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HALL I incur the imputation of obtrusiveness by again venturing before the public with original composition, so soon after the appearance of the Poem of BERTRAM? Let me then copy the words I had written about four years ago, to be prefixed to a projected work, somewhat like the present !" If I should be asked, why with occupations more than I can perform, with cares greater than I can withstand, I yet undertake new tasks ; I answer, that it is for those very causes I do so. It is to escape from the fatigue of unvarying labours, from the pressure of overwhelming anxieties that I seek refreshment in the delusions of new amusements. If Adversity has subjected me to the arrows of Malice, or the stings of Reproach, I feel the urgency of struggling to overcome them by counterbalancing claims on the good will of the ingenious, the good, and the candid." These Desultory Thoughts and Criticisms are partly formed of such matter, as sprung up in my mind on the spur of the occasion ; and partly of the scattered fragments of unfinished Essays and Verses, which have been recovered from my Chaos of papers. Of some of these last, particularly the Essay on Family History and Hereditary Character, and the Satire, I cannot remember the date, or the occasion. The fragment of the poem, called The Flight, was written more than twenty years ago. It is not for me to decide, whether the plan which I have adopted, and the matter which I have chosen in this publication, is calculated to amuse, or instruct the reader. If I have pre- |
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sumed, in my various literary tasks, to be at one time a compiler, and at another an original writer, I have done that, which, according to a well-expressed passage of the Edinburgh Reviewers, is not common. They say, " Among the other divisions of intellectual labour to which the progress of society has given birth, the business of reasoning, and the business of collecting knowledge, have been in a great measure put into separate hands. Our scholars are now little else than pedants, and antiquaries, and grammarians ; who have never exercised any faculty but memory; and our reasoners are for the most part but slenderly provided with learning ; or at any rate make but a slender use of it in reasoning." Edinburgh Review, Vol. XIII. p. 344.
There is a little volume, which my printer shewed me, just as the last sheet of the present work was composing, which I regret that I was not previously acquainted with. It is entitled, Aphorisms on Man : Translated from the original Manuscript of the Rev. John Caspar Lavater, Citizen of Zuric, London, printed for Johnson, 1788, sm. 8vo. pp. 224. It is dedicated to Henry Fuseli, A.M. A few sheets only of a second volume were printed. It is a most interesting and eloquent work, consisting of 643 Aphorisms. |
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OR
COMMENTS
OF
A SOUTH=BRITON
ON BOOKS AND MEN.
ERHAPS a SOUTH-BRITON, as well as those of the North, may be permitted occasionally to deliver his Comments on Books and Men.It requires judgment as well as knowledge of an extensive nature, to select the furniture of a modern British Library. But how much more to form original and just opinions on its contents? I am willing to contribute the mite of my aid to this important purpose. I mean not to interfere with the Bibliomania, either in the way of encouragement or censure. My efforts will be addressed to the general reader, who seeks enlarged information, not particular and technical skill. We have lost of late many authors who had been for a long course of years familiar to the public, of whom the last and the most prolific was Richard |
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Cumberland. a He was a man profuse in the fruits of a minor ingenuity; but he wanted strength and flavour: every thing of his was too much characterized by an insipid taste. Yet all of his growth was so easy, and for the most part so innocent and so moral, that if it did not delight us, it was impossible for us to withhold from it our gentle approbation.
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I shall not dwell on him at present, though he was the last of a set who have now been admitted to a kind of classical fame. The stars of Johnson and of Burke are of a brilliance which is never likely to recur! |
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ture; taking wing again for new objects the moment I am satiated or weary. When the humour seizes me, I would investigate deeply; but when I am impetuous or idle, let me have the liberty to touch without fixing on the ground. There will be occasions when the remembrance of some literary genius will awaken the heart, or fill the understanding, and call forth either the best eloquence, or the strongest power of discrimination, of the writer. But they are occasions which must come unsought, and be waited for with hope. It has been said that there is little pleasure, and little use in literature. But what is man without understanding? and what is the understanding without books? It is true that knowledge may dwell in the mind without wisdom, but surely knowledge must assist wisdom! No one has gained a high and permanent reputation who has not possessed both! Mere memory may succeed in the inferior walks of learning; but never in the higher; much less in those of genius. It is a curious speculation to enquire how often, and to what extent the popular applause conferred by cotemporaries is justified and confirmed by the test of Time. I look around my library, and task my recollection whether the standard works which now fill its shelves, obtained for their authors during life, the same credit they now possess. I see |
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Erasmus, and Bacon; Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Cowley, Dryden, Pope, and Swift: Clarendon, Burnet, Temple, Bolingbroke, and Middleton! Their own age bowed to their ascendant talents, and posterity have ratified the pre-eminence. Sept. 8, 1811
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say not. But it would be easy to prove that there is, though the number of them is not great.
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enchanting features of Nature in every diversity of grandeur and of beauty; and he hung around them all the brilliant array of a mind illuminated by countless imagery, and overflowing with moral pathos! Aug. 10, 1813.
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bility or gentry, seems to take place almost in defiance of probabilities. I have never seen the history of families examined and applied in illustration of these ideas. It would form at least an interesting work. I wish that I had time for it!
November. 30, 1815.
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by tender or vehement sensibility lived to a great age? It would be difficult to point out one of this description, who had much exceeded the age of man. Thomas Sackville, the first Lord Buckhurst, and Earl of Dorset, went a little beyond it: and Cowper and Beattie were on the verge of it. I do not think that either Milton or Dryden come within this class. Perhaps, however, the tragedy of Douglas may entitle John Home to a place in it.
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and delights by its splendour! Mere Memory is barren; and returns no more than it receives.
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ness of their minds. Nature, as she appears to the genuine Poet's eye, and the human heart as it is exhibited to his contemplation, is far above the reach of man's invention ; but the difficulty lies in the ability to delineate that which by its excess of brightness almost dazzles and blinds a mortal sight. Shakespeare had the clearest eye for these visionary and unembodied objects. What others saw, but saw dimly, to him took a distinct shape;
Milton alone had strength to travel safely out of "this visible diurnal sphere," and form a more exalted world of his own. When we talk of the Art of Poetry, we degrade that divine gift. Art cannot reach it: but produces a flat and dull substitute, which technical critics may mistake for excellence; but which is doubly disgusting, not only from it vapidness, but from its high pretensions. When the Poet walks into the fields, he is surrounded by immaterial Spirits, who dance upon the grass before him; flit among the boughs of trees; or rise upon the radiated tips of clouds: or some of the affecting incidents of human society present themselves to the mirror in his soul, and fill his bosom with the thrill of the most delightful moral sensations. This internal swell bursts into eloquence and harmonious language; and he |
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thus communicates to others the raptures of his own inspired genius. It was nobly said by Johnson of Shakespeare, that
Yet it is not in the new worlds, that he imagined; but in the admirable brilliance and penetration, with which he pourtrayed life as it is, that his main charm lies. Poets must be familiar with all the secrets of the human bosom; must be conversant with all its most touching emotions; must experience the swell of virtue; the melting tenderness of every kindly affection; and the sublime conceptions of every noble passion. Thomson's Seasons is a beautiful and magnificent poem; but, perhaps, it deals too much in mere material objects; and has not a sufficient intermixture of what is intellectual. The scenery is given with a glowing, original, and masterly hand; but the sentiments and reflections arising from it are seldom touched; or not touched with that niceness, delicacy, and happy penetration which detects the finest and most flying emotions of the heart. This talent is the first of all the varied charms of Gray ; and most of all in his sublime and unequalled Fragment On Vicissitude, one of the most perfect specimens of uninspired poetry. |
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DENTON BROW. Beneath thy Brow for many a year I lay; Long was the night, and clouded was the day. Days, weeks, and months of sorrow pass'd along, Slow in their pace, and tearful in their song. O frown not on these retrospective eyes ! Rise, clad in sun-beams, Denton Brow, arise! How long I struggled with Misfortune's crew, And clung with unavailing love to you! Barbarian fierce, who hat'st the mental light, - - - - - - - - With generous sympathy or glowing thought Ne'er was thy dull and frozen bosom fraught ! And thou, O faithless ! whom the ties of blood Call'd to the fray, when foes around me stood, Aloof thou hoverd'st, and would'st come not nigh, To meet the blow, and soothe the bursting sigh ! Left to myself, while thou, impending Brow, Closed'st the dreary Evening o'er my woe, Had me the hand of prosperous Fortune fed, Glad had my shield o'er suffering worth been spread! Beam of the Muse ! how joy'd thy darling foes, To think thy light would in those tempests close ! Sunk, sunk for ever in the griefs they view'd, O'er thee with fix'd relentless weight to brood ! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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Families would be acceptable to the lovers of moral philosophy. Something of the kind was attempted in the middle of the seventeenth century by Waterhouse; but it was executed without vigour or knowledge of the world; and rendered disgusting by a profusion of pedantic jargon. It seems extraordinary, that if riches and honours be real blessings, they should so often be the result of accident, or even crime, while they are as often denied to an unabating continuance of the most virtuous exertions. How frequently are they the effect of political arrangement, when the rewarded individual has had neither claim nor even hope! Yet such accidents, perhaps, give the family for ages an hereditary sway in the legislature; a command of splendid alliances; high places; and flattering distinctions in every department of society. But can it be, that advantages so obtained confer superior happiness? Philosophers have taught us that enjoyment here is not dependent on outward circumstances; but on the powers and the purity of the mind. To him, whose intellects are groveling, and whose heart is viscious, titles and wealth are but a splendid misery. But if such adventitious benefits can do little for those, whom Nature has thus frowned upon, may they not give fuller play to the powers of those better endowed? In truth, it appears that they may: yet not |
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without the greater hazard of yielding to the temptations of idleness and folly. How few men born to high rank have produced any great work of literature; or given any great efforts of intellect! Labour must be added to talent; and the necessity of winning distinction, before it can be conferred, must act as a stimulus to industry. We have seen many families who have flourished for ages on their own estates in the country, in a kind of even course, away from the hollow allurements of courts, and the wasteful calls of ambition, no sooner expose themselves to the dangerous atmosphere of that new region, than they have put forth a short blaze, and expired. Witness those of Coningsby, Pulteney, Sandys of Ombersley, Archer, and many others. Shall we speculate on the wisdom, or the emptiness of their motives for seeking the elevation they obtained? A country Squire may fill the station of his birth both respectably and worthily: but, if he attempts no higher duties, may not his soul be becalmed, and he be little acquainted with the most active and dignified occupations of an intellectual Being? Are we quite sure, therefore, that when we look with complacence and admiration on a pedigree, containing a long series of perhaps twenty generations, living independently in the same mansion, and surrounded by the same acres, and the same hereditary trees, |
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our respect is well bestowed; and that qualities so little aspiring as they must have possessed, deserve distinction or applause? What, not one to aspire beyond cold selfish calculations; and boldly resolve either to rise or fall! Almost the only poet of this class whom I can name was Somerville; but it is probable that he inherited a very encumbered estate; and was, therefore, brought up in the school of adversity, which taught him to cultivate his mind, and tinged his intellectual stores with sentiment. When I look upon the roll of his ancestors, I imagine to myself the characters of those from whom he immediately drew his birth, and that I see in them the seeds of that fancy which described the pleasures of The Chase with such picturesque animation and enthusiasm. I hear them tiring the same echoes that resounded to the cheerful cries of their accomplished descendant; while their bosoms seem to swell with the same hilarity, and indulge the same moral associations as constitute the charm of his poem. Yet how fallacious may be these ideal characters! Perchance the Bard's father was a rude Squire, whose ear was deaf to the tones of the lyre, and whose heart never vibrated in unison with its feelings: a man, whose talk was of oxen, and whose capital was the neighbouring market town. Do we inherit the quality of the mind as well as of the body from our |
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ancestors? Or if we do, do not the mingled ingredients of opposite natures frequently tend to give a new colour and character to both? Still we often see the same traits of understanding descend in the same family for many generations. We have beheld in our days the great talents of the Sires descend upon the sons of Chatham, Holland, and Hardwicke: and in former times two Cecils governed the helm of
State in succession, with a wisdom which all acknowledged! Are these then the mere vapoury phantasms of the brain? Or are they visions, which sound philosophy may contemplate and endeavour to arrest? Is it the idle dream of a heated intellect to muse upon the varied lots of humanity, and their causes, as exhibited in the history of individual families? Is it the mere task of dullness to pore over a succession of names and dates, when they afford scope for so many amusing contemplations on human nature? There are, however, two sets of antiquaries, of the most opposite qualities and tastes: the first value the dull things they read for their literal contents; the other value them for the lights which they afford an opportunity to themselves to append to them!
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Broad, coarse, indiscriminate principles, assertions, and arguments, catch the vulgar understanding; and enable hollow and uninformed impudence often to gain the applause of oratory from the vulgar ear.
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unknown to him, pass down the Parade.
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THE COMPLAINT.
Dec. 1. 1811.
The reflections, which we suffer to vanish without utterance, leave behind them no satisfactory consciousness to fill up the blank of pleasures or of duties, when we look back on the time that they employed. No one can give a simple and unaffected delineation of his mind, without securing the interest and sympathy of many readers.It is this which actuates the holder of an idle and desultory pen to pour out the moral stores of a plaintive mind to those who will listen to his lucubrations. He offers no false lures in his title: he suspects that he shall scarce ever be able to avoid melancholy; because it seems to have unalterably tinctured his intellectual character, both natural and acquired; from his birth as well as from the accidents of his passage through the world. Whoever loves only what is lively and witty, whoever delights to treat life as a jest, will find no entertainment here. But in the journey through this vale of tears, how many must there be, whom disappointments have made, even against their will, thoughtful and full of gentle sorrow! Prosperity may harden the heart, and produce a selfish gaiety: but Misfortune is |
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abroad in the world, and has its victims in every direction. Rank and wealth are not protected from it; and Poverty and Obscurity feel the lash or the contortions of the oppressor, through every part of civil society. He, on whose observation the woes of humanity never force themselves, or who can contemplate them without a tear, is not of an enviable frame. He is not made of those nice materials, that qualify him for the higher pleasures which yet our earthly pilgrimage affords: those charms of nature, which, associated with our moral feelings, are more exquisite even than poet ever painted them. See but the woodman returning along the leaf-strown path through the solemn close of a November evening to the blazing hearth of his solitary cottage! How are the heart, and fancy, which are delicately constituted, overpowered by such a picture with sensations and images of the most tender pleasure! In such a sight there is
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senses with fragrance; it gives a rich depth of colouring to the painful contemplations of the soul. Let not, therefore, the flippant and light-hearted condemn these effusions, as if their subjects were inconsistent with pleasure!
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it was a boon not altogether light; and often became a step to the English peerage. The greater part of the present Peerage of Scotland were made after King James ascended the English throne; and I doubt, if altogether, or even for the most part, they were selected from the prime gentry, in birth quality and estate, of their own country. They seem rather, in numerous cases, to have been dependents on the Court, who were either younger brothers, or had raised themselves from obscurity by personal exertions.
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THE FLIGHT. O Muse, whose airy images can charm Dull Solitude, and cruel Grief disarm, O let me court thee, while thy favouring smile Seems willing these sad moments to beguile; O let me catch and fix those fleeting forms, Whose glowing beauty all my fancy warms ; Let me where-e'er thy meteor-beams may glance, Faithful pursue the quick ideal dance! Thou hear'st : I mount thy car : and as we go, The winged coursers leave the earth below; Proudly we view, as on the clouds we tread, The glowing landscape wide beneath us spread; See the deep forest, see the opening lawn Where, bursting from the green wood, leaps the fawn! And see where yonder turrets boldly rise To crown the shade, and glitter to the skies: There first thy musing fix : thy pencil take ; And from thy harp's soft strings a prelude wake! Hark! the loud bell along the close retreats Strikes the deep call, which Echo still repeats: To the glad Hall the portals open wide, And Feast and Hospitality preside ; There reverend Age, his toil and dangers o'er, Tells of the trophies, which in youth he bore; There the young hero, to his Father's fame Aspiring, feeds Ambition's burning flame; Young Beauty there, whom yet no Loves inspire, Nurses the charms that soon will set the world on fire. |
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There in the spreading trees, and silent walks, Sweet Nature to the quiet student talks; The unfledg'd Poet tries his feeble wings, And bids his wild harp wake its trembling strings. But mark on yonder hill the aspiring dome, Whose garish views o'er half the county roam; Mark upstart riches arm the deadly stroke, That all the Dryads of the wood hath woke: Wide spreads the ruin; smooth the plains appear; And falls the proud Oak in his thousandth year. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - |
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heard him: and more than twenty years of his latter days were passed in the sun-shine of society. It was a proud and gratifying course of life; as honourable to the age, as to him who commanded it. He dignified the circles into which he entered; and exalted their vanity and ambition. I wish that he had been more courteous; and had not loved victory so intemperately; and had borne with more ease and kindness " a brother near the throne." I wish that his taste had been more pure, and his imagination more cultivated. I wish that his classical knowledge had been more correct, and that he had cherished a kindlier affection for those excursions of the Muse which are her highest ornaments, and the best proofs of her power. But I cannot refuse to bow at the shrine of his wisdom, his eloquence, and his genius! not, I hope, as a blind idolator; but as a discriminating, sober, and stedfast votary!
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The treasures and amusements of the former are principally within themselves; while those of the latter must be principally sought from without. Without this knowledge, who is fitted to judge of the diversified pleasures and wants of mankind? Who can have skill in morals, or find balm for the wounded spirit? It is the vacant mind which most requires company; and can find no occupation but while material objects force themselves upon its senses.
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It cannot be attained without a natural sagacity, aided by continual observation. A mere acquaintance with fashionable circles, in their widest extent, will not effect it, let it be as intimate as it may. Men, by whom the important affairs of society are conducted, must be seen in their workings, and in their hours of emotion. The success of intrigue must ever be distinguished from that which flows from ability. Ability is simple, direct, and frank: Intrigue is dark in thought, though open and smiling in countenance; subtle, flattering, and false.
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What are the mingled ingredients that are ne- |
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cessary to constitute the powers of this highly-endowed Being, it is too fearful a task to attempt to analyze. One thing is certain, that without a tremulous sensibility of the heart the main fountain is wanting. I have observed that all writings, of which the effects and the popularity are permanent and extensive, are distinguished by a large proportion of moral feeling. To describe the emotions of the bosom as they intuitively associate themselves with all the scenery of Nature and the occurrences of life; to encourage the amiable and virtuous, and shew the ugliness and the pain of the bad, may seem an easy task; but does any but the pen of Genius venture on it? This is the first charm of the first of our poets, Shakespeare; it is the first charm of two of our most popular moderns, Gray and Cowper. It constitutes the magic of Cowley and Addison, and the attraction of Johnson in prose. If we look abroad upon the world with this view, how endless are the subjects before us; how interesting and beautiful the pictures! The cottager retiring from the fields to his home at night; his children tripping through the dews at the dawn of day; how touching to imagine and delineate the glow of their hearts! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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Arm'd at all points with nicely-balanc'd lance, See a new Knight in fearless pace advance ; Vizor'd awhile he dares the cruel fight, In search of foolish Pride and envious Spite ! Wide is the world, and wide is Folly's reign ; The Giant Vices stalk upon the plain : Around they flock, on every side assail, And trust that numbers must at length prevail ! But the Knight's sword is of etherial mould, Truth points his spear, in Virtue's vigour bold : He pants to lay the treacherous foeman low; And at thy feet, O Genius, garlands throw. Brays the loud onset of opposing Might, And tremble all the Mob in puny fright: Prone on his face the' unwieldy monster falls ; Or drives his brainless skull against the walls ! To new adventures onward spurns his steed The' elastic Knight, o'er hill, and vale, and mead. What gay encounter wilt thou next explore, Unaw'd by Dullness in her loudest roar, Thou ever-daring Spirit, in whose soul Flames the long-during fire, that spurns controul. O ye, who Dryden's mighty Muse inspir'd, And taught Pope's hands to strike the strings untir'd, Pour on the generous hero all your smiles ; And gaily lead him through his ceaseless toils. Mounted aloft, ye see in every dell Falsehood her wiles prepare ; and Malice swell ! |
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With leering eyes she sits, her bloated form With blood just suck'd from human misery warm ! Hypocrisy ye see, that, while in guise Of heavenly Charity, at Woe she sighs, Covers the harden'd heart, that never knows, Except for wretched self, Emotion's throes : Him too ye see that imp of Ignorance, Pride, that looks grave and high, for want of sense : Stripp'd of their masks, ye see the whole array Of motley Passions aiming at their prey ; And well can point the spear, and guide the blows, That give the Knight in Victory's arms repose. Ah ! dauntless as he is, the blasts of Hell On his bright armour cast a blighting spell ! Through murky pests of air full oft he wades, And pierces gloomy through demoniac shades. Rain pours; and lightnings flash; and thunders roll ; And tempests shake the globe from pole to pole. The war of elements can ne'er appal Him, whom the fairy lights of Glory call ; As the plot thickens, how his swelling breast Strives that his worth on nobler feats should rest. Thou meanest of the vile degenerate worms, Whom Heaven permits to crawl in human forms, In whose dull skulking eye no darken'd ray Of casual goodness opes a glimpse of day : Where hatred, cowardice, and vengeful ire, The stench-like cauldron of the bosom fire ! Thou who for five long lustres deep hast nurst That unforgiveness which thy nature curst : Thou, who to each nice sense of honour sear'd, Thy state on others ruin'd names hast rear'd ! |
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O thou, whose toils no rolling year saw end, Still at thy work the poison'd dart to send ! Does pomp console thee ? Does the prancing steed The ravenous vulture of thy bosom feed ? Does the gay tinsel of the liveried slave The scorn of those whom thou hast injur'd brave ? While puff'd with pride, thy pale and sallow cheek Seems yet some sickly gleam of joy to speak, As pacing pompous down the crowded street, Some cringing bowing fool thou happ'st to meet ; What if some injur'd neighbour blasts thy sight, Can prosperous fortune calm thy guilty fright ? With sinking heart, and eyes averted low, Deep to the kindred dirt thou turn'st thy brow : Then hurrying by, with every nerve at wreck, Thou feel'st the whip and scorpion at thy back ! What star malign presided at thy birth ? How sprung so sad an animal on earth ? Did never in thy heart, from boyish days, Nature one passing gleam of goodness raise ? From boyish days ? Ah, no ! averse to joy, From infancy thou never wert a boy ! Pedantic, prosing, peevish, fearful, sad, In Envy's yellow dark-grain'd vesture clad, On every youthful hope, like blight thou cam'st, And, still, as then, each rising pleasure tam'st ! Scorn of the generous, laughter of the gay, From whom indignant Virtue turns away ; That gallant Knight, who thus steps forth to-day, Shall pass from thee to less ignoble prey ! Unworthy of the prowess of his spear, Go, steep thy faults in Shame's o'erwhelming tear! |
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And thou, O Knight, where-e'er thy fate impels, At Pleasure's banquets, or in Vice's cells, Drop not the vigorous arm, and ardent eye, But hear the sorrowing foe's repentant sigh ! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - |
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to be entitled THE PHANTASM.
But many of them may also be siezed not unsuccessfully by the pen of the prose-writer. And honourable is the task, which can thus be performed. We do not want merely intellectual instruction, but intellectual amusement also. Whatever refines the understanding, and meliorates the affections, is of more extensive and permanent use than the clearest details of a single science, or the most irrefragible results of a particular knowledge. The great mass of mankind are but little interested in the discoveries |
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of mathematicians, the deductions of financiers, or the schemes of statesmen. But to exhibit the daily picture of the involuntary operations of the human mind, independent of its narrow and necessary employments; to trace the natural associations of its ideas, and develop the forms, which by intermixing themselves with the numerous objects of our contemplation give them the character of pleasure or pain, is a work as important and delightful, if conquered, as it is perilous to undertake. Sydney has said in his Arcadia, that
And Shakespeare still more beautifully makes the Duke, in As you like it, say, when in the forest of Arden,
It is to translate and interpret some of the contents of such books that we enter on the airy enterprize, too likely to elude our efforts. When we revisit, after long absence, the places of our childhood, how numerous are the images starting up in every part of them, which none but ourselves can see! These phantasms of our former pleasures, how interesting would it be to describe in all their glowing colours! And then to shew them |
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mellowed by the contrast of the Sorrows which have risen in their rear! It is true that there are Phantasms of evil, as well as of good, such as the mottos of this paper allude to: such also, as when
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Thus it is that Superstition beholds the meteors of Autumn,
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colours of sublimity, beauty, or pain. To strip it of these hues, which a cold and narrow philosophy may call delusive, is to deprive it of all its moral and best properties. In Thomson's Seasons, which in subject and manner may as justly claim the praise of originality as any in our language, perhaps this combination is not sufficiently pursued; and the want of it makes them fall short of that highest tone which the Bard is capable of reaching. More nobly does Gray touch all the chords of the feeling and cultivated heart. Look at his Prospect of Eton College! See how every spot is peopled with Phantasms of human beings in every variety of character and passion! Look at his still more beautiful Fragment on Vicissitude, and his pathetic Church-yard, filled with the images of departed villagers in all the picturesque occupations of rural life! Whence derives the Poet his title, but from such creatures?
He deals in imagery, and the emotions accompanying it; and nothing else possesses the character of his art! He looks abroad upon Nature in every aspect, and beholds its influence on some being of his fancy, whom he places in every picture which he contemplates. But in all this, he only follows up with the |
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colours of his language and the touches of his pen, of which the superior brilliance of his powers gives him the command, the natural visions, that have impressed themselves more dimly on others. From his earliest infancy, the sensibility and strength of his perception of outward objects, has filled him with a liveliness of sensation, which never ceases to return with the recollection of those objects. Then, as his stores increase, new-arranging and re-combining with a perpetual activity, he accumulates upon some fond spot the assemblage of his intellectual forms. If he groups after the manner of Nature, if he grasps, only with more success, at the phantoms which flit before the common eye, then will he find a mirror in every bosom, and be hailed with joy and admiration. This is the reason that the wildest of Shakespeare's inventions find a sympathy in every reader: while such artifical [lit.] combinations as are produced in The Rape of the Lock attract the interest only of the cold scholar, and the admirer of the arts of literary composition. These are the tests by which we should try real poetical genius. All else will lead away from its essence to its mechanism; from its soul to its outward form. A chill, sterile bosom; a calculating, analyzing, sceptical understanding, are utter opposites to the powers of genius. A bard may subject his fancy to |
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judgement; a man of cold sense can never elevate his judgment into fancy. If, instead of the dry and dubious deductions of the understanding, these papers shall endeavour to trace out the unforced course of ideas which the scenery of the world is apt to generate, and thence either amuse the imagination, or enrich the stores of moral reflection, the time and the spirits that are spent in composing them will not be idly thrown away, nor will the effort be inconsistent with the title which has been assumed.
BISHOP WHITE KENNETT.a a Lansdowne MSS. 990. --------------------------- Cooper, Author of the Dictionary, afterwards Bishop of Winchester, had a lewd wife, who was the |
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occasion of Martin Marprelate's entitling one of his pamphlets, More Work for the Cooper. None more notable example of untoward boys proving eminent, than that of Dr. Barrow, whose father had so small hopes of him while a school-boy, that he was wont many times in a passion to say, ' that if God took away any of his sons, he wished it might be Isaac.' King Charles the First took great delight in lying on his back by the side of Dover Cliffs, and shooting sea-mews flying. Delivered the Translation of Moriæ Encomium to Anthony Stephens, for which received a bill of 5l. to be paid within three months. I stand indebted to him for books 3 l. assigned the other 40s. over to my friend Codrington. Joh. Kennett Dunelmensis, filius 1 Gul. Kennett de Coxhow, in Comitat. ib. Arm. nat. an. 16. Entry at Queen's College, 1637. A letter from Mr. Allans. The Poem of Agathocles wrote by Hog, a Bachelor, Fellow of St. John's, Oxf. Heynes's Triumphs of Loyalty censured for a very poor and mean piece of poetry. The Protestant Reconciler fathered on Dr. Dan. Wheatley. |
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Blome's Britannia is dedicated to the King: very exact in naming particular market days. His Catalogue of Gentry at the end is very deficient, and supposed to contain such only as gave him money. Sept. 6, 1682. The present Lord Chancellor, taxed for his too dilatory proceedings, contrary to the commendable practice of the Lord Egerton, who in the Court despatched business with so great expedition, that coming to the Chancery one morning there was not one suit depending, which was accordingly registered to his eternal honour.
On the tomb-stone of Mrs. Yorke, in St. James's, Dover, this fancy: William Noy, Attorney General in the beginning of King Charles the First, the Lawyer of Ship-Money, of an incredible industry in searching the Tower Records. A very pat anagram on his name,
Heard Mr. Dryden's Dedication, of the first part of Plutarch's Lives to the Duke of Ormond, commended for one of the best Essays of eloquent English that ever was writ. |
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Went to Mr. Brome's, and with him to Folkstone. In discourse contracted my judgment of our late poets in this censure: that Jonson and Dryden were Poetæ facti, non nati. Davenant was natus, non factus; the incomparable Cowley was both; and all the rest were neither. Mr. Christopher Wase charactered for one of all men best qualified for a Commentator on classic authors; only to be doubted his style would be too obscure. Expelled from his Fellowship of St. John 's, in Cambridge, for writing some pamphlet, and forging another's hand. For some time Latin Secretary to Sir Joseph Williamson. Dr. Tillotson and Dr. Spratt supposed the two Divines that recommended to Mr. Lestrange for his licence Mr. Clifford's Treatise of Human Reason. That Mr. Davis gave twenty guineas for the copy of Mr. Parsons's Sermon on the Funeral of the Lord Rochester, and printed fourteen thousand of it. Tully's Offices could verbatim be recited memoriter by the best Statesman, and most able Divine, that England ever bred, Lord Burleigh and Bishop Saunderson. Thomas Lord Coventry, when Chancellor of Eng- |
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land, said oft at Dinner, ' I am sure I have done justice to-day ; for I have displeased both parties.' At Holmby, when Mr. Marshal was to say Grace for his Majesty, and was a great while forming his lips, the King had said Grace for himself, and had eat a good part of his dinner, before the Chaplain had done a blessing ; and told him he did not intend to let his meat be cold, while he stood whistling for the Spirit.
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