | 

‘The pomp of the fenst of Ahasuerus kas all the |} 
luxuriance of Asiatic splendour ; and the elreum~ | 
stances are selected with somo fancy. 

© The higher guests approach n room of state, 

‘Where tissnod couches all around were sot 

‘Labour'd with art; o'er ivory table thrown, 

‘Embroider carpets fell in folds adown. 

‘The bowers nnd gardens of the court were near, 

And open lights indulged the lneathing air. 

«Pillars of marble bore a ellkken ky, 

‘While conts of purple and fine linen tis 

In silver rings, the azure canopy: 

Distinct with diamond stars the bluo wae seem, 

And earth and seas were felgn'd in emerald greet 5 

A slobe af gold, ray‘d with a pointed crown, 

‘Form'd in the midat almost a real um” 


“ And Esther, though Ip robes, ts Bather stitl” 
And then sublimely exclaims, 

™ The herole soul, amldat Ite Bliss er woe, 
Ta never swell’d too high, mor eu boo how = 
Btands, Like its origin above the skies, 
‘Ever the same great self, pedately wise; 
Collcoted and prepared in every stage 
‘To scorn a courting world, or boar ite mage.” 


But wit which the Spectator has sent down 
Postority, and poetry which gave the promise 














of the life of Henley, which, 
wer person's name, he himself} The most extraordinary 
) Transactions” Ashe |by Henley; be was to teach mankind universal 
‘* This narrative is subscribed A. Welstede. Warburton 
face was then beginning | maicioudy quotes $t us a life of Hooley, written by 
bronze," he thus very | yeisted—doubclem designed to lower the writer of that 


ly apologises for the | name, and one of the heros af the Dunciad, The public 
‘have long been devetved by this artifice; the effect I 
appears favourable | beliove, of Warbarton's dishonesty 

















anomalous topics, In | were sold for much lees | ends 
peg rates 
August 1728. | great care. Every leaf has an o vank 


e The Oratory Transnc- | I have looked aver many; they are 
a diary from July 1726 to | 


Such was ‘‘ Orator Henley!" A r | 
| great acquirements, and of no mean genius; - 
hardy and inventive, eloquent and witty; | 
might have been an ornament to literatare, 
he made ridiculous; and the pride of the pulpit, 
which he so egregiously disgraced; but, having 
blunted and worn out that intertor " 

r. is the instinet of the good man, and the wisdem 
‘The Inst Wills and Testaments of the Patri-| of the wise, there was no balance in his passions 

” : and the decorum of life was sacrificed to - 

“Ao Argument to the Jows, with a proof that|ishness, He condescended to live on the 
of the people, and his sordid nature had changed — 
‘him till he crept, ‘licking the dust with the | 
serpent.’ J 


some particular inconvenience, usually ¢ 
version of the Rev. Mr. B—c, and Mr. Har—y,""| some malady on that member which bas been 
he closes with ** Origen’s opinion of Satan's con- | over-wrought by excess: nature abused, pursue 
version ; with the choice and balance of Religion| man into hia most secret corners, and 





entry 
“Feb. 11. This week, all Mr, Henley's writ- 
ings were seized, to be examined by the State. 
Vide Magnam Chartam, and Eng. Lib."” 
It is evident by what follows that the personal- 
ities bo made use of, wero one means of attracting 
auditors. 


“On the action of Ciccro, and the beauty of 
Eloquence, and on living characters ; of action in 
}| the Senate, at the Bar, and in the Pulpit—of the 
‘Theatrical in all men. The manner of my Lord 
— Sir —, Dr, —, tho B. of —, being a proof 
how all life is playing something, but with different 
notion.” 


Jn a Lecture on the History of Bookeraft, an 
nocount was 

“ Of the plenty of books, and dearth of sense; 
the advantages of the Oratory to the booksellers, 
in advertising for them; and to their customers, 
} ‘in making books useless; with all the learning, 
|| reason, and wit, more than are proper for one 
| advertisement,” 


Amid these cocentricities it is remarkable, that 
“the Zany’ never forsook his studies; and the 
amazing multiplicity of the MSS- he left behind 
him, coofirm this extraordinary fact. ‘ These,"" 
he says, ‘are six thousand more or less, that I 
value at one guinea apicce ; with 150 volumes of 


herself. In the athletic exercises of the 
Gymnasium, the pugilists were observed 
Jean from their hips downwards, while the 
parts of their bodies, which they o 

were prodigionsly swollen; on the contrary 
racers were meagre upwards, while their 
acquired an unnatural dimension, The | 
source of life seems to be carried fo 
parts which are making the most ¢ 

In all sedentary labours, sone parti r 
fs contracted by every worker, derived 
ticular postures of the body and 
‘Thus the weaver, the tailor, the painter, 
glass-blower, have all their respective m 
The diamond-cutter, with a furnace bei 
may be said almost to live in one ; the ali 
air must be shut out of the apartment, 
scatter away the precious dust—a breath 
rain him! 

‘The analogy is obvious; and the 0 
participate in the common fate of all 


© Hawkewworth, in the second paper af | 
has composed, from his own feclings, am, . 
tion of intellectus! and corporeal labour, amd the eu 
ings of an author, with the mnovrtainty af nf 
bis reward. 











melaneboly I have ever witnessed. 
‘Te was one evesing T saw a tall, fumished, 


. “Do not talk to me about my 
{ Do not talk to me about my tragedy! 


| ‘This man was Matthew Bramble, or rather 
| —M*Doxaxp, the author of the tragedy of Vi- 
|| monda, at that moment the writer of comic poetry 
—his tragedy was indeod a domestic one, in which 

| he himself wax the greatest actor arid his discon. 
solate family; he shortly afterwards perished, 


M'Donaldhad walked from Scotland with no ether | « 


fortune than the novel of “ The Tndependent’* in 
one pocket, and the tragedy of  Vimonda’* in 


Locaw had the dispositions of » poetic spirit, 
‘not cast in a common mould ; with fancy he com- 
bined learning, and with eloquence philosophy. 

His claims on our sympathy arise from those 
ciroumstances in his life which open the secret 
sources of the calamities of authors; of those 





|e Land Cuesibehla, tom Co gear 
its Pa cere contained ollesions to ae 
politics of theday. The Barons-in-arms: 

John, were conceived to be 

the poet himself was aware of. ‘This was the second: 
disappointment {n the life of thie mam OF amiaay 


"and now groaned to detect genius still 
lorking among them. Logan, it is certain, ex | 
pressed bis contempt for them; they their batred |} 
of him : folly and pride in a poet, to beant Pres. | 
byters in a laod of Presbyterians ! 

He gladly abandoned them, retiring on = small | 
annuity. They had, however, hurt his temper— 
they had irritated the nervous system of a man 
too susceptible of all impressions, geatle or 
wokind—his character had all those unequal habi- 
tudes which genius contracts in its boldness and 
its tremors; he was now vivacious and indige 
nant, and now fretted and melancholy. — Me flew 


minds of finer temper, who, having tamed the ci 


heat of their youth by the patient severity of study, 
from causes not always difficult to discover, find 
their favourite objects and their fondest hopes bar- 
ren and neglected, It is then that the thoughtfal 
melancholy, which constitutes so large a portion 
of their genius, absorbs and consames the very 
faculties to which it gave birth. 

‘Logan studied at the University of Edinburgh, 
was ordained in the church of Scotland—and 
early distinguished as a poet by the simplicity and 
the tenderness of his verses, yet the philosophy of 
history had us deeply interested his studies. He 


gave two courses of lectures. 1 have heard from | publ 


bis pupils their admiration, after the lapse of 
many years 5 s0 striking were those lectures for 
having successfully applied the science of moral 











He 


a 
ge 
BE 





i 
12 


““T read a course of Lectures on 


j 
z 
i 
. 
te 
rl 


forms of Municipal Jurisprudence established in 
Modern Europe. eh ee fe ie 3 ' 








‘ourcroy’s 
Savary’s Travels in Greece; Dumourier’s Letters; 
Gessnor's Idylls in part ; an abstract of Zimmer- 
man on Solitude, and a great diversity of smaller 


“T wrote a Journey through the Western Parts 
of Scotland, which has passed through two edi- 
tions; a History of Scotland in six volumes 8¥0 5 
a Topographical Account of Scotland, which has 
‘been several times reprinted; « number of com- 
munications in the Edinburgh Magazine; many 


Burns the Poot, which suggested and promoted 
the subscription for his family; has beea 


He's Life of him, ax I learsed by a letter from the 
“| Doctor to one of his friends; a variety of Jewr 
d’ Esprit in verse and prose; and many | 








dH 


ae. 
Ht 


if 


have been written by any one other person. 
“have written also a variety of compositions 
in the Latin and the French languages, in favour 
of which I have been honoured with the testimonies 
of liberal ¥ 
“Thave invariably written to serve the cause 


Asa human being, I have not been free from fol- 
lies and errors. But the tenor of my life has been 
tomperate, laborious, humble, quiet, and, to the 
‘utmost of my power, beneficent. I can prove the 
general tenor of my writings to have been candid, 
and ever adapted to exhibit the most favourable 
views of the abilities, dispositions, and exertions 
of others, 

“Por these last ten. months I have been brought 
to the very extremity of bodily and pecuniary 


“7 abudder at the thought of perishing in a| i 


“92 Chancery-lane, 
“ Feb. 2, 1807. (In confinement.)’* 
The reported that Robert Heron's 

health was such ‘(as rendered him totally inca« 

pable of himself from the difficulties in 
which he was involved, by the indisoreet exertion 


_ * The Comforts of Lifo™ were written in prison; * The 
‘Miseriow necemarity in a drawing-room, The works of 
‘muthorware often in contrast with themselves : melancholy 
‘puthors are the most jocular, and the most humorous: 
‘the e1ost melancholy, 





About three months after, Heron sunk under a 
fever, and perished amid the walls of Newgate. 
‘We are disgusted with this horrid state of pan 
ptrism ; wo are indignant at beholding an author, 
not « contemptible ane, in this hut stage of hiarmn 
wrotchedness! after early and late studies, after | 
having read and written from twelve to sixteen: 
hours a day!—O, ‘ye populace of scribblers 
before ye are driven to a gurret, and your eyes are | 
filled with constant tears, panse—recollect that 
few of you possess the learning or the abilities of 
Heron. 


The fate of Heron—is the fate of hundreds of 
aathors by profession in the present day; of men | 
of some literary talent, who can never extricate | 
themselves from a degrading state of poverty. 


es 


LARORIOUS AUTHORS 

Tus is one of the groans of old 
his laborious work, when he is 
reception it is like to meet with, and personstes | 
his objectors :—He says, 

“This is a thinge of meere industrie; m cotlec- | 
tion without wit or invention ; a very toy!—Se 
men are valued ! their Inbours vilified by 
of no worth themselves, as things of nought; 
could not have done as much?” 

There is, indeed, a class of authors 
lable to forfeit all claims to genius, whatever 


grievances, 
glected by the apathy or the ingratitude of the 


public. . 
Industry is often conceived to betray 
sence of intellectual exertion, and the 


genius, Yet a laborious work bas often b 
original growth and raciness in it, i 
genius whose peculiar fecling, like invisible ¥i 


4 


master’s mind that Is in the original. ‘There 
talent in industry, which every industrious 
does not possess; and even taste and 

may lead to tho deepest studies of anti 
well as mere undiseerning curiosity and 
doloess. 

But there arv other more striking ¢ eri 
of intellectual feeling in authors af this claax. 
fortitude of mind which enables them to eo 
Jabours of which, in ky oe 
conscious that the real value will only 
elated by dispassionate posterity, 


i) 














of their own work esta- | rare, curious, snd high priced! ‘Ungrateful public! | 
at captiousness of | Unhappy authors { i 
of] That noble enthusiasm whieh so strongly charac- |} 





| Paaxcn’s  Worthies of Devon" 
uf rably received by the public, that | printed; and Rushyorth died in the King’s Bench, 
and patriotic author was so discou- | of a broken heart ; many of his papers still remain 
(pled a ae unpublished. His ruling passion was amassing 
state matters, and he voluntarily negleeted great 
opportunities of sequiring a large fortune for this 
Jentire devotion of his life. The same fate has 
awaited the similar Imbours of many authors to 
whow the history of our country lies under deep 
obligations. Anrnun Cortex, the historiographer 
of our Peerage, and the curious collector of the 
‘valuable “ Sydney papers," and other collections, 
passed bis life in rescuing these wrecks of antiquity, 
‘im giving authenticity to our history, or contri- 
the curious industry of Orns, and | buting fresh materials to it; but hia midnight 
of very able writers, could not| vigils wore cheered by no patronage, nor bis 
this treasure of our literary | labours valued, till the eye that pored on the 
se point of being suspended, when | mutilated MS, was for ever closed. Of all those 
rt West drew the public attention | curious works of the Inte Mr. Sraurt, which are 
ra , Which, howerer, still now bearing such high prices, all were produced 
hastily concladed —Gaawoen | by extensive reading, and illustrated by his own 
work, in one of his letters, | drawings, from the manuscripts of different epochs 
my account, it would appear |inour history. What was the result to that inge= 
in the improvement of my work | nious artist and author, who, under the plain 
half the poy of a scavenger !'" | siroplicity of an antiquary, concealed a fine poetical 
ly one hundred pounds to the times | mind, and an enthusiasm for his beloved pursuits 
the rest to depend on public | to which only we are indebted for them? Strutt, 
anation. The sale was sluggish; | living in the greatest obscurity, and voluntarily 
sacrificing all the ordinary views of life, and the 
trade of hia durin, solely attached to national 
antiquities, and charmed by calling them into « 
fresh existence under his pencil, 1 have witnessed 
at the British Museum, forgetting for whole days 
his miseries, in sedulous research and delightful 
labour; at tines ewen doubtfal whether he could 
get his works printed ; for some of which he was 
not regaled even with the Roman supper of “a 
radish and an egg.” How he left his domestic 
affairs, bis son can tell; how his works have tripled 
their value, the booksellers. In writing on the 
Calamities attending the love of literary labour, 
Mr. Joux Nicuons, the modest annalist of the 
literary history of the last century, and the friend 











‘of half the departed genius of our country, can- 
not bat occur to me. He zealously published 


by the Life of Bowyer, may be added the Literary), 
“Thope you do not forget yourself. The pro- 
Session of an author, 1 know from experience, is 
not « lucrative one—1 only mention this because 
T see a large catalogue of your publications.” At 
another time the Bishop writes, “ You are very 
good to exeuse my freedom with you; but, os 
times go, almost any trade is better than that of 
an author,’’ &c, On these notes Mr. Nichols 
confesses, ‘I have had some occasion to regret 
that I did not attend to the judicious suggestions.” 
We owe to the Inte Tomas Davins, the author 
of “ Garrick’s Life,"’ and other literary works, 
beautiful editions of some of our elder poets, which 
are now eagerly sought after, yet, though all his 
publications were of the best kinds, and are now 
of increasing value, the taste of Tom Davics 
twice ended in bankruptey. It is to be lamented 
for the cause of titerature, that even a bookseller 
may lave too refined a taste for his trade; it 
‘must always be his interest to float on the cur- 
rent of public taste, whatever that may be ; should 
be have an ambition to create it, he will be 
anticipating a more cultivated curiosity by balf 
a contury; thus the business of a bookseller 
‘rarely accords with the design of advancing our 
literature. 


‘The works of literature, it is then but too 
evident, receive no equivalent ; Jet this be recol- 
lected by him who would draw his existence from 
them. A young writer often resembles that imagi- 
‘nary author whom Johnzon, in a humorous letter in 
‘the Idler (No. 55), represents as having composed a 
work “of universal curiosity, computed thatit would 
call for many editions uf his book, and that in five 





work, Six thousand pounds gained on 
‘terms will keep an author indigent ! 


the very year he died, But he was so sensible of || 


a letter to a literary friend, “a tedious heavy 
book,” that he gave it away to the publisher, 
‘ The volume, too large, brings me no profit. In 
good truth, the scheme wns laid for conseience’ 
sake, to restore a good old principle that history 
should be purely matter of fact, that every 

‘by examining and comparing, may make out 
history by his own judgment. 1 have collections 
transeribed for another volume, if the bookseller 


literary life with = 
feclings of genius have 


life of a literary man. 

‘Let us listen to Stnorr, whom we have just |] 
noticed, and let us learn what he propesed doing, | 
in the first age of fancy. 


‘yours he should gain fifteon thousand pounds by the |i 


sale of thirty thousand copics.'’ There are, indeed, 
some who have been dazzled by the good fortune 
‘of Gravow, Rosexrson, and Home; we are to 


the vexntions of the authors I have noticed. 
‘Observe, howover, that the uncommon sum Gibbon 
received for copyright, though it excited the 
astonishment of the philosopher himself, was for 
the continued labour of a whole fife, and probably 
the Mbrary be bad purchased for his work equalled 
at least in cost the produce of his pen ; the tools 
cost the workman as much as he obtained for his 























the Italian masters, in | he had collected together, lis before him in all the 
th of every one, and not wish to be like disorder of rains. It may be vrged that the 
be like them, we must study as| reward of literary labour, like the oonsolations of | 
- and labour con- virtue, must be drawn with all their sweetness || 
the which shall not be wanting from itself; or, that if the author be 
SE gaeel ppp ed 








in one, and the early parts which 
bear the stamp of genius; it is 
ll, a Romance of ancient 

the p manners and costume, 
‘the age, in which he was so 





i 
Auiee 


must imperfectly have relished bis fine taste, while 








wished to do ax little mischief as be could, bat 
loved to do some. 1 well remember the cruel 














a c 
writhing in fancy under the whip not yet untwisted, 






“subjects of them shall be no more, seems to be 







writes, “Tam well acquainted 
of bis disposition for more than forty years past,”” 
|| ‘When the lid was removed from this Pandora's 

ox, it happened that some of his intimate friends 
|| were alive to perosive in what strange figures they 
were exhibited by their qaondam admirer ! 

‘Cote, however, bequeathed to the nation, among 
his unpublished works, a vast mass of antiquities 
|| and historical collections, and one valuable legacy 
of literary materials, When I tarned over the 
papers of this literary antiquary, I found the 
recorded cries of a literary martyr. 

Coxe had passed a long life in the pertinacious 
} labour of forming an “ Athens: Cantabrigienses,"” 
j| and other literary as a com~ 


















mighty labours exist in more than fifty folio 
yolumes in his own writing. He began these col- 
lections about the year 1745; in a fly leaf of 1777, 
I found the following melancholy state of his feel. 
ings and a literary confession, as forcibly expressed 
ms it is painful to read, when we consider that 
they are the wailings of a most zealous votary 
“Tn good truth, whoever undertakes this 
dradgery of an‘ Athenw Cantabrigienses,’ must be 
contented with no prospect of credit and reputa- 
tion to himself, and with the mortifying reflection 
‘that after all bis pains and study, through life, he 
aust be looked upon in a humble light, and only 
n# 4 journeyman to Anthony Wood, whose excel- 
Jent book of the same sort will ever preclude any 
other, who shall follow him in the same track, 
from all hopes of fame; and will only represent 
him as an imitator of s0 original a pattern. For, 
at this time of day, all great characters, both 
and Oxonians, are already published 
to the world, ¢ither in bis book, or various others ; 
‘80 that the collection, unless the same characters 
are reprinted here, must be made up of second-rate 





‘as [have begun, and mnde so large a progress in 
‘this undertaking, if is death lo think of leaving it 
|| fi though, from the former considerations, 50 
little credit is to be expected from it.” 

Such were the fruits, and such the agonies, of 
nearly half a century of assiduous and zealous 


















the Cambridge Antiquary, who prognosticated all 
the evil be among others was to endure; and, 


justly enough attempt 
tokeep these characters from the public till the 


collections—designed 
panion to the work of Anthony Wood. These) i 


‘persons, and the refuse of wuthorahip.—However, | i1 










Cole urges u strong claim to ‘be 


engaged in the same pursuit ax Cole, and carried 
it on to the extent of about forty volumes in follo, 
Lloyd is described by Burnet as having many 
yolumes of materials upon all subjects, so that he | 
could, with very little labour, write on any of 




















truer judgment, than may seem consistent with | 
such a laborious course of study ; but be did mot 





Many of the labours of this learned 
at length consumed in the kitchen of his descend 
ant, * Baker (says Johnson), after many years 
passed in biography, left his manuscripts to be 
boried in o library, because that was imperfect 
which could never be perfected.’ And te com= 
plete the absurdity, or to heighten the calamity |) 
which the want of these useful labours make every 
literary man feel, balf of the collections of Baker 
alcep in their dust in » turret of the University; 
while the other, deposited in our national 
at the British Museum, and frequently used, ane 
rendered imperfect by this unnatural divoree, |] 
I will illustrate the ebarncter of @ Inborious |) 
author by that of Axvnony Woon. | 
Wooo’s “ Athens: Oxonicases” is = history of 
near a thoosand of anr natire authors; he paints || 
their characters, and enters into the spirit of their 
writings, But authors of this complexion, and || 
works of this nature, are liable to be: i 








































the roundings of a period, but the 
of % man who had all the sim- 

lhood in his feelings. Could such 
have been excited in the unani- 
clod of literature? Thus early 


‘With bis dying hands be still 
d papers, and his last mortal 

on his Athenee Oxonienses. 
tis ne occurrence to view an author 
jest in the hour of death, yet fervently 
by posthumous fame. Two friends 
ly, to sort that vast multitude of 
more private ones he 
to be opened for seven years; 
full were ordered for the fire, 
i for the occasion. ‘Ashe 
‘expressed both his knowledgo and 
was done by throwing out his 


for his own party, and another for his || 
adversary, all he could do, is to amass together || 
what every side thinks will make best weight for 


“ He never wrote in post, with bis body and 
thoughts ia a hurry, but In a fixed abode, and 
‘with a deliberate pen. And he never concealed an 
‘ungrateful truth, nor flourished over a weak place, 
but in sincerity of meaning and expression.!” 

Anthony Wood cloistered an athletic mind, 
« hermit critic abstracted from the world, existing 
more with posterity than amid his contempo- 
raries. His prejudices were the keener from the 
very energies of the mind that produced them 
but, as he practises no deception on his reader, 
we know the causes of his anger or hislove. And, 
as on original thinker creates a style for himself, 
from the circumstance of not attending to style at 
all, but to feoling, so Anthony Wood's has all the 
peculiarity of the writer, Critics of short views 
haye attempted to screen it from ridicule, attribat- 
ing his uncouth style to the age he lived in, But 
hot ane in his own time, nor since, has composed 
in the same style. The austerity and the quick- 
neas of his feelings, rigorously stamped all thelr 
roughness and vivacity on every sentence. He 
describes his own style as ‘‘am honest, plain 
English dress, without flourishes or affectation of 
style, as best becomes a history of truth and mat. 
tors of fact. It is the first (work) of ite nature 
that has ever been printed in our own, or in any 
other mother-t id 

It is, indeed, am honest Montaigne-like sim- 
plicity. Acrimonious and cynical, he is always 
sincere, and never dull. Old Anthony to mo is 
an admirable character-painter, for anger and love 
are often picturesque, And among our literary 
historians he might be compared, for the effect be 
produces, to Albert Durer, whose kind of antique 
rodoness has a sharp outline, neither beautiful nor 
flowing ; and, without a genius for the magic of 
light and shade, he is too close a copier of Nature 
to affect us by ideal forms. 

The independence of bis mind merved his 
ample volumes, his fortitude be displayed in the 
contest with the University itself, and his firmness 
in censuring Lord Clarendon, the bead of his own 
party. Could such a work, and such an original 
manner, have proceeded from an ordinary intellect? 
‘Wit may sparkle, and sarcasin may bite; but the 


the | cause of literature is injared when the industry of 


such » mind is ranked with thet of ** the hewers of 





oqually 
hard fate of authors of this class to be levelled 
with their inferiors ! 

Let us exhibit one more picture of the calamities 
ofa laborious anthor, in the character of Josuva 
| Bares, editor of Homer, Euripides, and 
Annereon, and the writer of a vast number of mis~ 

in and poetry. 


cellancons compositions 
Besides the works he published, he left behind 
him nearly fifty unfinished ones; many were epic 


poems, all intended to be in twelve books, and 
|) some had reached their eighth! His folio volume of 
“The History of Edward UI.’ is a labour of 
yaluable research. He wrote with equal facility in 
Greek, Latin, and his own language, and he wrote 
ail his days; and, in a word, having little or 
nothing but his Greek professorship, not exceeding 
forty pounds a year, Barnes, who had a great 
memory, a little imagination, and no judgment, 
sow the close of a life, devoted to the studies of 
humanity, settle sround bim in gloom and 
despair. The great idel of his mind was the 
edition of his Homer, which seems to have com- 
pleted bis rain; he was haunted all his days with 
a notion that he was persecuted by envy, and much 
undervalued by the world; the sad consolation of 
‘the necondary and third-rate authors, who often 


die persuaded of the existence of ideal enemies. 


or 


isto prove that Solomon was the author of the 
Tiiad, and it has been suid that this was done to 
Interest his wife, who had some property, to lend 
her aid towards the publication of s0 divine a 


OF HAPPY MEMORY, AWAITING JUDGMENT! 


‘The year before he died be addressed the 
following letter to the Earl of Oxford, which I 
transcribe from the original. It is curious to. 
‘observe how the veteran and unhappy scribbler, 
after his vows of retirement from the world of 
letters, thoroughly with “all human. 
learning,” gontly hints to: his patron, that he has 
ready for the press, a singular variety of contrasted 
works, yet even then he did not venture to disclose 
‘one-tenth part of bis concealed treasures ! 





Greek lectures this term ; and my circumstances 
are pressing, being, through the combination of 
booksellers, and the meaner arts of others, too 
much prejudiced in the sale. Tam not neither 

ascertained whether my Homer und 


charges of that edition has almost broke my | 


courage, there being much more trouble in putting 
off the impression, and with « subtie 
and unkind world, than in all the stody and 
moonagement of the press. 

* Others, my Lord, are younger, and their 
hopes and helps are fresher; I have done asmuch 
in the way of learning as any man living, but have 
received leas encouragement than any, having 
nothing but my Greek professorship, which is but 
forty pounds per annum, that T cas call my own, 
and more than half of that is taken up by my 
expenses of lodging and dict in terme time at 
Cambri 


bridge. ] 
Twas obliged to take up three hundred and | 


fifty pounds on interest towards this Inet work, || 


whereof J still owe two hundred pounds, and two 


hundred more for the printing; the whole expense |} 


arising to about one thousand pounds. J have 


lived in the university above thirty years, fellow of 


or sufficient anchor to lay bold oo; only I have 
two or three matters ready for the press—an | 
‘ecclesiastical history, Latin ; an heraic: 

the Black Prince, Latin ; another of Queen Ane, | 
Eoglish, finished ; a treatise of Columnes, Latin} 
and an accurate treatise about Homer, Greek, 
‘Latin, &e. 1 would fain be permitted the honour 
to make use of your name in some one, or moxt 
of these, and to be, &e.  Joasrua Banwna®!! 


He died nine months afterwants. Homer aid 
not improve in sale; and the sweets of p 
were pot even tasted. This, then, is the 
of aman of great learning, of the most 
cious industry, but somewhat allied to the: 
of the Seribleri. a 
= 


© Harleinn 088. 752 






































| __ THE DESPAIR OF YOUNG POETS. 


| Winuras Parrisox was a young poet who 


one side of *Cowley's Walk’ is a huge 
over with moss and ivy climbing on 
‘ip some parts small trees spring out 
the rock; at the bottom are a 

of irregular trees, in every part 

jand venerable. Among these cavities, 
‘the rest was the cave be loved to 


with ivy banging 
and hence be 


enlled it (for poets must 

to every object they love) * Hede- 
ng ivy. At the foot of this grotto a 
* ran along the walk, so that its 
trees and water on one side, and a 
‘on the other. In winter, this 





and gaicty, 
behind, ax bis doowm tenens, to make his apology, 
by pinning on it a satirical farewell, 
+ Whoever gives himself the pains to stoop, 


‘To his 


* Tired with the senseless jargon of the gown, 
‘My master loft the college for the town, 
And scoms his precious minutes to regalo 
‘With wretched collage-wit and cullege-ale.’ ~ 

He flew to the metropolis, to take up the trade 
of a poet. 

A translation of Ovid's Epistles bad engaged 
his attention during two years; his own genius 
seemed inexhaustible ; and pleasure and fame were 
awniting the poetical emigrant. He resisted all 
kind importunities to retarn to } he could 
not endure submission, and declares “ his spirit 
cannot bear control.” One friend “ fears the || 
innumerable temptations to which one of his com- 
plexiou is liable in such a populous place.” Pattison 
was much loved ; he had all the generous impe- 
tuosity of youthful genius; but he had resolved on 
running the perilous career of literary glory, and 
he added one more to the countless thousands 
who perish in obscurity, 

His first letters are written with the same spirit 
that distinguishes Chatterton’s; all he hopes be 
seems to realise, He mixes among the wits, dates 
from Button’s, and drinks with Concanen healths 
to college friends, till they lose their own; more 
dangerous Muses condescend to exhibit themselves 
to the young poet in the Park; and he was to be 
introduced to Pope. Allis exultation ! Miserable 
youth! The first thought of prudence appears in 
a resolution of soliciting subscriptions from all 
persons, for a volume of 

His young friends at college exerted their warm 
patronage ; those in his native North condemn 
him, and save their crowns; Pope admits of no 
interview, but lends his name, and bestows half-a- 
crown for a volume of poetry, which he did not 
want; the poet wearies kindness, and would extort 
charity cyen‘from brother-poets ; petitions lords 
and ladies ; and, as his wants grow on him, his 
shame decreases, 

How the scene hus changed in « few months! 
He acknowledges to a friend, that * his heart was 
broke through the misfortunes he had fallen 
under ;"’ he declares “be feels himeolf near the || 
borders of death." In moments like these, be || 
probably composed the following lines, awfully |} 
addressed, 


‘ AD coELuM! 

“Good heaven ! this mystery of life explain, 
‘Nor let mo think 1 Bear the load in vain y 
Last, with the tedious pasnge cheerless grown, 
‘Drged by despair, 1 threw the burden down.” 





“(Tf you was ever touched with a sense ot 
‘humanity, consider my condition : what 1 am, my 
proposals will inform you; what Z lave been, 
Sidney College, in Cambridge, ean witness ; bot 

|| what 7 shail be tome few hours henee, I tremble 
to think! Spare my blushes !~I have not enjoyed 
the common necessaries of life for these two days, 
‘and cxn hardly hold to subscribe myself, 

© Yours, &e.” 


The picture is finished—it admits not of another 
stroke. Such was the complete misery which 
Savage, Boyse, Chatterton, and more innocent 
spirits devoted to literature, have endured—but 
not long—for they must perish in their youth | 

Hear Canny was one of our most popular 
poets; he, indeed, has unluckily met with only 
dictionary critics, or what is as fatal to genius, the 
cold undistinguishing commendation of grave men 
‘on subjects of humour, wit, and the lighter poetry. 
‘The works of Carey do not appear in any of our 
great collections, where Walsh, Dake, and Yalden 
slumber on the shelf, 

Yet Carey was a true son of the Muses, and the 
most successful writer in our language. He is the 
author of several little national poems. In early 
life he successfully burlesqued the affected versifi- 
cation of Ambrose Philips, in his baby poems, to 
which he gave the fortunate appellation of * Narby 
Pamty, a pancgyric on the new yersification ;"’ a 
term descriptive in sound of those chiming follies, 
and now become a technical term in modern eriti- 
cism. Carey's * Namby Pamby’ was at first 
considered by Swift as the satiricnl effusion of 
Pope, and by Pope as the humorous ridicale of 
Swift. His ballad of “ Sully in our Alley” was more 
than once commended for its nature by Addison, 
and is sung to this day. Of the national song, 
God save the King,” it is supposed he was the 
author both of the words and of the music. Ele was 
very successful on the stage, and wrote admirable 
barlesques of the Italian opera, in * The Dragon 
of Wantley,”” and “The Dragoness;"" and the 
mock tragedy of * Chrononhotonthologos" is not 
forgotten, Among his Poems lie still concealed 
several original pieces ; those which have a political 
turn are particularly good, for the politics of 
Carey wore those of a port anda patriot. I refer 
the politician who has any taste for poetry and 
humour, to The Grambletonians, or the Dogs 
without doors, a Pable,’" very instructive to those 
grown-up folks, "The Ins and the Outs.” 
“ Carey's Wish” is in this class; and, as the 


















THE DESPAIR OF YOUNG PORTS. 


| Bot the tortare of genias, when all its passions | of cyery true Briton, a poem on that subject by 










CAREY'S WISIL 
* Cursed be the wretch that’s bought and auld, 
And barters liberty for gold 5 

‘For when clection is not free, 

In vain we bonat of Liberty : 

Ani he who sells Nis singlo right, 

‘Would sell his country, if he might. 


‘When liberty is put to sale 

For wine, for money, or for ale, 
‘Tho sollers must be abject slaves, 
‘Tho buyers vile designing knaves ; 
A proverb it has been of old, 

‘The devil's bought but to be sold. 


‘This maxim in tho statosnan's schook 
Is always taught, divide ond rule, 

AM] parties aro to him n Joker 

While zealots foam, he fits the yoke, 
Lot mon their reason once remume ; 
“Tis then the statesman’s turn to furna. 




























Learn, learn, ye Tiritons, to unites 
Leave off the old exploded bite; 
Henoeforth let whig and tory cease, 
And tuen all party-rage to pases 5 
‘Rouse and revive your ancient glory + 
Unite, and drive the world before you." 













To the ballad of “Sully in our AUley”” Carty 
has prefixed an argument so full of nature, that 
the song may hereafter derive an additional interest | 
from ita simple origin. The author assures the 
reader that the popular notion that the subject of |] 
his ballad had been the noted Sally Salisbury, is. 
perfectly erroncous, he being a stranger to ber | 
name at the time the song was composed. 

“ Aa innocence and virtue were ever the bound- 
aries of his Muse, so in this little poem be had 
no other view than to set forth the beauty 
chaste and disinterested passion, even in 


‘A shoemaker's prentice, making holiday w 
sweetheart, treated her with a sight of Bedlas 
the puppet-shows, the flying-chnirs, and all 

clegancies of Moorfields; from whence, 


























































drew this litle sketch of Nature; but, 
young and obscure, he was very much Fidi 
for this performance; which, nevertheless, ms 
its way into the polite world, and amply 


















parity of election remains still among the desiderata | with 








if 


‘At the time that this poet could neither walk 
J s nor be seated at the convivial board, 


only = halfpeany in his 
fate of the author of some 





sonages passed over their national stage, with the 
same incidents, in the civil wars of the ambitious 


dition, ‘which appeared in 1711, might bave 
served as the model of Grey's Hudibras. 

‘It was, however, a happy thought in our com~ 
mentator, to turn over the contemporary writers 
to collect the events and discover the personages 
alluded to by Butler; to read what the poet 
read, to observe what the poet observed. This 
was at once throwing himself and the reader back 
into a0 ago, of which even the likeness had disap- 
peared, and familisriving us with distant objects, 
which had been lost to us in the haze and mists of 
time. For this, not only a new mode of travel- 
ling, but « new road, was to be opened; the secret 
history, the fugitive pamphlet, the obsolete satire, | 
the ancient comedy—such were the many curious 
rolumes whose dust was to be cleared away, to 
cast a new radiance on the fading colours of 
a moveable picture of manners; the wittiest 
ever exhibited to mankind. This new mode of 
research, even at this moment, is imperfectly 
comprehended, still ridiculed even by those who 
could never have understood @ writer who will 
only be immortal in the degree he is compre- 
hended—and whose wit could not have been felt 
but for the Isborious curiosity of him whose 
“ reading" has been too often aspersed for “such 
reading” 

* Ae was nover read.” 

Grey was outrageously attacked by all the wits, 
first by Warburton, in his preface to Shakespeare, 
who declares, that ‘he hardly thinks there ever 
appeared so execrable a heap of nonsense under 
the same of commentaries, as hath been lately 
given us on a certain satyric poet of the last age.” 
itis odd enough, Warburton had himself contri- 
buted towards these very notes, bat, for some 
cause which has not been discovered, had quar- 
relled with Dr. Grey, Twill venture a conjecture 
‘on this great conjectural eritic. Warburton was 
always meditating to give an edition of his own of 
our old writers, and the sins he committed against 
Shakespeare he longed to practise on Butler, 


sickened when amazing 
tion Grey obtained for his firet edition of Hudi- 
bras; he received for that work 1500/.*—s proof 

















|| great man wrote more for effect than “any other 
]| of our authors, as appears by his own or ‘some 
|| friends confession, that if his edition of Shake- 

did no honour to that bard, this wae not 
| design of the commentator—which was only 
to do honour to himself by a display of bis own 
erudition. 


“poignant Fielding, in his preface to his 
| Journey to Lisbon,” has a fling at the gravity of 
our doctor, **'The laborious, much-read Dr. Z. 
of whose redundant notes on Hudibras I 
only say, that it is, I am confident, the 
book extant in which above 500 authors are 
not one of which could be found in the 
‘of the late Dr. Mead.” Mrs. Montaguo, | is always of doubéful acceptance with the 
and Eliza Ryves came at length to try ti 


one newspaper much political matter; 

proprietor was too great a politician for the weiter 
published his work, but wit is the bolder by anti- | of politics, for be only praised the lnbour! 
cipation—She observes, that “his dulnees may| paid; much poetry for snother, in which, 


bread.’” Yet even in her poverty her native 
ted as a critic till he hod first proved, by his rat 
gravity, or his dulness if he chooses, that he has 
some knowledge ; for it is the privilege and nature 
of wit to write fastest and best on what it least 
understands, Knowledge only encumbers and 
confines its flights. 


——— 


THE LIFE OF AN AUTHORESS. translated De la Croix’s " Review of at 
Op all the sorrows in which the female character | tutions of the principal States in Europe,” in & 


works, 10 much at variance with her taste, fe 
‘unprotected in society—with all the sensibility of| with her health nmch broken, and 

‘the sex, encountering miseries which break the | might be said to have nearly survived th 
spirits of men; with the repugnance arising from m 
that delicacy which trembles when it quits its 
retirement. 

My acquaintance with an unfortunate Indy of 
the name of Exaza Ryves, was cosanl and in- 
terrupted ; yet I witnessed the bitterness of “ hope 
deferred, which maketh the heart sick.’ She 
sank, by the slow wastings of grief, into grave 
which probably does not record the name of its 
martyr of literatare, 

‘She was descended from a family of distinction 








Dacheiedcsmanctse Toves, but ' she never told her love.” She seeks 
agree Her comedies |for her existonce in ber literary labours, and 
nat the managers of the perishes in want. 

In the character of Lavinia, our authoress, with 
all the melancholy sagacity of genius, foresaw and 
has described her own death !—the dreadfal soli- 
tude to which she was latterly condemned, when 
in the last stage of her poverty; ber frugal mode 
of life; ber acute sensibility; her defrauded hopes; 
and her exalted fortitude. She has here formed 
a register of all that occurred in her 
existence. I will give one scene,—to me it | 
pathetic,—for it Is like a scene at which T 
resent : 

* Lavinin’s lodgings were about two miles 
town, in an obscure situation. T was showed 
toa mean apartment, where Lavinia was 
‘at work, and ina dress which indicated the; 


be 


Iii 


met 
her 


with | “that ber hopes of ever bringing any piece on the 
stage were now entirely over; for she found that 
more interest was necessary for the purpose than 
she could command, and that she bad for that 
reason laid agide her comedy for ever 1" 


Such was Eliza Ryves! not beautiful nor inter- 
‘esting in her person, but with a mind of fortitude, 
of all the delicacy of feminine softness, 

and virtuous amid her despair. 





~~ 


‘THE UXDISCRETION OF AN HISTORIAN. 
‘TROMAS CARTS. 
2,’ says Mr, Hallam, “is the most |} 
on ead eet horislt ealteestiticamall 
reprinted, prefers his authority to that of any other, and || 











AE 


that Tom Nass, whom I am about to intro 


familiar acqeaintance, | 
the most exquisite banterer of that age of genius, | 
weapons, and 


ii 


gained |cbarges of Martin Mar-prolate, gent.’ It 


la 


turned on them their own 


truth, these false images, these fictitious realities, | or, crack me this nut. To be sold, at the sign. 
have made heroism tremble, turned the eloquence | the Crab-tree Cudgel, im Thwack-comt lame™.!" 
of wisdom into folly, and bowed down the spirit] Not less biting was his “ Almond for: 
an Alms for Martin.’ Nash first sileneed Mfertin 
Mar-prelate, and the government 


tite ridiculers ; from Socrates to the Pathers, and} honour, A ridiouler then is the best 
from the Fathers to Erasmus, and from Erasmus | meet another ridiculer ; thelr scurrilities 
to Butler and Swift. Ridicule is more efficacious | undo each other. . 
than argument; when that keen instrument cuts} But the abuse of ridicule is not one of th 


prelate, a stream of libels ran throughout the| country and times has proved that ite chief 
| trate was not protected by the shiebd ; 
and public virtues; a false and distorted 


‘and all about im, he scemed to fort a joy that he ttved, | the nature of the flotions af ridicule, 
| and poured out his gratulations to the great Dispenser of| materials of which its shafts are 
‘all felicity, in expressions that Plato himself might have | the secret arts by which ridicule ea 
ter which seems to bo placed above it. 
Gannime Hanvey was an author 
able rank, but with two learned 
“ 
chen, tt orhg tbat character nto vi, and expartate | O2 tolls WH pet 
‘on those partioularsof thelr lives that had rendered them | * This pamphlet has beon ascribed to J 
famous Otworve the arts of the ridiculer ! he seized on| it must be confessed that its native 
‘the romantic enthusiasm of Akenside, and turned it to| contrasts with the famous Bwphwiem 
the cookery af the ancients ! writer. 








Arend that sittings Like a lookeron 

Of this worlde's stage, dost note with critique pen 
‘Tho sharp distiees uf exch condition ; 

And, a8 one carclesse of sunpition, 

Ne fawncst for thee favour of the great ; 

Ne Searest Sootith reprebension 

Of favity wen, which dawnger lo thee threat, 


town-wit. I throw into the note the most awful 
satirical address I ever read}. It became necessary 


his own confidence, and his contempt of the wit Itisa 
lofty palm-tree, with its durable and impenetrable trunk ; 


_ | Bt Its feet lem heap of serpents, darting thelr tongues, 
and filthy teads, {n vain attempting to plerce or to pollute 
it The Italian motto, wreathed among the branches of 
the palm, declares, 11 rvetra matignare non giora nulla 

‘Your malignity avails nothing. 

‘t Axoung those Sonnets, In Harvey's ** Poure Letters, | 
and certaine Sannets, expecially touching Robert Greene |] 
and other parties by him abused, 1092.7 tere t one, 
which, with sreat originality of eonoeptinn, has an equal 
‘vigour of style, and eausticity of satire, on Mobert 














to dry up the floodgates of these rival ink-horus, | tories these licentious wits, wrote 

by an order of the Archbishop of Canterbury. pprhpeviaererpdrqcs et 
‘The order is a remarkable fragment of our literary |by its name; our refinement eannot approve, But 
history, and is thus expressed : ‘* That all Nashe's |it cannot diminish their real nature, and among 
bookes and Dr, Harvey's bookes be taken where-|our elaborate grices, their navelé must be still 





i 


they may be found, and that none of the 
ear ra ei re Wiate Meena 

‘This extrnordinary circumstance accounts for 
excessive rarity of Harvey's “ Foure Letters, 
” and that literary scourge of Nash's, “Have 
you to Saffron-Walden ( Harvey's residence), 
Galiiel Harvey's hunt is vp, 1596 ;" pamphlets 
costly as if they consisted of leaves of 
who, i 


Ey! 


e 


in his other works, writes in a style 
as Adiison’s, with hardly an obsolete 


i 


humour, a style stamped in the beat of fancy, with 
all the life-touches of strong individuality, charac- 


Jour Hanver the Physician's Welcome to 
“Ronswt Gueexs! 


* Come, fellow Greene, come to thy gaping grave, 


‘Vermine to vermine must repale at last ; 
No fitter house for busie follee to dwell ; 

‘Thy canny catching pageants are past ?, 

‘Bome other must those arrant wlories tell ; 

‘These hungry wormes thinke loag for their repast ; 

Come on ; T pardon thy offence to me; 
‘It wens thy living; bo not so aghast! 

A fool and a physitian may agree ! 

And for my brothors never vex thyself; 

‘They are not to disease buried <lfe.” 

* Nosh was a great favourtie with tho wits of his day. 
One calls him our trae English Aretine,” another, 
Sweet satyric Nash,” a third desoribes bis Mase as 
‘© anned with a gag-tooth (a tusk), and his pen possersed 
‘with Horcules's furies.” He ts woll characterised tn * The 
‘Heturn from Parnassus.” 

“++ THis style was witty, tho’ be hard sotne gall; 
Pomething he might have mended, so may all ; 
‘Yet this 1 say, that for a mother's wit, 

‘Few men hare ever seen the Hike of it.” 


Neeh abounds with “ Mother-wit;* but he was also 
‘ebecated at the University, with every advantage of 
‘claneical tustien. 

t Greene hnd written “Tha Art of Conoy-catching,” a 
‘great adept in the arts of @ town-tife, 


wanting. 

In this literary satire Nasw has interwoven @ 
kind of ludicrous biography of Harvey; and 
seems to have anticipated the character of Mar- 
tinus Scribleras, I leave the grosser parts of this 
invective untouched ; for my business is not with 
slander, but with ridicule. 

Nash opens as a skilfal 3 he knew 
well that ridicule, without the appearance of trath, 
was letting fly an arrow upwards, touching no one, 
‘Nash accounts for his protracted silence by ndroitly 
declaring, that he had taken these two or three 
year to get perfect intelligence of Harvey's * Life |} 
and conversation ; one true point whereof well 
sat downe will more excruciate him than knock= 
ing him about the ears with his owen style in a 
hundred sheets of paper."” 

And with great humour says— : 

“As long a8 it is since he writ ngainst me, £0 


hath only held it by my mercy ; and now let him 
thank his friends for this heavy load of disgrace I 
lay upon him, «ince I do it but to show my suffi- 
ciency; and they urging whata triumph he had 
over me, hath made me ransack my standish more 
than I would.” 

In the history of such a literary hero as 
Gabriel, the birth has ever been attended | 
portents. Gabricl’s mother “dreamt a 
that she was delivered “of an immense 
that cam shoot nothing but pellets of 
paper; and thought, instead of a boy, si 
brought to bed of one of those kistrell 
called a wind-sucker.” At the moment 
birth came into the world ‘a calf with 
tongue and eares longer than any asse’s, 
feet turned backwards.” ee ee 
Gabriel's literary genius t 

He then paints to the life the rat 
of Harvey; so that the man himeelf stands, = 
before us —“ He was of an adast swarth ic 
dye, like restie bacon, or a dried 
skin riddled nd crumpled like s pices of 


ously 
talents; exulting humorously— 

“T have brought him low, and shi e 
him; look ow his head, ani you shall od 
haire for eueric tine I have writ 


be bath read ouer this booke."” 





To give a finishing to the portrait, 




















il ecoteenp, he palate the ciastetoe ei, babu chat nas, 00a SY 

at Salfron-Walden =| of throwing the sledge, or the hainmer, to hurle it | 
Glictieon den a cue, wis foorth at the armes end for a wager, 

without water, and feedes on} ‘‘ Sixe and thirtie sheets it comprehendeth, 

and wormeood, as he feeds on| which with him is but sixe and thirtie fall points 

al eames (periods) ; for he makes no more difference ‘twixt 

asheet of paper and » full pointe, then there is 

nprer pera a twixt two black puddings for a pennie, and a 

- pennie for a pair of black puddings. Yet these 

indeed, like » case of tooth-pickes, | are but the shortest prouerbes of his wit, for be 

In “stock in a euit of apparcil. An| never bids a men good morrow, but he makes a 

a dancing schoole, he is such a dasia de| specch as long ax a proclamation, nor drinker to 

mira de los pedes; a kisser of the| anic, but he reads a lecture of thro howera long, 


pedant. f 

Tt was the folble of Harvey to wish to conceal 
the humble svocation of his father: this forms a 
perpetual source of the bitterness or the pleasantry 
of Nash, who, indeed, ealls his pamphlet * « full 
anawer to theeldest son of the halter maker,” which, 
ho says, ‘is death to Gabriel to remember; where- 
fore from time to time he doth nothing but turmeile 
his thoughts how to invent new pedigrees, and 
what great nobleman’s bastard he was likely to be, 
not whose sonne he is reputed to be. Yet he 

1 would not have a shoo to put on his foote if his 

atl Anpetdaeeegtad fother had not traffiqued with the 
actict Harrey nor his brothers cannot bear to be called 
the sonnes of a rope.maker, which, by his private 
n confession to some of my friends, was the only 
Of epistling, ax bigge ax a packe of thing that most set him afire against me. Turse 
or a stack of salt fish, Carrier, | over his two bookes he hath published against me, 
it by wayne, or by horsebacke? | wherein he hath elapt paper God's plentie, if that 
and it hath crackt me three axle- | could press a man to death, and see if, in the waye 
newes! Take them again! 1/ of answer, or otherwise, he once mentioned the 
ire eee rere (oon be deep- | word rope-muker, or come within forty foot of it; 
thi eryde creake under them fortic times | except in one place of his first booke, where he 
; wherefore if you be a good man |nameth it not neither, but goes thus cleanly to 
iis with them, mend high-| worke -—* and may not a good sonne hare a repro~ 
up ‘with them. bate for his father ?" a periphrase of a rope-maker, 
@ Teame to unrip and vnbumbast this| hich, if I should shryue myself, I never heard 
we bag padding, and found nothing in| before." According to Nash, Gabriel took bis 
. Swines livers, oxe galls, and | oath before a justice, that his father was an honest 
Twas in « bitterer chafe than anie | man, and kept his sons at the Universities a long 
time. 1 confirmed it, and added, Ay! which is 
more, three proud sounes, that when they met the 
hangman, their father's beet customer, would not 

put off their hats to him—* 

Such repeated raillery on this folble of Harvey 
touched him more to the quick, and more raised the 
public laugh, than eny other point of attack; for 
it was merited. Another foible was, perhaps, the 

‘Poyseth 2 cade * of herrings | finical richness of Harvey's dress, adopting the 
Tt was rumoured | Italian fashions on his return from Italy, * when 

‘the guard meant to trie| he made no bones of taking the wall of Sir 
Philip Sidney, in his black Venetian velvet.” On 

quantity of an article | this the fertile invention of Naeh raises ascandalous 
anecdote concerning Gabriel's wardrobe; ‘a tale 














| ot his: hobby.horse reuelling and domineering at| Of Harvey's list of friends he observes :— 
Audiey-end, when the Queen was there; to which} ‘To a bead-rol! of earned men and lords, be 
Gabriel came ruffling it ont, bufty tufty, in| appeals, whether he be an asse or no?” 
suit of velnet—" which he bad *‘untrussed,| Hareey bad said, “ Thomas Nash, from the top 
and pelted the outside from the Hining of an old of bis wit looking down upon simple creatures, 
velvet saddle he had borrowed!"'—' The rotten | calleth Gabriel Harvey a dunce, a foole, an ideot, 
mould of that worm-eaten relique, he means, | a dolt, a goose-cap, an asse, and so forth; for some 
when he dies, to hang over his tomb for a | ofthe residue is not to be spoken but with his owne 
monament®*.’? Harvey was proud of his refined |mannerly mouth; but he should hare shewed 
skill io “Tuscan authors,” and too fond of their | particularlic which wordes in my letters were the 
worse conctits. Nush alludes to his travels in| wordes of a dunce; which sentences the sentences 
Italy, “to fetch him twopenny worth of Tus-|ofa foole; whieh arguments the arguments of an 
caniem, quite renouncing his natural English | ideot; which opinions the opinions of m dolt; 
aecents and gestures, wrested himself wholly to| which judgments the judgments of a goore-cap } 
the Etalian punctilios, painting himself Hke «| which conclusions the conclusions of an nssef.”” 
courtesan, (till|the Queen declored, ‘he looked! Thus Harvey reasons, till he becomes unreason- 
something like an Italian!’ At which he roused | able; onc would have imagined that the literary 
his plumes, pricked his ears, and ran away with | satires of our English Lucian had been voluminous 
‘the bridle betwixt his teeth.” These were mali- | enough, without the mathematical demonstration. || 
cious tales, to make his adversary contemptible, |The banterers seem to have put poor Harvey 
whenever the merry wits at court were willing to nearly out of his wits; he and his friends felt 
‘sharpen themselves on him. their blows too profoundly ; they were mach too 
‘One of the most difficult points of attack was to | thin-skinned, and the solemn air of Harvey in hie 
bresk through that bastion of sonnets and panegy- | graver moments at their menaces is extremely || 
ies with which Harvey had fortified himself by | ludicrous. ie roel ee 
the sid of his friends, against the asewults of Nash. |issime Gadriel, which quintessence of himself 
Harvey bad been commended by the lenrned and | seems to have mightily affected him. ‘They threat 
the ingenious. Our Lucian, with his usual adroit-|ened to confute his letters till 
ness, since he could not deny Harvey's intimacy | seems to have put him in despair. The following 
‘with Spenser and Sidney, gets rid of their suffrages | passage, descriptive of Gabriel's distresses, may 
by this malicious sarcasm: “It is a miserable | excite a smile, 
thing for a man to be said to have had friends,and| ‘* This grand confuter of my letters says, 
how to have neer a one left!''— As for the|* Gabriel, if there be any wit or industrie in thee, 
others, whom Harvey calls * his gentle and liborall | now I will dare it to tho vttormost; write of what 
friends," Nash bolily caricatures the grotesque | thou wilt, in what language thou wilt, and J will 
crew, as “tender itchie brained infants, that|confute it, and answere it. Take Troth's part, 
cared not what they did, so they might come in| and I will proouve trath to be no truth, marching 
print; worthless whippets, and jackstraws, who| ovt of thy dung-voiding mouth.’ He will never 
meeter it in his commendation, whom he would | leave me as long os he is able to lift a pen, ed 
compare with the highest." ‘The works of these | infinitum, if T reply, he has « rejoinder; and for 
young writers he describes by an image exquisitely my brief ¢riplication, he is pronided with « gwar 


people in the hot countries, who, when they have | dislocation of my whole meaning.'? 

‘bread to make, doc no more than clap the dowe| Poor Harvey! be knew not that choral wal 
‘upon s post on the ontside of their houses, and| nothing real in ridicule, no end to its | 
there leave it to the sun to bake; so their indigested | malice ! 

conceipts, far rawer than ante dome, at all adven-| Harvey's tastefor hexameter verses, which beso 
tures upon the post they elep, pluck them off who | unnaturally forced into our language, is admirably 
will, and think they have made as good n batch of | ridiculed. Harvey had shown bis taste for 
poetrie as may be. metres by a variety of pocms, to whose 
——__—________________ | Nash thus sarcastically alludes s— 

“This unlucky Venetian relvet cost of Harvey had] «+ tr hed grown with him into such 

‘leo produced a Quippe for an Vpsiart Courtier, oF | costom, 

quaint dispute betworn Veluet-broeches and Cloth- 

breeches," which poor Harvey declares was * one of tho 

most Hoentious and intolerable invectives. Thix blow 

fied been struck by Greene on the 4 talianates "Courter. | Anse,” set, 











} i hayling | paper to have their names breathed over it;" and 
‘supper, if he ehancst to) that Wolfe designed “ to get » privilege betimes, 
of harts in his hands, | forbidding of all others to sell waste-paper but 
and women’s hearts all | himsclfe.”” The climax of the narrative, after 


call this tree? A inwrell? © bonny be 
will 1 bow this knew, and vaylemy 


|wetherodclee that stands on tho top of Ail- 
down, if thou dacs, for thy erowne, ant 
eect 


meter verse (says Nash) I graunt to 

re ee may 

r lyme of our’; 

Pec craicccios ae ‘Tarrarantantara turba tumultuosa Trigonum 
jarucyorum 





plough in; hee goes twitching and 
our language, like aman runsing pon 
p the hill in one syllable and down the 


and his Trojans*."’ An Hereulean feat 
“ Duns furens,"’ Nash tells us, waa his 








aa 


Nash bitterly regrets he has no more room; ‘else 
|) T should make Gabriel a fugitive out of England, 
being the rmucnousest slowen that ever lapt por- 
|| redge in noblemoen's houses, where he has bad 
already, out of two, his mittimus of Ye may be 
gone! for he was a sower of seditious paradoxes 
amongst kitchin-boys.”” Nash seems to have 
considered himself as terrible os an Archilochus, 
whose satires were so fatal ax to induce the satir~ 
ised, after having read them, to hang themselves. 
‘How ill poor Harvey passed through these wit 
duels, and how profoundly the wounds inflicted on 
Lim und his brothers were felt, appears by his own 
confessions. In his '* Foure Letters,” after some 
curious observations on invectives and satires, 
from those of Archilochus, Lucian, and Aretine, 
to Skelton and Scoggin, and “the whole venomous 
and yiperous brood of old and new raylers,’? he 
proceeds to blame even his beloved friend the 
gentle Spenser, for the severity of his ‘ Mother 
‘Hubbard's tale,” & satire on the court.“ I must 
needes say, Mother Hubbard in. heat of choller, 
eames a pere mnneloejce Der awene Youry 


ynspotted friendship. 
‘Clodius learned of Tully to frame artificial! decla- 


mations and patheticall invectives against Tully 
himselfe; if Mother Hubbard, in the vaine of 
‘Chawcer, happen to tel one canicular tale, father 
Elderton and his son Greene, in the yaine of 
Skelton or Scoggin, will counterfeit an hundred 
dogged fables, libles, slaunders, lies, for the whet~ 
stone. But many will sooner lose their lines 
‘than the least jott of their reputation, What 
‘mortal feudes, what cruel bloodshed, what terrible 
me have heen committed for the point 
‘of honour and some few courtly ceremonies.” 
‘The incidents so plentifully narrated in this 
‘Luclanic biography, the very nature of this species 
‘of satire throws into doubt ; yet they still seem 
shadowed out from some truths; but the truths 
who can unravel from the fictions? And thus a 
narrative is consigned to posterity which involves 
illasteious characters in an inextricable nct-work 
of calumny and genias. 
‘Writers of this class alienate themselves from 
humon kind, they break the golden bond which 
holds them to society; and they live among us 





like a polished banditti. Inthese copious extracts, 
I have not noticed the more eriminal insinuations || 


trace the effects of ridicule, and to detect its artix 
flees, by which the most characters may | 
be deeply injured at the pleasure of « Ridieulor. 
‘The wild mirth of ridicule, aggravating wad taunt- 


f 


real imj and imaginary | 
ing perfections, and fastening 


‘ones on the victim in idle sport or 

strikes at the imost brittle thing: in the world, 
man's good repatation, for delicate matters whieh 
papel prepertetaiiep nin 
which so much of personal happiness is concerned. 


ete 


LITERARY HATRED. 
KXMIEGITING A COMSITRAOY AGAINER AN AUTHOR 


Iy the peaceful walks of literature we are startled 


at discovering genius with the mind, and, if we | 


conceive the instrument it guides to be a stiletto, 
with the hand of an assassinj—irnscible, 

armed with indiscriminate satire, never pardon 
ing the merit of rival genins, but fastening on 


it throughout life, till, in the moral retribution of 


human nature, these very passions, by their em 
gratified cravings, hare tended to annibilate the 


being who fostered them, ‘These passions among || 


literary men are with none more inextinguishable 
than among provincial writerr.—Their bad feel- 
ings are concentrated by their Iocal co 
The proximity of men of genius ecems to produce: 
a familiarity which excites hatred or co 
while he who is afflicted with disordered passions: 


imagines that he is urging his own elaims te genius |] 


by denying them to their possessor. A whole life 
passed in harassing the industry or the genius 
which he has not equalled; and instead of 
the open career a8 a competitor, only 
as an assassin by their side, ia presented ia 
object now before us. . 

Dr. Ginpeat Srvant seems carly 
devoted himself to literature; but his 

















There is a serious composure in the letter of | 

disappointments of | December, which seems to be occasioned by the 
tempered answer of his London correspondent. 

‘The work was more suited to the meridian of 
Sacha mtanatmes| 
‘its personality and causticity. s 


assures his friend, that ** the second number you 
will find better than the first, and the third better || 
‘than the second,’ ] 
‘The next letter is dated March 4, 1774, in which 
I find our author still in good spirits — 
“ The magazine rises, and promises much, in 
‘this quarter. Our artillery has silenced all oppo- 
sition. The rogues of the * uplifted bands’ 
decline the gombat.”” ‘These rogues are the clergy, 
and some others, who had “ uplifted hands" from 
the vituperative nature of their adversary; for he 
tells us, that now the clergy are silent, the 
town-council have had the presumption to oppose 
us; and have threatened Creech (the publisher in 
Edinburgh) with the terror of making him @ 
constable for his insolence. A pamphlet on the 
quod. | abuses of Heriot’s Hospital, inclading n direct 
he octerengednhedciond proof of perjury in the provost, was the punish- 
ll purchase for me s copy of it in| ment inflicted in return. And new papers are 
eprint shops. It is not to be | forging to chastise them, in regard to the poor’s 
‘They are afraid to vend rato, which is again started ; the improper choice 
sto take it on the footing of a of professors ; und violent stretches of the impost. 
‘not yet deseribed ; and are to 
yet satirical account of it, in the | 
Tt would not be proper to 
in, lop but in a very distant 
ferments a good deal of public spirit; but patriotism 
ventured on ; and the non-| must be independent to be pure. If the Edin- 











| then, is the progress of malignant genius! 
author, like him who invented the brazen 





“17 dune, 1774. 
to me that 
does not grow in London ; T thought 
eer Bat it is my constant 
pointed in everything I attempt ; 
Tever had a wish that was gratified ; 
an event that did not come. 
of fate, 1 wonder how the devil 
bas tarn projector, I am now sorry that I 
oy tga aeeeenteney 
to it, I shall set off. 
this place, and every- 
5 was there a city where there 
‘was so much pretension to knowledge, and that 


Again—" ‘The publication is too good for the 
| country. There are very few men of taste or 








Jil has che ones hc we sean laa 
actor, hissed him off the stage! 


It was now “The English Review"? was | 
instituted, with his idol Whitaker, the historian of | 
Manchester, and others, He says, To Whitaker 
hates Oe alse ee 














‘the Society |be had delayed till our last review of him kad | 
arm in his | reaehed your city. But I really suppore that he 
the whole | has little probability of getting any gratuity. The || 


“Dr, Henry has by this time reached you. 
think you ought to pay your respects to 
Morning Chronicle. 





for my temper to be assailed both by infidels and 
believers. My pride could not submit to it. 1 
shall act in my defence with » spirit which it 
seems they have not expected,’” 


0) April, W774. 

ly Roviow, was| “I received, with infinite pleasure, the annun- 

‘the philosopher was| ciation of the great man into the capital. Seis 
forcible and excellent; and you have my best || 











“+ 20th May, 1774. 
* Bocenlini 1 thought of transmitting, when the 
reverend historian, for whose use it was intended, 
made his appearance at Edinburgh, But it will 
not be lost. He shall most certainly see it. David's 
Tt is a carious 


©3 April, 1775. 

4 T sce every day that what is written toa man's 
disparagement is never forgot nor forgiven. Poor 
Henry is on the point of death, and his friends 
declare that I have killed him. I received the 
information as a compliment, and bogged they 
would not do me #0 much honour.” 

‘But Henry and his history long survived Stuart 
and his critiques; and Robertson, Blair, and 
Keimes, with others be assailed, bave all taken 
their due ranks in public esteem. What niche 
does Stuart occupy ? His historical works possess 
the show, without the solidity, of research ; hardy 
paradoxes, and an artificial style of momentary 
brillisney, are none of the lusting materials of 
| history. This shadow of “ Montesquica,”* for he, 
conceived him only to be bis fit rival, derived the 
ast consolations of life from an obscure corner 
of a Burton ale-house—there, in rival potations, 
with two or three other disappointed authors, they 
regaled themeelves on ale they could not always 
pay for, and recorded their own literary celebrity, 
whieh had never taken place. Some time before” 
his death, his asperity was almost softened by 
melancholy; with a broken spirit, be reviewed 
himself; ao victim to that unrighteous ambition 
which sought to build up its greatness with the 
ruins of his fellow-countrymen; prematurely wast- 
‘ing talents which might have been directed to 
literary eminence. And Gilbert Stuart died as he 


neglected, i 
completed by their authors, The arts of | 
condemnation, as they may be practised by men 
of wit and arrogance, are well known ; and it is 


number of good authors, is a greater ¢ 
than even that mawkish panegsric, which 


novelty. A bad 
addressed to the 


wit will not lose one silver shaft on game 
struck, no one would take up. It must : 
the Historian, whose novel researches throw 
light in the depths of antiquity ; at the 
addressing himtelf to the imagination, ‘p 


bes sent some nervous authors to their g1 
embittered the life of many whose 


‘bad enjoyed for twenty years, for 
in bisold age; for no man wus of * a more fems 








had lived, a vietim to intemperance, physical and 
moral | 





to one who threatened to write 
‘that no author was ever written down 
” 


absurdity, by placing 


By recurring to legal redress, we too often expose 


calamity of undue severity of criticism, which 
authors bring on themselves by their exces. 
‘ive anxiety, which throws them into some 
eatremely ridiculous attitudes ; and surprisingly 
influence even authors of good sense and temper. 
Scorr of Amwell, the Quaker and Poet, was, 
doubtless, « modest and amiable man, for Johnson 
declared '* he loved him.” When his poems were 
collected, they were reviewed in the Critical Review ; 
very offensively to the Post ; for the critic, alluding 

ibellishments of the volume, 


© Im cee of hls own publications be quotes, with grout 
self-complacency, the following lines on Liicsself = 

“The wits who drink water and muck suger-candy, 

Ampute the strong epirit of Keurlok to brandy = 

‘They are not so much out ; the matter in sbert is, 











dd of the Muses, and wishes, we suppose, 
, Macheath, to se bis Indies well 


4 


' 


his , and the keenness of bis satire. 
is, he was a physician, whose name is 
the editor toa great medical 


? 
a3 


provoked at the odd account of his poems; 
he says, “You rank all my poems together as 
bad, then discriminate some as good, and, to 
complete all, recommend the volume as an agree- 


able and amusing collection.” Had the poet been 


puersonally acquainted with this tantalizing critic, he 
would have comprehended the nature of the criti- 
ciem—and certainly would never have replied to it. 
‘The critic, employing one of his indefinite terms, 
had said of ‘* Amwell,” and some of tho early 
“ Elegies,” that ‘* they had their share of poetical 
merit ;" be does not venture to assign the pro- 
portion of that share, but “the Amecbean and 
cclogues, odes, epistles, &c. now added, 

ofa much weaker feature, and many of them 


” 


saya, was designed to be hat 
and thus addresses the critics— 


from the great 
Nature, much imagery that “ 
of all my predecessors, Yow might | 
remarked, that when I introduced ix 


Fretful, in ‘* The Critic :"— 
“T think the interest mther declines in the 
fourth aet."" ° ce | 
* Rises! you mean, my dear friend {* 


that ‘* the whole of it has great 
paints ite subject in the warmest col 

he came to review the odes, he 

“he does not meet with those 

nor that freedom and spirit, which 
poetry requires ;” and quotes half a 

he declares is “ abrupt and 
twenty-seven odes!” exelsims the writhi 
‘are the whole of my: lyric 
stigmatised for four lines which 

those that preceded them?” But 
could not be aware of, the post tells ue—he 











Mr. Scott's poom is just amd 

it" but “* Mr. Hayley's is likewise just and 

ie lire therefore, if one man hax written = 

perhaps the| piece *' just and elegant,” there is no noed of 

If you mean | another on the same abject **jast and elegant.’ 

ram. tautologous| To such an extreme point of egotiem was a 

in different | modest and respectable author most cruelly driven, 

unnecessary | by the callous playfulness of « poctical eritic, who 

ors; 1 believe | himeelf hud no sympathy for poetry of any quality 

d to produce many|or any species, and whose sole art consisted in 

turning about the canting dictionary of eriticism, 

peecieaan: lies mess Had Homer been # modern candidate for poetical 

disposi-| honours, from bim Homer had not been distin~ 

this tip Yasin: tx te | pola ven, on, i, wtiaaet iy ol, Needs oe 

Theiers for the fist ime, Amwell, whose poetical morits are not, however, 

F ode. ie osama at slight. In his Amecbean eclogues, he may be 
that conversation-| distinguished as the poet of botanists 


—~— 
A VOLUMINOUS AUTIION WITHOUT 
JUDGMENT. 


‘Vasr erudition, without the tact of good 
ina voluminous author, what a calamity! for to. | 
‘itself an'which | 


such a mind no subject can present 

he is unprepared to write, and none at the dame | 
time on which he can ever write reasonably, The | 
name and the works of Witttam Parxne have | 
often come under the eye of the reader ; ‘but itis | 
even now difficult to diseover hie real character : | 





author, Pryane would not appear ridiculous ; but 
the unlucky author of nearly two hundred works*, 


* Thatall those works should not be wanting ts pos 
terity, Prynne deposited the complete colleetion in. tho 
library of Lincoln's Inn, about forty volumes fn folio and 
quarto. Noy, the Attorney-General, Prynne's great 
advermry, wns provoked at the society's accoptance of 
these ponderous volumes, and promised to send them the 
yoluminous labours of Taylor the water-post, to place by 
thelr side; ho Judged, as Wood says, that «Prynne's 
‘tooks ware worth little or nothing; that his proofs were 
no arguments, and his affirmations no testimonies” But 
honest Anthony, io spite of his prejudices against Prynne, 
confesses, that though " by the gonerality of scholars they 
are looked upon to be rather rhapeodical and confused. |] 
than polite or concise; yet, for Antiquaries, Critios, and 
sometimes for Divines, they are useful." Buel erudition 
as Prynne's always rotains ite value—the author who 
could quote # bundred authors on the unloveliness of 
Jowe-locks," will always make a good literary chest of 
drawers, well filled, for those who can make better use of 
their contents than himself. 

















Hig custom, when he studied, was to put on 
® long quilted cap, which came an inch over his 
eyes, serving as an umbrella to defend them from 
too much light, and seldom eating any dinner, 
would be every three hours maunching a roll of 
bread, and now and then refresh his exhausted 
spirits with ale brought to him by his servant; *" a 

| custom to which Butler alludes, 


“Thou that with ale, or vilor liquors, 
‘Diidet inspire Withors, Prynne, and Vicars, 
And teach, though it wore in despite 

‘Of nature and their stars to write” 


‘Tho “ Hisrntomasrrx, the Player's Scourge, or 
Actor's Tragedic,”’ is « ponderous quarto, ascend- 
ing to about 1100 pages; a Paritan’s invective 
against plays and players, accusing them of every 
kind of erime, including libels against church and 
state; but it ia more remarkable for the incal- 





| 
th 


il 


condemned in the penalty of five | poands, | 
and barred for ever from printing and selling’ 


up capon. The temporary sedition 
were the gradual Mosaic inlayings 
shapeless mass, 


calable quotations and references foaming over | 


the margins. searcely ventures on the 
most trivial opinion, without calling to his aid 
whatever had been said in all nations and in all 
ages; and Cicero and Master Stubbs, Petrarch 
and Minutius Felix, Isaiah and Proissart’s Chro- 
nicle, oddly associnte in the ravings of erudition. 
‘Who, indeed, but the author '* who seldom dined,” 
could have quoted perhaps a thousand writers in 
one volumet? A wit of the times remarked of 
this Helluo librorum, that “ Nature makes ever 


* Hlume, in his History, tias given some account of this 
qnormous quarto; to which I refer the reader, vol. vi, 
chap. Lil. 

+ Milton admiribly charcterisee Prynne's absurd 
learning, as well as his character, in his treatise on “Tho 
Likollest means to remove hirelings out of the church,” as 
‘a late hot querist for tyther, whom ye may know by 
‘his wits fying ever beside dim in the wnnrgin, to de ever 
‘beniide his wits in the text. A flores Rofermer once ; now 
rinkled with a contrary beat.” 





maid's apparel, you did well? 
answered that be thought himself b 
yield to death than to do so.’* 

Another licenser, Dr. Harris, 
about seven years ago— . 

“Mr. Prynne came to him to license 
concerning stage-plays; but he would 
of the same;"—and adds, “ So this man. 











b ‘Tt was usual for the 
examine the MS. before it went to the 
t ‘either tampered with Buckner, 
intellects by keeping his multi- 

in the press for four 
suspect, by numbering 


3 and 
folios for 


. of the work itself; wufficiently 
fiving the feelings of those times against 


means by his modern innovators in 
and by cringing and ducking to altars, 
: ow on the church ; he leamed it 
being used among them. The 
the church, the charitable term he 
not to be » noise of men, but rather 
“brute beasts ; choristera bellow the 
oxen; dark a counterpoint as « 
= roar out a treble like a sort of 
out a bass, as it were a number of 
calls the silk and satin divines ; 
wasa Paritan,in his Index. He falleth 


yple that we arc returning back again 

‘and to persunde them to go and 

country, as many are gone 

et wp new laws and fancies among 
Consider what may come of it!’ 

of the Lords of the Star-chamber 

| by passion as much as justice. Its 


' 
‘but therein he showeth himself lke” unto Ajax ] 
Anthropomastix, as the Grecians called him, the 
‘scourge of all mankind, that is, the whipper and 
the whip.” 
‘Such is the history of a man whose greatness of 
character was clouded over and lost fatal 


‘seldom dined” that he might quote “squadrons 
of authorities’ 


IMMODERATE VANITY, 

‘Tue name of Torawn is more familiar than bis 
character, yet his literary portrait has great singu~ 
larity ; he must be classed among the ‘ Authors 
by Profession,” an honour secured by near fifty 
publications ; and we shall discover that be aimed 
to combine with the literary charncter, one pocn« 
Karly his own. With higher talents and more 
learning than have been conceded to him, there 
ran in his mind an original vein of thinking, Yet 
his whole life exhibits in how small a degree great 
intellectual powers, when seattered through all the 
forms which Vanity suggests, will contribute to an 
outhor’s social comforts, or raise him in public 
esteem. Toland was fruitful in his productions, 
and still more in his projects ; yet it is mortifying 
to estimate the reault of all the intense activity of 
the life of an author of genius, which terminates in 
being placed among these Calamitics. 

‘Toland's birth was probably illegitimate ; a cir- 
cumstance which influenced the formation of his 
character. Baptised in ridicule, he had nearly 
fallen a victim to Mr. Shandy's system of Christian 
names, for he bore the strange ones of Janus 
Junius, which, when the school-roll was called 
over every morning, afforded perpetual merriment, 
tillthe Master blessed him with plain John, which 
the boy adopted, and lived im quiet, I must say 
something on the names themselves, perhaps as 
ridiculous! May they not have influenced the 


* The very expression Prynno himaels uses, see p. 068 of 
the Histriomastix ; whoro having gone through * three 
squadrons,” he commences a frevh chapter this: "The 
fourth squadron of suthorities is the venerable troope of 
70 several renowned ancient fathers ;” and he throws {1 
‘more than he promised, all which are quoted volume and 











“He bad all the shiftings of the double-faced 

mn politics of the ancicot 

|) Junius, His godfathers sent bim into the world 
in crucl mockery, thus to remind their Irish boy of 


‘scurity, he ostentatiously produced a testimonial 
of his bicth and family, hatched up at a convent 
of Irish Franciscans in Germany, where the good 
Fathers subscribed, with their ink tinged with their 
rbenish, to his most ancient descent, referring to 
the Irish Mistory! which they considered as a 
parish register, fit for the gon of an 
Trish Priest ! ba 


Toland, from early life, was therefore dependent 
‘on patrons; but illegitimate birth creates strong 
and determined characters, and Toland bad all the 
force and the originality of self-independence. He 
‘was a seed thrown by chance, to grow of itself 
wherever it falls. 

‘This child of fortane studied at four Universities; 
at Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Leyden; from the 
Intter he passed to Oxford, and, in the Bodleian 
‘Library, collected the materials for his after- 
studies. 


He loved study, and even at a Inter period 
declares, that ® no employment or condition of life 
shall make me disrelish the lasting entertainment 
of books.” In his “ Description of Epsom,” he 
observes that the taste for retirement, reading, and 
contemplation, promotes the true relish for select 
company, and says, 

“Thus I remove at pleasure, as T grow weary 
‘of the country or the town, as I avoid a crowd or 
seek company.—Here then let me have books and 
bread enough without dependence; a bottle of 
hermitage and & plate of olives for a select friend ; 
with an carly rose to present a young lady as an 
emblem of discretion no less than of beanty."” 

At Oxford appeared that predilection for para~ 
doxes and over-curious speculations, which formed. 
afterwards the marking feature of his literary cha- 
racter. He has been urfjustly contemned as a 
seiolist; he was the correspondent of Leibnitz, 
Le Clore, snd Bayle, and was « learned author 
when scarcely aman. He first published a Disser- 
tation on the strange tragical death of Regulus, 
‘and proved ita Roman legend. A greater paradox 
might have been his projected speculation on Job, 





bad inveoted « monstrous story to/secount for the 

extraordinary afflictions of that modet of = divine || 

mind. Speculations of so mach learning and 

ingenuity are uncommon in a young man; but 

Toland was so unfortunate as to valee his own 

;| merits, before those who did not care to hear of 
them. 


‘Hardy vanity was to recompense him, perhaps 
he thought, for that want of fortune and connec | 
tions, which raised daller spiriteabore him. Vain, 
loquacious, inconsiderate, and daring, he assumed 
‘the dictatorship of a coffee-house, and obtained |} 


religion. An anonymous person addressed two 
Jetters to this new Heresiarch, solemn and moni+ 


‘ 
<uMfs what porpoee bul T sts kat Qe 
where, were I aa atheist or deist, for one of 
two you take me tobe? Whats condition: 


would not, reveal himself! Nay, though I granted | 
a Deity, yet, if nothing of me subsisted after death, 
‘what laws could bind, what incentives could more 
‘me to common honesty? Annihilation would be 


to demonstrate that only the dialogue was genuine 5 























tyrants. 
: t a bit of dinner or a new wig, for he Observe, this Vindictus Liberiue was published 
wanting both, were not to be feared | on his return from one of his political tours in 
‘The persecution from the church} Germany. His views were then of a very different 
in the breast of Toland, and excited | nature from those of controversial divinity; but 
revenge. it was absolutely necessary to allay the storm the 
- breathed amhile from the bonfire of| church had raised against him. We begin now to 
Janus tarned his political face. | understand a little better the character of Toland 
‘These literary adventurers, with heroic preten- 
sions, can practise the meanest artifices, and 
shrink themselves into nothing to creep out of a 
hole, How does this recantation agree with the 
“ Nazarenus," and the other theological works 
had evidently strong nerves; for him, | which Toland was publishing all his life? Pos- 
| produced controversy, which he loved, | terity only can judge of men’s characters; it 
iced books, by which he lived. | takes in at a glance the whole of a life; but con- 
not be imagined that Toland affected tomporarios only view a part, often apparently 
as no Christian, or avowed him-|anconnected and at variance, when in fact it is 
neither, This recantation is full of the spirit of 

Janus Junius Toland. 

But we are concerned chiefly with Toland’s lite 
rary character. He was so confirmed an author, 
that he never published one book without pro- 
‘mising another. He refers to others in MS. ; 
and some of his most curious works are post- 
humous. He was a great artificer of title-pages, 

-art of explaining away his own | covering them with a promising luxuriance ; and 
} first controversy about the word | in this way recommended his works to the book- 
; | sellers. He had an odd taste for running inserip- 

tions of whimsical erabbed terms; the gold-dust 

of erudition to gild over a title; such as “ Tetra- 

i i 


and Toland, Tindato, | flected titles indicated their several subjects ; 
ry, Holingbroke, and Locke, | but the genius of Toland could descend to literary 
quackery. 





GENIUS AND ERUDITION, 


induced him to seize on all temporary topics to 
which his facility and ingenuity gave currency, 
The choice of his subjects forms an amusing cata- 
Togue ; for he had “ Remarks’ and ** Projects’? 
‘as fast as events were passing. He wrote on 
“The Art of Governing by Parties," on * Anglin 
Libera," ‘ Reasons for Naturalising the Jews,’’ 
on “The Art of Canvassing ut Elections,” On 
raising a National Bank without Capital,” “ The 
State Anatomy,” '* Dunkirk or Dover,"’ &e. &c, 
These, and many like theso, set off with catching 
titles, proved to the author that a man of genius 
may be capable of writing on all topics at all times, 
‘end make the country his debtor without benefit- 
ing his own creditors *. 

‘There was a moment in Toland's life, when he 
felt, or thought be felt, fortune in his grasp. He 
was then floating om the ideal waves of the South- 
sea bubble. ‘The poor author, elated with a notion 
‘that he was rich enough to print at his own cost, 

copies of his absord “ Pantheistioon.” 
He deseribes a society of Pantheists, who worship 
the universe as God ; a mystery much greater than 
those he attacked in Christianity. ‘Their prayers 


their zeal they endured « little tediowmess. The 
next objectionable circumstance in this wild ebulli- 
tion of philosophical wantonness is, the apparent 
burlesque of some liturgies; nnd 2 wag having 
* Inexamyining the original papers of Toland, which 
are preserved, I found some of his agreements with book- 
sellers, Por his desoription of Epeam be wns to receive 
only four guineas tn cas 1000 were sold. Wo recetwod ten 
guineas for his pamphlet on Naturalixing the Jews, and 
ten guinews more in case Bernant Lintott sold 200, The 
Words of thie agreement run thus: | Whenever Mr. 
‘Toland calls for ton guineas, after the first of Vebruary 
next, J promise to pay them, if T cannot show that 200 of 





of his country, must wtand al the counter to count out 
200 unsold copies 


‘THE VICTIMS OF IMMODERATE VANITY. 


to Germany, and appear at home in the courts of 
Berlin, Dresden, and Hanover? Perhaps we may 
discover a concenled feature in the character of 
‘our ambiguous philosopher, 

In the only life we have of Toland, by Des 
Maiseaux, prefixed to his posthumous works, 
tells us, that Toland was at the court of Berlin, 
bat ‘‘an incident, ¢oo udiorous to be mentioned, 


what is worse, it proves a book without 8 life; for whaktde 
we know of Boileau after all his tedious stuff?” 








re 
jc -serbery 





Siiatahinoesd Wha Tatton ta are” those particular observers we calt Srims } 
a political agent? Yet how was it that |despise the calumny no less than I detest 


politician, for he managed his own affairs | fit to present hitherto, had I discovered, by 
‘Was the political intriguer rather a effects, that they were acceptable from me 


works are several ‘* Me-| now begin to suspect. Without direct answers to ! 


otials "forthe Earl of Oxford, which throw 8 1 propia, yew pit ee Seer 


Sends elsawbere, or betrayed. thom contrary: |) 


p for hia marked neglect of him ; opens | who confided to my management affairs of a higher 
‘a political tour, where, like Guthrie, nature, have found me exact as well as secret. 
be content with his guarterage. He| My impenetrable negotiation at Vienna (hid under 


character: for the independent Whig | the pretence of curiosity) was not only applauded || 
9 epurn at the office, though he might not| by the prince that employed me, but also propor- 
‘the daties of a spy. tionably rewarded. And here, my lord, give me 
ther such a person, tir, who is neither leave to say that I have found England miserably 
+ apy, and as a lover of learning will | served abroad since this change ; and our ministers 
may not prove of extra-| at home are sometimes as great strangers to the 

to my Lord Treasurer, as well as to genius as to the persons of those with whom they 
Burleigh, who employed such, | have to do—At ——— you have placed the most 
unaceeptable man in the world, one that lived in 


haughtiness, and most ridiculous airs, and one 
that can never judge aright, unless by accident, in 
anything.” 

‘The discarded, or the suspected private Monitor 
of the Minister, warms into the tenderest language 
of political amour, and mourns their rupture but 
should | as the quarrels of lovers. 

T cannot, from all these considerations, but in 
the nature of » lover, complain of your present 
neglect, and be solicitous for your future care,”— 
And again, ‘1 have made use of the simile of a 
Jover, and as such, indeed, I thought fit, once for 
all, to come to a thorough explanation, resolved, 
if my affection be uot killed by your unkindocss, 
to become indissolubly yours.” 

7 Such is the nice artifice which colours with a 
ed in no interest at home, | pretended love of his country, the sordidness of the || 

















mG 
By 


i 


‘accommodated for this voyage, 
will be very short. Lord! how 


i 


inf 


£ 
“Ly 


eit 


fears (tho chango of ministry) will make her 

After all his voluminous literature, and his 
refined politics, Toland lived and died the life of 
an Author by Profession, in an obscure lodging 
at a country carpenter's, in great distress. He 
had still one patron left, who wns himself poor, 
Lord Molesworth, who promised him, if he lived, 

“ Bare necessaries ; these are but cold comfort 


And his lordship tells of bis unsuccessful 
application to some Whig lord for Toland ; and 
concludes, 


a 

“Tis a sad monster of a man, and not worthy 
of further notice.’” 

T have observed that Toland had strong nerves; 
he neither feared controversies, nor that which 
closes all, Having examined his manuscripts, I 
can sketch a minute picture of the last days of our 


‘author by profession.”” At the carpenter's 
lodgings he drew up a list of all his books—they 
were piled on four chairs, to the emouat of 155 
—most of them works which evince the most 
erudite studies ; and as Toland's learning has been 
very lightly esteemed, it may be worth notice that 
some of his MSS. were transcribed in Greck*, 





© I subjolm, for the gratification of the curious, the titles: 
Of & few of thewe books Spanhemii Opera; Cloricl Penta- 
toushus: Constantini Lexicon GrecoLatinum; Pabricit 
Codex Apooryphus Vet.ot Nor. Test. | Symosius do Regno : 
‘Historia {magisnuen omlestinm Geaselin 16 volumes: Oary- 
‘oplalll Disertationes; Vande Hardt Ephomerides Phitolo- 
glow : Triemogietl Operas Recotdus, ot alis Mabornedica ; 
fall the Worksof tuxtorf  Salvian! Opera ; Reland de Relig. 
Mahomodics ; Galli Opaseula Mythologicn; Apotlodort 





philosopher was composing 
one more proof of the ruling passion 
in death; but why should a Pantheist be solicitoas 
to his genins and his fame! 
transcribe a few lines ; surely they are no 


or Superstition altinguished from Ralighins 1 
from Order, and Bigotry from Reason, in the most 


‘There are other singular titles and wotles fo the 
bls papers, 


+ Alover of all IStersturp, 
‘and knowing more than ten kangeages; 
‘a chaneplon for truth, 
‘an asortor of Bbeety, 
hut the follower or dependant of no Tams 
‘nor could menaces noe fortaane eset biim 5 























writer of hie| In the fist act of his life we find the seed that | 
been careful | developed itself in the succeeding ones. His uncle } 
‘copy of his fea-| could not endure @ hero for his heir: tut Steele | 





leisure, in the silent watch of the night, to ran | 
over the busy dream of the day; and the vigilance 
which obliges us to suppose an enemy always near 
us, has awakened a sense that there is a restless 
and subtle one whieh constantly attends our steps, 
snd meditates our ruin®."" 


To this solemn and monitory work he 
his name, from this honourable motive, that it 
might serve as “ « standing testimony against bim- 
self, and make him ashamed of understanding, and 
seeming to feel what was virtuous, and living so 
quite contrary a life.” Do we not think that no 
one less than a saint is speaking tous? And yet 
he is still nothing more than Ensign Steele! He 
like fool, and, with a warm attach. | te11y ys that this grave work made him considered, 
dics me who had been no undelightful companion, as a 
disagreeable fellow—and "The Christian Hero,” 
by his own words, appears to have fought off 
several fool-hardy geniuses who were for “ trying 
their valour on him,’ supposing a saint was neces. 
sarily a poltroon. Thus “The Christian Hero,” 
* Ms Nichols * Rplatolary Correspondence of Air | 
Richard Stele" wo, 5. P77. : 











‘man who cares not to hide his motives, be tells us, 
that after his religious work he wrote the comedy 
becwuse * nothing can make the town so fond of a 
‘man as a successful play*."' The historian who 
had to record such strange events, following close 
|| on each other, ax an author publishing a book of 
|| picty, and then a farce, could never have discovered 
the secret motive of the versatile writer, had not 
|| that writer possessed the most honest frankness, 
|| Steele was now at once a man of the town and 
Aeavotagor; and wrote Lively ceveye on the follier 


| cost him fifty guineas! He built an elegant villa, 
but, as he was always inculeating economy, he 
dates from “The Hovel.” He detected the fallacy 
of the South-sea scheme, while he himself invented 
projects, neither inferior in magnificence nor in 
misery. He even turned alchemist, and wanted 
to coin gold, merely to distribute it. The nioat 
atriking incident in the life of this of volition, 
was his sudden marrioge with a young lady 
who attended bis first wife’s funcral—struck by 
her angelical beauty, if we trust to his raptures. 
Yet this sage, who would have written so well on 
the choice of a wife, united himself to a character 
the most uncongenial to his own; cold, reserved, 
and most soxiously prudent in her attention to 
money, she was of a temper which every day grew 
worse by the perpetual imprudence and thought- 
Iesences of his own, He calls her “ Prac’? in 
fondness and reproach; she was Prudery itself! 
His adoration was permanent, and so were his 
complaints ; and they never parted but with 
bickerings—yet he could not suffer her absence, 
for he was writing to her three or four passionate 
notes in a day, which are dated from his office, or 
his booksellor’s, or from some friend’s house—he 
has risen in the midst of dinner to despatch a line 
to Prone," to assure her of his affection since 
noon't.—Hor presence or her absenec was equally 
infal to him, 

* Stoclo has given a delightfal piece of sulf biography, 
towards the end of his “Apology for himself and his 
writings,” p00, to. 

+ In the © Bpistolary Correspondence of Sir Richard 
Stoeto,” edition of 180, #0 preserves those extraordinary 
Jove-despatohen; “Prue” nsed poor Btocle at times very 
Ills Indeed Stecto seems to have conceived that tile warm 
affootions were all who required, for Lady Steclo was 
‘usually Ieft whol days in solitude, and frequently in 
‘want of a guinea, whan Stocle could not raiss ane, Ho, 
‘however, somotimes remonstrates with her very feclingly. 
‘The following note ts an instance — 

“ Daan Wore, 

“* Tbavy boen in great pain of body and mind since I 

came oul Yousrvcxtremely cruel toa generous nature, 





‘Yet todo, gited tall tine wih the mscepele 
bility of genins, was exercising the finest feelings 
of the heart ; the same generosity of 


‘The world uses such men as Eastern travellers 
fountains ; they drink their waters, and when 


Lady Steelo'y oxconalve attention to money" >— 

“ Your man Sam owes mo threepence, whieh mutat be 
deducted in the account between you and me ; therefane, 
pray take care to get it fn, oF stop it” 

Such despatches as the following were sont off three or 
four times in a day — 

“1 beg of you not ta be Impationt, though # Be ar how 
defers you W808 ‘Your obliged husband, 

“R, See” 
+ Dean Puen, 

““Dan't be displeased that I donot come heme till elev 

o'clock, Yours, eve” | 
Daan Pave, 

“ Porgive mo dining abroad, and lot Will earey tee 

papers to Buckley's. Your fond devoted BY 
“Dean Pave, : 

“Tam very sleepy and tired, but could seg 

closing my eyes til] Thad told you 1am, dearest. 














throogh it in a|scarch after English antiquities; to review the 

‘tam elomed tt by an tn libraries of all the religious institutions, and to 

ie, amid the wrecks of his fortune | bring the records of antiquity “out of deadly 
darkness into lively light.’ ‘This extensive power 

‘numerous periodical works, | fed a passion already formed by the study of our 


of the Theatre, has drawn an | old rude historians; his elegant taste perceived || 


‘between himself and his friend | that they wanted those graces which he could 
‘aecubinet picture. Steele’s careful | lend them. 

/warm with his subject, had » higher| Six years were occupied, by uninterrupted travel 

+ than the equable softness | and study, to survey our national antiquities; to 

‘is only beantifal. note down everything observable for the history 


eee ee eee eit eetiy aan of the country and the honour of the nation. 


genius by their popular instruction, he is | his 


‘What a magnificent view has he sketched of this 
learned journey! In search of knowledge, Leland 


wandered on the sea-coasts and in the midland ; || 


surveyed towns and cities, and rivers, castles, 
eathedrals, and monasteries; tumuli, coins, and 
| inscriptions ; collected authors ; transcribed MSS. 
If antiquarianism pored, genius too meditated im 

this sublime industry. 
Another six years were devoted to shape and to 
polish the immense collections he had amassed. 
All this untired labour and continued study were 
rewarded by Henry VIII. It is delightful, from 
its rarity, to record the gratitude of s patron: 
Honry was worthy of Leland; and the genius of 
the author was magnificent as that of the monarch 

who bad created it. 

‘had the honour of the invention of Nor was the gratitude of Leland silent: he 
| papers which first enlightened the | seems to have been in the habit of perpetuating 
emotions in elegant Latin verse. 


a spontaneous 
self a remarkable example of the moral und) Qur author bas fancifully expressed his gratitude 


of 


character perpetually contending in | to the king — 

‘volition, Sooner,’ he says, “' shall the seas float with- 
out their silent inhabitants; the thorny hedges 
cease to hide the birds; the oak to spread its 


“ Quam ex dive, tuum iabatur peotore nostro 


| calamity may be traced in the fate ‘Nomen, quod studiis portus et aura meds."* 
Conuins: the ono exhausted the |‘ Thna thou, great King, my torr coare to hall, 


; iy this mind fn the grandest views, | Wbo o'er my stadea breaths a favouring gale." 


e tasks; the otherenthusiast} Jcland was, indeed, alive to the kindness of his 


(ila resscciand bls appiuees to his| royal patron ; and among his. numerous literary 


A Sees 


projects, was one of writing a history of all the 

the father of our antiquaries, was an | palaces of Henry, in imitation of Procopius, who 
scholar; and his ample mind had | described those of the Emperor Justinian. He 
oe langeages of antiquity, those of his | had already delighted the royal car in a beautiful 
‘ancient ones of bis owncountry:|effasion of fancy and antiquarianism, in his 


leben Cygnea Cantio, the Song of the Swans. The 


swan of Leland, melodiously floating down the 
Thames, from Oxford to Greenwich, chants, as 
the passes along, the ancient names and honours 
of the towns, the castles, and the villages. 








for, 
** Except'Truth be delicately clothed in purpure, 
her written verytees can scant find « reader.” 
Our old writers, he tells his sovereign, had, 


© From time to time preserved the acts of your 


| predecessors, and the fortunes of your realm, with 
great diligence, and no less faith ; would ta God 


yet 
alludes to the knowledge of British affairs scattered 
among the Roman, as well as our own writers, bis 
forvid fanoy breaks forth with an image at once 


dow, that the light shall be seen so long, that is 
to say, by the space of a whole thousand years 
‘stopped up, and the old glory of your Britain to 
re-flourish through the world*."” 

And he pathetically concludes, 

** Should 1 live to perform those things that are 
already begun, 1 trust that your realm shal! so well 
be known, once painted with its native colours, that 
it shall give place to the glory of no other region.’” 

‘The grandeur of this design was n constituent 
part of the genius of Leland, but not less, too, was 
that presaging melancholy which even here betrays 
itself, and even more frequently in his verses, 
Everything about Leland was marked by his own 
greatness ; his country and his countrymen were 
ever present ; and, by the excitement of his feel- 
ings, even hie humbler pursuits were elevated into 


‘He had new patrons to court, while engaged in 
labours for which a single life had been too short. 


7 Taland, tn hie magnificent plan, included pevvral 
garious departments Jealous of the literary glory of the 
Tealians, whom he compares to the Grecks for accounting 
all vations bartarcus and unlettored, he had composed 
four books “De Viris Mustefbus,” on Engtish Authors, 


Britannies,”" were to be ** as an ornament and a right 
comely garland.” 


“ Posteritatis amor mihi perblanditar, et ultra 
Prommittit libris seonla mulea mots 
At non tain facile est oculate imponere, nOscO 
Quam non sim tall dignus bonore frat. 
Grovclu magniloquos vates desiderat ipsa, 
Roma suos otiam dispertise dotet. 
Exomplis quum sim claris edootus ab ists, 
Qui sperem Musas vivere posse mons? 
Corti mi sat orit presenti seribere seclo, 
Auribus ot patrie complacuisse mos,” 
IMITATED. 
“« Posterlty, thy soothing love I feel, 
‘That o'er my volumes many an age may steal = 
‘But hard it is the well-clear'd eye cheat 
With honours undeserved, too fond deceit 
Greece, greatly cloquent, and full of fame, 
Sighs for the want of many perish’d name 5 
And Rome o'er her Hlustriows children mourns, 
‘Their fame departing with their mouldering amma 
How can I hope, by such examples shown, 
More than a transient day, a passing «un? 
Enough for me to win the present age, 
And please a brother with » brother's page.” 


ae 
By other verses, addressed to Cranmer, it woald 
appear that Leland was experioncing soxieleal et 
which he had not beea accustomed,—and om 


furniture” of his mind above that of his house. 
“AD THOMAM CRANMERUM. 


CANT, ARCHTEFISCOP, 
Est congesta snitil dom! Supeltex. 
Tagens, aurea, nobilis, vonuste, 
Qua totug studoo Britanniarum 
‘Voro reddere gluriam nitort, 
Sed Fortunn mois noveres ouptin 
Jam folicibus invidet malignm 
Quare, ne pereant brevi vel hort 
‘Multarum mits} ootium tabores 
‘Omnes, ot patria simul decors 
‘Ornaments cadant,” Se 0. 
iMrtaTED. 
+4 'The furnitures that 8) my bowse, 
‘The vast and bewutiful disclow, 
All noble, and the store i geld ; 
Our ancient glory here waroll'd, 








the period at which his stapendous works were to 
be executed. He was seized by frenzy. The 








marked in the bust| Which, falling into the inflammable mind of « poet, 

‘that Lavater had triumphed had he} produced the singular and patriotic poem of the 
Polyolbion of Drayton. Thus the genius of 

‘Leland has come to us diffused throngh a variety 


intellect and the fancy. There is 
ght in stady, often subversive of | of himself, in the style he was accustomed to use, 
ss. Men of genius, from their| and which Weever tells us was affixed to his monu- 
(\F it rop into the cold formalities of society, | ment, as he had heard by tradition, was probably a 
we . » ite its | Felic snatched from his general wreck—for it could 
“neglect, and oda Matera le not with propriety have been composed after his 
poe * 





(What Germany to learn'd Rhenanus owes, 
"That for my Britain shall my tofl wnclose ; 
‘His volumes mark their customs, names, and climes, 
And brighten, with « summer's light, old times. 
Tals, touch't by the «ame lowe, will write, 
‘To ornament my country’s splendid light, 
Whieh shall, inactibed on snowy tablets, be 
‘Pull many a witness of my industry.” 


Another example of literary disappointment 
disordering the intellect, may be contemplated in 
‘the fate of the poet Consins. 

Several interesting incidents may be supplied 
to Johnson's narrative of the short and obsoure 
life of this poet, who, more than any other of our 
‘martyrs to the lyre, has thrown over all his images 
‘and his thonghts a tenderness of mind,and breathed 
4 freshness over the of poetry, which the 
‘mighty Milton has not exceeded, and the laborious 
Gray bas not attained. But he immolated happl- 


ness, and at length reason, to his imagination | | Longin 


‘The incidents most interesting in the life of Collins 
would be those events which elude the ordinary 
biographer ; that invisible train of emotions which 
wore gradually passing in his mind; those passions 
which first moulded bis genius, and which after 
wards broke it! But who could record the vacil- 
lations of a postic temper; its early hope, and 
fits late despair; its wild gnicty, and its settled 
frenzy ; but the poct himself? Yet Collins has 
left behind no memorial of the wanderings of his 
alienated mind, but the errors of his life! 

At college he published his “ Persian Eclogues,” 
‘as they were first called, to which, when he thought 
they were not distinctly Persian, he gave the more 
general title of ** Oriental."" The publication was 
attended with no success ; but the first misfortune 
‘@ poet meets will rarely deter him from incurring 
more. He suddenly quitted the university, and 
has been censured for not having consulted his 
friends when he rashly resolved to live by the pen. 
But be bad no friends! His father had died in 
embarrassed, circumstances ; and Collins was re- 
siding at the university on the stipend allowed 
him by his uncle, Colonel Martin, who was 
abroad. He was indignant at a repulse he met 
with at college; and alive to the name of author 
and poet, the ardent and simple youth imagined 
that a nobler ficld of action opened on him in the 
metropolis than was presented by the flat unl- 
formity of a colleginte life. To whatever spot the 
youthfol poet flies, that spot seems Parnassus, as 
applause seems patronage. He burried to town, 
and presented himself before the cousin, who 
paid his small allowance from his uncle, in a 
fashionable dress, with a feather in his hat. The 
goles elgg cal 
at sending bim back, with all the terror of his! 





never pay for. The young bard turned 
obdurate consin as dull fellow 5 '* 
phrase with him to describe those 
think as he would have them. 

‘That moment was now come, so 


versed in many Ian- 

guages, high in fancy, and strong in retention.” 

Such was the language of Johnson, when, warmed 

by his own imagination, he could write like 

at that after-period, when assuming 

the ger Be of critical discussion for the lives of || 

poets, even in the coldness of his recollections, he || 

describes Collins as "4 man of extensive Hiteratere, 
and of vigorous faculties."" 

A chasm of several years remains to be filled. |] 
He wns projecting works of labour, and creating || 
productions of taste; and he has been reproached 
for irresolution, and even for indolenee. ‘Let us 
cat th line hoe te ieee j 
ther, and learn whether Collins nit eam 
censure or excite sympathy, 

When he was living’ Looeety. sbout tows ii 
occasionally wrote many short poems in the howse |} 
of a friend, who witnesses that he burned as rapidly 
as be composed. His odes were purchased % 
Millar, yet though but a slight pamphlet, all 
interest of that great bookseller could never int 
duce them into notice, Not an idle com 
is recorded to have been sent to the poet. 
we now consider that among these odes 
the most popular in the lnnguage, with | 
the most exquisitely poetical, it reminds 
the difficulty a young writer without 
experiences in obtaining the public ear; and of 
Tanguor of poetical connoisseurs who: ti 
fer poems, that have not yet grown up 
to be buried on the shelf. What the 
feelings of the poct were, appeared when 





as death of his uncle, he made good to the 
the deficieney of the unsold odes, x 
bang reeiment the publ tte craig 
the impression to the flames | 

‘Who shall now paint the feverish and 
feclings of 














and twice had been 

He whore postic temper Johnson has 
4 moment when he felt 
tw rove through the 

to gazecon the mag- 


and the recorded facts 


were secretly 
his firmestexertions. With a 
‘atored with literature, and « soul alive 
pulses of nature and study, he projected 
Learning,’ and a 


a igh tnt application ; for, 
re with idleness by a friend, he 
i ly several sheets of his version of 

adlafeney eonleyss’of some lived be hed 


IT Tah a tat cai conceive, ior ote 
can expericnce, the secret wounds 


which bas staked its happiness 
magination ; for such neglect is felt as ordi- 
‘would feel the emsation of being let 
and buried alive. The 

‘a brother in fancy to Collins, 

hy the opposition of the critics, 


© eternal, as those works now secm 
mortal. He had created Hove with deep 





literary acquaintances, It waa at this period that 
Jobnson knew him, and thus describes him :—“ His 
appearance was decent, and his knowledge con- 
siderable; his views extensive, and his eonveran- 
tion elegant.’’ He was a constant frequenter ot 


and Armstrong, Hill, Garrick, and Foote, fre- 
quently consulted him on their pieces before they 


green-room ; and probably it was at this period, 
among his other projects, that he planned. several 
tragedies, which, however, as Johoson observes, 
‘the only planned.” There is a feature in Col- 
lins’s character which requires attention. He 
is represented as aman of cheerful dispositions; 
and it hos been my study to detect only a me- 
lancholy, which was preying on the very source 
of life itself, Collins was, indeed, born to charm 
his friends; for fancy and elegance weee never 
absent from his rusceptible mind, rich in its 
stores, and versatile im its emotions, He himself 
indicates bis own character, in his address to 
“Home :"— 


“ Go} nor, regardless while these numbers bowst 
‘My short-lived bliss, forget my social ause.* 


Jobnson has told us of his cheerfal dispositions: 
and one who knew him well observes, that “in the 
green-room he made diverting observations on the 
vanity and false consequence of that class of people, 
and his manner of relating them to his particular 
friends was extremely entertaining ;'’ but the same 
friend acknowledges that “some letters which he 
received from Collins, though chiefly on business, 
have in them some flights which strongly mark his 
character, and for which reason I have preserved 
them.” We cannot decide of the temper of aman, 
viewed only in o circle of friends, who listen to the 
ebullitions of wit or fancy ; the social warmth fora 
moment throws into forgetfulness his secret 
sorrow. The most melancholy man is frequently 
the most delightful companion, and pocaliarly 
endowed with the talent of satirical playfulness 
and vivacity of bumour*. But what was the truc 


‘* Burton, the author of '* The Anatomy of Molancholy,” 
offers n striking Instance, Bishop Kennett, tn his curious 
~~ Register and Chronicle,” bas preserved the following 
particulars of this author. “* En. an interval af vapours he 
teouild be extremely pleasant, and ratse toughter in any 
company. Yet Ihave beard, that potting at Iast could. 
make bin laugh, but, golng down to the Bridge-foot at 
Oxford, and hearing the hargemen scold and wtorm and 
‘won at one another ; at which he would set his hands 
tobis sides, and laugh most profusely ; yet tn his chasnber 
‘somuto and mopish, that he was suspeeted to be felo de 
ae” With whats fine stratn of poetio feeling has a 
modern bart touchod this mubjeet *— 











2 scene, in darkness and despair. 
allher powers possest, 


25 
2 


in 


jue creative strokes. 


Ar a time when oriental stadies were in 
infancy in this country, Srson Ocwiey, 
by the illustrious example of Pococke, and 
Inborious diligence of Prideaux, devoted his 
and his fortune to these novel researches, 
necessarily involved both. With that 


FePEER 
a 
AH 


“ Had I not been forced to snateh everything 
that I'hare, as $¢ were, ont of the fire, our Sarnceat 


FE 














THE REWARDS OF ORIENTAL 


Id have beon ushered into the world | contempt, The close 
a different manner.” He is fearful that | love-like tenderness fo 
‘would be ascribed to his indolence or | must quit life without bringing 
that “ought more justly to be attri-| he opens his soul to posterity, ar 
taflucnce 


hardly | 
profeworship by ther | ding Ieure, in 0 pon r 
italy oe pak papers for the press which they bave collected 
him on the spot where only he ought to dwell. | with indefatigable labour, 
complains also of that hypocritical | expense of their rest, and all 

which pretends to take an interest in of if forthe serve ofthe publi 

things it cares little about; perpetually inquiring,| Yet the exulting martyr of | 
as a work is announced, when 


never believe in a living one. Some of these,| ‘1 can assure them, from my own ©: 

Ockley met with on the publication of his first) that I hare enjoyed more true liberty, 

volume: they ran it down as the strangest story | leisure, and more solid repose in six 

they had ever beard; they had never met with! than in thrice the same number of year 

such folks ag the Arabians! * A reverend digni- Evil is the condition of that historian who ux 

tary asked me, if, when I wrote that book, I had takes to write the lives of others, before he knows 
not lately been reading the history of Oliver) how to live himself. ‘et Iharen8 Sea 
Cromwell?” Such was the plaudit the oriental, be angry with the world; T never stood in need 
student received, and returned to grow pale over of its assistance in my life, but I found | 

his MSS, But when Petis de la Croix, observes| very liberal of its advice ; for which T am s 
Ockley, was pursuing the samo track of study, in| the more beholden to it, by how mach | 

|| the patronage of Louis XIV., he found books,| did always in my judgment give th 
Icisure, and encouragement ; and when the great| wisdom the preference to that of ri 

Colbert desired him to compose the life of Genkis 

Chan, he considered a period of tep years not too 


much to be allowed the author. And then Ockley| ssa tis iif to hie “ Lexioon 


proceeds :— 

“Bat my unhappy condition hath always been progentnbptomist tyes 7 ~ 
widely different from anything that could admit of| ¢ ctynrtos IL, and forbeac them. He 
such an exactness, Fortune seoms only to have tren years of incredible pains, during whileh 
given me a taste of it out of spite, on purpose that) himself idle when he hal not devoted, 

T might regret the loss of it." ‘hours n day to this labour ; that he had ¢ 
He describes his two journeys to Oxford, for his | inheritance (lt Isanid moro than twelve 
first volume ; but in his second, matters fared | tht '¢ bad broken. his constitution, and 
‘worse with him : as well sie poor. When this Invatasble 1% 

“ Bither my domestic affairs were grown much ried, cop ent a 
wworee, or I less able to bear them ; or what is| tra or ue pute by « fall 
‘more probable, both.”” completely devoted himself to Oriental 

||  Ingenuous confession ! fruits of a life devated | joa 9 very remarkable consquence, 
| in its straggles, to important literature! and we forgotten Ile own language, and 
murmur when genius is irritable, and crudition is | single word. ‘This appears in 
‘morose! But let us proceed with Ockley = preerved by Mr. Nichols in bis 
"1 was forced to take tho advantage of the| Anectotes of the Bighteenth 
| slumber of my cares, that mever slopt when 1 was | hundredot those Lexicon, unwalat the 
awake; and if they did not incessantly interrupt 


without sympathy, ought to reject these volumes as | who dirst gavo the world 
| the idlest be ever rend ; and honour me with his'and wiwo led wo. eewovely 








; perbaps it may be a usefal memo-| ** But I never feared the being censured upon 
won of letters us little polished as the| that account. Here in the University, I 


— 
both for learning 


reputations 
“Cambridge, July 15,1714. | receive from them daily as great | 


offence by some uncourtly | honest men who never forfeit their character by 
at my Lord Treasurer’s| it. And whoever doth no more than so, 


oe of time. All that I can say in| ‘As for those detractors, if I hare but the 
n the one side for a man to come! least assurance of your Lordship's favour, I can 
table with a design to affront either very easily despise them. They are Nati consumere 


f'n’ person whose education was| drink, it is only robbing the poor. 
n the politeness of a court, should, myself entirely to your Lordabip’s goodness and 


my cate, if I have forfeited your| had a good one of his own. 
our; which God forbid! That “Tam, with all submission, 
“My Lord, 
“Your Lordalsip’s most obedient, &c. 
“ Srmox Ockiey.”” 














children *. 
‘Thus students have devoted their days to studies 
worthy of a student. They are public benefactors, 
yet Gnd no fricnd in the public, who cannot yet 
appreciate their value—Ministers of state know 


i 


gf 
3 
zs 


ii 
Fi 


fn: 


patent; for they are men who infuse their 
into their studies, and breathe their fondness 
for them in their last agonies. Yet such are 
doomed to feel their life pass away Like a painful 

|) dream | 
Those who know the value of Liawrroor’s 
Hebraicstudies, may be startled at the impediments: 
which seem to have anvibilated them. In the 
following effusion be confides his secret agitation 


3 


Thad done that on Matthew. But it Inid by me 
two years or more, nor can I now publish it, but 
at my own charges and to my great damage, 
which 1 felt enough and too much in the edition 
of my book upon Mark. Some progress I have 
made in the gorpel of St. Luke, but I can print 
nothing but at my owncost ; thereupon I wholly 
give myself to reading, scarce thinking of writing 
following are extracts trom Ockicy’s letters to 
‘the Rarl of Oxford, which 1 copy from the originals — 
“ Cambridge Castte, May %, 1717- 
Lam here in the prison for debt, which must needs be 
an unayoldable consequence of the distractions in my 
farnily, Tenjoy more repo, indeed, here, than I have 
tantod these many years, but the crcutualance of a family 
‘oblige me te go out as soon as I can,” 
“+ Cambridge, Sept. 7, W717. 
“TL have at Inst found leisure in my confinement to 


tm vain in my perplexed ciroumstances” 





have received honours which their despairing 
author never contemplated. 


Aw anthor occupies a critical situation, 
while be is presenting the world with the 
of his profound studies and bis honest 


necessarily nullify the other; such an 
be fortunate to be permitted to retire out of 
circle of the bad passions; but he ert 


silence and volantary obscurity all © 
—tnd thus the nation lone a volved author. 


book itself is a treasure of our 

trating our national manners. The antl 
devoted to his studies, and the merits of bi 
recommended him to the Archbishop of Cs 
bury; in the Ecclesiastical Court he 

a civilian, and became there eminent as » 


“My true end is the advancement 
Jedge ; and therefore have I published this 
work, not only to impart the good d 4 
young ones that Want it, but also 
the learned the supply of my defects. 


by him, as he shall show committed | 








eS: 


possitily have done in many years.”* 


th the whill of & great Lawyer, exerted all 


the supreme power of his crown ; 
the royal prerogative was in some 





confesseth all, and more than it knows."* 
‘The Commons proceeded criminally against | 
Cowel; and it is seid his life was required, bad 


‘not hesitate to consider this proclamation as the 
composition of James I. 

J will preserve some passages from this procla- || 
‘mation, not merely for their majestic composition, 
which may still be admired, and the singularity of 
the ideas, which may still be applied—but for the || 
literary event to which it gave birth, in the 
appointment of a royal licenser for the press.— | 
Proclamations and 


than suppressing public attention, 

“This later age and times of the world wherein 
we are fallen, is so much given to verbal profes- 
sion, ax well of religion as of all commendable 


bred such an unsatiable curiosity In many we 
spirits, and such an itching in the tongues and 
pens of most men, as nothing is left unsearched 
to the bottom, both in talking and writing. For, 
from the very highest mysteries in the Godhead, 
and the most inscratable counsels in the Trinity, 
to the very lowest pit of hell, and the confused 


.. }actions of the devils there, there is nothing now 


unnearched into by the eariosity of men’s brains. 
Men, not being contented with the keowledge of 
so much of the will of God as it bath pleased him 





pease bessicorel bel hy aveliting te matters | said, “1 will not flatter, to: ! 
‘fallen into many things to | another, “Leainot ee how x man should spend 


























"London, March 2, 1761, 
““T think myself happy to be permitted to put 


to him appeared | been given and received. I irs 
‘of « crowned head, and Bi tema 


A.NATIONAL WoRK wiicis = 
myyeliivas eee! FIND 
‘Te author who is now before us is De Lowel 


of giving the remult of his enquiries; 
‘Bie iesegination ull it seaseond 
~ ar aptepealeeaeiinn till he 
=z ‘The shock it gave to the 





It] than a practical politician, be was a bad trader, 
ito’ « Peer, to be| and at 














































ed 
-— ae 
to relate, im 


and I will see it printed while Iam yet Hving.”” 
‘This, indeed, is the language of irritation! and 
De Lolme degrades himeelf in the loudness of his 


|| met him that he cherished a spirit perpetually at 
‘variance with the adversity of his circumstances. 
Oar anthor, in a narrative prefixed to his work, 
is the prond historiun of his own injured feelings 
he smiled in bitterness on his contemporaries, |by an inquisition—this 
confident it was a tale reserved for posterity. his book is a mere fiction ! 
After having written the work whose systematic 
refuted those political notions which a 
prevailed at the ora of the American revolution,— 
| Spon ear op a eahgeeorpmeraty ‘THE MISERIES OP SUCCESSFUL AUTHORS 
|| in our own ‘two great revolutions, which 
Feseciem an eecprctel ox wick of |, gin 
| nations rushing into a state of freedom before | fortunate, that we may be surprised to meet bis 
‘name inscribed in a catalogue of literary calmml~ 








“When my enlarged English edition was ready 
for the press, had I acquainted ministers that J 
was preparing to boil my tea-kettle with it, for 
want of being able to afford the expenses of print- 
ing it;"’ ministers, it seems, would not have con~ 
sidered that he was lighting his fire with "*myrtb, | fomn the press. It was east anew with 

nad cassin, and precious ointment.” ‘successful. 

In the want of encouragement from great men, pyibopetinimtrae rhe 
and even from booksellers, De Lolme had recourse 
to a subscription; and his account of the manner 
he was received, and the indignities he endured, 
fll which ore narrated with great simplicity, show 
that whatever his knowledge of our Constitution 
might be, “his knowledge of the country was, at 
that time, very incomplete.” At length, when. 
he shared the profits of his work with the book- 
sellers, they were ‘‘ but scanty and slow.” After 
all, our author sarcastically congratulates himself, 
|| that he— 

‘* Was allowed to enrry on the above business | he depends on, there ought some in 
of selling my book, without any objection being | given him. You were 80 good as to | 
formed against me, from my not having served | that if you could find leisure from 
VERO feo the hand Of iermy carny; be wan | CCcupations, you would look over my s 
more thai once reliered by the Literary Pund. Such are | Philosophy, and at the same time ask 1 
‘the authors only whom it is wise to patroniee. of such of your acquaintances as 4 












dit sufficiently 
trae to you? Do 
tolerable? These 

ehend every thing; and 1 

r them with the utmost free- 
_ Tknow "tis « custom to fatter 
‘but I hope Philoso- 

ed; and the more so that 

0 means alike: when we do not 
in a Poet we commonly can 


Philosophy can be distinctly markt 
be such; and this is » favour 1 
you'll indulge me in with regard to 
e I pet into your hands. Iam, 
that it would’be too great a trouble 
ill the Errors you have observed : 


servant, 
“Davin Howe. 


to me at Ninewells, near Berwick 


favourite © concerning 
of Morals" came unnoticed and 
the world. When he published the 


portion of his ‘' History," which made even 


to survive the flames, notwithstanding the most 
precious part of an author, which is obviously bis 
book, has been burnt in an auto dx fe, Hume 
once more tried the press in “ The Natural 
History of Religion.” Jt proved bat another 
martyrdom | Still was the fall (as ho terms it) of 
the first volame of his History haunting his ner- 
yous imagination, when he found himself yet 
strong enough to hold a pen in bis band, | 
ventured to produce a second, which ‘helped to 
up its unfortunate brother.'” But the third 


alittle hardened by a little success, grew, to use |} 


reputation, breaking out af vst with additional 
lustre, though I know that I can have but few | 


his own system, was close upon « state of aunihi- 
lation | 
To Hume, let us add the illustrious name of 
Duyprx, | 
At was after preparing a second edition of Virgil, 


his efforts were now stimulated by a domestic 
feeling, the expected retura of his son in ill-health 
from Rome. In a letter to his bookseller he 
pathetically writes, “‘if it please God that J must 
die of overstudy, 1 cannot spend my life better || 
than in preserving bis.”” It was on this occasion, || 
on the verge of his seventieth year, as he describes | 
himself in the dedication of his Virgil, that, “worn || 
out with study, and oppressed with fortane,’’ he 
contracted to supply the bookseller with 10,000 
verses at sixpence a line! 

What was his entire dramatic life, but « series 
of vexation and hostility, from his first play to his 
last? On those very boards whence Dryden was: 





























j excited the little live his domestic sorrows. 
[Seer be hese |e ariet oegn 
‘They | poy his stare that he was borm « 


‘We have just seen that 


in which Dryden knew he would | he supported, dare we blame his 
a.contemporary haunter of the theatre, the age be ‘ungenerons, shall < 
curious letter * on ** The Winter 


"Dealer?" that— 
|| “The critics were severe upon this play, which codon, ornate olF-co 
|| gure the author occasion to lush them in his| his diligence in reminding the world of hisi 
|| epistle dedicatory—so that 'tis generally thought | and expressing, with very tia sorapl Ba 
‘he has done his business, andl lort himself; a thing aiitaten SHS own pavers” 
‘owes to Mr. Dryden's treacherous friendship, |in his own words; with all the 
tesla Nike oh amon rea ala rod Montaigne, he expresses himself with 
his ‘Old Bachelor,’ deluded him into » footish that would have become Milton or Gray >— 
imitation of his own way of writing angry “ tis a vanity common to all writers: 
” ‘value their own prodactions ; and it is 
‘This lively critic in still more vivacious on the| me to own this failing in myself, than 
great Dryden, who had then produced his * Love] to doit for me. For what other reason Me 
”* which, the critic says, spent my life in such an unprofitable 
“ Was damned by the universal cry of the town,| Hhy am I grown old in seeking so 
nemine contradicente but the conceited port. He| reward as fame? The same parts and applic 
‘says in his prologue, that ‘ this is the last the town | which have made me a poet, might hare 
‘must expect from him :' he had done himself «| to any honours of the gown, which are: 
kindness had he taken his leave before.”* He then| ¢> men of as little learning, and less bo 
describes the success of Southerne’s “ Fatal Mar-| myself" 
‘lage, or the Innocent Adultery ;"" and concludes,| How foelingly Whitehead paints the 
Dryden in his old age — 
© Yot lives the mann, bow wild soe'er: Iie alms» 


Thave quoted thus much of this letter, that we: 

‘may have before us a true image of those feelings 

which contemporaries entertain of the greater 

geniuses of their age; how they seck to level them; 

‘and in what manner men of genius are doomed to} An! what avail'd the enormous’ 
ay on aye aa ty Scag 
‘When sinking nature aake our kind | 
‘Unstrung the nerves, and silver'd o'er | 
‘When stay’ reflection came uncall'd a8 Sasty 
And gray experience counts wc fully pawtt™ — 


Mioxur’s version of the Lasiad offers an 


‘ari of Rochester, on the state of bit 
man has transmitted to) in which is this: 


* A letter found umong the papers of the Late Mr. ‘one age to have seglected Mr, | 
‘Windham, which Mr. Malono has preserved. ‘Batler,” 




















‘no small portion of the most valuable years of life, 
had been presented to the world, with not sufficient 
remuneration or notice of the author, to create 
even hope in the sanguine temperament of a poet. 
Mickle was more honoured at Lisbon than in his 
own country, So imperceptible are the gradations: 
of public favour to the feelings of geaius, and so 
‘vast an interval separates that author, who docs 
‘not immediately address the tastes or the fashions 
of his age, from the reward or the enjoyment of 


perlaps even the sport of witlings, afterwards is 
placed among the treasures of our language, when 
the author is no more! but what is posthumous 
could it reach even the ear of an angel? 
‘The calamity is unavoidable ; bot this circum 
r4 grateful to the sensibility of | stance does not lessen it. New works must for a 
he writes to 4 friend— / time be submitted to popular favour; but posterity 
is the inheritance of genius. The man of genius, 
howerer, who has composed this great work, 
caloulates his vigils, is best acquainted with its 
merits, and is not without an anticipation of the 
future feeling of his country ; he 
“ Dut woops the more, because he weeps tir vuln” 


Such is the fate which has awaited many great 


bid adiewto some way conceive not fortunate, no more than 
and perhaps alo “ the slow length” of its Alexandrine metre, for 








“ Father-lend,”” as the Hollanders called their 
country? Our tales of ancient glory, our worthies 
who must not die, our towns, our rivers, and our 
‘mountains, all glancing before the picturesque eye 
of the naturalist and the poet! It is, indeed, a 
labour of Hercules ; but it was not unaccompanied 
by the lyre of Apollo, 

‘This national work was ill received; and the 
great author dejected, never pardoned his con- 
temporaries, and oven lost his temper. Drayton 
and his poetical friends beheld indignantly the 
trifles of the hour overpowering the neglected 


And 4 contemporary records the utter neglect 
of this great poct : 


| Why lives Drayton when the times refuse 
‘Both means to live, and matter for a muse, 
‘Only without excuse to Leave us quite, 
And toll us, durst we act, he durat to write.” 
W. Bnowwe. 


Drayton published his Polyolbion first in 
eighteen parts; and the second portion after- 
wards. In this interval we have a letter to Drum- 
mond, dated in 1619 :— 

“I thank you, my dear sweet Drummond, for 
your good opinion of Polyotbion. I have dane 
twelve books more, thatis, from the 18th book, 
which was Kent (if you note it), all the east 
parts and north to the river of Tweed; dus it 
Hieth by me, for the booksellers and I are in terms : 
they are a company of base knaves, whom I 
corm and kick at.!* 

‘The vengeance of the poet had been more justly 
wrenked on the buyers of books, than on the 
sellers, who, though knavery has a strong con- 
nection with trade, yet, were they knaves, they 
‘would be true to their own interests. Far from 
Impeding m successful author, booksellers are 
apt to hurry his labours; for they prefer the 
crude to the mature fruit, whenever the public 


|of the Britains, Saxons, Normans, and the later 
English. And further, that there ix 

of the nobility or gentry of this land, but that he 
is some way or other interested therein. 7 
“« But it hath fallen out otherwise; forinstesd 
of that comfort which my noble friends propestd 
as my due, J bave met with barbarous ign 

and base detraction; such s cloud bath the 
drawn over the world’s judgment. Some of the 
stationers that had the selling of the first part of 


remaining in their hands, 

“And some of our outlandish, wemataral 
lish (1 know not how otherwise to express 
‘stick not to say that there is nothing in thi 
worthy atudying for, and take & great pri 





thrown out of his arocation ; but intr 
by promising “* they shall not deter 


Whose bounding muse Ger evry mountain rode, 
And every river warbled as it flow.” 


Tt is melancholy to reflect, that some 
greatest works in our langasge re 








‘know that all the Muses’ heavenly lays, 
With toil of spirit which are so dearly bought, 
As idlo sounds of few or none are sought, 
‘That there ts nothing tighter than valn praise; 
Know what I list, this all cannot me move, 
‘But that, alas! 1 Doth must write and love !* 


rit be totally undone, 
Hts, for having fall'd in one ?™ 


it of the Muse,”’ on his being | poet, 
r. Davmatoxn, of Hawthornden, | am to myself; for who should know the house #0 
bar from his love of poetry; yet he | well as the good man at home? who, when his 
Jamented slighting the profession | neighbour comes to see him, still sets the best 
athe jed him to pursue. He pers | rooms to view; and, if he be not a wilful ass, 
he feels even contrition, but still keeps the rubbieh and lumber in some dark hele, 
‘man, not in his senses, ever had | where nobody comes but himself, to mortify 


pee and to pretend to serve the learned world in any 
verses, and some-| "Ay, one must have the constancy of a martyr, 
ry ‘and « resolution to ufler for its sake.’ 





‘them in their native town ; there they become half- 

| hermits and half-philosophers, darting epigrams 
‘which provoke hatred, or pouring elegics, deserip- 
tive of their feelings, which move derision : their 
neighbours find it much easier to ascertain their 
foibles, than comprehend their genins ; and both 
parties live in a state of mutual persecution. Such, 
among many, was the fate of the poct Hernier; 
‘his voin was pastoral, and be lived in the elysium 
of the west, which, however, he describes by the 
sullen epithet, * Dall Devonshire,” where “ he is 

|} still sad.’ Strange that such » poet should have 
refided near twenty years in one of our most 
beautiful counties in x very discontented humour. 
‘When he quitted his village of ‘* Deanbourne,”” 
the petulant poet left behind him a severe “' fare- 
well,”’ which was found still preserved in the 
porieh, after a lapse of morc than o century. 
‘Local satire has becn often preserved by the very 
objects it ix directed against, sometimes from the 
charm of the wit itself, and sometimes from the 
corert malice of attacking our neighbours. ‘Thus 
he addresses “ Deaobourne, a rade river in Devon- 
shire, by which, sometime, he lived :—"* 


**Dean-boura, farewell 
‘Thy Teckie bottom that doth tear thy streams, 


He rejoices he leaves them, never to return till 
“ rocks shall turn to rivers.” When he arrives 
‘in London, 


_“ Prom the dufl confines of the drooping west, 
‘To so the day-spring from the prognant east,” 


he, “ ravished in spirit," exclaims, on a view of the 
metropolis 


. “0 place? © people! manners form'd to pense 
All nations, customs, kindreds, languages ! 





little more “ qualified for business t 
Johnson tells as “ Prior lived at 


it is certain that not much was ke 
however, than Johnson 

















degree, I was sent the King's Secretary to the 
Hague; there I had enough to do in studying 
French and Dutch, and altering my Terentian and 
Virgilian style into that of Articles and 
tions; s0 that poetry, which by the bent of my 


friendships to be cultivated with the great men, 
did not launch much into Satire, which, 
agreeable for the present to the writers 
couragers of it, does in time do nalther ofa 


of Bards to an aspirant, who. in his 
poetical honours, becomes careless of 
requences, if he can but possess them. 

1 have now to bring forward one of 


m that that rare personage, = 
ri his life in that hour of avoided and excluded him from the common room 5 








"Prior congretolated ‘Such is the very accurate care drawn ap by & 
heen only “a poct by acci- medical writer. I can conceive nothing in it to 
on. warrant the charge of insanity; Mr. Haslam, not 
Prior, consisting of “* An | being 2 poet, seems to have mistaken the common 
this curious and inter- | orgaxm of poetry for insanity itself, 
to the poct himself: | Of such poots, one was the late Pencrv an Srock- 
in life than that | pau, who, with the most entertaining simplicity, 
Earl of Warwick for has, in ‘* The Memoirs of his Life and Writings, 
‘the giant before | presented us with a full-length figure of this class 





condemned to sce it siaking i the dark horror of 
in St. Mary's | « disappointed author, who has risked bis life and 











there; in a moment of despa ike Mode be 
Tanenaelest bia miki Perini Eee 
“* When I had arrived atin aay 
of its conclusion, in consequence of some immediate 
and mortifying accidents, my literary adversity, 
ond all my other misfortunes, took fast hold of my 
mind ; oppreseed it extremely ¢ and reduced it to 
a stage of the deepest dejection and despondency. 
In this unhappy view of life, 1 made » sudden 
resolution—newver more lo prosecute the profession 
of an author ; to retire altogether from the world, 
‘natural and fervid piety ; it is} and read only for consolation and amusement. J 
; it is not without its pathos.""| committed to the flames my History of Gibraltar, 
and my translation of Marsollior’s Life of Cardinal 
Ximenes ; for which the bookseller had refased to 
pay me the fifty guineas according to agreement." 
This claims = tear! Never were the agonies 
of literary disappointment more pathetically told. 
Bat az it is impossible to have known poor 
deluded Stockdale, and not to have laughed at hira 
" more than to have wept for him—so the cata- 
m with the most painful feelings. | strophe of this author's literary life is as finely in 
wrote a declamatory life of|churacter as all the acts. That catastrophe, of 
course, is his last poem. 
After many years his poetical demon haying been 
rkes-| chained from the world, suddenly broke forth on 
the reports of a French invasion. The narrative 
shall proceed in his own inimitable manner. 

“ My poetical spirit excited me to write my poem 
of ‘ The Invincible Island.’ 1 never found myself 
in a happier disposition to compose, nor ever wrote 
with more pleasure. I presumed warmly to hope, 
that unless inveterate prejudice and malice were ns 

of humane kindness from | invincible as our istand itvelf, it would have dhe 
diffuxive circulation which 1 earnestly desired. 

owards me he was divided| “* Flushed with this idea—borne impetuoualy 

to wy interests, and a| along by ambition ond by hope, though they had 

often deluded mo, 1 set off in the mail-coach from 

the perverted heart of Boch tr Londo, othe a Deseber 








‘THE ILLUSIONS OF WRITERS IN VERSE. 
placed on am level with Dryden 
gentle 


1797, at midnight, and in a severe storm. On my 


entertained sanguine | rhymes, Settle tried his prose for the Tories; 
|| hopes ; butthe demand for the poem relaxed gradu-|he was a magician whose enchantments never | 


ally 1 Prom this last of many literary misfortunes, 
T inferred that prejudice and malignity, in my 
fotens an author, seemed,indeed, to be invincible.!* 


He frankly confesses there were some 
points in which he and the Swedish monarch 
did not exactly resemble each other. He thinks, 
for instance, that the King of Sweden had a 


“Of our reciprocal fortune, achiorements and 
conduct, some parts will be to his advantage, and 
some to mine." 

Yet in regard to Fame, the main object between 
him and Charles XII, Stockdale imagined that 
his own 

‘© Will not probably take its fixed and immov- 
able station, and shine with its expanded ond 
permanent splendour, till it consecrates his ashes, 
till it ilamines his tomb !"" 

Pore hesitated at deciding on the durability of 
his poetry. Prion congratulates himself that he 
had not devoted all his days to rhymes. SrockDALe 

his fore is to commence at the very poiut | 
(the tomb) where genius trembles its own may 
nearly terminate! 

‘To close this article, 1 could wish to regale the 
poetical Stockdales with a deloctable morsel of 
friternal biography; such would be the life and 
its memorable close of Euxaxam Serrix, who 
imagined himself to be a great poet, when he was 





charmed. He at length obtained the office of the 

city poet, when lord mayors were proud enough to || 

have laureates in their annual pageants. mh 
When Elkanah Settle published perty-porm,, 

he sent copies coun iad oN 

with addresses, to extort 

soe cacy oes al 
Epithalamium printed of with blanks, which by 

the ingenious contrivance of Sling ‘up with Chet 


wrote for the Whigs, as he had for the Tories =— 


“Sim, - 
“ Nothing butthegreatness of the subject. 
encourage my presumption in laying the losed 
Bacay & yout Graces Oe a NON == nut 

humility, your Grace's most dutifal 


“Eeanee! 


In the latter part of his life Settle 
lower, and became the poet of a booth at Bartho~ 
lomew-fair, and composed drole, for which 
rival of Dryden, it seems, had & genius = 


happy 
piel heh 
of a green dragon, as large as life, in 


boll, that the first 
the artist himself, ad Sette eae ied 


leather of his own invention.” 
is recorded in the lively verse of You 
“Epistle to Pope concerning the authors 


+ a a 


“Poor Elkanah, sll other changes pat, 
‘For bread in Smithdeld dragons his wt lawl, 
ent ee : 
And found his manners eufted! 60 Nis aluepes 
‘Such is the fate af talents meisapptieds 
Fo lived your prototype, amd mo he died 

a” 





ta 
a 
w 
a 
cd 
ow 
7 
ay 
7) 
. 
% 
» i 


ea? 2bae 


























brine ot hint gratia tons z 


a es Say mabe aan Cpe 
ins 
oor that he conmiera a 


‘of public neglect 
ho victim of le critiolams 
Fan the gontas be fnsulted 
ig Dede Vice eter, hia iniserabte 


Dristen, 

——— his dramatic Life a series of vexutions and 

—— reerets he wns barn atnong Englishmen” 

—— ramarkable confession of the poot . 
rR 


Bzercise, to be substituted for medicine | “aang 
amen, nod which isthe best nm. * 


rages compan oo rev a he iyo 
Grey. Dn. Zachary, theater of our comentaoes 
ridiculed and 

—— Ane probable origin of his new 
Orme, art, town aa ie en 
athe offre kts servioe a Iackney-writer toa 
minister 5g cae 7 = 


La 


Harvey, Gabriel, bis charactor 
hie device against his antaguntst m, 
is portralt 


SS 


od eeges te 
Dis books, and Nash's, suppressed 


bate nag ae i 
mutual virulence 


‘hls poem of “ Esther, Quem af Persia” 
sudden change in his character 





Kennet’s, Blshop, Roglster and Chronicle ss 
Falta ater perches epg ine TY 


La 
with the most amusing arrogance - ie 
fan epigramy ox hiitnelf, by hiuwaeif n. Sal 


L 


Leland, tho antiquary. an accomplished 

—— hie “Serena,” or New Your's Gift to 
Verte SOE r 
robin Chat ie laboure Sl reach posterity» 
— a wads tee ala oe 


com osed by hivuself, before bis 
Piel ote net pecines Dea 
Literary Property, difficulties 


“Liopss, Hisbop. collections xnd ehote fate. 
Lagan, "the isto ofa eerary 


eins d seer 


ee aes Brame bia eigen roy be 








eS ‘refuses James. to publiah his defence of the | 
Sovereignty of the Seas, til Grvtiue provoked hie Pa) 


eee the cle ae 
‘ical notions n. = 


Stockdale, Perceval, bla chunenoter | 
Anatanee of the illusions of writers in verse ~ 


100 
m 
us 
a |) 
Sra, teary 8 an Tage 
= Wisepltd etre on commencing bis earcer ra 
aly 
105 
106 
Ls 
. 18 | 
a 

















INDEX TO THE CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 


—— accused of an intention to found asect 
— had the art of explaining away bis own 
words Bi 
Toland, a great artifice of titlepages |. |. 
iais “* Pantheistioon * 
—— projecta a new ace of a private monitor to 
the minister . . 
‘of the books he read and his MBS. n. 
his panegyrical epitaph composed by himself 
—— Locke's admirable foresight of his character 
Tonson'e bickerings with Drydenn. =. 


w. 
Walpole, Horace, his literary character 


hits literary: 
edged by himself from his original letters . 


———_ atraordinary’ 
his contempt of hlamost celebrated contemporaries 





race 
Watpole, Horace, instances of his pointed vivacity 
against authors n. 


aaa a eee hs tw attnaked "the fame of fyd- 
ney, and defended Richard UT. aie 


mortifications, scknow- 
-how Gray treated him when invited 
to to Btrawberry-hill he. . 
letter of, expressing 
Wharton, Henry, sunk under his historical studies 
Worke, valuable, not completed ae cee a 


EOHELEE 


‘the writers of a’ party whom he 


iabtioered freqosntly, refer, to: hen te thale ow 


= 


favour. Paar eee 


END OF THE CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 




















QUARRELS OF AUTHORS; 


SOME MEMOIRS FOR OUR LITERARY HISTORY. 


“The use and end of this Work I do not s0 much design for curiosity, or aatisfaction of those that 
are the lovers of learning, but chiefly for a more grave and serious purpose ; which is, that it will 
make learned men wise in the usc and administration of learning."—Loap Bacon, of Learning. 














PREFACE. 


‘Twn Quamnats oy Avrions may be considered as a continuation of the CaLamrries oF 


‘Theeb Quarrels of Authors’ are not designed to wound the Literary Character) but to expose the 
meret arts of calamny, the malignity of witty ridicule, and the evil prepossessions of unjust hatreds, 
‘The present, like the preceding work, includes other subjects than the one indicated by the title, 





to think, that what induced me to select this topic, was the interest which Jonwsow has 
) the literary quarrels between Dryden and Settle, Dennis and Addison, &c.; and which 


‘the French work I could derive no aid; and my plan is my own. Thave fixed’ on each 

RAREetAGS ts Moti siasepulacgle, to portray some character, and to investigate some 

\ Almost every controversy which occurred opened new views. With the subject, the character 
ea era a) a iti character wats svat those ovents of his life which 


Mace two sorts of lives, tho intellectual and the vulgar: in his books wo trace the history of ia 
|} Mind, and in his actions those of human nature. It is this combination which interests the philoso 
Lp testers which provides the richest materials for reflection; and all thoxe 
details, which spring from the constituent principles of man. Jom~sox's passion for literary 
j, and his great knowledge of the human heart, inspired at once the first and the finest model 

Jo this class of 
[Phillanapiy of Literary History was indeed the creation of Barun. He was the first who, by 
critical taught us to think, and to be curious and vast in our researches. 


dictionary, 
‘ennobled a collection of facts by his reasonings, and exhibited them with the most miscellaneous 
end thus conducting an apparently humble pursuit, with a higher spirit, he gave a new 
"|| turn to our studies. ‘It was felt through Europe; and many celebrated authors studied and repeated 
}| Barre. ‘This father of a numerous race has an English as well as a French progeny. 


‘was the contemporary of Jouxsox. He excelled his predecessors ; und yet be forms a 
historian, Bracn was no philosopher, and I adduce him as an instance 








PREFACE TO THE QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 


Thave freely enlarged in the notes to this work; a practice which is objectionable to many, but 

perhaps in this species of literary history. | 

‘The late Mr. Custnertann, in a conversation I once held with him on this subject, trimmphantiy 
exclaimed, “ You will not find a single note through the whole volume of my ‘ Life.’ I never wrote 
a note. The ancients never wrote notes ; but they introduced into their text all which was proper 
for the reader to know.” 

Tagreed with that elegant writer, that a fine piece of essay-writing, such as his own ‘* Life,” 
Tequired notes, no more than his novels and his comedies, among which it may be classed. 1 
observed, that the ancients had no literary history ; this was the result of the discovery of printing, 
‘the institution of national libraries, the general literary intercourse of Europe, and some other causes 
which are the growth almost of our own times. The ancients have written history without producing 
authorities. 

‘Mr. Comaxncanp was then occupied on « review of Fox's History ; and of Cuanmypon, which 
Jay open before him,—he had been complaining, with all the irritable feelings of a dramatist, of the 
frequent suspensions and the tedious minuteness of his story. 

T observed that notes had not then been discovered. Had Lord Cuannxpon known their use, he 


|| Had these been cast into nofes, and were it now possible to pass them over in the present text, how 
would the story of the noble historian clear up | he grestaee fe penton SOL 
Aiseacumbered of its unwieldy and misplaced accom \ 


brings everything nearer to our eye and close to our toush, stady to throw ecutemporary. 

their page. Such rare extracts, and such new facts, Barux eagerly sought, and they 
Jouxson : but all this luxury of literature can only be produced to the public eye, in the variegated 
forms of noles. 




















~—— 
_ WARBURTON, AND HIS QUARRELS: 


HIS LITERARY CHARACTER, 


ae of Warburton more famnilisr to us than his Works—declared to be “a Colessua” by a Warburtonian, 
shrinks the imaje into “a human size"—Lowth's eaustlo retort on ils Attorneyship—motives for 
ly—his fret Iterary mischances—Warburton and his Wolsh Prophet—his Dedications—bie 


taste more struck by the monstrous than the beautiful—the effects of bis opposite studies— | 


which conducted Warburton through all his Works—the cwrfous argument of his Allkinee 

Btato—the bofd paradox of his Divino Legation—the demonstration ends i a conjecture— 

fm the labyrinth he had ingeniously constructed—oonfesses the harassed tate of his mind— 

and Christians—hisSncrer Parvcire turny the poetical narrative of Aineas into the Kleusinian 

sks Jortin ; his Attio trony translated into plain English—Warburton’s paradox on Eloquence; 

v4 renders his dlncerity muspeoted—Leland refutes the whirnsical paradox—Hurd attacks Laland— 

et rton's Becuer Prixciri operating in Modern Literature: on Pope's Easy on Man— 

ke the author of thy Kesay—Pope received Warburton as bis tutolary gonJu»—Warburton’s systematic 

jand rival editors—his Literary artifices and Ifttle intrigues—his Shalcespeare—the whimalcal 

fon On Shakespeare annfhilated by Edwards's “* Canons of Criticism "—Warburton and Johnson— 

uston’s mutual attacks—the concealed motive of his edition of Shakespeare avowed in bis 

‘Pauncirn® further displayed in Pope's Worke—attncks Akenside ; Dywn's generous 

de is.n test of Truth, {lustrated by a well-known easo—Warburton a literary revolutionist ; 

ictator—tho ambiguous tendency of bis speculations—the Warburtonian Scheol supported 

| principles—specimens of its peculiar style—the uno to which Warburton applied the Duneliad 

Ive to raise recruite—the active and subtie Hunt—his extreme syoopbancy—Warburton, 10 
‘authority, adoptol his system of literary quarrels. 


of Wannuntow is more familiar to have to distinction, are not so, AnisTOrLE 

j works: thus was it carly *, thus it Sag dativecelipesbapty Wilk Bacsmate eae? 

and thos it will be with posterity !| city, 1f Achilles, anys the Stagirite, be the subject 

may be worth our inquiry. Nor is) of our inquiries, #ince all know what he has 

the whole compass of our literary history, | donc, we are simply to indicate his actions, without 

‘more instructive for its greatness and | stoppingto detail ; butthis would not serve for Cri 

}7 mone more adapted to excite our| rigs; for whatever relates to him must be fully 

} which | genes piel told, since he is known to few + ;—a critical pre- 

actions are cept, which ought to be frequently applied, in the 
we, and of those who, whatever claim they | composition of this work. 

; ‘The history of Warburton is now well known, 

pher$; but the secret connexion which exists 

78° | between them, if there shall be found to be any, 

IC) has not yet been brought out ; aod it is my busi- 


+ Aristotle's Rhetoric, B. III. ¢. 16, 


¢ The materials for a life of Wannyxron have |! 


are more known | been arranged by Mr. Nrewous, with his accus- 
Canons of Criticism. | tomed fidelity—See his Literary Anecdotes. 














Such extraordinary natures cannot be looked on. 

calm admiration, nor common hostility ; all 
is the tumult of wonder about such a mans and 
his adversaries, 28 well ns his friends, though 


* Itis probable I may have drawn my meteor 
from our yolcanic author himself, who had his 
lucid moments, even in the deliriams of his ima- 
gisation. Warburton has rightly observed, in his 


+ It seems, even by the confession of a War- 
burtonian, that his master was of ** a human size ; 
for when Bishop Lowrn rallies the Warburtonians 
for their subserviency and credulity to their 
master, he aimed a gentle stroke at Dr. Brown, 
who, in his ‘ Essays on the Characteristics,” had 
poured forth the most vehement panegyric. “In 
his “ Estimate of Manners of the Times”. too, 
after sloog tirade of their badnees in rogard totaste 


despairing scribbler eyes himas Cassius did Cresar + 
and whispers to his fellow— 


‘Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like # Colossus; and we petty men 

Walk under bis huge legs, and peep about 

‘To find ourselves dishonourable graves." 


No wonder, then, if the malice of the Lilli- 
putinn tribe be bent against this dreaded Gus.- 
tiven ; if they attack him with poisoned arrows, 
whom they cannot subdue by strength.” 

On this Lowth observes, that “ this Lord Para~ 
mount in his pretensions doth bestride the narrow 
world of literature, and hath cast out his shoe over 


ling with Warburton; for he laments, in 
to a friend, that * he had not avoided all 
Thad thus saved myself the 











yng resided fo an obscure provincial | your Lordship’s example to justify me, I should 
articled clerk of a country attorney't, think it a piece of extreme importinencs to inquire | 
where rou were bred; though one might justly 
, and a London accoucheur for | plead, in excuse for it,a natural curiosity to know 
| labours performed on Horace ; | where and how such a phenomenon was produced. 
writings lie before us, | Itis commonly said that your Lordship’s education 
and unread. His insstinte | was of that particular kind, concerning which it ix 
‘delicate, ay often to snatch its | a remark of that great judge of men and manners, 
foul plate; it now appears, by | Lord Clarendon (on whom you have, therefore, 
in Griffiths’s own copy of his | with a wonderful happiness of allusion, justaess of 
” that the writer of a very ela- | application, and elegance of expression, conferred 
the works of Dr. Parr, was no leas |‘ the unrivalled title of the Chancellor of Human 
1 the Doctor himeelf, Hisegotism | Nature’), that it peculiarly disposes men to be 
decd ance gmcalnaemere Lowth, in a 
inserts Clarendon’s character of Colonel 
Harney = Hote bass kane fa a cage 
a clerk, under a lawyer of good account in those 
parts; which kind of education introduces men | 
into the language and practice of business ; and if it 
be not resisted by the great ingenuity of the person, 
inclines young men to more pride than any other 
kind of breeding, and disposes them to be prag- 
matical and insolent.” * Now, my Lord (Lowth 
| continues), as you have in your whole behaviour, 
and in all your writings, remarkably distinguished 
yourself by your humility, lenity, meekness, for- 
| bearance, candour, ype civility, decency, 
good manners, good temper, moderation with 
regard to the opinions of others, and a modest diffi- 
dence of your own, this unpromising circumstance 
teview, Vol. VII. p. 383 — bel dasa education is so far from being a disgrace 
‘criticism has rarely surprised | to you, that it highly redounds to your praise.!"— 
'@ periodical publication. | Lowth's Letter to the Author of the D. L. p. 63- 
the feelings of another age,| Was ever weapon more polished and keen? 
the old and vigorous | This Attic style of controversy finely contrasts 
citly adopt all the senti- | with the tasteless and fierce invective of the War- 
a -finiehed | burtonians, although ong of them is well known to 
Jove of the artist.— | have managed too adroitly the cutting instrument 
late Dr. Whitaker, | of irony; but the frigid malignaney of Hurd 
having been re- 





diminishes the pleasare we might find in his skill. 
Warburton ill concealed bis vexation in the 





orders—to exchange a profession, 
continuity of stady, for another, more 
to its indulgence*. In a word, he vet off an a 
contempt he vented in a letter to Hurd on this 
oocasion, ‘All you say about Lowth's pamphlet 
‘breathes the purest spirit of friendship. His wit 
and his reasoning, God knows, and Talso (asa cer- 
tain critic said once in a matter of the like great 
importance), are mach below the that 
|| deserve those names.""—He writes too of ' this 
man’s boldness in publishing bis letters.” —*“ If 


"'—But Warburton did reply! Had he 
possessed one feeling of taste, never would he 


familiarity,” Arnall, an impadent 


‘burton, be says, “ You have been an attorney as 
well as he, but a little more impudent than he 
was} for Arnall never presumed to conceal bis 
turpitude under the gown and the scarf.” But 
this is mere invective | 

* Thave given a tempered opinion of his motive 
for this sudden conversion from Attorneyship to 
Divinity; for it must not be concealed, in our 
enquiry into Warburton's character, that he has 


what have been termed the hazardous ‘ fooleries 
in criticism, and outrages in controversy," which 
he systematically pursued, he looks like one not 
In earnest, and more zealous to maintain the 
character of his own genius, than the canse be bad 
Leland once exclaimed, “ What are 

we to think of the writer and his intentions? Is 

|| he really sincere in bis reasonings?" Certain it 





which floated about him, has waren 
figure. He accounts for Warburton's early 
in taking the eassock, a8 being 

“ 


To make himself a man of note, 

He in defence of Scripture wrote + 
So long he wrote, and long about it, 
‘That c’en believers ‘gan to doubt it. 
He wrote too of the Holy Ghosts 


the stigma of Warborton’s sudden 
the Church, insinuates that “an 

of mind determined him to the Bocles 
fession."—“ Tt may be 20,” says the 
Quarterly Review, no languid admire 
man; ‘but the symptoms of 











‘not of a nature to | cally deficicat in Warburton was that fine > 
which afterwards hard- | (eeling which we call taste, that through his 
feature of his character. 


probable 
Stuarts. By this prelude of that inventive genias 
which afterwards commented, in the same spirit, || 
on the Aneid of Virgil, and the “Divine Legs- || 


for a present purponc, and believed, and did not 
believe, as it happened. “Ordinary men believe 
one side of a contradiction at a time, whereas his 
Lordship" (says hia admirable antagonist) “fre 
quently believes, or at least defends both. So that 
it would have been no great wonder if he should 
maintain that Evans was both a real prophet and 
an impostor."’ Yet this is not the only awkward 
attitede into which Warburton has bere thrown 
ts by Warburton, Sc., p. 186. | himself; to strain the vision of the raving Welch. 
Duace” I do not recollect; of | man to cvents of which he could have no notion, 
so many! Voltaire is “ the | Warburton has plunged into the most ludicrous 
who, indeed, compares War- | difficulties, all which ended, as all his discoveries 
to Peachum in the | have done, in making the fortune of an adversary 
‘ot per aide who, like the Momes of Homer, has raived through 
the skies “‘inextinguishable laughter,” in the 
amusing tract of “Confusion worse confounded, 
Rout on Rout, or the Bishop of G—'s Com. 
mentary on Arise Evans; by Indignatio, 1772."" 
The writer was the learned Henry Taylor, tho 
author of Ben Mordecai's Apology. 
+ The correct taste of Lowth with some humour 
ly injured the repntation of describes the last sentence of the * Enquiry on Pro- 
Aigies’’ as “ tho Masa Pedestris got on horseback in 
abigh prancing style.” He printed it in measured 
linesswithout, however,changing the place of asingle 
word, and it produced blank yerse. Thus it reads— 


“ Mothinks 1 see her like the mighty Engle 





Such a glowing metaphor, in the uncouth prose 

with his of Warburton, startled Lowth’s classical ear, It 

ye calls his prophecy, | was indeed “the Musa Pedestris who had got on 
eft, that which was eee eae aay ee 





|| genius,” that poet, who when the day arrived he waa 
to comment onas the first of poets! His insulting 
|| criticisms on the popular writings of Addison,— 
sweet elegant: 


judicioas imagery 

paint.” Josera Warton, who indignantly rejects 
it from his edition of Pope, asserts, that '* we 
‘have not in our language a more striking example 
of true turgid expression, and genuine fustian 
and bombast.t’’ Yet such was the man whom 


looked into for it,at the close of Julius Cesar: this 
liteeary curiosity hed otherwise been lost for 
posterity ; ita whole history is a series of wonderful 


escapes. 
By this document we became acquainted with 
the astonishing fact, that Warburton, early in life, 


unmercifully registered . 
| book ; one who admired the genius of his brothers, 
and spoke of Pope's with the utmost contempt! 

+ Lee introduces Alexander the Great, saying, 
« When Glory, like the dazaling eagle, stood 
Perch'd-on my beaver in the Granio flood, 
When Fortune's self my standard trembling bore, 
And the pale Fates stood frighted on the shore; 
‘When the Immortals on the billows rode, 
And J myself sppear’d the leading Godt’ 

















(for the public at least) bad chosen to 
become the commentator of our greater poets! 
Again Churchill throws light on our character == 


“ He, with an all-sufficient air, 

Placed himself in the critic's chair, 

And wrote, toadvance his Maker's praise, 
Comments on rhymes, and notes on plays— 
A jndge of genius, though, confest, 

‘With not one spark of genius blest = 
Among the first of crities placed, 
Though free from every taint of taste." 


Not encouraged by the reception his first literary 
offorts received, but having obtained some prefer- 
‘ment from his patron, we now come to a critical 
point in his life. He retreated from the world, 
and, during a seclusion of near twenty years, 
persevered in uninterrupted studies. The force of 
his character placed him in the first order of 
thinking beings. This resolution no more to court 
‘the world for literary favours, but to command it 
‘by hardy preparation for mighty labours, displays 
@ noble retention of the appetite for fame; 
Warburton seorned to be a scribbler! 

Had this great man journalised his readings, as 
Gibbon has done, we should perhaps be more 
astonished at bis miscellancous pursuits. He read 
everything, and, I suspect, with little distinction, 
and equal delight*. Curiosity, even to its delirium, 


sentiments to the Paradise Lost.” Such extra- 
vagance oould only have proceeded from a critic 
too little sensible to the essential requisites of 
poetry itself. 

® Sach opposite studies shot themselves into 
the most fantastical forms in bis rocket-writings, 
whether they streamed in “* The Divine Legation,” 
or sparkled in “ The Origin of Romances,” or 
played about in giving double sonses to Virgil, 
Pope, and Shakespeare. Cnvrcnitn, with a good 
deal of ill-nature and some truth, describes thet, 


“A ourate first, he read and read, 
And Jnid in, while he should have fed 
The souls of bis neglected flock, 
‘Of reading, such a mighty stock, 
‘That be o’ercharged the weary brain 
‘With more than she coald well contain 5 
More than she was with spirit fraught 
To turn and methodise to thought ; 
And whieh, like ill-digested food, 
To humours turn'd, and not to blood.” 


‘The opinion of Bextiey, when he saw * The 
ae Legation," was a sensible one. * This 


eer fal labia” 
‘The Warburtonians seemed to consider his great | 


reader in despair. He read that he might write 
‘What no one else had written, and which at least 
required to be refuted before it was | : 
He hit upon a 8&CRET PRINCIPLE, 


pptgtetaeiatie a 
all knowledge, divine and buman, | 














10s | 


am unfolding | blances in objects which to more regulated minds 
 fapetedrorced had no similarity whatever. Wit may exercise its 
‘ingenultyas much in combining things unconnected 

with each other, as in its odd assemblage of ideas; 


, Which the AcAnmsere 
‘tr is conceived to bring to its 


we discover the SECRET PRINCIPLE 
ct farb through all his works, 
a st opposite natures. I do not 
ein ob dese 


iat aeilnent tx Bayle word equally 

‘Tn his early studies he had 
applied himeelf to logic ; and was not 
reasoner, but one practised in all 
dialectics. He had wit, fertile 
delicate ; and a vast body of 

ton, collected in the uninterrapted studies 
‘But it was the srener prix- 


in enlarged mind, in ages of its utmost refinement, had been 

fn the new world of Invxeriow he was composed by the droning monks of the middle 
d ages; a discovery which only surprised by its 
characteristic of investigation ; it | tasteless absurdity—but the absurdities of War- 

f his profounder inquiries | burton had more dignity, were more delightful, 
of antiquity ; for what he could | and more dangerous: they existed, as it were, im |} 


CONTECTURED and AssKRTED. ® state of illusion, but ilusion which required ox } 


much genius and learning a4 his own to 
His spells were to be disturbed only by a magician, 
great as himself. Conducted by this solitary 
principle, Warburton undertook, as it were, 

para | magical voyage into antiquity. He passed over 
the ocean of time, sailing amid rocks, and half lost 
on quicksands; but he never failed to raise up 
some ferra incognita ; or point at some scene of 
the Fata Morgana, some earthly spot, painted 
in the heaven one knows not how. 


In this secret principle of resolving to énnent, || 


of Moses demonstrated, | what no other had before conceived, by means of 
and assertion; and of maintaining his 


the remarkable expressions | conjecture 
‘superior genius." He had, | theories with all the pride of « sophist, and all the | 


jhis mind, Milton’s Hine on) feroeness of an inquisitor, age aid or | 


jmind, | ness of his stride. His firet great work was the || 
character. Sobose 4 ADlence Sotwees (Casi ae Bie 











to the civil power. 
meets ce la, tedk bes coves As 


Mosaic writings, was perpetually urged as a proof’ 
‘that the mission was not of divine origin: the 


* The author of '* The Canons of Criticism” 
nddressed a severe sonnet to Warburton; and 
alludes to the ‘* Alliance 2’— 


* Reign he sole king in paradoxal land, 
And for Utopia plan his idle schemes 
Of visionary leagues, alliance vain 
"Twist Will and Warburton—" 


On which he adds this note, humorously stating 
the grand position of the work:-— The whole 


tice’sclerk, might contract with Sorud, the butler, 
for such a quantity of ale as the other assumed 
character demanded."—A ppendix, p, 261, 

+ Monthly Review, vol. xvi. p. 324, the organ 
of tho disseaters, 

t See article Honnes, for his system. The 


Spey percelved 
his argument, as Wotton has 





himself in the labyrinth he had 
his intellect. Observe the 
d, even of so great a mind ms that 











poigieshen te bis scat 
ae rather to be in flight than in 


thousand years ago did not presume to know any- 
thing about? Father Hordooin seems to have 
opened the way for Warburton, since he had 
discovered that the whole Aineid was an allegorical 
voyage of St. Peter to Rome! When Jortin, in 


his whimsical edifices built on sands, which the 
waters were perpetually eating into! 

At the Inet interview of Warburton with Pope, 
the dying poet exhorted him to proceed with 
Lire pene es ae “ Your 

said he, “as well as your duty, is concerned in it. 
pacseher Pete ni iivinegltit ot Bo 
Nay, Lord Bolingbroke himself bids ine expect no 
such thing.’ This anecdote is rather extraordi- 
nary ; for it appears in “ Owen Ruffbead’s Life 
‘of Pope,” p. 497, a work written under the eye of 
Warburton himself; and in which I think I could 
point out some strong touches from his own hand, 
‘on certain important occasions, when he would 
‘not trust to the creeping dulness of Raffhead. 

+ His temerity had raised against him not only 
infidels, but Christians, If any pious clergyman 
‘now wrote in favour of the opinion thut God's 
people believed in the immortality of the soul,— 
which can we doubt they did? and which Menas- 


sch Ben Israel has written his treatise, “* De 


Resurrectione Mortuorum,” to prove—it was = 
strange sight to behold a bishop seeming to deny 60 
rational and religious a creed! Even Dr. Balguy 
confessed to Warburton, that “ there was one 
thing, in the argument of the ‘ Divine Legation,” 
that stuck more with candid men than all the 
rest: how a religion, without a future state, could 
be worthy of God!" This Warburton promised 
to satisfy, by a fresh appendix. His volatile 
genius, however, was condemned to ‘ the pelting 
of a merciless storm.” Lowth told him >—" You 
give yourself out us demonstrator of the divine 
Legation of Mores ; it hus been often demonstrated 
before ; @ young student in theology might under- 
take to give # better—that Ls, a more satisfactory 
‘and irrefragable demonstration of it, in five pages, 
than you Lave done in five volumes.” 

Lowth's Letter to Warburton, p, 12, 











‘on the Gift of Tongues,'’ pretended to thinks that 
“aa inspired language would be. in its || 
kind, with all the purity of Plato and the eloquence 
of Cicero,” and then asserted that ‘the style of 
the New Testament was utterly rude and barba- 
rous, and abounding with every frult that can 
possibly deform a language ;" Warburton, as was 


of Grace;'? but, in 

struck at the fandamental principles of 

‘be dilated on all the abuses of that human art. It 
was precisely his utter want of taste, which afforded | 
him so copious an argument; for he asserted, that || 


the principles of eloquence were arbitrary and 


‘sidered as the violation of a moral feeling*. Jor-| chi 


tin bore the slow torture, and the teasing of Hurd’s 
dissecting-knife, in dignified silence. 

‘At length o rising genius demonstrated how 
Virgil could not have described the Eleusinian 
‘Mysteries in the sixth book of the Amncid, One 
‘blow from the arm of Gibbon shivered the allego- 
rical fairy palace into glittering fragments. 


‘The Attic irony was translated into plain 
English, in * Remarks on Dr. Warburton’s Ac- 
count of the sentiments of the early Jews, 1757 ;” 
and the following rules for all who dissented from 
‘Warburton are deduced :—* You must not write 
on the sume subject that he docs. You must not 
glance at his arguments, even without naming 
him or so much as referring to him. If you find 
his reasonings ever 4o faulty, you must not pre- 
sume to furnish him with better of your own, even 
though you prove, and are desirous to support his 
conclusions. When you design him a compli. 
‘ment, you must express it in full form, and with 
all the circumstance of panegyrical approbation, 
‘without impertinently qualifying your civilities by 
assigning reason why you think he deserves 
them ; as this might possibly be taken for « hint 
that you know something of the matter he is 
writing about as well as himself. You must never 
call any of his discoveries by the name of conjec- 
tures, though you allow them their full proportion 
of elegance, learning, &c. ; for you ought to know, 
that this capital genius never proposed anything 
ta the judgment of the public (though ever 40 new 
and uncommon), with diffidence life. Thos 
stands the decree prescribing our demeanour 
towards this sovereign in the Repoblic of Letters, 
ag we find it promulged, and bearing date at the 
palace of Lincoln's Inn, Nov. 25, 17% 





such thing a8 a good taste$, except what the 


sign of the Sixth Book of the Alneid.’” Dr, Parr | 
considers this clear, clegant, and decisive work of |] 
criticism, a8 a complete refutation of Warburton’ 
discovery. oad 


7 It is curious enough to observe, that Ware 
burton himself, acknowledging this to bea paradox, | 
exultingly exclaims, ““ Which, like so mang 
Thave had the oop rorrux® to advance, will be 
seen to be only another name for Trath.”” This 
has all the levity of a sophist’s language ! 
we must infer that some of the most important | 


the Divine Legation in the noses of bigy an 
zealots.” He employs the most ludicrous im 


for reason.”' Alluding to some one 
saries, whom he calls “the weakest, as 
wickedest, of all mankind,” he 

image « “shall hang him and his 

do vermin in a warren, and leave: 




















expression 

“A plausible and a 

‘the greater part of man- 

, roused the indignation of 

t translator of Demosthenes, 

it Trinity College, io 

dotented the cause of 

" ing by profounder principles. 
grote Me Dimreation 8 

’ Human Eloquence ;" a volume 

» that it is still reprinted. 
whimsical paradox, yet compli- 
who, “with the spirit and 
feiatiina lotitois-oee writing against 
ol hobeleelad 


at Leland ; it was dipped 

of contempt and petulance. It 

did not canker, leaves that were 
. with the native warmth of 
could not resist the gratification of a 
| Wat the nobler part of the triumph was, 
ce he lent to the circulation of Hurd's 
ting it with his own reply, to 


Mighty es when an author, his 
‘n literary adventurer is still more 
ting double senses, discovering 
allusions, and making men of 


legmatic inhabitants of Rome and 

‘Westerns eloquence, in its turn, 

pid, to the hardy and inflamed irnagi: 

Best. The same expression, which 

had the utmost simplicity, had in 

tmost sublime."’ The jackal, too, 

f the lion; for the polished Hurd, 

far more decided than Warbur- 

‘enough to add, in bis Letter to 

h is thought supremely elegant 

in another for finical; while 

ia accepted under the idea of 

vin that other as no better 

“' So unsettled were the no-taste of 
prim-taste of Hurd! 

is characterised in the 


genius: 
the lumber of his own unwieldy erudition. 


‘When the German professor Cnousaz published 
‘a rigid examen of the doctrines in Pore’s Essay || 
on Man, Warburton volunteered a defence of | 
Pope. Some years before, it appears, that 
Warburton himself, in a literary club at Newark, 
had produced = dissertation ageinst those very 
doctrines! where he asserted that “ the Eesay was 
collected from the worst passages of the worst 
authors.” This probably occurred at the time he 
declared that Pope had no genius! Borrxcaroxe 
really wore the xray on Man, which Pope 
veriified+. His principles may be often objeo- 


+ In a rongh attack on Warburton, respecting 
Pope's privately printing 1500 copies of the 
“ Patriot King” of which J conceive 
to have been written by Mallet, I find # particular 
account of the manner in which the “ Essay on 
Man” was written, over which Johnson seems to 
‘throw great doubts. 

‘The writer of this angry epistlo, in addressing 
Warburton, says: * If you were as intimate with 
‘Mr. Pope as you pretend, you must know the 
trath of 2 fact which several others, as well as I, 
who never had the honour of a personal acquaint- 
ance with Lord Bolingbroke or Mr. Pope, have 
heard. The fact wae related to me by a certain 
senior fellow of one of our Universitice, who was 
very intimate with Mr. Pope. He started some 
objections, one day, at Mr. Pope's house, to the 
doctrine contained in the Ethie Epistles: upon 
which Mr. Pope told him, that be would soon 
conince him of the truth of it, by laying the 
argument at large before him ; for which purpose 
he gave him a large prose manuscript to peruse, 
telling him, st the same time, the author's name. 
From this perusal, whutever other conviction the 
doctor might receive, he collected at least this: 
that Mr. Pope had from his friend not only the 
doctrine, but even the finest and strongest ornd= 
ments of his Ethics. Now, if this faot be teue (as T 
question not but you know it to be so), I believe 
no man of candour will attribute wuch merit to 
‘Mr. Pope as you would insinuate, for acknowledging 
the wisdom and the friendship of the man who 
was his instractor in philosophy ; nor consequently 
that this acknowledgment, and the dedication of 
his orn system, put into a poetical dress by Mr. 
Pope, \aid bis Lordship under the necessity of 
never resenting any injury done to him by the 








introduced him to a blind and obedient patron, 
who bestowed on him a rich wife, by whom he 


the MS, in Lord Bolingbroke’s hand-writing, and 
‘Was at a loss whether mont to admire the elegance 
of Lord Bolingbroke’s prose, or the beauty of Mr. 
Pope's verse.""—Soo the letter of Dr. Blair in 
Boswell's Life of Johnaon, 

* Of many instances, the following one is the 
‘most curious, When Jarvis published his * Don 
Quixote,” Warburton, who was prompt on what. 
ever subject was started, preseated him with 
Dissertation on the Origin of the Books of 
Chivalry." When it appeared, it threw Pope, 
their common friend, into raptures. He writes, 
1 koew you as certainly as the ancients did the 
gods, by the first pace and the very gait.” ‘True 
enough ! Warburton’s strong genius stamped itself 
on all his works. But neither the translating 
painter, nor the simple poet, could imagine the 


heap of absurdities they wees admiring 1 Whatever | enjoy 


‘Warburton here asserted was false, and whatever 
he conjectured was erroncous; but his blunders 


were quite original—The good sense and know. | he 


ledge of Tyrwhitt have demolished the whole 


cdifice, without leaving @ single brick standing. | speare. 


The absurd rhapsody has been worth preserving, 
for the sake of the masterly confutation: no 
uncommon resalt of Warburton's literary labours! 

It forms the concluding note in Shakespeare's 
" Love's Labour Lost.” 














hod cosisSbetod to toe more 
rival editors, merely as 


the, poblio might 
for his own more perfect 
no little art* to excite 


“' “1 may venture to say, 
the foot of the company before 
r the fool of the piece, in his own 


the public curiosity respecting his future Shake. | 
spear; he liberally presented Dr. Brace with his 
‘MS. notes, for that great work the General Dic- 
tionary, no doubt as the prelude of his after- 
celebrated edition. Birch was here only « dupe: 


luminary now rising in the critical horizon, to 
diyplay the amazing crudition of this most recondite 
poet. Conjectural criticism not only changed the 
words but the thoughts of the author ; perverse: 
interpretations of plain matters. Many a striking 
passage was wrested into a new meaning: plain 


the world knows its chimeras.+ One of its most 


and veracity of Hanmer must prevail over the 
“liveliness” of Warburton, for Hard lauds his || 
“* lively preface to his Shakespeare." But the || 
Bite Eth beers ake aX. aeons Sea 
in a cancelled sheet. See the Indes, art. Hanmer. 
He did not choose to attack Dr. Middleton in 
form, during bis life-time, but reserved his blow 
when his antagonist was no more. 1 find in 
Cole’s MSS. this curious passage :—"' It was 
thought, at Cambridge, that Dr, Middleton and 
Dr. Warburton did not cordially esteem one 
another ; yet both being keen and thorough sporte- 
men, they were mutually afraid to engage to 
each other, for fear of a fall. If that was the case, 
the bishop judged prudently, however fairly it may 
be looked upon, to stay till it was out of the 
power of his adversary to make any reply, before 
be gave his euswer."’ Warburton only replied to 
Middleton's Letter from Rome, in his fourth |} 


to. cod” ‘The honour | Shakespeare, in one word, and with one epithet, || 














QUARRELS OF AUTHORS, 





results was, the production of that 


tho-prejadices of orticlens; ts 


which annihilated the whimsical labours of] us from relishing masterly performance, when 


+ Edwards's “ Canons of Criticism,” 
successful facctious criticisms 
history. Johnson, 


by ay feeling for a great genius who 
had condescended to encourage his first critical 
labour, grudgingly bestows a moderated praise 
|| on this exquisite satire, which he characterises for 


happened to recollect at that moment ;—and 
how he illustrated Octavia’s idea of the fatal con- 
sequences of a ciril war between Cressr and 
Antony, who said it would “ cleave the world,” 
by the story of Cartins leaping into the chasm; 
—how he rejected ** allowed, with absolute power,” 
'}| ss not English, and read “ yon the 
|) authority of the Roman Tribuneship being called 
Sucro-saneta Potestas ; —bow hia emendations 
often rose from puns; as for instance, when, in 
Romeo and Juliet, it is said of the Friar, that 
"the city is much obliged to him," our new critic 
consents to the sound of the word, but not to the 
spelling, and reads Aymn; that is, to laud, to 
‘These, and more extraordinary instances 
of perverting ingenuity and abused erudition, 
would form an uncommon specimen of critictem, 
which may be justly ridiculed, but which none, 
except an exuberant genius, could have produced. 
‘The most amusing work possible would be a real 
Warburton’s Shakespeare, which would contain 
not a single thought, and scarcely an expression, 
of Shakespeare's | 
* Had Johnson known as much os we do of 
Warburion’s opinion of his critical powers, it 
would have gone far to have cured his amiable 
prejudice in favour of Warburton, who really was. 
‘critic without taste, and who considered literature 
‘as some do politics, merely as a party-business. I 
shall give a remarkable instance. When Johnson 
published his first critical attempt on “ Macbeth,” 
be commended the critical talents of Warburton ; 
‘and Warburton returned the compliment in the 
preface to his Shakespeare, and distinguishes John- 
son as ‘a man of parts and genius.” But, 
unluckily, Johnson afterwards published his own, 
edition; and, in his editorial capacity, his public 
duty prevailed over his personal feelings: all this 
‘went against Warburtoo ; and the opinions he now 





it ridicules a favourite author; but to vs, mere 
historians, truth will always prevail over literary 
favouritism. ‘The work of Edwards effected its 


his proper rank and character.” | 
Warburton designates himself as “‘» Critic by 

profession; " and tells us, he gave this edition 

“to deter the unlearned writer from wantoaly 


declaration, that it was 
‘once his design to have given “ a body of Canons 
for criticixm, drawn out in form, with agtossary 2” 
and further he informs the reader, that 
this has not been done by hits, if the reader will: 
take the trouble, he may supply himself, 
‘Canons of criticism lic scattered in a 


bumour by Edwards, who, from these very 


they not in them as much folly ax 
should have reason to be offended wi 














depend on't, he will sell you the 
efor pure Castilian.’ Now honest 
reason of complaint against 

n, a8 Mr. Warburton has against me, 
him as heartily for it; but 

‘the gentleman did both parties jus- 


sret history ts attached to this publica 
‘Warburton's critical ebaracter in 





used ax in the ‘Essay on Man,” to reconcile a || 
system of fatalism to tho doctrines of revelation™. 
Warton had to remove the incumbrance of his 
Commentaries on Pope, while a most laborious 


burton)—und “a libeller (says Warburton, with 
poignancy), is nothing but a Grub-street critic ran 
to seed.""—He compares Edwards's wit and learn. 
ing to his ancestor Tom Thimble’s, in the Rehear- 
‘sal (because Edwards read Greek authors in their 
original), and bis air of goodnature and 


politeness, 
tis |to Caliban’s in the Tempest (because he had 


so keenly written the Canons of Criticism’). 
—T once saw a great literary curiosity : some proof 
sheets of the Duncind of Warburton's edition. I 
observed that some of the bitterest notes were 
after.thouglits, written on those proof-sheets after 
he had prepared the book for the press—one of 
these additions was his note on Edwards. Thus 
Pope's book afforded renewed opportunities for 
all the personal hostilities of this singular genius ! 

* In the Richardsoniana, p, 264, the younger 
Richardson, who was admitied to the intimacy of 
Pope, and ‘collated the press for him, gives some 
curious information about Warburton’s Com- 
mentary, both upes the Bray on Man and the 
Resay on Criticism. ‘arburton's Discovery 
of the ‘ regularity” of Pope's Essay on Criticism: 
and ‘the whole scheme’ of his Essay on Man, 
I happen to know to be mere absurd refnement in 


as 
tor 
for 


wether as Horace’s Art of Poetry was." As 
the Essay on Man, says Richardson, "* 1 know that 
faa ures Bros OF Son whens he RESO ee 
adopted; bbut be had taken terror about the clergy, | 
and Warburton himself, at the general alarm of || 
ite fatalism and deistieal tendency, of whieh my 
father and J talked with him frequently at Twiok- 
cobam, without his appearing to understand it, or 
ever thinking to alter those passages which we 

"—This extract is to be valued, for the 
information is authentic; and it assivts us in 
throwing some light on the subtilty of Warburton’s 
critical impositions, 








} regulated 

|| might lay him open, at numerous points, to the 
strokes of ridicule. It is a weapon which every 
one is willing to use, but which seems to terrify 


part of mankind protest against it, often at the 
moment they have been directing it for their own 
}] parpose. And the inquiry, whether ridicule be « 
|| test of truth, is one of the large controversies in 


in a note to his celebrated poem, asserts 
the efficacy of ridicule as a test of truth: Lord. 
Kaimes had just done the same. Warburton 
Jovelled his pioce at the Lord in the bush-fighting | 
of a note; bat came down in the open field with 
pie clatearks 0 Bia eet om, te! ichoae i 


bard*, 
|| Warburton designates Akeoside under the eneer- 
ing appellative of *' The Poet,’’ and alluding to 
his “sublime account” of the use of ridicule, 
reminds him of “his Master,” Shaftes- 
bury, and of that school which made morality an 





i 
mci cha baron: sd see 
field without victory or defeat, and now stand 


Simapliity, cams your businant i Gamal 
them ridiculous, and you nia as a i 


Warburton urged the strongest 


ce ot ridlcalo; but, tn} use: of ridicule, Sm tht) ot Soorstes sea 














‘Aristophanes is as truly ridi- | attempted to pursue, could not of itself have heen 
‘ever was drawn ; but it is | sufficient to have filled the world with the nameof |} 


ridicule was not #0 much to 
by giving them « bad opinion | unblashing 





* The paradoxical title of his great work was 
evidently designed to attract the unwary. “ The 
Divine Legation of Moses demonstrated—from 
the omission of a future state!" It was long 
uncertain whether it was “a covert attack on 
Christianity, instead of a defence of it,” 1 have 
!| here no concern with Warburton’s character as a 
polemical theologist ; this has been the business 
of that polished and elegant scholar, 
Lowth, who has shown what it is to be in Hebrew 
literature “a Quack in Commentatorship, anda 
Mountebank in Criticism.” He has fully entered 
into all the absurdity of Warburton’s * ill-starred 
Dissertation on Job."" It is curious to observe, 
that Warburton, in the wild chase of originality, 
often too boldly took the bull by the horns, for he 
often adopted the very reasonings and objections of 
infidels !—for instance, in arguing on the truth of 
the Hebrew text, because the words had no points 
when a living language, he absolutely prefers the 
Koran for correctness ! On this Lowth observes : 
“ Yon have been urging the same argument that 
Spinoza employed, in order to destroy the 
authority of the Hebrew Seriptures, and to 
introduce infidelity and atheiam.” Lowth shows 
farther, that this was also done by ‘a Sovicty 
of Gentlemen,’ in their ‘ Sacerdotism Displayed,’ 
said to be written by ‘a select committee of the 

















* Lowth remonstrated with Warburton on his 
supreme authority :"'— I did not eare to protest 
‘the authoritative manner in which you 

3 Or to question your investiture in the 
Inquisitor General, and Supreme 

‘the Opinions of the Learned, which you 
before assumed, and had exercised with 

and a despotiem without erumple in the 


smn pe iy me or 
clergyman, 
Critic.” A friend of Peters observed, 


Herts cae nh beg rei oe 


|| Mepublio of Letters, and hardly to be paralleled | selects from ‘his fellows,"’ that 


disciples of Dominio; exacting their | a delicacy of expression which off 


! opinions to the standard of your infallibility, and 


prosectiting with implacable hatred every one that 


|| presumed to differ from you."” 


‘Lowrn's Letter to W. p. 9 


ymous 
Contovcny, save be MR Wd 
the only part that sticks out of the 


+ Warburton had the most cutting way of| dirty indeed than slippery, and still 
designating his adversaries, either by the most n] 
vehement abuse, or the light petulance that 
expressed his ineffable contempt. He sys to one, 
“Though your tecth are short, what you want in|—With what provoking 
teeth you have in venom, and know, as all other| Thomas Hanmer always “The 
‘oreatures do, where your strength lies." He thus | and in his attack on 


we find to be J, Tintanp." “Mr. Tillard was 
first condemned, (says the author of ' Confusion 
‘worse confounded,') a8 a ruffian that stabs a man 
in the dark, because he did not put his name to 
his book against the Disine Legation ; and after- 
wards condemned as lost to shame, both asa man 
and a writer, because he did put bis name to it”’"— 





Would not one imagine this person to be one of | Lardner 


the lowest of miscreants? 

fortune and literature. Of this person Warburton 
‘says in a letter, ‘* This is « man of fortune, and it 
is well he is so, for 1 have spoiled his trade asa 
writer ; and as he was very abusive, free-thinking, 
and anonymous, I have not spared to expose his 
ignorance and ill faith." But afterwards, having 
discovered that he was a particular friend to Dr. 
Oliver, he makes awkward apologies, and declares 
he would not have gone #0 far had he known this! 
—He was often so vehement in his abuso, that I 
find he confessed it himself; for, in preparing a 
new edition of the Divine Legation, he tells Dr. 


history we have." 
that «be ‘had mover read le 
into his translations ; but what 


tioning the “elegant ti 
soy, you have made of D 


‘names always at hand, a kind: 


Birch that be has made several omissions of black calendar, ‘alate loeery 











‘The machine was nothing lesa 
tal works of Pope; as soon as 


cemed with all his Teenie 

libels and lampoons perpetually before them; all 
the foul waters of his auger were deposited hero 
as in a common reservoir t. 









of their enemies.” One waa the 












proof would not have altered the cause: Hurd 
would have disputed it tooth and nail; Warburtoa 
ul aiigieliactty, Sa peapace vo the ven renicing arene So wr ona 
he wore. Iwas not of so tame a|then any he was likely to receive from this 
‘I wrested the weapon from him, and flourish in the air. The great purpose was to 
ordabip, it seems, hy an oblique | make the Chancellor of Lincoln the bat of his 
‘y mp on the knuckles ; though | streastic pleasantry ; and this object was secured 
‘yourself for it, you lay the blame | by Warburton’s forty pages of prefce, in which 
peaias chy papel ch eeertio= 
ancient quintain, “a mere lifeless block.’”- 
All this came pon bim for only shining that 
Warburton was no scholar £ 
+ See what I have said at the close of note t, 
pp- 170-1. Inacollection, entitled * Verses oo- 
Tillard ond Sykes? Why | casioned by Mr. Warburton's late edition of Mr. 
tank with them,’’ &c. The} Pope’s Works,’’ 175], are numerous epigrams, 
had also a system of espionage. | parodies, and similes on it, 1 give one:— 
was acensed by one of them of) « 94 on the margin of Thames’ silver flood 
ee orion Btand lide nvesory pls of wood, 
Dr; Warburton was no scholar, Pal died tal tees ase SER ae 
| he had always thought so.—Hence 
quarrel! Hurd, the Mercory of| Lowth has noticed the use Warburton made of 
| the first light shaft against the | his patent for vending Pope. “1 thought you 
or of Lincoln, by alluding | might possibly whip me at the cart’s-tail in a note 
work on Civil Law, as “a|to the ‘Divine Legation,’ the ordinary place of 
learned work, intituled, | your literary executions; or pillory me im the 
+" bat at length Jove | Dunciad, another engine which, as legal proprie- 
‘on the hapless Chan-| tor, Hip Rea eer 
mid in his work, that | applied to the same purpote; or, perhaps, have 
rors persecuted the first ordered me a kind of Bridewell correction, by one 
re b from a dislike of their of your beedies, in a pamphlet.""—LowrTn's Let~ 
of their noctarnal fer fo Warburton, p. 4. 
a's doctrine was, that Warburton carried the licentiousness of the 
iblies because of the |pen in all these notes to the Danciad to & 


















weapon. His rage produced ‘ A familiar Epistle 
to the most impudent man living, 1749."'—The 
style of this second letter has been characterised as 
“bad enough to disgrace even gaols and garrets.’’ 
Its virulence could not well exceed its predecessor. 
‘The oddness of its title has made this worthless 
thing often inquired after. It is merely personal. 
It is curious to observe Mallet, in this pamphlet, 
treat Pope as an object of pity, and call him 


tle, to assure his friends that it did not refer to 
him, The title proved contagious; which shows 
the abuse of Warburton very agreeable. Dr, 
Z. Grey, under the title of ‘*.A Country Curate,” 
published “A free and familiar Letter to the 
great Refiner of Pope and Shakespeare, 1750 ;"" 
and in 1753, young Cibher tried also at ** A fayné. 
Har Epistle to Mr. William Warburton, from Mr. 
‘Theophilus Cibber,"’ prefixed to the Life of Bar- 
ton Booth. Dr. Z. Grey's *' freedom and fami- 

"are to show Warburton that he 
has no wit; but unluckily, the doctor having 


‘that of a scoundrel, and the younger Cibber’s 
that of an idiot: the genias of Warburton was 
secure, Mallet his gun with the 
fellest intentions, but found his picoe, in bursting, 


recondite topics, to have strongly ' 
public attention, bed. not a’ porty. beeu/ for 
found him, a the head of which stvod the active 


annihilated himself. The popgun of the Tittle |} 
‘Theophilus could never have been heard ! 

But Warburtoa's rage wns only a part of 
secret principle ; for can anything be more wilty 
than his attack on poor Coorsn, the 
the Life of Socrates ?”” Having 
‘*a late worthless and now forgotten thing, 
the Life of Socrates," he adda, ‘' whete the beid 
of the author has just made a shift to do the office 


and that he bad only taken his revenge * with a 
slight joke.” Cooper was weak and vain enough 
to print « pamphlet, to prove that this | } 
serious accusation, and no joke; aod if itwasa | 
joke, he shows it was not mcorrect one. In fact, | 


J—Cooper was of the 

school,— philosophers who pride | 

themselves on “the harmony” of their passions, 

but are too often in discords at « slight be 
ance. He equalled the virulence of Warbart 


but could not attain to the wit.‘ 


school of Plato, but rather from the 
must be allowed. 


in hie head when « now quarrel waa 
produced an odd blunder on the 


cola's-Inn,""—" This gentleman, 
to call himself, ix in reality » 
the Duncind, or, to speak bim 








greatly 

after perceived, that Warburton’s state of author- 
ship being a state of war, it eas his custom to be 
particularly attentive to all young authors, in 
hopes of enlisting them into his service. War- 
burton was more than civil, when necessary, om 
these occasions, and would procure such adven- 
turers some slight patronage” —Niewoxs’s Lit, 
Anecdotes, vol. ¥., p. S36. 

+ We are astonished at the boldness of the 
minor critic, when even, after the fatal edition of 
‘Warburton’s Shakespeare, he should still venture, 
in the life of his great friend, to wstert that * this 
fine edition raust ever be highly valued by men of 
sense and taste; » spirit congenial to that of the 
author, breathing throughout! '* 

Is it possible that the man who wrote this 
should ever have read the “ Canons of Criticiam 2” 
Yet is it to be supposed that he wha took solively 
an interest in the literary fortunes of his friend 
should nof have read them? The Warburtonians: 
appear to have adopted one of the principles of 
the Jesuits, in their controversies ; which was, to 
repeat arguments which had been confuted over 
and over again, to insinuate that they had not 
been so! But this was not too much to risk, by 
him who, in bis dedication of Horace’s Epistle to 
Augustus, with » Commentary, bad hardily and 
solemnly declared that “Warburton, in his 
enlarged view of things, hai not only revived the | 
two models of Aristotle and Longinus, but had 
tather struck out a neve original plan of oriticlrml, 
which should unite the virtues of each of them. 
This experiment was made on the two greatest of 
‘our own poets—Shakespeare and Pope. Still (he 
SS sBereing Waa) you oe Toei 
by joining to those powers « perfect insight into 
was always looking | human nature; and #0 ennobling the exercise of 

circumstance which | literary, bythe justest moral censure, you have now, 

of the late Dr. at length, aidoanced criticism lo ite full glory.” 











‘is justly characterised by Warton, in his Spenser, 


vol. ii, p. 36, the most sensible and ingenious: 
of modern critics.” —Ho was a lover of his studies ; 


critic. This intercourse was humorously detected 
by the lively author of “ Confusion worse con- 
founded.”"—* When the late Duke of R. (says he) 

it wild beasts, it was a common diversion to 
make two of his bears drunk (not metaphorically 
with flattery, but literally with strong ale), and 
then dab them over with honey, It was excellent 
‘sport to see how lovingly (like = couple of critics) 
‘they would lick and claw one another.” It is 


‘our great critic.—** One of the bears mentioned 


Such, then, was Wannunrox, and such the 
quarrels of this great author. He was, through 


and bis fume, This greatand original mind sserificed 
all his genius to that aecret principle we hare en 
deavoured to develop—it was a self-immolation | 
‘The learned Sx.peN, in the curious little volume | 
of his ‘* Table-Talk,"” has delivered to posterity a | 
precept for the learned, which they ought to wear, 
like the Jewish phylacterics, as a frontlet betwe 
their eyes." Mo man is the wiser for his Lewrn~ || 


above happened to get loose, and was running) i 


along-the street in which a tinker was gravely 
walking. The people all cried ‘ Tinker! tinker! 








POPE, 
wg 
AND HIS MISCELLANEOUS QUARRELS. 


the history of his His ambition seemed gratified in heaping these || 

‘tnd he appears to have been | trophies to his genius, while his meaner passions 
authors, surely not forming the could compile one of the most voluminous of the | 
delighted in, or have not been 
hostility. He has registered the | tained much of the Secret Memoirs of Grub-street = 
yk, even to a single paper, or a/ it was always « fountain whence those ‘ waters of 
es, in which their authors bad com-| bitterness,” the notes in the Dunciad, were readily 
against his poetical sovereignty*.| supplied. It would be curious to discover by what 
- stratagem Pope obtained all that secret intelligence 
‘these numerous literary libels| about his Dunces, with which he has burthened 

re. He had them bound in| posterity, for his own particular gratification. 
Arbuthnot, it is said, wrote some motes merely 

literary; but Savage, and still humbler agents, 

served him ax his Expions de Police. He pensioned 

with remarks on these | Savage to his last day, and never deserted him. 

He prefixed to them this motto,|In the account of ‘the phantom Moore,’ 
my desire ix, that mine | Seriblerus appeals to Savage to authenticate some 
book surely would take| story. One curious instance of the fruits of 

















QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 


scandalous chronicles of literature. We are 
mortified on discovering so fine a genius in the 
text, humbling itself through all the depravity of 
a commentary full of spleen, and not without the 
fictions of satire, The unbappy influence his 
| Literary Quarrele had on this great poet's life 


and strong irritability of his character. 
‘They were some of the artifices he adopted, from 
the peculiarity of his situation. 
‘Thrown out of the active classes of society, 
from a variety of causes, sufficiently known *, 


forgotten scribblers. ‘* It is like walking through 
‘the darkest alleys in the dirtiest part of St. Giles's.” 
‘Very true! But may we not be allowed to detect 
tho vanities of human nature at St, Giles's ns well 
ts St. James's? Authors, however obscure, are 
always an amusing race to authors, The greatest 
find thelr own passions in the least, though dis- 
torted, or cramped in too small a compass. 

It is doubtless from Pope's great anxiety for his 
‘own literary celebrity that we have been furnished 
with so complete a knowledge of the grotesque 
groups in the Dunciad. “ Give me a shilling,”’ 
said Swift facetiously, “and I will insure you that 

shall never know one single enemy, 
| excepting those whose memory youhave preserved.” 
A very useful hint for a man of genius to leave his 
wretched assailants to dissolve away in their own 
| weakness. But Pope, having written a Dunciad, 
by accompanying it with a commentary, took the 
only method to interest posterity. He felt that 
Boileau’s satires on bad authors are liked only in 
the degree the objects alluded to are known. But 
he loved too much the subject for its own sake, 
He abused the powers genius had conferred on 
him, as other imperial sovereigns have done. It 
is said that he kept the whole kingdom in awe of 
him, In “the frenzy and prodigality of vanity,” 
he exclaimed— 
o ‘Yes, 1 am proud to see 
Men, not afraid of God, afraid of me!” 


‘Tacitus Gordon said of him, that Pope seemed 
to persuade the nation that all geniux and ability 
‘were confined to him and his friends. 

* Popo, in his energetic Letter to Lord Hervey, 
that ** master-piece of invective,’’ says Warton, 
which Tyers tells us be Kept long back from 
publishing, at the desire of Queen Caroline, who 
was fearful her counsellor would become insignifi- 
cant in the public esteem, and at last in her own, 
wach was the power bis genius exercised ;—has 





concentrating his passions into a solitary one, his | 
retired life was passed in the contemplation of his 
own Hi greatness. Reviewing the past, and 
anticipating the future, he felt he was a 
new era in our Literature, on event which 

‘not always occur in a century ; but eager to secure 


great poet. 
‘To keep bis name alive before the public, waa | 
one of his early plans. When be published Ms | 


pointed out one of these causes. It describes 
himself ns “a private person under penal laws, 


































He 
e 
ls 
i 
i 


FREREE 
e ERE 

i 

Eg 

¥ 

: 

j 

F 


Het 
Hie 
ii 
i 

ie 


| 


‘The 
We are told, that 
quickened 


i 
if 
HI 
i 


u 
EF 
i 
Ht 

i 
i 


declared, respecting the | 

best satires, that no real 

were intended, it checked public curiosity, which | 
| 


Ey 
H 
1 


and the talent of Pope; and the malice of man- 


fl 
i 
i 


kind afforded him all the conviction necessary to 
indulge it. Yet Young could depend solely on 
abstract characters and pure wit’; and I belicve 
that his ““ Love of Fame” was a series of admira- 
ble satires, which did not obtain Jess popularity 


i 


he praises Jonson for exercising a virtue be did 
not ulways practise ; as Swift celebrates Pope with 
the same truth, when he sings:-— 
© Yet malice never was his aim; ‘ 
| He lasiv’d the vice, but spared the name.” 
Cartwright’s lines are :— 


fupeeene spose era an eT CECT cr ceahat 
suspected his skill in Greek ; pare ; 
hd “s <a As he who, when he saw the serpent wreath'd 
About bis sleeping son, and as he breathed, 

at ceaten, he wen busy | Drink in his sou, dito the thot contrive, 
the peblic ‘To kill the beast, but keep the child alive." | 

- 3 Cooke, the translator of Hesiod, published « | 

letter in Mist's Journal, fnsisting that Pope bad 
mistaken the whole character of Therzites, from 
’ tgnorance of the language. T regret Ihave not | 
dark transaction, which | drawn some notes from that essay. ‘The subject 
fectly known te Johnson, | might be made curious by « good Groek scholar, if 
‘note, will be found wt the Pope has really erred in the degree Cooke asserts. 
“Theobald, 








- who seems to have boen & more classical || 
finest characterpaiutey scbolar than has been allowed, besides some ver- | 























their hardy disputes with Pope respect- 
to his own works, and the difficulty 


‘many other vogue claims. All this was vexatious ; 
|| but not so much as the ridiculous attitude in which 
‘Pope was sometimes placed by his enraged adver- 


* In one of these situations, Pope issued a very 
grave, but very lndicrous, advertisement. They 
had the impudence to publish an account of Pope 


of Grub-strect,” vol. i. p. 96, this tingling narra- 
tive appears to have been the ingenious forgery of 
Lady Mary! On this occasion, Pope thought it 
necessary to publish the following advertisement: 
‘in the Daily Post, June 14, 1728 >— 

‘* Whereas, there has been a seandalous paper 
cried aloud about the streets, under the title of 
“A Pop upon Pope,’ insiovsting that I was 
whipped in Ham Walks, on Thursday last :—This 
is to give notice, that I did not stir out of my 
house at Twickenham on that day; and the eame 
is 4 malicious and ill-grounded report.—A. P.”” 

Tt seems that Phillips bung up « birchen-rod at 
Button’s. Pope, in one of his letters, congratu- 
Intes himself that he never attempted to use it. 

+ According to the seandalous chronicle of the 
day, Pope, shortly after the publication of the Dun- 
ciad, had a tall Irishman to attend him. Colonel 
Duckett threatened to cane him, for # licentious 
stroke aimed at him, whieh Pope recanted. Thomas 
Bentley, nephow to the doctor, for the treatment 
his uncle hd received, sent Pope a challenge. 
‘The modorm, like the ancicnt, Horace, wus of a 
‘nature liable to panic at such critical moments. 
Tope consnlted some military friends, who declared 





dd, that Pope has called down on hhinossl 
lasting vengeance ; and the good sense of 


1 
ili 


5 
i 
i 


however, left behind, amid the careless produc | 
tions of his muse, some passages wrought with 


A finsk T rear'd whose sluice began | 
And told, from Phadras, thie 














rather to want « little. | published, and in which it appears that Pope's 
ly trae, what Cibber facetiously | own character in this collection, if not written by 


my in his wecond letter: “ Everybody | bim, was by him very carefully corrected on the 

tT have made you as uneasy as a rat| proof-sheet; so that be stood in the same ridica- 
‘a twelremonth together.” lous attitude into whieh he had thrown Dennis, 
ed through life by the insatiable |as his own trumpeter. —Dennis, whose 

Dennis. The young poct, who had | energy remained unsubdued, was a rhinooeros 


& — 


= 


i 


i 
? 


‘cursor of the * Duncind was a single 

“The Bathos, or the Art of Sinking in Poetry, 
where the humorous satirist discovers an 
between flying-fishes, parrots, tortoises, &c. 
certain writers, whose names are designated 
initial letters. In this unlucky alphabet of dunces, 
‘not one of them but was applied to some writer of 


i 


empty Mask" only retaining ** the costly 
was the verse of Pope. 
Dennis tells the whole story, “ At his first 
‘to town, he was importunate with Mr. 
" troduce him to me. The recom- 
‘engaged me to be about thrice in com- 


existence on their wages, several were completely 
ruined, for no purchasers were to be found for the 
works of some authors, after they had been 
inscribed im the chronicle of our provoking and 





+ Two parties arose in the literary republic, the 
Theobaldians and the Popeians. The Grab-strect 
| Journal, a kind of literary gazette of some ¢am~ 
paigna of the time, records the skirmishes with 
tolerable neutrality, though with a strong leaning 

in fevour of the prevailing genius. 

‘The Popeians did not always do honour to their 
great leader; and the Theabaldians proved them~ 
selves, at times, worthy of being engaged, had fate 
#0 ordered it, in the army of their renowned enemy. 
When Young published his “Two Epistles to 
Pope, on the Autbors of the Age,” there appeared 

pe, like a Kentish post-horse, is| ‘One Epistle to Mr. A. Pope, in answer to two 

‘antes !"—Remarks upon | of Dr. Young's.” On this, a Popeian defends 

‘the Preliminaries to the | is muster from vomse extravagant accusations, in 
“The Grub-street Memoirs.” He insists, as bis |} 





























first principle, that all accusations against a man's | 
{| character, without an attester, are presumed to be 
} slanders and lies, and in this case every gentleman, 
ich ee aed the Bathos,” is merely o liar 


f Rs ae ee 
‘a stealer from bad poets: if so, you have just 
| came to complain of invasion of property. You 
assure us be is not even a versifier, but steals the 
| sound of his verses; now, to steal a sound is a5 
_Sngenious as to paint an echo, You cannot bear 
should be treated as vermin and reptiles ; 
‘now, to be impartial, you were compared to fying. 
Sithes, didappers, tortoises, and parrots, Se, not 
vermin, but curious and beautiful creatures’’— 
alluding to the abuse, in this Epistle, on such 
‘authors as Atterbury, Arbuthnot, Swift, the Duke 
of Buckingham, &c, The Popeian concludes :— 

* After all, your poem, to comfort you, is more 
innocent than the Dunciad; forin the one there's 
no man abused, but is very well pleased to be 
abused in such company; whereas, in the other, 
there’s no man so much as named, but ia extremely 
affronted to be ranked with such people as style 
each other the dullest of men.’ 

‘The publication of the Dunciad, however, drove 
the Theobaldians out of the field. Guerillas, such 
asthe “ One Epistle,” sometimes appeared, but their 
heroes struck and skulked away. A Theobaidian, 
in an Epigram, compared the Dunciad of Pope to 
the offspring of the celebrated Pope Joan, ‘The 
neatness of his wit is hardly blunted by a pun. 
He who talks of Pope's ‘ stealing a sound,” seems 
to have practised that invisible art himself, ibe 
verse is musical as Pope's. 


TO THE AUTHOR OF THE DUNCIAD. 
“ With rueful eyes thou view’st thy wretched 


rae, 
‘The child of guilt, and destined to disgrace. 
Thus when famed Joan usurp'd the Pontiff’s 
chair, 
With terror she beheld her new-born heir: 
T-starr’d, ill-favour'd into birth it came ; 
Tn vice begotten, and brought forth with shame! 
Tn vain it breathes, a lewd abandon’d hope ! 
Aad calls in vain, the unhallow'd father—Pope!” 


The answers to this Bpigram by the Popeians 
are too gross, The ‘One Epistle’ is attributed 
to James Moore Smyth, in alliance with Welsted, 
and other unfortunate heroes, 





ipaeqeegen| Scone 
for he has the 

than the work itself. A morsel of such poigoant 
joins lssyetnea eas a 


allusions to the poverty of the authors. 

The indoficacies of the “ Dunciad” ne thas } 
wittily apologised for =— 

mThey mo suhable to, toe othiect aan f 
composed, for the most part, of xathors whose 
writings aro the refase of wit, and who in life 
the very excrement of Natare. Mr, Pope hus, | 


he raises a variety of fine flowers. "Ha das 
226 ‘bat To op ene crea 7 
poper-mill, and brings them out useful” 

‘The chemist extracts a fine cordial from the most 
nauseous of all dung ; and Mr- Pop 

set pono fm Goin 
unpoetical objects of the ores! 
ihousts-abarcalsepiteea chanted 

‘The reflections on the poverdy of its 

thos ingeniously defended :—‘ Povert t 
ceeding from folly, but which may be owing t 
virtue, sete a man in an amiable light; bot 
our wants are of our own seeking, 

motive of every ill action (for the 

authors has always a bad heart for its cor 

in itnot a vive, and properly the subject 

‘The preface hen proceeds to show how * 

said writers might have been good 

He illustrates his principles with a most 

account of several of his contemporaries, 

give a specimen of what I consider as 


him not without merit. To do the : 
he might have made a tolerable figure 
Tree ie pete Se 
been a masier in any profession; bul 
allow him, he would not have been des 
a third or a fourth hand jours 
hls wants have been avoided; for, | 
Ieast haye learned to eut his enat 
“Why would not Mr. Theobald 
attorney? 1s not Word.catching more 
in splitting « cause, than 














4 i 


rit long procession | The Cavest,”” nl 

‘even bren more decent in him to | Pope is represented as * sneakingly 
according to education, im an | and want the worth to cherish or 
than to have been altering | merit’’ In the course of this 
or Merry Beggars, into a| Hill seems to bave projected the 


nie ion UT ett] 


5 
he 


“There is, ia Ruffhead’s Life of Pope, 

o which Warburton contributed all his 
ich could only have been written 

‘The strength and coarseness of 
could never have been produced by 

e intellect of Raffhead: it is the 

of Warburton himself, on the 
“The good purpose intended by this 
‘the herd in general, of less efficacy 
bopod; for scribtlers have not replied, ‘1 acknowledge your generous 

of other vermin, who usually 


mischief, when they see any of their | own works than mine: I consent, with all my 
nailed wp, as terrible examples.” | heart, to your confining them to mine, for two 
reasons: the one, that I fear your sensibility that 
way is greater than my own ; the other is a better; 
namely, that I intend to correct the faults you 
find, if they are such as I expect from Mr. Hill's 

eo] judgment®.” 


by the letters A. H. This gave 
correspondence between Hill and | to hurt each other would have given pain to both 
A very amiable man, was parties. Such skill and desire to strike, with so 
le of criticism; and Pope, | much tenderness in inflicting a wound ; so much || 

















QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 


A NARRATIVE 
or THE 
EXTRAORDINARY TRANSACTIONS RESPECTING THE PUBLICATION OF 
POPE'S LETTERS. 


Jonson observes, that one of the passages of | letters of Voiture to Mademoiselle 


Pore’s life which seems to deserre some inquiry, 
‘wns the publication of his letters by Curr, the 
rapacious bookseller."’ Our great literary blogra- 
pher has expanded more research on this occasion 
than his usual penury of literary history allowed ; 


Ramnbouillet, 
and despatchod them to the eager Bibliopolist to |} 
print, as Pope’s to Miss Blount. He went om 
increasing his collection ; and, skilfal in catering 
for the literary taste of the town, now inflamed | 


and yet has only told the close of the strange | Literary 
transaction—the 


previous parts are more curious, 
and the whole cannot bo separated. Joseph 
Warton hax only transcribed Johnson’s narrative. 
It is w piece of literary history of an uncommon 
complexion ; and it is worth the pains of telling, 
if Pope, as I consider him to be, was the subtile 


} political 

strong light on the portrait Ihave touched of him, 
|, He conducted all bis literary transactions with the 
arts of a Minister of State; and the genius which 
he wasted on this literary stratagem, in which he 
|| 20 completely eueceeded, might have been perhaps 
sufficient to have rebellion. 

Tt is well known that the origin of Pope's first 
Ietters given to the public, arose from the dis- 
tresses of a cast-off mistress of one of his old 
friends (H. Cromwell), who had given her the 
letters of Pope, which she knew to value: these 
she afterwards sold to Curll, who preserved the 
originals in his shop, so that no suspicions could 
arise of their authenticity. ‘This very collection ix 
now deposited among Rawlingon’s MSS. at the 
Bodleian. 

This single volume was successful: and when 
Pope, to do justice to the memory of Wycherley, 
whieh had been injured by a posthumous volume, 
printed some of their letters, Curll, who seemed 
‘now to consider that all he could touch was his 
own property, and that his little volume might 
serve asa foundation-stonc,immediately announced 
«@ new edition of it, with Additions, meaning to 
include the letters of Pope and Wycherley. Curll 
now became go fond of Pope's Letters, that he 
advertived for any: ‘no questions to be asked.’ 
Carll was willing to be credulous: having proved 
to the world he had some originals, he imagined 
‘these would sanction even spurious ones. A man 
who, for a particular purpose, sought to be im- 
| posed on, easily obtained his wish: they translated 





grand experiment with the ymblic had beea 
for him, while he was deprived of the profits ; 


sll prov a Bad prep st 6 Sa 
of in the nation. All this was vexatious; 
stop the book jobber and open the market for 


is called a merchant. Pope eonld no 
reproach of Lady Mary's line -— 


designed only to brewk the ie, Cas 
largo Collection of Lette eo 




















Correspondence. 
| een meee ee Ho eciiness of ts keen 


of hin Letters to Cromwell, and 
nt it, as revived by Mr. Pope; as he 


i# manner. That he knows no such 
= that he believes be bath no such 


r 


he thioks the whole a forgery, 
himself at all about it,” 
he bad endeavoured to 
pe, and affirens that he had 


‘thickens, P. T. suddenly 
‘Carll of having “* betrayed 
,* but: you and he both shall 


not comply with my proposal to advertise, 1 have 
printed them at my own expense.” He offers 
the books to Carll for sale. 

Carll on this bas written a letter, which takes a |] 
fall view of the entire transaction. He seems to 
have grown tired of what he calls ‘‘ such jealous, 
groundless, and dark negotiations.” P. T. now 
found it necessary to produce something more 
than a shodow—on agent oppears, whom Curl 
considered to be a clergyman, who assumed the 
name of R. Smith. The first proposal was, that 
P. T's letters should be returned, that be might 
feel secure from all possibility of detection; #0 
thet P. T. terminates his’ part in this literary free- 
masonry as & non-entity. 

Here Johnson's account begins —* Curll said, 


than ever,—*‘ Mr. Pope's Literary Correspondence 
regularly digested, from 1704 to 1734::" to lords, 
earls, baroncts, doctors, ladies, &c. with their 
respective answers, and whose names glittered in 
the advertisement. The original MSS. were also 
and announced to be seen at his house, 


Curll was brought before the House. 

This was an unexpected incident; and P. T. 
‘once more throws his dark shadow across the path 
of Curll to hearten him, had he wanted courage 
to face all the lords. P. T. writes to instruct 
him in his answers to their examination ; but to 
take the utmost care to conceal P. T.; be assures 











‘knack at versifying ; but in prose 

mytelf a match for him.’ When the 

‘Orders of the House were examined, none of them 
have been infringed : Curll went away 


‘appeared. 

‘The letter Curll wrote on the occasion to one of | 
‘thesedark familiars, the pretended clergyman, marks 
his spirit and sagacity. It contains a remarkable 


‘15th May, 1735. 
“Tam just again going to the Lords to finish 


you twenty pounds 

Maiiptla tus ods dnd ost bsow fom vitae 
the books came, and that my wife received them. 
This was strict truth, and prevented all farther 
inquiry. The lords declared they had been made 
‘Sead T put myself on this single point, 
and insisted, as there was not any Pecr's letter 
in the book, I had not been guilty of any breach 
of privilege. 1 depend that the dooks and the 
will be sent; and believe of P. 

what I hope be believes of me. 

“ Por the Rey. Mr, Smith.’” 


‘The reader observes that Curll talks of a great 
number of books not received, and of the few which 
he has received, as imperfect. The fact is, the 
whole bubble is on the point of breaking. He, 
masked in the initial letters, and he, who wore 
the masquerade dress of s clergyman's gown with 
slawyer’s bond, suddenly picked a quarrel with 





came from across the water, nor ever named yous 
all I said was, that the books came ty sweaters 
4. rer oy myo re 


think wisely. 6. I will be kept no longer in the 
dark; P.'T, is illo! the Wisp ¢ all the books I 
have had are imperfect ; the first fifty had mo tithes 
nor prefaces ; the last five bundles seized by the 
Lords contained but thirty-eight in each bendle, 
which amounts to one hundred and ninety, and 
fifty, is in all but two hundred and forty books. 
re ee eee 


T will do: when I have the books 
ioe, te a 
impression, I will pay you for 

do you call this usage? First take a note 
month, and then want it to be changed for on 
;| Sir Richard Hoare’s. My note is as 

any sum I give it, as the Bonk, and shall 
punctoally paid, J always may, gold ix 
paper, But if this dark converse goes on, Iw 
instantly reprint the whole book; and, as 
supplement tto it, all the letters P. T.; 

of which I have exact copies, together " 
your originals, and give them in upo ‘ 
Lord Chancellor. You talk of ér 


T. | not reposed any in me, for he: has my 


notes for imperfect books. Let 
PT. or yournll, or you ad Gh etal 
verified, Nemo me impune lacessit, 

“Your abused humble servant 


“ PS. Lord T attend this day. 
Darawan I sur wirn To-xiGar 
Pope bas one lord, I have twenty.” 


the duped bibliopolist: they now accuse him of a| Literary 


design he had of betraying them to the Lords! 
The tantalized and provoked Curll then 
addressed the following letter to “The Rey. Mr. 
Smith,"’ which, both os a specimen of this 
celebrated personnge's “ prose,’’ in which he 
thought himself “a match for Pope,” and 
exhibiting some traits of his character, will 
entertain the curious reader, 


“Sir, Friday, 16 May, 1735. 
“Ist, Tam falsely accused. 2. ¥ value not 
any man’s change of temper; I will never change 
my veRActry for falsehood, in owning a fact of 
which Lamionocent. 3, 1 didnot own the books 





Curll ‘a hi ia comepondent, 
persisted in printing several 
soe wh iad he b 








‘were genuine? ‘To account| pretending to be written by one who 
; kindness to Pope, bears the evident impression of 
his own hand ; for it contains matters not exactly 


#4) 


wishing to be a poet as well as a mimic, 
her and her husband to write all the verses w! 


passed with bis mame; such « man was 
adapted to be this clergyman with the lawyer's || 
be was 
on this 


originally 
pe rest re fo by having his letters brought before the examination || 
showed that hope of gain | at the House of Lords most Perro his |] 
ea the motive of the impression. pride, and awakened gmblic curiosity. 
being desirous of printing his | the House of Lords,’’ says Curll, “ bis 
knowing how to do, without | Greater ingenuity, perplexity, 








j this change disturbed | in the characters of men, which carried down this | 
satiric fiction, ‘Things child of airy humour to the verge of his ninetieth || 
into one, became the| year, with all the enjoyment of strong animal || 





Horace, The hero of the 


es he felt that, like the Patriarch of old, 
r not with au equal, but one of 
“and the hollow of his thigh was 

"Still, however, he triumphed, by 
“felicity of charncter, that inimitable 

de cour, that honest simplicity of truth, 
| flowed so warm an admiration of the 
adversary; and that exquisite fact 


Phillips, he showed the same sort of 

toed the repeated the same charge of 
his own finest poem ; for 

‘many “merry inuendoes,” thut 

the Lock '’ was as audacious a libel 

| Barnevelt had made out the Non- 


did not obtrude himself in this contest. 
ly = poor vain creature, he had 
asitence. His good-temper 
‘anger, but he remonstrates with no. 
when he chooses to be solemn; 
‘be playful was more natural to bim. 
we lain so long stoically silent, or 
tenes ‘it was not so 
it of « proper reply, as that I thought 
‘ public one; forall people of 
what truth or falsehood there 

at suid of me, without my wisely 

|. Nor did I choose to 

being so much a self- 


‘spirits, and all that innocent egotism which became || 


Impenetrable,’ 
which was probably in the mind of Johnson when 
he noticed his * le impudence.’” 
A Critic has charged him with * effrontery 3!" 


+ Armstrong, who was keen observer of man, 
has expressed bis uncommon delight in the com- 
pany of Cibber. ‘* Besides his abilities as a writer, 
(as a writer of Comedies, Armstrong means,) and 
the singular variety of his powers as an actor, he 
wns to the last one of the most agreeable, cheerful, 
and best-humoured men you would ever wish to 
converse with.""—Warton's Pope, vol. iv. 160. 

Cibber was one of those mre beings, whose dis- 
positions Hume describes “as preferable to an 
inheritance of 10,000/, » year.” 

+ Dr. Aikin, in his Biographical Dictionary, has 
thus written on Cibber: ' It cannot be doubted, 
that, at the time, the contest was more painful to 
for| Pope than to Cibber. But Pope's satire is im- 
mortal, wheress Cibber’s sarcasms are no longer 
read. Cibher may therefore be represented to 
Suture times with less credit for abilities than he 
really deserves; for he was certainly no dunce, 
though not, in the bigher sense of the word, a 
man of genius, Hir effrontery and vanity could 
not be easily overcharged, even by a foe. Indeed, 
‘they are striking features in the portrait drawn by 
himself." Dr. Aikin’s political morality often. 
vented its indignation at the successful injustice of 
great Power! Why should not the sume spirit 
conduct him in the Literary Republic? With 
the just sentiments he has given on Cibber, it was 
the duty of an intrepid Critic to raise a moral 
feeling against the despotism of genius, and to 
have protested against the arbitrary power of 
Pope. It is participating in the injustice to pass 
it by, without even a regret at its effect. 

As for Cibher himself, he declares he was not 
impudent, and 1 am disposed to take bis own word, 
for be modestly asserts this, in a remark on Pope's 
expression, 

“ Cibberian forehead,” 


plain yy which I find you modestly mean Cibberiem 





impudence, as a sample of the strongest.—Sir, 
your humble servant—but pray, Sir, in your 
* Epistle to Dr. Arbothnot? (where, by theway, in 
your ample description of a great Poet, you lily. 
hook in a whole hat-full of virtues to your own cha- 
racter) have not you this particular line ? 


‘And thought a Lie, in verse or prose, the 
same—" 








5 
& 


“publication 
circumstance recorded in thix neat Epigram ;— 


Feok thow\cocld)aimen of your 
Tet so tame, so low a reflection 


by more persons, probably, than read the Dunciad. || 

most distressful) In his sceond letter, Cibber, alluding to the || 
‘out, in 1724, his | vesation of Pope on this ridiculous story, observes = || 

at expense, and “*a| “To have been exposed us a bad man, ought to || 

"* was the result, | have given thee thrice the concern of being shown | 

| be the poet and|a ridiculous lover.""—And now that he had | 
rd still struggling for Gacavered that ho eanld tooch ‘the pérves of Pope, 








seems that Pope had once the same! ‘But 4) he is not uneasy at Pope's: 
ga eee har taster ne head is #0 dull as not to be r 
more Keener remonstrances | go; and (you'll excuse we) if 
| and the honest traths which Cibber has urged. felt ebelahntte ia ta 


philosophical curiosity, respecting Cibber’s awn 
whieh 
might puzele a wiser man to! 


title, so expressive of its design, and the | rhar blockhead still have 
of the work, which may 


‘bad | 1 will make some allowance; but for the 








‘but what it was. If it was good 
‘not burt it: if bad the reply could 


“Bat one stroke more, and that shall be my Laat.” 
Davoex. 
Landon, 1743." 








to impotent | their pardon, if that should be all the Tean 
men of the best sense | afford theox—"" = 


y their not inquiring] This ‘boy of seventy odd,” for such he was 
tit; and the vulgar, | when he wrote “! The Egotist,” unfolds his cha- 
p be good than ill-natured, | racter by many lively personal touches. He 
wit, and have an unche-| declares he could not have “given the world so 
it, Now, when this is | finished a coxcomb as Lord Foppington, if he had 
tame silence, upon being satiri- | not found a good deal of the same staff in bimsclf 
liable to be thought guilt, or|to make him with.” He addresses “ A Postscript, 
‘bo the result of innocence, or|To those few unfortunate Readers and Writers 
‘is @ very natural and just | who may not haye more sense than the Author: '” 
w ‘nd he cloves, in all the fulness of his spirit, with 
so! But still that docs not) a piece of consolation for those who are so cruelly 
; for though slander, by | attacked by superior genius. 

“ Let us then, gentlemen, who have the misfor- 
tane to fie thus at the merey of those whose 
‘natural parts happen to be stronger than our own 
—let us, I say, make the most of our sterility 1 
Meee chctentsc ay coe ‘Let us double and treble the ranks of our thick- 
dry lands it may founce and fling, and ness, that we may form an it phalanx, 
feel Ime it won't bite you ; you| and stand every way in front to the enemy! or, 
“it on the heads it will soon lie} would you still be liable to lees hazard, lay but 
d Benes tel yourselves down, as I do, flat and quiet upon your 
‘single-sheet critics will find you | faces, when poericn Fa Wit, or Preju- 
dice, Jet fly their formidable shot at you, what 
(they won't. I’m not #0 mad | odds is it they don’t all whistle over your bead? 
a match for the invulnerable, |'Thus, too, though we may want the artillery of 
care; there's Poulwit ; though | missive wit, to make reprisals, we may at least, in 
bite. security, bid them kiss the tails we have turned 
0 will bugs and fleas ; but that's | to them. Who kaows but, by this oar supine, er 
mee: everything must feed, you|rather prone screnity, disappointed valour 
‘erceping critics are a sort of| may become their own jon? Or lebus yet, 
could come to a king, would|at worst, but solidly stand our ground, like #0 
‘Set, whenever they cam persuade | many defensive stone-posts, znd we may defy the 
st their jest upon me, 1 will | proudest Jehu of them all to drive over us. Thus, 
One of the number; but I must ask | gentlemen, you see that Insensibility is not with- 
— out its comforts; and as I give you no worse 
advice than J have taken myself, and found my 
account in, I hope you will have the hardness to 

follow it, for your own good and the glory of 
* Yom bagasse linia herve on 
After all, one may perceive, that though the 
good-humour of poor Cibber was real, still the 
immortal satire of Pope had injured his higher 
feelings. He betrays bis secret grief at his close, 
while he seems to be sporting with his pen; and 
though he appears to confide in the fulsity of the 
satire, a8 his best chance for saving him from it, 
still he feels that the caustic ink of such a satirist 
aunt blister and spot wherever, it falls. The 
hath a fair chance for «| anger of Warburton, and the steraness of John- 
ithe jadielons ; end it son, who seems always to have considered an actor 


any of those] blockhend of bis size could do what wiser men | 
occasions | ip aodabeaaethearru ve cy mero 





POPE AND ADDISON. 


for whioh Appinos was mado to sit, 


Amoxo the Literary Quarrels of Porz one 
‘aequires dignity and interest from the characters 
of both parties. It closed by producing the 
severest, but the most masterly portrait of one 
‘man of genius, composed by another, which has 
ever been hung on the satiric Parnassus, for the 
contemplation of ages. 
to posterity with the dark spots of Arrrevs stain- 
ing « purity of character which had nearly proved 
‘immaculate. 


‘The Semitic oa on eee Gs tngutro tuto tha cata of ee 
¥ was interrupt one the int still exciting the Bost opie Stee 
genins. Tempera of watchful delicacy gather up 
in silence and darkness motives #0 shadowy in 
their origin, and of such minute growth, that, 
never breaking out into any open act, they escape 
all other eyes but those of the parties themselves. 
‘These causes of enmity are too subtle to bear the | j 
|| touch; they cannot be inquired after, nor can 
they be described ; and it may be said, that the 
minds of such men have rather quarrelled than 
‘they themselves : they utter no complaints, but 
“they avoid each other. All the world perceived | 4j 
ne pcre anally oes 
from motives on which both were silent, but 
which had evidently operated with equal force on 
‘Doth. Their admirers were very genoral, and at a 
time when literature divided with politics the 
public interest, the best feelings of the nation 
were engaged in tracking the obscure commence- 
ments and the secret growth of this literary quar- 
rel, in which the amiable and moral qualities of 
Addison, and the gratitude and honour of Pope, 
were equally involved. The friends of either 
party pretended that their chiefs entertained 'a 
reciprocal regard for cach other, while the illus- 
trious characters themselves were living in a state 
of hostility. Even long after these literary heroes 




















POPE AND ADDISON. 


when introduced to 


Essay on Criticism ;" and this fine 
with bis wing a5 unfledged bard- 
@ favour which, in the estimation 

port, claims a life of indelible gratitude, 
Pope zealously courted Addison by his pootical 
“aid o several important occasions he gave all 
that fine poctry could confer on the 
meience of medals, which Addison had written on, 
aud wrote the finest prologue in the language for 
tragedy of his friend. Dennis attacked, 
@ defended, ** Cato.""* Addison might 
both of the manner and the 
cy defence, but he did more—be 
t ‘by a letter to Dennis, which Dennis 
as Pope’s severest condemna- 
alienation of friendship must have 
but by no overt act an Pope's 


Pope bad not found his 

ned: the dark hints scattered in 
show that something was gathering in 
| Warbarton, from his familiar inter- 
» must be allowed to have known 
concerns more than any one;, and. 
ener ecerrnay seem to me to 

l gag pleat 


According to 
(asee that after he 
“The Rape of the Lock,’ then 
than @ hasty jeu d'esprit, when he 
| Re Pesce 
Addison chilled 


machinery, 
with bis coldness, advised him 


asserts in one of bis pamphlets, that 
with envy at the success of 

s" went to Lintot, and persuaded 

) redoubted critic to write the 

m “Cato"—that Pope's gratitude to 
complied with his request, was 

tive of Dennis “ being placed 

hands of Dr. Norris, a curer of 

is house'in Hatton-garden, though 
eLappeared publicly every day, 





cious little thing, merum sal.” Tt was then, saya 
Warburton, “ Mr. Pope began to open fis eyes to 
But when afterwards he 


his, and jodged, as Warburton says, “by laying 
many odd circumstances together,"* that Addison 2, 
and not Tickell, was the author—the alienation 
on Pope's side was complete, No open breach 
indeed bad yet taken place between the rival 
authors, who, a8 jealous of dominion as two 
princes, would still demonstrate, in their public 
diets, their inviolable regard; while they were 
only watching the advantageous moment whem 
they might take arms against each other. 

‘Still Addison publicly bestowed great encomiums 
on Pope’s Hind, although he had himself composed 
che rival version, and in private preferred his own §. 
He did this with the same ease he had continued 
its encouragement while Pope was employed on it, 
We are astonished to discover such deep polities 
among literary Machiavels | Addison bad certainly 
raised up a literary party. Sheridan, who wrote 
nearly with the knowledge of « contemporary, in 
his “ Life of Swift’ would naturally use the 
language and the feelings of the time; and in 
describing Ambrose Phillips, he adds, he was * one 
of Mr. Addison's little senate.’* 

But in this narrative 1 have dropped some ma- 
terial parts. Pope believed, that Addison had 
employed Gildon to write against him, and bad 
encouraged Phillips to asperse his character. We 
cannot, now, quite demonstrate these alleged facts; 
‘but we can show that Pope believed them, and 
that Addison does not appear to have refuted 
them ||. Such tales, whether entirely false or par- 


+ Pope's conjecture was perfectly correct. Dr. 
Warton confirms it from a variety of table 
anthorities— Warton's Pope, vol. iv. p. 24. 

§ In the Freeholder, May, 1716. 

i The strongest parts of Sir William Blackstone's 
discussion turn on certain inaccurate dates, of Ruff= 
head, in his statements, which show them to be 
inconsistent with the times when they are alleged 
tohavehappened. These erroneous dates had been. 
detected in an able article in the Monthly Review 
of that work, April, 1769. Ruffhead is a tasteless, 
confused, and onskilfal writer—Sir William has 
Inid great streason the incredible story of Addison 

paying Gildon to write against Pope, “ @ man 60. 
amiable in his moral charucter.” It is possible 
that the Earl of Warwick, who conveyed the infor- 
mation, might have been « malicious, lying youth 5 














Was Addison, then, jenlous of Pope? Addison, 

in every respect, then, his superior ; of established 

literary fame when Popo was yet young: preeeding | interview did take place between the rival wits, 

dim in age and rank; and fortunate in all the| and was productive of some very characteristic 

views of human ambition, But what if Addison's | ebullitions, strongly corroborative of the faets ax 

foible was that of being considered a great poct ? | 

His political poetry had raised him to an undue 

elevation, and the growing celebrity of Pope began | ean be no doubt of the geuuineness of the narra~ 

to offend him, not with the appearance of a meck | tive ; bat I know not on what authority it came || 

sival, with whom he might have held divided em-| into the world +. | 

pire, bet as a master-spirit, that was preparing 

to reign alone. It is certain that Addison was the 

‘most feeling man alive at the fate of his poetry. 

At the representation of his * Cato," such was 

his agitation, that had * Cato” been condemned, | A. Pope, Esq 

‘the life of Addison might too have been shortened, | yo}, i., p. 100. ‘This work comes in a very 

When « wit had burlesqued some lines of this dra- | cious form ; it is a huddled compilation, yet con= 

matic poom, his uneasiness at the innocent banter | tains some curious matters; and pretends, in the 
equally oppressive ; nor could he rest, till, by | title-page, to be occasionally drawn from ** original | 














owns 
the interposition of a friend, he prevailed upon the 
‘suthor to burn them *. 

To the facts already detailed, and to this dispo- 
sition in Addison's temper, and to the quick and 
active suspicions of Pope, irritable, and ambitions 
of all the sovereignty of postry, we may easily 
‘conceive many others of those obscure motives, 
and invisible events, which none but Pope, alien- 
ated every day more aod more from his affections 

|’ for Addison, too acutely perceived, too profoundly 
felt, and too unmercifully avenged. These arc 
alluded to, when the satirist sings, 

Damm with faint praise ; assent with civil leer ; 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
‘Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike, &c. 
Accusations crowded faster than the pen could 
write them down. Pope never composed with 
more warmth. No one can imagine that Atticus 
‘was an ideal personage, touched ns it is with all 
the features of an extraordinary individual. Ina 
‘word, it was recognised instantly by the individual 
Himself; and it was suppressed by Pope for near: 
twenty years, before be suffered it to escape to the 
ibitie. 
































seal a time daring their avowed rapture, 


racter of Attions. Addison used him very civilly 
‘ever after—but it docs not appear that Addison 
‘ever contradicted the tale of the officious Earl. 
All these facts, which Pope repeated many years 
after to Spence, Sir William was not acquainted 
‘with, for they were transcribed from Spence's 





the Addesda lo Kippis's Biographia Britannica. 








ms of camplsizance ; but) golicitous about his own poetical reputation, since || 
a8 conceiving Addison, and | he had entered into more public affairs ; but, from 


Hi F 


43 


Addison was made to sit, with the fine chiar’ 
oscuro of Horace, and with as awful and vindice 
tive features as the sombre hand of Javenal could |) 
have designed. 


























Lhave discovered} But how did the puny Mallet stand connected 

with these great men? By the pamphlets published 

literature was indignant, to| daring this literary quarrel, he appears to hare en- 

hat tn ain and pret Male, wader joyed « more intimate intercourse i aati 

n is known. roma them he is characterised “ns 


‘Thus ** 7Ais | concerning the authenticity of the Old Testament. 
him to write his remarks down as 


his very Man had corrected the press,” &c. | out the digression In the printed book, and sent 
‘imagine that this was the Tully of| the animadversions to Lord Bolingbroke, then at 


of Bolingbroke, 
il detection of many facts con-| fiery particles, all which fell into the most inflam- 
now before us, I must attribute! mable of minds. Pope soon discovered his 


ce as his exeontor, but his | considered as coming from himself. 

as his editor. The secret) The reasonings of Bolingbroke appear, at times, 
broke and Warburton with Pope| to have disturbed the religious faith of our poet; 
the note will supply it*. and he owed much to Warburton, in having that 
faith confirmed. But Pope rejected, with his 
characteristic good sense, Warburton's tampering: 
with him to abjure the Catholic religion. On tho 
belief of a future state, Pope seems often to have 
meditated with great anxiety; and an ancedote is 
recorded of his latest hours, which shows how 
strongly that important belief affected him. A 
day or two before his death he was at times 
delirious; and about four o'clock in the morning || 
he rose from bed and went to the library, where a 
friend who was watching him found him busily 
writing. He persuaded him to desist, and with- 
drew the paper he had written. The subject of 
the thoughts of the delirious poet was a new theory 
on the Immortality of the Soul; in which be 























was, “unburthens bis heart in (Lord 
on from his plain narrative.” | in « clear light, in a Letter to » Member of | 
to his | lament in Town, from his Friend in the Country, 


a ‘smwoess abroad ; prudence, persever. | ‘here 
te oi pappelanpedt Pope printed of ‘The Patriot King,'’ which his 
of their graces on their his-| caution or his moderation prompted, and which |} 
of talent would have such political demagogve as Bolingbroke never | 


ie had made, he contrived to | ‘he | 
‘non-entity serve his own __| Mr. P.'s reasons for the emendations he made; and || 
Garrick, that, in spite‘of Chro. | Which, together with the consideration, that both 
seoret device of anticipation, he | their lives were at that time in a declining state, 
a niche in this great Work for the was the true cause, and no other, of his care to 


Jife of passion, regulated | who, 
lect. One of the most| lose the 











affair, said, C'est certainement un homme d'esprit, 

|| mais un coguin sans probité.” This was a very 
trath ! 

one of these pamphlets, too, Bolingbroke 

was: mortified at his dignity being lessened by the 

in com, his lordship with their late 

"1 venture to foretell, that the 

said in spite of your unmanly 

shall revive and blossom in the dust, 

merits ; and presume to remind 

urs, bad it not been for his genius, 

IMé Wslétrous veneration for gow, 

course of years, have died and 

Whatever the degree of genius 

may claim, doubtless the verse of 

‘has embalmed his fame,—t have never been 

to discover the authors of these pamphlets, 


who all appear of the first rank, and who seem to 
have written under the eye of Warburton. The 
awful and vindictive Bolingbroke, and the malig~ 
nant and petulant Mallet, did not long brood over 
their anger: he, or they, gave it vent on the head 
of Warburton, in those two furious pamphlets, 
which I have noticed in the Quarrels of Warburton, 
p- 176, All these pamphlets were published in 
the same year 1749, so that it is now difficult to 
arrange them according to their priority. Enough 
has been shown to prove, that the loud outery of 


attack on 

malice against him, for the preference by which 

the poet had distinguished Warburton; and that 

Warburton, much more than Pope, was the real 

object of this masked battery. | 


LINTOT’S ACCOUNT-BOOK. 


Aw odd sort of a literary curiosity has fallen 

|| in my way. It throws some light on the his- 
the heroes of the Dunciad; but such 
literarie ure only for my bibliographical 


the bookseller as much as in any other book ; and 
while I here discover, that the moneys received 
even by such men of genius as Gay, Farquhar, 
Cibber, and Dr. King, amount to small sums, and 
such authors as Dennis, Theobald, Ozell, and 
Toland, scarcely amount to anything, that of Pope 
much exoveds 40007. 

Tam not io all cases confident of the nature of 
these “Copies purchased ;"’ those works which 
‘were originally published by Lintot may be con- 
tidered as purchased at the sums specified = some 
few might have been subsequent to their first 
edition. The guinea, at that time, passing for 
‘twenty-one shillings and sixpence, has oecarioned 
the fractions. 


T transcribe Pope's account. Here it appears 
‘that he sold “The Key to the Lock’ and “ Par- 
nell’s Poems.’ The poem entitled “To the 
Author of « Poem called Suscessio,!” appears to 
have been written by Pope, and has escaped the 
researches of his editors. The smaller poems 





‘were contributions to a volame of Poetical Miscel: | 
lnnies, published by Lintot*. 


‘MR, POPE. 


19 Feb, 1711-12. 
Statius, First Book. + + © 
Vertumous and Pomona. + 

21 March, 1711-12. 

First Edition Rape « « . + 6 « 

9 April, 1712, 
oa es * 

‘pon Silence « ‘owe 
mn the Author of a Poem called 
Sucoessio « «1 6 ww 


aera Feb, 1712-13, 
Windsor Fores 


24 July, 
Ode on 


zoo 


Additions to the Rape 
1 Feb, W714-15, 
‘Temple of Fame 
30 April, 1715. 
Key to the Lock 


‘The second 
peared 1714 8B a ea 


soveral Hands, 1712.!"—1 




















25 April, W711, 
or Pate 
6 Jan. 1711. 





750 do. 425 18 7} 
£A244 


ment had not been executed. 
sobmitted to pay Theobald for nof doing the 
Odyssey when Pope undertook it. 
MR. THEOBALD. 
raw eden 


wedon we th ee ew 


apenas 2 swe 
12 June, 171A. 
La Mott's Homer.» - - . 3 4 6 


April 21,1714. Articles signed by Mr. Theo- 
bald, to translate for B. Lintot the 24 Books of 


Tyrannus, 
Philoctetes, into English blank verse, with Ex- 
planatory Notes to the twenty-four Books of the || 


‘This was a new edition, published conjointly | his * Poetical Register,’ ‘ exposes several of our 
bby Lintot and Lewis the Catholic bookseller and eminent poets.” Jacob published while Gay was 
friend of Pope, of whom, and of the first living, and seems to allude to this literary co-part~ 
dition, 1731, I have preserved an anecdote, | nership; for, speaking of Gay, he says: ‘' that 
having an inclination to poetry, asecneniet 

‘The late Isanc Reed, in the Biog. Dramatica,| his own genius, ond the conversation of 





f the bucks and bloods of those days, who} This tragi-comical farce of “* The Mohocks’” is 
the savageness of the Indians whose) satirically dedicated to Dennis, + as a horrid and 
y alia ‘tremendous piece, formed on the model of his own 

‘remains to be discovered. Was It * Appius and Virginia.’’’ This touch seems to 
tion with Pope ?—The Kterary | come from the finger of Pope. It is a mock- 








mere! What though no bees around your cradle flew, 
i com-| Nor on your tips distill'd their golden dew ; 
by ix own trans-| Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead, 


(Ga the chiefs of the party,| As meat digested takes a different aamet 1 
3 some still) But sense must sure thy safest plunder 


ly the ingenious contrivance of 
of any considerable person who 


after all, ls $4 Donte, long eferwards 
by our poet. See Warton's edition, vol. iv., 
 SUCCESSIO.” 
wd ell orcrer wc, | Thusalered in the Duncad, bok i. er 161. 
swiftest course has gous, | “* As, forced from wind-guns, lead iteelf ean fly, 
most lead is on *. And pond’rous slugs cat swiltly through the sky.” 

















spark of contention flew ont of a private quarrel, 
at length blazed into a public controversy, 
|| ‘The obscure individual who commenced the 
fray, is forgotten in the bousted achievements of 
|| his more potent ally: he was a clergyman named hia Quodam modo, and bis Modo quedes, 
i Sie SADE SE eve Cer, in Somersetshire, | Ubi and eee 


beeedeinaprrrenhey aire 
was referring, not to the logic of Aristotle, but to |} 
‘imperative Aristotelian 


|} nod in vain contended with Ginnvill, now con- 


‘wos however much annoyed by the scorners. He 
‘|| applies to these wits a passage in Nehemiah ii. 11), 
which describes those who laughed at the builders 
af Jerusalem. *‘These are the Sanballats, the 
Horonites, who disturb our men upon the wall; 


fopa, whose 
talents reach but to the adjusting of their perukes.” 
But the Royal Society was attacked from other | were all deceitful and fallacious: 
quarters, which onght to have assisted thems. | Aristotelian, “take two 





‘Stubbe occasion to boast, that he had forced them 

to deny what they had written. A pnasoge in| will make a tolerable syllogiem 

Hobbes's ** Considerations upon his Reputation, | despair. ‘The Aristotelian was| 

‘&c,"" is as remarkable for the force of its style as | puzzled, by a problem which 

for that of sense, and may be applicable to some | “ Why we cannot see with two pair of 

at thisday, notwithstanding the progress of science, | ter than with one singly?" 

and the importance attached to their busy idleness. | observed, '* Vis unita fortior,’” 
“Every man that hath spare moncy can get | ix stronger.” Tt is curious 

farnaces, and buy coals. Every man that hath | day, to observe the sturdy 














| Royal Society, or all | placed the boundaries of 
have, for this defini~| limits fixed by Aristotle, like the pillars of Her- 


pons than with a single one, since Vis |than himself—both of them strangely 
‘When he bath answered this | against the modern improvements of knowledge ; 
ath resolved his own. The reason he |#0 that, like mastiffs in the dark, they were only 
it should be 20, is the reason why "tis | the fiereer. 
the squabbles of infantine science,| This was Dr, Henry Stubbe, a physician of 
me yt coer cases, although | Warwick—one of those ardent and versatile cha- 
racters, strangely made up of defects as strongly |] 


ears Pad aha som a ts Pag marked as their excellences. He was ono of 
epee ecey Oeaeill relates; | those authors who, among their numerous remains, 


vindicates the Royal Society 

ge of atheism! toassure the world 
‘be ranked “among the black 
Heaven!" We see the same 


Feil oacabte books of tremendous menace, to a man of this chase, would 
as with so many useful 
: what may be called literary fashions. Glanvill'x |) 
Ss often curious. At one | * Plus Ultra’ is probably now of easy occurrence ; 
and valuable, and at|like « prophecy fully completed, the uncertain || 
other, Thix does | event being verified, the prophet has ceased to be 
of the public, or | remembered. 
















QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 





life 
Royal 
this threat was held out against him. 
genius ; 
my patron. 
tude to him 
snd in, great 


srheq2iy 
fie 
ity 
i 


Henry Vane the younger (whom Milton hus immor-| advanced myself, during the Inte troubles; and || 
| talised in one of the noblest of sonnets), the head | shared the common odium and dangers, 


Sprat and Glaayill, and others, had 
threatened to write his life, Stubbe draws this 
apology for it, while he shows how much, in a 







life like mine, spent in different places with much 
privacy and obscurity, was unknown to them; 
‘that even those actions they would fix their greatest 
calumnies upon, were such as that they understood | ti 
not the grounds, nor had they learning enough 
and skill to condemn. 1 was at Westminster 
School when the late king was beheaded. I never 
‘took covenant for engagement. In sum, J served 














n those of mere profit; for, | judging him by 
found no difficulty in con- seg fori 
and to 0 Restoration, 





\ 


, which closed this life of toil and i 

ot genius. Going to a patient at 
a8 drowned in a very shallow river, | affirmed or thoughtt; but war once resolved om, 
our cynic, who had generously | —£@ @@ $$ 
‘of his just admiration with his| + The aspersed passage in Glanvill is this: 


| 
“The philosophers of elder times, though their || 
wits were excellent, yet the way they took was not |} 
Tike to bring much advantage to knowledge, or |} 
any of the uses of human fife, being, for the most 
part, that of Notion and Dispute, which still rons 
round in a labyrinth of talk, but advanceth 
nothing, These methods, in #0 many centuries, | 
never brought the world so much practical bene. |} 
fe neni oad inser nv 
‘a cut finger” Plus Ultra, p. 7.—Stubbe, with 
all the malice of a wit, drew his inference, and || 
turned the poiht unfairly against his adversary ! 
I shall here observe how much some have to |} 
answer, in a literary court of conscience, when | 
| 











{lomprer, he anhouicee be foolish!” Eis adversaries not only threatened | 
to write his life*, but they represented him to the 

with advantageous | king as a libeller, who ought to be whipped at « || 

‘their religion, which is = | cart's tail; a circumstance which Stubbe records | 


* To this threat of writing his life, we have | 
already noticed the noble apology be hes drawn wp 
'abrecl he ocoda of sobiara for the versatility of his opinions. Sce p. 214.— 
se people being of a nature | At the moment of the Restoration, it was unwise 
of novelties and change, |for any of the parties to reprouch another for |} 
over to anything."’ These | their opinions or their actions, In a national | 
tried Douay in Flanders, and at| revolution, most men are implicated in the general 
‘Spain, and other places. They| reproach; and Stubbe said, on this occasion, that |] 
i lion for the English Catholics; | ‘+ he had observed worse faces in the Society than 
¢, who, being discontented with | his own.’’ Waller, and Sprat, and Cowley, had 
eee reek Oley niet equally commemorated the protectorship of Crom- 
the British Constitation. | well, and the restoration of Charles. Our satirist 
of the Roman Catholics in| insidiously congratulates himself that “Ae had 
} yet to be told: they indeed had | never compared Oliver the regicide to Moses, or 
d their heroes; but the public | his son to Joshua ;" nor that he had ever written 


sucred urn’ of that blessed spirit to the veneration: 
of posterity ; as if 

“* His fame, like men, the elder it doth grow, 

Will of itself turn whiter too, 

‘Without what ncedless art can do.'* 
‘These lines were, I think, taken from Sprat 
himself! Stubbe adds, it would be ‘ imprudent: 
in them to look beyond the act of indemnity and 
oblivion, which was more necessary to the Royal 

‘than to me, who joined with no purty, 

&o.'—Preface to * Legends no Histories,"" 

+ He has described this intercourse of his 
enemies at court with the king, where, when this 
punishment was suggested, a generous personage, 
altogether unknown to me, being present, bravely 

}, saying, that * whatever I 


40 precipitously to be condemned to so exemplary 
® punishment ; that representing that book to be a 
libel against theking, was too remote « consequence 











by telling a lie.”"—Srunnz's Censure, fe. p. 122, 
I give this literary anecdote, as it enters into 


is said Harvey is more expressly indebted to a 
passage in Servetus, which Wotton has given in 
the preface to his ‘* Reflections on Ancient and 
Modern Learning,” edition 1725. The notion 
was probably then afloat, and each alike contri- 


| great genius alone corrected, extended, and gave 
perfection to a hint, till it expanded to a system. 
So gradual have often been the great inventions 


been said, that he was the only one of his 


poraries who lived to see it im some repute. 2 


physician adopted it; and, when it got 


+ Sense can hardly allow it; which,” sayz 
well as 


he, Cin 


“Thatart of reasoning by which the preder 


discriminated from fools, which 

facilitates our discourses, which 

validity of consequences and the 
manifests tl 


arguments,and f 
that art which gives life to solid 




















‘though dignified | with gleaned ease 
says “a cabinet ie hemes 


the Ron hk Saint Francis (who, in the | sitive person Asonyaspust Toxsorracan found || 
 addreased his only friends,) | ® very great resemblance. "Tis not tbe increasing || 
| Salvete, featres tupi!'"| of the powers of mankind by 2 pendulum watch, 


plete victory. He had forced the Royal Society | 
‘dedication, to the king, had said | to disclaim their own works, by an announcement 


wwresting all things to its pur- this courtly adulator, by bis book, was chargeable 
‘own peculiar force, and the art of| with high treason ; if thcy believed that the Royal 
ta Bs ia ick it chocens, and xx Society were really engaged so deeply as he 














esque 

|| King seems to have invented, consists in selecting | little things oftea more 

‘the very expressions and absurd passages from the | consuming on them = genias capable of better. 
original he ridicaled, and framing out of them a| A parodist, or a burlesquer, is a wit who is per- || 
‘droll dialogue or a grotesque narrative, he adroitly | petually on the wateh to catch up or to disguise 
inserted his own remarks, replete with the keenest | an author's words; to swell out his defects, and 


, or the driest sorcaam*. Our arch wag 
ways, “The bulls and blunders which Sloane and 
his friends so naturally pour forth cannot be mis- 
Tepresented, so careful I am in producing them.” 





* Sloane deseribes Clark, the famous posture- 
toaster, Phil. Trans. No. 242, certainly with the 
wildest grammar, bat with many curious parti- 
culars; the gentleman in one of Dr. King’s 
‘Dialogues inquires 
causes of this man's wonderfal pliability of Fimbs ; 
a question which Sloane bad thus solved, with 
colloquial ease, it depended upon “bringing bis 
‘body to it, by using himself to it.'* 

In giring an account of “a child born without 
# brain "—Had it lived long enough, says King, it 
would have made an excellent publisher of Philo- 
sophical Transactions ! 

Sloane presented the Royal Society with ** 


pick wp bis Blunders—to amuse the public! || 


the scoretary's opinion of the} yi 


proportionably as it had done in his own. ** The 
Tang orth age in visibly altered,"” be sayy 


figure of 8 Chinese, representing one of that) priced 


take in thus picking their ears, Tam certain, most 
people in these parts, who have had their hearing 
impnired, hare had such misfortunes first come to 
them by picking their ears too much.'’—He is so 
curious, says King, that the secretary took as 
much satisfaction in looking upon the exr-picker, 
as the Chinese could do in picking their ears ! 

Bot “* What drowning is"—that *' Hanging is 
only apoplexy !” that “* Men cannot swallow when 
they are dead !"” that ‘No fish die of fevers !”" 
‘that “ Hogs 2—t soap, and cows s—t fire !'" that 
‘the secretary had “Shells, called #lackmoor’s- 
teeth, U suppore, from their whidencss!"” aud the 
learned Rax's, that grave naturalist, incredible 
description of ** avery curious little instrument!” 
I leare to the reader and Dr, King. 














THE ROYAL SOCIETY. 


“ from what it had been thirty years ago. Though 
the Royal Society has weathered the rude attacks 
of Stubbe,”’ yet “the sly insinuations of the Men 
of Wit," with “ the publio ridiculing of all who 
spend their time and fortunes in scientific or 
carious researches, have so taken off the edge of 
those who have opulent fortunes and a love to 
learning, that these studies begin to be contracted 
amongst physicians and mechanics.”—He treats 
King with good-bumour. ‘A man is got but a 


very little way (in philosophy) that is concerned as 
often as such a merry gentleman as Dr. King shall 
think fit to make himself sport*. 





* Dr. King’s dispersed works have fortunately | sopher. 





221 


been collected by Mr. Nichols, with ample 
illustrations, in three vols. 8vo, 1776. The 
“ Usefal Transactions in Philosophy and other 
sorts of Learning,” form a collection of ludicrous 
dissertations of Antiquarianism, Natural Philoso- 
phy, Criticism, &c., where his own peculiar 
humour combines with his curious reading. He 
also invented satirical and humorous indexes, 
not the least facetious parts of his volumes. King 
had made notes on more than 20,000 books and 
MSS., and his Adversaria, of which » portion 
bas been preserved, is not inferior in curiosity 
to the literary journals of Gibbon, though it 
wants the investigating spirit of the modern philo- 














| 


lie 


: 
i 


; 
J 


i 


‘sure the expense ruined his for- 
Vegetable System.’ This work was 
of 26 volumes folio, containing 1600 
, the engraving of each cost four 
he paper was of the most expensive 
by the first hands. The 
a very weighty concern ; and. 
with which J am unacquainted. 


. 
virtue wae impressed.” 
the widow cannot alter 





FE 
fhe 
ii 


of hostility ; but the pitehed-battle was fought in 
“(A Review of the Works of the Royal Society, in 
eight parte, 1751,” ‘This literary satire is nothing 


who contributed that carious knowledge which he 


* His apologist forms this excuse for one then 
affecting to be a student and a rake:—“ Though 
‘engaged in works which required the sttention of 
‘a whole life, he was so exact an economist of his 
time, that he scarcely ever missed a public amuse- | 
ment for many years; and this, as he somewhere 
observes, was of mo small service to him; as, || 
without indulging in there respects, be could not 
have undergone the fatigue and study inseparable 
from the execution of bis vast designs."—Short 








men 


mated; the receptacle of hie wit; and the wits 
verted, of thla we feuide Tigres, that b-was 


and the army of Grub Street: it formed 
occasional literary satire. Hill's lion, no 
longer Addison’s or Steele's, is not described 
without humour. Drawcansit’s “troops are kept 
in awe by astrange mixed monster,not auch unlike 


are much longer thao those of that generous beast.” 


Hill ventured to notice this attack om his 
“blockhead ;’" and, as was usual with him, had 
some secret history to season his defence with. 

© The author of Ametia, whom I have only once 
seen, told me, at that accidental meeting, he held 
the present set of writers in the utmost contempt; 
and that, in his character of Sir Alexander Draw- 


cansir, he should treat them in the most unmercifal 


he sculks away terrified: ho felt 
of quackery and impudence which 
ore was to be pulled off by the bands 
‘ogainet 


Re tas US ar tes sqvtoms ood 
{ the real ones.—Never, like * The 
© provoking prodigy, in 


‘of Grubestrect; and Hilt seems | 


‘mortified his luckless rivals, by 

ry of his adventures in ‘' the 
ybone,"” the Rotunda at Rane- 
1 rer with '* my domestics,” and 


manner, He assured me he had always excepted 
me; and after honouring me with some encomiums, 
be proceeded to mention # conduct which would 
be, he ssid, useful to both; this was, the amusing 
our readers with a mock fight ; giving blows that 
would not hurt, and sharing the advantage in 
ailencet."” 


‘Thas, by reversing the fact, Hill contrived to | 
tum aside the frequent stories against him by 8 | 


Fielding relates it, and the story, as we ball see, 
then becomes quite a different offsir. At all 


events, Hill incurred the censure of the traitor | 


who violates a confidential intercourse. 
“* And if he lies not, must at least betray.’ 
Pors. 





+ It is useful to remind the public, that they 
are often played upon in this manner by the arti- 
fices of political writers. We have observed 
symptoms of this deception practised at present. 
Tt is an old trick of the craft, and was greatly 
used ata time when the nation seemed maddened 
with political factions. In » pamphlet of A 
View of London and Westminster, or the Town- 
spy, 1725," 1 find this account :—* The seeming 
quarrel, formerly, between Mist's Journal and the 
Flying Post, was secretly concerted between them- 
selves, in order to decoy the eyes of all the parties 
on both their papers; and the project succeeded 
beyond all expectation ; for, I have been told, that 
the former narrowly misted getting an estate by 
InP. 32. 








Sy Se re be the aumne pecson, | 
| for that journal writes with the tenderness | 
("with “an otd| brother of whatever relates to our hero, pretends || 


rlil’s before thee ; go, farcwell ! 
+ and learn to spell !'" 




















haa ope bisbop Speaker, 
which it appears, that carly in| Hans Sloane's Collection of Nateral History, 
b _ He tells us of | proposing himself as a pat “poms 




















‘all these literary quarrels, Hill 
heteogt He had writteo 


‘that our own people will often visit it is as sure, 
']| because it may be made the means of much useful 


‘his own, but in the Latin and French languages. 
“This, the world, and nono in it better than 


bitterest of my enemies (and 1 have thousands, 
although neither myself nor they know why) will 
not say I am deficient —. 

“My Lord, the eyes of all Europe are upon 
‘this transaction. What title | have to your Lord- 
ship’s favour, those books which I have published, 
and with which the necessary boast) all 
Europe is acquainted, declare. Many may dispute 
‘by Interest with me; but if there be one who 
would prefer himself, by bis abilities, I beg the 
‘matter may be brought to trial. The Collection 
in at hand; and I request, my Lord, such person 
and myself may be examined, by that test, toge- 
ther, It is an amazing store of knowledge ; and 
he has most, in this way, who shall show himself 
most acquainted with it, 

What are my own abilities, it very ill becomes 
me thus to boast; but did they not qualify me for 
the trust, my Lord, I would not ask it. As to 
those of any other, unless a man be conjured 
from the dead, J shall not fear to say, there is not 


any 
the parts of the Collection by their names. 

“T know I shall be accused of ostentation, in 
giving to myself this preference; and I am sorry 
for it: but those who have candour, will know it 
could not be avoided. 

“Many excel, my Lord, in other studies : it is 





it is possible that they should be rewarded ——.” 
Tn a subecquent Inspector, he treated on the 
improvement of Botany by raising plants, and 


ho had & work for publication, 

pulated, in their contracts, that the «uthor 
conceal his mame ; a circumstance not sew among 
a certain race of writers*. But the genlus of 


reading lectures on them at the British Museum, 
with the living plants before the lecturer and his 
'—| anditors.—Poor Sir John! he was horn half « 
century too early!—EHe would, in this day, have 
made his lectures fashionable; and might have 
secured at the Opera, every night, an elegant 
audience for the next morning, in the gardens of 
the Muscam, 

| * It would be difficult to form = list of hie 


‘rery few ponsess; and in which, my Lord, the| Whiston, 


considerable 
belt trinry 
Roman Classics, 1753."' A learned friend 


you; we, who are alive, do thank 
could discriminate the most | 

the ancients, the fact must 

his leisure—in bis busy bours be | 
them ; but when had he leisure ? 


“The | 
the town, Rear 





toa Lady, 1752" It ie = pam 

















His farces are physio, his physic farce ix.’” 


Another said— 
“ The worse that we wish thee, for all thy vile 
crimes, 


Is to take thy own physic, und read thy own 
waa 
‘The rejoinder would reverse the wish— 
“ For, if be takes bis physic first, 
‘He'll never read his rhymes.’" 


+t Hill says, io his pamphlet on the “ Virtues 

of British Herbs :"'—* Is will be happy, if, by the 
same means, the knowledge of plants aleo becomes || 
‘more general. The atudy of them is pleasant, and 
the exercise of it healthful. He who secks the 
herb for its cure, will find it half effected by the | 
walk; and when be is acqaainted with the useful 
kinds, he may be more people's, beside bis own, 
physician.” 














‘ofthe parties on the watch to eom=| was encribed to him. He persiets tn, 
Arnett plarality of a 


]| applying with such happiness. tho stores of his | were levelled at a learned society, im Lbnd 
‘copious literature, had it not been for this literary | the happiness to be educated; as if Phalaris had || 
|| quarrel, the mere English reader bad lost this! been made up by contributions from several 


© Bentley, in one place, having to give a poxi- , 
tive contradiction to the statement of the book-| of Phalaris, was but a venial offence, com 
acllcr, rising in all his dignity and energy, exclaims, | with that committed by the celebrated 
“* What can be done in this case? Here are two! published in its defence, . 
affirmations : and the matter being done} If 


8 few ears of that rich sheaf fall 

His efforts hardly {reach to the mere 

his transactions with Bentley. All 
people. ‘‘ He did not think it just that a man of erudition, all the Attic graces, all the | 
his age should defend himself against 
and before those who were not born when he filled| + It was the fashion then to appt a 
the offices of the republic, nor witnessed the) cerned about one's literary reputation; | 
actions be had performed. Varius, the Sucronian, | to be so tenacious about it, 
says that Scaurus, corrupted by gold, would have | as not to suifer, with common 
betrayed the republic; Scaurus replies, It is not | little finger of eriticiem to touch it. 
‘tru. Whom will you believe, fellow-Romans ?’'| defending what he calls his ' hones 
—This appeal to the people produced all the| "the rest only touches my 
effect imaginable, and the ridiculous accuser was give me no concern, though it m 


‘more self-consciousness of his worth, in another} a ¢rifle." On this affected ir 
part of his preface. It became necessary to praise | keenly observes: —“ This was 

| himself, to remove the odium Boyle and his friends | a little ominously ; for « gas 

|| had raised on him—it was a difficulty overcome. | indifference never plays bis | 

|| ‘Twill once more borrow the form of argument | that, by this odd comparison, 

|| that Afroilins Scaurus used against Varius Sucro-| warning, and is as good as his 
nensis. Mr. Spanheim and Mr. Greerius give a] put the dice upon his readers | 
high character of Dr. B.'s learning: Mr. Boyle pean this 











eEUrEEL 
Eid 
[ 

: 

i 

i 

il if 


‘their will, making up a show of 


& 
z 
ii 


‘Swift, in “The Battle of the Books,’” 
under bis patron, Sir William Temple, was 
naturally in alliance with ** the Bees,” with inge- 
nious ambiguity alludes to the glorious manu- 
facture, “ Boyle, clad in @ suit of armour, 
had deen given him by all the Govs.” Still the 

far outdone them ; for J think "tis | trath was only floating in rumours and surmises ; 
to take the honour af another man’s and the little Boyle had done was not yet known, 
"s a#lf, than to entitle one’s ows book | Lord Orrery, his son, had a difficulty to overcome 
to pass lightly over this allusion. The literary 
honour of the family was at stake, and his filial 
piety was exemplary toa father, who had unfor- 
tunately, in passion, deprived his Lordship of the 
family-librury ; « stroke from which his sensibility 

never recovered, and which his enemies ungene- 
bs flew about in rumours at the time; | rowsly pointed aguinst him, Lord Orrery, with all 
sof a young nobleman, and even his the tenderness of a son, and the caution of 
politician, observes on “ the armour given by the 
Gods'’—" I shall not dispute about the giftof the 





ona in that College are) by a 
one seems to have thrown in a seem to convert into a classical fable, what was 
turn ; and the most ingenious | designed as « plain matter of fact ! 
mot deserve the epithctin| It docs credit to the discernment of Bentley, 
no doubt at their head, | whose taste was not very lively in English compo 
ntifully on this occasiou,”’ | sition, that he pronounced Boyle was nol the 
exceeded even that of| author of the Examination, from the varlely of 
further, that Aldrich was| fyles in it,—P, 307. 








gs 
TE 


‘have the happiness of a nearer 
him, know him better; and we may perhaps take 
@ satirical character of the | an opportunity of setting these mistaken strangers: 


and when once they haye begun with s man, 
there is no knowing when they will leave bim.’ 

In reply to this Literary anathema, Bentley was 

and decency in con- | furnished, by -his familiarity with his favourite 
great men” —a very | authors, with a fortunate application of « term, || 
ance Seon y ony ae ohera Cicero hed con 
ints his idea of cruelty by this term, 

fxmillar acquaintance with | which he invented from the very name of the 


tyrant t. 
“ There ix a certain temper of mind that Cicero 
calls Phalarism ; a spirit like Phalaris’s. 


Cicero ad Atticum, Lib. vii., Epist. xi. 





may draw, perhaps, « duel, of « stab apon | av cues 
4a generous threat to a divine, who neither | Wedred in that timb ater Ms a 


that sort of : 
arms nor principles fit for sort of con- ame Take 
‘That as Milo, after his victories at six several 


their motto, from the Earl of Roscommon, with 

‘the great critio like Milo, in the timber | lars's bull; and he has the pleasure of 
he strove to rend,"" they gave him @ second death | that he hears me begin to bellow. Well, s 
in their finis, by throwing Bentley into Phalaris’s | '# certain that I am in the bull, T have 
ball, and flattering their vain imaginations that 
they beard him * bellow.’" 
“He bas defied Phalaris, and used him vory 
coarsely, under the assurance, as he tells us, that 
he's ont of bis reach.’ Mony of Phalaris’s cn la eared Bags 

id of 
PC ee et re ccna Rg chee) 
.| But yet, methinks, when he was setting wp to be | 

Phalaris junior, the very omen of it might have 
deterred him. As the old tyrasit himself, ot let, |) 
bellowed in his own bull, his imitators ought tr 
consider, that at long run their own actions may 
chance to overtake them.”"—P. 43, 

‘Wit, however, enjoyed the temporary 
st Bt sy nt a, ad 
“ that odd work,”’ as he calls ,| against the awardt. “The Episode of 
which he conveys a very good notion of :—"* If his | #nd Wotton, 7 aia Bate ot ts ea 
book shall happen to be preserved anywhere as an | Conceived with all the c1ustic imagination of the 
‘useful common-place book for ridicule, banter, and 
all the topics of calumny.” With equal dignity 
and sense he observes on the ridicule so freely 
used by both parties—* I am content that what 
is the greatest virtue of his book should be counted 
the greatest fwalt of mine.'” 

His reply to ** Milo’s fate,’ and the tortures he 
‘was supposed to pass through when thrown into 
Phalaris's bull, is o piece of sarcastic humour 
which will not suffer by comparison with the 
yolume more celebrated for its wit. 

“ The facetious ‘ Examiner’ seems resolved to 
wie with Phalarie himself in the science of Pho- 
lariem ; for his revenge is not sutisfied with one 
sien Sea of Eis etvorsecy,/ pot he will KUL. ne Fs 








































Laas Alaa ‘A : 
satirical Capricelo, which closed in a most fortu. | Me #4 of “* The Boos."— 

rate pun—a literary caricature, where the doctor | See a fine scholar sunk by wit in Boyle 
i represented inthe hands of Phalars's attendants, 
who are putting him into the tyrant's bull, while 


Bentley exclaims, * I had rather be roasted than 
eT 

















BOYLE AND BENTLEY. 


qualities are represented as “ tall, without shape 
or comeliness ; large, without strength or propor- 
tion.”” His various erudition, as ‘ armour patched 
: wp of a thousand incoherent pieces ;’” his book, as 
“ the sound" of that armour, “‘ loud and dry, like 
that made by the fall of « sheet of lead from the 
roof of some steeple ;’”’ his haughty intrepidity, as 
“* a visor of brass, tainted by his breath, corrupted 
into copperas, nor wanted gall from the same 
fountain ; 0 that, whenever provoked by anger or 
labour, an atramentous quality of most malignant 
mature was seen to distil from his lips.” Wotton 
is“ heavy-armed and slow of foot, lagging behind.” 
‘They perish together in oneludicrousdeath. Boyle, 
in his celestial armour, by a stroke of his weapon, 
transfixes both ‘‘ the lovers,” ‘‘ as a cook trusses 
a brace of woodcocks, with iron skewer piercing 
the tender sides of both. Joined in their lives, 





287 


joined in their death, so closely joined, that Charon 
would mistake them both for one, and waft them 
over Styx for half his fare.’ Such is the candour 
of wit! The great qualities of an adversary, asin 
Bentley, are distorted into disgraceful attitudes ; 
while the suspicious virtues of a friend, as in Boyle, 
not passed over in prudent silence, are ornamented 
with even spurious panegyric. 

Garth, catching the feeling of the time, sung— 

“« And to a Bentley 'tis we owe a Boyle.” 


Posterity justly appreciates the volume of Bent- 
ley for its stores of ancient literature; and the 
author, for that peculiar sagacity in emending a 
corrupt text, which formed his distinguishing cha- 
racteristic as a classical critic; and since his book 
but for this literary quarrel had never appeared, 
reverses the names in the verse of the Satirist, 








so completely 
(2 Fa payaso 


tree ; and in the present case, 


‘brother-genius to Parker, by nicknamiag him | 
“Mr. Smirk, the Divine in Mode," the name of 


suit 0 hardy and so active an adventurer, 
‘The secret history of Parker may be collected 
in Marvell; and his more public one in our honest |} 
chronicler, Anthony Wood. Parker was originally |} 


feeding only on thin broth wade of oatmeal and 
water, were commonly called Gruelfers.” Am 


‘wont to put more graves than all the rest into his || 


the sisterhood, held their chief meetings at the 
house of * Bess Hampton, an old and 


Josing all its coldness in the sunshine of the 
i preciousest young man,’ 


him from the chains and fetters of an unhappy 
education,” and, without any intermediate apology, 
from a sullen sectarian turned a 

for the “' supreme dominion” of the church §. 


+ See ‘* The Rehearsal Transprosed, the second 
part,” p. 76. 








a 


iT 
Es 
F 
Ee 


il 


| touches on this subject with infinite delicacy and 


|| initials: at that moment the very name of Milton 






grew material; /and haunted bis house day by 
it should go for| courses you there used, be: 
wanted in matter, he would make| remember. But for you to 
and artifice. So that he and to traduce him by your cl 
remaining comrades stemed to have set up a | own person, as a schoolmaster, 
the model of which he had observed | hath Hired more ingennously snd 
of yourself! 


Marvell, when he ‘bis playfal humour 
etn eee : 


e 


z 
i 


tf 


i 
i 


I 
: 
H 


there needed 


no coals, much less any one to hlow 
them, One burnt the weed, another calcined the 
flint, a third melted down that mixture; but he 
himself fashioned all with his breath, and polished 
with his style, till, out of a mere jelly of sand and 
athes, he bad furnished a whole cupboard of things, 
so brittle and Incoherent, that the least touch 
would break them again in pieces, and so trans- 
parent, that every man might see through them.” | by 
Parker had aceused Marvell with having served | borne in the pulpit; and #o the man wh 
Cromwell, and being tho friend of Milton, then | his own corrupt doctrines with as 
living, at a moment when such an accusation not 
only rendered m man odious, but put his life in 
Marvell, who now perceived that Milton, 
whom he never looked on but with the eyes of reve~ 
ential awe, was likely to be drawn into his quarrel, 


been an impertinent intruder in Milton’s house, 
where indeed he had first known him. He 
esutiously alludes to our English Homer by his 


‘would have tainted the page ! 
“J, M. was, and is, a man of great learning 
and sharpness of wit, as any man. It was his 
misfortune, living in a tumultuous time, to be 
tossed on the wrong side; and he writ, Aayrante 
bello, certain dangerous treatises. Bat some of his 
books, upon which you take him at advantage, 
were of no other nature than that one writ by 
your own father; only with this difference, that 
your father’s, which I have by me, was written with 
the same design, but with much less wit or judg- 
ment, for which there was no remedy, unless you 
will. supply his judgment with his high Court of 
Justice. At his Majesty's happy retarn, J. M. 
did partake, even as you yourself did, for all your 
huffing, of his royal clemency, and has ever since 
expinted himself in a retired silence, Whether it 
were my foresight, or my good fortune, I never| looked to me all the 

contracted any friendship or confidence with you ; | tiving dissection ; which, | 












mitre or a crown. But the private virtues andthe | 
rich genius of such 8 man are pure from the taint 
of party, We are now to see how far private || 
hatred can distort, in its hideous vengeance, the || 
resemblance it affects to give after nature. Who 
could imagine that Parker ia describing Marvell 
in these words ?— 

“Among these insolent revilers of great fame 
for ribaldry, was one Marvell. From his youth, 
he lived in all manner of wickedness ; and thus, 
with a singular petulancy from nature, he performed: 
the office of a satirist for the faction, not so much 
from the quickness of his wit, as from the sourness: 


and his manners were Roman— |‘ De Kebus sui Temporis Commentariorum,”— 
¢ ternip of Cortins, and he would | P, 275, 


_ 








Hl jconducted | material influence on the Gondibert, as it 
samo novelty, and | come down tous; for, discouraged and 
ry in literature. | our adventurer never finished his 
to open a new vein of | discovery. He who had so nobly vindicated 
‘poetry; which not to call | freedom of the British Muse from the meanness: 
and which we who have|of imitation, and clearly defined what such a 
ourselves from the | narrative as be intended should be, ‘a perfect 


willingly : 
on each side, one against the other, while between 
these formidable lines stands the poet, with a few 
seatterod readers*; but what is more surprising 
-. in the history of the Gondidert, the poet is a great 


authority would be reduced to a thread of wire; 
and even what is accepted as standard ore, might 
shrink into * a gilt sixpence.”” On one side, the 
condemners of D’Avenant would be Rymer, Black~ 
wall, Granger, Knox, Hurd, and Hayley ; and the 
adrocates would be Hobbes, Waller, Cowley, Dr, 
Aikin, Headley, &c, Rymer opened his Aristo~ 
telian text-book. He discovers that the poet's 
first lines do not give any light into his design 
(it is probable D'Avenant would haye found it 
hard to haye told it to Mr. Rymer); thet it has 
neither proposition nor invoeation—(Rymer might 
have filled these up himself) ; so that ‘* he chooses || 
to enter into the top of the house, because the 
mortals of mean and satisfied minds go in at the 
door ;" and then “he has no bero or action so 
illustrious that the name of the poem prepared 
the reader for its reception."” D'Avenant had 
delightful to believe the story told | rejected the marvellous from his poem—that is, 
,that D’Avenant owed his life} the machinery of the epic: he had resolved to 

i compose a tale of haman beings for men, “ This 

was,’ says Blackwall, another of the classical 
flock, "like lopping off a man’s limb, and thon 
putting him upon running races.'" Our formal 
critics are quite lively in their dullness on our 
“adventurer.” But poets, in the crisis of a 





it nay not| D'Avenast for this very omission of the epical 
machinery in this pew vein of invention — 











|| in the new sciences of his age ;—these are some of | Office, 
} ture’s Registers," busily recording 


Care, who only ela oe oye net 


“ Here no bold tales of gods or monsters swell, 
But human passions such as with us dwell ; 
Man is thy theme, his virtue or his rage, 
‘Drawn to the life in each elaborate page.” 

Watren. 

* Methinks heroic poesy, till now, 

Like some fantastic fairy-land did show, 
And all but man, in man's best work had place.” 
Cownny. 


‘Hurd's discussion on Gondibert, in his Commen- 
taries, is the most important piece of criticism ; 
subtle, ingenious, and exquisitely analytical. But 
he holds out the fetter of authority, and he 
decides as a judge who expounds laws; not the 
best decision, when new laws are required to 
abrogate obsolete ones. And what laws invented 
‘by man can be immutable? D*Avenant wos thus 
tried by the laws of & country, that of Greece or 
Rome, of which, it is said, he was not even a 
denizen. 

Tt is remarkable that all the critics who con- 
dema D'Avevant could not but be struck by his 
exeellences, and are very particular in expressing 
their admiration of his genius. I mean all the 
critics who have read the poem: some assuredly 
have criticived with little trouble. 

* T select some of these lines as examples. Of 











ntelligencers,"" 
"in the field, 

ry plant, and * 
poate Het O8 has 
botanical garden, W 
~jsry eemeainl 
i non ncod pests) 

t of vanished Minds,” as 
‘the library. Ta knot sleieg 
Oh EES 


the petulant wits with a provoking sense of their 
own littleness. 

A clab of wits caballed, and produced a collec 
tion of short poems, sarcastically entitled ** Cer. 
tain Verses written by severat of the Author's 
Priends, to be reprinted in the Second Edition of 
Gondibert, 1653.'' Two years after appeared a 
brother volume, entitled “ The Incomparable 
Poem of Gondibert vindicated from the Wit- 
Combats of Four Esquires; Clinias, Dametas, 
Sancho, and Jack-Puddingt ; with these mottos: 

“' Korde: nal dolBos dol. 
‘Vatum quoque gratis, rarn est,"’ 
Anglict, 


“ One wit-brother 
‘Envies another.” 


Of these rare tracts, we are told by Anthony 


j- | Wood, and all subsequent literary historians, too 


ye been full,” as Hurd has nobly expressed 
n conscious dignity of character, struck 


t * Can one read such passages as these, without 


@ 


some of the sympathies of 3 ius 
knows ital? oo 
eee ooo wrtton ax bereio pocuy Jesres en 
iled, and he gives a groater gift to pos- 
ity thi gets rite: 


re t0 enjoy it ‘Truly, L have some years 
that Pame, like Time, only gets a 

Jong running ; and that, like a river, 
‘tis bred, and broadest afar 


art one of thote who have been 

‘fire, L reverence thee as my 

od whilst others tax me with vanity, I 

whether it be more than 

ry a aa thou hast mado to 

takings? Por when I observe 

many enemies, such inward 

ks, resembles that forward con- 
makes them 


7s 


ise; since the right examination | William D'Avenant.” 


often mere transcribers of title-pages, that the 
second was written by our author himself, Would 
‘not one imagine that it was a real vindication, or 
at least a retort-courteous on these obliging 
friends? The irony of the whole volume has 
escaped their discovery, The second tract is a 
continuation of the satire: a mock defence, where 
the sarcasm, and the pretended remonstrance, are 
sometimes keener than the open attack. If, 
struck | indeed, D’Avenant were the author of a continua- 
tion of a satire on himself, it is an act of felode se 
no poct ever committed; a self-flagellation by an 
iron whip, where blood is drawn at every stroke, 
the most ‘bard never inflicted on himself. 
‘Would D’Avenant have banterod his proud labour, 


of abilities begins with inquiring whether we doubt 
ourselves.” 

Such a composition is injured by mutilation. 
He here also allades to his military character = 
“ Nor could I sit idle, and sigh with such as mourn 
to hear the drum; for if the age be not quiet 
enough to be taught virtue a pleasant way, the 
next may be at leisure; nor ould I (like men that 
have civilly slept till they are old in dark cities) 
think war a novelty.” Shakespeare could not 
have expressed his feelings, in his own style, more 
eloquently touching, than D'Avenant. 

‘t [tis said there were four writers. The Clinias 
and Dametas were probably Sir Jobn Denham 
and Jo, Donne ; Sir Allan Broderick and Will 
Crofts, who is mentioned by the clab as one of 
their fellows, appear to be the Sancho and Jack- 
Pudding. Will Crofts was «favourite with Charles 
IL.: he bad been a skilful agent, as appears in 
Clarendon. Howell has a poem “ On some who, 
blending their brains together, plotted how to 
bespatter one of the Muses’ choicest sons, Sir 














as well as they do to reprehend what they do not 
like.” 

‘The stately Gondibert was not likely to recover 
favour in the court of Charles the Second, where 
‘man was never regarded in his true greatness, but 
to be ridiculed ; a court where the awful 
of Clarendon became so irksome, that the worth- || 
Jess monarch exiled him; # court where nothing 
was listened to but wit at the cost of sense, the 
injury of truth, and the violation of decency; 
where a poem of magnitude with new claims, was 
a very business for those volatile arbiters of taste ; 

:|an Epic Poem that had been travestied and epi- 
grammed, was a national concern with them, 
which, next to some new state-plot, that occurred 
oftener than a new Epic, might engage the 
monarch and his privy council. ‘These were not 
the men to be touched by the compressed refloc- 
tions and the ideal virtues personified in this poem. 
In the court of the langhing voluptuary the man= 

9 musical singer, “the names of | ners as well as the morals of these satellites of 
pleasure were so little heroic, that those of the 
highest rank, both in birth and wit, never men- 














‘to ropartes, and his splcit often 


n of late extolled too highly, the chief 

sense and truth: which, if he were 
ons, might be an excellence in prose. 
when they find « poct adapted for 


(Remember this!) That Sir Johm Urrey} ia 
dead and buried at Oxford. (He died the same 
day with the Lord Wilmot.) ‘That the Cavaliers, 
before they have done, will Huneey all men into 
imisery. (This quibble hath been six times 
printed, and nobody would take notioe of its 
now let's hear of it no more!) That all the 
Cavaliers which Sir William Waller took pri- 
soners (besides 500) tooke the National Covenant, 
(Yes, all he took (besides 500) tooke the Core- 
vant.) That 2000 Zrih Rebels landed in Water. 
(You called them English Protestants till you 
cheated them of thelr moncy.) That Sir Wiliam || 
Brereton left 140 good able men in Hawarden || 
Castle, (Tis the better for Sir Michael Enenley, | 
who hath taken the Castle.) That the Queen hath 
a great deafnesce. (Thou hast a great blister on || 
thy tongue.) That the Cavaliers burned ail the 
ruburds of Chester, that Sir William Brereton || 
might find no shelter to besiedge it. (‘There was n0 
bayrick, and Sir William cares for no ether | 


A shelter §.) The Scorrian Dove says (there are 


+ Alluding to = ridiculous rumour, thet the 
Bee ee eC ee eee 


t Col. Urrey, alins Harrey, deserted the Par- 
lament, and went over to the King; afterwards 
deserted the King, and discovered to the Parlia- 
ment all he knew of the King’s forees.—Ser 
Clarendon, 

§ This Sir Willinm Brereton, or, as Clarendon 
writes the name, Bruerton, was the famous Che- 
shire knight, whom Cleiveland characterises as one 
| of those herocs whose courage lics in thelr teeth. 
“Was Brereton,” says the loyal Satirist, ‘to 
fight with his teeth, as be in all other things 
resembles the beast, he would have odds of any 
man at this weapon. He's a terrible slaughterman 
at a Thanksgiving dinner, Had he been cannibal 
enough to have eaten those he vanquished, his gut 
) would have made him valiant."* And in “ Loyal 
Songe’” bis valiant appetite is noticed : 

“ But, oh! take heed lest he do eat 
‘The Rump all at one dinner t! 


And Aulious, we see, accuses him of concealing 
his bravery in a hay-rick. It ts always curious 
‘end useful to confer the writers of intemperate 





rility, gives a very different character to this pot+ 
valiant and hay-rick runaway; for be says, “ It 

Brereton, and. 
the other gentlemen of that party, albeit their 
educations and course of life hud been very dif- 











formally to reply to | at such times, with the galled multitude’ contsi- |} 
this singular reason : | buting more heavily to the adventurers who'rdled || 


they had stayed about half an houre, they returned 
back again, dancing with the anme music; end 


reeersiiel! 
He 









































on Jown Purtirs occurs this 
that 


boc landis genere Miltono secundus, 
Primoque pene par.’ 
were ordered to be razed out of the 


what be calls Dr. Johnson's 
om Milton,”* that Dr. Johnson 
this fact, seems to suspect its 
for, if true, ‘it would cover the 


Warton, as my text shows, was 
‘T recollect in my youth a more 
then any other which 

A wornan of no education, who 


with bis own passions and his own weaknesses ?”” 
Burnet bas indeed made “ his bumble appeal to 
the great God of Truth”’ that be bas given it as 
fully as he could find it ; and he has expressed his 
abhorrence lie fn history,”’ so much greater 
«sin than a lie in common discourse, from its 
Jaating and universal natare. Yet these hallowing 

have not saved him! A cloud of 
witnesses, from different motives, have risen sp 
to attaint his veracity and his candour ; while all 
the Tory wits have ridiculed his style, impatiently 
fnaceurate, and uncouthly negligent, and would 


She tured out one of the madignant party, and 
an abborrer of the Commonwealth's men. Her 
opinion of Cromwext. and Mri-row may be given. || 
She told me it was no wonder that the rebel who 
had been secretary to the usurper, should have 











ope, and an easy, indolent! Steele was doomed even to lose the friendship 
‘up friends like hot- | of Addison amid political disoords; but om that || 

jom and flower in the spot | occasion Stecle showed that his taste for literature 
sed, but will not endure the | could not be injured by political animosity. It 
season—this wit caught the | was at the close of Addison's life, and on occasion 


The aid | Pariehes.”” Such are the pillows made up for 
This | Senius to rest its head on ! 
‘Wogstafle has sometimes delicate humour ; 


‘Three children sliding on the ice 
‘Upon a summer's day ; 
As it fell out, they all fell in; 

















—_ poo? his usual | age for both parties, has. 
Soe “vassal. | to be * a just. 


present times will pr a snfer and a more 
bonourable principle,—the true objects of Lere- 
RATUa ate eo ees 


the English language ;"’ but this great spirit sadly 

winces in the soreness of his feelings when he 

alludes to May's “ History of the Parliament ;'" 

then we discover that this late ** ingenious person’? 

performed hik part ‘so meanly, that he sceme to 

have lost his wits when be left his honesty.”” 

Behold the political criticism in literature! How- 

ever we may ineline to respect the feelings of 

Clarendon, this will not save his judgment permed 
nor his candour, We reud Moy now, as well | others. 

as Clarendon; nor is the work of May that of sede OK 
@ man who ‘hed lost bis wits,” nor is it| the elassio 1 
“ 








ES AND HIS QUARRELS; 


N ILLUSTRATION OF HIS CHARACTER. 








they sueceod in “ splitting « hair ;” and it is 
they have recourse to the most absurd 








natore but in terror or in contempt. The incvi- 


| table consequence of that mode of thinking, or that 


“it was meant to place the Christina religion on 
a better footing,” &e. But the Court answered, 
that “if the author of a treasonable libel should 


|| Write at the conelusion, God save the king! it 
|| would not excuse him,” 


* The moral sxiom of Solon * Kxow tix 
sete” (Nosce teipsum), applied by the ancient 
sage ns & corrective for our own pride and vanity, 
Hobbes contracts into a narrow principle, when, 
in hia introduction to “ The Leviathan,” he 
would infer, that by this sclfinspection, we are 
‘enabled to determine on the thoughts and passions 
ofother men; and thus, he would make the taste, 
the feelings, the experience of the individnal decide 
for all mankind. ‘This simple error has produced 
all the dogmas of Cynicism ; for the Cynic is one 
whose insulated feclings, being all of the selfish 
kind, ean imagine no other stirrer of even our 
best affections, and strains even our loftiest virtues 
into pitiful motives. Two noble authors, mon of 
the most dignified feclings, have protested against 
this principle. Lord Shaftesbary keenly touches 
the characters of Hobbes and Rochester: — 
‘Sudden courage, says our modern philosopher 
(Hobbes) is anger. If so, courage, considered as 

and belonging to a character, must, in 
his account, be defined constant anger, or anger 
constantly recurring. All men, says a witty poet 
(Rochester), would be cowards, if they durst: 
that the poet and the pi both were 
cowards, may be yielded, perhaps, without dispute! 
they mayhave spoken the best of their knowledge.” 
Swarrasnuny, vol. i. p. 119. 

‘With an heroic spirit, that virtuous statesman, 
Lord Clarendon, rejects the degeading notion of 
Hobbes. When Ag looked into his own breast, he 
found that courage was o real virtue, which bad 
induced him, had it been necessary, to have shed 
his blood as a patriot. But death, in the judgment of 
Hobbes, was the most terrible event, and to be 
avoided by any means. Lord Clarendon draws = 
parallel between a ** man of courage” and one of 
the disciples of Hobbes, ** brought to die together, 
by a judgment they cannot avoid.”—" How comes 
it to pass, that one of these undergoes death, with 
‘no other concernment than ax if he were going 


any other journey ; and the other with such confu- 





opinions as Hobbianiem. Their chi 

to be born on a Good Friday; and inthe 

history of his own life, he seems to have consi- | 
dered it aaa remarkable event. An atom had its 


that day to save them!" 
‘That the sect spread abroad, 


pher nearly lose bis 
“ He will not con! 








‘ve Limited to|allance between church and state tad been 20. 
of the peoplo’s| violently shaken, that it was necessary to cement 
y philosopher had been |] 


Hint 
HERG 
int 


to the throne, whew the king bad Srmly re-sstebs 
written | ished it. ‘The philosophy of Hobbes, therefore, 


I will give Hobbes’s own justification, after the 
said he believed | restoration of Charles II. when accused by the 


is sternax, et salebrosa via—"” 


protected: 

fo ‘equally commodious | which he #0 ably urged in fayour of the royalists, 
and to the royalists. By this | will not, however, justify those who, like Wallis, 

1¢ Fepa maintained the right of| yoluntarity submitted to Cromwell, because they 
his authority was established, | were always the enemies of the king ; so that this 
yyalists from their burthen-|sabmission to Oliver is allowed only to the 
ing to“ TheLeviathan,” | royalists—a most admirable political paradox! 

rch only, when ina |The whole of the argument is managed with 

4 and, to calm tender | infinite dexterity, and is thus unexpectedly turned 


‘the Restoration, jt | entire system of Hobbes.—" Considerations upom | 
that this very !the Reputation, Logalty, $e. of Mr. Hobtes."" 

















at do insisted that the 
ed in the left hand of his 


Ut will turn out greatly 


illness at Paris, which Insted 
[in his metrical life: 


be times, in No. G1, has given an 
course with the philosopher, in 

that Hobbes endured such pain, that 
» destroyed himself—* Qu’! avoit 
tin is m vivacious writer: we 
ike him au pied de la lettre, Hobbes 
matically tenacious of life: and, so far 
suicide, that he wanted even the 
‘Patin to bleed bim ! Iewas during 
that the Catholic party, who like to 
‘in @ state of unresisting debility, 
learned and intimate friend, Father 
‘hold out all the benefits a philosopher 
from their ebarch, Whea Hobbes 
ith this proposed interview (say# 
iry, whose work exists in MS., 


Joly's folio volume of Remarks on 
‘man answered, “Don’t let him 
‘Teball laugh at him; and perhaps 
¢ him myself.’ Father Mersenne 


whom Dr. Grenville 
Hobbes, who first stipulated 
be those authorised by the 
amd he also received tho 


his strict attendance to the 
ly refusing to unite 


vats al pera Sha Sgn 
Melber ciaease aH se AE eRe 


respect he showed a boldness in his actions very 
‘unusual with him. 


But the religion of Hobbes was “of a strain 
beyond the apprehension of the vulgar,"? and not 
very agreeable to some of the Church. A man 
may have ‘notions respecting the Deity, 
and yet be far removed from Atheism ; and in his 
political system, the Church may hold that subor- 
dinate place which some Bishops will not like, 
When Dr. Grenville tells us “ Hobbes ridiculed in 
companies"? certain matters which the Doctor 
held sacred, this is not sufficient to accuse a man 
of Atheism, though it may prove him not to have 
held orthodox opinions, From the M8. collee- 
tions of the French contemporary, who well knew 
Hobbes at Paris, I transcribe m remarkable 
observation:—'* Hobbes said, that he was not 
surprised that the I ) who were enemies: 
of monarchy, could sot bear it in heaven, and that 
therefore they placed there three Gods, instead of 
one; but he was astonished that the English 
bishops, and those who wore 
favourers of monarchy, should persist in the same 
opinion concerning the Trinity. He added, that 
the Episcopalians ridiculed the Puritans, and the 
Puritans the Episcopalians; but that the wise 
ridiculed both alike.""—ZLantiniana MS. quoted 
by Joly, p. 434. 

‘The religion of Hobbes was in conformity to 
state and church. He had, however, the most 
‘awful notions of the Divinity. He confesses he ia 
unacquainted with ** the nature of God, but not 
with the necessity of the existence of the Power of 
all powers, and First Cause of all causes: s0 that 
we know that God is, though not what heis.'" See 
his “Human Nature," chap. xi. But was the 
God of Hobbes the inactive delty of Epicuras, who 


antithesis, was this “an Atheism with a God ?’* 
‘This consequence some of bis adversaries would 
draw from his principles, which Hobbes 

denies, He has done more; for, in his De Cor- 


who gives 2 good rale “' to think soberly, aeoord- 
ing ws God hath dealt to every man the measure 


of the national | of faith." —Rom. xi. 3. 


but in this 


© It is remarkable, that when Hobbes nd 








fear of Seninty: yea 
Ti tale, do: Hobbes and Dr. Wallis, Bert 
denounced 





ni ‘to those shiftings and turnings which 
‘coil ll jastige l an 
sssilant. Far different was the fate of 
open daylight of mathematics ; 

i pecintNt blend ha sophntrs 


ig Irony, 1729,"" p. 13. 

-oppénite ‘principles, but airing 
purpose, are reduced toa dilemma, 
“HE aecmlalh ‘Sir Robert 
against “the Anarchy of a 


he bad never beard of it till then!) he breaks out 

with the same feeling:—" What my works are 

"points. he was no fit judge; but now he bas provoked 

9» but he did not like the instru-| me, I will say thus much of them, that neither 

his fellow-Iabourer. His manner of| he, if he had lived, could—nor I, if 1 would, can— 
‘Hobbes shows his dilemma: he | extinguish the light which is set up in the world 





King. prefixed Philosophical | 

Problems, 1662,'' where he openly disavows hia 
-| opinions, and makes an apology for the Leviathan. 

Itis curious enough to observe how he actsin | 


neither Atheism nor Heresy.’’ Hobbes considered || 
the religion of his country as a subject of law, | 
and not philosophy. He wus not for separuting | 
the Church from the State ; but, on the coutrary, || 
for joining them more closely, The bishops ought | 
not to have been his enemies; nnd many were not. | 
37a PaaS ollseten of Son Rrenen steel 
porary, who personally knew him, we find a 
remarkable confession of Hobbes. He said of | 
himself, that “he sometimes made openings to || 
Tet in light, but that he could not distover his 
thoughts but by half-views: like those who throw | 
open the window for a short time, but soon elosing | 
have suspected that this| it, from the dread of the storm.”—JI disci gu'id 
des ouveriures, mais qu'il ne | 











[ 


”~ 


‘« So those who wear the holy robes 
‘That rail so much at Father Hobbs, 
‘Because he has exposed of late 

The nakedness of Church and State ; 
‘Yet tho’ they do his books condemn, 
"They love to buy and read the ssme,”” 











276 


QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 





become of our freedom? Hobbes would now 
maintain his system by depositing his ‘ entireness 
of sovereign power” in the Laws of his Country. 
So easily shifted is the vast political machine of 
the much abused Leviathan! The Citsien of 
Hobbes, like the Prince of Machiavel, is alike 
innocent, when the end of their authors is once 
detected, amid those ambiguous means by which 
the hard necessity of their times constrained their 
mighty genius to disguise itself. 

It is, however, remarkable of Systems af| 
Opinions, that the founder's celebrity bas usually 
outlived his sect’s. Why are systems, when once 
brought into practice, so often discovered to be 
fallacies ? It seems to me the natural progress of, 


system-making. A genius of this order of inven- 
tion, long busied with profound observations and 





perpetual truths, would appropriate to himself this 
assemblage of his ideas, by stamping his individual 
mark on them; for this purpose he strikes out 
some mighty paradox, which gives an apparent con- 
nexion to them all; and to this paradox he forces 
all parts into subserviency. It is a minion of the 
fancy, which his secret pride supports, not always 
by the most scrupulous means. Hence the system 
itself, with all its novelty and singularity, tarne 
out to be nothing more than an ingenious deception 
carried on for the glory of the inventor ; and when 
his followers perceive they were the dupes of his 
ingenuity, they are apt, in quitting the system, to 
give up all; not aware that the parts are as true 
as the whole together is false; the sagacity of 
Genius collected the one, but its Vanity formed 
the other ! 





HOBBES'S QUARRELS. 


DR. WALLIS THE MATHEMATICIAN. 


“ What means this tumult in a Vestel’s veins?” 
Hobbes was one of the many victims who lost 





“The origin of is tante for matheraticn was 
purely accidental: begun in love, it continued to 
dotage. According to Aubrey, he was forty years 
old when, “being in gentleman’ library, Buclid's 








His. and original character could not but | sors of Mathematics in 
Riba ees he undertook ; and his ego-| Soth Wardt and Wallis, 


mathematic professors of Oxford 
» of Six Lessons to the Profes-|-You are too old to learn, thoug! 
much need as those that be 
author of the excellent Latin grammar of | think mach to be whipped. 
language, £0 useful to every student 


sophical 
Hobbes, because he hated Wallis. In his “ Onei- 
rocritica, or an Exact Account of the Grammatical 
parts of this Controversy,'’ he draws a strong 
character of Wallis, who was indeed a great ma- 
thematician, and one of the most 











st him, could not con-|in Terence, of his Senex, his self-tormenting Me- 
quantity; or a line | nedemus— 
1 or thickness; but mathomaticians 
 theat jualitiee, when they| Miseret mo ¢jus. Quod potero adjutabo senem. 


i 
i] 
adir impatient of 

ie into « labyrinth of confusions which, whether itbe a greater fault or torment (to | 
*. They appear to have nearly|one, who must so often meet with what be is #0 || 

the clear and vigorous intellect of our | ill able to bear) is hard to say. 
+ for he exclaims, in-one of these| “And to this fretful humour you must add another 
as bad, which feeds it. You are therefore next 
mad, or they are all out of their} to consider him as one highly opinionative and 
‘that no third opinion can be taken, | magisterial. Fanciful in his conceptions, and 
will say that we are all mad.!” deeply enamoured with those phantasmes, without 
‘of truce were allowed to intervenc|a rival. He doth not spare to profess, upon all 


philosophers, 

1661." The utter | heathens, Christians; how despicable he thinks all 
‘he intended for his antagonist, fell | their writings, in comparison of his; and what 
‘Wallis, borrowing the character of |hopes he hath, that, by éhe sovereign command 
.§ or,” from Terence, produced | of some absolute prince, all other doctrines being 
bins Heanton-timorumenos (Hobbes the | expioded, his new dictates should be peremptorily 
)s or, a Consideration of Mr. |impored, fo be alone taught in all schools and 
jialogues ; addressed to Robert Boyle, | puipits, and universally eubmitted to. To recount 
all which he speaks of himself magnificently, and 
‘of Wallis is of a very opposite cha- | contemptuously of others, would fil a volume. 
the arid discussion of abstract blunders | Should some idle person read over all his books, 
try. He who began with points, and | and collecting together bis arrogant and superci- 
eube, and squaring the circle, now |lious speeches, applauding himself, and despising 
Joftier tone, and carrying his personal | all other men, set them forth in one synopsis, with 
feelings into a mere contrayersy between | this title, Hobbins de se—what a pretty piece of 
mat ticians, he has formed a solemn | pageantry this would make ! U 
it with irony. I hope the| “The admirable sweetness of your own nature 
sufficient interest in the | has not given you the experience of such a temper: 
‘to read the long, but curious | yet your contemplation must have needs discerned 
zow transcribe, with that awe | it, in those symptoms which you have seen it work 
the old man claims. It | in others, like the strange effervescence, ebullition, 
even the greatest genius may| fumes, and fetors, which you have sometimes givers 

‘Fiewed through the coloured 

One is, however, 


spectator. 
per, being so eminent in the person we have to 
deal with, your generous nature, which cannot but 











-€ Doring the late trouble, : 
_jand the people mad bat the preachers of your 
ogy for hist, T shall principles? But besides the wickedness, see the || 
Dis phe 4c folly of it. You thought to make them mad, but 


turn ; that is to say, mad, and yet just as wise as || 


, a8 would have fornishod hanged, yet the hunters were as guilty as they, 
Af you had in good | and deserved no less punishment. And the decy- 
si you' ucla’ bare Jet Nios pherens (Wallis had decyphered the royal lotters) 
‘Ward, Mr. Baxter, Pike, | and all that blew the horn, are to be reckoned 
it have reviled him as you do. Ax| among the hunters. Perhaps you would not hare 
beyond the seas, it fades not | had the prey killed, but rather have kept it tame, 
perhaps you have no means to And yet who can tell? J have read of few kings 
¢ you a passage of an cpistle | deprived of their power by their own subjects that 
‘Frenchman to an eminent have lived any long time after it, for reasons that } 
in a volume of epistles."* erery man is able to conjecture.” 
‘the passage at length, in which | He closes with a very odd image of the most 
| joined with Galileo, Descartes, | cynical contempt :— 
Gassendi, “Mr. Hobbes has been always far from pro- || 
to Wallis’ sarcastic suggestion, thst | voking any man, though, when be is provoked, 
should collect together Hobbes’s | you find his pen as sharp as yours. All you have 
supercilious speeches applauding | said is error and railing; that is, stinking wind, 
tide, Hobbinede se, he says,—| such as a jade lets fly when he is too hard girt 
ir idle person do it; Mr. Hobbes shell) upon a full belly. J have done, I have con- 
them under his hand, and be com-| sidered you now, but will not again, whatsoever 
ft, and you scorned. A certain! preferment any of your friends shall procure you.” 
stor having propounded something in| These were the pitched battles ; but many 
jeeenbily of the people, which they, misliking, | skirmishes occasionally took place. Hobbes was 
at, boldly bad them hold their peace, | even driven to a ruse de guerre. When be found 
be knew better what was good for| his mathematical character in the utmost peril, 
‘than all they; and his words | there appeared a pamphlet, entitled, — ! 
to ws as on argument of his virtue;| ‘* Lux Mathematica, &c., or, Mathematical 
truth and vanity aller the complexion| Light steuek out from the elashings between Dr. 
You can have very little skill in| John Wallis, Professor of Geometry in the cele 
3 ot see the justice of commend-| brated University of Oxford (celeberrima Aca- 
‘self, a8 well as of anything else, in his| demia), and Thomas Hobbes, of Malmesbury; 
and it was want of prudence in you| augmented with many and shining rays of the 
toa thing that would #0 mach | Author, R-R, 1672."" 
Here the victories of Hobbes are trumpeted 
make his age a reproach to him, | forth; but the fact is, that R. R. should have 
been T. H. 1 was Hobbes's own composition ! 
only age, I admire how you saw|R. R. stood for Roseli Repertor, that ts, the 
Teprosched all old men in the world Finder of the Rosary, one of the titles of Hobbes’s 
mathematical discoveries, Wallis asserts, that this | 
R.R. may stillserve; for itmay anawerhisows book, 
Roseti Refutator, or, the Refuter of the Rosary. 
Poor Hobbes gave up the contest reluctantly; 
if, indeed, the controversy may not be said to || 
; have lasted all his life, He acknowledges he was | 
of much greater reproaches. Wile peri ed setae lee agi 
z ‘that derives pru-| obliged to yield to the disease. 


Sed nil profeci, magnis authoribas Error 

















‘clement in which he lived*.” Old Ben had given, 
* The gross convivialities of the times, from 





9 prevalent taste, and he gave as largely into it 
often with very dignified feetings, he casts|as any of his ‘Tavern-babite 
‘deelaration into the teeth of his adversaries: | were then those of our poets and actors, Ben's 
‘& bitter contempt for bis brothers and his|\ Humours,” at “the Mermaid,” and at a later 
ries was not less vehement, 
those who 
his 


sons" and 


He weighed twenty atone, scoording to his 
me 1 One of his | 


ones the severity of criticism which |‘ Catiline’* could not fail to be = miracle, by a 
ns noble ns his own. | certain sort of inspiration which Ben wsed on the 
was rough, hardy, and ] 





_ Treckon it not among mon-miracles. 
‘How could that pocm heat and vigour lack, | greatness, 
When cach line oft cost Bex a cup of sack %”* tt the ined the fou? ly id oe Sat 
Anox’s. might himself become one ‘dramatic |} 
RB Pocula Castalia, p. 118, 1650, fehege” Serta i Reha 
Jonson, in the Bacchic phraseology of the which has been called the Dunciad of those times 
“3 Cunary-bird.* topearyearen ‘but it isa Dunciad without notes, The 





many times exeeed in drink; Canary was his 
beloved Hquor; then he would tumble home to 
pee eae ne Facet eatin 


from me, that he is mistaken; for sacrifices are 
ahoays burned," —This pleasant allusion to the 
mulled wine of the time, by the young wit, could 
|| not fail to win the affection of the master-wit 
| himself, Hari. MSS. 6395. 

‘Ben is not viewed so advantageously, in an 


notices that Jonson parted from Sir Walter 
Raleigh and his son “not in cold blood.” Mr, 
Gifford, in a MS. note on this work, does not 


Perron 
Sore Shenson tite eal, ee 


Raleigh, as & tutor to bis son, whose, 
not brooking the severe studies of 
advantage of his foible, to degrada 


‘pupil n 
Daaket;-and & couple of bio, who 
to Sir Walter, with a message, 
master bad sent home his 
nothing improbable in the: 








[personages recognised on the scene ns || 
- poetical, military, legal, and | 

ee ae, Tt raised @ host in arms—Jonson 

an apologetical epilogue, breathing a firm 
) Jonson had once lived on the Nae outrer leas but its dignity was too 


Empress of Morocco,” in his| we may do it with pleasure. Writings, like pic- 
a om meee leaps Stet cr carts armies 
Setioey is Wisem poten vpn: | correctly jadged and inspected, without any 
personal inconvenience. 


“LT never saw the play breed all this tumult, 
‘What was there in it could so deeply offend, 
And stir so many hornets ?"" 


‘The author replies = 
_—____T nevee writ that piece 
More inooceat, or empty of offence ; 
Some salt it had, bot neither tooth nor gall, 
= “ Why, they say you tax’d 
notice, was * the witty Ben Jonson ;” ‘Thi Towa luwjues) jtslas’ od Cua EL 
all the notices Ihave hitherto met By their particular names. 
= pert eiaereeal —= > Rye 
“Mr. Gilchrist has published two 
end sie pera oaths ‘My books have still been 
‘To spare the persons, and to speak the vices.”’ 


And he proceeds to tell ws, that to obviate this 
accusation, he had placed his scenes in the age of 
Augustus. 
“ To show that Virgil, Horace, and the rest 
Of those great master-spirits, did not want 
Detractora then, or practisers against them : 
And by this line, although no parallel, 
a Jonson's works ; and I have in MS,| ! bopedat last they would sitdownand blush.” 
go Jones in verse, so pitiful that! But instead of their “sitting down and blush- 
‘That ing,"" we find 
“ That they fly buzzing round about my nostrils ; 
Humour.” iH this ‘'a| And, like so many 
a er vin Held by the wings, fill every ear with noise.” 
‘personal revenge. The Aubrey) Names were certainly not necessary to portraits, 
published, have given us the| where 
‘this, Carlo Buffoon, ** one Charles Berti thar ove Nd tees Ih) 
‘bold impertinent fellow ; and they | life. Yet even our poet himself doos not deny 
‘him ; 4 perpetual talker, | their trath, while he excuses himself. In the 
joise like a drum ina room. So one | dedication of “ The Fox" to the two Universities, 
terern, Sir Welter Raleigh beats him, he boldly asks, Where hare I been particular ? 
outh; é.¢. hisupper and nether| Where personal ?—Exoept to a mimic, chester, 
ae P.514.. Such a charactor | bawd, buffoon, creatures (for their insolencies) 
taint, Oh for dramatic satire. Mr,| worthy to be taxed.'' The mere list be bere 
v | defended Jonson from the | furnishes us with, would serve to crowd one of the 
against him for the | ‘* twopenny audiences” in the small theatres of 
ch portraits after tle | that day. 

















‘This is the studied pleading of « poet, | When Hermogenes, the finest sing 

‘the truth. ‘refused to sing, Crispinws 4 
passage iin the play itself, where | sion, and whispers the lady near a 
the true cause of ‘the tumult’ | the ladies to cntreat me to sing, 1 


rE 


aid 

He 

Es = 
Fist 


“be went up and down sucking in 
himself dry :'” the formal lawyers, who 
to his genius; the sharking captains, who 
| not draw to eave their own swords, and would 


a2 
uf 


tL 


all now made a party with some rival of Jonson. |to become “his assistant,’* 
All these personages will account for **the tu-|««ho would bo content with the pé 


who had been lashed in the Poetaster, produced his| this ‘ Hydra of Discourse,” the p 
« Satiromastix, of the wotrussing of the huaorous | whom he calla on to’ my and 


Tepes ihe ee ie eat into] Angustus to Lue » 


to become Poets, having an equal aptituile to be- 
come anything that is in fashionable request, 


* Alluding, no doubt, to the price of seats at | adulteration of wo 
some of tho minor theatres. taste: “the 














"JONSON AND DECKER. 


ws jorge he observes, ‘ Hornce haled his Poetasters to the 


ip somewhat hard | 


turgidous, and 


A words! 
“a windy brain.” 
yot over: * Prorumpt" made 
s,s if his spirit was to have 
bere were others which required 
ce of the Horatian “light 


Ben: he commands Crispinus s 
« Honceforth, learn 
more humbly, nor to awell 
Your insolent and idle spite 
ae cen Fors ses aftighs 


‘bar*; the Poetasters untrussed Horace ; Horace 
sade himself believe that his Burgonian wit 


blamed for the personal attacks ‘on Jonson; | 
for “ whipping bis fortunes and condition of life ; 
where the more noble reprebension had been of 
his mind's deformity :"" but for this he retorts on | 
Ben. Some censured Decker for barrenness of | 
invention, in bringing on those characters in his | 
‘own play whom Jonson had stigmatised ; but ‘it | 
‘was not improper,” he says, *' to set the same dog 
upon Horace, whom Horace had set to worry 
others.” Decker warmly concludes with defying 
the Jonsonians. 

“ Let that mad dog Detraction bite till his | 
teeth be worn to the stumps; Envy, feed thy 
snakes so fat with poison till they burst; World, 
Jet all thy adders shoot out thelr Hydra-headed 
forked stings ! J thank thee, thou true Venusian 
Horace, for these good words thou givest me. 
Populus me sitilat, at mihi plaudo,”" 

‘The whole address is spirited. Decker was a 
very popular writer, whose numerous tracts 
exhibit to posterity a more detailed narrative of 
the manners of the town in the Elizabethan age, 
than is elaewhere to be found. 

To Decker’s Satiromastix, Horace junior is first 
exhibited in his study, rehearsing to himself an 
Ode : suddenly the Pindaric rapture is interrapted. 
by the want ofa rhyme; this ia satirically applied 
to an unlucky line of Ben's own. Ono of his 
“sons,” Asinius Bulbo, who is blindly worshipping 
his great idol, or “ his Ningle,"’ as he calls him, 
amid his admiration of Horace, perpetually breaks 
out into digressive accounts of what sort of a man 
his friends take him to be. For one, Horace in 
wrath prepares an epigram; and for Crispinus 
and Fennias, brother bards, who threaten ‘“*they"ll 
bring your life and death on the stage, a8 a brick~ 
layer in a play,” ys, “* Lean bring a prepared 
troop of gallants, who, for my sake, shall distaste 

every unsalted line in their fly-blown comedies."* 
sage? replies Aslaing, ‘and all men of ory rank!" 
Crispinus, Horace calls ‘'a light voluptuous 
aod Fanniue “the slightest cobweb- 
lawn piece of a poet.” Both enter, and Horace 


; | Fecelves them with all friendship. 


‘The interest of the pce 
with hich Decker has 
which 


* Alluding to the trial of the Portasters, which 
takes place before Augustus and hi poetical jury | 
&e. 








i oF “Horace offers to swear til i bate stants opoa 
fellows | end, to be rid of this sting. *Oh, this ating f"* 

make faces, when | alluding to the nettles. "Tis not your 
conscience, is it?” asks one. In the inventory of 
ve Be Seat wskared wich i| Me bath erst poigaes eater aos oe 
- humour; and it-probably exhibits some foibles in 
2 Soe and ere the literary habite of our bard. | 


all your friends to the marriage blest gf | 
‘that is to say, your Wits and Necessitics—alias, & 
Whitsun-ale—you 


quarterage. Moreover, when a knight gives you || 
his passport to travel in and out to his company, | 
preter tstyacple , 


ik cdart) you shall nob ty Mew has Gare 
and say, you are giad you write out of the courtier's | 
clement ; and fn brief, when you sup ia taverns, | 


——__— "He whone pen 
Draws beth corrupt and clear blood from-alt | 


Gist “jewels, master Hornce,| Such were ibe bitter apts whlch Jonson, sti 
know." —This “Whip of| in his youth, plucked from the tree of his broad 
Pa mei 216 Easing 0 satire, that, renee. over all! rpeea:tn! Soca? 
satyrs dtogether;| That even his intrepidity and hardiness felt the 
{1 crowned with & incessant attacks he had raised about him, appears 
from the love of the Apologetical Epilogue to the | 
m his stinging wit."| Poctaster; where, though he replies with all the 
swear, after A: I comeeioenona a eet A eae 

he closes, with a determination — 

eae be Severe rh iad 




















cause ofan obscure individual violently 
just rights isa common one. We 


him for the contempt be felt, when he compared 
them with the subordinate ones of his cynical 











being 
hide and sbift himself away in the ink of bis 
rhetoric. 1 will clear the waters again.” 

2 Ho fastens on Camden's former occupation, 

are we to attribute this? To the | virulently accusing him of the manners of a peda. |} 
Brooke #0 long endured 
= these acted on his vexed and 
‘till it burst into the excesses of a 


th injured feelings. 
‘took his station in the Herald's 
th Brooke, whose offers of his notes he 
to accept, they soon found what it 


‘fro authors to live under the sme roof, 


to write against each other. 
ul York, at first, would twit the new | replies : 
sffirming that “his| “Surely, had Theophrastus dealt with women’s 
‘a more able herald than any who | matters, a woman, though mean, might in reason 
2’ a truth, indeed, acknowledged | have contended with him. A king must be con 
_ On this cecasion, once the king-of- | tent to be laughed at, if he come into Apelies's | 
! York “the lie !'" reminding | shop, and dispute about colours and portraiture. || 
of “his own Ieorning ; who, | 1 am not ambitious nor envious to carp at matters 
mous through all the provinces of higher learning than matters of heraldry, which 
“So that (adds Brooke) now I profess: that is the slipper, wherein 1 know a 
0 ore him, when we speak in com- slip when I find it. But see your cunning; you 
other, to say, J must always | can, with the blur of your pen, dipped in 





‘hand of the master of Westminster school. | was probably of too stout « grain to take the folds 
Asa literary satire, he applies it with great dignity. | of Grecian drapery. Instead of sympathising with 


words on these, and this sort of men, yet Leannot 
resist the temptation of adding a slight eketch, for 

‘|| Tcannot give that vivaoity of colouring of the 
picture of the grent artist Apelles, that our Anti- 
philus and the like, whose ears are ever open to 
calumny, may, in contemplating it, find  reflec- | is 
tion of themselves. 


“On the right hand sits a man, who, to show | nothing 
his credulity, is remarkable for his prodigious ears, 
‘similar to those of Midas. He extende his hand, 
to greet Calamny, who ix approaching him. The 
two diminutive females around him are Ignorance 
and Suspicion. Opposite to them, Calumny 
advances, betraying, in her countenance and 
gesture, the savage rage and anger working in ber 
tempestuous breast; her left hand holds « flaming 
torch ; while, with her right, she drags by the hair 
‘a youth, who, stretching his uplifted hands to 
Heaven, is calling on the immortal powers to bear 
testimony to his innocence. She ix preceded by 
aman, of a pallid and impure appearance, seem- 
Spe aa eye pce cal es wet isl 
except eye spa not A i ayn 
‘nees usual to such. That Envy is here meant, 
you readily conjecture. Some diminative females, ot tran pie tie 








* “Verum cnimyerd de his et hoc gencre homi- 
num ne verbom amplins adder, tabellam tamen 
‘sume illius artificis Apellis, cum colorum viraci+ 
‘tate depingere non possi, verbis leviter adumbrabo 
‘et proponam, ut Antiphiles noster, suiqueé similes, 
et qui calumniis credunt, banc, et in hac scipsos 
somel simulque intucantur. t 

Ad dextram sedet quidam, quia credulus, auri- 
bos pralongis insignis, qualesferd ill Midmw feran- 
tur. Manum porrigit procul aceedeati Calumniee. 
Circumstant cum mulicrculse dow, Ignorantis ac 
Suspicio, Adit aliunde propits Calumnia eximie 























4, feet, in rump, and crest, 


Bes Hee thay lasek pet eee ‘Camden, who 


horses which are best, | wanted the 


h iad coloured every spot, 
sees him, knows him not. 


jit spots of bia now washdd weed, 
je horse; so Fletcher was attuinted, 


‘ 1 know (says Brooke) the great advantage my 


‘the wisdom, with the meanness, silently to adopt 
his asefal corrections, but would never confess the 
hand which bad brought them*. 

‘Thus hath Ralph Brooke told his own tale 
undisturbed, and, after the Ispse of more than a 


mouth of his adversary, Truth receives the insult, 
But there is another point, more essential to 
inculcate in literary controversy. Qught we to 
Jook too acrupulonsly into the motives which may 
induce an inferior author to detect the errors of x || 
greater? A man from no amiable motive may || 
perform a proper action: Ritson was useful after 
Warton; nor have we @ right to ascribe it to any 


Ralph Brooke first appears to have composed his | 
elaborate work from the most honourable motives = 
the offer he made of his Notes to Camden seems 
a sufficient evidence. The pride of a great man 
first led Camden into an error, and that error 
plunged bim into all the barbarity of persecution 5 
thus, by force, covering his folly. Brooke over- 
valued his studies; it is the nature of those 
peculiar minds, adapted to excel in such contracted 


‘has over me, in the received opinion of| pursuits. He undertook an ungracious office, and 


- If some will blame me for that my 
carry some characters of spleen against 
| of pute affections, and not partial, will 
that be should, by ill bearing, lose 

‘he conceived by ill speaking. But 

| presume not to understand above that 


J do confess his great worth and 
that we Britons are in somo sort 


y, was hunted down, and not 
as he was no doubt, to relieve 
apitit, by pouring St forth to 


he has suffered, by being placed by the side of the 
illustrious genius with whom he has so skilfally 
combated, in bis own province ; and thus he has 
endured contempt, without being contemptible. 
The public are not less the debtors to such 
unfortunate, yet intrepid authors. 


in Anstis’s Edition of “ A Second Discoverie 
of Errors in the much commended Britannia, &. || 
1724," the reader will find all the passages in 
the Britannis of the edition of 1594 to which 
Brooke made exceptions, placed colamn-wise, 
with the following edition of it in 1600. It is, as 
Anstis observes, a debt to truth, without making 
any reflections. 

Be pp eer orient 


me cal pataee a eee oe ee 
account of our nobility, than had been given 

Ih Magar toe la eho Orcaerye Peete 
p- 1135, 











far exongh | Renedicite was banded to her from the Catholics; 
Tole yeti bat « portentous personage, masked, atepped forth, 
| the new hierarchy of the | from a clab of Pursras, and terrified the nation 
his little church at! by continued visitations, yet was never visible till 
to rule a great mation on the the instant of his adieus—* starting, like « guilty 
tion ; copying the eposto- | thing upon a fearful summons {'” 
‘time when the church (say the} Men ecbo the tone of their age, yet still the 
| all the weakness of infancy, | same unvarying human nature is atwork ; andthe 
0 together in a community of all| Puritans, who in the reign of Elizabeth imagined 
‘8 sense of their common poverty. =. 
may 5 us of @ catalogue of the works alladed to in our 
eth i the dignified ecclesiastical 
institution, which could | text, for be thus distinctly points at them: “The 
elias eens ok books written by the fugitive papistes, as also those 
other order in the state’. My | that are toritten against the present 


7 exhibits.the curious spectacle of «| Maunsell. Ha’ fa noticing 1 Bierce Plowineat fat | 
gious body covering a political one ; such | prose. 12 did nat: nee tia Digit y oF aay 
C among the Jesuits, and such es booke, but it ended thus :-— 
distract the empire, in some new and 


“ God save the king, and speed the Plough, 


he ‘age abounded with libels $. Many a 


i 


the Martin Mar-Prelate publications. 
the reader to Selden’s ‘Table Talk’! not found them in the 
irable ideas on “Bishops.” That! our national literature. 
“genius, who was no friend to the probably rejected 
I temporal power, acknowledges the answerers have 
: ty of this order inn great govern- 
@ preservers of our literature and our 
sht to be, and many have been. 
cal reformers ejected the bishops 
what did they gain? a more 
‘race, but even more lordly | Selden |i, the great chain of our National Literature and 
ps being pat out of the house, | Histary. 
+t We know them by the name of Puritans, a || 


1 
ifirt 


guinet Martin Marre-Prelate,"’ melts their attri- 
‘butes into one verse — 
“ The sacred sect, and perfect pure previse.’" 
ap dlterstare in that by Andrew | A more laughing satirist, “Pasquill of England to 
in 1595. It consists of | Martin Junior,” persists in calling them Pruritans, 
les, Medicine, Se.; but the a pruritu? for their perpetual itching, ora desire to 





Eeanoceris) |however, in a post of the 








| 

} 
evident change in the ‘feeling respecting 

| i cpalamaiicoen lad pe eran i Of this faction, the chief was 





‘Their countrie’s foes they helpt, and most 





‘He could not venture to land the good men of| deprive the bishops of more than 4 
that party, without employing a new term to con-|The affected nicetics of these Pax 
coal the odium. In noticing, under the date of | membering our images, and 
1563, that the bishops urged the clergy of their | paintings, disturbed the wnifor 
dioceses to press uniformity, &c. he adds, * Such | service. A clergyman in « sur 
as refused were branded with the name of Pari-| out of the church. Some wore 
tana; a name which in this nation began in this | round, some abborred all caps. 
year, subject to several senses, and various in the| table placed in the Eust, was | 
acceptions. Puritan was taken for the opposers| jdolatrous altar, and was now 
See at Gaara ake ee to al 
superstition. But the nick-name was qi tempt, it was always made 
improved by profane mouths to abuse piovs| church. They used to kneel at the 
persons. We will decline the word to prevent| now they would sit, because 
exceptions, which, if casually slipping from our] attitude for a supper ; then | 

pen, the reader knoweth that only non-conformists | stand ; at length they t 

are intended.” Hib. ix. p. 76. Fuller, however, because the bread was wafers, 
divides them into two classes, “the mild and| Among their preciseneas 
moderate, and the fierce and fiery.” Hever, in| the water was to be 
his history of the Presbyterians, blackens them as| from a fount; then they 
0 many political devilk; and Neaxu, in his) children; or if they did, 
history of the Puritans, blanches them into 4! Grecian, nor Roman, 
|| sweet and almond whiteness, Hebrew ones, which they 




















| the decent surplice as well as the splendid scarlet | sin, ac.” 
chimere® thrown over the white linen rochet with! Who could have | 
quarrelling about 
* So Heylin writes the word: but in the |of bishops, should at les 
“ Rythmes sgainst Martin," a contemporary pro-| selves; and, by am 
duction, the term is Chiver. It is notin Cotgrave. | bishops to kings, iy 



















it, the Queen's Pro-| But Cartwright chilled by an imprisonment, and 
‘Cortwright, in some lectures, | witnessing some of hia party condemned, and some | 
nes ; and these innovations |executed ; after having long sustained the most | 
‘4 formidable party, “ buzzing their | elevated and rigid tone, suddenly let his alp of ico 
e heads of the University.” 
r ched at Cartwright, but to | still bolder, in a joint production with Travers. 
se; for, when Cartwright preached at | He insists that “the Monarchs of the World 
were forced to take down the should give up their sceptres and crowns unto him 
or, our sly polemic, taking advan- | (Jesus Christ), who is represented by the Officers 
absence of Whitgift, #0 powerfully | of the Church.” See ** A full and plain declaration 
hi ms on one Sunday, that in | of Ecclesiastical Discipline,” p. 185. One would 
his viotory declared itself, by the stu- | imagine he was a disguised Jesuit, and an advocate 
nity College rejecting their surplices, | for the Pope’s supremacy. But observe how these 
would govern the State. 


Church must be framed according to the Common- 
wealth, and the Church Government according to 
the Civil Government ; which is as much as to 
say, as if a man should fashion his house accord 
ing to his hangings ; whereas indeed, it is clean 
contrary. That as the hangings are made fit for 
‘the house, #0 the Commonwealth must be made 
to agree with the Charch, and the government 
thereof with her government; for, as the house is 
before the hangings, therefore the hangings, which 
,"" | come after, must be framed to the house, which 
“(as limbs of Antichrist." |was before; 20 the Church being before there 
y was to be exterminated for a| was a commonwealth, snd the commonwealth 
of Presbyters 5 till, throngh the church, | coming after, must be fashioned, and mude suit~ 
able to the Church ; otherwise, God is made to 
give place to men, heaven to earth.""—Cant- 
ateots waicnT’s Defence of the Admonition, p. 181. 
my conception ‘Warburtoo’s “ Alliance between Church and 
The reader is enabled to judge for " which was in his time considered as 6 
y the note *. hardy paradox, it mawkish in its pretensions, 
= compared with this sacerdotal republic. It ie 
remarkable extract from the Writings not wonderful that the wisest of our Sovereigns, 
It will prove two points. Firat, | that great politician Elizabeth, should have 
of those men became a cover for | punished with death these democrats ; but it is 
4 which was fo raise the ecolesi- | wonderful to discover, that these inveterate ene- 
civil power. Just the reverse of | mies to the Church of Rome were only trying to 
transfer its absolute power into their own hands ! 
‘They wanted to turn the Church into ademocracy. 
‘They fascinated the people, by telling them, that 
: | there would be no beggars, were there no bishops; 
that every man would be « governor, by setting up 
a Presbytery, From the Church, I repeat, it ix 
scarcely a single step to the cabinet, Yet the 
carly Puritans come down to us as persecuted 
asints. Doubtless, there were « few honest saints 
among them ; but they were as mad politicians as 
their race afterwards proved to be, to whom they 
left so many fatal legacies, Cartwright uses the 
‘very language a certain cast of political reformers 
have recently done. He declares, ** An establiah= 
ment may be made without the magistrate 











He ** Where his father is 5 eho kad Sate 
the law, by Cag demic | Why has he been tongne~ 
I tied these four or five months? Good Nuncles | 
See Commatspel fears have you closely murthered the || 
of bishops was still making) gentleman in some of your prisons? Have || 
money by land-jobbing *.| you choaked him with » fat prebend or two? 1 
S ote of this attempted | I trow my father will swallow down no such 
me, continued stream of libels| pills, for he would thus soon purge away all | 
nation, under the por-|the conscience he hath. Do you mean to 
M ‘This extra-| have the keeping of him? What need that? he 
‘his colleetive form, for he | bath five hundred sons inthe land. My fatber 
more than one, long terrified | would be sorry to put you to any such cost as you 
@ He walked about the kingdom | intend tobe at with him, A meaner house, and 
leas strength than the Tower, the Fleet, or New- | 
gate, would serve him well enough. He is not of 
rindenpetibirrdsepimctital atten the |} 
bishops are, in ‘more costly then 
he hints to his pursuers ‘ever his father built for him."* 
for he | ts, “within two farlongs of a] ‘This same ** Martin Junior,” who, though be is 
‘ " or “in Europe; while he| bat young, as he says, * has # pretty amatteriog 
iends who were no often uneasy for) gift in this pistle-making; and I fear, in a while, || 
I shall take « pride in it.” He had picked up |} 
beside 2 bush, where it had dropped from some- 
be Uncle eitsenl eat spe anc i 
“Theses Martiniane—set forth a¢ an after- || 
birth of the noble gentleman himeelfe, by a pretty || 
stripling of his, Martin Junior, and dedicated by 
him to his good nuncka, Maister Joho Canker 
bury (i.e Canterbury). Printed without m sly 
priviledge of the Cater Caps’’—(i. e. the square 
‘oaps the bishops wore). 

But another of these five hundred sons, who 
declares himself to be his “reverend and elder 
brother, heir to the renowned Martin Afar-Pre- 
late the Great,” publishes 

“The just Censure and Reproof of Martin 
Junior ; where, lest the Springall should be utterly 
discouraged in his good meaning, you shall finde 
that he is not bereaved of his due commenda- 

rs with the money, as well as] tion." 
» who by bribery, simony,) Martin Senior, after finding fault with Martin 
ing of rents, wasthig of woods, and |/wnior for “ bis rath and indisereet headiness," 
.wax rich, and purchasod great | notwithstanding, agrees with everything he bad 
posterity 2°” maid. He confirms all, and cheers him; but 


® charges bins, 
Jway, no, nor once, at Master] “Should he meet their father in the street, 
AL hinder him not; I envy | never to ask his blessing, but walke smoothly and 
inch I must tell hie, that | eireumspectly; and if anle offer to talk with thee 
‘man that hath more tandes | of Martin, talke thou straite of the voyage into 
than any bishop that 1| Portugal, or of the happie death of the Duke of 
2S plies owesthapembry pagers) 
ave pet ae I be arte i rn ‘Only, if than have gathered || 












FEE. 


dealt| Rub? rub! rubs the diuel goe 
5 and that some! he gocth himself with it; so tha 
some more tild and tem-| be names himself the Bishop of i 
they may be both of the spirit of| his tirannical practise prooreth | . 
2 the one the great mocker,| He tells, too, of a parson well know 2 
the more solemn reprover. It must be] jn the pulpit, and ‘* hearing | 
confessed, Cartwright here discovers a deep know-| with this text: ‘Why, how now, ho 
Jedge of human nature. He knew the power of| not let my dog alone there? © 
ridicule and of invective. Ata later day, awriter| come, Springe!’ and whistled th 
‘of the same stamp, in '* The Second Wash, or the| pulpit." One of their chief ol 
||| Moore scoured once more,"” (written against Dr.| Cooper, Bishop of Lincoln, = labo 
Henry More, the Platonist,) in defence of that} but married to a dissolute wo 
vocabulary of names which he has poured on| versity of Oxford offered to 


THEE 
i 


fl 


Elies and 
‘the other 


‘This rule and justice of his Master, St, Paul hath | that he could not be pi 
well observed, and he acts freely thereby ; for] besides many eruel hits at 
‘whon he reproves the Cretians, he makes use of | was now always ‘maki 
‘that iguominious proverb, Avif Leaste ond slow | flye off, and the bishop's tabs 
‘Uellies. When the high-priest commanded the |‘ The Protestatyon of Mar 
Jews to smite bim on the face, he replied to him, | he tells of two bishops 
‘not without some bitterness, God shall smite ther, | throwing down elmes, 
thou white wail. 1 cite not these places to justify | whether of them should 
an injurious spleen, but to argue the liberty of the | their bishopricks. Yet I 
truth.'"—The Second Wash, or the Moore scoured | much as Cooper for this fact, 
‘once more. 1661. P. 8. given him by bis wc 

+ One of their works is “A Dinlogue, wherein | allowed him by the sec 

iw laid open the tyrannical dealing of L. Bishopps} mar the church. A mi 
agsinst God's children.” It ix full of scurrilous} occupation, so wel se 
stories, probably brought together by two active} easily knowe that ta 
cobblers who were so useful to their junto. Yet) needs leak out; 3 
‘the bishops of that day were not of dissolute) marvel, for he 
manners; and the accusstions are such, that it} deceiver in the buil 
‘only proves their willingness to raise charges! stick for his game to 











c cobblers who were con- 
' © party, often enlivened the satirical 


in this country have been concluded 
general sentiments of the people 
and thus our factions always will 


sbarpe."’ He then gives his younger 

a ‘of what he is hereafter to do. 
the satire of Mar. Martin to Dr. 
of Sarum, and John Whitgift, arch- 


grave men, but who affeeted to gain over 
populace with a popular familiarity®. In. 


my course misliked of many, both the good and 
the bad ; though also J have fayvourers of 
sortes. The bishops and their traine, 


and then itwas, after the trial had been made, that 
Martin Junior and Senior attempted to revive 
the spirit of,the old gentleman ; but, if sedition 
jhns its progress, it has also its decline; and if it 
could not strike its blow when strongest, it only 
puled and made grimaces, prognostics of weakness 
and dissolation. This is adtnirably touched in 
“« Pappe with an Hatchet."" “Now Old Martin 
appeared, with a wit worn into the socket, twing- 
ling and pinking Hke the snuffe of a candice; 
quantum mutatus ab ilo, how unlike the knave 
ho was before, not for malice, but for sharpuesse! 
The hogshead was even come to the hauncing, 
and nothing could be drawne from him but dregs 5 
yet the emptie caske sounds lowder than when it 
was full, and protests more in his waining than he 
could performe in his waxing. 1 drew neere the 
illic soul, whom I found quivering in two sheets 
of protestation paper (alluding to the work men- 
tioned here in the following note) © how 
meager and leans he looked, so crest falne that 





— 








a 


iH 


reEiihe 


sy 
ibbter 


d to the Queen before the trial, is | catch Udall by surprise, suddenly said, 
c tion t his protestation, | ask you a question conceming 0 
pathetic prayer! Neale has | wary Udall replied, | 


‘Queen, under the title of Ma-| only repelled him 
+ standing is, and has been, by the | his lordship would 
little beholden to you, for anything | divinity, Udall 
ay . The practice of your government | showing he had 
ms, that if you could hare ruled without the 
el, it would bave been doubtful whether the 
he established or not ; for now that 


Hite 


mous book for which Udall was prosecuted, with 
great ingenuity he observed, that this was rather 
ly cast, is the touching language, | 8" argument that he was not the author, for 
of life, but not the fireaness of his | ** scholars use not to put their own books in the 
hima. “1 look not to live this | éatalogue of those they bave in their study.” We 
‘never took myself for a rebuker, | Obecrve with astonishment the tyrannical decrees 
‘a reformer of states and kingdoms. of our courts of justice, which lasted till the happy | 
thing im this cause for contention, | Revolution. The bench was as depraved in their || 
i notions of the rights of the subject in the rvign of 
Elizabeth, as in thoue of Charles 11. and James II, || 
The Court refused to bear Udall’s witnesses, on 
this strange principle, that “ witnesses in favour 

the queen |’? 











308 


QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 











die for ‘that Old Cause in which I was from my 
youth engaged.” Udall perpetually insisted on 
“ The Cause.” This was a term which served at 
least for a watch-word: it rallied the scattered 
members of the republican party. The precision 
of the expression might have been difficult to 
ascertain ; and, perhaps, like every popular expe- 
dient, varied with ‘‘ existing circumstances.” I 
did not, however, know it had so remote an origin 
as in the reign of Elizabeth ; and suspect it may 
atill be freshened up, and varnished over, for any 
present occasion. 

The last stroke for Udall’s character is the his- 
tory of his condemnation. He suffered the cruel 
mockery of a pardon granted conditionally, by the 
intercession of the Scottish monarch, but never 
signed by the Queen—and Udall mouldered away 
the remnant of his days in a rigid imprisonment”. 





© Observe what different conclusions are drawn. 
from the same fact by opposite writers. Heylin, 
arguing that Udall had been justly condemned, 
adds, “the man remained a living monument of 





Cartwright and Travers, the chief movers of this 
faction, retreated with haste and ceution from the 
victims they had conducted to the place of execu- 
tion, while they themselves sunk into a quiet for- 
getfulness and selfish repose. 





the archbishop’s extraordinary goodness to him 
in the preserving of that life which by the law he 
had forfeited.” But Neale, on the same point, 
considers him as one who “died for bis conscience, 
and stands upon record as @ monument of the 
oppression and cruelty of the government.” All 
this opposition of feeling is of the nature of party. 
spirit: bat what is more curious in the history of 
human nature, is the change of opinion in the same 
family, in the course of the same generation. The 
son of this Udall was as great a zealot for Confor- 
mity, and as great a sufferer for it from his father’s 
party, when they possessed political power. This 
son would not submit to their oaths and covenants, 
but, with his bedridden wife, was left unmerci- 
fully to perish in the open streets.—WaLxen’s 
Sufferings of the Clergy, part ii, p. 178, 














SUPPLEMENT 


MARTIN MAR-PRELATE. 


RYTHMES 


turbatur ab omni, 
Redigionis honor. 

scx Reason, Martin, cannot stay thy pen, 
‘We il sce what rime will do; have ak thee thea ! 


Labites et passin 


h not, that Apes, men Afartins call,t 
beast, this baggage seemes as "t were 
himself : 


d, “A Whip for an Ape, or Mar- 
have also scen the poem with 


rs here, an Ape. 





sification is impressive, and the satire 
dignified and keen. 
‘The taste of the mere modern reader 


by italics 
to which I desire tho reader's attention, and 
added « few notes toclear Up some passages: 
might appear obscure. 


As all mouthes saie of Dolts he beares the bell. 
Sometimes his chappes do walke in poynts too 


bigh, 
‘Wherein the Ape himself a Woodcock tries. 
Sometimes with floutes be drawes his mouth awric, 
And sweares by his ten bones, and falselie lies. 
Wherefore be what he will I do not passes 
He is the paltriest Ape that cucr was. 
Such fleeribg, leering, jeering fooles bopeepe, 
Such hahas ! teehees ! weehees | wild colts play; 
Such Sohoes! whoopes and hallowes; hold and 


keepe i 
Such rangings, ragings, reuelings, roysters ray ; 
With so foule mouth, and knaue at every catch, 
‘Tis some knaue’s post did surely Martin hatch. 























‘show that Bentley had neither | strong provocative for his vindictive temper. 
‘materials proper for the work. This| Nor was the other great adversary of Middleton, 
great paper-war, and again our rabid | he who so long affected to be the lord paramount, 

‘ on the meow, = ‘paragraph by | the Suzerain im the feudal empire, rather than tho 


“the paragraph by paragraph,'' and | of this kind, Dr. Taylor, ‘the Chancellor of | 


the Greck Testament by Bentley prusbarnicaphfhiaprrsennt art sete os =} 


| to two thousand pounds, and it| bis legion as spies in the camp of an enemy, and 
his nephew bad been employed who sought their tyrant’s grace by their violation 
| abroad to collect these MSS, He 
| make use of no MS. that was not 
; ‘or above, of which sort he 

twenty, 80 thet they made up a total 


poignantly 
that ‘he did not recollect ever saying that Dr. 
‘Warburton was no scholar, but that indeed he bad | 
always thought s0.”” ‘To this intrepid spirit the | 
world awes one of the remarkable prefaces to the 
Divine Legation —in which tho Chancellor of 
His twenty old MSS. shrink | Lincoln, intrepid as be was, etands like a man of 
|heis forced again to own that | straw, to be baffeted and tossed about with all 
7 there are only four which had | those arts of distortion which the wit and virulence 
(2S 2 tht epaecrmer rated of Warburton almost every day was practising at 
ing, At last reduces to“ some| his ‘established places of execution,’ as his 
‘New Testament in MS,” So that | prefaces and notes have been wittily termed. 
Even Warburton himself, who committed so 
many personal injuries, has, in his turn, most 
eminently suffered from the same motive. The 
personal animosity of a most ingenious men was 
the real cause of the utter destruction of Warber- 


by hel dnt probaly with we ew they 








‘that Pope said be} A fierce controversial author may become a 
‘understood Rowe | dangerous neighbour to another author: a petu- |) 
Johnson throws | lant fellow, who does not write, may be pestilent 


Dean Pierce renewed his attack with a folio 
pejemer em epee eigen 


replies and rejoinders. It cost him many tedious 


“the King’s Sovereign Right’’ all the way; 

preserving hii i aver the words of a witness, “in unscasonable 

In PF Vike ach Ssary rosotlens ‘times and weather, that by degrees his spirite 

ee le were exhausted, bis memory quite gone, and he 

was totally unfitted for business*.’* Such was 

Bathe s0 th wetiecasoang the fatal disturbance occasioned by Dean Pierce's 

sct, hare induced him to prectise | folio of ‘the King’s Sovereign Right," and his 

end subterfuges. One remarkable | son Bob being left without « prebcud | 

I shall close this article with a very ludicrous 

oT fakes instance of a literary quarrel from personal mo- 

of George Steevens, tives. This piece of secret history had been 

| edition of Johnson, with inge- | certainly lost, had sot Bishop Lowth condescended 

to suppress the acknow-|to preserve it, considering it as necessary to 

shy Jckmon to’ Stevens, of his|sasiga = wuficient ‘reason’ for the ‘extraordinary 
ty, at the close of his preface libel it produced. 

, To preserve the panegyric of} Bohan, an antiquarian lawyer, in a work entitled 

“Hawkins beyond endurance ; |" The English Lawyer,” in 1732, in illustesting 

ety. iis character as an| the origin of the Act of Scendalnm Megnatum, 

it. In this dilemma, he pre- | which arose in the time of William of Wykeham, 

(Gua pitied rete tha: dalton the chancellor and bishop of Edward 111. smd the 

# it appeared before Johnson's | founder of New College, in Oxford, took that 

Steevens, could not contain | opportunity of committing the very erie on the 

‘However, this was unluckily | venerable manes of Wykeham himself. He hus 

only: esas de eed al Casein pram Lew etches aes 

P ‘On exsmination, it) Wykeham ix charged with having introduced 

did not reprint fron: |“ Alice Piers, his niece or,"’ &. for the truth ks, 


the Iatest, for all the 
b * Lansdown MSS. 1012-1316, 








A 
Apprson, 161, 257, 258, 259, 314, 315 
and Pupe, 196-199 
|| Smilius Scaurus, 232 
Afkcenside, 161, 169, 178, 173, 174 
Allin, Dr., 191, 245 
Aldrich, Dean, 230, 233, 234 
| Aleyne, 306 
Alfarache, Guzman de, 219 
Allen, Ralph, 160, 171, 314 
|, Alsop, Dr., 231, 238 
 Anstis, #92, 295 
|, Arbuthnot, 179, 181, 184, 191 
Aristophanes, 172, 173, 212 
i Aristotle, 156, 908, 209, 213, 318, 219 





|; Asebam, 971° 
| Atterbury, 181, 164, 233, $55, 258, 970, 271 
|| Aubrey, 296, 268, 270, 273, 274, 277, 284, 285 
Ayre, William, 193, 198 
B 


Bacom, Lord, 183, 208, 219, 954, 264, 281 
—— Nathaniel, 316 


| Raker, Henry, (3ficroscope) 294 
Thomas, (Reflections on Learning) 209, 308 


Baxter, Richard, 266, 274, 281 
}| Bayle, 183, 154, 163, 197, 218, 268, 267, 270 
Bentley, Dr., 162, 169, 313, 314 

——— 804 Boyle, 250, 237 

—— Thomas, 162 


| Birch, Dr., 153, 165, 169, 174 
Birkenbead, Bir 





INDEX 


To 


PERSONS TREATED OF, OR ALLUDED TO, IN QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 


Brooke and Camden, 989-295 
Brown (founder of the Brownists), 305 

—— Dr. John, (Characteristics) 186, 177, 198 
Browne, Sir William, 296 

Brucker, 209 

Buckingham, Duke of, 164, 206, $39 

Budgell, Eustace, 316 

Burgundy, Bastard of, 287 

Burleigh, Cecil, Earl of, 305 

Burlington, Earl of, 205 

Burnet, Bp. 239, 243, 255, 257, 264, 514 

Bute, Earl of, 223 

Butler, (Hudibras) 163, 980, 260, 278 

Byron, Lord, 245 


c 


Cxsarrnus, 218 

Calvin, 268, 297 

‘Camden and Brooke, 229—295 
Camden, 283, 284 
Campanella, 216, 217, 219 
Camptell, Dr. John, 275, 279 
Cardan, 


+ 209 
Caroline, Queen, 180 
Cartwright, Thomas, 298, 301, 305 
Cartwright, William, 181 
Caryl, (Job) 238 
Casaubon, Meric, 216 
Charles II., 211, 215, 217, 219, 298, 299, 247, 264, 265, 263, 


Chesterfield, Lord, 202, 978 
Chillingworth, 162 
Churchill, the Satirist, 168, 160, 161, 163, 177 
Cibber, Colley, 182, 183, 204, 206 
‘Theophilus, 176 
—— and Pope, 191—195 
Clarendon, Lord, 154, 157, 247, 251, 258, 960, 962, 964, 265, 


Cliffe, the Cobbler, 306 
Colbatch, Dr., 312 

Cole, W. of Milton, 169, 178 
Collins, 266 

‘Concanen, 161 

‘Congreve, 163, 198 

Cooke, (Hesiod, &o.) 181, 184 
Cooper, John Gilbert, 176 


Corbet, Bp., 234 
Cosins, Bp., of Durham, 267 







































































































318 INDEX TO THE QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 
Cotgrave, 309 
Cowley, 178, 817, 245, 246, 247, 275 ai 
Crofts, William, 247 Gaxizx0, 981 
Cromwell, 217, 240, 241, 249, 243, 255, 264, 965, 972,281 | Garrick, 203 
——— H. a3, 196, 187, 183 Garth, 234, 937, 957 
R. 217, 265 Gassonii, 267,275, 981 
‘Cross, Vicar of Great Chew, 212, 213 Gay, 199, 204, 205 
‘Crouanz, 167,168 Gibbon, 162, 166, 221 
‘Cumberland, Mr. Vid Gifford, Mr., 285 
Curl, Edmund, 181—198 Gilehrist, Mr. 285 
— ‘and Pope, 196—189 Gildon, 197 
D. Gillies, Dr. 209 
‘ Glanville, ( Witches), 210, 219, 213, $14, 916, 216, 219 
D'Avewanr and a Club of Wits, 244, 49 Glover, 202, 203 
Davies, Thomas, 184, 268 Godolphin, Francis, 272; 
Decker and Janson, 283-290 Gordon, Tacitus), 180, 181, 968 
De Foe, Daniel, 145, 258 Gracchus, 214 
Delawar, Lord, 188 Grevius, 232 
Denham Jom, 183, 245, 247, 249 Granger, 245 
Denmark, King of, 284 Grenville, Dr., 268, 287 
Dennis, the Critic, 182, 183, 197, 204, 208, 206 Grey, Dr. Z. 168, 176 
Derby, Earl of, 4 Gronovius, 176 
Descartes, 281 ES 
Devonshire, Earl of, 270, 272 * 
‘Countess of, 272 ‘Hacxsr, William, 305 
‘DEwes, Sir Simon, 300 Halifax, Marquis of, 256 
Dodd (Church Mistory), 296 Hampton, Bess, 230 
Doddridge, Dr., 160 Hanmer, Sir Thomas, 160, 168, 169, 1, 178 
Dodwell, Henry, 234 Hardouin, Father, 168, 165 
Donne, Dr. 247 Harrington, (Oceana) 268, 269 
Dorislans, Dr., 270 Harrison, Colonel, 157 
Douce, Mr., 290 Harvey, Gabriel, 208 
Downe, Lard, 196 Richard, 208 
Drummond of Hawthornden, 283, 315 (Circulation of the Blood), 218 
Dryden, 160, 194, 207, 246, 286, 257, 285, 312, 314 Hawikins, Sir John, 200, 315 
Ducket, Colonel, 182 Hayley, 245 
Dugdale, $93 Haywood, Mrs. 185 
Dunton, John, 257, 258 Headley, 245 
Duppa, M. R., 203 Heathcote, Dr., 177 
Dutens, M., 219 Helvetius, 207 272, 973 
‘Dyson, Jeremiah, 169, 173 Henderson, Master, 953 
Henley, Orator, 176, 299, 997 ‘ 
bo Henry VILL, 219, 268 
Eacnan, 168, 963, 968, 271 Hervey, Lord, 180 
Earnley Sir Michael, 251 Heylin, £98, 306 
Edward IIL, 315, 316 Hickcringill, 261 
the Black Prince, 315 HL Aan m6 ey 
is (Canons Of Criticiem), 153, 161, 164, 170, 171, (on. Lady, 293, 
many ala ane ” meee ed Sir John, with the Royal Boolety, Flading. tart, | 
Egmont, Lord, 98 t&o,, 229, 209 
Elizabeth, Queen, 219, 296, 297, 299, 900, 307, 308 Hoare, Sir Richard, 188 . 
Erastus, 164 Hobbes, 164, 211 212, 216, 244, 245, 247, 948, 949, 209 f 
Estcourt, 26 and his quarrels, 261-276 x 
Etherege, 239 and Dr. Wallis, 27-282 yi 
Evans, Rice, or Arise! 159 Hogarth, 973 qi 
Evelyn, 210, 211 Hollis, Thomas, 978 | 
Homer, Dr., 157 | 
r Hooke, Nathanael, 260 | 
Famrax, Lord, 251 Hooker, 162 
Faithorne, the Engraver, 273 ‘Horace, 234 
Farquhar, the Comic Writer, 905 Howard, Hon. Edward, 49 
Fell, Dr. 215 Howell, 247 
‘Bp., 209, 270 ‘Hume, 174, 191, 973, 975 | 
Fenton, Clarrics), 998 Hurd, Bp., 154, 157, 189, 168, 167, 160, 170, 174, 178, 17% 
Ficld, John, 305 245, 247 
Fielding, Henry, 224, 225, 296 Hyde, the Orientalist, 174 | 
Filmer, Sir Robert, 254, 269 Pi 
Flecknoe, 304 2 
Flying Post, Writer of, 957, 258 Janes IL, 207, 240 
Prancis, 8t.219 I. of Scotland, 284 i 
Freind, Dr. John, 232, 233 —— VL ———_ 8 
Dr. Robert, 255 Jacob, the Law-writer, 908 F 
Folkes, Martin, 293, 224 —§ (Lives of the Poste), 163, 193, 905 
Formey, 209 ‘Jeffries, Judge, 306, 907 
Frontinus, 190 Jersey, Lord, 257 
Puller, ( Worthies), 253 —, Earl of, 187 
—— Dr. (Church History), 298, 905 Jervis, the Painter, 168 














INDEX TO THE QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 





Johnson, Dr., 153, 154, 167, 170, 181, 183, 186, 187, 189, 191, | Newman, the Cobler, 306 
192, 195, 198, 199, $01, 202, 255, 285, 314, 315 Newton, Bp., 245, 313 
, Joly, 267. 271 Bir Teanc, 225, 254 
Janes, Inigo, 285 Nichols, Mr. 165, 164, 177, 182, 204, 206, 221 
| Jonson, Ben, 169, 18, 315 
—— and Decker, 283-290 
Jortin, Dr., 159, 165, 167 
K. 
Karens, Lord, 172, 174 
Kell, Professor, 235 ° 
Kennett, Bp. 255, 256 
King, Dr., the Civilian, 204, 206 
 Kippis, Dr., 196, 280, 921, 294, 233, 234, 235 
Knight, Dr. Gawin, 161 
Knox, 245 
the Reformer, 296 


Oxprinty, Mrs. 198 
Oldisworth, 264 
Oldys, 213, 264 
Oliver, Dr., 174 
Orange, Prince of, 257 
Orford, Ear! of, 257 
. Orrery, Lord, 233 
Oxford, Earl of, 189 
Lawanax, 311 Oxfort Eea 


P. 
Pannen and Marvell, 238—243 


Patin, Guy, 261 

Leicester, Earl of, 300 Paul, Sir George, 298, 300, 301, 302 

Leland, Anti 1, 292, 294 Peard, George, 252 
 Letand. Dr. (Demosthenes) 158, 167,174 Pembroke, Philip, Earl of, 284 

L'Estrange, Sir Roger, 250, 261 Penry, Jobn, 305, 306, 07 
Lewis, Pope’s Bookseller, 180, 205 Percy, Bp., 258 

Leyden, Jack, 310 Peters, Rev. Mr. 174 

Lintot, Bernard, 189, 197 Philips, Amieeiiee 182, 190, 197 

jobn, 
anon Authors, 204, 206 rmaneh ae 

 Loggan, the Engraver, 273 Pies: Altes: 31S 

Lowth, re, 
A =a a 186, 157, 158, 159, 162, 165, 173, 174, 175, 195, Srivtogtan Sis. ie 

Lather, 268 Pocklington, Dr. 271 
Pope, 157, 160, 161, 165, 167, 168, 171, 172, 175, 177, 204, 

tad 207, 29, 295, 231, $33, 254, 257, 259, 262, S14, 318 
Macmiavat, 180, 265, 276 — and his Miscellaneous Quarrels, 179—185 
: and Curll, 188—189 

and Cibber, 190—195 
and Addison, 196—199 
Mallet, and Bolingbroke, 200—204 





», 72 
‘Mariborough, Duke of, Life of, 209, 203, 254 
——— Barah, Duchess of, 202, 203 


Raseiats, Francis, 156 
Raleigh, Sir W. 284, 285, 300 
Jun., 234 
Ralph, the Politioal Writer, 160 
Rambouillet, Madame, 186 
‘Middleton, Dr. Conyers, 168, 169, 260, 312, 313 Randolph, Thomas, $38 
‘Milton, 153, 160, 161, 163, 214, 238, 941, 242, 243, 244, 954, | Ranelagh, Lord, 223 
pss, 8 Ray, the Naturalist, 220 
Montague, Lady Mary Wortley, 162, 186 Reed, Isaac, 909, 236 
=, Dake ot am Rembrandt, %73 


‘Montaigne, 256 Richardson, Jonathan, Jun., 171, 163 
‘Montrose, Duke of, 202 


‘Moore, A. 203 

| More, Dr. Henry, 303 
‘Morhoff, 915 
‘Malensses, King of Tunis, 240 





eave, 298, 30, 307, 308 
‘Needham, Marchmont, 250, 253 
lewbery, 

















320 





Rousseau, 207 
Ruffhead, oes 165, 178, 185, 197, 201 


Rupert, Prince, 
Rymer, 233, Pree 


8. 
Savaox, 177, 181 163,"104, 185 


Senleppian 176 

Boott, Walter, 153, 245 
Sedgwick, John and Obadiah, 258 
Belden, 164, 178, 266, 974, 297 
Bervetus, 218 

Settle, Elkanah, 906, 207, 285 
Sewell, 205 

Shadwell, 207 

Shaftesbury, Fan of, 254, 261, 968 
——— —— Lord (Characteristics), 172, 194, 273 
Shakespeare, 247, 948 

Shenstone, 302 

Sherburn, Sir Fdward, 233 
Sheridan, Dr.,197 

Sherlock, Bp., 313 

Shippen, 256 

Sidney, Algernon, 206, 907 
Sloane, Str Hans, 219, 229, 297 
Smart, Christopher, 224, 296, 297, 228 
‘Smith, Edmund, 206 

Smyth, James Moore, 164 
Socrates, 172, 173, 211 


Spenser, 208 

Spinosa, 172, 174, 266 

‘Sprat, Bp., 209, 211, 214, 217, 219, 255 

Stati, Madame de, 963, 267 

Btebbing, Dr., 163, 174 

Steele, Sir Richard, 197, 198, 199, 257, 256, 289 
Btesvens, George, 315 

Sterne, 273 


Stubbs De Henry, ‘an 212, 913, 214, 215, 216, £91, 223, 268, 


fucking, 248 
“Sunderland, Countess of, 160 
Butcliffe, Dr 301, 305 
Button, Bir Robert, 160 
Swift, Dean, 162, 180, 181, 164, 198, 909, 933, 238, 257, 268, 
272, 314, 315 
Sykes, Dr., 175 
Symmons, Dr. 255 
Tr 


Tasso, 244 
Taylor, (Demosthenes), 313 
Henry, 159, 174, 178 
Jeremy, 162 
Dr. John, 174, 175 
Temple, Sir William, 211, 218, 290, 231, 233, 235 
Tenison, 82 
‘Theobald, 161, 168, 169, 188, 184, 191, 204, 208, 206 


‘Thomson, 2:2 
Thi 1» Job, 303, 305 
‘Tickell, 197, 199 











INDEX TO THE QUARRELS OF AUTHORS, 


Tillard, 174, 175 
Tindal, 268 

Toland, 904, 206 
Tonson, Bookseller, 206 
Tovey, (Angl. Jud.) 957 





Towne, Mr., 17 
Trapp, 233 
Travers, 299 
Trenchard, 266 
Turner, Dr., of Cambridge, 239 
Tyors, Jonathan, 180, 108 
Tyrwhite, 168 
uv. 
Unats, John, 303, 306, 307, 308 
» his eun, 308 
Urquhart, 136 
Urray, Col., alias Hurrey, 251 
v. 


Varenros Maxrevs, 232 
Vane, Sir Henry, 214 

Varius Sucronensis, 232 
Vernatti, Sir Philliberto, $11 
Vertot, 260 

‘Virgil, 165, 166 

Voltaire, 180, 176, 254 
Votture, 196 


w. 


Waosrtavy, Dr. 257, 258 
‘Wakefield, Gilbert, 260 

Walker, (Suferings of Clergy), 908 
‘Waller, Sir William, 261 





‘and Hobbes, 277—282 
‘Walpole, Sir Robert, 313 
Walsingham, Sir Francis, 300 
Walton, Isaac, 264 
Warburton and his Quarrels, 183—178 
177, 185, 195, 197, 200, 201, 208, $15, 20620, 
2), 266, 274, 299, 315 
‘Ward, Bp. Seth, 270, 978, 281, 315 
‘Warner (Albion's England), 298 
Warton, Dr., 161, 171, 178, 'B 180, 168, 191, 197, 190, 299 











Webster, Dr. W., 175 
Welsted, Leonard, 182, 184 
‘Whiston, Bookeeller, 228 
White, a Catholic Priest, 274 


303 





William IIL., 256 

William of Wykeham, 315, 316 

Wilmot, Lord, 251 

‘Withers, George, 245 

Wolfius, 268 

‘Wood, Anthony, 214, 915, 238, 299, 240, 245, 234, 262, 260, 
971, 74 

Woodward, the Harlequin, 227 

‘Woolston, 261 

Worsdale, Painter, 189 

Wotton, Dr. W., 211, 218, 220, 230, 234, 235, 236 

Wotton, 164 

Wycherley, 186 





Y. 
Youna, 161, 181, 103, 908 


END OF THE QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 




















AN INQUIRY 


INTO THE 








| LITERARY AND POLITICAL CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST; | 


! INCLUDING A SKETCH OF HIS AGE. 



































“The whole reign of James I. has been represented by a late celebrated pen (Burnet) to have been 
a continued course of mean practices; and others, who have professedly given an account of it, have 
filled their works with libel and invective, instead of history. Both King James and bis ministers 
have met with a treatment from posterity highly unworthy of them, and those who have so liberally | 
bestowed their censures were entirely ignorant of the true springs and causes of the actions they have 





undertaken to represent.”"—Sawyer’s Preface to Winwood’s Memorials. 
“(Tl y auroit un excellent livre A faire sur les insustices, les ovsLis, et les CALOMNIES HIS- 
rogtaugs.”—Madame de Genlis. 














ADVERTISEMENT. 


Tre present inquiry originates in an affair of literary conscience. Many years ago I set off in the 
world with the popular notions of the character of James the First ; but in the course of study, and 
with a more enlarged comprehension of the age, I was frequently struck by the contrast of his real 

| with his apparent character; and I thought I had developed those hidden and involved causes which 
) have so long influenced modern writers in ridiculing and vilifying this monarch. 


| This historical trifle is therefore neither a hasty decision, nor a designed inquiry; the results 
. gradoally arose through successive periods of time, and were it worth the while, the history of my 
. thoughts, in my own publications might be arranged in a sort of chronological conviction*. 


It would be a cowardly silence to shrink from encountering all that popular prejudice and party 
feeling may oppose; this were incompatible with that constant search after truth which we may at 
least expect from the retired student. 


I had originally limited this Inquiry to the literary character of the monarch ; but there was a secret 

: connexion between that and his political conduct; and that again led me to examine the manners and 

| temper of the times, with the effects which a peace of more than twenty years operated on the nation. 

| I hope that the freshness of the materials, often drawn from contemporary writings which have never 

| been published, may in some respect gratify curiosity. Of the political character of James the | 

| First, opposite tempers will form opposite opinions ; the friends of peace and humanity will consider 
that the greatest happiness of the people is that of possessing a philosopher on the throne; let pro- 

' founder inquirers hereafter discover why those princes are suspected of being but weak men, who are 
the true fathers of their people; let them too inform us, whether we are to ascribe to James the 

' First, as well as to Marcus Antoninus, the disorders of their reign, or place them to the ingratitude 

and wantonness of mankind. 





* I have described the progress of my opinions in ‘‘ Curiosities of Literature,” p. 170, 11th Ed. 





U 
Ht 
i 
i 
! 
\ 
i 
f 
| 
| 
| 
\ 
| 








AN INQUIRY: 


| LITERARY AND POLITICAL CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST ; 


INCLUDING A SKETCH OF HIS AGE, 


to remove errors, which have escaped their soru- 
finy. The occasion of such errors may be com- 


many, and firm adherents among 
eerie asas hes 0 Boe 


eras fasicsce cP tle eppens Ja the 


|) charseter of James the First which lies buried under 
| a hieap of ridicule and obloquy ; yet James the First, 


‘siderable, even among thoxe who had their reasons 
| not to like him. The degradation which his lite- 
‘rary character has suffered, has been inflicted by 
‘more recent hands; and it may startle the last 
echoer of Pope's “ Pedantereign” to hear that 


that elegant testimony of his devotion to study 
expressed by the device on bis banner of aw open 
book, how much more ought we to be indulgent to 
the apart a 5 rene has written one 
still worthy of being 

pee acedopeten serge 
character of this monarch, and the qualities of his 
mind and temper from the ungracious and neg- 
lected manners of his personal one, And if we 
do not take a more familiar view of the events, 
the parties, and the genius of the times, the views 
and conduct of James the First will still remain 
imperfectly comprebended, In the reign ofa prince 
who was no military character, we must busy our~ 
selves at home ; the events he regulated may be 
numerous and even interesting, although not those 
which make so much noise and show in the popu- 
lar page of history, and escape us in its general 
views. The want of this sort of knowledge has 
proved to be one great source of the faleo judg- 


changes and the feelings through which our own 
has passed. ‘There is a chronology of human 
opinions which, not observing, am indiscreet 
philosopher may commit an abshventarn tha 


i-| reasoning. 


Ls he will receive no favour from his brothers, 
| i, & & whole race of ciphers in suc~ 


‘When the Stuarts became the objects of popular 
indignation, a peculiar race of libela was eagerly 
dragged into light, assuming the imposing form 
of history; many of these stete-libels did not 
even pass through the press, and may occasionally 


is of Arragon be still a name ‘and many proofs of his sagacity were still ively in 
| to us for Lis love of literature, and for | their recellvetions. 

















ail ‘HIS POLEMIOAL STUDIES. 327 


ry indefinite, and always «| task for bis msjesty's writings. 
im this view of the national Jan- 


prescient 
ames I, was 3 controversial age, of | guage, by the king, who contemplated in it those 
and contested principles; an | latent powers which had not yet burst into exist- 
ence. It is evident that the line of Pope is false 
which describes the as intending to role 


HIS POLEMICAL STUDIES, | 
‘Tus censure of the pedantry of James is also || 


were 
joally 


Beas 
eEF 


if 


BF 


i 


Litt 


I 


* Ihave more largely entered into the history || 








substitutes suggestion. 
of knowledge. In the present instance, it was an 
of the Puritans to try the king on his 


” 
from a thousand persons supposed to have signed 
it; the king would not refuse it; but so far from 
being ‘in haste to show his parts,’ that when 
he discovered their pretended grievanees were s0 
futile, “he complained that he had been troubled 
with such importunities, when some more private: 
course might have been taken for their sstisfac~ 
tion.” 


after the life. 

In the cvarse of this conference we obtain a 
familiar intercourse with the king ; we may admire 
the capacity of the monarch whose genius was 
versatile with the subjects ; sliding from theme to 
theme with the ease which only mature studios 
could obtain; entering into the graver parte of 
| these discussions ; discovering a rendy knowledge 


offer of the Silenced Ministers, 1606,” that those 


opinions of their constitaents—Lanadowne MSS. 
1056, 51. 

This confession of the Non-conformists is also 
acknowledged by their historian Neale, vol. ii. 
Pp 419, Ato edit. 

+ The petition is given wt length in Collier's 
Eccles. Hist. vol, fi. p. 672. At this time also the 











le is the worst for them, 
eonceits; Ana is 


of some people, that they are always 


the conference at Hampton Court. 


their sovereign’s interference in these matters, may 
be traced. When James charged the chaplains, 
who were to wait on the prines in Spain, todeeline, 


moderate in them’’ The king, observing one of 
the divines smile, grew warm, vehemently affirm- 
‘ing, “I tell ye, Charles shall manage a point in 


ies of polemical divinity, like those of | controversy with the best studied divine of ye all.” 


‘What the king said, was afterwards confirmed on 


which might furnish the sword and pistol of con- 
troversy, and without a chaplain to stand by him 
us a second, Charles I. fought the theological 
duel; and the old man, cast down, retired with 
such # sense of the learning and honour of the 
king, in maintaining the order of episcopacy in 
England, that his death, which soon followed, is 


i 


the | 

















5 OF THE AGE. strike! Even Rawleigh is prodigal of his praise 

K to Jnmes for the king's chapter on magic. The 

coding age were the times of | great mind of Rawleigh perceived how much men 

metean <tc itary are formed and changed by education; but, were 
atality,”” or, the superstition of for- | this principle 

rtunate days, and the combined | would lose their influence! In pleading for the 

strology and magic. It was only at free agency of man, he would escape from the 

f the century of James I. that Bayle | pernicious tendency of predestination, or the astral 

on comets, to prove that they had | influence, which yet he allows. To extricate 

‘the cabinets of princes: this was, | himself from the dilemma, he invents an analo- 

imaginable, | gieal reasoning of a royal power of dispensing with 

ds were then sinking under such | the laws in extreme eases : 0 that,though be does 

4 and whoever has read much | not deny ‘* the binding of the stars,’’ be declares 

-of this age will have smiled they are controllable by the will of the Creator, 


age, 
of Providence. In the unpublished | and the penetration of his own genius. Ata much 
that learned antiquary, Sir Symond | later period Dr, Henry More, a writer of genius, 
such confirmed the ghost and demon creed, by a number 
of facts, as marvellously pleasant as any his own 
poetical fancy eould have invented, Other great 
authors have not less distinguished themeelves. 
When has there appeared a single genius, who at 
once could free himself of the traditional prejudices 
of his contemporaries—nay, of his own party ? 
Genius, in ita advancement beyond the intelligence 
of its own age, is but progressive ; it is fancifully 
said to soar, but it only climbs. Yet the minds 
of some authors of this age arc often discovered to 
be superior to their work; because the mind is 
impelled by its own Inherent powers, but the work 
nsvally originates in the age. James I. once 
but just before the rising of the Earl) acutely observed, how * the author may be wise, 
in Elizabeth's reign,—and Sir Symond | but the work foolish. 

Thus minds of a higher rank than our royal 
author, had not yet cleared themselves out of there 
clouds of popular prejudices, We now proceed to 
more decisive results of the superior capacity of 
this much ill-used monarch. 


i 


Es 
i 
— 
e 
REPeer 


F 
(3 
i 
i 
E 
& 
Gg 


and 
they 
the 


Se 


THE HABITS OF JAMES THE FIRST 
THOSE OF A MAN OF LETTERS. 


‘Tnx habits of life of this monarch were those of 
to decide between the two opinions ;| a man of letters. His firet studies were soothed 
orth, who wrote long afterwards, care-| by none of their enticements, If James loved 
both. literature, it was for itself; for Buchanan did not 
is, the greatest geniuses of the age of | tinge the rim of the ynse with honey; and the bitter |} 
re as deeply concerned in these inves- | ness was tasted not only in the draught, but also 
‘ss his Majesty. Had the groat Verulam | in the rod. In some princes, the harsh discipline 
nself from all the dreams of his | James passed through has raised astrong aversion 
indeed cuutiously of witchcraft, | against literature, The Dauphin, for whose use 
deny its occult agency; and of| was formed the well-known edition of the classics, || 
rather for the improvement than | looked on the volumes with no eye of love, To || 
‘The bold spirit of Rawleigh con-| free himself of his tutor, Huet, he eagerly con- | 
su tions of the times; but | sented to an early marriage. “* Now we shall see || 
is the contest where we fear to| if Mr. Hoet shall any more keep me to ancient 

















I; 


bby that talent. 


‘first observed of Jamos I., that “ the 
of the 


i 
t 


i 
rte 
Hil 
Hh 


i 
i 


they were done, 
ata wl 


i 
ag 


it 


been bred a soldier, and was even illiterate, be 
viscount, and a royal secretary by the appoint || 





(Moses was! that there are no deputies for our feelings. 





day mounting his horse, which, 
sober and quict, began to bound and j 
“ Sirrah !'" exclaimed the king, who seemed 
parables gts ee 
resisted on this occasion, ‘* be not 


if you 
| VM send you to the five pets 


side, and his soldiers drawn to 
the other,—I would put myself in 


King James." He certainly 
‘of the Commons, and predicted 
d Buekingham, events which 


lower house : thoy'll quickly tame 
of 


had spent his all,—the king, staring nt this buckled, || 
belted, sworded, and pistolled, but ruined, Murtinet, | 
observed, that “this town was so well fortified, 
that, were it vietualled, it might be impregnable.” 


| 
produced hie “ Table-Talk,"” we find alto many | 
evidences of his sagacity im the discovery of truth, |] 


Possessine the talent of eloquence, the quick~ 
ness of wit, and the diversified which 








ag that “ the subjects may not only live in suretie || 
and wealth, but be stirred yp to open their mouthes || 
4 in your inst praise,” 


—— 


JAMES THE FIRSTS IDEA OF A TYRANT || 

ho AND A KING, | 

f comes from the mind of the king 
imself : he writes for the Prince of Scotland, and 
be pottish people. On its first appear- 


unruly affections to burst forth.” He advises the 
prince to act contrary to Nero, who, at first, * with 


fn bis mean style and with his 

“this book contains some 

‘things,’ omits not to hint, that ‘it 

his own :" but the claims of James I. 

from the peculiarity of the style; the 

it was composed ; and by those par- | can strike: this would be but fora time. If other- 

with all the individuality | wise ye kyth (shew) your clemencie at the first 

ing himself. The style is remarkable for | the offences would soon come to such heapes, and 

refuse sprinkling of Scottish snd French | the contempt of you grow #0 great, that when ye 

the Doric plainness of the ooc, | would fall to punish, the number to be punished 

would exceed the innocent ; and ye would, against 

your nature, be compelled then to wracke manie, 
whom the chastisement of few in the 


For 1 confess, where 1 thought (by being 
gracious at the beginning) to gain all men’s heart 
to a loving and willing obedionce, I by the contrarie 
found the disorder of the countrie, and the loss of 
my thanks, to be all my reward.'” 

James, in the course of the work, often instructs 
the prince by his own errors and misfortunes; and 





that every one around him should participate’ 
‘the fulness of bis own enjoyment. His hand was 
and 








“OF COLONISING. 
hada project of improving the stute of 
‘in the isles, * who are so utterly 
by intermixing some of tho semi- 
ers, and planting colonics among 


already made laws against the over- 
‘the chief of their clannes, and it would 
to danton them ; #0 rooting out, 
ing the barbarous and stubborn sort, 

iting civilised in their rooms.’” 
was as wise wscheme as any modern phi- 
could have suggested, and, with the con- 
pursued in Ireland, may be 
‘as splendid proofs of the kingly duties 


ee 


OF MERCHANTS. 
c ms this king understood the 
| character, be bad no honourable 


ys, They think the whole commonwealth 

for raising them up, and accounting it 

a) gain to enrich themselves upon the 
‘rest of the people.”” 

to censure James J. for his princi 

economy, which then had not 

gnity of a science; his rude and sim- 


however just in the dis- 
this behaviour be light 


meane subjects in their houses, when their 
may suffice you, which otherwaics would be 
puted to you for pride, and breed coldness 
disdain in them.'" 

T have noticed his counsel against the pedantry 
‘or other affectations of style in speaking. 

He adds, * Let it be plaine, natural, comelic, 
cleane, short, and sententious.’* 

In bis gestures ‘*he is neither to look sillily, 
like a stupid pedont; nor ansettledly, with an || 
uncouth morgue, like a new-come-over 


forming ever your gesture according to your pro- || 
sent action ; looking gravely, and with a majestic, || 
when ye sit upon judgment, or give audience to | 
embassadors; homely, when ye are in private | 
with your own servants; merrily, when ye are at 
any pastime, or merry distourse: and let your | 
countenance smell of courage and magnanimity || 
when at the warres. And remember (I say again) 
to be plaine and sensible in your language; for 
besides, it is the tonguc’s office tobe the messenger 
of the mind ; it may be thought a paint of imbo- 
cilitie of spirit, in aking to speak obscurely, much 
more untrewely, as if he stood in awe of any in 
uttering his thoughts!" 

‘Should the prince incline to be an asthor, the 
king adds— | 

+ Tf your engine (genius) spar you to write any 








author had the eye of an observer, and the thought-| of being an English sovereign, 
folness of u sage. English 

‘The king closee with the hopo that the prince's | those very ideas. 
* natural inclination will have « happic simpathie -—— 
with these precepts; making the wise man's 
‘schoolmaister, which is the example of others, to| THE LAWYERS’ IDEA OF 


PREROGATIVE, 
pee which is the school-! Tye trath is, that Jawyers, in their an 


H 


H 


i 
i: 


THtGH 
Fe 
& 




















referring to the mysteries 


for the body and not the body for the 
jead, 40 must king know himself to be 


LAWYERS! IDEA OF THE ROYAL PREROGATIVE. 


of being perverted; that law which he has enthu- 
sinsticnlly described as the perfection of all sense 
and Coke was strenuously opposed 
by Lord Bacon and by the civilisns, and was at 


righteous 
for his people, and not his people for | length 


are the descriptions of the British 
reader may 


which the moderos cannot 





ment, as tended to stir up the enbjecte” hearts 
against their sovereign {." Yet in all this we 


+ Cowell, equally learned and honest, involved 
himself in. positions, and was slike 
prosecated by the King and the Commons, on 
opposite principles. The overbearing Coke seems 
to have aimed at his life, which the lenity of James 
saved. His work is = testimony of the unsettled 
principles of liberty at that time; Cowell was 
compelled to appeal to one part of bis book to save 
himself from the other. 

t The following anecdotes of Lord Chief Justice 
Coke have not been pablished. They are extracts 


Now, 19, 1616, 
“The thunderbolt hath fallen on the Lord Coke, 
which hath overthrown him from the very roots. 
‘The supereedeas was carried to him by Sir George 


days. 
‘When Sir Edward Coke declared that the king’s | 











rved an anecdote of Henry VILI., | 
which serves our purpose :— poeklonl ih fhe a tad ee lem 
.” maid James 1, ‘to look into | at this new shape which puritantsm was assuming, 
published what is ealled “ ‘The Book of Sports,” 


“Thave lived too like a king’ He 

have said, not like a king—for the | formed, and our potions finally adjusted, this sin- | 

¢ is to do justice and equity; but he| gular state-paper bas been reprobated by piety ; 
whose zetl, however, is not sufficiently bistorical, 


monarch, in bis advice to his son, 
i wrote the life of this wise and pru-| ‘* To allure the common people to a common 
At is remarkable of James 1, that | amitic among themselves; and that certain daies 
mentioned the name of Elizabeth with- 


queen of famous memory ;"' a circum= 
a kings, who do not like 


But it suited the generous temper 
fo extol the greatness he admired, |and merriness; so that the sabbothes be kept 
toleration was often known to | holic, and no unlawful pastime be used. This 
d the libel on himeelf for the redeem- 
epigram. In his forgiving temper, 
would call such effusions “ the saper- 


with the political odium of arbi- 


of the Sabbath w day for 
herria aday te of the 
1 Ue mel [ea 














always to decline a war; fer though the sword was 
indeed in his hand, the purse was in the people's. 
‘One could not go without the other, Suppose a 
supply were levied to begin the fray, whut certainty 


buy the soldier's pay, or fear the danger 
mutiny *."" 
as, 
JAMES ACKNOWLEDGES HIS DEPEND- 
ENCE ON THE COMMONS.—THEIR CON- 


with Elizabeth, or James, they contrived three 
methods of inactivity, running the time to wuste 
—nihil agende, or aliud agendo, or malé agendo; 
doing nothing, doing something else, of doing 
evillyt. In one of these irksome moments, wait- 


jim, and king’s 
was the arbitrery power of} + I find this description in » MS. letter of the 











to cajole the Commons. | King’s kitehem, in bis “ Court of King James" 
a of the royal tears, ke lind still bad ail esr attr tome 
d the phrase, Hoard fate of kings!| scandalous chronicle from the purlicus,of the 
‘Years attest the warmth of honest | court. For this work and some similar ones, 
ey must be thrown out of the pale of | expecially * The None-Sueh Charles," in whieh it 
Prime Wesiee Ochorae that cyulcal | wentd appear that ku Wal preonied ceterelé Se 
declares, that ‘‘there are as few)the State Paper Office, and for other zealous | 
princes as tolerable kings ; because | services to the Parliament, they voted him a grant 
court the public farour before they|of #500. “The five years of King James,” 
n power, and then ehange their 
" Such is the egotiem of republicanism! 


pene 


SCANDALOUS CHRONICLES. 
cter of James 1, has always been 
m certain scandalous chronicles, whose 


detection. It ix this mad which 
and disturbed the clear stream of 
“The reigns of Elizabeth and James 
Tibels in church and state from 
+ the idleness of the pacific court 
_ hatehed a viperous brood of a less 
it perhaps of more malignant nature, 
‘Martin Mar-prelates of the preceding 
‘boldly af once wrote treason, and, 
cts, honestly dared the rope which |* lump of inanimate matter; the eee 
‘silence Penry and his party; but these | king bad always an infirmity in bis loge. Fu 
ed to seandalum magnatum, and the we are told, that this ridiculous monarch 
# could only have crept into  pillory. 


rere meanly printed, nnd | little miscarriage, exaberantly | 
i eof ho rg an ena torent ate ee 








exhausted themselves | flesh ; all show, and no substance ; all fashion, 

ed to “ upstart Lon-| and no feeding ; and fit for noservice but masks 
mansions, which |and May-games. The citizens have dealt with 

poor alms-wonan, | them as it is said the Indians are dealt with ; they 

2. have given them counterfcit brooches and bugle- 

» the thie abandonment of the ancient | bracelets for gold and silver t ; pins and peacock 
for the metropolis, and this | feathers for lands and tenements ; gilied conches 

z family establishments, crowded | and outlandish bobby-borses for goodly castles and 
mon with new end distinct races of idlers, oF,| ancient mansions; their woods are turaed into 
= th ‘now be called, unproductive mom-| wardrobes, their lonses into laces, and their goods 
§- From a contemporary manuscript, | and chattels into guanied coats and gaudy toys. 

| spirited remonstrances addressed to| Should your Majesty fly to them for relief, you 
which it wos probably thought not pra- would fare like those birds that peck at painted 

1) 1 shall draw some extracts, as @| fruits ; all outside.” ‘The writer then describes the 

we of the manners of the age*.| affected penurious habits of the grave citizens, 
ancient families, to maintain a mere| who were then preying on the country gentlemen + 
/ magnificence in dress and equipage in| —+« When those big swoln leeches, that have thus |} 
were really at the same time hiding | sucked them, wear mgs, eat roots, speak like jug- 

‘in penury; they thrust themeclves into | glers that have reeds in their mouths; look like 

nd“ five or six knights, or justices of | spittiomen, especially when your Majesty hath 

all their retinue, became the inmates | occasion to use them ; their fat lies in their hearts, 

yet these gentlemen had once | their substance is buried in their bowels, and he 

the rusty chimneys of two or three houses | that will bave it must first take their lives. ‘Their 
and had been the feeders of twenty or | study is to get, and their chicfest care to conceal; 

= a single page, with a guarded | and most from yourself, gracious sir ; not a commo- 

d thelr turn now. lO 
one strives to be a Diogenes in his! + Sir Giles Mompesson and Sir James Mitchell 

an emperor in the streets; not caring | had the monopolies of gold lace, which they sold 
in. tub, s0 they may be burried in a| in w counterfeit state; and, not only chested the 
giving that allowance to horses and mares| people, bot, by 2 mixture of copper, the arnn~ 

n ‘maintained houses full of men;| ments made of it are said to have rotted the flesh. 
‘munya belly to paint a few backs, and As soon as the grievance was shown to James, he 

all the treasures of the kingdom into | expressed his abhorrence of the practice; and even 

pens’ coffers.” declared, that no person connected with the 
There are now,” the writer adds, ‘* twenty| yillanous fraud should escape punishment. The 
“Masterless men turned off, who know| brother of bis favourite, Buckingham, was known || 
night where to lodge, where to eat to-| u be one, and with Sir Giles Overreach, (as Mas- 
and ready to undertake any desperate| singer conceals the name of Mompesson) was com- | 


2 
Ps, who were to be fathers to them, followed | to strike them all dead, and, that time may not 
spair to London, where these untimely-| he Jost, I will have it done presently. Had these 
guths are left so bare, that their whole life's! things been complained of to me, before the 
consumed in one year." 


in their forcheads.""—Rushworth, vol, i. p. 26. 








by 
hen Gondowar, the Spanish | and Elizabeth, could not but influence the familiar 
house, the ladies were | style of their humour and conversation. James Ts, 
to make them-~|in the Edict on Duels, employs the expression of 
every |our dravest bed-fellow to designate the queen; 


great resort to their honses.”’ | follies of the wise,” must be attributed to this 
that Gondomar, to prevent these | cause. Are not moat of the dramatic works of 


fis canyon language and the domestic familiarities of kings, 
Sir Dudley Carleton, | queens, lords, and ladies, which were much ike 
Area rniercr Fareed sy nt Abb We may felicitate 
Fabsaise tas rtexplng of be “4 great | oursclves on having escaped the grossness, without, 
made shorter by the skirts,” we | however, extending too far these self-congratu~ 
‘their coarse tastes; but when we find | lations. | 
to the bed of the bride in his night-| The men were dissolved in all the indolence of 
give a reveille-matin, and remaining a 
: in or upon the bed, ‘* Choose which you 
+” this bride was not more decent 
who publicly, on their balconies, | ri 


ring the first ten years of his reign, | 2 —@—-@-@—@-—-A—______ 
‘alliance to a favourite, riches though | ~ Our wonder and surmises have been often 
ina shop, persons of private estates, and | raised at the strange subscriptions of Buckingham 
i to the king, * Your dog,” and James as ingenu- 


;| in his search after one Bywater, the earl says, “If 

Fie reepect, and a parity in conversa: | the kings beagle can hunt by land as well as he 
a was introduced which in English dispositions | hath done ty water, we will leave capping of 
i 4 the king could not employ them Jowler, and cap the beagle.” The queen, writing 
grew envious, some factious, some|to Buckingham to intercede with the king for 
‘obliged, by being once denied.” | Rawleigh’s life, addresses Buckingham by ** My 

kind Dog.” James appears to have been alwayt 

‘conjecture, by this expression, that | playing on some whimsical appellative by which he 
“> S geaheerlaaaaaidalinad characterised his ministers and favourites, analo- 
gous to the notions of a huntsman. Many of 

Ne a characteristic trait of | our writers, among them Sir Walter Scott, have 

When Gondomar, one day, | strangely misconoeived these playfal appellatives, 

Lady Jacob's house, | unconscious of the origin of this familiar humour, 

‘a snlutation from him ;| The age was used to the coarseness. We did not 

athe only opened ber | then excel all Europe, as Addison set the model, 




















wn from the extraordinary 

Edward Sackville, afterwards 

the Lord Bruce*, These two 

9 had lived as brothers, yet could 
{to part without destroying each other ; 

ive, #0 wonderfully composed by Sack~ 
akes us shadder at each blow received 
Books were published to instruct 

of quarreling, “to teach young 

a when they are before-hand and when 
|}; thus they incensed and incited 

of hope and promise, whom Lord 

in his charge on duclling, calls, in the 
age of the poct, Aurore filii, the sons of the 
1 ‘often were drowned in their own | an 
But, op a nearer inspection, when we 

the personal malignity of these hasty 

the coarseness of their manners, and the 
‘weapons and places, in their mode of 

each other, we must confess that they 

partake of the spirit of chivalry. One 
biting the ear of a templar, or awitehinga 

lord; another wending a challenge to fight 
saw-pity or to strip to their shirts, to. man- 

¢ Were sanguinary duels, whieh could 
7 fermented in the disorders of the times, 

| that wanton pampered indolence which 

#0 petulant and pugnacious. Against 

c svil his Majesty published a voluminous edict, 
ibits many proofs that it was the labour 

of his own band, for the same dignity, the same 
ce, the same felicity of illustration em- 
‘state-pspers+; and to remedy it, James, 


t may be found in the popular pages of the 
7; there first printed from a MS. in the 

ry of the Harleys, 
OA publication of his Mojestic's edict end 
Scensure agninst private combats and com- 
tents, Xe. 1613." It is » volume of about 150 
. As aspecimen of the royal style, 1 tran- 


paseiges. 

i ee ee) ce Meare of fines, 
of magistrates, together with a 
tsp iption of impunity, hath bred ouer 
: 12 er aaa Ben 

st, but a constant beleefe among many, that 
re to ¢ reputed among the wisest, of a certain 
ft to all mea ypon earth by nature, as 
‘to defend their reputations with 
and to take revenge of any wrong 
oF fn that measure, 
owne foward passion or affection doth 
jout any farther proofe ; so as tho chal- 


Arie bl eat peices ribeye 
turn this bam into a 





who rarely consented to shed blood, condemned 
an irascible lord to suffer the ignominy of the 


gallows. 
Bot, while extortion and monopoly prevailed 
among the monied men, and a hollow magnificence 
among the gentry, bribery had tainted even the 
lords. All were hurrying on in a stream of vena- 
lity, dissipation, and want; and the nation, amid 
the prosperity of the kingdom in a long reign of 
pence, was nourishing in its breast the secret seeds 
of discontent and turbulence. , 
From the days of Elizabeth to those of the 
Charleses, Cabinet transmitted to Cabinet the 
caution to preserve the kingdom from the evils of 
overgrown metropolis. A political hypochon~ 
driacism: scion af tnapiosd the bind Wise boarelag eo 
large for the body, drawing to itself all the 
moistare of life from the middle and the extre~ 
mitics- A statate against the erection of new 
buildings was passed by Elizabeth; and from James 
to his successors proclamations were continually 
issued to forbid any growth of the city. This 
singular probibition may have originated in their 
dread of infection from the plague, but it certainly 
‘became the policy of a weak und timid government, 
who dreaded, in the enlargement of the metropolis, 
the consequent concourse of those they designated 
as masterless men,"—sedition was as contagious 
as the plague among the many, But proclama- 
tions were not listened to nor read ; houses were 
continually built, for they were in demand,—and 
the esquires, with their wives and daughters, 
hastened to gay or basy London, fora knighthood, 
a marriage, of @ monopoly. The government at 
length were driven to the desperate ‘' Order in 
Council” to pull down all new houses within ten 
miles of the farther, to direct the 
Attorney-General to indict all those sojourners in 
town who had country houses, and mulet them in 
ruinous fines. The rural gentry were ‘to abide 
in their own counties, and by their houscheeping 
in those parts were to guide and relieve the 
‘meaner people according to the ancient usage of 


singing-bird, clip its wings, and cage it. “* By 
comparing forraine mischiefes with home-bred 
accidents, it will not be hard to judge into what 
region this bolde bird of andacious in 
dealing blowes so confidently, will mount, if it bee 
‘once let fie, from the breast wherein it lurkes. 
‘And therefore it behoveth justice both to keep her 
still in her own close cage, with care that ehe learn 
neuer any other dittie then East bene ; but withall, 
that for prevention of the worst that may fall out, 
‘wee clippe her wings, that they grow not too fast. |} 
For according to that of the praverb, Zt is labour | 
el sam lg Br nerd mip ache 
p13. 
li 














HU 


Later at night i those oceasionat character of Prince Henry, at 
‘than when they were at London*. I he lived, be had probably 
that the state-papers were composed perhaps not the felicity, of his people, 
‘that he wrote letters on important | unhappy prepossession of men in favour of 
ns without consulting any one; and that he | bition, &e., engages them into such 
aid from his secretaries, James was | destroy their own peace, and that 


BeTE 


as 


hi panes than this stadious monarch, | on the throne, himself had probably incurred the 
its formed an agreeable combination of | censure he passed on James I, Another important 
itive and the active life, study and 
o king more zealously tried to keep 
eee nse oe 2 poveracieat, by 
ly concerning himself in the protection of 


: James I, “in the space of nine years made greater 
| in the correspondence of the French | advances towards the reformation of that kingdom 
‘They studied to flavour their dish, |than had been effected in more than four cen- 
‘of spy and gossip, to the taste of their turies;’’ on this Hume adds that the king's 
_ Heory LY. never forgave James for his 
‘to Spain and. peace, instead of France | with which the subject lad been too long abused.'” 
. cu —MS. Letter of Sir Dudley Carleton, 
) Serinia Reserata, Part I. p. 27. Tn Winwood's Memorials of State there is a 
off this zeal for reform, I throw | Jotter from Lord Northampton, who was present 
‘some extracts from the MS. letters sex ot nee cet eccicoations See Es 
i Of the king's interference !and his language is warm with admiration: the 
of two courts about prohibi- |jetter, being a private one, can hardly be sus~ 
Carleton gives this account :— | pected of court flattery. “ His majesty hath in 
played the best part in collecting | person, with the greatest dexterity of wit and 
yon both sides, and concluded thet he |strength of argument that mine ears ever heard, 
n to draw water to their several | compounded between the parties of the civil and 
c jised them to take moderate courses, | ecclesiastical courts; who begin to comply, by 
fe cat oft jc night be mor ‘tho king's sweet temper, on points that were held 
particular jeriadictions, The | to be incoupatible.”"—Winwood's Mom. iii. p. 54. 
Teepe ‘In his progresses through the country, if any 
a of government there: he | complained of having received injury from any of 
leave hunting of hares, | the court, the king punished, or had satisfaction 
nem a comeing: Essar 








‘prepossessions, epithet—and 
‘yet he, who had indulged # sarcasm on the vanity 
of James, in closing bis general view of his wise 
administration in Ireland, is enrried away by his 
nobler feclings.—' Such were the arts,” exclaims 
the historian, “by which James introduced 
humanity and justice among a people who had 
ever been buried in the most profound barbarism. 
Noble cares! moch superior to the vain 

‘eriminal glory of conquests.” Let us add, that 
had the genius of James the First been 
‘had he commanded a battle to be fought 


of ambition, had adorned their pages 
with bloody trophies ; bot the peace the monarch 
cultivated ; the wisdom which dictated the plan of 
‘civilisation ; and the persevering arts whicl put it 
into practice—these are the still virtues which give 
no motion to the spectacle of the historian, and 
are even forgotten in his pages. 

‘What were the painful feelings of Catharine 
Macanlay, in summing up the character of James 
‘the First. The king bas even extorted from her a 
confession, that ‘his conduct in Scotland waa 
-unexceptionablo,” but “despicablei his Britannic 
government." To account for this seeming change 
in # man who, from his first to bis Last day, was 
always the same, required a more sober historian. 
She tells us also, he affected ‘* a sententious wit ;"” 
‘but she adds, that it consisted ‘only of quaint 
and stale conceits.”” We need not take the word 
of Mre. Macaulay, since we have so mach of this 
“sententious wit” recorded, of which probably 
abe knew little. Forced to confess that James's 
edacation had been ‘a more learned one than is 
usually bestowed on princes,”’ we find how uscless 
it is to educate princes at all; for this ** more 
Jearned education’? made this prince * more than 
commonly deficient in all the points he pretended 
to have any knowledge of.” This incredible 
result gives no encouragement for a prince, 
having a Buchanan for his tutor. Smollett, having 
compiled the popular accusations of the * vanity, 
‘the prejudices, the littleness of soul,’ of this 
abused monarch, surprises one in the same page 
by discovering enough good qualities to make 
something more than a tolerable king. * His 
reign, though ignoble to himself, was happy to his 
people, who were enriched by commerce, felt no 
severe impositions, while they made considerable 


‘When James went to Denmark to fetch his | 
queen, he passed part of his time among the 
learned ; but, such was his habitual attention in 
rtudying the duties of the sovereign, that he || 
closely attended the Danish courts of justice ;and | 


from the Danish code three statutes for 


and | ment of criminals. Bat so provooative of sarcasm: | 


is the ill-used name of this monarch, thet our || 


ike, | author could not but shrewdly observe, thet James 


spent more time in those courts than in attend- 
ing upon his destined consort.” Yet thie ix wot | 
true: the king was jovial there, and was as } 
indulgent a husband as he was afather, — 

even censures James for once 

axoriousness*! But while Daines Barringtow 
dogrades, by unmerited ridicule, the bonourable 
employment of the * British Solomon,” he be~ 
comes himself perplexed at the truth that flashes 
on his eyes. He expresses the most perfect sdmirae 
tion of James the First, whose statutes he declares 
“deserve much to be enforeed; nor do I 3 
any one whieh hath the least | - 

the prerogative, or abridge the liberties | 

of his subjects."" He who came to: 

topray. Thus = lawyer, in es i 

James the First, concludes by: 

to the truth : the step was & bold one: 

“It is at present a sort of fashion 

that this king, because he was a Y 

real understanding, or merit.” — 

Barrington been asked for proofs of 

of James the First, be had. 

plexed; but what can be more ce 
lawyer, on a review of the char: 

First, being struck, as he tells 

of being instructed in the 

frequent conferences for this 

most eminent 

others!” Such wns the 

‘was perpetually reproached 

and for exercising arbitrary 
Brodie, the vehement 

quotes and admires James's pr 

the character of Land in. 

versation with Buckingham 3 
recorded by Hacket +. 


* Sco “ Curiosities | 


progress in theirliberties."’ So that, on the whole, |p. 493. 


the nation appears not to have had all the reason 


+ Brodie's Hi 


‘they have so fully exercised in deriding and’ p. 244, 411, 























The ee ofthe drs of ei 


Raa Wegeol ec At first, says 
of Stowe, all ranks but those 
‘settled fn piracy,’ as he designates 


sleeping 
¥| And lulled into false 


ipt diary, notices the death of ‘the 

, whom he calls ‘ our learned and peace- 

'—" It did not a little amaxe me 

il men generally slight and disregard the 

se mild and gentle a prince, which made 

ren to feel, that the’ensning times might yet 
bis loss more sensible, and his memory 

é "Sie Symond censures 
pein for not engaging in the German war to 
rt the Eres, and maintain the trac 


pee) 


who had assumed the tithe of 

ids Sir Symond, 

consider his virtues and his learning, his 
i oelbaetie of the English, rather 


ther contemporary author, Wilson, has not 
‘the generations of this continued peace = 
pent Plenty, plenty begot ease aod 


begat 
ieepathy out into that bulk in 


« time which begot monstrous satyrs.”” 
the lascivious times, which, dissolving 


Sissy "For this he deanrves the highest praise 


of peace, which proved to be the seed-plot of that 
revolution which was reserved for the unfortunate 


taken a retrospective view of the age of peace of 
James I. contemplating on ita results in his own 
disastrous times— 


‘With its own rust; so doth Security 
Eat through the hearts of states, while they are 


quiet. 
Nann's Hannibal and Scipio. 
— 


SUMMARY OF HIS CHARACTER. 

Tuvs the continued peace of James I. had 
calamities of its own! Are we to attribute them 
to the king? It has been usual with us, in the 
solemn expiations of our history, to convert the 
sovervign into the scape-goat for the people ; the || 
historian, like the priest of the Hebrews, laying | 
his bands on Aguzel §, the curses of the multitude | 
are heaped on that devoted bead, And thos the |} 
historian conveniently solves all ambiguous events. 

‘The character of James 1. is « moral phenome. || 
‘non, a singularity of a complex nature. We see 
that we cannot trust to those modera writers who 
have passed their censures upon him, however just 
may be those very censures, for when we look 
narrowly into their representations, as surely we 
find, perhaps without an exception, that an invee- 
‘uve never closes without some unexpected miti- 
gating circumstance, or qualifying abatement. At 
the moment of inflicting the censure, some |] 
recollection in opposition to what ix asserted 
passes in the mind, and to approximate to Truth, 
they offer a discrepancy, a self-coutradiction. 
Jomes mast always be condemned on a system, 
while his apology is only allowed the benefit of = 
parenthesis. 

How it has happened that our luckless crowned 
philosopher has been the common mark at which 
so many quivers have been emptied, should be 
quite obvious when so many causes were operating 
against him. The shifting positions into whieh he 
was cast, and the anbiguity of his character, will 


§ The Hebrew name, which Calmet translates 
Boue Emissaire ; and we 'Scape Goat, or rather 

















360 


CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST. 





unoriddle the enigma of his life. Contrarieties 
cease to be contradictions when operated on by 
external causes. 

James was two persons in one, frequently opposed 
to each other. He was an antithesis in human 
nature—or even a solecism. We possess ample 
evidence of bis shrewdness and of his simplicity; 
we find the lofty regal style mingled with bis fami- 
liar bonhommie. Warm, hasty, and volatile, yet 
with the most patient zeal to disentangle involved 
deception ; such gravity in sense, such levity in 
humour; such wariness and such indiscretion ; 
such mystery and such openness—all these must 
have often thrown his Majesty into some awkward 
dilemmas. He was a man of abstract speculation 
in the theory of human affairs; too witty or too 
aphoristic, he never seemed at a loss to decide, but 
too careless, perhaps too infirm, ever to come to 
‘a decision, he leaned on others. He shrank from 





the council-table; he had that distaste for the 
routine of business which studious sedentary men 
are too apt to indulge; and imagined that his 
health, which he said was the health of the king- 
dom, depended on the alternate days which he 
devoted to the chase; Royston and Theobalds 
were more delectable than « deputation from the 
Commons, or the Court at Whitehall. 

It bas not always been arbitrary power which 
has forced the people into the dread circle of their 
fate, editions, rebellions, and civil wars; poralways 
oppressive taxation, which has given rise to public 
grievances. Such were not the crimes of James 
the First, Amid the fall blessings of peace, we 
find how the people are prone to corrupt them- 
selves, and how a philosopher on the throne, the 
father of his people, may live without exciting 
gratitude, and die without inspiring regret —unre- 
garded, unremembered ! 


END OF THR CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST. 

















LITERARY CHARACTER; 


on THE 





HISTORY OF MEN OF GENIUS, 


DRAWN FROM THEIR OWN FEELINGS AND CONFESSIONS. 























To 


ROBERT SOUTHEY, LL.D. 


&o, &e. ko. 


In dedicating this Work to one of the most eminent Literary characters of the age, I am experiencing a peculiar 
gratification, in which few, perhaps none, of my contemporaries can participate; for I am addressing him, whose 
earliest effusions attracted my regard, near half a century past ; and during that awful interval of time, for fifty 
years is a trial of life of whatever may be good in us, you have multiplied your talents, and have never lost = 
virtue, 













‘When I turn from the uninterrupted studies of your domestic solitude to our metropolitan authors, the contrast, 
if not encouraging, is at leact extraordinary. You are not unaware that the revolutions of Society have operated 
on our Hterature, and that new classes of readers havo called forth new classes of writers. The causes, and the 
consequences, of the present state of this fugitive literature, might form an inquiry which would include some of 
tho important topice which concern the Puazic Minp,—but an inquiry which might be invidious shall not distarb 
48 page consocrated to the record of excellence. They who draw their inspiration from the hour must not, however, 
complain if with that hour they pass away. 








L DISRAELL 





March, 1899. 
































PREFACE. 


Fon the fifth time I revise a subject which has occupied my inquiries from early life, with feelings 
still delightfol, and an enthusiasm not wholly diminished. 


‘Had not the principle upon which this work ia constructed occurred to me in my youth, the 
‘materials which illustrate the literary character could never have been brought together, It was in 
‘early life that I conceived the idea of pursuing the history of genius by the similar rents which had 
occurred to men of genius. Searching into literary history for the literary character formed n course 
‘of experimental philosophy in which every new essay verified a former trial, and confirmed a former 


trath. By the great philosophical principle of induction, inferences were deduced and results 

which, however vague and doubtful in speculation, are irresistible when the appeal is made 
to fsets ns they relate to others, and to feelings which must be decided on as they are passing in our 
own breast. 


Tt is not to be inferred from what J have here stated, that I conceive that any single man of genius 
‘will resemble every man of genius ; for not only man differs from man, but varies from himself in the 
‘diferent stages of human life. All that J assert is, that every man of genius will discover, sooner or 
later, that be belongs to the brotherhood of his class, and that he cannot escape from certain habits, 
und feelings, and disorders, which arise from the same temperament and sympathies, and are the || 
-“Recessary consequence of occupying the same position, and passing through the same moral existence. 
Whenever we compare men of genius with each other, the history of those whoare no more will serve || 
| #£% perpetual commentary on our contemporaries, There are, indeed, secret feelings which their |} 
‘Prudence conceals, or their fears obscure, or their modesty shrinks from, or their pride rejects ; but 
Tbave sometioes imagined that I have held the clue as they have lost themselves in their own labyrinth. 

|| L know that many, and some of great celebrity, have sympathised with the feelings which inspired 

these volumes ; nor, while I have elucidated the idiosyncrasy of genius, have I Jess studied the habits 

characteristics of the lovers of literature. 


‘Te bas been considered that the subject of this work might have been treated with more depth of 





[= neni cmon | 


Perhaps I have sometimes too warmly apologised for the infirmities of men of genius. From others 


} may have been too fond of the subject, which has been for me an old and a favourite one—I may have 
exalted the literary character, beyoad the scale by which society is willing to fix it. Yet what is this 
Sooiety, 50 omnipotent so all-jadicinl * ‘The society of to-day was not the society of yesterday. Its 
feelings, its thoughts, its manners, its rights, its wishes, and its wants, are different and are changed : 
alike changed or alike created by those very literary characters whom it rarely comprehend and often | 
would despise. Let us no longer look upon this retired and peculiar class as uacless members of our || 
‘busy race. There are mental as well as material labourers. The first are not less necessary ; und #8 } 
they are much rarer, so are they more precious. These aré they whose ‘published Inbours’” have | 


—to develop the powers, to regulate the passions, to ascertain the privileges of man,—such bave ever 
‘been, and such ever ought to be, the labours of Avrnons! Whatever we onjoy of political and private 
happiness, our most necessary knowledge as well as our most refined pleasures, are alike owing to this || 


the very beings whom they love, and for whom they labour. 


‘Upwards of forty years have elapsed since, composed in a distant county, and printed at a provincial | 
press, I published “ An Essay on the Manners and Genius of the Literary Character.” To my own |) 
habitual and inherent defects wore superadded those of my youth. The crade production was however || 
not ill receivod, for the edition disappeared, ani the subject was found more interesting than the writers 


During a long interval of twenty years, this little work was often recnlled to my recollection by 


several, and by some who have since obtained colebrity. They imagined that their attachment to 
literary pursuits had been strengthened even by so weak an effort. An extroordinary elreumstance 
concurred with these opinions. A copy accidentally fell into my hands which had formes 

to the great poetical genius of our times; und the singular fact, that it had been more thas 

by him, and'twice in two subsequent years at Athens, in 1810 and 1921, instantly can 

the volume deserved my renewed attention. 


Tt was with these feelings that I was again strongly attracted to a subject from wl 

‘the course of a studious life, it had never been long diverted. The consequence of my 
the publication, in 1818, of an octavo volume, under the title of '' The Literary Chan 
by the History of Men of Genius, drawn from their own feelings and confessions.” 


In the Preface to this Edition, in mentioning the fact respecting Lord Byron, whiel 
immediate cause of its publication, I added these words: “I tell this fact assuredly m 
little vanity which it may appear to betray ;—for the trath is, were I not a8 liberal and 
respect to my own productions, as I hope I am to others, 1 could not \ gr 
present circumstance ; for the marginal notes of the noble author convey no 
their pungency, and sometimes their truth, the circumstance that of geniv 
slight effusion at two different periods of his life, wns a sufficient authority, at 
return it onee more to the anvil.” 


Some time after the publication of this Edition of “The Literary 
paz ses Showin vi he inl = t 



































given to him by Lord Byron, and which agin contained marginal notes by 
These were peculisrly interesting, and were chiefly occasioned by observations on 
‘appeared in the work. 


published a new edition of this work, greatly enlarged, and in two volumes. I took this 
Spore of ining te Marurpt Note of Land Bron, with the exception of one, which, 
of the amiable feelings of the noble poet, and however gratifying to my own, I 

Beeteere i shade cathe notice of the pls, 


Soom after the publication of this third Edition, I received the following letter from his Lordship :— 


“ Montenero, Villa Dupuy, near Leghorn, June 10, 1822. 
Dean Sin— ry 
i “Tf you will permit me to call you so,—I had some time ago taken up my pen at Pisa, to 
‘thank you for the present of your new edition of the * Literary Charscter,’ which has often been to me 
& consolation, and always a pleasure. I was interrupted, however, partly by business, and partly by 
|} Yexstion of different kinds,—for J have not very long ago lost a child by « fever, and I bave had a 
|) good deal of petty trouble with the laws of this lawless country, on account of the prosecution of a 
‘servant for an attack upon a cowardly scoundrel of a dragoon, who drew his sword upon some unarmed 
Englishmen, and whom I had done the honour to mistake for an officer, and to treat like a gentleman, 
‘Hee tamed out to be neither,—like many other with medals, and in uniform ; but he puid for his bru- 
tality with « severe and dangerous wound, inflicted by nobody knows whom, for, of three #uapected, 
‘and two arrested, they have been able to identify neither ; which is strange, since he was wounded in 
‘the presence of thousands, in n public street, during  feast-day and full promenade.—But to retorn 
‘to things more analogous to the ‘ Literary Character :’ 1 wish to say, that had I known that the book 
‘Fes fo fall into your hands, or that the MS, notes you have thought worthy of publication would baye 
‘attracted your attention, I would have made them more copious, and perhaps not 40 careless. 


|“ Treally cannot know whether I am, or am not, the genius you are pleased to call me,—but T am 
-yery willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one. It is a title dearly enough bought by most men, 
‘]) to render it endurable, even when not quite clearly made out, which it never can be, till the Posterity, 
| ‘whove decisions ure merely dreams to oursclres, have sanctioned or denied it, while it can touch us 


| Mr. Murray is in possession of a MS. memoir of mine (not to be published till 1 am in my grave), 


must have involved much private, and some dissipated history: but, nevertheless, nothing but 
as far as regard for others permitted it to appear. 


‘Ido not know whether you have seen those MSS.; but, ss you are curious in such things as 
> to the human mind, I should feel gratified if you had. I also sent him (Murray), = few days |} 


‘everything connected with tho reading of a mind Mle Lord Byron's ty interesting to the philosophical 
thin note may now be preserved. On that passage of the Preface of the second Railton which I have: 
quoted, his Lordship was thus pleased to write: 
wrong, but I was young and petulant, and probably wrote down anything, ttle thinking that thor 
‘We betrayed to the author, whoss abiliiies I have slways respected, and whose works kn general 
Jeftener thin perhaps thase of any English auth-r whatever, except such as treat of Turkey. 











ON THE 


LITERARY CHARACTER, 


: CMAPTER T, 
Of Thterary Chamscters, and of the Lovers of Literature 
and Art, 


Divvosen over enlightened Europe, an order of 
‘men has arisen, who, uninfluenced by the interests 
‘Of the passions which give an impulse to the other 

of society, sre connected by the secret 

of congenial pursuits, and, insensibly to 
‘themselves, are combioing in the same common 
Tabours, and participating in the same divided 
glory. Io the metropolitan cities of Europe the 
thors are now read, and the same opinions 
become established: the Englishman is familiar 
| with Machisvel and Montes the Italian and 
the Frenchman with Bacon and Locke; and the 
fame smiles and tears are awakened on the banks 


by Shakespeare, Molidre, and Cervantes: 


‘Contemporains de tous les hommes, 
‘Bt eftoyens de tous es eux. 


_ Akhsn of Tartary admired the wit of Moliére, 


Pignotti referring 

of an English critic, Lord Boling- 
decisive avthority on the peculiar 
historian Guiceiardini: the 





of their native artists. Such is the wide and the 
perpetual influence of this living intercourse of 
literary minds, 

Scarcely have two centuries since the 
literature of every nation was limited to its father+ 
Jand, and men of genius long could only hope for 
the spread of their fame in the single language of 
ancient Rome; which for them had ceased to be 
natural, and could never be popular. It was in 
the intercourse of the wealth, the power, and the 
novel arts of the nations of Europe, that they 
learned each other’s languages ; and they discovered 
that, however their manners varied as they orose 
from their different customs, they participated in 
the same intellectual faculties, suffered from the 
same wants, and were alive to the same pleasures; 
they perceived that there were no conventional 
fashions, nor national distinctions, in abstract 
truths and fundamental knowledge, A new spirit 
seems to bring them nearer toeach other: and, as 
if literary Europe were intent to form but one 
people out of the populace of mankind, they offer 
their reciprocal labours ; they pledge to each other 
the same opinions; and that knowledge which, 
like 2 small river, takes its source from one spot, 
at length mingles with the ocean-stream common 
to them all. 

Bat those who stand connected with this 
literary community are not always sensible of the 
kindred alliance; even a genius of the first order 
‘has not always been aware that he is the founder 
of a society, and that there will ever be a brother- 








tcisy, \taea Arak ‘with othors of this class, study has usually served 
Se esr ate se nee ee ee \ 
them by | ascent; it was the ladder which they once climbed, || 


alate 
and rejecting whatever does not nonron, Wareox, and WiLens, 
ee eng) ‘their studies when their studies 


Biers 
a he sappy.” 
eters of the wet on for the science 
Tabour ;”" and by another result of extraordinary discoveries 
Tevel systern, men of letters, with | quent to his own first 
rtant characters, are forced down | even an idle inquiry. He tells ua that be 
‘buffoons, singers, opera-dancera, | ferred ‘* lis larches to his laurels :’” 
‘of political economy it has jingle expressed the mere worldliness that dictated 
that “that unprosperons race) it. In the same spirit of calculation with which 


ward See! y + Since this murmur bes been uttered agninst the 


ape ‘nol tarde ograding viewsof sorpe of these theorists, 1t afforded ma 


zie 


considered only as he wheels rk 
os 
pins in the fictory: bt mn, 


political 

ag their unproductive labour- | on the querulous Porsow, who emce observed, that eit 

find those men of leisure, | seemed to him very hard, that wish afl his eritiogl know- 
of Greek, he could not get a hundred pounds” 














‘insignificant 
is an idler who will not be idle, 


i others who are completely 
alt of a work of genins is contracted 
‘writing ; but this art is only its Inst 


which flashes with the cold vibrations 
, or artifice! We have been recently 
tical authority, that ‘‘a great genius 
allow himself to be sensible to his 

deem his pursuits of mach 


day! Borrow and Grnsox, Vor- 
ore, who gave to literature all the 

try, and the glory of their lives, 
too “sensible to their celebrity, 


fiterary character against literature—"* Et 
" But the hero of literature outlives 
sins, and might address them in that 
f poetry and affection with which o 
oached his traitorous counsellors: 
feathers of my wings, and the 


of which the extraordinary effect 
ds an Oriental custero still 


precipitately descend into the iron. In 
of painting, after the splendid epoch of Rapbacl, 


ond Silivs Itaticus, after their immortal masters, 
Cicero, Livy, Virgil, and Horace. | 
At is evident that Mu.rox, Micnann Axorto, || 


transplanted flowers of the two arts ; “ Chi sente 
che sia Tibuilo nel poctare sente chi sia Andrea |) 








rt whose likeness 
—is it inherent in 
of the creator, or 
atient acquisition ? 
r own silent and ebscure pro- 


this race of idolaters have worked 
agency, she has afflicted them with 


‘own philosophical times; ages of 
eRiaiaged ueny, vend thay. left no other 
than their works ; no preconcerted theory 
d the workings of the imagination to be 

; ‘nor did they venture to teach 
‘invention. 

‘of genius, viewed gs the effect of 
| education, on the principle of the 
“the human mind, infers that men have 

ide for the work of gonius : x paradox 
@ more fatal one, came from the 
|, and arose probably from an cqui- 


: ‘the well-known comparison of 
ind with ‘white paper void of all charac- 
free his famous * Inquiry’ from that 
tacle to his system, the absurd belief 
idens,"" of notions of objects before 
‘were presented to observation. Our phi- 
“considered that this simple analogy 


oa 
‘The Scottish metaphysi- 
‘GMustrate the me- 





natore of things, and when discovered are only || 
thence drawn out, genius unconsciously conducts | 
itself by a uniform process; and when this process 
had been traced, they inferred that what wax done 
by some men, under the influence of fundamental 


mists, under whose knife all men are alike. They 
know the structure of the bones, the movement 
‘of the muscles, and where the ; 

monts lie! but the invisible principle of life flies 
from their touch. [tis the practitioner on the || 
living body who studies in every individual that || 
peculiarity of constitution which forms the idio- |} 


aynerasy. 

‘Under the influence of svch novel theories of 
genius, Jounsox defined it as “A Mind of 
large general powers accipenTatty determined 
by some particular direction."” On this principle 
we must infer that the reasoning Locke, or 
the arithmetical Dx Morya, could have been 
the musical and fairy Srexsun®. ‘This conception | 
of the nature of genius became prevalent. It 
induced the philosophical Broce, rts to assert that | 
every individual had an equal degree of genivs for 
poetry and cloquence ; it runs through the philo- 
sophy of the clegant Dugald Stewart ; and Rey- 
Nouns, the pupil of Johnson in literature, adopting 
the paradox, constructed his automatic system on 
this principle of equal aptitude, He anys, “ this 
excellence, however expressed by genius, taste, or 
the gift of Heaven, Tam confident may be ae- 
quired.” Reynolds had the modesty to fancy that 
#o many rivals, unendowed by nature, might have 
equalled the magic of his own peneil : but his 
theory of industry, so essential to genius, yet so 
useless without it, too long stimulated the drudges 
of art, and left us without a Corregio or a Raphael! 
Another man of genius caught the fever of the 
new system. Connis, in bis eloquent Life of 
Burns, swells out the scene of genius to a startling 
magnificence ; for be asserts, that ‘the talents 
necessary to the construction of an ‘Iliad, ander 
different discipline and application, might have led 
armies to victory or kingdoms to prosperity; 
might have wielded the thunder of eloquence, or || 


* It de more dangerous to define than todewribe; a dry 
definition excludes 0 mach, an ardent description at 
once eppesls to our sympathion How much more com- 
Drohonsthle our great oritic becomes, when he nobly de 
scribex genius, “an the power of mind that collects, come 
Dines, amplifies, and animates ; theemergy without whieh 
ots ols oc sip ete ‘And itis thie 
rowes oF sexo, this primary faculty and | 




















origin 
y be found in that constitutional ‘Natural or native power is enlarged by art; but 


asity which adapts some for par-|the most perfect art has but marrow limits, 
Fede fecws Ba geacrpeeition of  daprew’ af xabil Septic, 

A curious decision on this obscure subject may 
are bound to demonstrate what | be drawn from an admirable judge of the nature of |) 
have failed in proving; we may|genius. Axuxsipx, in that fine poem which | 

forms its history, tracing its gouree, sang, i 
‘From Heaven my strains begin, from Heaven descends || 
‘The flame of gentus to thejumar breast, | 
But in the final revision of that poem, which he || 

Jefe many years after, the bard has vindicated the | 


aie ralph eager 
that they differ only in their capacity? 
of men of genius has distinct habits ; 
ts resemble ono another, as all painters and 
‘There is a conformity in the 
minds, and the quality of cach is dis- 
from the other, and the very faculty which 
for one particular pursuit, is just the 
for another. If these are truisms, | me substitute for “the white paper 
cmay appear, we need not demonstrate | which served the philosopher in his description of 
which we only wish to draw our con-| the operations of the senses on the mind, a less 
Why docs this remarkable similarity | artificial substance. In the soils of the earth we 
prey ugh the classes of genius? Because | may discover that variety of primary qualities |} 
ach, in their favourite production, is working | whieh we believe to exist in human minds, The 
__ Lea at ap aaiog ‘The poetical | botanist and the geologist always find the nature 
eee rticn omens 08 soy will he of the strate indicative of its productions; the 
meagre light herbage announces the poverty of the 
soil it covers, while the luxuriant growth of plants 
betrays the richness of the matrix in which the 
roots are fixed. It is scarcely reasoning by analogy 
the philoropher’s to apply this operating principle of nature to the 
Tt is then the aptitude of the appro. | faculties of men. 
however it varies in its character, in| But while the origin and nature of that faculty 
oh seems most concerned, and which is| which we understand by the term Genius remain 
and connate with the individoal, and, | still wrapt up in its mysterious bud, may we not || 
cp in old days, is born with him, | trace its history in its votaries? If Nature over- 
no other source of genius ; for when: | shadow with her wings her first causes, still the 
been refused by nature, as it ix so | effeots lie open before us, and experience and || 
theory of genins, neither habit nor | observation will often deduce from consciousness: 
‘ever supplied its want. To dis-| what we cannot from demonstration. If Nataro, 
the habit and the predisposition | in some of her great operations, has kept beck her 
> impossible ; because whenever great | last secrets ; if Newton, even in the result of his 
itself, ax it can only do by con- | reasonings, has religiously abstained from pene~ 
‘sturdy Heotch motaphysician never | tating into her oceult connexions, is it nothing 
has to fea, not tls wings, bat Dike to bo her bistorian, although wo cannot be her 























0 Heenan ania the fete of 
o younger Pliny, who was so perfect 
ry character, was charmed by the Roman 
‘of hunting, or rather fowling by nets, which 


Oh, how I long my carcless limbs to lay 


the plantane shade, and si) the day 
Invoke the Muses and improve my vein." 


‘The youth of genius, whom Beattic has drawn 
after himself, and 1 after obyervation, a poet of 
genius, as I understand, has declared to be 

and timid, and too much troubled 

with deliente nerves. The greatest poets of all 
J” be continnes, have been men emi- 





genios 
from attaining to the maturity of his talents, how. 
ever he might have succeeded in invigorating his 
physical powers. 


cause. The Abbé ne St. Pienne, in his political 
annals, tells us, ‘1 remember to have heard old 
‘Seanars remark, that most young people of both 
sexes had at one time of their lives, generally 
about seventeen or eighteen years of age, an ineli- 
‘nation to retire from the world. He maintained 
this to be a species of melancholy, and humorously 
called it the small-pox of the mind, because scarce 
one in a thousand escaped the attack. 1 myself 
have had this distemper, but am not much marked 
with it.” 

But if the youth of genius be mpt to retire from 
the ordinary sports of his mates, he will often 
substitute for them others, which are the reflections: 
of those favourite studies which are baunting his 
young imagination, as men in thir dreams repeat 
the conceptions which have habitually interosted 
them. The amusements of such an idler have 
often been analogous to his later pursuits. Ane 


) the old French and Spanish romances. Sir Wit- 


11am Jones, at Harrow, divided the Gelds accord- 


of mind he displayed in his after-life, and eyineing 


on that felicity of memory and taste so prevalent in 


his literary character. Fuomtan’s earliest years 


”| were passed in shooting birds all-day, and 


every evening an old translation of the Iiad> 
ciesorar Me ask «tcl rasielahls 6 elie 








- s | 
have hit on this per-|of this great artist. “It is difficult to believes || 
of Aurora ; ‘* Fille da| what many assert, thet, from the beginning, this, | 


Ras he first drew his| it is a mistake in the proper knowledge of genius, 
under Perugino, had not yet con-| which some imagine indicates itself most decisively 


boyhood | steady merchant; and it was said of Boruzau 
that he had no great understanding, but would 
speak il of no one, This circumstance of the | 
and tacitumnity, his indifference to juve-| character in youth being entirely mistaken, or 

5 amt his slowness and difficulty in| entirely opposite to the subsequent one of mature _ 
g, and his ready submission to his equale, 


‘to consider him as one irrecoverably 

_ The greatness of mind, unalterable cou- 
‘invincible character, which Pawtus after- 
‘displayed, they then imagined bad lain 

" wnder the apparent contrary qualities, 
yy of genius may indeed seer slow and dull 

ren to the phlegmatic; for thoughtful and observ- 
- dispositions conceal themselves in timarous 
: t characters, who have not yet experienced 
weir strength; and that assidvous love, which 
‘itself away from the recret instruction 

tually imbibing, cannot be easily distin- 

the pertinacity of the mere plodder. 

hear, from the early companions of a 

What at school he appeared heavy 





of the young man, be put bis parents in 
ir with the hopeless award that « mind of so || 



































. Nighte—All travels or histories or 
ipsin the Rast T could moet with, T had read, aa 
‘Defore I was ten years old. 1 think the 


(held in Greece with Count Gamba, not long 

‘Turkish History was ono of the 

‘Pleasure when a child; and 

b inflnence on my subsequent wishes 

and gave perhaps the Oriental 
in my pootry.” 





rH 


PAEEeT 


i 
i 


t 
i 


: 


el 


from a copy of Vegetius de Re Militari, in the |) 
school library of St. Paul's, Maninorovor im- 
bibed bis passion fora military life. If he could 
not understand the text, the prints were, in such a 
mind, sufficient to awaken the passion for military 
Rousseau in early youth, fall of his 
Plutarch, while he was also devouring the trash 
of romances, could only conceive human nature 
in the colossal forms, or be affected by the infirm 














with the same fine intellect disor- 

‘the same fortitode of soul; but he 

‘self-taught pen, like his pencil, betray 
vebement 


pause bis auditors rose in » tumult, and 
close thelr hands returned to him the 
he adored, This gifted but self. 
Mi man, once listening to the children of 
8 ‘be had created about him, exclaimed, 
‘Go it, go it, my boys! they did so at Athens.” 
J d genius could throw up his native 
the yery heaven of his invention ! 
mich pages ax those of Banny's are 
of young genius. Before we can dis- 


pphe delivered his lectures at the academy, 





beautiful, aust we not be endowed with | li 


of love? Must not the disposi- 
d before even the object appears? 

wit the young artist of genius glow 

| start over the severies of the uneducated 
BY, but pause and meditate, and inquire over 
ure elegance of Rxywoups; in the one 
the passion for beauty, and in the other 

d the beautiful; with the one he was 
“restless, and with the other calm and 








powers. He wae a Polish Jew, expelled tain defects in his Jewish education, and numerous. || 
from the communion of the orthodox, and the impediments in his studies. Inberiting but one 
calumniated student was now a vagrant, with more ‘eaenege, top oblate sated ee 
sensibility than fortitude, But this vagrant was Lamesa toys, 
Eoragee @ poet, a naturalist, and = mathe- | his new acquisitions, and: 

matician. Muxoxsssomy, at a distant day, never many languages, ial 

‘alluded to him without tears, ‘Thrown together into | remaining a mere bescypera while in 
the same situation, they approached each other by | sophy, having adopted the 
thesamesympathies, and communicating inthconly |of Wolf and Baumgarten, bis 
language which Mzxnetssorts could speak, the Po- | without the courage or the skill 
Jander voluntarily undertook his literary education. | itself from their rusty chains. bares 


spectacles in the history of modern literature. | but a step was yet wanting to 
‘Two houscless Hebrew youths might be discovered, | At length the mindof Mewoz 
in the moonlit streets of Berlin, sitting in retired | literary intereourse ; he became: 
comers, or on the steps of some porch, the one | nal thinker ia many beautiful 
the other, with a Euclid in his hand ;/ and eritical philosophy; while 


























of our Grat writers set their fortunes | without a standard to appeal to, without bladders 

‘af their friends’ opinions, we might | to swim, the ordinary critic sinks into irretricvable 

precious » The friends | distress; but usually pronounces against novelty. 

¥ discovered nothing but faults in his | When Revwotns returned from Italy, warm with 

ons, one of which happened to be | all the excellence of his art, and painted a portrait, 

: Winter ;"' they just eould discern | his old master Hudson viewing it, and perceiving 

abounded with luxuriances, without | no trace of his own manner, exclaimed that he did 

are that they were the luxariances of a| not paint so well as when he left England ; while 

‘He had created a new school in art—and | another, who conceived no higher excellence than 

om his circle to the public, From a|Koneller, treated with signal contempt the future 

pt letter of our poet's, written when | Raphael of 5 | 

on his “ Summer,"’ 1 transcribe his sen-| If it be dangerous for a young writer to resign 

on his former literary friends in Scotland | himself to the opinions of his friends, he also 

ri to Mallet: * Fur from defending | incurs some peril in passing them with inattention. 

ro lines, I damn thom to the lowest depth | He wants » Quintilian. Ono mode to obtain such 

for| an invaluable critic, is the cultivation of his own 

judgment in a round of reading and meditation, 

‘Let him at once supply the marble and be himself 

the sculptor ; let the great authors of the world be 

te us all the mules in Persia.” This| his gospels, and the best critics their expounders ; 

‘warm affections felt so irritably the per-| from the one he will draw inspiration, and from 

ticisms of his learned friends, that they | the others he will supply those tardy discoveries 

share alike, a poetic Heli—probably a sort | in art, which he who solely depends on his own 

experience may obtain too late. Those who do 

not read criticism will rarely merit to be eriticined; 

their progress is like thone who travel without « 

ily having one, the poet, to avoid a per-| map of the country. The more extensive an 

tion, could only consent to make the| author's knowledge of what has been done, the 

active— greater will be his powers in knowing what to do. 

Me To obtain originality, and effeet discovery, some~ 
(Why all not ‘Mitchell | 

Jyuartcnehanty witytiorticnaei™ | times requires but « single step, if we only know 


rain calls him “the planct-blasted Mitchell.” 
of these critical friends be speaks with 
d but with a strong conviction that 
‘avery sensible man, had no sympathy 
he poct. “Aikman’s reflections on my 
are very good, but he docs not in them | excited by passion; but when young he gave no 
he tarn of my genius enough; should | evidence of this peculiar faculty, nor for several 
years, while a candidate for public distinction, was 
he aware of bis particular powers ; #0 slowly bis 
imagination had developed itrelf, It was, when 
assured of the sccret of his strength, that his 
* received, as all“ bome-| confidence, his ambition, and his industry were 
; but London avenged the cause | excited. 
When Swirr introduced Pan-| Let the youth preserve his juvenile 
rd Bolingbroke, and to the world, he| whatever these may be; they are the spontaneous 
Journal, “it is pleasant to sec| growth, and like the plants of the Alps not always 
Ip pasted for anything in: Ireland, found in other soils ; they are his virgin fancies. 
them he may detect some of 











etrteeel 
Hae 
2 


the most muccomful—Of the} script notes by Lord Breox on this work, which 
of learning —Writera of taste—}1 have wished to preserve, I find his 


but the man of genius cannot leave him-| longer “pour out his bosom, bis every thought 
behind in the cabinet he quits; the train of| and floating fancy, his very inmost soul, with 


Inthe) -Sir bays sinus © Ebay ot Miarory qu The 

Personal motives, In Quarrela of Authors, page 312 

‘There we find bow many controversies, in which the 

public get involved, have sprung from some sudden 

euadble, some neglect of petty civility, some unlucky 

by 8] epithet, oF some casual olmervation dropped without 

imation of thought, and, placing his} much consideration, which mortified or enmged the 

wer his eyes, is thrown back into the| genus irritabile; a title whiets from ancient days has 
‘ages, ‘Thus it happens that an excited | been assigned to every deseription of authurs. The lato 
‘Dr. Warca, who bad some experience in his intercourse 


‘aniversally acknowledged to be true. Bome of the male 
‘volent passions indeed frequently become in Iotrnod men 
more than ordinarily strong, fram want of that restraint 


and | tion entirety from my own faney iI havo taken # from: 
c} im a word, he thinks he] life! Seo further xymptoms of this diame at the clove of 
his studies. § the chapter on Sel/-prader in the prosent works 








him or his pomp cither ?” Dr, Blair's vanity | by the literati, arrived: 

is proverbially known among his acquaintance,” | and abruptly returned ho ’, 

adds Burns, at the moment that the solitary | this great 

eames ints bate valet Bak sassy wea Jain ng om 
self-observation. 


irritability of some of | equality of temper 
the finest geniuses, which is often weak to efferni- | verrans, 
acy, and capricious to childishness! while minds men of the wold bak 

















ace-strings, carrying his working | despair, Sl aes Serie inns ted oa 
Sia wit) ta, erp tha peace with the | waderstand say: wo kowevee 1 shall ba pas 


rave, the weaker party loses itself in the 
er, and at length they learn, that the author 
reasonable than their prejudices had 

al them to conceive. It is thus, however, 
ae regard which men of genius find in one 
ey lose in another. We may often smile 
gradations of genius; the fervid esteem 

an sutbor is held here, and the cold 

if not contempt, be encounters in 

‘place; here the man of learning is con- 

4 a heavy drone, and there the man of 


Feaoelienco? Is the man of genios an 
the discovery is contested, or it is not 
for ten years after, perhaps not 


| him. Sir Thomas Bodley wrote 
with him on his 


me. 1 took my leave of Flora, who bestows 
nothing on me but Siegesbecks; and condemned 
my too numerous observations a thousand times 
‘over to eternal oblivion, What a fool have I 
been to waste #0 much time, to spend my days 
in a study which yiclds no better fruit, and makes 
me the langhing-stock of the world.’* Such are 
‘the cries of the irritability of genius, amd such are 
‘often tho causes. The world was in danger of 
losing « new science, had not Lixw avs retumed 
to the discoveries which he had forsaken in the 
madness of the mind! The great Srpenmam, 
who like our Hanvey and our Huxren, effected 
a revolution in the science of medicine, and led on 


practice 
guilty of medical heresy." Jonx Huwres was 








and thes Bishop Srit-|and prophesied that the public would return te 

s hastened by Locxe’s | it: they did so; but it was sisty years afterwards; 

rics. The feelings of | and Racine died withoutsuspecting that Athalie"” 

3 oul hardly be les iritable| was his masterpiece. T have heard one of out } 
that he bad devoted #0 much of | 


Ti Se Seager targa 

‘he gxre the world the complete 

met with no encouragement: in the 

eee som ad Rivinnof he 
and Oriental studies were no 


Venwras profoundly felt the retard- 


titade had tolled through a life of diffi- | movements of his soul; but the art of conveying |] 
‘danger, could not endure the laugh and | those movements is far separated from the 
of public opinion; for Bauer there was a) which inspires them, The idea in the mind i« not 
on more dreadful than the Arabian, and from | always found under the pen, any more than the 
ius cannot hide its head. Yet Buvex 
th the fate which Manco Pawo had 
3 whose faithful narrative had 
by his contemporaries, and who 
g thrown aside among legendary writers. 
, though bis life was prolonged to his 
Ebigenc, hardly lived to ce hla great dis- 
‘the circulation of the blood established : 
se it; and when at length it 
8 Fe party attempted to rob Harvey 
C voedapig irre while another 
ted that it was so obvious, that they could 
their astonishment that it had ever 


ver 


verse : “ whether for the thought, the expression, 

or the harmony, it is evident that as many opera- 

catalogue. tions in the heart, the head, or the ear of the poet 

n of a writer of taste is subject to | occurred,’ obserres « man of genius, Ugo Foscolo. 
‘than any other. Similar was the | Quintilian and Horace dread the over-fondness of 

) finest ode-writers in our poetry. On| an author for his compositions; alteration is not 

tion, the odes of Co111xs could find | always iemprovement. A picture orer-finished fails 

and those of Gravy, though ushered | in its effect. If the hand of the artist eannot 

world by the fashionable press of | leave it, how much beauty may it undo! yet still 
condemned as failures, When | he is lingering, still strengthening the weak, still 

a sae? Ie waa ack ab subduing the daring, still searching for that single 

{indeed declared that he| {dea which awakens so many in the minds of || 

better than the public, others, while often, as it once happened, the dash | 














EXTREME SENSIBILITY OF GENIUS. 


drawn, from his own | career; it was Boruzav who ocasclessly animated || 
comparative estimate of} their languor; “ Posterity,”” he cried, * will 
orpe avenge the injustice of our age!” And Con- 
GRevE's comedies met with such moderate suc- 

cess, that it appears the author was extremely 

mortified, and on the ill reception of The Way 

















a 
. 








thor for his 

of « 
hen he has written to a mistress who has not y 
led on his claims; he repents his Iabour, 


Bhi 


HIE 


forms a noble part of its creation, yet he 
that his cold reasoning critics have decided, that 
the history of his hero Godfrey required another |} 
species of conduct. “ Hence,"" cries the unhappy 
bard, ‘* doubts torment me ; but for the past, and 
what is done, 1 know of no remedy; and he 
longs to precipitate the publication, that ‘he 
may be delivered from misery and agony, 




















peal “in social life 
genius hare been often re 
from the nature of 


ree eee a erccalat alles, 
himself authoritatively ; but 

iether a dogmatist: should he 
he may correct &n equivocal expres- 
‘a remote idea, he isin danger 


Sa 


iy have to speak ; Se oan 
ideas or use inaccurate terms, 

ot choose to speak, like others, merely for the 

king.” A vivid and sudden perception 

‘severe scrutiny after it, may elevate 

‘burst with an irraptive beat on 


aii iepeaa sera opengl 
‘and to take unexpected views of things in some |} 
humour of the moment. Tin Sasa eee 


rejutotty salerorrescatet 
ax they are misunderstood. But thus the cunning |} 
Philistines are enabled to triumph ever the strong 
and gifted uxan, because in the hour of confidenoe, 
and in the abandonment of the mind, he bad laid 
his head in the lap of wantonness, and taught 
‘them how he might be shorn of his strength. Dr. 
Jonuwsow appears often to have indulged this 
amusement, both in good and ill humour. Even 
such a calin philosopher as Apaw Saccru, as well |} 
as such a child of imagination as Burns, were | 
remarked for this ordinary habit of men of genius; 
They | which perhaps ax often originates in a gentle feel~ 
ing of contempt for their auditors, as from any 
other cause. Many years after having written the 
ahove, I discovered two recent confessions which 
confirm the principle. A literary character, the || 


‘tone of conversation, ‘There men are 
in curnest for the weak or the vain. 
kills their feeble animal 
yX, A creative genius of his class, had a 
of expression which seemed repulsive to 
‘it arose from an intense application of 
ch impelled him to break out bastily 

was said that did not accord with 
Persons who are obstinate till they can 
ir notions with a safe conscience, are 

vome intimates. Ofter too the cold tardi- 
decision is only the atrict balancing of 


late Dr. Lavnex, acknowledged, that “in. con- 
versation T often verge s0 nearly on absurdity, that | 
I know it is perfectly casy to misconceive me, as || 


who did not know him intimately, often took liter- | 
ally what was either said in sport, or spoken with || 
the intention of making « stroog impression. for || 
some good ” Cumpertanp, whose | 
or candour, while obscarity as fre-| conversation was delightful, happily describes the 
arise from the deficiency of previous | species 1 have noticed. ‘* Nonsense talked by 
in the listener. It was said that| men of wit and understanding in the hour of re- 
in conversation did not seem to under-| laxation is of the very finest essence of convivislity, 
uae cee, et was anppoedd tt and a treat delicious to those who have the senac 
bad decayed. The fact, however, was| tocomprehend it; but it implies a trust im the 
and Pemberton makes a curious dis-| company not always to be risked."” The truth is, 
which accounts for Nuwrox not always | that many, eminent for their genius, have been 
ady to speak on subjects of which he was| remarkable in society for « simplicity and play- 
master. Inventors sccm to treasure up | fulness almost infantine. Such was the gaicty of 
own minds what they have found out,after| Home, such the bonhomie of Fox; and one 
manner than those do the same things | who had long lived ina eircle of men of genius in 
‘not this inventive faculty. The former, | the last age, was disposed to consider this infentins 
have occasion to produce their know- | simplicity as characteristic of genius, tis 
“means are obliged immediately to| solitary grace, which can mever lend its charm to 
part of what they want. For this they | a man of the world, whose purity of mind has long 
lly fit at all times; and thus it has | been lost in a haoknied intercourse with every- 
that such as retain things chiefly | thing exterior to himself. 
[a very strong memory, have appeared | But above all, what most offends, is that free- 
n¢ ‘tan the discoverers them-| dom of opinion which = man of genius can a0 
‘more divest himself of, than of the features of bis 
face. But what if this intractable obstinacy be 
only resistance of character? Burxs never could || 




















which burns on its altar, becanse the fuel is inces- 
santly supplied > e 

We observe men of genius, in public 
sighing for this solitude, Amidst the impedi- 








kome fairy delusion, never to taste it. The great 
Venetas often complained of the disturbances: 


at ix the moment to fly into seclusion 
‘There is a society in the deepest | at Jersey, where for more than two years, can 
all the men of genius of the past ployed on his History, be daily wrote **one shect 
Flext of your kind, Socfety divine !* of large paper with his own hand.” At the close 


fet 














: Britis Py, hich, on, the  epertitent toes ta frontal ta: iri eCaakg | 
, the excitement orased, Mxrx-|and our comic writer wes fully aware of the 
‘ieee ¢ feeble and too sensitive frame} advantages of the situation. “* In all my hours of |} 
the last stage of suffering by| study,” says that elegant writer, “it bas been 
peermesoase his any peiatcl peeksy Stes aimed deine as to 


's house. Such facts show how | peesent ease, an Irish turfatack, are not attrac |] 
be concerned in the government of | tions thst can call off the fancy from its pursuits § } 


Incapable 

ing languages, and deficient in all those studies 

which depend on the exercise of the memory, it 

became the object of his subsequent exertions to 

vitality. | supply thia deficleney by the order and method he 
observed in arranging every new fact or idea be 

place | obtained ; so that in reality with a very bad 
memory, it appears that be was still enabled to 

recall at will any ides or any knowledge which he 

had stored up, Jom~ Howrer happily illastrated 


365 columns, according to the days of the year: 
he resolved to try to recollect an anecdote, for 
every column, as insignificant and remote as he 
was able, rejecting all under ten yours of age; and 
to his surprise, he filled those spaces for suvall 
reminiscences, within ten columns; but till this 


geometrically compoxed 
rish eye,” is the man of | the aid of his imagination and memory ; and when 
peed ed essays Im the daytime bo verified the one and the other 








wes,and Pasrirr, An 
‘moral qualities and the 
character were com- 


enjoyments 
iy the eras of human life, 
‘was to be learned, and what 


\e to stated periods their | deputy. 


r An occasional reeurrence, 

1 a standard, would be like look- 

ta remind tho student how he 
advances in the great day's work. 
plans have been often invented by 
of ‘There was no comma- 
Sir Wicttam Jowzs and Dr. 

; yet when young, the self-taught phi- 
Aworica pursued the same genial and 
votion to his own moral and literary 


the bold sn arduous pret of ase 
 &e. He began a daily 

jich against thirteen virtues accom - 
‘eclumns to mark the days of the 
down what he considered to be 

j be found himself fuller of fanits than 
but at length his blots diminished. 
ination, or this ‘* Faultbook,’’ as 
would have called it, was always 
him. These books still exist, An 
contrivance was that of journalising his 
of which he has furnished us 

riptions and specimens of themethod ; 
with a solewn assurapee, that * It 
It my posterity should be informed, 
| tistle artifice their ancestor owes the 


‘peculiar ar fk 
the day and for the year, in which be rivalled tho. 
calm and unalterable system pursued by Guonow, 
Burron,and Vourarax, who often only combined 


‘They knew what to ask for; and where what is 

wanted may be found : they made use of an intel 

ligent secretary; aware, as Lord Bacon has 

ecprened it, that some books “may be read by 
” 

Burros laid down anexcellent rule to obtain ori- 
sinality, when he advised the writer first to exhaust 
his own thoughts, before be attempted to consult 
other writers ; and Ginnon, the most experienced 
reader of all our writers, offers the same important 
advice to an author. When engaged on a parti- 
cular subject, he tells us, ‘I suspended my perusal 
of any new book on the subject, till Ehad reviewed 
all that I knew, or believed, or had thought on it, 
that I might be qualified to discern how much the 
authors aided to my original stock." ‘The adyios 
of Lord Bacon, that we should pursue our studies: 
‘in whatever disposition the mind tay be, is excel~ 
lent. If happily disposed, we shall gain a great 
step ; and if indisposed, we ‘* shall work out the 
knots and strands of the mind, and make the 
middle times the more pleamat.” Some active 
lives have passed away in incessant competition, 
like those of Mozanr, Cicero, and Vourarne, || 
who were restless, perhaps unhappy, when their | 
genius was quiescent. To such minds the con- 
stant zeal they bring to their labour supplies the 
absence of that inspiration which cannotalways be || 
the same, nor always at its height. 

Industry is the feature by which the ancients ro 
frequently describe un eminent character; such || 
phrases as ‘' ineredibili: industria; diligentia 
singulari,”* are usual. We of these days cannot 
conceive the industry of Cicero; but he has 
himself told us that he suffered no moments of 


i-| his leisure to escape from him. Not only his 


ite thelr own moral and literary cha- 
similar although extraordinary 


Grevow and Parestiey pre~ 

r and the habits of the 

“ What I have known,” says 

vith respect to myself, has tended 
both my admiration and my con~ 
- Could we bave entered into the) mind 
aac Newton, and have traced all 


spare hours were consecrated to his books ; but 
even on days of business he would take a few turns 
in his walk, to meditate orto dictate ; many of his 
letters are dated before daylight, some from the 
senate, at his meals, and amid his morning lerées. 
The dawn of day was the summons of study to 
Sir Wictram Joxzs. Jonnw Hurtex, who was 
constantly engaged in the search and consideration 
of new facts, described what was passing in his 
mind by a remarkable illustration :—he said - 
Abernethy, ‘* My mind is like a bee-hive.”” A 























ms of the morning, the mind sud-| "ant with sense— 
forsaken ond solitary. Rovs- 


r he had nothing to write, Thus} the subject that the whole mind becomes grada- 

its vexpors and its vigils, as well as its| ally agitated ; as a summer landscape, at the break 

yatias, which we have been #0 often told arc the| of day, is wrapt in mist; at first, the sun strikes 
of its inspiration ; but every hour mayjon a single object, but the light and warmth 


ae ‘nights are the portion of genius | rejected, by the judgment!”’ At that moment, he 
ged in its work; the train of reasoning | adds, “ I was in that eagerness of imagination 
+ the images of fancy catch a fresh | whieh, by over-pleasing fancifal men, flatters 


rer i the car of him who tums about for the | us of his history, “ At the onset, all was dark and 
osure to which his troubled spirit can. | doubtful; even the title of the work, the true cra 

- of the Wecline and fall of the empire, &c. Iwas 

la with genius so much seems fortuitous, | often tempted to cast away the labour of seven. 
operations the march of the mind | years’! Wexcxensan was long lost in com- 

and requires preparation. ‘The | posing his * History of Art,” a hundred fruitless 

faculties are not always coexistent, or | attempts were made, before be could discover a 

ys act simultaneously. Whenever any| plan amidst the labyrinth. Slight conceptions 

if faculty ix highly active, while the others | kindle finished works, A Indy asking for a fow 


It seems trivial to observe that| sures of Memory,” as it happened with “* The 
should precede composition, bat we are | Rape of the Lock,” the poot at first proposed a 
jaware of its importance ; the truth is, | simple description in a few lines, till conducted 

ity unless it be a habit. We] by meditation the perfect composition of several 














by perceiving that the same causes 
‘the regular motions of the pla- 


les meditation draws out of the most simple 
the strictness of philosophical demonstra- 


Socnares sometimes remained 
immovable meditation, his eyes 
directed to one spot, as if in the 


rence in the public exhibition, which had passed 
unobserved before him. It has been told of a 


the whole night in observing it; and when they 
came to him ¢arly in the morning, and found him 














erased out of the soul ss 
iho wing ne vee ad 


birth to poetry, could he have expressed 

“im verse. It was 2 complote state of 

sinative existence, or this ideal presence; 

d along the wilds of Arragon in a 

ping and laughing by turns. Hecon- 

‘a folly, because it ended in nothing 

and tears. He was not aware that 

‘yielding to a demonstration, could he 

‘of himeelf, that he possessed those 

of mind and that energy of passion 
the poetical character. 

‘creates by a single conception ; the sta- 

‘the statue at once, which he 

executes by the slow process of art ; 

et contrives a whole palace in an 

Ina single principle, opening as it were 

to genius, a great and new system of 

red. It has happened, sometimes, 

conception, rushing over the whole 

; spirit, has agitated the frame con- 

‘Tt comes like a whispered secret from 

- When Macesrancux first took up 

a's Treatise on Man, the germ of his own 

philosophic system, such was his 

chat « violent palpitation of the 

than once, obliged him to Jay down 

| When the first idea of the “ Essay 

sand Sciences "’ rushed on the mind of 





herself. The mind of Pruwy, to add one more 
chapter to his mighty scroll, sought Natare amidst 
the voleane in which he perished. Viner was |] 
on board a ship in a raging tempest where all hope 
was given up. The astonished captain beheld the 
urtist of genius, his pencil in his hand, in calm 
enthusiasm, sketching the terrible world of waters 
—studying the wave that was rising to devour him. 
‘There is a tender enthusiasm inthe elevated stur 
dies of antiquity. Then the ideal presence or the || 
imaginative existence prevails, by its perpetual || 
associations, or as the late Dr, Brown has perhaps || 
more distinctly cermed'then, suggestions, In | 
contemplating antiquity, the mind itself becomes 
antique,” was finely observed by Livy, long ere 
our philosophy of the mind existed as s system. 
This raptare, or sensation of deep study, has been 
described by one whose imagination had strayed 
into the oceult learning of antiquity, and in the 
hymns of Orpheus, it seemed to him that be had 
lifted the veil from Nature. His feelings were 
associated with her loneliness, I translate his 
words. When I took these dark mystical hymus 
into my hands, I appeared as it were to be de- 
scending into an abyss of the mysteries of vene~ 
rable antiquity; at that moment, the world in 
silence and the stars and moon only, watching me.” | 
‘This enthusiasm is confirmed by Mr. Mathins, who 
applies this description to his own emotions on his | 




















Dba! bute. etep which may carry un 
of fancy into the aberrations 
‘The endurance of attention, even in 
"the highest order, is limited by » Inw of 
when thinking is goaded on to exhaus- 
of ideas ensues, as straining any 
f our limbs by excessive exertion produces 
| torpor. 
art the brain too finely wrought 
‘Lerself ard is destroyed by Thought ; 
attention wears the active mind, 
her powers, and leaves blank bebind— 
penius to this fate may bow." 
less susceptible than high genius 
overpowered by their imagination. 
deep silence around us, we seek to 
0 by some voluntary noise or action 
y direct our attention to an exterior 


Beer ita teneghl, whieh cul deep 
rience. ‘The terrible effect of metas 


dies on Brarri= has been told by 
“# Sinee the Essay on Truth was printed 
y Lhave never dered to read it over. 





‘Goxpowr, after a rash exertion of writing six- 
a pa Ser rene weitere Beale ae 


the principle of life is so reduced, that all external 
objects appear to be passing ina dream. Born- 


after; and Trssor, in his work on the health of 
wen of letters, abounds in similar cases, where a 
complete stupor has affected the unheppy student 
for a period of six months. 

Assoredly the finest geniuses have not always 
the power to withdraw themselves from that 
intensely interesting train of ideas, which we have 
chown has not been removed from about them by 
even the violent stimuli of exterior objects ; and 


found himeelf, in that minote narrative of a vision 
in which Laura appeared to him; anid Tasso, in 
the lofty conversations he held with a spirit that 
glided towards him on the beams of the sun. In 
this state was MALEBRANcie listening to the 
voice of God within him; and Lord Hensenr, 
when, to know whether he should publish his 
book, he threw himself on his knees, and interro- 
gated the Deity in the stillness of the sky. And 
thus Pascar started at times at a fiery gulf open- 

ing by his side. Srrvexuo having painted the 
fall af the rebellious angels, had so strongly ima- 








their curses have kind- 
if they afflict mankind it is in 


than enthusiasm is the purchase- 
and invention? Perhaps 

been a man of genius of this rare 
has not betrayed the eballitions of 
in some outward action, at that period 
of life are more real to genius 
‘There is a fata morgana, that 

the air a plotured land, and the de- 
have dreamt of a goliden land,'’ ex- 
osent, “and solicit in vain for the 
to carry me to its shore.” A slight 
of our accustomed habits, a little 
on of the faculties, and « romantic tinge 
li give no indifferent promise of 
that generous temper which knowing 


existence, be assured that it is the 

ine of its genius. That virtuous and tender 
“Prsxton, in his early youth, troubled 
with a classical and religions reverie, 
the point of quitting them to restore 

nce of Greece, with the piety of a 


sionary, and with the taste of # classical anti- 
‘The Peloponnesus opened to him the 

mee yee Pe eal pressed, the himself, who are “ the servants of posterity,’” 

ocrates conversed ; the latent - ” 

pluck laurels from Delphi, and rove |” 0?“ iehte analive borions dare! 
amenities of Tempe. Such was the 














«a | 
own 


; and epplied tothat Raion eeaniaeie pees 
; Rochefoucauld declared he had never 


Madame Dr Svaxu was an experienced observer 

of the habits of the literary character, and she has 

ry in these men of genius | remarked how one student usually revolts from 
posite to their own was the | the other when (Aeir occupations are different, 
fechas ‘and thus it happens | because they are a reciprocal annoyance, ‘The 
scholar has nothing to say to the poet, the poet to 
the naturalist; and even among men of science, 
those who are differently occupied avoid each other, 
taking little interest in whnt is out of their own 

cirele, Thus we see the classes of literature, like | 
the planets, revolving ax distinct worlds; and it 
would not be lesa absurd for the inhabitants of 
‘Venus to treat with contempt the powers and facul- 
tics of those of Jupiter, than it is for the men of 
wit and imagination, those of the men of know 
ledge and curiosity. The wits are incapable of 
exerting the peculine qualities which give a real 
value to these pursuits, and therefore they must 
rina remain ignorant of their nature and their result. 
re Fa iomaineietdy und fel fn tha degree It is not then always envy or jealousy which 
we sympathise, we may be sure that in| induces men of genius to undervalue each other; 
i capes the parties will be found altogether | the want of sympathy will sufficiently account for 
ent in those qualities of genius which consti- | the want of judgment. Suppose Nawrox, Qui- 
se excellence of the other, To this cause, |NAvur, and Macmtaver accidentally meeting 
it to the one the friends of Mrcxtx | together, and unknown to each other, would they 
not soon have desisted from the vain attempt of 

communicating their ideas? The philosopher 

would have condemned the poet of the Graces as 

an intolerable trifler, and the author of “ The 

Prince’ as a dark political spy. Machiavel would 

have conceived Newton to be a dreamer among 

‘the stars, and a mere almanack-maker among mens 





for some time, they would have relieved their 
ennui by reciprocal contempt, and each have 
parted with a determination to avoid heneeforward 
two such disagreesble companions. 

od. It will not be # question with 

& man must be endowed with the oo 

CHAPTER XV. 

olf-pratae of gonine—The love of praise inxtinetive in the 


‘author knows more of bit merits than bis readers—And 
Yee of bia defects — Authors versatile tn thelr adeitra- 
‘Hon and thelr malignity. 
‘Vantry, egotism, a strong sense of thelr own 
sufficieney, form another accusation 
genius; but the complexion of 
J was Inmented in forty | alter with the occasion ; for the of 
) this great literary charncter ‘truth may eppear vanity, and the conscioumess of 

















‘Even in advanced age, the man of genius 
m praise he caught in bis youth from 
which, like the aloe, will fower at 


tion of Virgil fed for many a year; for 
"his latest productions, the twelfth book 
Exeid, he applics these very words to 
‘So long had the accents of Cicero’s 
red in the poet's ear! 


il 
































Os!" ]ONS APTRIBUTABLE TO DOMESTIC INPELICITIES 439 


e sir daring the moment | 


ous blemishes of several 
ay be attribated to the domes. 


vided fail yrvente that ca 
which otherwise had crased pas- 


‘in the situation of his Samson 


great work. The carcless rapid lines of 
are justly attributed to bis distress, and 

d he pleads for his inequalities from his 
circumstances. Jonsson often silently, 
dy, corrected the Ramblers in their suc- 
editions, of which so many had been 
d in hoste. The learned Greaves 


, from ‘his being five yeara encum- 

ed with lawsuits and diverted from his studies.” 
a at Jength he returned to them, he expresses 
rine “ at the pains he bad formerly under- 
‘but of which he now folt himself “* unwill- 
he knew not how, of ogain undergoing.” 
when ot the bar, abandoned his comic 

for several years ; and having resumed it, 
comedy totally failed: “ My head,” eays 
was occupied with my professional employ- 
5 1 was uncasy in mind and in bad bumour,’* 
it, a bankruptey, a domestic feud, or an 

ce in criminal or in foolish pursuits, have 
the fervour of imagination, scattered into 
many @ noble design, and paralysed the 
‘The distractions of Gino's studies 

pusion for gaming, and of Parsxot- 
for alchemy, have been traced in their 
ch are often hurried over and unequal. 

to observe, that Cusmenzanp attri- 


doors was love and affection. In no other period 
of my life have the same happy circumstances 
combined to cheer me in any of my literary 
labours.” 

‘The best years of Munas' life were embittered 
by his father, a poor artist, and who, with poorer 


forced his son into the slavery of stipulated task- 
work, while bread and water were the only fraits 


persecation, 
the son contracted those morose and satumnine 
habits which in after-life marked the character of 
the ungenial Mawes. Axoxso Cano, a celobrated 
Spanish painter, would have carried his art to | 
perfection, had not the unceasing persecution of | 
the inquisitors entirely deprived him of that tran- 
quillity so necessary to the very existence of art. 
Ovip, in exile on the barren shores of Tomos, 
deserted by his genius, in his copious Trista 
Joses much of the luxurlance of his fancy. 

We have a remarkable evidence of domestic 
‘unhappiness annihilating the very faculty of genius: 
itself, in the case of Dr. Brook Tarion, the 
celebrated author of the “ Lincar ” 
‘This great mathematician in carly life distinguished 
himself o an inventor in science, and the most 
sanguine hopes of his future discoveries were raised 
both at home and abroad. Two unexpected events. 
in domestic life extinguished his inventive faculties, 
After the loss of two wives, whom he regarded 
with no common affection, he became unfitted for 
profound studies ; he carried his own personal 
despair into bis favourite objects of pursuit, and 
abandoned them. The inventor of the most origi- 
nal work suffered the last fifteen yeara of his life 


‘very ocespation."’ Our nather’s 
character in his works was the very opposite 
the one in which he appeared to these low 


treated his simplicity ns utter silliness, his 








of Borrow one day surprised his father 
‘of a column, which he had raised to 

+ of his father’s eloquent genius. ‘It 
you honour,” observed the Gallic sage. 
that son in the revolution was led to 
ine, he ascended in silence, so impressed 
father’s fame, that he only told the 


Histens falls from her lips, and only ber 
ereatethe moments of tenderness. The 





imperfect accents of that beloved voice reminded 
him of the past and warned him of the future, and 
be declares, that volee '* had a happy influence on 
bis habite,"—as happy, atleast, as his own volatile: 
nature would allow, To the manner in which 
my mother formed me at an early age," said 
‘Napoleon, **1 principally owe my subsequent eleva- 
Hon. Myopinion|s, thatthe future good or bad con~ 
duct of a child entirely depends upon the mother.” 


of, the mother will often cherish those first decided: 
tastes merely from the delight of promoting the 
happiness of her son ; so that that genius, which 
some would produce on a preconceived system, or 
implant by stratagem, or enforce by application, 
with her may be only the watchful labour of love, 














interruption*. This } to it the two great acquisitions of human purauits, || 
to their genius has, | fortune and a family: but in what country had 
too dear, from the days of | Bayle not a family and s possession in his fame? 
in his old age, neglected | Hume and Gro had the most perfect concep- 
d was brought before his | tion of the literary character, and they were aware 
as one fallen into a second | of this important principle in its habits: ‘* My 
‘poet brought but one soli. | own revenue,” said Huse, "' will be sufficient for 


victim of rhyme of the satirical | butod to fortify my application.” 
tudious, and without fortune, Cotin| ‘The state of poverty, then, desirable in the | 
till he incurred the unhappi- | domestic lift of genius, is one in which the cares 
a large estate, Then » world of | of property never intrude, and the want of wealth 
on him; bis rents were not paid, | is never perceived. This is not indigence ; that || 
itors increased. Dragged from hia| state which, however dignified the man of genius 
Greek, poor Cotin resolved to make | himself may be, must inevitably degrade! for the 
ire fortune to one of his heirs, on con- | heartless will gibe, and even the compassionate 
His other relations aseum. | turn aside in contempt. This Hterary outcast will 


¢ preached. The good sense, the sound| Not that in this history of men of genius, we 
‘and the erudition of the preacher were | are without illustrious examples of those who have 
at the whole bench unanimously declared | even learnt fo wané, that they might emancipate 
Iai stg be considered mx mae ‘thelr genius from their necessities ! 

they to condemn a man of letters who| We see Roussnau rushing out of the palace of 
of excaping from the incumbrance of | the financier, selling his watch, copying music by 
had only interrupted his studies, |the sheet, aud by the mechanical industry of two 
© may then be sufficient motives to induce hours purchasing ten for genius. We may smile 
to make a state of mediocrity his |at the enthusiasm of young Baxar, who finding 
‘If he lose his happiness, be mutilates his | himself too constant a haunter of taverns, ima- 
Goxpons, with all the simplicity of his | gined that this expenditure of time was occasioned 
and habits, in reviewing his life, tells us| by having money; and to put an end to the con- 
was always relapsing into his old propen- | flict, he threw the little he possessed at once into 
comic writing ; ‘but the thought of this | the Liffey; but let us not forget that Bannr, in 
disturb me,’ says he; “ for though in | the maturity of life, confidently began a labour of 
situation I might have been in easier | years, and one of the noblest inventions in his art, 
As Ashould never have boon so happy."'| a great poem in a picture, with no other resource 
8 parent of the modern literary cha-| than what he found by secret Inbours through the 
pursed the same course, and early in| night, in furnishing the shops with those slight 
the principle ‘* Neither to fear bad | and saleable sketches which secured uninterrupted 

or have any ardent desires for good.”’| mornings for his genius. Svrwosa, @ name as || 
ad with the passions only as their his-| celebrated, and perhaps ns calumniated, ax Epi- 
d living only for literature, he sncrificed | curds, Hved in all sorts of abstinence, even of 


advantage to the coonomlo | how he had subsisted | pemlngerare I 
eae were nulish and an égp." 




















|) 


But i 


ian Soacd, ind a nota in four Sain 
» slavery, In one of Swacesrearn's 
t ly laments this compulsion 


‘a reading poblie,”” this principle of honour is 
altered. Wealthy and even noble authors are 
proud to receive the largest tribute to their gening, 
because this tribute is the certain evidence of the 
number who pay it. The property of book, 


be says, “is the least ambiguous test of our 
common snecess.'' The philosopher accepted it 
as a substitute for that ‘friendship or favour of 


‘A precious work on 
subject, which may have consumed the | 
























































“extinction in friendship when the friend was no|aspired to do, lest it should injure the plans of || 
‘more; and he had invented a singular mode of| Hume ; a noble sacrifice ! 


conversations of such literary friends: “* Our days 
| passed like moments; thanks to those pleasures, 


‘would concern itself with their affairs. 
Itwns on a journey to Ravenna that Boccaccio: 








ail 





= 


vearmeie=s Seetrryd Cobwetes 


political satirist found what the 
ingratitude of a court had denied + but in 
of literary glory, the patron's name 
inscribed by the side of the literary 
»; for the public incurs an obligation 
‘aman of genius is protected, 
it Fouquet, deserted by all other, 
LA Fowrainn hastening every literary 
‘the privon-gate. Many have inscribed 
rhs to their disgraced patron, as Pore did 


ly to the Earl of Oxford in the Tower ; 


terest calls off all her sneaking train, 
‘the obliged desert, and all the vain, 
Me to the seatfold, or tho cell, 


the last lingering friend has bid farewoll.” 


flsndehip te a. eympathy not of man- 
Of fealings. The personal character may 
o be very opposite: the vivacious may be 


by the melancholic, and the wit by the man 


He who is vehement and vigorous, 
‘a double man by the side of the 
calm and subtle. When we observe 
lips, we are apt to imagine that they 
 heeanse the characters are dissimilar; 
ir common tastes ond pursuits which 
a of union. Pompoxrus Larus, so 
his natural good-humour, was the 
| of Henmotavs Bansanvs, whose 


friend of the mild and amiable Me- 
the caustic Bornac was the com- 


n wlidebadiee bere 
een eld te neal 


The friendehip of w great name, Indiotes the 


‘appearances in the history of Genlus—Why the 
charactor of the man may be opposite to that of bis | 
writings. 

Axe the personal dispositions of an anthor dis- || 
coverable in bis writings as those of am artist ore || 
imngined to appear in his works, where Michael 
Angelo is always great, and Raphacl ever grnceful? 

Is the moralist a moral man? [4 he malignant 
who publishes caustic satires? Is he # libertine 
who composes loose poems? And is he whose 
imagination delights in terror and in blood, the || 
very movster ho paints? 

‘Many licentious writers have led chaste lives. 
La Morus tx Varner wrote two works of a free 
nature; yet his was the unblemished life of a 
retired mage. Bayes in the too feithful compiler || 
of impurities, but he resisted the voluptuousness 
of the senses es mueh as Newton. La Fontaine 
wrote tales fertile in intrigues, yet the “*bon- |} 
homme’? has not left on record a single ingenious 
amour of his own, The Queen of Navanan’s 


had given proof 

stories of inteigues, told in a natoral 

the fashionable literature of the day, and the | 
genins of the female writer was amused in becom- 
isdntoets bee Forte 











‘disinterested virtues This | private life, I have heard participated in them in 
those pretended patriots | no other way than on his canvas, Evnnxn, who 

‘one of the virtues for which has written in favour of active life, ‘* loved and 

rows advocate of faction. lived in retirement *;'" while Sir Gronor Mac- 
our attributed the excessive ten- | xwzrx, who had been continually in the bustle of 
‘of Racine to the poet's | business, framed a eulogiam on solitude. We 

r -, the son amply showed | see in Macniaven's code of tyranny, of depra- 
by n0 means this slave of love. | vity, and of criminal violence, a horrid picture of 
‘wrote a single love poem, nor even human nature ; but this retired philosopher was a 
; and bis wife had never read his friend to the freedom of his country, he partici~ 


‘Thus authors and artists may yield no certain 
indication of their personal characters in their 
works. Tnoonstant men will write on ! 
and licentious minds may elevate themaclves into 
poetry and piety. We should be unjust to some 
of the grentest geniuses, if the extraordinary sen 

, timents which they put into the mouths of their 
Fil the ooet unreserved famiarity ; the | rumatie Persouagee are maliclouty to be spot’ 
dhe ease. And the gratitude and affec ee 
Switch ‘ha describes his ‘and | "ben he introduced a denier of the godeon the | 
Sa Retired cata ac) Sila hata sbi | oP. ren eee eee ee ee 
for the impicty of Satan; and an enemy of 
Suaxnsreane might have reproached him for 
‘his perfect delineation of the accomplished villain 
Iago, a8 it was said that Dr. Moone was hort in 
the opinions of some by his odious Zelaco. Cns- 
aruvow complains of this;—*' They charge me 
with all the iniquities of Atreus, and they consider 
me in some places as m wretch with whom it is 
unfit to associate; as if all which the mind invents 


‘which swells the heart of the lion in| OY Getived from the heart.” ‘This poet offers 


ert, where he roars without reply, and 


entrance into the French Academy, that he had 
never tinged bis pen with the gall of satire, 
delighted to strike om the most harrowing atring 
EE 


© Since this was written, tho correspondence of EVELYN 

in the conception we form of the | has appeared, by which we find that be apologised to 
of & distant author. Kor. | Cowley for having published thie very treatise, which 
of the muse of Zion, #0 asto- | semedto condemn that tife of study and privaey to-which 
‘they wore both equally attached ; and confemes that the 

whole must be considered as a mero yportive effusion, 


it a series of scenes Of | eriously, and that to invent ap hypothesis is only = proof 
ing all the charities of | of tho furce of imagination. 























if genius is limited. Out 

man is reduced to be the active 

An author has, in truth, 

+ the literary, formed by 

[his study; the personal, by the 

his situation. Gnav, cold, effeminate, 
Brera me es ot pound 

. We see men of polished 

nd affections, who, in grasping © 

thrusting a poniard; while others in 
life with the simplicity of children and 

of nervous affections, can shake the 

the bar with the vehemence of their 

sand the intrepidity of their spirit. The 

} of the farous Barrista Porta sre 
haba. the boldness of his genius, which 

rular contrast with the pasilanimity 

luct when menaced or attacked. The 

9 be feeble thoagh the mind is strong. 
boldly may be the habit of the mind, to 
ly may be the habit of the constitution, 
the personal character may contrast 
of their , still are the works 

genuine, and exist as realities for us— 

| so doubtless to the composers themselves 
act of composition. In the calm of study, 

iful imagination muy convert him, whose 
corrupt, into an admirable moralist, 

which yet may be cold im the 

of life; as we hove shown that the 

can excite himself into wit, and the 
man delight in “Night Thoughts."’ 

the corrupt Sallust, might retain the 

ime conceptions of the virtues which were 

the Republic ; and Sreawe, whose heart 


s not #0 susceptible in ordinary occurrences, 


wns gradually cresting incident after 
touching successive emotions, in the 
Le Foyre and Maria, might have thrilled 
‘of bis readers. Many have mourned 


delightfal to me in my researches on 
ry, than whon I find in persons of 





‘cour companion, and is for 

performing before us whatever it inspires; “‘ 
being dead, yet speaketh.” Such is the 

of a book! 


Amone the active members of the literary 
republic, there is a class whom formerly wedistin~ 
guished by the title of Mux or Lerrens, « tide 
which, with ns, has nearly gone out of currency, 
though I do not think that the general term of 
“ literary men’’ would be sufficiently appropriate. 

‘The man of letters, whose habits and whose 
whole life so closely resemble those of an author, 
can only be distinguished by this simple circus 
stance, that the man of letters is not an author. 

‘Yet be whose sole occupation through life is 
literature, he who is always acquiring and never 
producing, appears as ridiculous as the architect 
who never raised edifice, or the statuary 
who refrains from sculpture. His pursuits are 
ropronched with terminating in an epicuroan self- 
ishness, and amidst his incessant ayocations he 
himself is considered as a particular sort of idler, 

‘This race of literary characters, as we now find 
them, could not have appeared till the press had 
poured forth its affluence, In the degree that 
the nations of Europe became literary, was that 
philosophical curiosity kindled, which induced 
some to devote their fortunes and their days, and 
to experience some of the purest of human enjoy- 
ments, in preserving and familiarising themselves 
with ‘the monuments of vanished minds," as 
hooks are called by D'Ayenant with so much sub- 
limity. Their expansive library presents an inde- 
structible history of the genius of every people, 
through all their eras—and whatever men hare 
thought and whatever men have dove, were at 














e of their libraries. De Twov,|doex che owe this more than to these men | 
er's sympathy, in his great history, | lettera ? Ce eee ee 

ad fates of several who had wit- | amassing through life those magnificent collec 

ms dispersed in the civil wars | tions, which often bear the names of their founders 

d otherwise been deprived of their |from the gratitude of a following age? Venice, 

Sir Ronker Corrow fell ill, | Florence, and Copenhagen, Oxford and Landon, 

tl penieripaloneas 46 iia souste attest the existence of their labours. Our Bop- 

uure and our Hasurys, our Corroys and our 

Stoawns, our Cnacnenopxs, our Towxurrs, 


of their personal, but not of their internal 
‘They have scorned to balance in the 

Jes the treasures of literature and art, though | yet 
‘magnificence once wes ambitious to out- 


Pravx, a friend of Albert Durer's, of 

m we possess catalogue of pictures and 

‘one of these enthusiasts of taste. The 

ror of Germany, probably desirous of finding 

to a rare collection, sont an agent to 

the present one entire; and that some 

lieae be observed with such a man, the 

chase was to be proposed in the form of a 

Saiomads.. cy eapatrenprenne adel 

wing ly 

to the imperial agent, seemed astonished 

such things should be considered as equiva- 

for a collection of works of art, which had 

a long life of experience and many pro-|and great minds which have passed away. Our 

) stadics and practised tastes to have formed, | studies at once cherish snd control the icagina- 

ee ss pent ad ate tion, by leading it over an unbounded range of 

mean, an unequal, and «| the noblest scenes in the overawing company of 
departed wisdom and genius *."" 

ka of lettarsbe less dependent on others Living more with books than with men, which 

very perception of his own existence, than |is often becoming better acquaivted with man 

, world are; his solitude however is not | himself, though not always with men, the man of 

of a desert: for all there tends to keep alive | letters Is more tolerant of opinions tian opinionists 

concentrated feelings which cannot be|are among themselves. Nor are his views of 

ged with security, or even without ridicule |human affsirs contracted to the day, like those 

society, Like the Lucallus of Plutarch, | Who in the heat and hurry of a too active life, 

‘not only live among the votaries of lite-| prefer expedients to principles; men who dees 

re; but would live for them; he throws open |themselves politicians because they are pot 

ry, his gallery, ‘and bis cabinet, to all the moralists ; to whom tho centuries behind have || 

vin dlr ap sipiyl asoree) hitch occtemeendpeny reer mre l= 

Lsatpeae eas orener pny “« Every: || 














genius of Peraxse was marked by 
“usually are strong passions in 
‘this intenso curiosity was the 
of all those studies which secmed mature in | claimed, at his own cost, for he was “born 
‘He early resolved on a personal inter | to give than to receive,” says Gasscndi, 
ith the great literary characters of Europe; 
} friend has thrown over these literary 
charm of detail by which we sccom- 


t o the artist some secret in his own art, | spondence of Peinese branched out to the farthest 
‘srurcum of the naturalist, or the garden of | bounds of Ethiopin, connected both Americas, 
; extremities 


dist, there was no rarity of nature on| and had touched the newly-discovered 
had not something to communicate. His | of the universe, when this intrepid mind closed in 
toiled with that impatience of knowledge, 
& pain only when the mind is not on 
ince, In England Pernesc was the asso- 
Camden and Selden, and had more than 
with that friend to literary men, our 
James the First. One may judge by 
‘were the men whom Prrnusc sought, and 
he himself was ever after sought. Such, 
d, were immortal friendships! Immortal 
‘be justly called, from the objects in which 
‘themselves, and from the perma- 
ults of the combined studies of such friends. 
ptouliar greatness in this literary cha- 
Prmese’s enlarged devotion to litera- 
of its purest love for itself alone. He 
own universal 


nat incomparable vietuow always abuat |‘ Content,” says that amiable philesopher, ‘* 
only because it is portable, Dut | have me for his guest."” 
epenof the great Gamendus” | Prineso, like eed never 











sl melancholy of Jouxnow often 

lis views of human life, When he asserted 
mun adds much to his stock of know- 
improves much after forty,’ his theory 


ften vigorous 
is mind is still striking out into new pursuits, 
mind of genius is still creating, Ancona 


Painters have improved even to extreme 

pe: West's last works were his best, and 

| Was greatest on the verge of his century. 

wens delighted with the discovery of this 

in the lives of painters. “As T grow 

I feel the desire of surpassing myself.” 

knd it was in the last years of his life, that with 

‘poetical invention, he painted the allego- 

rical pic of the Seasons. A man of letters in 

his sixtieth year once told me, “ It is but of Jate 

‘that I have learnt the right use of books and 
art of reading."* 

‘the great destroyer of other men’s hap- 





sity, he annually 

Continent to some remarkable spot. ‘The local || 
associations were an unfailing source of agreeable || 
impressions to a mind so well prepared, and he 


suits, who are dying so many years, 
‘Active enjoymeats in the decline of life, then, 


of my age, should I allow myself to give way to 
that shameless want of occupation which all my 


(i eac aal aeeierety lla losigr eae Reading: 


A learned and highly intellectual 
said to me, “ If I have acquired more 

ledge these last four years than I had hitherto, 
add materially to my stores in the next 


ed even to the iast day of our earthly term.” 
is the delightful thought of Owen Feltham ; 


tonday for knowledge." ‘Tho perfecti- 


cicero glowed hie waking emery i 
‘most interesting 


world with the first 


tind, the animating theory of| by Chalkhill, “the friend of Spenser.” Bopaxn, 











it honey-combs. Let them 
‘the flame alive on the altar, and at 





The band which could copy nature in a human 
form, with the characteristics of the age and the 


they may be found in the act of | sex, and the occupations of life, refrained from 


that political romance as a model for his 
history of the House of Brunswick. The 


tudy. He had been slightly looking over the 

per, when suddenly he called fora Horace, 

opened the volume, and found the passage, on 

i he paused for a moment; and then, too 

| to speak, made a sign to bring him Dacier’s; 

but bis hands were already cold, the Horace fell— 

and the classical and dying man of letters sunk 

‘2 fainting fit, from which he never recovered. 

100 was the fate, perhaps now told for the 

‘time, of the great Lord Crannxpon. It was 

_ it the midst of composition that his pen suddenly 

r from his hand on the paper, he took it up 

and again it dropped : deprived of the sense 

hand without motion—the earl per- 

himself struck by palsy—and the life of the 

‘noble exile closed amidst the warmth of a literary 
ork unfinished ! 


hardily defined genius as 
accomplish sll that we undertake.” But literary 
history will detect this fallacy, and the failures of 


immense tract of his intellect which can be dis- 
tinguished as a monument of his genius.” Asa 
universalist, Vorraine remains unparalleled in 


we draw our conclusions not from the fortune of 
one man of genius, but from the fate of many, 


variety are astonishing. The wonder of bis ninety 
volumes is, that be singly consists of a sumber of 











i done by another man | and a tax-gatherer, were the greatest of the 
? He whose undevisting genius guards |the most majestic of the poots, and the most 
‘in its own truc sphere, has the greatest | graceful of the satirists of antiquity; Demosthenes, 
of encountering no rival. He is a Dante, | Virgil, and Horace. The eloquent Massillon, the 
Angelo, a Rapheel : his hand } brilliant Pléehier, Rousseau and Diderot; Johnson, 


‘Vespasion raised a statue to the historian 
Josurnvs, though a Jew; and the Athenians 


or of wealth. Like that illustrious Roman 
nothing to his ancestors, videtur ew se 


; the eon of a cutler, bat 














a 


‘If erer the voice of individuals can recompense: 


the ministry."” Prrow would Biot heey een ee 
ity character to be lowered in | accent. This sounds like the distant 


\Sedpaoreweplndad ae 
was another peer to the 
Stith om to make way for 
* 1y lord,” said the noble master ; 


‘are declared, I shall take my rank,” 
| himself before the lord. Nor is this 
trae source of elevated character, refused 

sees wel as tho grest author. 


i invited by Julius 11. to the 

found that intrigue bad indisposed 

towards him, and more than once the 

‘was suffered to Linger in attendance in 

ber. One day the indignant man of 

gening exclaimed, ‘Tell his holiness, if he want 


his absence, He returned. The sub- 
artist knelt at the feet of the father of the 


bishop offered himself |b 
| ata mediator, apologising for our artist by observ- 
| foxy that “Of this proud humour are these 
| painters made!’ Julius turned to this pitinble 
|| mediator, and, ax Vasari tells, used a switch on 
|) this oceasion, observing, * You speak injuriously 
1) OF Bim, while I am silent. Tt is you who are 
"Raising Michael Angelo, Julius 11. 
embraced the man of genius. 
| Lean make lords of you every day, but I can. 
“Rot create a Titian,'’ said the Emperor Charles V. 
ea" Bia courtiers, who. had become jealous of the 
“hours and the balf-hours which the monarch stole 


between power and genius; and if they 

re deficient in reciprocal esteem, neither acc 

4 ‘The intellectual nobility seems to have 
d by De Harlay, o great French states- 

uh ; for when the Academy was once not received 


posterity, edeometenpotredl ets 
rary character and the inquirer, in some respects: 
represents the distance of time which separates: 


the visits of German noblemen, who were desirous 


Yes! to the vory presence of the man of genius 
‘will the world spoptancously pay their tribute of 
respect, of admiration, or of love. Many a pil- 


gained an humble livelihood by grinding optical 
glazes, at an obscure village in Holland, 
visited by the first general in Europe, who, for the 
sake of this philosophical conference, 
the march of the army. 

In all ages and in all countrios bas this feeling | 
been created. It is neither a temporary ebullition 
nor ao individual honour, It comes out of the 























of this feudal chatewn, the local | university of Montpelier for fatare doctors to wear 
suggested to the philosopher his chap-|on the day they took their degree; nor could 
‘Liberty of the Citizen.” It is the | Saaxesrnann have supposed, with all his fancy, 
of the twelfth book, of which the} that the mulberry-tree which he planted would 
| is remarkable. have been multiplied into relies. But in such 
t ret that the little villa of Pore, and) instances the feeling is right, with awrong direc- 
‘Leasowes of Sunxsrowr, have fallen} tion; avd while the populace are exhausting their 
of property as much as if destroyed by | emotions on an old tree, an old chair, and an old 
hand which cut down the conse- | cloak, they are paying that involuntary tribute to 
tree of Shakespeare, The very apartment | genius which forme its pride, and will generate the 
| ‘man of genius, the chair he studied in, the| race. 
table he wrote on, are contemplated with curiosity; —— 
c is fall of local impressions. And all this 
from an unsatisfied desire to see and hear ‘CIAPTER XXV. 
| Mim whom we never can see nor hear; yet iM & | ingoemosot Authors on'society, and of sotety on Authors. 
‘moment of illusion, if we listen to # traditional | _Nytional tastes a sgurce of literary prejudices — Troe 
-souversation, if we can revive onc of his feclings,| Gentus always the organ of its nation —Master-writers 
“if we can catch but x dim image, we reproduce this | proweve tho distinot national character.—Gontns the 
‘organ of the stato of the ago—Canses af ite suppression 
in a peopla—Often invented, but neglectod.—Tho 
‘natural gradations of genius—Men of Genius produce 
their usefulness in privacy.—The public mind is now 
the creation of the public writer —oliticians affect to 
deny this principle.—Authors stand between the 
governors and the governed.—A view of the solitary 
Author in his study. —They ereate an epoch in history, 
Influence of popwlar Authors — The immortality of 
thought.—The Family of Genius Musteated by their 
genealogy, 


eee sete nucter es we the fine | characters. All other professions press more 
its," replied the man of genins. had | immediately on the wants and attentions of men, 
ly shown this by his conduct, for he forbade | than the occupations of Lirenany CHARACTERS, 

ng that part of the city where the artist resided. | who from their habits are secluded; producing 
house of the man of genius has been spared | their usefulnees often at « late period of life, and 

dst contending empires, from the days of| not always valued by their own generation. 

to those of Buifon; ‘the Historian of} It is not the commercial character of 2 nation 

’ chateau was preserved from this ele-| which inspires veneration in mankind, nor will its 
[eieina br Piiaco: Gebrwartenaboc, as our] military power engage the aifections of its neigh- 
ovas had performed the same glorious | bours, So late as in 1700, the Italian Gemelli | 
guarding thehallowed asylum of Paxnvon. told all Europe that he could find nothing among | 
grandeur of Milton's verse we perceive the | us but our writings to distinguish ws from 2 people 
associated with this literary honour— | of barbarians. [t was long considered that oar 
genius partook of the deasity and yariableness of 

our climate, and that we were incapacitated even 
by situation from the enjoyments of those beauti- | 

fal arts which bad not yet travelled to us,—as if 

meanest things, the very household | Nature berself had designed to disjoin us from | 

d with the memory of the man of| more polished nations and brighter skies. 

‘the objects of our affections. At} At length we have triumphed! Our philoso- 
honour of Taomso the poct, the| phers, our poets, and our historians, are printed 
he composed part of his Sessons| st forcign presses, This is a perpetual victory, 
rt sip shale renee and establishes the sscendancy of our genios, as 



































‘CAUSES OF THE SUPPRESSION JENIUS IN A PEOPLE, 


preserre | of time, opened all the sources of wealth 
of Anam Swuti. 


before this period the materials of this work 
but an imperfect existence, and the advances 
which this sort of science had made were 
partial and preparatory. If the principle of Adam 
‘Smith's great work seems to confound the i 
ness of a nation with its wealth, we can 
reproach the man of genius, who we shall 
always reflecting back the feelings of his 
nation, even in his most original speculations. 

Tn works of pure imagination we trace the same 

march of the human intellect ; and we discover in 
those inventions, which appear sealed by their 

>| originality, how much has been derived from the 


Hie 
Hie 


genius more than lift the veil froma 
banditti? Macszaven alarmed the 
exposing a system subversive of all 
virtue and happiness, and whether he 
it or not, certainly led the way to political 
freedom. On the same principle we may Jearn 
‘that Boceaccto would not have written so many 
Indecent tales, bad not the scandalous lives of the 
‘monks engaged public attention. This wo may 
‘now regret ; but the court of Rome felt the con- 
‘ealed sotire, and that luxurions and numerous 
‘eloss in society never recovered from the chastise- | sombre, the awful, and the fierce Dante. When 
the age of chivalry flourished, all breathed of love 
_ ‘Mow atone has been censured for his universal | and courtesy; the great man was the great lover, 
‘scepticism, and for the unsettled notions he threw | and the great author the romancer. It was from 
_] ont on his motley page, which has been attributed 
|| to his incapacity of forming decisive opinions. 
* Que sgnis.je?”” was his motto. The same ac 
ay teach the geatle Enasmus, who | the sovereign, reflected the reigning tustes. 
|| alike offended the old catholics and the new! There are accidents to which geolus is liable, 
{| reformers. The real source of their yncillations| and by which it is frequently suppressed in o 
‘may discover in the nge itself. It was one of| people. The establishment of the Inquisition in. 
Spain at one stroke annihilated all the genius of 
‘mien were thrown into perpetual agitation, and 
ry like the victories of the parties, were 


‘every day changing sides. 
]| Even in its advancement beyond the intelligence 
of its own age, genius is but progressive. In 
|} mature all is continuous ; she makes no starts and 


Tf 











} = Ee ‘The influence of authors is so great, while the 
rings that author himself is so inconsidersble, that to some 
[ = the causa may not mppear commensurate to ite || 


ght not have had the Novum Organon of 
‘Men slide into their degree in the scale 


accomplish what an Antsrortx and a Descartes 
‘The old theory of animal spirits, observes 


whose heart was beating with the feelings of a 
great author, “could I but afford new reasons to 
men to love their duties, their king, their country, 
their laws, that they might become more sensible 




















‘they dared not utter, facts they dared not dis- 
cover, View him in the stillness of meditation, 
his enger spirit busied over a copious page, and 
his eye sparkling with gladness. He has con- || 
cluded what his countrymen will hereafter cherish 
aa the legacy of gealus—you see him now changed ; 
and the restlessness of his soul is thrown into bis 
‘very gestures—could you listen to the vaticinator! 
Bat the next age only will quote his predictions. 
If he be the traly great author, he will be best 
comprehended by posterity, for the result of ten 
years of solitary meditation hos often required a 
whole century to be understood and to be adopted. 
The ideas of Bishop Benkaney, ia his Theory 
of Vision,” were condemned as a philosophical 
romance, and now form an essential part of every 
treatise of optics ; and * the History of Oracles,” 
by Foxrenetix, says La Harpe, which in his 
youth was censured for its impiety, the centena- 
rian lived to see regarded as « proof of his reapect 
for religi 

But what influence can this solitary man, this 
author of geniax, have on his nation, when he has |} 
none in the very street in which be lives? and it 
may be suspected as little in his own house ; whose 
inmates are hourly practising on the infantine sim- 
plicity which marks his character, and that frequent 
abstraction from what is passing under his own 
yen?” 

‘This solitary man of genius is stamping his own 
character on the minds of bis own people. Take 
‘one instance, from others far more splendid, in 
the contrast presented by Praxxitx and Sir Wit 
1tamJonns. Tho parsimonious habits, the money- 





























al situation among the nations of Europe, | hint of * the association of jess”! from. 


Sylva” of Eynurs will endure with her 
oaks, In the third edition of that: 


|) they can tell you that it was with the onks which 
|) the genius of Evxcy» planted *. 

‘The same character existed in France, where 

}| De Senuss, in 1599, composed a work on the 


art of raising silk-eworms, He taught his fellow- 
| citizens to convert a leaf into silk, and silk to 
J} Become the representative of gold. Our author 
encountered the hostility of the prejudices of his 
times, even from Sully, in giving his country one 
of her staple commodities; but I lately received a 
medal recently struck in honour of Dr Sennes by 


|| the Agricultural Society of the Department of the 
Seine. We slowly commemorate the intellectual 
‘|| characters of our own country, and our men of 
|| genius are still defrauded of the debt we are daily 

| incurring of their posthumous fame. Let monu- 


are sparks of glory which might be scattered 
through the nest age ! 

| There is singleness and unity in the pursuits 
| of genius which is carried on through all ages, and 
‘will for ever connect the nations of the earth. 
Tue mMonratiry or Tovowr exisrs vor 
Max! The veracity of Hunoporus, after more 
‘than two thousand years, is now receiving a fresh 
confirmation. The single aud precious idea of 
genius, however obscure, is eventually disclosed ; 
for original discoveries have often been the develop- 
monts of former knowledge. The system of the 
cirealation of the blood appcars to bave been 
obscurely conjectured by Sunyxrus, who wanted 
| experimental facts to support his hypothesis = 
Vesartos bad an imperfect 

}} right motion of the blood: Casaurixus admits 


and raised a system on what Locxr had only 
used for an incidental illustration. The beautiful 


from, 
the old comedy of ‘* Eastward Hoe," we easily 
conceive that some of the most original inventions 
of genius, whether the more profound or the more 
agreeable, may thus be tracked in the snow of time. 

In the history of genius therefore there is no 
chronology, for to its votaries everything it has 
done is rresenT—the earliest attempt stands 
connected with the most recent. This continuity 
of ideas characterises the human mind, and seems 
to yield an anticipation of its immortal nature. 

‘There is a consanguinity in the characters of 
men of genius, and a may be traced 
among their races. Men of genius in their different 
classes, living at distinct periods, or in remote 
countries, ecm to reappear under another name; 
and in this manner there exists in the Literary 
character an eternal transmigration. In the great 
march of the buman intellect the same individual 
spirit seems still occupying the same place, and is 
still carrying on, with the same powers, his great 
work through a line of centuries. 1t was on this 
principle that one great poet has recently hailed 
his brother as “ The Antosto of the North,’’ and 
Anrosro as “The Scorr of the South.” And 
can we deny the real existence of the genealogy of 
genius? Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler,and Newtont 
this is a single line of descent ! 

Anwrorte, Hones, and Locke, Dascanres 
and Newrox, approximate more than we imagine 
Ker ere chain of Intellect which Antsrorin 

holds, through the intervals of time, is held by 
them; and links will ooly be added by their 
successors. The naturalists, Priny, Greener, 
Anprovannvs, and Burrow, derive differences 
in their characters, from the spirit of the times 5 
bat each only made an accession to the family 
‘estate, while he was the legitimate representative 
of the family of the naturalists. AxisToraanns, 
Moxrens, and Poors, are brothers of the family 
of 














484 





LITERARY CHARACTER. 





: Foote were Aristophanic. Puotarncu, La MoTHE 
Le Vayes, and Bartz, alike busied in amassing 
the materials of human thought and human action, 
with the same vigorous and vagrant curiosity, 
’ must have had the same habits of life. If Plu- 
tarch were credulous, La Mothe le Vayer scep- 
tical, and Bayle philosophical, all that can be said 

is, that though the heirs of the family may differ 
" im their dispositions, no one will arraign the inte- 
grity of the lineal descent. Varro did for the 
Romans what Pavsanras had done for the 
Greeks, and Monrraucon for the French, and 
Campen for ourselves. . 

My learned and reflecting friend, whose original 
researches have enriched our national history, has 
this observation on the character of WICKLIFFE :— 
“To complete our idea of the importance of 
” Wickliffe, it is only necessary to add, that as his 
writings made John Huss the reformer of Bohe- 
mia, so the writings of John Huss led Martin 
Luther to be the reformer of Germany ; 80 exten- 
sive and so incalculable are the consequences 
which sometimes follow from human actions*.”” 


* Turner's History of England, vol. ii. p. 432. 








Hl LONDON ¢ 





Our historian has accompanied this by givi 
very feelings of Luther in early life on his first 
perusal of the works of John Huss: we sce the 
spark of creation caught at the moment: « 





striking influence of the generation of character! | 


Thus a father-spirit has many sons; and several 


of the great revolutions in the history of man have | 


been carried on by that secret creation of minds 
visibly operating on human affairs. 
tory of the human mind, he takes an imperfect 
view, who is confined to contemporary knowledge, 


as well as he who stops short with the Ancients. | 


Those who do not carry researches through the 
genealogical lines of genius, mutilate their 
minds. 

Such, then, is the influence of Aurnons !— 
those “great lights of the world,” by whom the 


torch of genius has been successively seized and ; 


perpetually transferred from hand to hand, in 
the fleeting scene. Descanres delivers it to 


Tn the his- | 


Newron, Bacon to Locke; and the continuity ; 


of human affairs, through the rapid generations of 
man, is maintained from age to age! 





THE END, 


BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.