B.v bequest of William lukens Shoemaker NEW BOOKS. ABRAIMM SMALL, No. 165, Chesnut street, HAS JUST PUBLISHED, MEMOIR OF JOHN AIKIN, M. D. BY LUCY AIKIN, Author of the Life of Queen Elizabeth, and James L With a selection of his Miscellaneous Pieces, Biographical, Moral and Critical. IN ONE VOLUME, 8vo. CONTENTS.— IVIemnir of John Aikin, M. D. Critical Ensays on En^lisi. Poets — Account of the Life and Works ot Spencer; An Essay on the I'oetiy of Mil- ton ; An Essay on the Heroic Pot- m of Gondibert ; Critical Rpniarks on Dryilcu>- Fables; Observations on Pope's Essay on Man; An Essay on the Plan and Char-HC- ter of Thomson's Seasons ; A Conipanson between Thomson ami Cowper as De- scriptive Poets; Essay on the Poems of Green ; A Ci'itical Essay on Soiiiei-viile's Poem of thtThe Chase; An Essay on the Poetry of Goldsmith. JVIiscellaneous Pieces — Aphorisms on Mind and Manners; What Man is made for ; On ti>e Touch for the King's Evil ; Literary Prophecies for 179'; Remarks on the Charge of Ja- cobinism ; On the Probability of a future Melioration of the State of Mankind ; On Toleration in Russia ; Military Piety ; Inquiry into the Nature of Family Pride ; Apology for the Demolition of Ruins ; Inquiry into the essential Character of Man ; riioughls on the Formation of Character ; On Self- Biographers ; On the atlachineni to Mary, Queen of Scots ; On the Imitative Principle ; Historical Relations of Poi- sonings ; A Word for Philosophy ; On Cant; On Mottoes. Appendix — Descriptions of Vegetables from the Roii.an Poets; Biographical Account of the Rev. Dr. En- field ; Description of the Country about Dorking; Biographical Account of Richard Pulteney, M. D.; Memoir of Gilbert Wakefield, B. A.; Memoir of Joseph Priest- ley, L. L. D. F. R. S.; Memoir ot James Currie, M. D.; Memoir of the Rev. Geo. Wnlker. A. S. has in press, and will publish in a few days, PERCY MALLORY, IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. BY THE AUTHOR OF PEN OWEN. THE ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA, IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. Said to be by the author of Anastasius. Extract from the Westminster Rexiieiu. " This is a Persian Gil Bias, certainly not quite so full of genius as (he amusing work of Le Sage, nor yet falling below it to an unmeasureabje distance ; something is wanting in the writer, as much or more in the nation to whom his iiero belongs. Persia is the best scene tor a light-hearted adventurer, after Spain ; but it is in vain to look els' where for the same rich materials of romance as are to be found in the manners, pursuits, occupations, and government of the latter most remarkable coun- try. Likt Gil Bias, Hajji Baba is tossed about from rank to rank with all that sud- denness of '-levation and depression which can oidy happen in a despotic tjovernment, where the fortunes of all men depend upon the will ot one, and where, for the quick dispateh of business or pleasure, the tedious forms of law and justice are dispensed ADVERTISEMENT. with. These rapid changes present every advantage to the novelist, and from his intimate acquaintance with the manners of Persia, the aiithor of this book has been able to avail himself of them to a very great extent. Indeed, such is this writer's fa- miliar, almost native knowledge of the people he describes, that we may assert with some confidince, that there ai'e not ten men in tlie country, who are, from their lo- cal expei'ieiice, qualified to have produced the adventures of Hajji Haba. We may a U MEMOIR Ot and on particular emergencies he sometimes requested to borrow the assistance of his friend's pupil, Mr. Aikin. This was always granted with alacrity ; if Mr. Pulteney was at home, his conver- sation was rich in enjoyment to a youth who pined after the let- tered intercourse of his father's house ; if, as was more frequently the case, he was absent, Leicester was not 'destitute of a small circle of acquaintance capable of affording him high gratification, and in which he was received with distinguished kindness, at first for his father's sake, and afterwards for his own. It was here that he first tasted the charms of cultivated female society, which in after life formed so great a portion of his enjoyment ; one lady in particular, who, exemplary in the relations of wife and mo- ther, had yet a heart for friendship and talents for society, was long his standard of excellence for her sex ; and it was perhaps somewhat owing to this early impression, that he always placed the qualities of the understanding unusually high in his estimate of female perfection. Mr. Aikin had not completed the third year of his term at Uppingham, when Mr. Garthshore made over his business to a successor, having determined to take a doctor's degree at Edin- burgh. He prevailed upon Mr. Pulteney to adopt a similar resolution; but as it was this gentleman's purpose to return to Leicester, it was agreed that Mr. Aikin should take charge of his patients during his absence ; and he spent on this occasion two or three happy months in that town ; afterwards, there was no adequate motive for his remaining at Uppingham, and he was thus freed from his indentures two or three years earlier than the usual period. At the immature age, as he afterwards regarded it, of eighteea he was now sent to pursue his medical studies at the University of Edinburgh, then in high repute, and boasting the distinguished names of Black, Monro and Cullen, among its professors. This was, on the whole, a happy period of his life ; he rejoiced in his liberation from a state of irksome dependence ; he was animated by the society of companions eager in the same occupations and the same amusements, and prone, like himself, to knit those bonds of friendships which double the pleasures of youth, and often survive to soothe the cares of maturer life; above all, he entered with ardour into the business of the place, and daily saw fresh reason to congratulate himself on his choice of a profession. An agreeable picture of the state of his mind at this period, is DR. JOHN AlKIN. 13 afforded by the following passage of a letter to his dearest friend, — his affectionate and accomplished sister : " This I can assure you, I never found study so agreeable to me as at present. I am very much surprised the study of the structure and uses of the parts of the human body, is not tak«a into the plan of a learned education ; surely, no part of know- ledge can be more noble and entertaining, and more proper ftr the employment of the faculties ; what a pity the mind and body should be so little acquainted with each other ! It is indeed a subject full of doubts and difficulties ; but if men of genius were to apply to it, I should think great discoveries might be made. I often regret Sir Isaac Newton was not an anatomist. " My only books of amusement are the Latin poets ; and among them the elegant and tender Tibullus is my present favourite. I never met with so much softness, such inexpressibly tender strokes, as in his elegies ; in my opinion there are some single lines of his worth all the works of all the poets of his class put together. It is a pity there is no good translation of him ; Ham- mond indeed has taken a good deal from him with the true spirit of the original. Of what real consequence, my dear sister, is something of a taste for polite literature ! It promotes cheer- fulness with innocence ; and by that means is an excellent guard against running into vicious pleasures, and against being unfitted by hard study and low spirits for social life. Its chief fault is, being apt to make people vain ; and perhaps you will think it has had that efi'ect with me v;hen I tell you, that with the means of bread in my hands, and pleasure in my head, I despise the dull tradesman with his thousands, the country booby with his dogs and horses; and, above all, the mere town rake, whose pleasures are meaner and more mistaken." After two winters and the intermediate summer spent in this school of medicine, Mr. Aikin, in May, 1766, quitted Scotland, and went to pass a few months of leisure, but by no means of idleness, under the paternal roof. The flourishing state of the Warrington academy at this period, had redeemed this remote spot from barbarism, and rendered it a favourite haunt of the muses. Among the students were several youths of promising abilities and ingenuous manners, who, in after life, reflected hon our on the place of their education, both by their acquirements and their lasting attachment to their teachers. The tutors were, for the mathematicSj Mr, Holt, a man whose whole soul was ab- 14 MEMOIR OF sorbed by his science ; for modern languages and some other branches of knowledge, Dr.Retnhold Forster, the naturalist, who afterwards accompanied Captain Cook in his circumnavigation ; t'le Rev. Mr. Aikin, on the death of the celebrated Dr. John Taylor, had succeeded to the post of tutor in divinity, and lec- tured with distinguished ability in ethics and metaphysics as well 15 in theology ; and the department of classics and polite litera- ture was filled by Dr. Priestley. An excellent set of lectures in hstory, afterwards published, was delivered by this eminent per- son, who had also recently constructed his ingenious biographi- cal chart ; and, with that versatility which distinguished his pow- erful genius, was studying the phenomena of electrfcity, and com- mencing his original experiments on that branch of natural phi- losophy. The most cordial intimacy subsisted among the tutors and their families, with whom also the elder students associated on terms of easy and affectionate intercourse ; and while the va- rious branches of human knowledge occupied their graver hours, t:he moments of recreation were animated by sports of wit and ingenuity, well adapted to nerve the wing of youthful genius. But the claims of an active profession quickly summoned away Mr. Akin from the tranquil pursuits of learned leisure ; circum- stances also required of him the renewed sacrifice of that inde- pendence which he had enjoyed under the free system of a Scotch university ; and he submitted, without repining, to become once . more a pupil, under Mr. Charles White, a skilful surgeon then rising to eminence at Manchester. Few situations of the kind could have been better adapted to promote either his improvement or his happiness. The extensive private practice of Mr. White, and his connection with a large infirmary, allowed his pupil full scope for that love of employ- ment which marked him at all periods of his life ; no disagreea- ble services of any kind were imposed upon him, and he found himself treated in the family in all respects as a gentleman. .The town of Manchester, also, afforded him respectable and agreeable society to fill the intervals of business and study; and he had the good fortune to form a few congenial friendships, which ended only with the lives of the parties. Among those with whom his connection was most intimate and durable, may be named, the late Mr. Thomas Henry, Mr. James Touchet, the late T. B. Bayley, Esq. of Hope, and the late Thomas Percival. DR. JOHN AIKIN. 15 M. D. who was previously known to him at Warrington, and as a fellow-student at Edinburgh. Professional pursuits took the lead wuth him at this tmie even in his voluntary studies, and he mentions in one of his letters that he seldom transgressed the rule of occupying a portion, at least, of each day's reading in medical \vorks. He translated from the French the whole of Pouteau's Melanges de Chirurgie,* and composed an Essay on the Ligature of Arteries, afterwards published with Mr. White's Cases in Surgery. But the muses still held divided empire in his heart ; his cor- respondence with his sister was thickly interspersed with criti- cal remarks on the Latin and English poets, not forgetting, among the latter, our early English dramatists, Massinger, Shir- ley, and Beaumont and Fletcher, whom sone happy chance had introduced to his acquaintance, and for wlom he had the cour- age to express all his admiration, at a petod v.'hen the French taste had banished them almost entirely boti from the stage and the closet. He also began to occupy himsilf in forming his col- lection of the choicest songs in our languap; and he frequently exercised his own pen, both in verse and )rose, in translation and in original composition, trying expiriments in different styles, treating a variety of subjects, am seeking to discover where his strength lay. A few of these jUvenile effusions he communicated anonymously to a London newspaper, and thus tasted the lively gratification of first seeing himself in print. To his sister, the beloved confidant of all his p-ojects, he writes thus on this subject : " I look upon these litth essays as the first flights of young birds, which give them bolmess and skill to take hereafter a larger circle. I have a strong lotion of becoming an author some time or other, though, ten toone, without half the knowledge of my subject that my father his of many on which he is too diffident to give his sentiments to t\e world." After a residence of three years in Manchester, he quitted it with sentiments of attachment to its iiiiabitants which never forsook him, and which were warmly rettrned on their parts. To complete his preparation for practice in the branch which he had chosen, that of surgery, nothing vas now wanting but an attendance of a few months on the Hospital Lectures in London ; ' This translation was neVer published. 16 MEMOIR OF and thither he bent Vis course in the winter of the year 1769, and became one of the /iuss of Dr. William Hunter. His maternal uncle, Mr. Arthur Jennings, then resident in Bloomsbury Square, offered him a home in his house during his abode in London ; and it was to the opportunities of domestic intercourse aiForded by this situation, that he ultimately owed what he justly regard- ed as the prime blessing of his life — his marriage. The object of his choice was Martha, youngest daughter of his worthy uncle by Martha Cornwall his first wife ; and he quitted London in the ensuing spring, full of those tender anticipations of conjugal fe- licity which suited his age and the sensibility of his temper, and which, in this instatjce, were destined to experience no disap- pointment ; and anxious only to place himself as speedily as pos- sible in such a situation as might authorise him to claim the pro- mised prize. The city of Cheste was mentioned to him as affording a fair prospect of success iij his professional career,- and thither he re- paired in the autumn|)f 1770. No proper efforts were wanting on his part to render jiimself known and acceptable in this new scene of action ; he nixed freely with the good society of the place, enjoying grealy the ease and cheerfulness by which it was at that time distiiguished ; formed several respectable and agreeable intimacies, nd gave proofs of his professional abilities by publishing " Obser[ations on the external use of preparations of lead, with some gneral remarks on topical medicines ;" a piece which speedily ipassed into a second edition, and is still esteemed by good judges a model in its kind. But he soon became sensible that the ground was pre-occu- pied at Chester in a iijanner which left no space for the exertions of a new comer ; and Ifter a trial of somewhat more than a year, he quitted the place. Warrington, in the residence of parents whom he revered and lived, in the pleasing associations of youth- ful days, and in the pretence of the academy with its atmosphere of science and literature, possessed unrivalled attractions for him ; whose worldly wishes were bounded to a modest compe- tence, while he sought his happiress in elegant and useful know- ledge, in the intercourse of a fev? congenial associates, and the affection of those connected with him by the dearest ties. To Warrington, therefore, he returned, where his natural connec- tions speedily introduced him to moderate business. In the mean time, his short residence at Chester had been productive DR. JOHN AIKIN. 17 of many advantages. Besides greatly extending his general ac- quaintance in the neighbourhood, it had introduced him to some peculiarly valuable connections. It was there that he first be- came known to that able naturalist and topographer, that lively writer, most agreeable companion, and worthy man, the late Tho- mas Pennant, Esq. In his various tours and journeys this gen- tleman frequently passed through Warrington during Mr. Aikin's residence there ; and he has acknowledged in print, the informa- tion which he received from him on his various topics of local inquiry. An intercourse which was found mutually useful and pleasing was not suffered to languish ; Mr. Aikin willingly su- perintended the printing of such of Mr. Pennant's works as is- sued from Eyres's press at Warrington ; and afterwards, when they were more widely separated in their places of abode, letters were frequently exchanged between them, principally on subjects connected with Mr. Pennant's various pursuits. Into most of these Mr. Aikin entered with deep interest. A value for infor- mation of the kind which would now be called statistical, was early observable among his predilections, and afterwards produ- ced good fruits to the world. That general taste for the objects of natural history, which was not only a source of pure and ele- vated enjoyment to himself through all the periods of advancing life, but the inspirer of some of the most agreeable and instruc- tive portions of his various writings, was either first excited, or at least chiefly fostered by his connection with Mr. Pennant, and the study of his works. It was at Chester, likewise, that he improved a slight acquaint- ance which he had formed at Edinburgh with his fellow-student, John Haygarth, M. D. into one of the most sincere, cordial, and valuable friendships which cheered and supported him through his earthly pilgrimage; — a friendship tried by long years of con- tinued absence, — by much diversity of tastes, pursuits, and con- nections, — and, above all, by a marked opposition both of politi- cal and I'eligious sentiments, when party contests ran the high- est ; which, nevertheless, through all the mutations of half a century, stood without even a suspicion of insecurity, and yield- ed at length only to the inevitable stroke which levels all. The distance between Chester and Warrington, about twenty miles, was unfavourable to the cultivation of intimacy between the medical friends, but they overcame the difficulty in great measure by appointments at the intermediate village of Frods- C IS MEMOIR OF liam, where they often enjoyed a social meal, and the delights of a few hours of the unreserved communication of sentiments, opi- nions, plans and projects. A correspondence was also maintain- ed between them ever after, from which many extracts will ap- pear in the progress of this memoir, the letters having been communicated for the purpose by their venerable and amiable possessor. The first of these epistolary series thus describes the feelings of Mr. Aikin on his change of residence : " It was with a heavy heart that I took my farewel of Chester. On my journey home- wards I turned to take a last view of it, and could not help an involuntary invocation of blessing upon it; I then in a melan- choly mood jogged slowly home. Chester has been a coy but very agreeable mistress, whom I should probably have courted with success, but that her favours were already engaged. Her reserve began to give way, and T could have been happy as a friend though not as a lover ; but being determined to take a partner for life, I was obliged to offer to a more homely but more attainable nymph. To drop metaphors, I shall ever think with pleasure on my short abode at Chester, and shall ever regard many persons there with affection and esteem. To these emo- tions gratitude will be added when I think of my very agreeable connection with Dr. Haygarth ; and the acquisition of such a friend would alone be a compensation for the time spent there." In the same letter he refers to the manuscript of a professional work by Mr. White, which that gentleman had submitted to the unsparing criticism of himself and his friend ; he also mentions a pamphlet of his own, entitled. Thoughts on Hospitals, which was soon after published, and well received both by medical and general readers. Almost at the same time, early in 177% he first ventured to solicit the notice of the public in a character which he never ac- knowledged as incompatible with his professional one — that of a polite writer and cultivator of elegant literatnre. His trial-piece was a small volume, entitled Essays on Song IFriting : tvith a collection of such English Songs as are most eminent for poetical merit. These essays were four in number; one on Song-writ- ing in general ; the other three on the respective classes under which the collection was distributed ; Pastoral Songs and Bal- lads ; Passionate and Descriptive; and "VVitty and Ingenious Songs : they are written with a perspicuity and correctness wor- DR. JOHN AIKIN. 19 thy of the most practised pen, and exhibit tliat union of sound sense with native taste and feeling, heightened by classical re- finement, which is the general character of his critical works. The selection of songs exhibited some of the brightest gems of Eng- lish poetry, carefully separated from all baser substances. A se- cond edition of this agreeable volume was quickly demanded; and very many years afterwards, the editor wa^s prevailed upon to re-model his youthful design, with considerable additions to the collection, under the title of Focal Poetry.* It was one of the most pleasing circumstances attending this work, thatitsug- "•ested to the imagination of his sister her beau'tiful poem entitled. The origin of Song-writing.t A few months afterwards, Mr. Aikin's prospects in life ap- peared such as to enable him, without more than a due share of the sanguine spirit of youth, to venture upon the completion of the dearest wish of his heart, and he was accordingly united to her who had long bestowed upon him her warmest affections. Towards the conclusion of the same happy year, devoted to love and poetry, he had the high gratification of aiding iiis sister in selecting, revising, and conducting through the press, her volume of poems, which the urgency of his entreaties had chiefly prevail- ed upon her to give to the world ; — their success proved equal to their merit ; and while it justified the judgment of her brother from the imputation of partiality, it swelled his heart with the purest emotions of delight and triumph- In the following year, this truly fraternal pair appeared as the joint authors of a small volume of Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose ; the first edition of which, printed at Warrington, was soon ex- hausted, and succeeded by a London one, published by Johnson. The share of Mr. Aikin in this collection was considerably the smallest and least important; the essay on the heroic poem of Gondibert, however, is an elegant piece of criticism, and the fragment of Sir Bertram exhibited inventive powers which he had not before displayed : As " Tales of Terror" were at this time a novelty, it produced a considerable effect, and has been many times re-published by the compilers of selections. The marriage of Miss Aikin, in the summer of 1774, to the Rev. Mr. Barbauld, and her consequent removal to Palgrave, in ' One vol. 12,mo. Johnson. 1810. t See Mrs. Barbauld's Poems. 20 MEMOIR OF SuiFoIk, where a life of active occupation awaited her, necessa rilj dissolved that kind of literary partnership which subsisted between the brother and sister, and to which not only congeni- ality of tastes and pursuits, but the habit of daily intercourse, was essential. The pain of separation was severely felt by both : but the resource of frequent and intimate correspondence, ani- mated by occasicnal meetings, remained ; and Warrington still aflTorded to Mr. A.ikin, beyond the bounds of his own family, one dear and congenial friend with whom to "take sweet counsel" in all that interested him, whether as a man or an author. This friend was the Ilev. William Enfield, L. L, I), at this time a dis- sentino- minister at Warring-ton, and one of the tutors at the academy; a man esteemed by the public for several useful and acceptable works, and beloved by all who ever knew him. la the Rev. George Walker, also, who had succeeded to the office of mathematical tutor at the academy, Mr. Aikin rejoiced to dis- cover a man of strong native genius, interesting in conversation by an uncommon flow of fervid eloquence, proceeding from one of the purest and warmest of human hearts. Literary occupation had now become to Mr. Aikin one of the habits, and almost the wants, of daily life ; and no plan of origi- nal composition at this time suggesting itself, he undertook the translation of Tacitus^s Life of Agricola, which was printed at Warrington in a remarkably correct and elegant manner, toge- ther with the original Latin. For a task like this, his exact knowledge of the Latin language, and his concise and energetic style, were equally well adapted; and the success of this first essay induced him some time afterwards to add a translation of the interesting tract On the Manners of the Germans, by the same author, accompanied by an extensive selection from the learned notes of Brotier. The two pieces, carefully revised, were many years afterwards re-printed in a single volume, which has passed into the fourth edition ; and it has been much regretted by com- petent judges, that the announcement of a translation of the en- tire works of this philosophical historian by Mr. Murphy, indu- ced Mr. Aikin to lay aside a similar design which he had formed, and in which he had made considerable progress. A fresh proof of his industry and spirit of literary enter- prise, directed in this instance to the advancement and diffusion of professional knowledge, was soon after afforded by the appear- ance of his Specimen of the Medical Biography of Great Britain, DR. JOHN AIKIN. 21 with an address to the public. This was a great and important undertaking, comprising a history of the progress of medical sci- ence in this island, with biographies of the most distinguished practitioners of the healing art, and copious analyses of their writings, with critical observations. The labour and difficulty of the work were much enhanced to Mr. Aikin, by his provincial residence, remote from all assistance of libraries, public or pri- vate, and by the ties of a profession which forbade him to travel in search of documents, the perusal of which could not otherwise be procured. His specimen, however, attracted attention, and he received from several quarters useful suggestions and oifers of assistance. The late excellent Dr. Fothergill having, in his summer residences at his seat in Cheshire, become acquainted with Mr. Aikin, — who always retained the highest admiration of his skill as a physician, and the sincerest esteem for his personal worth, — offered him books and useful hints, and expressed warm interest in the progress of the work. Mr. Pegge forwarded to him, with some rare black letter tracts, remarks highly charac- teristic of his own antiquarian tastes ; and he entered into some correspondence on the subject with Dr. Ducarel. The late Mr, Falconer, of Chester, communicated some learned remarks. Loans of scarce volumes were procured from the libraries of some colleges at Cambridge, and valuable assistance of various kinds was contributed by Dr. Haygarth. Thus encouraged, he devoted much time and pains to this pursuit: but the difficulties attending the investigation of the earlier and darker periods of medical history were found in the end insuperable ; and when, five years afterwards, he published in a single octavo volume, Biographical Memoirs of Medicine in Great Britain, from the re- vival of literature to the time of Hervey, he was obliged to explain the causes of this limitation of his plan. Situated as he was, he found that printed books were the only documents to which he was able to gain access ; this deficiency, however, affected only those portions of his subject which might be regarded as offering least either of amusement or instruction, and he still flattered himself that he should find sufficient encouragement to carrv down his design through periods of increasing light and know- ledge. But his plan was met on the part of tlie faculty, by au apathy for which he was not prepared ; the topic, notwithstand- ing an elegant and a popular mode of treating it, as far as the biographical part was concerned, was repulsive to general read- ers; and after repeatedly resuming, and again laying aside this 22 MEMOIR OF favourite task during ne.irly twenty succeeding rears, he was compelled finally to abandon it, as one which promised no ade- quate remuneration either in fame or emolument. The comple- ted volume, however, has been much prized by a select few, and the idea of continuing the woik has several times been entertain- ed by persons not sufficiently informed, perhaps, of the accumu- lated obstacles which overcame the resolution of the original projector. The following account of his various pursuits, occurs in a let- ter to the Rev. Mr. Barbauld written in the summer of 1775 : — " Many a vain wish have I formed since your last visit, that the pleasures we derived from your company might have been more durable. This desire has more particularly recurred during the solitary state of our academical secession, in which our social circle has been for the most part contracted within the narrow bounds of our two families. However, with business, books, a wife and children, I should be unreasonable to complain of ennui; and I have taken the most effectual method to keep it off by being pretty fully employed in my grand scheme, which goes on briskly and prosperously. Dr. Fothergill, who has been down here, ap- proves it and offers me his assistance ; and my more intimate friends of the faculty all encourage me to go on with spirit. " I have lately been writing the life of a very extraordinary man. Sir Thomas Browne, the famous Norwich physician, and author of Religio Medici. Did you ever read this singular book ? If not, I desire you and my sister would immediately do it and give me your opinions concerning it. It has all the spirit and eccentricity of uncommon genius.'' In September, 1776, he thus records the progress of his plans : — " I have a terrible heap of old books to look over, and need not want a fresh supply when they are done with ; for Dr. Darwin of Litchfield has sent me word that if I will send an ass with a pair of panniers, he will load him with old books of physic, bought at two-pence a pound. " I have just finished for our composition club, a paper of Re- marks on Inconsistencies in some of Shakespeare's characters. What heresy ! you will say. It is a sort of bold stroke, I must confess ; but I was provoked past endurance at finding some of the Scotch writers, Richardson in particular, quoting Shakes- peare for any fact in the history of the human mind like gospel ; and philosophising away upon any sentiment of this poor player'.^ DR. JOHN AIKIN. 23 as if he had all the schools of all the philosophers, ancient and modern, in his head. Shakespeare is a poet, — let him not be de- graded into a mere moralist. 1 can lose myself in ecstasy in his Enchanted island or forest of Arden, but I cannot allow his Rich- ard buck wheat, and fine flax. The road in some parts was very heavy and sandy. We dined at a small inn in a village called Tfestminster. From thence the country became more populous, and we passed one considerable town where there seemed to be a manufacture of linen. Several fine villages lay in our road, among which was one extremely neat, most of the houses being white, sashed, with green window shutters. I got out at one place and walked, while the chaise was baiting, along a pleasant road with rows of trees, under which was a cheerful group of people dressing green flax. One of the men conversed with me in French. " Near eight we arrived at Ghent; the evening so rainy that we could not stir out. Our inn here had the appearance of having been a nobleman's house. It also boasted of having lodged the Emperor; and it lodged us very well. " .July 23d, We left Ghent at eight, taking a coach (as it still rained) to the canal. All we saw of this city was therefore, in driving throught it. It appears a large old town, with many grand buildings. " We embarked on the Bruges canal on board a vessel with one mast, very elegantly fitted up, with a very handsome cabin at each end, and a kitchen and other rooms between. The quarter deck was covered with an awning. The company was a motley group of ladies, gentlemen, priests and common people. We had an agreeable party, in one of the cabins, of some gentlemen and two ladies from Bruges, who spoke French as their native tongue. They were polite and well educated, brown and rather thin, with black eyes and easy lively manners. I re- marked some circumstances which showed that female delicacy was not quite the same thing in Flanders as in England. " We proceeded slowly, drawn against the wind by horses. A dinner was cooked on board, and fifteen or sixteen of us sat down to it, among whom were t^alf a dozen priests, who joined with cheerfulness and good appetite. It was a meagre day, and H 58 MEMOIR OF we had fish in various fashions, well dressed and neatly served up. Our wine was laid in ice. " The Flemish seem in general much livelier than the Dutch, French is very commonly understood by all ranks ; and those who read are acquainted with French and English literature. " We drank tea on board, and reached Bruges between four and five. We were obliged to go immediately from the bark to the Ostend diligence ; so we saw nothing of Bruges but in driv- ing through it. We passed a handsome market place and town house ; but the buildings in general seemed inferior to Antwerp and Ghent. " In the diligence were nine people, exclusive of a child at the breast. Though our machine was none of the most commodi- ous, we were jumbled into good humour. We baited half way, when our women passengers by means of a draught of small brisk white wine were thrown into a very merry humour, and we had nothing afterwards but giggling and laughing, especially from one young woman, pretty, and very voluble in Flemish French. The road was a pavement, very straight, through a sandy country where many potatoes are grown. " We reached Ostend at half past nine, and went to a very com- fortable (but dear) English house, where we supped in our own fashion with a company almost all English. "July 24th. I was up early, and paid a visit to the principal church, a tawdry place, with much Roman Catholic finery. Some persons were already paying their devotions. On return- ing, I was much surprised and pleased to find Mr. and Mrs. E. in our inn, come on purpose from Bruges to see me. We walk- ed over the town with them and their daughter, a girl of about ten, who speaks four languages. Ostend is a tolerable town, with many handsome new buildings run up during the war Its busy days seemed almost over, though the arrival of some impe- rial East Indiamen had thrown a little life on the place. We observed several of the sailors, with very dusky faces, straw hats and singular dresses, ofi'ering trinkets to sell. " After passing a most agreeable morning and dining all to- gether at the ordinary, we took a reluctant leave of our friends, and embarked at half past four in a small Margate vessel. Dr. K. a young English physician, to whom I had introduced my- self at Ostend, was one of our company. There were, besides, DR. JOHN AlKIN. 59 a foreign gentleman, a French quack and his wife, and an old Fleming. " The wind was almost directly contrary : and we were oblig- ed to make many tacks before we could clear the harbour The night was boisterous ; the vessel pitched much, and we made a very slow advance. "July 25th. Wind still contrary and high. We descried the North Foreland soon in the afternoon, but approached it very slowly. At length we saw the white cliffs distinctly. Porpoises were tumblins: around us ; and the birds called divers, swimminff among the high waves, sometimes disappearing, and then riding sublime on the very ridge of the wave, amused us much. We were so long in working into the harbour, that we did not land till past nine at night at Margate. " July 26th. We rose very early, and viewed the town, finely situated on the open sea, from which it is protected by a natural and uniform wall of chalk rocks running for miles along the shore. There are several handsome new buildings in the Lon- don style for the accommodation of bathers, and many bathing machines lie round the bason. Before six we set off with Dr. K. in a chaise for London, were we arrived at six in the evening.'' From London the new graduate returned to his family at War- rington, but with the intention of quitting the place whenever such prospects should open to him in any other town as might justif)' the experiment of removal. After some months spent in inquiries, he received information of a vacancy about to occur by the departure of one of the two physicians w^ho divided the practice of the town of Yarmouth in Norfolk ; and this intelligence was accompanied with such assu- rances of support from some of the inhabitants, to whom his connections were well known, as determined him to settle there. Notwithstanding the circumstances which had rendered him justly dissatisfied with his professional situation at Warrington, his feelings on the near prospect of departure made him sensible, that in the way of social and friendly enjoyment he had many sa- crifices to make in quitting that county which had extended so affec- tionate an adoption to his parents.his sister, and himself; and which was the scene of all the dearest recollections of his youth, and the birth place of his children. The position of Warrington enabled him to keep up an agreeable intercourse with his friends at Ches- 60 JMEMOIR OF ter.and especially witli the dearest and most intimate of them. Dr. Hav^arfh; — it afforded siuiilar or greater facilities with respect to his Manchester connections, who had recently marke4,their re- spect for him by electing him a member of their newly established Philosophical and Literary Society: — and its station between this |)lace and Liverpool gave him the advantage of the half way meetings which often took place between the members of the medical profession belonging to these two populous and rising towns. Some circumstances of this nature procured him occa- sional interviews witli Dr. Pcrciva! and Dr. Bell of Manchester, with Dr. Dobson of Liverpool, and especially with the late Dr. James Currie of the same place. Towards this accomplished, enlightened, and eminently excellent person, he found himself so strongly attracted by a similarity of tastes and pursuits, and a conformity of views on some of the most important topics of human speculation, that a very little more oppor- tunity was alone wanting to mature Avhat was already social in- timacy into perfect friendship ; and enough was done to impress both parties with a lasting esteem, and an unfailing concern for each other"'s welfare, and to confer on the very few opportunities of intercourse which were afterwards granted them, a character of the most lively interest.* He had likewise enjoyed opportunities of forming other ac- quaintances among the inhabitants of Liverpool which he justly regarded as equally agreeable and advantageous. The distin- guished biographer of Lorenzo de' Medici and Leo X., then young ajid unknown to the world, but already credited by his friends for the various abilities which he has since made mani- fest, was one of those whose society he peculiarly valued, and whose character he contemplated with the most cordial senti- ments of esteem and affection ; — these sentiments were mutual, and their strength has since been proved by a friendship which knew but one termination.! • The present writer, who, many years since, enjoyed raucli of thf: pleasure and advantage of Dr. Currie's society during a visit to Liverpool, can nevei- foi'get the rninute and earnest manner in which ht- quusitioned her respecting her father's sen. timents on many interesting and momentous subjects ; and the animated expression of pleasure with which he exclaimed, at the end of this examination — " Then he is the same man 1 knew twenty years ago !" f The following [jarticulars of the early period of their acquaintance, communi- cated to me by Mr. Koscoe himself, are too characteristic as well as pleasing to be DR. JOHN AIKIN. 61 With so many social ties to be broken, Dr. Aikin might be ex- cused for regarding his removal to a distant part of the king- dom, where he possessed not a single friend and scarcely even an acquaintance, as a severe trial of Fortitude. He thus expresses himself respecting it to Dr. Haygarth, by M'hose persuasions chiefly he had been urged to assume his new character. — ^ — " Should any thing prevent your coming hither, I shall certainly make a point of visiting you before my departure, for God knows when we shall meet again. If success in my profession was not the first concern in my situation, I should be strongly disposed to reject any offers which would remove me so far from friends I cordially love and esteem. But we are in a world that demands continual sacrifices, and happiness is only to be acquired by ac- commodating ourselves with good humour to our several neces- sities.'' It was at the close of the year 1784 that Dr. Aikin with his family quitted Warrington on their journey to Norfolk : his ex- cellent mother, who had resided in his house from the period of her husband's death, resolved still to accompany the dearest ob- jects of her affection ; but stopping by the way at the house of her daughter in Suffolk, she there manifested symptoms of decay which in a short period terminated in her death. The rest ot the family speedily arrived at the place of their destination, and began to examine with eager interest the new scenes which open- ed upon them. omitted. " It is a satisfaction to my minil to express to one so deaf to liim the sincere ami affectionate attachment I entertaiiifd tor him, ;>nd the gratitude I owe to him for the advanlages (ierived from his friendship and society at an early period of my life. My long acquaintance with him is indeed connected with the mest pleasing recollections. From having accompanied him to his little hotanical garden in the vicinity of Warrington, I fisst imbibcMl a relish for those pursuits ; and I well remem- ber that, on his recommendation, I was first led to the perusal of the modern wri- ters of Latin poetry, \vhich has since afforded me an inexhausiible source of pleasure." In reference: to the modern Latin poets, I would observe, that it is somewhat re- markable that the admiration which ni} father certainly entertained for them, has not left stronger traces in his works. Two translations, however, of short pieces, one of them by Fracasforius, the olherby Janus.Etruscus, are included in his volume of poems. I know that he accounted Fracaslorius as the first of these writers, espe- cially in the didactic style : the others whom he most admired were Sadoletus, Fon- tanus, Sannazaro, Politianus, and — for classical purity of style rather than originality or brilliancy of imagination — liembus. The Psalms of Buchanan stood very high iu his estimate in the class ofiranslalions, and some of Joitin's odes, especially that .Jd Tempits, he considered as of first rate excellence. Full accounts of the Latin poets of modern Italy are contained in Mr. Roscoc's Life of I^eo the Tenth. 62 MEMOIR OF Planted on a narrow strip of sand jutting out into the German Ocean, and exposed to the full fury of the north-eastern blasts which sweep along that flat unsheltered coast, and suffer not a tree or a bush to raise its head with impunity, — nothing can easily be imagined more dreary than the situation of Yarmouth and the immediately adjacent country. The town itself, how- ever, though strangely cramped in its mode of building within the circuit of its ancient walls, is recommended by a striking air of cheerfulness and neatness, and boasts one of the finest quays in the kingdom. The manners of the lower class are remarka- bly decent and civilised ; and as much of literature and refine- ment prevailed at this time among the richer part of the commu- nity, as could reasonably be expected in a commercial town of the second rank, occupying a remote corner of the island. There was no cause for complaint in the reception given to the newly-arrived family by the general society of the place. A con- siderable number of the principal people commenced an acquain- tance with them, and it soon appeared that they might be occu- pied in visiting even more than they desired. But a very short trial was sufficient to convince Dr. Aikin that he had been con- siderably deceived, both as to the whole quantity of medical practice which the town was capable of affording, and the pro- portion of it which was likely to fall to his share. The other physician was already established and well supported ; and as the field was clearly too narrow for two, he was speedily per- suaded that he had not yet found a lasting settlement ; though le felt it the part of wisdom to afford himself time for a fair trial of the resources of his present situation. Under these impressions, it may readily be imagined that the first year of his residence at Yarmouth was one of the most anxious periods of his life ; and not a little credit seems due to the spirit of prac- tical philosophy and the disposition to be easily pleased and in- terested, apparent in the following passages of letters written to his sister during this period. April 7th, 1785. " While you have had Siberian blasts, we at Yarmouth have not altogether lived on zephyrs. The cry of our night watchmen, ' North-north-east is the wind — North-north- east,' had become perfectly familiar to our ears ; and the grand sight of about five hundred ships at anchor waiting for a southern breeze, had lost all its effect upon us, from its duration. From Monday things have changed a little, but the wind has again got DR. JOHN AIKIN. 63 round to its old quarter — My poor Calendar has appeared at an unfortunate time tor its credit, and I doubt it will be reckoned as fallacious as Poor Robin or Wing. " Thanks for your invitation of G . He and we gladly ac- cept it, and you will perhaps shortly see. us whisking it over your green in a Yarmouth cart.* He is a useful man, though, to us, in our rambles with the children by the seaside, where my wife and I are as much amused as the young ones in picking up shells, pebbles, and sea weed. We are beginning to make a collection or museum, if you please, which you may one day view with much delight and instruction. I do not intend, however, to turn show- man, like Sir Ashton, as I begin to have a prospect of a better trade in my own profession. I assure you, things mend upon me, and all the world does not continue so obstinately healthy, or so afraid of a physician. I have had, and now have, some pa- tients. My rival is one of my most familiar and agreeable ac- quaintance, and 1 find several more whose company is better than none.'' Late in the month of September, writing to Mrs. Barbauld, who was then on a tour in France, he describes himself as with- out medical employment at that time ; and laments that the pub- lication of Rousseau's Letters on Botany, with some additional ones by Mr. Martyn, had superseded a favourite scheme of his own ; but consoles himself with the translation of Tacitus which he had resumed as a winter employment. He mentions the pleasure of a visit from his beloved friend Dr. Enfield, whom a fortunate invitation from a congregation at Norwich had now brought to reside within twenty miles of him ; and afterwards he proceeds thus : " We have had a good deal of amusement here from the annual visit of the Dutch fishermen. About fifty of their schuyts came up our river, and lay for three or four days at the quay, in an uniform regular line. The town was filled with great breeches, and on the Sunday all the country flocked in to see the sight, so that the whole length of the quay was crowded. The gradual ap- proach of the schuyts with their yellow sails glittering in the sun. * A low open carriage^of very simple construction anfl humble appearance, coni- JKionly used by tlie iuhabitauts of Yarninutb, as peculiarly adapted to their naiTOW lanes called Kotos. G4 MEMOIR OF and their progress up the river in a line one after tiie other, were very striking spectacles " But how I long to be with you, ' To quaff tlie pendent vin- tage as it grows ;' to see a gay people in their gayest mood, and lead the dance with a sun burnt Champenoise on the green turf! Here, different employ! we are fitting out fishing-boats, prepar- ing nets and cordage, launching to sea, and hunting out for the mighty shoals of herrings in their annual migration. Already some are brought in,- and carts loaded with them arc now driv- ing by. Here is industry, and here are the sources of wealth; but where are pleasure, and elegance and vivacity? If employ- ments must give a tincture and flavour to those occupied in them, surely one would prefer the perfume of the grape to the stench of a herring.'' The inspiring influence of his sister's letters, describing alter- nately the gay and the sublime scenes which opened to her on her journey, and rendered still more impressive, perhaps, by the contrast of his own situation, roused all his poetic talent, and produced soon after an epistle to her in verse, which well de- serves to be quoted among the most pleasing records of the wri- ter's mind : To Mrs. Barhauld, at Geneva. " From Yare's low banks, where through the marshy plain lie leads his scanty tribute to the main, On sea-girt Albion's furthest Eastern bound Where ttiret'u! shoals extend their bulwark, round, — To thee I turn, my sister and my friend ! On thee from far the mental vision bend. O'er land, o'er sea, freed Fancy speeds her flight. Waves tiie liglit wing, aiif) towers her airy height : And now the chalkj cliffs behind hi r fly. And Gallia's realms in brilliant prospect lie ; Now rivt-rs, plains, and woods and vales are cross'd," And many a scene in gay confusion lost, 'Till 'mid Burguiidian hills she joins her chase. And social pleasure crowns the rapid race. " Fair land ! by nature deck'd, and graced by art, Alike to cheer the eye and glad tlu' heart, Pour thy soft influence through Lsetitia's breast, And lull each swelling wave of care to rest ; Heat witli sweet balm the wounds of pain aiifl toil, Bid anxious, busy years restore their spoil ; The spirits light, the vig'u-ous soul infuse, And, to requite thy gifts, bring back the Muse. DR. JOHN AIKIN. 65 For sure tliat Muse, whose far-resounding straioa Ennobled Cynius' rocks and M-rsey's plains Shall here with holdust touch awake the lyre. Soar to new heights, and glow with brighter fire Methinks I hear the sweetly-warbled note On Seine's meand'ring bosom gently float ; Suzoii's rude vaie repeats the charming voice. And all around the vine-clad hills rejoice: " Now all thy grots, Auxcelles! with music sound ; From crystal roofs and vaults the sti'aios rebound : Besangon's splendid towers the song partake And breezes waft it to the Leman lake. Delightful lake ! whose margin gay and green Smiles in soft contrast to the rugged scene Of stern brow'd Alps, where storms eternal roll. How must (iiy varied charms entrance the soul ! With what high passions must thy prospect move The heart that beats to liberty and love ! Around, fair Freedom builds her lofty throne And rocks and valourguard it for her own; While deep within embowering shades conceal'd To none but Cupid's mystic band reveal'd Ciarens ! thy roofs ascend, with turrets crown'd. And love and Julia fill th' enchanted ground. " Such, my Lsetitia, on thy ravish'd eyes Bursts the bright scene, the vivid landscapes rise ; Whilti from my sight the air-drawn pictures fade! And Fancy's glass bedimm'd denies its aid ; The colours melt, the lines dissolve in space. And cold realities usurp the place. " VVhat different scenes succeed !— a steril shore. Long level plains, the restless ocean's ruar. The rattling car, the shipwright's sturdy toil, The far-spread net, and heaps of finny spoil. Keen Eurus here sweeps o'er th' unshelter'd land. Shakes the strong dome, and whirls the loosen'd sand ; Fair Flora shrinks, the trees averted bend. While their thin boughs a scanty shade extend: And, for the flowering thicket's cheerful notes Here hungry sea-fowl stretch their clamorous throats. "And yet, e'en here, the soul- directed sight. Which nature's views in ev'ry furm delight. May catch, as o'er the brighten'd scene th^y gleam Grandeur's strong i-ay, or beauty's softer beam. Frequent along the pebbly beach I pace. And gaze intent on ocean's varying face. Now from the main rolls in the swelling tide, And «aves on waves in long procession ride ; Gath'ring they come, till, gain'd the ridgy height. No more the liqi^id mound sustains its weight j 66 MEMOIR OF It curls, it falls, it breaks with hideous roar, And pours a foamy deluge on thi- shore. From the bleak pole now driving tenmpests sweep. Tear the light clouds, Hnd vex the ruffled deep. White o'er the shoals the spouting breakers rise. And mix the waste of waters with the skies: The anchoring vessels, stretch'd in long array, Shake from their bounding sides the dashing spray ; Lab'iing they heave, the tighten 'd cables strain, And danger adds new horror to the main. Then shifts the scene, as to the western gales Delighted Commerce spreads her crowded sails. A cluster'd group the distant fleets appear. That scatt'ring breaks in varied figures near : Now, all illumn'd by the kindling ray. Swan-like, the stately vessel cuts her way; The fuU-wing'd barks now meet, now swiftly pass^ And leave long traces in the liquid glass : Light boats, all sail, athwart the current hound, And dot with shining specks the surface round. Nor with the day the sea-born splendours cease : When evening lulls each ruder gale to peace. The rising moon with silvery lustre gleams, And shoots across the flood her quivering beams. Or if deep gloom succeeds the sultry day. On ocean's bosora native meteors play. Flash from the wave, pursue the dipping oar, And roll in flaming billows to the shore. " 'Tis thus, within this narrow nook confined, I strive to feed with change th' insatiate mind, But surer aid the Muses' stores impart. With each new world of science and of art ; And, more than all, the joys of sacred home Forbid my heart to pant, my feet to roam. Yet one dear wish still struggles in my breast. And points one darling object unpossess'd : How many years have whiri'd their rapid course Since we, sole streamlets from one honour'd source. In fond aflFection as in blood allied. Have wander'd devious from each other's side ; Allowed to catch alone some transient view. Scarce long enough to think the vision true; O then, while yet some zest of life remains, Whilf transport yet can swell the beating veins, While sweet remembrance keeps her wonted seat. And fancy still retains some genial heat, When evening bids each busy task be o'er. Once let as meet again, — to part no more! A year of experiment was sufficient entirely to convince Dr. Aikin of the correctness of his first judgment concerning the DR. JOHN AlKIN. Q7 probable unproductiveness of Yarmouth to him, as a medical sta- tion J and he was now fully bent on a change of residence. The choice of a new scene of action still however remained matter of anxious deliberation, till his doubts were ended in the manner related in the following letter to Dr. Haygarth, dated December, 1785. " You Avill, I doubt not, my dear friend, be pleased to hear, that after my discussion and rejection of so many schemes for a change in my situation, I have at length come to a determina- tion. The decision is a bold one, but 1 hope it is well weighed, and that it will appear to my friends as well as myself, not too hazardous. London is the place, after all, where I am to make my eftbrts. The prize is worthy of a contest, though I confess it would be little consolation to have it said, in case of a failure, * magnis tamen excidit ausis.' "I took a journey, about three weeks since, to Bedfordshire and St. Albans, to reconnoitre there, where 1 have connections j but I could find little encouragement. Thence I went to Lon- don and saw all my relations and friends, and, to my surprise, found them almost unanimous in advising me to venture at the metropolis, with such assurances of support, or confidence of pre- sage, that all my fears and reluctancies at length gave way, and I left town with a resolution to prepare as soon as possible for my settlement there In the line I am to follow, I do not think it will be of so much consequence to make a noise, as as- siduously to cultivate all private friendships and acquaintances, and to get introduced as much as possible to families. Yet if an hospital, or a partnership in lecturing should be easily procura- ble, I shall certainly offer myself. In short, it is my resolution to be active and pushing, and even to force my natural disposi- tion, if it stands in my way." With these prospects and resolutions, he removed to London, and fixed himself with his family in the city; where the chief strength of his connections at that time lay. The fame of his literary productions had preceded him in many quarters ; and as it may safely be affirmed in his case, that the man never disappointed the warmest admirers of the author, he found him- self rapidly making his way in society, and beginning to unite the general suffrage to the cordial attachment of relations and family friends. With so much in his reception to flatter self- applause, and minister food to ambition, added to the common 68 MEMOIR OF attractions of the metropolis for every inquiring mind and ac- tive spirit,— his relinquishment of his new situation within the space of four months, was a sacrifice of the brilliant to the solid, — or, to speak more truly, of immediate personal gratifica- tion, to the security and welfare of his family, which must be contemplated, by the most indifferent, with respect and appro- bation, and can never be recalled by the immediate objects of so generous a self devotion, without the liveliest emotions of grati- tude. An event of the most unexpected nature was the source of this total change of plan : This was the sudden dereliction of his situation by the physician who had remained at Yarmouth in full possession of the field. The result is thus communicated by Dr. Aikin, in a letter to his sister. " Immediately on this event, an invitation to me was drawn up, and signed by almost every body of all parties in the town, promising their utmost support in case I would return. Such a testimory of respect and attachment could not but move me ; and the idea of immediately coming into the undisturbed possession of a decent competence, instead of the expensive and precarious struggle for distant success in London, operated very powerfully in a prudential view. For though I have met with many civilities here, and formed many agreeable acquain- tances, yet, on the whole, I am more sensible than before of the length of time and effort necessary to make ones way in town. I laid the whole state of the case before my nearest friends and relations, and we endeavoured to make some calculation of a moderate certainty, compared to a splendid uncertainty. But all seemed to agree, that prudence could not hesitate in deter- mining for the former. " Inclination pleaded most strongly, with both my wife and myself, to stay amidst our dearest connections, and enjoy that sweet society which would soon be probably augmented by so dear an addition as yourselves. But the good of our family was ,a consideration not to be surmounted, and we could not make ourselves easy in hazarding their advantage for the sake of our own enjoyment. I was compelled, therefore, to accept the flat- tering offer made me ; and as the case would not admit delay, I wrote immediately, and am to go down to take possession of my post to-morrow " To attempt to describe the crowd of mixed emotions which agitate me on this occasion, would only aggravate whatever there DR. JOHN AlKIN. 69 is in them distressing and unpleasant. I see at once all that I lose, — the great, the lasting sacrifices that I make. My com- pensation is to be that state of tranquillity and security which it requires time and leisure to enjoy completely, and the opera- tion of which, though great in the scale of life, is not to be re- presented in striking colours. All that remains for us is, to make the best advantage of every opportunity of happiness that lies in our way, and acquiesce as well as we can in every privation and disappointment.'' That every sacrifice of lower motives of action to higher, — of the selfish principle to the social, — is immediately and certainly rewarded by the internal emotions of the individual, and in most cases by the concurring sentiments of others, is the great truth ■which cannot be too often repeated, or too variously illustrated; and it will, on this account, be useful, as well as satisfactory, to contemplate the state of mind exlnbited in the following pas- sages of a letter to Dr. Haygarth: " Your very kind letter, and the decided approbation you be- stow on my late removal, give me peculiar satisfaction. Indeed, all my friends unite in telling me I have determined wisely, ac- cording to a collected view of all the circumstances: — even my friend Mr. B — y, who, with yourself, was always a stimulator of my ambition, is compelled to the same conclusion. " I have now been here a month, and find my situation, with regard to the respect with which I am treated, and the emolu- ments I enjoy, fully equal to my expectations. I also feel much pleasure in becoming again a man of business, filling a post of some use and consequence in society. I have just purchased a very good and pleasant house, which every body says is an ex- tremely cheap bargain. My wife and family are as yet in town or elsewhere, and I am in lodgings. But I hope soon to re-com- mence that domestic life, which, to persons so happy in their connections as you and I are, is the only scene of real felicity. " I lately made an augmentation of my medical librarv, at a cheap rate, at a sale. Sauvages, Lieutaud, and some other good books, are among them ; and I frequently consult them by way of comparing what I meet with in practice, with description. I keep a case book, upon the plan of yours, and find it very use- ful and improving. 1 have already entered above a score all in I-atin. " Mr. Howard is now in Italy, from whence he means to go to TO MEMOIR OF Sicily, and thence to Constantinople. If he escapes the plague or a prison, I shall think him indeed heaven protected. "I recollect nothing else at present to communicate ; yet if we could have a Frodsham meeting again, how much should we both find to say ! But peace, ye vain regrets, — let me not dwell upon things that were, and ' were most deuv to me !' " Another letter, written to the same friend some months after- wards, preserves a similar tone of habitual contentedness, and also aftbrds some interesting notices of the pursuits and senti- ments of the writer. " How many things have I to say to you, v/hich cannot come within the compass of a letter ! O Frodsham, Frodsham ! but re- gret is vain, and even unreasonable, when, having had before us the advantages and disadvantages of various situations, we have made our choice, and have reason, on the whole, to be satisfied with it. I am now, as I think, perfectly settled ; and though I have little reason to think either that my gains will be large, or my reputation extended, I know not where, upon the whole, I could be better. My London expedition is like a strange dream to my mind, and in a few years I shall scarcely be able to con- sider it as a reality. I should now and then feel a little disap- pointment at the loss of the brilliant and lively prospects it af- forded, did I not immediately call to mind the circumstances of midwifery, rivalship, — intrigue, — meanness, — hazard, — and fa- mily sickness, which must have accompanied them ; and then I perfectly acquiesce in the change. I now live in a good house of my own, with a cheerful family about me, amidst agreeable acquaintance, in a respectable rank of life ; and want nothing but a little more business, both by way of employment, and for profit. But I can keep my head above water ; and perhaps in time my fame may extend to a dozen miles' distance ; and then I shall be some body in the world. To speak without jesting, I have a tolerable range southwards in Suftolk, and have already been called in by all the surgeons of Beccles, a good market town fourteen miles off. * " You ask me what I am doing in the literary way. Truly, nothing but amusing myself, and that is all I intend doing here- after ; for really one has such a terrible line of critics to run the gauntlet through, that I shall scarcely have courage again to face them. I employ some of my leisure in practising to write medi- cal Latin, for no other particular purpose than that of keeping DR. JOHN AIKIN. 71 my cases with some elegance. . My way is, to translate pretty literally a page or two of Celsus, or some other good writer, and the next day render it back into Latin and compare the two. I jiow and then scribble a few verses, and always have some enter- ' taining book in reading, which prevents time from hanging heavy upon my hands. As for philosophy, chemistry, and ihe other studies which require close attention and much application, I think in my present situation I do most wisely in letting them slip by. What are they now to me, further than an amusement? and I own I find little amusement in them. The musae elegan- tiores were always more to my taste. " But ipse quid audes ? You say nothing of your own pursuits, nor in what way you are now consulting the public good ; for as every man has his amusement, that was always yours. Do you keep the small pox at bay yet ? Do you defy infectious fevers ? Are all the youth of Chester instructed and humanised under your plans ? What are your favourite books ? Have you read Cowper's Task ? If you have, you will join with him in saying ♦ England, with all thy faults I love thee still, my country !' The ardour of his soul will in some degree correspond with yours, and I doubt not that you will be struck with his poetic beauties, which I think in some respects almost unequalled. Yes, I do think upon the whole ours a very tolerable country, nor would I quit it even to be a Dutch or American republican. " With respect to my friends the Dutch, I own I admire their spirit, and augur well as to the issue of the patriotic cause. Why need a republic tie themselves to the control of hereditary fools, contrary to the fundamental principles of their state .^ There will be no civil war, I dare say ; and foreign powei-s will prevent each other from hurting them. You have guessed whence the account of the Dutch visit to this place proceeded. I believe 1 shall frequently send a trifle to the Gentleman's Magazine, and since that, have inserted there an account of our maritime plants, and an Apology for Literary Physicians." Various were the resources which occurred to Dr. Aikin for filling up his intervals of leisure during the year 1787. At the earnest request of his friend Dr. Percival, he received his eldest son into his house, for the purpose of initiation in medical stu- dies, and this connection subsisted with mutual satisfaction for more than a year ; though the preference of the pupil for the clerical profession, proved in the end insuperable. Another 72 MEMOIR OF source ot employment was supplied to him by the return of Mr Howard from the long and perilous journey referred to in a pre- vious extract. Previously to his departure, this gentleman had been furnished at his own request, by Dr. Jebb and my father, with a set of queries relative to the plague, to be addressed to the medical practitioners of such ports of the Levant as he pro- posed to visit : and on his return, he put the answers to these queries, with such other documonts respecting this dreadful malady as he had been able to procure, into the hands of my father, who compiled from them all the medical part ot Mr. Howard's work on Lazarettos. Several of these documents were in Italian ; and it was for the purpose of understanding them that he taught himself that language ; the poets, historians and bio- graphers of which afterwards proved to him an invaluable source of instruction and delight. Some of his earliest impressions respecting the Italian poets are thus communicated to Mrs. Barbauld. "....You may imagine that amid all these engageruents, Italian has not been much pursued. I have however read through the Jlminta; and with more pleasure than I could have supposed an idle love tale could now have given me. There are, indeed, some charming passages, and I could easily trace some of our most admired poets as imitators of this original. Did you never feel the pleasure one experiences in meeting with a passage in its right place already familiar to us in quotation ? I felt this highly on finding in the Aminta those beautiful lines quoted in the Nouvelle Heloise, " Congiunti eran I'alberghi," &c. I have also read the Siroe of Metastasio, the plot of which is, to be sure, gloriously absurd. His lovers are so pitifully tame and humble, and his heroines such insolent viragoes, that I feel very little interest in their affairs." During the year 1788, he was employed in the composition of his popular little work, England Delineated. He described it to . be his intention here " to sketch a bold and strong outline, where- by the discriminating character of each county may be impress- ed on the mind ;" and I may be permitted to remark, that there were few things in which his peculiar talent shone more than in this kind of spirited sketching. The uncommon clearness both of his ideas and his style, enabled him, with a few strokes, to con- vey images at once distinct and lively ; and his works for young people abound with these bird's-eye t;iez^5 of various departments ])R. JOHN AIKIN. 75 of knowledge, which he thought it advantageous early to spread before them, that they might be enabled immediately to arrange, with an approach at least to accuracy, such ideas of detail as they should afterwards accumulate. Few of his works were execut- ed with more pleasure to himself than this : geograpliical and topographical pursuits were always congenial to his taste ; in its least attractive* forms, knowledge of this kind was welcome to his mind, and when embellished by the charms of eloquence and poetry, a source of high delight. I have often witnessed the ad- miration with which he perused the description of the site of Constantinople, and the other geographical delineations traced by the masterly hand of Gibbon ; and the enthusiasm with which he dwelt upon the spXendkl panoramas of the ancient world ex- hibited fay Milton in his Paradise Lost, and Paradise Regained.* Another occupation of the leisure of this year, but rather of a professional than literary nature, w^as the preparation of another new edition of Lewis's Materia Medica, with all the alterations of the last London Pharmacopoeia, and two or three new articles. He was likewise engaged in initiating in the elements of medi- cine, the second son of Dr. Percival, who had taken his brother's place under his tuition, and entered upon professional studies with such ardour and success as to excite high hopes of future eminence, which were unhappily frustrated by an untimely death. About the same time, various circumstances conspired to lead him on in a train of thought, which afterwards broke forth in such a variety of forms in his writings, and influenced his conduct in so many important particulars, that it will be proper to trace its origin and progress. He had early learned from the precepts and example, doubtless, of his excellent father, to regard the diflerent degrees of moral worth and intellectual profi- ciency as the only really important distinctions among man- kind. In consequence of this estimate of things, no man was ever, not in theory alone, but in practice, less of a respecter of * Be3i\les the merit of llie plan ami geiift-al execution, Englami Delineated had that of bringing before the public a verv consiiierable quantity of nt-vv and accurate inforniation concerning particular towns wnd districts, obtained from many respect- able correspondents to whom diligent application was made by the author. This ■work received considerable accessions in several successive editions; and a new mo- dification of llie woik, comprising many fresh hi;ads of inform;'tion, was published in one closely printed octavo volume, under the title of England Described ; Baldwin, Cradock,and Joy. 1819, K 74 MEMOIR OF persons ; for while he disdained to pay court to the ignorant and the profligate, whatever their rank and fortune, or their ability to promote his own worldly interests, he always discovered a benevolent willingness to enter into conversation with persons^ in the humblest stations, if possessed of decent manners, and of the disposition to seek, or the power to communicate, useful knowledge, of whatever kind. As a medical man,4iis intercourse with the lower classes was constant and extensive ; — for his gra- tuitous assistance was always at their free disp*al, — and in the situations in which he saw them, he often found himself called upon to pay homage to their social and domestic virtues, while he compassionated their sufferings and deplored their hardships. The combined result, then, of his principles and his experience was, a remarkable degree of fellow feeling with the poor, a desire to raise them in their own estimation and that of others to what he regarded as their due level, and a fixed opinion that the ex- treme inequality of conditions was both an evil and an injustice of the greatest magnitude, and one which it was the duty of a government calling itself free and enlightened, to take measures for lessening. The state of the poor in Norfolk at the period of his removal thither, was peculiarly calculated to give force to these ideas. A long and progressive diminution of demand for . the woollen fabrics of Norwich, had gradually impoverished the' labouring classes throughout a considerable district; and the alarming increase of poor's-rates consequent upon tiieir inability to find regular employment, had suggested various plans for the cheaper maintenance of persons who had become chargeable to their parish. Among these was the erection of houses of indus- try, two or three of whicli had been established on what was regarded as an improved plan, and were zealously patronised by the county magistrates. A visit to one of these, made under the conduct of a zealous friend and advocate of the design, had the unexpected effect of suggesting to Dr. Aikin the following remarks, which first appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for January, 1788, and afterwards received the distinction, highly valued by their author, of being re-printed by Mr. Howard, at his own expense, in a separate form for general circulation : " At a time when so many new schemes are in agitation for the better management of the poor, wliile objections are raised against them all, and yet all acknowledge that some alterations and improvements are necessary, I beg to be indulged with the DR. JOHN AIKIN. 73 insertion of a few observations, on two points which ought to be considered previously to the establishment of any new mode, and a proper attention to which ini^ht decide the preference due to one above another. These points are, the rights of the POOR, and the comforts of the poor. " With respect to the Poor Man's rights, I presume they are naturally the same with the rich man's. Set the prince and the basket maker together upon a desolate island, and it is certain the birth of the former will not be so good a plea for superiority as the skill of the latter. But in a stale of society, the rights of the poor man must be estimated by the sacrifices he has made (or has acquiesced in) for the benefit of that society. Now these are great indeed. He has resigned to the landlord all his share of the ground which his own hands cultivate ; not reserving to himself so much as will bury him. He has lent to the merchant and manufacturer the use of his limbs, as an engine to procure them wealth, at a rate much below their real value. He has re- linquished, to those who are called his betters, all claim to power, rank, title, and respect, and is content to swell the pomp of state by the contrast he exhibits of meanness opposed to gran- deur; without which comparative relation neither of them would exist. What then, in such an unequal distribution, is left him ? Surely the security, at least, that his condition shall not become still worse (unless by his own fault) ; and that, like the bee which resigns her treasures to man, he may remain unmolested in his hive, and be fed with a portion of that honey which he collects for his masters. If this be denied him, will he not be apt to call for a fresh division of the common property, and say, " Give me the portion of good things which falleth unto me i*" Heavy as is the burden of poor rates, 1 suppose the opulent do not wish for such a liquidation of the account. I conceive it, therefore, to be the right of the poor man, at all events, and notwithstanding the bur- dens which may seem to press upon the rich, to be secured in the continuance of the humble enjoyments belonging to his sta- tion. A willingness to labour is all the return that can be re- quired of him. If, either by age or sickness, he is rendered in- capable of labour, or if no work can be found for him, he may still demand his usual scanty share from those, who, without labouring any more than he, are supplied with abundance out, of the general stock. It is not enough, then, to provide for the poor, by keeping their souls and bodies together in the cheapest manner r6 MEMOIR OF possible ; they are to be maintained in the possession of their comforts. " What are the poor man's comforts ? They lie in a sixiall compass ; and therefore ought to be the more sacred. "One great source of comfort to the poor man is his unfe and children, \(\iti be not overbiudened by them. Despised and in- significant as he may be abroad, he is of some consequence at home. He finds there those who care for him, who obey him ; -to whom he may say, Go, and they go ; and Come, and they come. He is not without a sense of the charities of father, son, and hus- band ; and, when sick and dispirited, it is the greatest of his com- forts to be attended upon by those who love and regard him. There may be some dunger oT sinking even a stout heart by the forcible separation of husband and wife, parents and children, in times of sickness and distress ; nor would one surely wish them to be entirely indifferent to each other. " The poor man, poor as he is, loves to cherish some idea of property : — to say, my house, my garden, my furniture ; and when his whole domestic establishment goes to wreck on a removal to. a workhouse, he is weak enough to grieve a little at the loss of things that by use were become precious to him. He does not like to consider himself only as a lodger or a guest, though in a much finer mansion than his own ; — he does not wear with satis- faction clothes, though warm, that belong to the commwniV?/, and not to himself. And are not these respectable prejudices.^ "The poor man is comforted under his poverty by thinking himself/ree. This freedom of his, God knows, is circumscribed by such a number of imperious necessities, that it is reduced to little in eff'ect; but he pleases himself in in?iagining that he pos- sesses it ; and that he may go out or come in, work or play, at his own option. He likes to be the judge of his own wants, and to provide for them after his own manner. He even chooses to have the determination whether he shall boil or bake his Sunday's dinner. Then he cannot be easy under confinement, abhors the thought of being under lock and key, and thinks no man deserves a prison who has not committed a crime. To be a cypher in the state, and therefore a slave, according to the idea of some political theorists, does not hurt him at all ; but he has a mortal dislike to arbitrary rule exercised over all his actions. And is it in England that one would wish to extinguish these feelings I "Lastly, the poor man places some of his comfort (often, it DR. JOHN AlKIN. 17 nust be acknowledged, too much of it) in socio/ and comimalcn- joymenfs. The bare mention of these, in a poor man, strikes many with the idea of great criminalty, and the appellations of drunken and idle are liberally bestowed with great indignation. To get drunk, and squander at an ale-house what ought to main- tain his f\imily, is undoubtedly very wrongin a poor man; but that, after a hard day's or week's labour, he should love to relax a little in that place which aftords "an hour's importance to the poor man's heart," is surely so natural that it cannot deserve much censure. The evening chat at a neighbour's door, the Sunday's church yard politics, the holiday festivities, the rustir games, and athletic exercises, are as welcome to the labourer, as the Opera-house and Almack's to the lord ; and who will say, that the pleasures of the former are not as well earned as those of the latter ? Without these sweeteners, what w^onld be the bit- ter cup of a poor man's life ! What is the life of him who is compelled to sustain a tasteless and melancholy being within the barred precincts of a workhouse, where the names of freedom, property, and cheerfulness, are unknown ?" Similar views are further opened in a letter addressed to a medical friend, in the autumn of the same year. "The state of the poor has indeed considerably occiipied my thoughts, and I heartily wish their situation was bettered, not only by the exertions of private charity, but by a spirit of justice, and a due sense of the natural equality of mankind. Their state is, indeed, so bad in many respects, that considering they form the great bulk of the community, it ought, I think, to diminish our boasts of a perfect form of constitution, and incite us to some extensive and effectual reform. As I have no idea of the value of human life, independent of its happiness, I am ready to acknowledge that the preservation of the lives of the infant poor is not, of itself, any great object with me ; and 1 am convinced that till they are themselves interested in the safety of their chil- dren, no|>ublic institution for preventing the spread of the small pox or other contagious diseases among them will avail. I al- ways thought it a kind of solecism to pay people for taking care of their oivn children ; and in the present state of things I think it quite enough to offer them gratuitously the best means of pre- servation. It hurts me to have the poor treated as absolutely irrational animals. Give them rights and comforts,— make life 78 MEMOIR OF an object of desire to them, — and then they will take care oi themselves." The bearing of these sentiments on his political ideas is made evident by a subsequent passage in the same letter. " I did not expect my political ode* would altogether please yon; but I value the frankness with which you tell me it does not. I cannot, however, allow that its sentiments go to the de- struction of our constitution, which surely, inasmuch as it is a free one, comes under my definition of a commonwealth, viz. one in which the basis of the legislative power is laid in the body of the people. I only wish strongly to inculcate this leading idea, the fair conclusion from which 1 take to be, that the popular par' of our constitution is the only essential part, and that the res is valuable solely as it secures the safe and temperate exercise "of thi^. To this state of political opinion, I have been gradually led by following, as fairly as I was able, and in opposition to former prejudices, a few simple principles; and nothing but a train of still more conclusive reasoning will probably induce me to change. It is, however, one of those subjects on which I can very well agree to differ with my friends." It was in this state of his feelings, that the French revolution broke upon the wprld ; and it will not appear wonderful that he should have been found in the number of its warm admirers, when it is recollected that its commencements were universally hailed by the friends of popular rights, in this and other countries, as the auspicious dawn of a new era of light and happiness. But, it is well known that, even from the beginning, long be- fore its progress was stained with blood and horrors, this great event was viewed with extreme jealousy by a majority of the higher classes in England, and especially by the established cler- gy; and that in most of our commercial towns, which have al- ways been the strong holds of the protestant dissenters, and in corporate towns especially, the aristocratic and democratic par- ties, as they were then called, nearly coincided with the dis- tinction of churchmen and dissenters. This division was ren- dered more exact, and the feelings which attended it doubly acrimonious, by the proceedings relative to the repeal of the cor- poration and test acts, which happened to coincide in time with ' * Oile to the Ginius of"a CoramonwcaUii, afterwards published among his Poems, DR. JOHN AIKIN. 79 the promulgation of the new constitution of France. When, in March, 1790, the dissenters found the abolition of this invidious law, which had nearly been carried in a former session, finally rejected by the votes of an overwhelming majority of the House elf Commons, they were stung with a keen sense of the injustice of their country ; and the best pens among them were sharpened for an appeal to public opinion, — the only resource which was eft them. Bound to the dissenters by the ties of birth, connec- tions, and personal obligations. Dr. Aikia did not hesitate on this occasion to stand forth as their champion; and two strongly written painplilets attested his zeal in the cause These pieces [were published anonymously, but without any precautions for the concealment of the writer from the inquiries of either friends br foes. In those days of party violence, no one whose situation was in any respect a dependent one, was permitted to take the weaker side with impunity ; nor was it long before Dr. Aikin was made to bear the penalty of his conscientious and disinterested efforts. Of the clergy resic'ent in and near Yarmouth, whose literary ac- quirements and polished manners had hitherto rendered theni his most congenial and agreeable associates, one alone had the courage and the liberality to stand by him without wavering in this season of trial. The members of the corporation and the higk party generally, though not without some honourable exceptions, were pleased to consider themselves as absolved, by circum- stances, from the engagement to support him, into which they had voluntarily entered on his coming to Yarmouth ; and after stu- dying to make him feel in various modes the weight of their dis- pleasure, they entered into secret machinations for inviting ano- ther physician to take up his abode among them. Meanwhile he continued to bear his head erect, as a man con- scious of none but worthy motives, and prepared to stand to the consequences of his actions without shrinking ; — but his natural •disposition was so averse to turbulence and strife, that he could "not see himself engaged, however innocently, in a conflict of this nature, without experiencing the most uneasy emotions ; and he privately resolved, if the storm did not soon blow over, to yield \to its fury and fly to the shelter of some friendly port. The following poetical epistle, addressed to one of the dearest of his friends, expresses with great truth and feeling tiie fluctua- 80 MEMOIR OF lions of his mind at this period, on contemplating the doubtful futurity which lay before him: r.l'ISTLE TO THE IIEV. W. ENFIELD, L. L. D. 0>. PERUSING IN MANUSCRIPT HIS ABRIDGEMENT OF BUUCKER's HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. Despicere mule queas alios, patsimgue videre J^rrare atque viam paUmtes quxrere idtx. — Luchft. " O Friend, to wtiose clear sight the mystic roll Of wisdom lies display 'd, wliet-p spreading wide Fi-oni India's, Egypt's, or ChHldea's root. Thro' fertile Grecian bi'anches, to the boughs And twigs innunierous of a later growth, Th( Tree of Knowledge stands, opake and full, (I ween, not fruitless, like the shady elm Of Orcus, where each leaf conceai'd a dream,) Suspend thy toil severe, and deign awhile On me, thy old cnmpi'nion, long belov'd, Much favour'd, to bestow the precious boon Of open converse, such as fiiendship loves And freedom dictates. Many a school-drawn knot, Tongh wel) of sophistry, and (angled skein Of iTictHphysic, by thy skilful hand 1 see unravell'd, and with thee can soar, Borne by the pnfTy, gas-inflated ball Of speculation, to those fields of air Whire elements are bi-ed and system's nurs'd. But, for such subtle regions all too gross, I gravitate to earth, and rather love By clear llissus, or the shady groves OfTusculum, orTibnr's still retreats, To court the placid power o^ moral truth. Come, then, ray friend, whose pure benignant breast Is wisdom's best interpreter, O come. And leach me bow to live ; for, sure, 'tis time. When from the trsiVeller's gaze the westering sun Posts down the sky, 'tis time his course were fix'd. "What, then, is man's chief bliss? — to lift the sou!. By lonely contemplation, to tin- source Of good and fair, with Reason's essence pure To feed the thought; and on the trivial scene Of sublunary things look down unmov'd, Sclf-honour'd, self-dependent — or to call Each potent eni-rg) to active use. And uige the flying moments with the weight Of strong exertion, pressing aideni on To some bright point of distance, — or to stea! DR. JOHN AIKIN. 81 With loitering foot along tiie vale obscure, And pluck gay flowers, and dally with the time In careless sport, and song, and converse sweet. Delightful interchange ! — or, plodding on. With rule in hand, with grave and measur'd step. To pace the level, line-drawn avenue. Where business, meals, and sleep, in ordor due, Like shrubs and statues in a Dutchman's walk, Succeed unvaried ? Say, in which of these. The paths of human life, her fairy tread Has Happiness imprinted ? Shall we try. By beating wide the ground, to catch a glimpse Of the still-flying phantom ; or pursue With heedful diligence one chosen track? For me, whom Fate has destin'd to the round Of sober business, and as sober joys ; Whose roving wing is dipt ; whose eager eye, Agaze for distant wonders, must contract Its narrowed focus to a map and book ; W^ho, for the vivid flash of living wit And voice-clad eloquence, must court the beams That shine in faint reflection from the page; How shall I best preserve the genial flame Alive wiihin my breast? How trim the lamp And clear from gathering dregs and vapours dim ? Soon, soon, the brief delights ot sense must fail ; And buoyant spirits, from the rapid tide Of youthful blood evolv'd, wax tame and dull. What then shall save me from the palsying grasp Of cold Indifference, leagued with sick Disgust, Slack Listlessness, and sulkn Melancholy ! Terrific group ! Will poring o'er the leaves Of sage Philosophv, with elbow chair. Fire side, and winking taper, chase away These black intruders ? Ah ! too well I know. Already know, how hang the heavy hours Of studious indolence that only seeks In thoughts of other men to lose its own. Then shall I seize the quill ? screw high each chord That vibrates in the brain ; dilate the breast With mighty heavings; rouse the throbbing heart With keen emotions ; touch with noble fire. And pour the glowing torrrent on the page ? Or, arm'd with patient industry, lead on To slow maturity some fair design. The child of use and knowledge, which may stand A monument for ages ? such as thine, Whei-e learning, sense, and lucid order, clad In clear expression, frame a perfect whole. Or rather, pens and books thrown far aside. Relume Ambition's fire, with desperate plunge Rush in the crowd, and elbowing on my way 82 MEMOIR OF Thro' friends, thro' foes, and fierce Contention's din, Catch at some gilded prize, some meteor gay, And, haviBg touch'd it — drop ! "Thus void of certain aim, not straying wide^ Perplex'd, not lost, I take my dubious way.j And wilt not thou a triendly arm extend To point my footsteps, and with cheering voice Exhort to steadfast march and bold advance ? Long, in the prime of manhood, side by side We ran, and joy 'd to give the mutual hand In paths obscure and rugged : — sever'd now I miss the tlear companion of my road, And wander lonely. Yet, what Fate allows, Let me not vvant; — the frequent wnrds of love. The prudent counsel, admonition kind. And all tiie freeo'eiflowiiigs of the soul. In letler'd intercourse ; — and, sometimes, too, More valu'd, as moi-e rare, the Friend entire. Next to the endearments of domestic affection, which my fa- ther ever regarded as the best sweeteners of human life, he con- tinued to prize the resources offered by letters ; and in the midst of troubles and anxieties which would have left the majority of men but few spare thoughts at their disposal, he found in him- self energy to plan and execute for the public more than one literary labour. The first of these, indeed, sprung from an im- perious sense of duty towards the memory of a man whom he revered perhaps beyond all others. In the summer of 1789, al- most immediately after the completion of the work on Lazaret- tos, in the composition of which Dr. Aikin has assisted him, the excellent Mr. Howard, whose sense of public duty was not to be satisfied with the inconveniences, toils, and perils which he had already confronted in the cause of humanity, set out on a new mission, which he proposed to render longer than any of his previous ones; for besides re-visiting Turkey, Russia, and some other countries, it was his intention to extend his tour into the East. He passed through Holland and the north of Germany to Petersburgh, thence to Moscow, and thence to Cherson in the Crimea, where a fever, caught in the exercise of some of his acts of benevolence, terminated his high career on January 20th, 1790. When he perceived his end approaching, Mr. Howard delivered his memorandums of the journey in which he was then engaged to the servant who attended him, with a written request that they might be fitted for publication by Dr. Price and Dr. Dll. JOHN AlKIN. 88 Aikin. The infirm state of health into which Dr. Price had fallen, caused the task to devolve wholly on my father ; who, after he obtained possession of the papers from the executors, which was not done without considerable delay and difficulty, lost no time in preparing from them a narrative which was print- ed as an appendix to the work on Lazarettos. But this effort was far from fulfilling his earnest desire of do- ing honour and justice to the memory of so revered and lament- ed a friend, and so distinguished an ornament not only of his age and country, but of human nature itself. The extraordinary exertions of Mr. Howard had fixed the wonder and admiration of all the countries which he had visited in the performance of his beneficent mission ; and in many of these he had not only re- ceived from the highest authorities strong testimonies of perso- nal respect and deference, but, what he valued much more, his opinions had been listened to, his plans and suggestions adopt- ed, and extensive benefit had resulted to the unfortunate objects of his care and protection. At home, his evidence on the sub- ject of prisons had been heard with deep attention by the House of Commons, which had voted him its thanks for his philanthro- pic exertions, and passed certain acts for the purpose of giving effect to his plans of reform, especially one for the erection of penitentiary houses, under the inspection of three supervisors, of whom he was named the first. But virtue so exalted in its quality, so singular in its mode of operation, and, above all, so conspicuous and so successful, could not be expected to escape the open hostility of selfishness and corruption, the covert in- sinuations of envy and detraction, or the misrepresentations of vulgar credulity; and no sooner was it known that he was finally removed from the scene, than a thousand absurd or malevolent reports which had hitherto circulated in conversation alone, found their way into magazines and newspapers, and perplexed or prejudiced the public judgment. It was important to rescue the memory of such a man from injury by a just statement of his actions and motives ; and with respect to his public life and ser- vices, no one could be accounted better qualified to give such a statement, than one who had been selected by himself to assist in the composition of his works, and had enjoyed during many years the benefit of so much confidential discourse with him on his favourite objects. Accordingly, Dr. Aikin was strongly uro-ed both by Mr, Howard's friends and his own, to undertake the 84 MEMOIR OF office of his biographer, and their entreaties were powerfully seconded by the promptings of own mind. But the unaccount- able hostility to this excellent person's memory exhibited by his nearest kinsman, who was his heir and one of his executors, oppos- ed obstacles to the obtainment of proper materials for a history of the earlier and more private part of his life, which it appeared ditiicult to overcome ; especially as Dr. Aikin's place of resi- dence cut him olV from opportunities of personal intercourse wil'i vhe persons best informed in these particulars. At length however these difficulties M^ere overcome by the zealous assist- ance of Mr. Howard's real friends, and in 1792 Dr. Aikin pub- lished, in a small octavo volume, "A View of the Character and Public Services of the late John Howard, Esq. L L. D. F. B. 6'." This work comprises a full account of the events of Mr. How- ard's life, of the origin and progress of his inquiries into the state of prisons, hospitals, and lazarettos; and of his travels in pursuit of his peculiar objects ; interspersed with a copious analysis of his various publications. It concludes with a view of his character interspersed with illustrative anecdotes, somewhat in the style of those very agreeable pieces, the French Eloges, The strongly marked features of Mr. Howard's character, the extraordinary nature of his exertions, as well as the loftiness and purity of the principles and motives from which they sprung, and the deep feeling of his subject evinced by his biographer, all conspire to impart a deep and peculiar interest to this piece j and at the present day, when the subject of prison discipline, to which Mr. Howard was the first to draw the attention of the public, has called forth thp h^^nevnlpnt efforts of so many fellow labourers in the cause of humanity, it seems likely to meet with more general acceptance than at the period of its publication. A few months previously to the appearance of his life of Mr. Howard, Dr. Aikin printed a small volume of Poems, partly ori- ginal, partly translations or imitations ; none of these pieces are ■ of considerable length, and their topics are very various. Those of the number are in all respects the best, which bear a reference to the actual circumstances of the writer, and express his own feelings and habitual trains of thought. Three of these, Hora- tian Philosophy, the Epistle to Mrs. Barbauld, and that to Dr. Ejifield, have been inserted in the present memoir, under the years in which they were composed ; and as the volume was never re-printed, I shall not scruple to avail myself somewhat DR. JOHN AIKIN. »5 further of its contents. The spirit of liberty is the pervading soul of a large proportion of the pieces ; and the author, fully resolved to assert at all hazards the right of expressing the opi- nions which he had deliberately formed, ventured to prefix to the collection a Counter remonstrance, in answer to the prudential representations of Iriends, some passages of which are too clia racteristic of the author to be omitted : '< What want I in life to be boua,ht at the price Of courting proud tolly or croucliing to vice ? What is there should tempt me my freedom to barter^ Or a title to bate of an Englishman's charter ? Shall the mind that has drawn from the poet and sage Some share of the nurture of f v'ly fair age, Shrink back with false sh;ime, or be dazzled with awe. When weakness or prejudice lays down the law ? The first rights of nature when tyrants invade, And freedom and justice aloud call for aid, Unmov'd at the voice shall I stupidly stand Or raise in the conflict a timorous hand? O nc'ver must cold-hearted selfishness know The noble delights of a generous glow, The triumphant emotions ihat swell in the mind When Reason and Truth gain the cause for mankind. From the taste of these joys shall I meanly stoop dox^ii And deaden my heart with the fear of a frown ; Weigh a sentiment's worth with the chance of a fee, And throw in a scale. — • Why 'tis nothing to me ?' Is it nought to be lord of a liberal breast ; Is Truth a mere phantom, and Freedom a jest ?" The notices of his feelings and opinions contained in his pri vate correspondence are entirely conformable to the manly senti ments which he thus courageously avowed to the world ; and I shall here offer a few miscellaneous extracts from letters written in the years 1790 and 1791 Many traces appear, in different parts of his works, of a desire to correct that blind admiration of which Dr. Johnson was for a considerable time the object, and the following judgment of his character is expressed to Mrs. Baibauld: "He had not, indeed; a grain of the noble enthusiasm, the calm Sd MEiMOIR OF simplicity, the elevated purpose of a great man. His temper, habits, and system equally disqualified him from attaining that character. He was able with great accuracy to compare every literary and moral idea with the standards in his own mind, and to detect all false pretensions within his own compass. But there were heights in both to which he could not ascend. His life fell far short of his vyritings, and his faults and asperities were rather aggravated than softened by age." That remarkable character Mr. Thomas Day, author of Sand- ford and Merton, calls forth these reflections : " We have just read with pleasure Keir's Life of Mr. Day. Nothing deserves our admiration so much as these characters of principle. To be amiable, only requires good nature and indif- ference. Weaicness has a better chance for it than virtue. What this age wants are, I am sure, examples of firmness and consis- tency ; the friends of liberty particularly should say to them- selves, in ea iempora naius eat, quibus fir mare animiim expediat constantibuH exemplisJ" In a letter referring to Mrs. Barbauld^s admirable poetical Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce, on his efforts for the abolition of the slave trade, which, for the time, had been frustrated of success ; his ardent attachment to the great interests of society thus breaks forth : " How little, how contemptible, do all the petty pursuits of philology appear, to the great concerns relative to man and his first interests which are transacting at this instant, before our eyes, and in which we are all invited to share ! If Solon con- demned the man who should remain neuter in the little party disputes of his country, what must be thought of him who through timidity or indifference refuses to take part in questions that are to decide the future condition perhaps of all mankind ?'' Some of those readers whose memory contains the stores of not less than thirty years, will be able to call to mind, that among .the measures adopted by the first zealous petitioners for the abolition of the slave trade, was that of persuading individuals to abstain, as a matter of conscience, from the consumption of sugar, and all other West Indian produce raised by the labour of slaves. To those who had studied mankind beyond the limits of small and peculiar sects, it was obvious, that this renunciation would never become sufficiently prevalent to produce any sensi- ble effect on the demand for commodities of such general use ; DR. JOHN AlKIN. 87 and on this ground of inutility alone, Dr. Aikin refused for a time to concur in this point with the persons around him. His change of opinion is thus related to his sister : "I am at length become a practical antisacharisf. I could not continue to be the only person in the family who used a luxury which grew less and less siveet from the reflections mingled with it. I do not in this matter look to effects. They are in the hands of Providence, and I neither expect nor despair about them. I resign the use of sugar, merely on the conviction that, feeling as I do about the mode in which it is procured, I cannot justify the use of it to myself. It is a personal affair to me, and I neither feel a desire to make converts, nor trouble myself about conse- quences. The sacrifice I find less than I expected, — it is indeed almost too little to make to principle, with the idea of merit. I know not whether mere economy might not do as much. But with respect to the young people, and even children, who have entirely on their own accord resigned an indulgence important to them, I triumph and admire ! Nothing is to be despaired of, \( many of the rising generation are capable of such conduct." The sentiments in his letters to Dr. Haygarth during this period are equally spirited ; indeed it rather appears that his friend's avowed difference of opinion on public affairs lent addi- tional force to his expressions ; and even the professional topics which always occupied a considerable share of their correspon- dence, are occasionally enlivened with strokes of Opposition politics — as in the following instance ; where the writer will also be found to have touched upon abuses which have since under- gone much pointed remark from various quarters, and exercised the investigation of a parliamentary committee. "The absurdity of the quarantine of persons in this country is inconceivable. Sir Charles Knowles, a naval officer here, tells me, that coming once from the Levant, he touched at Plymouth and there went on shore and called on several people : after- wards, on taking his ship to Portsmouth, he was obliged to per- form quarantine. He says he once knew a gentleman called out of the Opera-house to go on board his ship for a quarantine. Such absurdities cannot exist among Hottentots and Cherokees. But we have as bad in various departments. Indeed, indeed, my friend, this wise and enlightened nation wants a thorough reform in almost all its institutions, and they are its worst ene- mies who coax it into an idea of its consummate arood sense and 88 MEMOIR OF knowledge. You are one of the greatest innovators I know, and I honour you for it." In a letter dated in December, 1790, he thus pours for his whole mind to his friend : "So, my good friend, though you make strokes at me about interference in politics, you could not refrain from indulging that triumph respecting Mr. Burke's performance which fills the breasts of nine-tenths of the people of England. "Who would think this to have been the country of the Sidneys, Lockes, &c. when an oratorical effusion is able to bring about that wonderful conviction and uniformity of opinion which is only to be expected upon a new subject scarcely ever before written or thought about ? But, in fact, the political feeling of many has never gone further than to compare all other forms of government with the British Constitution, and assign them their merits and demerits in exact proportions to their approach to, or departure from, that all -per- fect model. I certainly do not agree with you in thinking that a folio is necessary in reply to Mr Burke ; for setting aside what in him is unanswerable, and what is not worth answering, and being content to admire that unequalled flow of wit and brillian- cy which is no subject for an answer, his false principles and distorted reasonings will not I think require many pages to expose them at the bar of good sense. I assure you, however, that / have had no thoughts of engaging with this Achilles, nor do my present studies or occupations lie in the political way. I am, in fact, doing nothing but amusing myself, and a part of that amuse- ment is the publication of a few poems, which I suppose will soon appear. There, indeed, you will see what I thinkw\ion politics, and how boldly I dare tell my thoughts. In short, Jac/a est aha. At my age it would be trifling not to have a character, and cow- ardly not to avow and stick to it. Nor do I think it will be much at the expense of that regard to my family which you justly think (at least in my condition) the first of duties. If I remain con- tent to pace in the limited circle in which I now move, it is pro- bable I may continue to do so notwithstanding a few political squabbles. But if ambition should ever lead me into a new field, my success must depend upon such connections and supports as such a conduct will not be unfavourable to. But, believe me, this is no consideration of mine. I feel a pleasure in acting a manly independent part which is superior to any thing increased opulence could give ; and I know not why I should wish a dif- DR. JOHN AIKIN. 89 ferent kind of happiness for my family than for myself. My dear friend, though we differ in many things, yet I am sure we agree in loving our families, and in valuing principles of honour and integrity. The account you give of your domestic happi- ness is highly pleasing to me. May it continually increase ! I am glad, too, that your thoughts and labours in the prevention of the small pox are again to appear, in a new form. Any ser- vices I can do in this, or any thing else, are at your command. . . . Can you suggest any close, fagging employment for my pen in the medical way ?" Meanwhile his situation at Yarmouth was becoming daily more disagreeable to him, and in every respect less worth his keeping. On the other hand, rather encouraging answers had been returned to the inquiries which he had authorised some of his nearest connections to make respecting the probability of his medical success in London ; and after making a hasty journey thither for the purpose of examining the ground with his own eyes, he finally resolved on removing with his family early in the year 1792. The last letter written by him to his friend from Yarmouth, thus explains his feelings and prospects at this im- portant juncture of his history: " It gives me great satisfaction, my dear friend, that you, as well as all my other friends and well wishers, approve the im- portant step I am going to take. Though in my temper 1 am neither sanguine or ambitious, I cannot but look forward with some pleasing expectations to a change in situation which will make life more va- luable to me, and enlarge the sphere of my activity in various ways. Indeed, even had I not been a victim to party bigotry in this place, a removal would have been on many accounts desirable, and principally on account of the want of stimulus, and indiffer- ence to every thing which was creeping on me. It was this, per- haps, which precipitated me into controversy by way of relief from insipidity; and if I have suffered in some respects from my med- dling, I think it has done me good in others. Do not suppose, however, that I go to Loudon on the plan of plunging again into party contests, or making myself the hero of a cause. Whatever violence may be imagined deducibie from my principles, my temper, believe me, is as moderate as ever. The strong impulse is over, and I shall henceforth do little more than bestow my warm wishes on what I deliberately think the interest of truth and mankind. I have, it is true, felt somewhat too much on M 90 MEMOIR OF some of the late great events of the world ; and if the fair fabric of French liberty is after all to sink in blood, and tyranny and priestcraft again to assume the sway, I shall scarcely be able to bear the disappointment with perfect tranquillity. But, on the whole, it is my resolution to attend chiefly to my own concerns, and become as selfish and bustling as my best friends can wish. So much for my sect of philosophy ! Now to the state of my affairs. •' I have nothing now to keep me here but the want of a house in London ; and in order to expedite this matter, I mean again to run to town in about a week, where I shall stay till I have suited myself, and then only come down again to bid farewel and wind up my little concerns. My situation in town I mean to fix in the city, where my friends chiefly reside, and if possible towards the Hackney side, as 1 shall have various connections there. I shall practise as a physician only. At present I have no thoughts of giving lectures, as that can only be done to advan^ tage with a hospital. I mean to employ all my leisure in my Medical Biography, in which I am again seriously interested, and for which I can there easily procure every necessary aid. I have already completely analysed various works ; among the rest all Willis's ; and I am quite of your opinion, that a full view of the progress of medical doctrines and practice is the Tuost (or rather the only) important part of my design. A few literary schemes besides may have their place. ...... " I do indeed rejoice that I shall be somewhat nearer you, and at the grand centre of attraction, which some time or other ex- tends its influence to every body (who is any body) in the king- dom." In pursuance of the plans here indicated. Dr. Aikin took a house in Broad Street Buildings, in which he assembled his fa- mily in the spring of 1792, and commenced his career in the capacity of a London physician. Many circumstances conspired to render the opening of this new scene of life auspicious and agreeable. The near and dear connections whom he had quitted with regret six years before, and to whom he seemed to be re- turning from a tedious exile, received him and his with open arms; and Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld, now settled at Hampstead, iwere added to the number. The common attraction of the me- tropolis had also brought within its sphere several old and valu- ed friends from whom he had long been separated ; especially DR. JOHN AIKIN. 91 Dr. Priestley and Mr. Wakefield, who were at this time resident at Hackney and engaged as tutors in the new dissenting college there, which had been established as a successor to the War- rington one; and in which Dr. Aikin's eldest son was now a student. Many of the friends of civil and religious liberty, who regarded him as a kind of confessor in the cause, welcomed him with cordiality, and his literary character served him as a pass- port in other quarters. There was reason to hope under these cir- cumstances that his professional success would ultimately corres- pond with his wishes ; the characteristic moderation of which had undergone no change from his change of situation, as the first letter vhich he addressed to Dr. Haygarth from London abun- dantly proves. "I have got access to a very capital medical library, particu- larly rich in English medical authors, Dr. Sims's. It will be my own fault if I do not find employment there for all my leisure, for a long time ; and be assured that I find much more satisfac- tion in such employment than in any of the topics by which the world is at present agitated. Still, I know that even that is not what ought chiefly to engage me in the situation I now occupy, but rather the great and intricate science of pushing one's way in a crowd. Yet what man of forty-five can cast his part anew in life, — and after mediocrity and literary leisure have been my darling objects so long, how can I ever change them for their op- posities ? Believe me, not all the splendour I see daily passing before my eyes, has in the least impaired my relish for a book, a domestic fireside, and the society of two or three selected friends; and all my desires are limited to the ability of enjoy- ing them with security, and transmitting similar blessings to my children," His views and prospects, as well as the literary undertakings with which he occupied his leisure, are further explained in a letter to the same friend a few months afterwards. " In answer to your inquiries about me, I am to acquaint you that my professional employment, like the fame of Mercellus, ^ * crescit occulto velut arbor sevo.^ It is, I think, silently creep- ing forwards, with little chance ever to break out'into splendour, but I hope, with a reasonable prospect of answering my mode- rate expectations in time. It appears to me that in London, as every where else, it is a man's business to avail himself of his own peculiar adA'antages, and to push on in the way nature and 92 MEMOIR OF fortune seem to point out to him in particular. Nom% my situa- tion here is that of a person not void of friends and family con- nections, of a certain standing and known character, and there- fore without the need (as 1 am sure I am without the talent) of puffing and elbowing like a young unknown adventurer. Our old friend Dr. Fothergill used to say, that he got forwards by doing what business he had to do, as well as ever he could. This is the kind of policy that best suits me. To be attentive, obliging, discreet, and to take all proper opportunities of displaying such, talents as I may possess fitted to inspire esteem, are the only modes that my temper will let me practise, and I believe the state of pub'ic opinion is not so bad that in the long run they will not answer. Meantime, my known engagements in medical studj and writing answer the purpose of giving me professional repu- tation among my brethren ; I take sufi&cient care to make known my pursuit of medical biography, and have had several books out of the college library, as well as from private collections. All these I fairly analyse, and am daily adding to my stores of this kind ; for my plan is now as full as you would wish it, as to giving a view of the opinions and practice of our medical authors. With respect to acquaintances among the faculty, I have made several slight ones, but none intimate. My old master. Dr. Garthshore, takes a good deal of notice of me, and at his weekly conversa- ziones I have met with more medical and literary persons than any where else, k I am no frequenter of coffee houses, those in the city being the resort chiefly of humdrum politicians; but I belong to a club or two of select men, and I take all opportuni- ties of becoming acquainted with eminent persons in every line. "I am engaged with a few literary persons in a plan of a month- ly publication, the purpose of which is to give an account of all memoirs printed by the learned societies both at home and abroad. We mean to afford by it full information of every thing new that is going forward in science and the arts, and do not doubt, if we perform our task properly, of making it a very use- ful work. We shall publish our first number in January next. My share will be chiefly the medical and natural history depart- ments. "As to the horrible events that are now going on in the po- litical world, what can I say, but that I feel them as acutely as you can do ? But we live to little purpose, unless we accustom ourselves to look through effects to their causes ; and as in this DR. JOHN AIKIN. 93 case I think the whole mischief imputable to the accursed spirit of military despotism, my resentment against tyranny is but the more inflamed on account of the discredit thrown by its means on the cause of liberty and mankind. 'Tis a strange world ; — my hopes fail, but not my wishes." Respecting the literary undertakings here referred.to, the rea- der is already apprised that discouragements of various kinds intercepted the continuation of the Medical Biography. The periodical work appeared under the title of Memoirs of Science and the Arts ; but was after a time discontinued, from causes of failure with which I am not acquainted. The critical essay on the poems of Goldsmith, re-printed in the present collection, was composed in this year, and my father also produced, in conjunction with his sister, the first volume of Evenings at Home — the most popular, perhaps, of all his works, and one of the most meritorious ; — for how can genius, know- ledge, and virtue be occupied with greater certainty of produc- ing good than in pouring their treasares upon the mind of youth r The volumes of this work appeared successively during seve- ral subsequent years, and amounted at length to six ; Mrs. Bar- bauld contributing in the whole about half a volume to the col- lection, and my father supplying the rest. Tt is a miscellaneous collection of tales, fables, and dialogues, interspersed with some short pieces of verse j the subjects are extremely various, and there is no arrangement or classification of the pieces. With this apparent desultoriness, however, no work for the use of young people ever had more serious or more definite objects in view ; and to an intelligent reader of mature age, its attentive perusal would disclose the whole theory and practice of the author, as far as education is concerned ; besides affording notices of his opinions on many highly important topics : and conveying a correct and lively impression of his temper and feelings, and his manner of living and conversing with his chil- dren in the bosom of their home. For the information and amusement of those happy children, indeed, many of the pieces were originally composed by him ; and in one form or other they had received the substance of most of them ; — for in the midst of all his studies and various occu- pations, he constantly discharged, in the most assiduous as well as engaging manner, the offices of parental instruction ; — all his children were occasionally under his own tuition ; but the two 94 MEMOIR OF younger ones were educated entirely at home, by himself and their exemplary mother. The whole of Evenings at Home may be regarded as a com- mentary upon his two favourite ideas — of teaching //iing-s rather than ivords ; and of early presenting to the mind capacious and diversified views of the great empire of knowledge. The work contains a good deal of the natural history, both of animals and plants, not detailed in the dry mode of systematic compendiums, but animated and enriched with bold and striking sketches of the dwellings and manners of the living tribes, and of the general appearance and habits, and principal utilities of the vegetable families. Some elements of chemistry and mineralogy are taught on a similar plan, and much incidental information is conveyed on manufacture? and the useful arts. Other pieces relate to man, in various views of his state and character. The tales and little dramas, which exhibit great fertility and happiness of invention, and in some instances a melting tenderness truly characteristic of the author's heart, have the usual purpose of such stories, of combining moral instruction with entertainment : but the mo- rality which they inculcate is not that of children merely, but of men and of citizens ; it is lofty, but not visionary, correct, yet glowing; it forms the mind to discrimination, while it engages the youthful feelings in the cause of truth, of freedom, and of virtue. The state of public affairs during the disastrous year 1793, could excite none but painful emotions in the bosom of any lover of his country, and of true liberty. "How deeply it wounded the tranquillity of Dr. Aikin, will best appear from his unreserved correspondence with his dearest friends. In the month ot June he thus writes to one of the number : " I have found myself so little better acquainted with the interesting events that are passing, here at London, than you are at K., that I could not think them worth making the subject of a letter to you, — especially as their tenor can afford no pleas- ing matter for speculation. We are fairly immersed in a bloody, expensive, and I think, unjust war, and we must either lament its success, or rejoice in the calamities of ou.r country. Such an alternative is enough to make one draw off entirely from politi- cal discussion, and I do it, as much as the occasional efferves- cence of libera indignatio will give me leave. I am obliged to those of my friends who wish for the sake of my interest to re- DR. JOHN AlKIN. 95 duce me quite to the state of a innium pecus ; but at forty-six, if a man has not found out what conduces to his happiness, and has not acquired prudence to pursue it, I am sure little can be done by friends troubling themselves about him. Meantime, I doubt not but any part i may have taken in politics has been greatly exaggerated to those friends I belong to no political so- ciety whatever. I keep company, it is true, with persons of well known sentiments, who happen also to be some of my best friends, and I am not afraid in private companies of speaking without disguise. But these things I shall do at all hazards." With another friend he thus expostulates :- "I thank you for your caution, which I know proceeds from true kindness Seriously, however, my dear friend, I wish you lor a moment to reflect, what must the state of public opi- nion in this country be, when expressingan abhorrence of hypoc- risy and tyranny is to be called maintaining French principles, and is to subject a man to be treated like a foe to the human race ! I know not what prospect of public danger may haunt your mind, but / can foresee no possible event worse than the conversion of Englishmen into persecutors and slaves. If persons of reading and reflection are hurried along with this torrent of false opinion, what is left on which to found a hope of saving us from the lowest degradation ?" Towards the close of the year he thus again opens himself to his first correspondent : "With this parcel I send for your dear H. a third volume of Evenings at Home, and for yourself my Letters, just fresh from the press, and not yet published. Your free and full judgment concerning them will give me much satisfaction, as it is a judg- ment in which experience has made me confide. I cannot ex- pect that my opinions on such a variety of topics will meet the perfect concurrence of perhaps a single reader ; but if those of whom I think well shall approve their general spirit, and partic- ularly if they see nothing objectionable in the manner in which my notions are offered, I shall not repent that I have sent them forth into the world "The confinement of Muir and Palmer in the hulks is an ex- ample of tyranny scarcely, I think, legal, certainly not decent. It has produced here much emotion, though perhaps only in the breasts of those who before were enemies to the present system. Several persons of respectable situation and character have been 96 MEMOIR OF to visit them, and they are as well treated as such a situation will permit. " There is no doubt that we shall have another campaign, though when Mr. Pitt comes with his demand of twenty millions (as I understand he will,, it may cause some blank looks among the country gentlemen. They are to be told, however, that every thing is at stake, — that their property and very existence depend upon the event ; — and truly I begin almost to think that it does; though to me it is evident that this desperate state, with respect to ourselves, is of our own bringing on. " The condition of France becomes every day more extraordi- nary ; — a country without religion, without laws, without settled government, yet from individual ardour and enthusiasm capable of the most surprising and regular exertions, and never more formidable to its foes than at this moment. A very moderate degree of superstition would make one hunt through old prophe- cies to find a clue to events otherwise inscrutable, and many minds seem at present to look that way. It is however, perhaps, no superstition to suppose that this wonderful impetus, seem- ingly governed by no human principles, is an instrument in the hands of the Deity by which he means to effect some great pur- poses of overturning systems which cool reason is unable to mas- ter. And yet — I know not if the past experience of the world will authorise such notions of Divine Providence. All is doubt and darkness ! If vv^e live to see the end, we shall be somewhat enlightened. " . . . . Pray bear up against all the plagues of your profession. "What profession is without them ? You have a good (an un- common) stock of merit of every kind to trust to. It cannot fail of insuring you at least a tolerable share of success. Enjoy the world as it goes, if you can. These are times in which long- sighted wisdom is arrant folly." Soon after, he thus writes to Dr. Haygarth : " Have you heard of the institution of a Literary and Philo- sophical Society here ? It was first thought of by Dr. Priestley, and a few friends joined him to set it a-going. They made me Se- cretary. We are now near thirty members, several of them names well known in science and literature. We meet once a fort- night, and either converse or read papers, as it happens ; but we are only organising as yet, and have done little. Our friend W. is a member ; but our founder, alas ! is going to leave us. This DR. JOHN AIKIN. 97 month will separate him from his native land, probably for ever. It throws a gloom over my mind which I cannot express. I will not rail or declaim on the occasion, — I only deeply lament. "... .1 feel as 1 ought your kind admonition to political pru- dence ; but too many years have gone to form my character and principles to admit of an easy change, nor can I find motives to, make me renounce the greatest pleasure of my life, that of keep- ing the company I like, and speaking my mind. My Letters will show whether I am disposed to use this liberty immoderately. I shall be glad at your leisure to be fairly told how the sentiments in them appear to you.'''' The Letters here referred to, formed the first volume of a work entitled Letters from a Father to his Son on various topics rela- tive to literature a^id the conduct of life, which appeared at the be- ginning of the year 1794, and which here requires a somewhat extended notice, as the most original, and, in several respects, the most important performance of its author. Of the thirty letters of which this volume is composed, about one-third are on subjects of taste and literature ; the rest relate principally to points connected with morals and the conduct of life. As the son to whom they were addressed had already com- pleted his education, and was entering upon the duties of a pro- fession, the topics discussed, as well as the manner of treating them, are adapted to the state of manhood, and it would be an error to regard the work as an elementary one. The author him- self, in the valedictory letter, desires his son to regard them as supplementary U) the systematic instructions which he had re- ceived from books and lectures. " Of such instructions," he adds, " it was the chief purpose to establish principles — a point of most essential consequence, which I hope and believe has been sufiiciently secured in your education. My view in writing was rather to place in a strong and familiar light some subordinate truths belonging to the experimental practice of life, which, though not of the fundamental importance of the former, yet are of no small weight in promoting a man's happiness and utility. With respect to the letters relative to points of taste and litera- ture, it has been their chief aim to obviate prejudices, and to give that turn to your thoughts which might enable you to judge and enjoy for yourself, without first appealing to the decision of a dictator. For freedom of thinking is the same thing in matters of greater and of smaller moment; and though I hold it of little N 98 MEMOIR OF consequence how a person is pleased, provided he be innocently so, yet I would not wish him, even in his pleasures, implicitly to follow the decrees of custom and authority, lest it should induce the same habit of passive compliance in aifairs of capital impor- tance." The general purpose here avowed is closely adhered to' in the work, and it is interesting to observe the mode in which the discussion of a great variety and diversity of subjects is ren- dered subservient to its accomplishment. Two letters on At- tachment to the Jlncients, explain with sagacity and perspicuity the sources of the prejudices entertained on this subject, and suggest principles for distinguishing the intrinsic from the ad- ventitious value of the literature of remote ages ; Pope's Essay on Criticism undergoes free examination in another letter. That on Nature and Art, and the Love of Novelty, cautions against the exclusive spirit of the modern English school of taste ; and the subject is further pursued in the letter on Ornamantal Garden- ing, while that on Ruins examines another object of fashionable admiration. Two letters on Classification in Natural History, and on Buffon's Natural History, open general views of the philosophy of this branch of science, and caution against a blind and exclusive attachment to the system of either the Swedish or the French interpreter of nature. The letters on moral subjects appear to me to possess yet higher interest, and they inculcate still more impressively the free employment of reason in the investigation of truth. That on Strength of Character details the result of his own experience of life. In the early part of it, he says, that he pleased himself with thinking that he had not an enemy in the world ; and that in fact a too great facility in giving up his own interest where it involved points of contention, and the habit of at least not op- posing the opinions which he heard, had conciliated for him the passive regard of most of his acquaintance. But that no sooner did altered views and greater firmness of character incite him to an open declaration on important points, than he found that he must be content to exchange his former source of satisfaction for the esteem of a few ; and notwithstanding the concern which he had felt from the estrangement of some who had renounced pri- vate friendship with him on public grounds, he concludes by de- cidedly advising his son not to be intimidated from openlj espousing the cause he thinks a right one, by the apprehension of any man's displeasure. DR. JOHN AIKIN. 99 The three letters On the Pursuit of Improvement, On the In- equality of Conditions, and On the Prevalence of Truth, unfold his views respecting the deductions to be made from the present condition of mankind relative to the real character and destin}^ of the species ; and the hopes to be entertained of a progressive melioration of the state of the world. These are among his best pieces of reasoning, and those which most entitle him to the cha- racter of a philosopher ; but the practical wisdom of those on Cheap Pleasures and on Independence, in which the writer speaks with all the authority of personal experience, has perhaps ob- tained for them the suffrages of a larger class of readers ; while that on Consolation will be esteemed by all who knev/ him as one of the most precious records of his mind and heart. Of the remaining letters contained in this volume, nearly the whole are referable to one or other of the classes already indi- cated and partake the same characteristics ; and none of them appear to call for any particular remarks except that on the Choice of a Wife. In this piece, the author's ideas of the per- fection of female character are strongly expressed ; and I wish particularly to invite attention to them, because he always ap- peared to me the sincerest friend of the female sex that I have ever known. After stating the two main points on which the happiness to be expected from a female associate in life must depend, to be, — " !ier qualifications as a companion, and as a helper ;" and enforcing this idea from various considerations, he thus concludes : " I confess myself decidedly of the opinion of those who would rather form the two sexes to a resemblance of character, than contrast them. Virtue, wisdom, presence of mind, patience, vigour, capacity, application, are not sexual qualities ; they be- long to mankind, — to all who have duties to perform and evils to endure. It is surely a most degrading idea of the female sex, that they must owe their induence to trick and finesse, to coun- terfeit or real weakness. They are too essential to our happi- ness to need such arts ; too much of the pleasure and of the busi- ness of the world depends upon them, to give reason for appre- hension that we shall cease to join partnership with them. Let them aim at excelling in the qualities peculiarly adapted to the parts they have to act, and they may be excused from affected languor and coquetry. We shall not think them less amiable for being our best helpers." 100 MEMOIR OF To this I may add, that the view which he took of women as the cotnpanions, contradistinguished from the playthings of men, and the opinion which he often inculcated, that the talent of conversation was the first of all social accomplishments, led him to encourage females in the pursuits of every kind of acquire- ment capable of contributing to the enjoyments of cultivated society. Education indeed, in both sexes equally, he regarded as the process of preparing a human being to fulfil duties and to enjoy and impart happiness ; and he opposed, with respect to both, the practice of occupying a large portion of the period of instruction in the acquisition of branches of learning totally alien from what were likely to be the objects and pursuits of maturer life. But whatever kind of knowledge promised to be a. permanent sonrce of advantage worldly or moral, or of innocent and respectable amusement, he wished to be freely imparted to women as well as men ; nor did I ever hear him express a doubt of their capacity for excelling in any branch of literature or science. He loved female talent, and always treated its posses- sors with distinguished respect and kindness. The degree of freedom in thought and expression assumed in these Letters, appears to have been, on the whole, not uncon- genial to the feelings of the great body of readers ; — they were received with general favour, and a second edition was called for within the year. It has already been observed, that Dr. Aikin had early dis- played a fondness for topographical pursuits. This taste had led him, during his residence at Warrington, to issue proposals for a History of Lancashire : the scheme had dropped at that time for want of sufficient support and .co-operation ; but the preparations which he had then made for carrying it into execu- tion recommended and facilitated to him the performance of a somewhat similar task in which he now engaged. This was a Description of the country from thirty to forty miles round Man- chester. The materials for this book were to be collected by Mr. Stockdale, the proprietor, and the arrangement of them, and the composition of the work, were alone undertaken by Dr. Aikin ; but in fact it was from his exertions and the communications of his personal friends in that part of the country, that the most valuable portion of the matter proceeded; without which the performance would have been defective indeed. This work ap- peared in 1795, in one large volume quarto, illustrated virith DR. JOHN AIKIN. 101 many maps and plates. The local knowledge of the writer has lent great clearness and animation to the geographical descrip- tion wliich it contains; while the simple elegance of the style, the good sense of the remarks, and the absence of vulgar pj'eju- dices and partialities, strongi)' distinguish it, as a whole, among 'the works on English topography. "Employment I must have, or I should die of thinking in a month," said Dr. Aikin in a letter to a friend written about this time. Such was the force of his honest heart aches, during the period of the reign of terror in France and the crusade against all free principles of government preached up by Mr. Burke in England, and resounded throughout the monarchies of Europe ! For himself individually, he was ever prompt to own, with pious gratitude, the preponderance of enjoyment in his lot of life ; — and though a temper the reverse of sanguine cut him oiF from those brilliant anticipations of future good which are in them- selves a kind of bliss, the boundedness of his wishes and a mo- dest confidence in his resources, blunted the edge of worldly dis- appointments, and always armed him against despondency. The declaration in question appears by the context to have been employed by him as a plea for occupying in literary labours the abundant leisure afforded him by a professional progress which promised to be steady rather than rapid ; and which, in the opi- nion of some of his friends, might be impeded by his avowed at- tachment to pursuits perhaps more congenial to his inclinations. In fact, his pen was scarcely ever more occupied, or on a greater variety of subjects, than during the year 1794. The History of Manchester emi>\oyed a considerable portion of his time ; and besides completing this work, be composed a fourth volume of Evenings at Home and a critical Essay on Arm- strong's Art of preserving Health, — wrote a good deal for the Memoirs of Science and the Arts, prepared new editions of his England Delineated, and of his Letters, — wrote a life of his old, respected friend, Dr. Fothergill, for Dr. Kippis's new edition of the Biographia Britannica'', and selected a small volume of observations in natural history, under the title of the Naturalist's Calendar, from the papers of the Rev. iVJr. White of Selborne; designed as a sequel to that most delightful miscellany of obser- * Only one volume of this editioiv was prink;!, which did not comprise Fother- gill, and I am unable to recover the article. 102 MEMOIR OF vations on different parts of nature, the History of Selborm. Other objects of his attention are disclosed in the following ex- tracts from his letters to his medical friend. After lamentins: " the neglect which, in the present state of things, must fall upon all objects of general utility ; when the fate of a fortress in Flan- ders occupies the public attention more than the welfare of half the world, and killing ten thousand French is thought of more consequence than saving ten times the number of English," — he thus proceeds : "Every body seems to agree that the times are peculiarly un- favourable to literary undertakings of all kinds, and one may see that even those which occupy a good deal of notice for a few weeks, are soon completely forgotten. I do not find that the medical world are at present occupied in any particular novel- ties. The project of curing diseases by artificial airs has caused a little discussion, but does not seem to excite much expecta- tion. Animal eleclricity has furnished some food for the phy- siologists, but I believe will not end in the discovery of any new law of nature. Many of the faculty here have been disposed of by appointments to military service, and some of the charitable institutions have of course had vacancies, but none worth making a stir about. Indeed I see them quitted with indifference by persons who had made great exertions to get in. For myself, I go on quietly in endeavouring to establish a professionl reputa- tion among those who compose the little circle of my connec- tions, and I am well content to wait the event with patience. " I know not whether you have heard of a new attack upon the prerogative of the College of Physicians meditated by some of the Licentiates. The idea was brought out some time ago at a meeting of a society of the body, of which I am a member, and an elaborate paper stating the progressive usurpations of the Col- lege, and the legal grounds of resisting them, was read, and made a considerable impression upon most present. It was deter- mined, previous to any legal attack, to state the matter to the College in a civil address, claiming our right, on the principles of the original charters, to be admitted to all professional honours on due examination. " It seems very clear that the idea of confining the right of fellowship to graduates of our universities was an after thought, and is incapable of being supported on any principles of equity or propriety. Seeing the thing iu this light, I have not scrupled DR. JOHN AlKIN. 103 to join my name to the remonstrants, though without any perso- nal views, since I should not choose to go like a school-boy to be examined in Greek by my juniors. " I have no expectation that the College will concede, — for when did any public body voluntarily resign the fruits of their own abuses? And if it comes to a law suit, the event will be very dubious, since the universities will doubtless support a mo- nopoly in which they are most of all interested. But I think it useful now and then to cite to the bar of reason and /«ir argu- ment causes which have notliing better than power to support them. This is the only way in which the weak can ever prevail against the strong. " I know not with what eye you at present view the scenes going on in the world. The impression they make on me is a wish to arrive at a perfect apathy respecting the concerns of that animal called Man, any further than as they involve the inter- ests of my friends; and as to individuals, I have my favourites among cats, dogs, and canary birds, for whose sake I have some regard to iheir species. And certainly I know among those ani- mals neither tyrants nor slaves, — neither blood selling princes nor usurping factions. — Really, it is almost too much to reflect on ! God bless you, and give you more tranquillity of mind than I possess !" The contest between the Licentiates and the College of Phy- sicians, excited a keen interest in the mind of Dr. Aikin ; which he exhibited by active exertions in behalf of the body to which he belonged. Into this cause, as into the question of the aboli- tion of the Test Act, he entered without any personal interests whatever, but simply from that hatred of every thing unfair and inequitable which was his leading principle and almost his ruling passion. In conformity with his opinion of the utility of citing power to the tribunal of reason, he afterwards took occasion, in the second volume of his Letters to a Son, thus to record the pro- ceedings of the College, as an exemplification of the encroaching and usurping spirit of corporate bodies. " In the reign of Henry VIII. a College of Physicians was con- stituted in London by charter, for the express purpose of ex amining and admitting applicants duly qualified for the practice of physic in the metropolis, and excluding and interdicting quacks and empirics. Some of the first members of this college were foreign graduates ; and no condition of having received their 104 MEMOIR OF education or degress at any particular place was thought of with respect to tliem or their successors ; nor was any distinction of practitioners into different classes established, but all profes- sional honours were left open to every physician of sufficient learning and good morals. In process of time, however, an in- novation was introduced of distinguishing the physicians of Lon- don into two classes, fellows of the college and licentiates; the former possessing all the collegiate powers and emoluments, the latter having simply the right of practising. And the same mo- nopolising spirit produced the further limitation, that no one should be allowed to claim admission to the fellowship of the college, who was not a graduate of Oxford or Cambridge. Such is the state of things at the present day ; and this absurd and arrogant exclusion of men whose learning and professional skill may be inferior to those of none of their competitors, is pertina- ciously maintained by a body, originally instituted for the sole purpose of the public good, but perverted in its object by the mean jealousy and selfishness ever attending the corporation spirit."* The decision of the Court of King's Bench in favour of the by-laws of the college, by which the claims of the licentiates were finally quashed, always appeared to my father a denial of substantial justice ; and he never spoke of the affair without mani- fest tokens of that bitterness of soul with which acts of wrong- fulness and oppression are contemplated by the upright and noble minded. After the presentation of the petition of the licentiates to the college for the restoration of their rights, to which the name of Dr. Aikin appeared as one of the subscribers, the officers of that learned corporation were pleased to refuse him the privilege, which he had previously enjoyed, of borrowing books from their library to assist him in the composition of his Biographical Me- moirs of Medicine, — one of the numerous discouragements which by their united operation proved fatal to the progress of the work ! The following letter to Dr. Haygarth is dated in August, 1794 : "As I always feel a pleasure in even a distant communication with one whom I love, I do not delay to answer your last call • Letter on Party. DR, JOHN AlKIN. 105 for a letter ; yet in fact I have very few materials of informa- tion to make out one. I am plodding at home among books and papers, and the world glides by me, not unmarked indeed, but with very little participation of mine in its motions. Clubs and meetings are suspended during the summer, so that I know little of what is the present object of interest to professional and lite- rary men, — except the universal one, politics. " The faculty here, as far as I can observe, enter little into speculations that are at all abstracted from immediate utility, and particularly, utility to themselves ; and yet surely they are not at all less curious or public spirited than other people. But all public feelings are expended upon the great scenes rtow act- ing upon the theatre of the world, and private concerns are pur- sued with a view to emolument solely, " The town is very full of reports concerning the destruction of Robespierre and his faction. The main point, I suppose, is true, though probably many of the current circumstances are mere fabrication. Whether this will or will not have much effect on the present state of tilings, I am unable even to guess. I should rather suppose that the causes of the present wonderful motus animorum throughout Europe lie deeper than to be quieted by4he death of a few individuals. I am no believer in prophecies, and do not hunt for future events in the Revelations; but it does ap- pear to me from a cool induction of numerous particulars, that the critical period is arrived for several of the things which have long subsisted in the world. Whether they will survive the crisis, and whether the state of mankind will be made better* or worse in the issue, I am unable to divine. I suppose you continue your confidence in the soundness of the old ship Bri- tannia, and the skill of her pilot. To say the truth, I scarcely know a stouter ship in Europe, and I can as yet sleep secure in her. Yet she is certainly much worm-eaten and rather ov8rk)ad- ed. I wish she was at least well in port." All ihQ concerns, medical, literary and domestic, of this busy year had prospered ; the talents of Dr. Aikin began to be justly appreciated, not only by his friends and by a rather extensive circle of acquaintance, but by the public; and it was in the fol- lowing strain of content and cheerfulness that he addressed his beloved friend near the commenceuient of the year 1795 : " I should not have suffered so much of the new year to elapse without expressing to my very dear friend every kind wish for O 106 MEMOIR OF lilm and his duriisg the course of it, had I not been uncommonly busy with ray pen in various ways for some time past. But hav- ing now cleared my ground, I sit down with pleasure to con- verse a little on private and public topics with one to whom I have so long been accustomed to communicate every sentiment of my heart. " The year has opened to me with favourable auspices, and I have never felt more easy in my concerns than at present • As every thing in this world is relative, I think myself almost rich enough, and I feel an independence which perhaps an ap- parently more prosperous condition would not have afforded. My children are all promising ; the two eldest in useful sta- tions, and nearly able to take care of themselves. In short, / have no need to look on the other side of the Atlantic for a con- tent which I have so much reason to acknowledge here. Oh, if, in the present state of things, one circumstanced as I am should look more towards the goods he has not than those he has, what moral benefit can be expected from the home lessons which every day is bringing forth ! " It is almost impossible at this crisis to write to a friend with- out saying something about public matters. Indeed, they may very soon become the most important of private concerns to us also. All other subjects are merged in them ; and science and literature are flat and subordinate topics in all conversations. I think I can view the conduct of the different parties with toler- able moderation, and perhaps the great impending events must have happened whoever had possession of the helm. Great events may seem to have trifling causes, but in fact, the cause must be adequate to the effect ; and who does not see that the progress of new opinions and manners could not but at length issue in a terrible conflict with the old ? Where will it stop ? Is there any moral or natural reason to suppose that this island can. remain stationary in the midst of a changing world, connected, too, as she is with that world, and dependent upon it for the con- tinuance of a system of commerce now apparently essential to her being ? I would not indulge gloomy reflections, — indeed I feel somewhat unaccountably callous (like my neighbours) to ap- proaching evils ; but can we find any solid ground of hope and comfort? If you have any to suggest, pray communicate it to me. 1 assure you I am well disposed to think as favourably of futurity as I possibly can. Every body here gives up Holland, DR. JOHN AIKIN. 10/ and she will not only, in the hands of the French, cease to be an ally, but will be converted into a bitter foe. And where are our friends ? Surely it is an awful crisis ! such an one as neither we nor our fathers ever knew. " In the mean time, may you and yours enjoy all those domes- tic blessings which are accumulated around you ; and may we, in reciprocal friendship and internal tranquillity, find all possi- ble support under the vicissitudes of mortal things !" In the month of May he again communicates his sentiments to his friend, thus : "I should not have suffered your last very kind letter to re° main unanswered, had I not lately had so much employment for my pen, especially in Stockdale' s Account of Manchester, (now nearly finished, and in which you, my friend, are not entirely unjj recorded,) that extra writing became an irksome task. " You suppose that the sentiments on public affairs contained in your former letter did not please me. I had certainly no right to be displeased with them, although they might not perfectly co- incide with my own ; and as to the advice conveyed in them, it was impossible for me to take it otherwise than as it was meant. It is true, I continue to think that the possible hazards attending the American funds are compensated by their better interest, and by the fundamental stability which I believe them to pos- sess ; nor can I think so ill of the principles of their government and their national character, as that, in the event of a war, they would take a step to violate their faith to individuals which the worst of the old governments in Europe have never done. Some difficulty in getting the interest during that period is all I should apprehend. " With regard to the present aspect of affairs at home, I be- lieve we do not much differ in our opinions as to matter of fact, liowever we may as to causes. I fully agree with you in expect- ing no mischief from sedition and jacobinism in this country. The character of the nation has fully shown itself. None can be more loyal, more attached to ancient institutions, more sensible that it has a great deal to lose. My apprehensions about Ireland are less than yours. I rely on a system of corruption which has per- vaded all ranks and orders in that country, for keeping all quiet. They may bluster and talk large, and even break out in the re- moter parts into acts of atrocity, but their chains are indisso- luble. 108 MEMOIR OF " For all this, the prospect of t!niia;s does not quite please me. Isee irresistible poVver, uniier the direction, as I thiirli, ^f little wistlom or honesty, involving us in difficulties and loading us with burthens which in the end must be sensibly felt, and that not by politicians and theorists alone. In short, I seriously fear that it will become a country in which a man of moderate resources, and with a fcJ^mily to provide for, cannot live, and then what will signify debating abt)ut our constitution ? When peace returns, commerce will of course revive, and possibly to a very unexpect- ed degree, as after the American war. But if taxes and dear- ness of living more than keep pace with it, what can we do, es- pecially those of us who are out of trade, but sink, sink? These are forbodings which, without consulting Brothers or Halhed* enter my mind, and, if I had not other things to think of, would make me pass many weary hours. And can you, my friend, sug- gest any considerations which will make these dangers appear chimerical.^ " It gives me pleasure that a good report of my professional progress has reached you, as that may be a prelude to its verifi- cation. The truth is, I have reason to hope that my medical cha- racter does not lose on trial, yet I have not much hitherto to boast of. The business o^ pushing into practice here is an affair so contrary to my nature and habits, that I am convinced I shall ever move in a small circle. The necessary expense of making a figure is a serious matter. A physician well introduced and con- nected told me the other day, that out of a practice of 500/. he was obliged to pay 200/. for his carriage, which was indispensa- bly necessary to him. I shall never envy him his carriage the worst day in the year. My booksellers will never expect me to visit them in my chariot. " I have lately had the honour of being made a fellow of the Linneean Society, and also of the Medical Society in Bolt-Court (Letsom's) ; but as to this last, 1 am in some doubt if I shall as- sume my blushing honours.'' Besides the completion of the History of Manchester and the surrounding country, ■sn\\\c\\ appeared in June, 1795, the literary labours of Ur. Aikin during this year consisted of the fifth and sixth volumes oi Evenings at Home, and an Essay on the Poems of Green, author of the Spleen, (annexed). No one, I believe, of ail his critical pieces was composed with greater pleasure in his subject than this. The principal work of this truly original wri- DR. JOHN AIKIN. 109 ter, little adapted to the mere lover of elegant verse, had for him a charm which grew upon the intimacy of repeated perusals. While the profusion of uncommon thoughts and witty allusions with which it is studded amused his fancy, the pervading spirit of the whole had much in it to attract his sympathetic approba- tion. It is that of a philosophy somewhat on the Horatian model, in which habitual serenity of mind is sought by a renun- ciation of the common objects of ambition, by temperate enjoy- ments and modest wishes, by the indulgence of a v6in of fr^e speculation, and by a general indifference and neutrality in the disputes which chiefly agitate the world; — with an honourable exception however for " ■ the righteous cause Of a free press and equal laws." None of the beauties of the author appear to have escaped the eye of the critic ; and the easy but clear and lively manner in which they are unfolded to the reader peculiarly recommends the pe- rusal of the entire piece. The repute which the pen of Dr. Aikin had gained with the public, and the great extension of his connections among men of letters since his residence in London, now caused literary pro- posals to flow in upon him on all sides, and the year 1796 was the date of the commencement of more than one of his principal undertakings. The earliest of these was the editorship of the Monthly Magazine, his connection with which work peculiar circumstances render it necessary to state fully as well as accu- rately. Almost from the commencement of that political division in this country to which the French revolution had given rise. Dr. Aikin had been of opinion that the establishment of a periodical literary miscellany characterised by a spirit of free inquiry and a general liberality of sentiment, was an object highly de- siral)le, on account of the many important services which such a work might be made to render to the best interests of society. In his letters to Mrs. Barbauld during the latter years of his residence at Yarmouth, this topic was frequently recurred to. His remoteness from London necessarily precluded at that time his proposing himself for the conductor ol such a design ; but he repeatedly mentioned that he was ready to become a principal contributor to it ; and that he had already by him several pieces, no MEMOIR OF both of verse and prose, which he would willingly dispose of ir* this manner. No one however then appeared with spirit to set it on foot, though many had expressed similar wishes and strong persuasion that a work of this nature would succeed. After his removal to London, so many fresh objects of inter- est opened upon him, that I imagine he ceased to occupy him- self with the idea which had been so long a favourite ; but when the plan of the Monthly Magazine was disclosed to him by its projector, all his ardour on the subject revived ; he closed im- mediately with the proposal which was made him, and exerted his utmost zeal and diligence in maturing the plan and provid- ing for its due execution. The part which he took was that of literary editor. All the original correspondence came under his inspection ; articles were inserted or rejected according to his judgment, and the proof sheets underwent his revision. That portion of the work which consisted of compilation from newspapers, as the provincial oc- currences and other articles of intelligence, was under the im- mediate direction of the proprietor; the account of public aiFairs also was printed without any participation of Dr. Aikin's. To pi'ovide materials for the Magazine was not strictly a part of his compact; — but the honourable anxiety which he always felt to perform every task committed to him in the best manner possi- ble, and to promote the pleasure and instruction of the public to the utmost of his ability, prompted him, in this, as in many other instances, to go far beyond the letter of his engagement; and be- sides enriching it to a great extent with his own pieces, he was diligent in his applications to the literary characters with whom he was connected by the ties of friendship ; and by means prin- cipally of their contributions the new Magazine assumed a rank in letters to which only one of its predecessors had ever ven- tured to aspire. On the whole, this editorship, though certainly not unattended with causes of chagrin, was the source of considerable enjoy- ment to him. It brought him into habits of occasional inter- course with a great variety of characters, who often exhibited themselves in an instructive or amusing point of view; — it sup- plied him with a fund of intelligence on all the current topics of the time, which enabled him to turn his own speculations to sub- jects of general utility and interest ; and, what he was far from valuing the least, it aftbrded him frequent opportunities of be- DR. JOHN AIKIN. 1 1 1 coming the friend and counsellor of youthful genius, of bringing modest talent into notice, and of pointing out resources to merit in distress. Towards the conclusion of the year, Dr. Aikin, having secur- ed as his coadjutor his beloved friend Dr. Enfield, engaged in the composition of his great work, the General Biography ; which emphiyed the larger portion of his time during a period of nine- teen years, and extended to ten volumes quarto. The design was not originally his own ; but none could have coincided more happily with his talents, his acquirements, or the habits of his mind. An author will seldom find cause to regret the time and la- bour which he may have bestowed upon an abortive or unsuccess- ful work, provided he has applied to it, during its progress, the full force of his mind. Such essays serve to root deeply in the mind ideas which afterwards spring up with renewed vigour and beauty, and in a more propitious season mature their fruits. Thus it proved in the instance before us. — The eiforts which my father had bestov/ed upon the composition of his Biographical Memoirs of Mcdimie, had obliged him to meditate long and deeply on the subject of biographical writing in general ; — to measure the posi- tive and relative merits of the characters who came before him by a scale in his own mind ; and to learn the art of conveying, by a few spirited strokes, a clear and lively image of the distinc- tive features of every individual. What he had thus practised with respect to the professors of a single art in one country alone, he nov/ undertook to exercise on the eminent of many classes in all ages and countries. In the preface to the work, which was composed with uncom- mon care and attention, he has given a distinct summary of his own views of the subject; which he will be found unswervingly to have followed ; in fact, the principles upon which it is found- ed ai'e so analogous to his settled habits of judging and feeling, that to those who knew him intimately, this piece will appear not so much a prospectus of a book as an ingenuous exposition of his own standard of human greatness ; and as such I shall extract some passages from it*. After observing that selection, compass * Rudiments of the same ideas appear in a dialogue contained in Evenings ai ffome, entitled " Great. Jllen." Brindley is made an example in both pieces. nil MEMOIR OF and arrangement, are the three points chiefly to be considered jn a biographical dictionary, and briefly stating, under the last head, the advantages of an alphabetical order, he thus proceeds: " Selection is the most important point, and at the same time the most difficult to adjust, in a design of this nature In the long lapse of ages, from the first records of history, the names of those who have left behind them some memorials of their exis- tence have become so numerous, that to give an account, ho^yever slight, of every person wlio has obtained temporary distinction in every walk of life, would foil the industry of any writer, as well as the patience of any reader. Fame, or celebrity, is the grand principle upon which the choice of subjects for a general biography must be founded ; for this, on the whole, will be found to coincide with the two chief reasons that make us desi- rous of information concerning an individual, — curiosity, and the desire of enlarging our knowledge of mankind. But under the general notion of celebrity many subordinate considerations arise " The great affairs of the world are frequently conducted by persons who have no other title to distinction than merely as they are associated with these affairs. With abilities not at all superior to those of a clerk in an office, or a subaltern in a regi- ment, the civil and military concerns of great nations are often managed according to a regular routine, by men whom the chance of birth alone has elevated to high stations. Such cha- racters appear in history with a consequence not really belong- ing to them ; and it seems the duty of a biographer in these cases to detach the man from his station, and either entirely to omit, or reduce to a very slight notice, the memorial of one whose per- sonal qualities had no real influence over the events of his age, and afford nothing to admire or imitate " That interesting class which lays claim to the remembrance of posterity on account of distinction in art, science, or litera- ture, depending solely on personal qualifications and commonly acting individually, might seem to admit of an easier estimate of relative merit than the preceding. But the number of claim- ants is so great, that in the impossibility of commemorating all, many names must be rejected which on the first glance may seem as worthy of insertion as their preferred rivals. The diffi- cult work of selection ought in these cases to be regulated by some fixed principles; and the circumstances which appear most DR. JOHN AlKIN. 113 worthy of guiding the decision, are those* of invention and im- provement. "None appear to have a more decisive claim to biographical notice than inventors ; including in the class all who, by the exercise of their faculties in an original path, have durably added to the stock of valuable products of human skill and in- genuity. Perhaps, in the history of the human mind there is nothing more curious than to trace the operations of an inventive talent working its way, often without any foreign aid, and de- riving from its own resources the means of overcoming the suc- cessive ditficulties which thwart its progress. It is in such a process that the distinguishing powers bestowed upon man are most surprisingly exerted, and that the superiority of one indi- vidual over the comnion mass is most luminously displayed. How much higher, as an intellectual being, does a Brindley rank, directing the complex machinery of a canal, which he him- self has invented, than an Alexander at the head of his army I A Newton, who employed the most exquisite powers of inven- tion on the sublimest objects, has attained a point in the scale of mental pre-eminence, which perhaps no known mortal ever surpassed. " Between invention and improvement no precise line can be drawn. In reality, almost all the great discoveries in art or science have arrived at perfection through the gradual advances given to them by successive improvers, who have exercised a greater or less degree of invention on the subject. When the addition made has been something considerable, the improver seems to have a just title to have his name perpetuated The attainment of uncommon excellence in any particular walk, though not at- tended with what can strictly be called improvement, may be regarded as a just cause for commemoration; since it implies a vigorous exertion of the faculties, and atfords animating exam- ples of the power of effecting extraordinary things. Many pain- ters, sculptors, musicians, and other artists of high reputation, come under this head " The class known by the general term of ivriteishas present- ed to us difficulties of selection more embarrassing than any of those hitherto mentioned. It comprehends many whose claims on the biographer are surpassed by none ; for where is the cele- brity which takes place of a Homer and Virgil, a Livy and Thu- cydides, a Swift and Voltaire ? But from such great names P 114 MEMOIR OF tliere are all the shades of literary distinction down to the au- thor of a pamphlet ; and where must the line be drawn ? " Two other circumstances by which selection may be afifect- ed are, country and age. We 'nave seen no general biographical work which is free from a decided stamp of nationality ^ that is, which does not include a greater number of names of natives of the country in which they were composed, than the fair propor- tion of relative fame and excellence can justify. Perhaps this fault is in some measure excusable, on account of the superior interest taken by all nations in excellence of their own growth ; and if readers are gratified by such deference to their feelings, writers will not fail to comply with their wishes. We do not pretend to have made no sacrifices of this sort; but being sensi- ble that disproportion is a real blemish in a work, and that in this instance it partakes of the nature of injustice, we hope we shall not be found to have exceeded the bounds of moderation in this particular. We have most sedulously endeavoured to avoid the more serious fault, of awarding to our countrymen individu- ally, more than their due share of merit in comparison with foreign competitors. In this point we would be truly citizens of the world. y' _ . r " The circumstances ot age or period in which the claimanis have lived, has an operation similar to that of country. We are much more impressed with the relative consequences of persons who have trod the stage of life within our own memory, than those whose scene of action has long been closed, though equally eminent in their day. Of course, curiosity is more active re- specting the former; and to this natural predilection it may be proper for the biographer to pay some deference, provided he does not too much infringe the principle of equitable proportion, which ought essentially to regulate a work, professing tO com- prehend every age of the world as well as every country.'^ With respect to the compass of the work, he admits that bio- graphy will bear to be written much at large, and in judicious hands is often the more entertaining and instructive the more it is minute; and that in a plan so extensive as this, characteristic sketches can alone be given ; but he expresses a hope that they will be found to have dismissed few characters of real eminence " without fully answering the leading biographical questions. What was he ? What did he ? His moral and intellectual (quali- ties, the principal events of his life, his relative merit in the DR. JOHN AIKIN. H.5 department he occupied, and especially the manner in which he was first formed to his art or profession, with the gradations by which he rose. to excellence, have engaged our attentive inqui- ries, and we have attempted to develop them with all the accu- racy that conciseness would allow.'' \ ' ... " If,'' he adds, " we have faithfully observed the rules of com- position above suggested, it is evident we cannot have been mere copyists or translators ; since we may venture to assert, that nu model exists of a work of this species, executed with any degree of uniformity, upon such principles. For our materials, it is true, we must in general have been indebted to the researches of for- mer historians and biographers But, in melting down the substance of different narrations into one, in proportioning the several parts, in marking out the characteristic features of the portrait, and in deducing suitable lessons and examples of human life, we have freely exercised our own judgments, and have as- pired, at least, to the rank of original writers.'' In the first division of t^e articles of the General Biography, the divines, metaphysicians, philosophers, natural and moral, and mathematicians were assigned to Dr. Enfield, and all the other classes were undertaken by Dr. Aikin ; but the unfortunate event of Dr. Enfield's death before the completion of the first volume, compelled my father for a time to extend his labours. The whole of the letter C, excepting the mathematical articles, and a few of the authorities for which existed only in German and the other languages of the North of Europe, was written by him ; but after- wards the late Dr. Thomas Morgan succeeded to nearly the whole of Dr. Enfield's department. The copious extracts just given from a prefiace, all the promises of which were, on my father's part at least, so punctually fulfilled, may suflice as a general account of the nature of a work on which ^e opinions both of critics and readers have long since been pro- nounced ; but a few particulars respecting the modes of study adopted by him during the course of his twenty years' task, and the effects upon his own mind of this application of his powers, jnay be thought no uninteiesting or uninstructive part of his per- sonal history. It had been my father's previous practice to write over twice, and sometimes oftener, whatever he destined for the press ; and with regard to his \<'orks in general, that respect for the public. 116 MEMOIR OF which he always considered as one of the most indispensable of literary duties, led him to observe this custom to the end ; but, with respect to his biographical articles, he soon discovered this laborious process to be unnecessary, and in fact scarcely practi- cable. Such, however, was his dread of suftering any marks ot haste, either in style or matter, to escape him, that through the whole, course of so long a woi'k he persevered in the constant ob- servance of another of his literary habits, which indicated the modest no less than the diligent composer. This was, never to commit a single page to the printer without causing it to be pre- viously read aloud by one of his family in his own presence, and in tliat of any other members of the domestic circle who could be conveniently assembled. During these readings he listened with close attention, often mentioned the alterations which then suggested themselves to his mind, or the new ideas which struck him ; and not only permitted, but invited and encoui-aged, the freest strictures even from the youngest and most unskilful of those whom he was pleased to call his household critics ^ good humoured ly citing the story of Moliere's submitting all his pieces to the judgment of his old woman, as a proof that the honest im- pressions of any hearer or reader, were worth some attention. His principal object, however, in following this method was, to preserve his style from the fault which most of all offended him in every kind of writing, — obscurity ; a fault which many in- stances prove that men of the most sagacious minds are frequent- ly unable to detect in their own compositions except by experi- ment of their effect upon others. The statement of Gibbon, that he had never communicated to a single person any part of the manuscript of his history, was, I remember, particularly noted by my father on reading it, as a fact which went far in account- ing for the perseverance of so able a writer in that enigmatical mode of expression which became the characteristic blemish of his manner. How far the clearness of his own style, which is so perfect that I believe no one over found it necessary to read a sentence of his a second time to find the meaning, is to be attributed to the occasional suggestions of others, 1 find it difficult to decide ; as the distinctness of his ideas, and his entire freedom from affecta- tion, were very likely of themselves to have ensured to him this advantage ; but I can speak with all the certainty of personal ex- perience to the pleasures and benefits derived to his family from DR. JOHN AIKIN. 117 his social and communicative habits of study. From witnessiiis; so closely the progress of his various works, they insensibly ac- quired a lively interest in the subjects of them ; these again be- came favourite topics of domestic discussion, and often led on to references to books and facts which from these associations were impressedindeliblyon the memory. Nor could the reasoningpowerS fail of being strengthened and matured by these inquiries, carried onundertheinduigentguidanceof one who did not desire even from his own children a blind and prejudiced adherence to his opinions; but, on t!ie contrary, never ceased to impress upon them as the most important of all maxims, that their reason was given them for the discovery of truth, and that there were no subjects on which it was not allowable, and even laudable, to exercise it in- dependently, within the limits of modesty and candour. For myself, — if I may be pardoned the egotism, — I must ever regard it as the most important of many intellectual privileges for which I am grateful, to have grown up to maturity under the eye of my father during the time that he was engaged upon so many " fair designs," and especially on this ; by virtue of which the illus- trious of all ages were made to pass as it were before us in a long and leisurely procession, while we questioned each of his title to a pedestal in the Temple of Immortality. This was indeed phi- losophy teaching by example ; and to the lessons then received, to the principles thus imbibed, I am bound, not in duty and af- fection alone, but in the strictest justice, to ascribe whatever fa- vour any biographical attempts of my own may since have found with an indulgent public. But for my father, they never would have had an existence, — to him is to be attributed whatever merit they possess ; all that I can justly claim, is that of having trea- sured up his precepts, and followed, to the best of my abilities, his example. — seqiiitnrque patrem non passions xquU. My father was accustomed to observe, that the rapidity with which the nature of his work obliged him to pass from one cha- racter to another, had at least this advantage, that it did not allow liiin to contract that partiality towards the subject of his pen which was the prevailing vice of detailed biographies ; and this remark leads me to the consideration of the effects which the habit of contemplating and delineating this boundless variety of human characters produced upon his sentiments and his mode of 118 MEMOIR OF expressing them. The honest indignation which he felt at the exa»:P"erate(l style of those partial relations which he was often obliged to take as the groundwork of his narratives, led him to renounce for himself, almost totally, the use of epithets, which he often observed to be among the most deluding and dangerous artifices of a disingenuous biographer. This self-denial may probably impart at first sight somewhat of an air of coldness and severity to his portraits ; but when once the eye of the spectator has learned to content itself with the sober colouring of nature, I believe he will readily acknowledge that full justice has been done to the features and expression even of his most distinguish- ed favourites. The moral discrimination of the writer was so perfected by habit and practice, which never had the effect of blunting his moral sensibility, — that he seized almost intuitively on the marking traits -of a character, and exhibited them by a brief but masterly selection of the actions or circumstances in which they were most clear and prominent: having so done, he commonly left them to make their own impression on the reader, convinced that the cause of biographical, as well as of many other kinds of truth, is better served by a simple statement of facts, than by reflections and inductions in which, unless they be- ex- ceedingly trite and obvious, readers cannot be expected unani- mously to concur. The rare impartiality which presided over all his statements, both of facts and motives, has, I think, been universally acknow- ledged ; no man, I am convinced, ever laboured more earnestly and steadily to subdue the prejudices to which all are liable; and I have sometimes even thought I perceived, that where he was conscious of a political bias, he has compelled himself to <\omore than justice to certain characters of the opposite party. Favour- ite characters, however, he unquestionably had, arid favourite classes of characters ; but his predilections were such as he could have had no hesitation in avowing, — such as he must have wanted his best virtues to have been without. The lives of celebrated writers he treated with great pleasure when their personal qualities were strongly marked, and their fortunes sufficiently known to afford fair scope for narrative ; but that nice observance of proportion which forbade him to enter into any considerable detail of literary criticism, was somewhat unfavourable to the interest of this class of articles. His predi- lection for inventors in every way sufficiently appears by his pre DR, JOHN AIKIN. 119 ace. Patriots of .every land commanded a. large share of his homage; but with respect to those of antiquity, he preferred, on the whole, the Greeks to the Komans ; — when a Greek ivas vir- tuous, he said, his virtue appeared to be both of a purer and a milder quality than that of a Roman. - One class of French characters he greatly admired and took particular pains with ; being of opinion that their fame, m this country at least, was by no means equal to their merit ; and these were, magistrates, — such men as L'Hospital, La Moignon and Malesherbes, — courageous champions of the oppressed and mis- erable people, when despotic power was triumphantly careering over law and right; — beautiful examples of purity of life and simplicity of manners, when licentiousness, frivolity, and a base servility, had become characteristic of the court and nation. ,The small band of genuine lovers of their kind whose business in the world was doing good, "fair virtue's silent train," receiv- ed from him the most assiduous and affectionate celebration : — holding as he did that all moral virtue was to be resolved into the preference of the social principle to the selfish, disinterested- ness appeared to him the first of human qualities ; and the emi- nent examples of it in every line, those which most deserved and required to be continually held up for the imitation of mankind. To the list of Dr. Aikin's literary occupations during the year 1796, must be added two more of his critical essays on poems; those on Somervill's Chace, and on Pope's Essay on Man, both comprised in the present volume. The first of these poems was certainly not recommended to his attention by any predi- lection for the amusement of which it treats ; on the contrary, it had happened to him, very early in life, to witness two or three instances of the tyrannical behaviour sometimes exercised by gentlemen upon their tenants and inferiors in hunting, which had impressed him with deep and permanent disgust. But the lively descriptions of the manners and instincts of various ani- mals, asid of some features of rural scenery, with which it abounds, appeared to him ^o render this piece worthy tlie perusal of the lovers of verse in general ; and his remarks on those portions of The Chace will be read with pleasure. In his choice of the Essay on il-ianas a subject of critical and philosophical remark, he was prompted, as I believe, not merely by its merit and popularity ; he felt besides a strong impulse to rescue the autiior, with respect to tliis work at least, from the V2Q MEMOIR OF artful misrepresejiitations of liis earliest editor and commentator, bishop Warburton; whose dishonest glosses upon the poet were often, in conversation, the theme of his indignant remark. In pursuance of this object, however, he has not judged it necessary to enter into any particular refutation of the errors, or false- hoods, of Warburton; but taking care to disencumber his own edition completely of his notes and commentary, he proceeds, after a general statement of their delusory nature, to supply the place by a clear and accurate analysis of his own ; this is inter- spersed, in his usual manner, with warm and copious expositions of the poetical beauties of the piece, and with more general no- tices of its poetical defects. Neither the line of his studies nor the general habits of his mind, led him to institute any inquiry into the original sources of the systerti which Bolingbroke is known to have furnished to Pope ; he has not even mentioned the names of Plato or of Shafts- bury on the occasion ; nor has he thought it necessary, in examin- ing the poem, to show himself either the apologist or the assail- ant of the system, as a whole ; but in his remarks on some par- ticulars, the judicious reader will recognise the acute and pow- erful thinker. Thus, on the first epistle he observes, that " in lay- ing it down as a maxim that * We can only reason from what we know,' he seems to invalidate some of his own conjectural argu- ments concerning that order of the universe which is to account for apparent partial defects " On the conclusion of the second epistle, he remarks, that it is not easy to say what moral effect the author meant to produce: " If man's folly is equally con- spicuous in all he does; if his weaknesses are made the instru- ments of his happiness ; if ' in folly's cup still laughs the bubble joy,' and ' not a vanity was given in vain,' it would seem very fruitless to attempt by artificial wisdom to correct the designed and inherent defects of our nature." While he was thus strenuously labouring to improve his time and talents to the utmost, while his worldly connections were daily increasing in number and consequence, and while his chil- dren were growing up around him to that important period when the hand of a parent was required to launch them upon the world ; — symptoms unexpectedly appeared which threatened him \yith an early separation from all earthly concerns. As early as the middle of the year 1796, he underwent a rather severe fit of ilness, which he judged to proceed from some affection of the DR. JOHN AIKIN. 121 liver, and from which he rightly supposed himself to be tempora- rily, not permanently, relieved. The usual eftects of similar maladies on the spirits, were in his case distressingly manifest, though combated by those principles which constantly presided over his firm and well regulated mind. On recovering from this first attack, he thus expressed his feelings in a letter to Dr. Haj- j^arth : " I now think myself abnost as well as usual, bating a little of my walking powers, and some of the vigour of maturity. At the same time, this affair has strongly put me in mind of mortality, and I have in expectation lopped oif a good many years from my date of life. But my only inference is, that I must live while I can, — do all in my power for my family and friends,— enjoy myself moderately, and leave the rest to fate. And believe me, my dear friend, when I had in my own imagina- tion a near prospect of breaking up, my spirits were perfectly tranquil and serene, and I felt that the * leave to lay my being down' would not have been unwelcome. In fact, what is there at fifty (I shall be that next January) worth living on for, to a person of delicate health, with no new expectations, and involved in increasing cares ? Life is not painful to me, but it is indiffer- ent, and /or my own sake 1 had rather be out of the way of the coming bustle, and leave the young folks to settle matters, with- out partaking in it. Yet I think it my duty to keep up as long as I can, because I believe myself not an entirely useless personage in this world." During the whole of the year 1797, his health continued visi- bly to decline ; and two or three little excursions into the coun- try during the summer failed to produce any beneficial effect. Yet in the midst of languor and suffering, and with that clear perception of all the possibilities of common mischief which ex ercises the fortitude of a medical man in sickness, he never al- lowed himself to sink into the selfish and cheerless indolence of an acknowledged invalid ; and his literary occupations were never abandoned, and remitted only in the exact degree that his bodily weakness rendered indispensable. The composition of the first volume of the General Biography, and the editorship of the Monthly Magazine, for which he also wrote a good deal, were the principal employments of the year. Towards the con- clusion of it, his feelings were severely tried by the death of his dear friend Dr. Enfield, now still more closely connected with Q 122 MEMOIR OF him bj a literary partnership which had been carried on with un- interrupted harmony and mutual satisfaction. He immediately drew up a short biographical notice of this most amiable man and estimable writer for the Monthly Magazine, and some time after edited a collection of his sermons published for the benefit of the family, to which he prefixed a more copious memoir, some- what in the mode of the French Eloges, but characterised by a simplicity and a genuine warmth of feeling, not often to be found in those boasted performances.* Such was the state of debility to which sickness had reduced bim at the time of writing it, that nothing less potent than the kind and friendly motive which ani- mated him to make the effort, could have carried him through the affecting task. At length it became necessary for him to try in earnest the effects of country air, horse exercise, and a complete vacation from the fatigues of a profession ; and early in the spring of 1798 he removed to lodgings in the town of Dorking in Surry, where he was cheered by the society of Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld, who came to join him, and by a kind visit from his constant friend Dr. Haygarth. Four months were spent by him agreeably and beneficially in this delightful spot; and the result of the leisurely survey of the surrounding scenery afforded him by his daily rides, was an animated description of the country about Dork- ing which appeared in the Monthly Magazine.'^ Nor was this the only record of his abode in Surry. It is from Dorking that he dates the commencement of the second volume of his Letters from a Father to a Son; and in the introductory letter he ex- plains the circumstances which had carried him thither, and de- scribes with great sensibility the soothing eff*ects of the charms of rural nature on a mind agitated by the cares and hurry of a city life, and deeply wounded by "the desolating prospects whicli the late train of human affairs had presented to the lover of man- kind." On quitting Dorking, he hoped to recover a further degree of strength by a visit of a few weeks in Bedfordshire ; but here the symptoms of his disease came on with increased violence ; and it soon became evident that a final renunciation of London and of his profession was the only step by which life, with some re- Appendix (B.) t -'^PP'^"'^'''' (C.) *ifc DR. JOHN AlKIN. 123 aaining power of usefulness to his family and the public, could be preserved. To submit himself calmly to all inevitable evils, was a point of moral discipline which he had long and success- fully practised ; and without wasting time in irresolution or fruit- less regret, he gave up his house in Broad Street Buildings to the occupation of his sons, and in October 1798, removed to lodgings in the village of Stoke Newington, where he soon after hired a house which continued to be his home to the end of his life. This removal may be regarded as the termination of his pro- fessional life ; — henceforth he seldom acted as a physician but within the limits of his own village, and principally for the bene- fit of his poor neighbours; for whose service he cheerfully set apart an hour every morning, during which he gave advice to all who came, besides frequently visiting them at their own houses. Literature was his sole regular occupation, and the domestic scene almost his only sphere of action. His weak state of health during the early part of his residence at Newington, and after- wards the love of study, which continually increased upon him, supplied him with reasons for declining the ordinary visiting of the place, nor did he make any considerable efforts to keep up London society ; well content to allow himself to be forgotten, by all but the few whom friendship, or real congeniality of taste, might prompt to make the effort of seeking him out in his subur- ban retreat. The philosophical moderation of his wishes, and the high value which he set upon that kind of independence which is rarely compatible with projects of worldly advance- ment, enabled him without much difficulty to reconcile himself to a change by which the career of ambition was closed upon him for ever. Habit gradually rendered agreeable to him a mode of life which at first had only appeared tolerable ; and while the success of his writings, besides making a welcome addition to his resources, gave him the well earned satisfaction of believing that he still contributed to the pleasure and advantage of the public; — at peace in his own mind, beloved and respected by a chosen few, and happy in the cultivation of the domestic and social af- fections, he saw among the children of prosperity few to con- gratulate and none to envy. Notwithstanding the slow progress of his health towards amend- ment, the year 1799, the first of his retirement, was one of the most productive of his litermy life. His superintendence of the Maga- *'fe 124 MEMOIR OF zine and contribution to its pages continued ; the first volume ot the General Biography was printed in the spring ; and he filled up the Interval between its appearance and the preparation for a second, with a translation of some Eulogies by D'Alembert, and with the completion of a second volume of his Letters to a Son. The Select JEiclogies of D* Member t, from two volumes octavo ; a short biographical preface and a few notes, are all the original matter contribute(rits as a man and a scholar, not regarding the particular cause he has supported. However, it was certainly right that this de- partment should be assigned to another hand, and it is already turned over to a proper person. What I retain is no more than I can do with such moderate exertion as is perfectly agreeable to me, and indeed necessary to keep me in spirits. You will find that a few physicians have passed through my hands ; but I really cannot descend from kings and heroes to employ myself solely about the paltry intrigues and nonsensical opinions which occupy so much of medical biography. I hope you will approve my arti- cle of Boerhaave, who is hitherto my best medical subject. " The Magazine still affords me a good deal of monthly em- 132 MEMOIR OF ploy. I have also varied my studies by writing some more cnii- cal pieces for editions of English poets. I wish you could see an essay on the poetry of Milton which I have written at the de- sire of Cadell and Davies for a new pocket edition. I think it is my best performance of the kind. You see I am not idle. In- deed I have more than one necessity for working, and I wish not to live longer than I can use my pen." The Essay on the Poetry of Milton is inserted in the present collection ; and I imagine it will be thought to justify the prefe- rence of the author. He spared no efforts to raise himself " to the height of this great argument,'' and the syle is wrought up not into elegance merely, but brilliancy. To the summer of this year belongs the story of a visit, detailed in a letter to Mrs. Barbauld, which no reader of sensibility, it is believed, would wish omitted. " Harborough, July "th, " Would you have thought me, my dear sister, a likely man for such a flight of sentiment, as that, being somewhat above forty miles from Kibworth, I could not forbear visiting it? In fact, it had long been the subject of my waking and sleeping thoughts, especially of the latter, and I was resolved to give way to the impulse. So yesterday after dinner I left G — 's mounted on his old mare, which 1 had tried before in a couple of short ex- cursions, — and boldly pushed on for Kettering, 27 miles, that evening. This morning, starting early, I came to Harborough to breakfast, and thence, with beating heart, rode the five miles to Kibworth. The church is visible the greatest part of the way, so that my approaches were very gradual. I had even sangfroid enough to turn off" first to Lower Kibworth, by way of abridging the round. One of the first objects that met my eyes was Cap- tain Dawes's old mansion with all the windows boarded up, and apparently quite deserted. It struck a damp on my spirits, from which, however, I recovered on learning from some workmen that it was fitting up for a new occupant. I was here told on inqui- ry that a Mr. Goodman, a farmer, lived atSmeaton. Supposing he was our old Betty's husband, I rode on ; but on coming to the house, I found a good old couple indeed, but only by name and acquaintance connected with our friends. I was, however, cor- dially received, for they knew our family, and the man remem- bered me coming to church with my father. After a while, came DR. JOHN AIKIN. 133 in their son, the curate of the parish, a decent young man, who lives with his wife in the new and handsome parsonage house. I was informed that the ether Goodman's now lived at Gumley, whicli was too much out of the way for a visit. "I found that I had no acquaintance living at Kibworth ; so mounting again, I made a slow circut quite through the town, which I found vastly lessened in my e/es; yet our old house still makes a respectable figure. It is inhibited by the widow Hum- phreys. The casement windows and balcony remain as before. "I made a complete tour of the churchyard, and recognised many familiar names among the tombs, but was disappointed in not meeting with that of our grandfafier. Had he a monument? There were several become illegible .hrough a coating of moss. " Such has been my visit to the naive village. I am not sorry I made it, though I sarcely know whither to call the impression on the whole agreeable or otherwise.' Dr. Aikin now accepted the editorship of a proposed new edi- tion of Dr. Johnson's poets, with considfrable additions and al- terations. The plan was, for the editot to subjoin to the bio- graphical and ciitical prefaces of Dr. Johnson such remarks^ either by way of supplement or correctbn, as he should judge proper, to reject entirely some articles, md to supply new pre- faces to the works of such poets, not inciuded in the former col- lection, as it should be judged expedieni to comprise in a new one. The strange omission of the autho' of the Faery Queen by Dr. Johnson,- — an unpardonable instance either of neglect or pre- judice, — was the first deficiency which h^ found to supply; and it was for this purpose that he composed the Account of the Life and Works of Spenser which stands at the head of his critical pieces contained in the present volume, Of this intended col- lection of English poetry, fourteen octavo volumes had been printed, comprising the works of Spenser, Butler, Cowley, and Milton, when the circumstances of the publisher put a stop to the undertaking. The remarks respecting the three last named poets added by my father, seemed to me incapable of appearing with advantage detached from the prefaces by Dr. Johnson, and they are therefore not here reprinted. In the intervals of his regular occupations during the year 1801, Dr. Aikin composed tor the use of young people, a very instructive little volume entitled The Arts of Life. It is in the form of Letters, and under the three heads of food, clothing and 1S4 MEMOIR OF shelter, gives a clear and elegant view both of the arts of first necessity, and of those ministering to the comfort and conve- nience of man. The knowledge which it contains is very va- rious and extensive, and of a kind which the books for young people do not usually affnird ; and it is well calculated to excite that spirit of observation \^hich the writer considered it as one of the leading objects of education to inculcate. A further contri- bution to this effect was his Woodland Companion ; or a brief description of British trees, with some account of their uses ; pub- lished a few months afterwards. The subject was an old fa- vourite, as appears from Hs elegant paper on the notices of trees in the Latin poets ; and, i4 fact, the first sketch of the work had long been lying by him, in the form of a brief botanical descrip- tion of trees, illustrated vith neat drawings by his own hand ; copied, I believe, as werejthe plates in the printed work, from Dr. Hunter's edition of Eiklyn''s Sylva. He now however great- ly enlarged his design, and embellished it, in his usual manner, with quotations from tie English poets. About this time he received a very unexpected proof of the continued regard of one of the friends of his youth, in a bequest of 1,000/. 4 per cents from Dr. Pulteney, then of Blandford in Dorsetshire ; with wh)m he had enjoyed no personal, and very little epistolary interc«urse, since they had parted at Leicester eight-and -thirty years before. The circumstance touched him very sensibly ; and themore, because he always ascribed it rather to Dr. Pulteney's reverence and affection for the memory of his father, than to his esteem for himself, whom he had known only as a youth. The meri.s of Dr. Pulteney as a physician, and es- pecially as a botanist, could not be allowed to pass altogether unrecorded ; and he hai great satisfaction in paying the tribute to his memory of a slort memoir, originally published in the Philosophical Magazim, and now reprinted.* The cordial friendship entertained by Dr. Aikin for Mr. Wake- field, almost from the commencement of their acquaintance at AVarrington, has been a ready recorded ; and the renewal of their social intercourse has been adverted to as one of the circum- stances which he anticipated with the warmest satisfaction on taking up his residence in London. It will therefore be readily ' Appendix (D) DR. JOHN AIKIN. 135 conceived, that he had felt the sentence which doomed Mr. Wakefield, as the author of a pamphlet judged libellous, to an imprisonment of two years in Dorchester Castle, almost as a per- sonal misfortune. His joy on the approaching liberation ot his friend was proportionally lively ; and it was well expressed in the following lines, published in the Monthly Magazine; in which it will however be observed, that some prudential counsels are gently insinuated amid the sincere expression of esteem and af- fection. TO GILBERT WAKEFIELD, A. B. ON HIS LIBERATION FROM PRISON. Pure light of learning, soul of generous mould, Ardent in Truth's great cause, erectand free. Welcome, O welcome! from thy prison gloom, To open air and sunshine, to those boons Which Nature sheds profuse, while tyrant Man, " Brest in his brief authority," and stern In all tiie little jealousy of pow'r, Ueslricts the bounty of a Father's hand, And scants a Brother's bliss. But now 'tis o'er. And social friendship and domestic love Shall pour their healing balm ; while conscious worth With noble scorn repels the sland'rous charge. That brands imprudence with the stamp of guilt. Meantime disdain not, learned as thou art. To scan this world's great lesson : high-raised hopes Of Justice seated on the throne of Pow'r, Of bright Astrea's reign revived, and Peace, With heavenly Truth and Virtue by her side, Uniting nations in a band of love. Have faded all to air ; and nought remains But that dire law of force, whose iron sway The sons of men through every biood-slain'd age Has ruled reluctant. When that sage benign. The Man of Nazareth, preach'd his gentle law. And listening crowds drank honey from his tongue — When Mars, Bellona, and the savage rout j- Of Gods impure and vengeful, shrunk to shades, And rescued Man adored a common sire ; Who could refrain to hail the blessed time Ot swords to sickles turn'd, of general good Pour'd in full streams through all the human tribes, And shared alike by all ? But ah ! how soon The glorious prospect daiken'd ! When the cross Gleam'd direful 'mid the host of Constantine, And took the eagle's place — when mitred priests Mimick'd the fiamen in his inystic pomp. 136 MEMOIR OF And proiully bt-nt around a despot's throne ; Then, whilst thii name at Antioch first I'ever'd Ran conquering ihro' tlie world, it lost its sense, And join'd in monstrous league with all the crimes That force, and fraud, and lawless lust of sway Inspir'd toplagn^ mankind. Then, Gospel rules Were held an empty letter ; and the grave And specious commentator well could prove That such an hcly, humble, peaceful law Was never meaat for empire. Thus relaps'd, The human brute resumed his native form, And prey'd again on carnage. Cease then, my Friend, tliy generous, hopeless aim, Nor to unfeeling Folly yield again Her darling sight, of Genius turn'd to scorn, And Virtue pining in the cell of guilt. Desert no more the Muse ; unfold the stores Of fertile Greece and Latiura ; free each gem From the dark crust that shrowds its beauteous beams And fair present them to th' admiring eye Arranged in kindred lustre. Take serene The tranquil blessings that thy lot affords. And in the soothing voice of friendship drown The groans, and shouts, and triumph of the world. Mr. Wakefield replied in the following warm lines TO JOHN AIKIN, M.D. Next to that first of comforts to the soul, The plaudit of a conscience self-approv'd, AlKiK ! 1 deem the giatulation sweet Of sympathising friendship, and a Muse Terse, uncorrupt, ingenuous, bold and free ; A Muse from whom nor titled grandeur bribes. Nor pamper'd wealth, a sacrificial strain. Hence, with sensations bland of conscious pride 1 feel the manna of thy tuneful tongue Drop medicinal influence on my breast, Ruffled, not torn, by Persecution's blast. Thus, after chilling frost, morn's genial ray Invigorates, cheers, expands, the shrivell'd flower: Thus the broad mountain flings his cooling shade O'er the faint pilgrim in a thirsty land. Oh ! may thy friend, as in the noon nf life. Responsive to the calls of truth and Man, Self in benevolence absorb'd and lost. Thro' the short remnant of his closing day. With brave di fiance, or with calm disdain, Front the grim visage of despotic power. Lawless, self-will'd, fierce, merciless, corrupt; Nor, 'midst the applauses of the wise and good, Lose the fond greetings of a M«se like thine ! DR. JOHN AIKIN. 137 "" Too truly, alas ! did this excellent man here speak of the 'short remnant of his closinjj; day!' Not three months after these lines were written, the friends to whom he had just been restored, were called upon to resign him for ever. He was car- ried oflTb}- a fever, the fatal termination of which was anticipat- ed by himself from the beginninj>;. When the friends who sur- rounded his bedside were anxiously striving to remove a melan- choly prepossession which they could not admit to be well founded, some one mentioning my father, he eagerly exclai:ued; — " Yes, let me see Dr. Aikin, I know he will tell me the truth !" He was immediately sent for, but came only to deplore the rapid advance of the inevitable catastrophe. To do, at all hazards, immediate justice to the memory at least of such a man, my fa- thei- felt to be a sacred duty. How he has performed it, will best be learned from his own pen.* But his sympathy with genius and virtue was not dependent on the emotions of friendship, and he was about the same time gratified with an occasion of paying a tribute to these qualities in the person of a stranger. At Liskeard in Cornwall, there had long existed, buried in the most profound obscurity, the Kev. Henry Moore, a dissenting minister of history, the visions of ihc poets whom he studied whh unceasing de- light, and the inspirations of his own fertile fancy. It soon became manifest that his vocation was to one or other of the arts of df sign; and his father's removal 10 London in the year 1792, afforded oppoi'tunities for the cultivation of his talent which were sedulously improved; at the same lime it was judged prud.-nt to select as his profession an art which, by uniting the useful with the ornamental, seemed less precariou* as a means of support than either painting or sculpture ; and at a proper age he was articled to a highly respectable surveyor and builder. Adequate provision was thus madf for his acquisition of the principles of constriirtinn, and of its tnechanical det.iils ; but for all that constitutes the archi- tect, in the noblest sense of the term, lie was still to be indebted to voluntary study^ to observation, reflection, and the promptings of his own mind. In this situa- tion, while his diligence and punctuality secured the esteem of his master, the unfoldingsof his genius realised the tbndest hop'S of his family and friends. The glories of his art were never absent from his thoughts; he sketched, he planned, he meditated, and his imagination revelled with delight amid temples, palacrs, and tri- umphal arches of his own creation. On becoming his own master, he immediately commenced business for himself as an architect and surveyor, and soon obtained a moderate share of employment. Adopting the literary habits of liis family, he also exercised his pen on professional topics, and severKl of the earlier articles in Dr. Rees's Cyclopxdia, in the class of civil architecture, were written by him. The laudable desire of seeing a W-ee communication of ideas estaiilishird among members of (he s. le which xisting Roman exaniplf s, depraved imit'.ifiofis, as it now appears, rather ihan faithful copies from the temples and otht^r public edifices which t-nnobled the cities of ancient Greece. At length, these veiieiable monuments had been ex|ilored and described hy English travellers and artists, with skill and dil'gencc worth) of the obji-cts; and the It-ained and splendid work of Stuart and R^ vet on Athens, the Ionian Antiquities published b\ the Dilet- tanti Society, and the later work of Mr. Wilkins. affordi d sufficient materials for a much improved delineation of Doric architecture, founded on pure and primitive models. Such a delineation, the pen and pencil of the author her< afford, d ; he also compared and criticised the examples which he- presenti'd, and he concluded by giving; some original designs of this order adapted to modern imitation. Mr. E. Aikin afterwards resided for a considt-rable time with General Sir Samuel Bentham, and gave his assistance to this distinguished engineer in several public works which he was planning or executing at Siiterness, Portsmouth, and else- where. In this situation his attention w:is particularly called to tht- subject of bridge building, and he published in concert with Sir S. Benlham the designs for abridge erected over the river Swale. An interesting essay on St. Paul's cathedral, accompanying the designs of Mr. James Elmes, proceeded from his pen in 1813, which, with some observations on the architecture of the age of queen Elizabeth, appended to his sister's J[Ie?noirs of the Court of Queen Elizabeth, completes the catalogue of his printed writings. The preference which his designs for the Wellington assembly rooms at Liverpool received from a committee appointed to conduct the undertaking, induced him in 1814, to repair to the spot, where he superintended the execution of the building; and the encouragement of several valuable friends engaged hira to fix his future re- sidence in that town. Another public building, the Liverpool Institution was com- mitted io his rr.anBgcmont ; but it was here his business to adapt an existing edifice to this destination by alterations and additions,— a task of more difficulty and less hoi'Oiirthan the erection of an entirely new one. He also decorated the town and environs with several elegant villas, and other buildings ; and if, in some instances, he was obliged to comply with the fondness for modern Gothic against the dictates of his own taste and judgment, his profound knowledge of the principles of construc- tion on which this style depends, enabled him to give uncommon correctness and elegance, and what may he called an air of good sense, combined with picturesque eff ct, to these difRcult imitations. These qualities were still more strikingly dis- played in many designs for churches which he composed on different occasions, none of which, however, have yet been executed. The progress of an architect in the higher branches of his art is in this country slow and difficult; because great ignorance, and consequently great indifference, on the subject of architectural beauty and deformity pervades the British public In addition to this general cause of delay and disappointment, the success of Mr. E. Aikin m as impeded by temporary and local obstacles, and most of all, perhaps, by DR. JOHN AIKIN. 155 now reduced, so keen a trial of parental feelings as now occur- red, was evidently beyond his strength. He avoided complaint almost entirely, but his anguish was profound, and its effects in- curable. Enough of bodily strength however remained, to pro- tract the struggle with existence till the mind was almost totally obscured. One sentiment alone, that of affectionate attachment towards those whose assiduity ministered to him all of comfort that he could yet enjoy,— and to her, most of all, whose tried and faithful lenderness had best deserved a husband's love, — survived and triumphed to the last. After a long course of the distress and suffering incident to this form of natural decay, which those who have ever witnessed it will sufficiently conceive, and of which others may regard it as a privilege to be able to form no idea,-«^a stroke of apoplexy closed the scene on December 7th, 1822. That life may not be prolonged beyond the power of usefulness, is one of the most natural, and apparently of the most reasonable ■wishes man can form for the future ; — it was almost the only one which my father expressed or indulged, and I doubt not that every reader will be affected with some emotions of sympathetic regret on learning that it was in his case lamentably disappoint- ed. To those whose daily and hourly happiness chiefly consisted in the activity and enjoyment diffused over his domestic circle by his talents and virtues, — the gradual extinction of this mental light was a privation afflictive and humiliating beyond expression. But in all the trials and sorrows of life, however severe, enough the rest-rve, the timidity, the scrupulous delicacy, and the nice sense of honour which characterised him. Meantime, life was wearing away ; a constitution never robust had been undei'mintd by severe attacks ot illni-ss ; spli'its never very buoyant had begun to yield to depression, ami the brilliant visions witb which conscious genius had cht ered the rnoi ning of existence began to (n(\e fi om before him. These clianges were beheld with anguish by the few who thoroughly knew and could duly appreci- ate his many great excellencies, moral and intellectual : — his extensive knowledge, his strong and clear judgment, his fine taste, and his ardent love of the good and fair; — the sweetness and strenity ol his temper, the modest gracefulness of his man- ners, the model atiou of bis wishes, the nianly independence of his principles, and the p -rfect truth ."^ud probity whicli pr. sided overall his words and actions. Dui'ing tht s'lram-r of 1819, he had struggled with difficulty through a protracted malady, and had been enabled to resume with some energy his professional occupations ; but tl'> seeds of disease still lurked in his constitution, and a winter journey from Liver- pool to London the following Cbrisimas perhaps hastened their development. Alarming symptoms recurred with augmented force, and alter a painful struggle he expired at his father's house, at Stoke Newington, on March 11th, 1820, 156 MEMOIR OF of alleviation is blended to show from what quarter they proceed; and there were still circumstances which called for grateful ac- knowledgment. The naturally sweet and affectionate disposi- tion of my dear father ; his strictly temperate and simple habits of living, and the mastery over his passions which he had so con- stantly exercised, were all highly favourable circumstances; and their influence long and powerfully counteracted the irritability of disease, and caused many instructive and many soothing and tender impressions to mingle with the anxieties and fatigues of our long and melancholy attendance. His literary tastes were another invaluable source of comfort; long after he was incapa- citated from reading to himself, he would listen with satisfaction during many hours in the day to the reading ot others ; poetry> in particular, exercised a l^ind of spell over him; Virgil and Horace he heard with delight for a considerable period, and the English poets occasionally, to the very last. The love of chil- dren, which had always been an amiable feature in his character, likewise remained; and the sight of his young grand-children sporting around him, and courting his attention by their affec- tionate caresses, had often the happy effect of rousing him from a state of melancholy languor and carrying at least a transient emotion of pleasure to his heart. His health also continued gene- rally good almost to the end, and we had seldom the distress ot seeing him under the influence of bodily pain. The final boon, an easy dismissal from life, was also granted him. He was interred in the church-yard of Stoke Newington, where a simple monument is erected to his memory with the following inscription : In memory of JOHN AIKIN, M. D. who was born at Kib worth, in LeicestcrshirCj Jan. 15th, 1747, died in this Parish Dee. 7th, lStl2, A strenuous and consistirnt assertor of the cause of civiS any circumstances in her real history; and the great persons in her court are frequently alluded to in the characters of the fairj or allegorical knights. And, as if all this confusion were not sifiicient to perplex the reader, Spenser had thought proper to reserve till the twelfth or last book, the de- velopment of the occasion which puts all his knights in motion ; and which, it seenis, was to be an annual feast kept by the Faery Queene for twelve days ; on each of which, in conformity to the manners of chivalry, some distressed damsel, orphan, or other sufferer under injustice and oppre«;?ion, appears as a suitor for aid, and receives from the queen a champion. The reason given SPENSER 169 by the poet for delaying this piece of information is, that he might imitate his epic predecessors, in breaking at once into the action, without the formality of a historical introduction. But to suffer the whole action to elapse, before the reader is made properly acquainted with the actors, and the cause in which they are engaged, is surely a violent sacrifice to a principle, the just- ness of which, even in a much more sober application, may be questioned. On commencing the Faery Queene, it is now im- possible, without consulting the author's prefatory epistle, to conceive that it is to have any other subject than the adventures of the Red-cross knight ; or to form any notion concerning the title of the poem, and the connection this imaginary Queen is to have with its persons and events. From this view of the plan of Spenser's great poem, it will probably appear that its merit consists rather in atforuing a boundless field for the range of fancy, than in that concentration of the interest upon some one important point, which is the es- sential character of the genuine epic. Were each book, indeed* to be regarded as a separate and complete piece, having its own distinct hero, this effect might be said to be in some measure pro- duced ; but such was not the author's intention, since he avow- edly aims at connecting the whole by means of his general hero. Prince Arthur. But this personage, who seldom appears but as a subordinate and auxiliary character, and in some of the books absolutely performs nothing, can only in the theory of the poem be regarded as serving this purpose ; in the practice, he is found to excite little either of curiosity or interest. Relinquishing, therefore, any further consideration of plan and design, we shall proceed to consider Spenser's character as an allegorical pain- ter, in the detached figures and groups which strike the eye in ranging through his gallery of pictures. In fact, detached beau- ties are what the mind principally dwells upon even in the most regular compositions ; and, after the first perusal, Orlando Fu- rioso and the Eneid are alike recurred to for their fine passages alone. The groundwork of all Spenser's fictions is the system of chi- valry, as displayed in the romances of the time, and in the prin- cipal productions of Italian poetry. Knights wandering in search of adventures, distressed ladies, giants, Saracens, savages, dragons, enchantments, forests,and castles,were the materials with which these creations of the fancy were fabricated. Some of them Y 170 SPENSER. professed to be histories, or real narrations; but in many, "more v/as meant than met the ear," and moral or metaphysical ideas were darkly presented under the garb of visible beings. So me- ritorious was thought this alliance of a secret meaning with an obvious one, that Tasso, after he had formed a noble epic poem on the basis of true history, and indeed with an uncommon at- tention to reality in manners and characters, thought it advisa- ble to add a key to the whole, by which it was turned into a theo- logical allegory. Fortunately, this appears to have been a mere afterthought which had no influence upon the plan and conduct of the poem. Ariosto, on the other hand, who is generally a sim- ple narrator of adventures, given as real, however extravagant, occasionally intermixed fictions of pure allegory. But Spen- ser is throughout allegorical in his design, except as far as h( meant to interweave the legendary tales of ancient British his tory, on account of their connection with his human hero. Prince Arthur. All his other heroes are Virtues personified by knights errant ; and this uniformity of fiction would have produced a tiresome sameness in the action, had not the poet possessed that uncommon fertility of invention, and force of description, which are his characteristics. In all the, records of poetry, no author can probably be found who approaches him in the facility with which he embodies abstract ideas, and converts them into actors in his fable. It is true, he found in the extensive regions of ro- mance a vast variety of forms ready to assume the moral cha racters most appropriated to their natures ; nor was he very nice in the choice of these beings, or very careful to preserve consis- tency in their figures or employment. Yet, on the whole, he may be reckoned the greatest master of personification thsit ever existed; and more original delineations of this kind are to be met with in the Faery Queene, than, perhaps, in all other poems united. Some of these are truly excellent, and are wrought into scenes of wonderful power. The allegory of Despair in the first book, may be placed at the head of all such fictions, as well for just conception and skilful management, as for unrivalled strength of description. It seems impossible by the medium of words to call up visual images in the mind with more force and distinctness, than is done in the pictures of the knight flying from Despair, of Despair himself in his cave, and of the Red-cross knight receiving the dagger from his hands. The allegory of Mammon is distinguished by richness of invention, in the multi- SPENSER. 171 piicity of personifications, and the romantic and sublime wild- ness of the scenery. The Masque of Cupid abounds in admira- ble single figures, though, perhaps, defective in the grouping. These are only a few instances out of the many striking efforts of imagination presented in the Faery Queene, which will ever render it the favourite study of those who delight in this branch of poetical invention. Of Spenser's allegorical figures it may be observed, that some are merely the natural representations of a human being under the influence of the passion or quality intended to be personified; some are wholly emblematical, expressing their character by means of types and symbols ; and in some, both these modes of painting are combined. Examples of the first, or natural mode, may be found in the picture of Fear in the Masque of Cupid (B. iii. c. 12.); in that of Despair already mentioned ; and in those oi Heavenly Contemplation (B. i. c. 10), and of Hypocrisy (B. i« c. 1.): — of the second, or emblematical mode, in the figure of Fancy in the Masque of Cupid ; and in that oi Faith (B. i. c. 10.): — of the third, or mixed mode, in Disdain (B. vi. c. 7.); Pride and her counsellors (B. i. c. 4 ) ; Care (B. iv. c. 5.); and Suspi- cion (B. iii. c. 12.) It may readily be conceived, that this varie- ty of delineation will produce occasional inconsistencies; that action and passion will often be confounded ; and that the man- ner in which these fancy-formed beings are employed, will fre- quently be unsuitable to their nature. These are defects from which complex and continued allegory can never be free. To create a new system of things, is too great an effort of the ima- gination to be long and uniformly supported ; and Spenser, as the most copious of allegorists, is perhaps the most exuberant in faults. His forms are often grotesque and disgusting, sometimes impossible ; and he not unfrequently makes a breach in the per- sonification, by intermixing the ideas of reality with those of fic- tion. In a critical commentary it might be proper to point out all these imperfections ; but in a preliminary- essay it is sufficient to apprise the reader of taste that they exist, and leave the de- tection of them to his own attentive research. He will find them exemplified not only in Spenser, but in every other writer who has ventured far into the perilous regions of allegory. Though there is a large fund of original matter in the Faery Queene, there is also much imitation, and even translation. Va- rious passages from the classics, and still more from the Italian \T2 tSFENSKK. poets, are closely copied. The stores oiaiKient mytholooy arc freely ransacked ; nor is Spenser more careful than his Italian masters in avoiding the incongruity of mixing heathen with chris- tian ideas. To confess the truth, he wrote too much, to write with uniform attention and judgment. His plan was vast ; and to fill it up, required great industry as well as invention. He could not afford to be nice in selection ; and, like all other com- posers of very long poems, he was obliged to be contented with such matter as occurred, rather than with such as he would de- liberately have approved. Most readers will think he too much abounds in prolix descriptions of single combats, which he found ready drawn to his hand in Bojardo, Ariosto, and Tasso. In- deed, his device of making all the virtues knights errant, neces- sarily renders their contests with the opposite vices, so many battles. The form of stanza he adopted (to proceed to the subject of versification) favoured redundancy of style ; and that, not merely in words, but in ideas. Dryden observes of himself, that a rhyme often helped him to a thought. Spenser's verse, requiring in each stanza four and three similar rhyming terminations, put him upon a perpetual effort to bring in words of a certain sound, however unconnected in their meaning with the current subject. This gave rise to distant associations, which sometimes produced images that really enriched the diction ; though more frequently it flattened and debased it by impertinent additions. It like- wise often compelled the poet to employ expedients that indicate the cruelty of the yoke to which he had injudiciously subjected himself. Expletives, tautologies, and circumlocutions, occur in almost every stanza, and gross improprieties of speech are but too frequent. Vulgar and obsolete words are often mixed with those of a higher order; and when all these licenses fail in pro- ducing the requisite tale of rhyme, the writer does not scruple to mis-spell words, and to satisfy the eye at the expense of the ear. Yet the stanza of Spenser, when well executed, has a ful- ness of melody, and a sonorous majesty, scarcely equalled by any other English measure ; and some lat^r poets, who have bestow- ed due pains upon their versification, have copied it with great success. The concluding Alexandrine, which Spenser added to the eight-line stanza of the Italians, produces a fine effect when it accords with the subject; but in a long piece such a coinci- dence must frequently be w^anting. Every elaborate measure. SPENSER. irr, indeed, has the inconvenience of being ill adapted to the variety of epic composition. It, with difficulty, admits of quick changes and rapid movements, and is apt to produce languor and pro- lixity. Its frequent recurrence tires tlie ear ; and its marked closes check the flow of eloquence. It has therefore been with true judgment that the best modern heroic poets have deserted the forms of versification which prevailed at the first revival of letters, and have recurred to the simpler models of Greece and Rome. The language of the Faery Queene is cast in a more antique mould than that of the age in which the writer lived. Spenser doubtless thought thereby to throw round his work a venerable air which suited the sober morality of the design, and the an- tiquity of the manners represented in its action. Many of the words and phrases, too, which even in his day had become obso- lete, possessed a peculiar strength and vigour which happily coin- cided with his own very forcible style of description. It may be added, that, as we have already hinted, by the free employ- ment of words of different ages, he often found means to extri- cate himself from the difficulties imposed by his system of rhymes. On the whole, however, it is probably best for a writer to confine himself to the current language of his time, and bend liis efforts to give it all the perfection of which it is susceptible. In aiming at an antique diction, he will never do more than make a heterogeneous mixture, which is the real language of no one period, and must often appear quaint and affected, rather than simple and nervous. The English of Edward III. was too far distant from that of Elizabeth to admit of an easy combination ; and as Spenser could not avoid making the substance of his style of the staple of his own age, the intermingled threads of Chaucer show like spots and stains, rather than agreeable variegations. The effect of his system of language has been, that the Faerj Queene cannot safely be quoted as authority for tlie proper use of worils ; and that while it is not intelligible to the common reader without a glossary, it affords an uncertain light to the ver- bal researches of the antiquarian critic. What has been said may serve as a general introduction to the perusal of this work, which, with all its defects, will ever be considt-rt'd as one of the capital productions of English poetry, and as conferring high honour on the writer and his country. It will probably not often be read through; nor will many think it 174 iSPENSER. worth wliile to bestow much study on its plan, or on the particu lar signification of all its mysteries and historical allusions. But detached parts will continue to give pleasure after repeated pe- rusals; and the whole will be valued as a rich store-house of invention, resembling some of the remaining edifices of that age. which still astonish by their magnificent profusion of varied, though partly fantastic, ornament. The other poems of Spenser do not require much discussion, though considerable in quantity, and various in subject. It is to be feared that the leading impression they will make upon a mo- dern reader will be that t)f tediousness ; a fault from which few productions of the early age of English poetry are free. Yet some of these pieces are written in an elevated strain of thought, and exhibit a polish of language and versification which would scarcely be expected from tliat period. The Hymns to Love and Beauty contain many lines that may gratify the nicest ear ; and their philosophical and doctrinal learning probably excited great admiration at the time when they were published. The Sonnets might have a claim to please those who could taste the studied conceits and far-fetched sentiments of Petrarch. The Epitha- lamion, composed for his own marriage, possesses feeling as well as fancy, and wants only judicious curtailment to make it a very pleasing piece. The Tears of the Muses kv^ eloquent complaints, but somewhat too monotonous. They assert with dignity the merits of literature ; but it may be supposed, that, like all other censurers of their age, the poet exaggerates in his declamations on the discouragements to which learning was subjected in a reign which we are taught to consider as peculiarly favourable to it. Daphnaida is an elegy of most unreasonable length on a per- son never heard of; and the pastoral strains in which Sir Philip Sidney is lamented, excite much less sympathy, than the simple prose narration of his heroic death. The most remarkable cir- cumstance in this piece is a kind of appendix, written in lines of -J three iambic feet witliout rhyme ; a form of verse of which I know not another instance. The Ruins of Time is a fine idea, inade- quately executed. The Roman colony of Verulam was never of consequence enough to be selected as the leading example of change of fortune; and the adulatory lamentation of the death of a private nobleman is unworthy of the high theme of the poem. In the scenery of this piece, Spenser has adopted the ancient no- tion that the Thames once ran by Verulam ; an improbable fable. SPENSER. 175 by which more is lost in point of reality, than is gained in de- scription. The pieces entitled Colin ClouCs come home again and Mother Hubbard's Tale, refer to character's and events in the court-history of the time, which it would be difficult now to elucidate, should any commentator think the task worth attempt- ing ; but they were probably interesting to contemporary read- ers. The lines already quoted from the latter, describing the miseries of a courtier, yield to few in the language for energy of feeling and nervous brevity of expression. AN ESSAY ON THE POETRY OF AMONG the names rendered illustrious by intellectual supe- riority, of which this island justly boasts, a few stand so conspic- uously prominent, that they immediately occur to every native whose theme is the glory of his country. Of these, the votaries of science are, perhaps, enumerated with most confidence, be- cause their merits have been equally recognised by foreign na- tions, and their fame has even been reflected back with addi- tional lustre to their own. In every part of civilised Europe, Bacon and Newton are placed in the first rank of human genius. But the celebrity of men distinguished in the literature of their their country, must not only be originally of home-growth, but must ever have its principal seat at home, as being there alone duly estimated and fully understood. There indeed, it may rise to as great a height as that of the preceding class, and may even excite more general and enthusiastic admiration. Few English- men will now make it a question whether Milton be entitled to march in an equal rank with the two philosophers above men- tioned ; and scarcely any, it is presumed, who have a true relish of English poetry, will assign to him a second place among his poetical brethren. That his fame has been continually growing, and has only within a late period attained its full magnitude, ought to be regarded as a proof of the solidity of its foundation. How might he triumph, could he now behold those who were once his rivals, and even his imagined superiors, fallen far, far be- neath him ; and his own memory decorated with all the honours which national pride and attachment can bestow ! To trace the progress of such a man, and ascertain that peculiarity of excel- lence which has placed him on such an eminence, cannot but be MILTON. \77 a highly interesting exercise. At the same time, the task is ar- duous. I feel it to be such, and engage in it with awe. If it be true, as D'Alembert has said, that no one is fit to estimate a great man, who does not himself belong to the class, how few should venture to sit in judgment on Milton ! But I pretend only to give the opinion of a humble individual, whose chief claims are impartiality, and long meditation on the works he means to ex- amine. The chronological order in which I propose to survey them, can scarcely fail of suggesting some striking comparisons of the author with himself at different periods of his life, and of exhibiting that spectacle of the gradual disclosure and growth of genius, which is one of the most captivating to a philosophical inquirer. From early youth, Milton seems to have been characterised by a lofty and elevated mind. Educated in a distinguished seat of learning, and deeply imbued with the classical literature which at that period, perhaps, was studied with more ardour than it has ever been since, he soared to no common height in his juvenile exercises, and attained an excellence in Latin poetry which is a topic of admiration to his biographers. The intrinsic value of his performances in this class has, indeed, been differently esti- mated ; but it is certain tiiat they bespeak an imagination fed with no trivial or vulgar ideas, and a soul big with high reso'ves, and the anticipation of future fame. Various passages in his Latin poems have been adduced as denoting the seeds of great designs which then lurked in his mind ; but none are more striking than the following lines of an address in English verse "(o his Native Language," delivered at a college exercise, when he was nineteen years old : Yet 1 had ratlier, if I were to chuse, Thy <-ervice in some graver subjt-ct use, ■'uch ;is may mak;- thi-e s> arcii ihy coffers round, Bi forf thou clotlie my fancy in fit sontiil : Such tthert- the dfep-lransported mind may sofir Abov. the wheelin.c poles, ai'd at Hoav'n'sdoor Look in, and see each blissful deity How he before the thund'rous throne doth lie. These strains plainly indicate the future bard whose " Muse with angels did divide to sins;." Though years before this period he had preluded in English poetry, with some sweet though juvenile verses " On the death Z 178 MILTON. of a fair infant dying of a cough," wliich deserve mention in In poetical progress, as, both from the style and the measure, the} show him to have been an early student of Spenser, and prove that he was capable of attaining all those graces of versification in rhymed stanzas, which had been reached by that master. A very singular composition in his twenty-first year displayed at the same time the grandeur of his genius, and the immaturity of his judgment. It was a Hymn on the Nativity, the greater part of which is replete with the puerile and unnatural conceit of Donne, and other early English poets ; — a school which last- ingly perverted Cowley, though a genius worthy of better things ; but from the baneful influence of which Milton at length broke loose, like his own Lion at the creation from the incumbent soil. That he possessed the power of thus redeeming himself, might be concluded from several stanzas of this very piece, invvhich he describes the supposed desertion of the heathen oracles by their inspiring deities, not only with exquisite learning, but with a warmth and purity of painting which he himself scarcely ever surpassed. Retired to private study, another school of poetry seems to have engaged much of his attention. This was the Italian, at that time beyond comparison the first among the moderns, and, indeed, already the school of Spenser and other English writers of celebrity. The wildness of fancy, united with dignity of sen- timent and suavity of expression, which characterised the mas- ters in this school, could not fail of captivating such a mind as that of Milton ; accordingly, strong traces of the impressions he received from the poets of Italy are discernible even in his great- est and most mature performances. No poet, then, ever came to the practice of his art more re plenished with stores accumulated from the richest productionL of various ages and countries. So copious, indeed, were these materials, that a genius less vigorous would have been in danger of being overwhelmed by them, and of exchanging all originality, for imitation or allusion. Nor can it be denied that his learning is sometimes obtrusive ; yet its effect is rather to suggest ideas derived from memory, as from a general stock, than to render him a copyist of particular passages. In this respect a striking difference appears between his manner and that of Tasso, who, inventive as he is in the plan and many of the incidents of his great work, scruples not to introduce long and direct transla- MILTON. 179 lions from Virgil and other poets. This originality of imitation in Milton becomes peculiarly conspicuous on a criticul examina- tion of his similes. In most of these he may be detected taking a hint from Homer or some other ancient ; but he has made it so much his own, both by added circumstances in the descrip- tion, and by novelty in the application, that his merit of inven- tion is little less than if the whole idea had been primarily of his own growth. In Milton's mind, all images and impressions, whe- ther received from nature or art, from reading or observation, seem to have been so blended and amalgamated, so much con- verted into the proper aliment of the intellect, that their tran- scripts in his writings take a kind of homogeneous form, and what might appear study in another man, in him is spontaneous effusion. He was twenty-six years old when he produced his Mask of CoMus, a composition sufficient of itself to raise its author to such a height of reputation, that one greater in extent, rather than in excellence, was alone wanting to place him at the sum- mit of English poetry. Its story, indeed, is simple ; its leading idea founded upon ancient mythology; and its conduct and cha- racter undramatic, if to a drama it be essential to interest the passions, and give a natural representation of human action and sentiment. But they who have made these objections to it, have not, perhaps, enougli considered, that the Mask, then a favourite entertainment of a learned age, was regarded as a peculiar species of composition, the nature of which was rather poetical than dramatic, and which sought rather to amuse the fancy with allegorical and mythological fictions, and to elevate the soul with lofty conceptions, than to present scenes of common life. In this view, what work ever fulfilled its purpose more than Comus ? Where, in «/??/ language, can be found such an union of rich des- cription, grand and beautiful imagery, and lofty philosophy, ex- pressed in the noblest diction ? How admirable the contrast be- tween the loose morals and seductive painting of the son of Circe, and the virgin purity and severe principles of the Lady ! and how carefully has the poet secured the final impression in favour of virtue, not only by the catastrophe, but by the weight of argument, conformably to his own character and the sobriety of the age — an impression too little consulted in the modern al- teration of Comus ! This poem likewise possesses great beauty of versification, varying from the lightest and gayest anacreon- 180 MILTON. tics, to the most majestic and sonorous heroics. On the whole, if an exaniple were required of a work made up of tlie very es- sence of poetry, perhaps none of equal length in any latiguage could be produced answering this character in so high a degree as the jVlask of Comus. Its unfitness for a public stage will be deemed a small objection by one who attributes this unfitness chiefly to its /mrity and its poetry. Were it again to be repre- sented on a nobleman's private theatre, a presage might be drawn of the improving taste and morals of the age, which mo- dern theatricals (as they are called) are very far from affording. The ideas in this piece are for the most part derived from classical sources. The mythology is originally Grecian ; the philosophy is that of Plato ; but it has been justly remarked that in the language and imagery there are various imitations of Eng- lish joeis. Those of Fletcher's " Faithful Shepherdess" are the most conspicuous ; and Spenser and Shakespear may be traced in particular passages. Some critics have, indeed, asserted that Comus is written " in Shakespear's manner." I confess, I can- not discern the resemblance, unless it be in the flow of versifica- tion, which has the ease and freedom of that poet's best speci- mens. In other respects, the strain of poetry is of a more elevated and finished kind than is to be paralleled in Shakespear, except in some short passages. Some peurile conceits are to be found in this fine performance : but they are so few, that on comparing the author with himself at the time of writing his Christmas hymn, he will appear to have improved in judgment no less than in the compass, of his poetical powers. The Allegro and Penseroso appeared shortly after Comus. These are, perhaps, the most popular poems in the English lan- guage, and have had the greatest number of imitators. The live- liness, truth, and variety of their imagery accommodate them to the taste of all readers ; while the loftier strains to which they sometimes ascend, distinguish them from common descriptive poelry, and administer delight to more select judges. 1 do not find that Milton has been a borrower in the plan of these pieces, whioh are exact counterparts to each other, and form two com- pletes pictures. In the Allegro, or Cheerful Man, all the images are assembled that are capable of exciting joy a'ld pleasure; and with such felicity are they displayed, that I believe no one ever read it without feeling a temporary exhilaration of soul, like that from an agreeable prospect, or a lively strain of music. MILTON. 181 II Fenseroso, or the Thoughtful Contemplative Man, preseiitvS, on the contrary, all the images that are adapted to excite, not a black or gloomy melancholy, (which appears to have been the conception of some of its imitators,) but a sublime seriousness, favourable to high fancy and philosophic musing, and in its turn not less grateful to the mind than the former emotion. If, then, the pieces are regarded as opposites, they are so, like day and night, which succeed alternately in the same harmonious sys- tem, and gradually shade off into each other. Indeed, the dif- ferences presented by the diurnal and noclurnal face of things constitute much of the distinct character of the two pieces ; the first of which opens with early dawn, and pursues the course of the sun, while the second commences with evening, and contin- ues till day-break. Both shift the scene from country to town; and in the latter, some of their objects are similar, for the pomp and pageantry of the theatre is introduced into each. In the Allegro, however, the dramatic entertainments are masks and comedies; and it is remarkable, that in conjunction with Jonson, as a comic writer, the poet mentions Shakespear, characterising him as a " child of fancy, warbling his native wood notes ;" and thus manifestly alluding to his creations of the imagination, such as the Tempest, the Midsummer Night's Dream, and the Win- ter's Tale ; and passing over his more serious compositions. And when, in the Penseroso, "gorgeous Tragedy" makes its appear- ance on the scene, its subjects are represented to be those of the ancient Greek tragic theatre, of which Milton was an assiduous student. He hints, it is true, at some modern attempts in this species of the drama, but terms them "rare," and particularises neither the works nor the authors. It is further observable in these two pieces, that while the personification with which each commences is founded upon classic mythology, some of the most striking imagery in the body of the poems is derived from those gothic fables and popular superstitions with which he had stored his imagination. Both pieces terminate with the power of music, to which, numerous passages in his works show him to have been uncommonly sensi- ble. Since musical expression adapts itself to a variety of emo- tions, there is no incongruity in thus making both his contrast- ed characters lovers of harmony. Yet if Jessica in Shakespear says rightly I'm never merry when I hear sweet music, 3 82 MILTON. which I conceive to be founded on just observation, perhaps, the " Lydian airs," the " linked sweetness long drawn out," and the "melting voice," are somewhat misplaced as the delights of Blirth, though they might well belong to Pleasure. The true music of Mirth is, indeed, introduced before, in the " merry bells," and "jocund rebecs;" and it is admirably echoed in the light tripping versification of the lines describing the scenes of rural jollity. So happily adapted, indeed, is the measure ot L' Allegro to its subject, that we may almost lament that the uni- formity of contrast obliged the poet to make use of the sanve in the Penseroso. Yet, either from the impression made on the mind by the imagery, or from the poet's art in the choice ot words, the ear does not seem, on reading the latter piece, to re- quire a verse more concordant with the subject. Milton has generally been represented as not very successful in his manage- ment of rhyme ; yet I think the English language does not aflford many better specimens of the kind than the two pieces before us; in which, though the frequent recurrence of the rhyme has sometimes given rise to a constrained or unmeaning expression, the general flow is easy and natural, and the coincidences of sound and sense are sometimes extremely happy. Another production of nearly the same period of Milton's life is his Lycidas, a monody on the death of a friend. This is a piece of a singular cast and character, and rather adapted to the artificial taste of the academic, than the natural relish of a com- mon reader. Indeed, though it contains much exquisite poetry, which could only have been produced by a genius of the first class, it is liable, as a whole, to many solid objections. The use of pastoral allegory, if to be justified by example, had at that time the practice of all the most eminent poets in its favour. Every occurrence, joyful or sad, on which verse could be* de- manded, was habitually represented under the mask of rural life, and all the dramatis personse were converted into shepherds and shepherdesses. Sympathy (as Dr. Johnson has well observed) was almost entirely precluded by this abolition of reality; and besides the tiresome uniformity of the fiction, the pastoral im- agery could only admit of a very strained and awkward appli- cation to the circumstances of courtly and refined society. In one profession, indeed, the allegorical resemblance was favoured by common language, and the religious pastor had long been in possession of the character and insignia belonging to a shepherd MILTON. 183 of the flock committed to his charge. It had been found a task of little difficulty to run parallels of considerable length and minuteness between the metaphorical pastoral office, and the real one. Spenser had done this in his " Shepherd's Calendar," though with more perseverance than felicity. Under tliis dis- guise, he had spoken more freely than he would probably have otherwise done, against the corruptions of the church. This was an example whicli Milton would be prompt to imitate, for one of his earliest passions appears to have been zeal for eccle- siastical reform. It is not unlikely, therefore, that the opportu- nity of uttering bold truths on a delicate and hazardous topic, was a principal inducement with him to adopt the pastoral form on the present occasion. He was, moreover, in this poem to sup- port his reputation as a scholar, and a member of the university of Cambridge, which printed a collection of funereal verses to the 'memory of the same unfortunate youth, among which Lycidas "first appcarcil. It should be added, that Milton's friendship with the deceased was of the most intimate and affectionate kind ; whence real feeling was likely to struggle for expression amid the conceits of poetical fiction. This combination of views and circumstances will account for most of the peculiarities of the performance. Its measure is loose and irregular, well suiting the character of rusticity affixed to the poem, and favourable to the sudden bursts of passion by which it is animated. The ear is occasionally disappointed by missing the expected i-eturn of rhyme; yet the general effect is pleasing, and the melody of some of the passages is uncommonly grateful. The form of verse seems borrowed from some of the free strains of Italian poetry, in which Milton was not only a student, but a composer. With respect to the matter, it abounds in classical imitation, as well in the particular images, as in the general style and ordonnancc. Its basis is Virgil's eclogue or elegy of " Gallus ;" and Theocri- tus and other Grecian poets have contributed to its learned de- corations. The allegorical part, however, is derived from a to- tally different source ; and no judicious critic will defend the incongruous mixture of heathen and christian mythology, which has sprung from tlie author's double purpose, of displaying his erudition, and taking a part in the theological contentions of the time. Nor can it be denied that the learniiigof the piece some- times approaches to pedantry, and has too much the air of aca- demic ostentation. The construction of some of the sentences 184 MILTON. is likewise harsh and obscure ; and the expression of grief is oc- casionally too playful and artificial to excite sympathy. Yet thes(> faults are compensated by numerous beauties of thought and language; and perhaps no composition of this author more clearly indicates the poet, than his Lycidas. Soon after the printing of this piece, Milton visited France and Italy; and the view and society of the latter country, then the favourite seat of the Muses, may well be supposed to have fed his poetic enthusiasm ; especially, as a patron of the great Tasso, Manso marquis of Villa, honoured him with his noiice and praises. His vein of Latin poetry does, indeed, appear to have been refreshed by his travels ; and Manso, Diodati, and other foreign friends, were celebrated in new and elejjunt strains : but as an English p<»et his voice was doomed to suft'era long suspen- sion, which might seem to preclude all hopes of its revival- On his return to his native country, first the engagements of a private academy, comprising a very extensive plan of education ; then, a long and active course of controversy, religious and political ; and finally, the office of Latin secretary for state^fFairs, so much occupied his time and thoughts, that the gentler Muses were de- terred from paying their usual visits. During this long period, scarcely any thing tell from his pen worthy the name of poetry, except a few sonnets, written upon incidental topics. In this elaborate species of composition, ill suited to our language and genius, Milton can by no means be reckoned a master. Few of his sonnets exhibit much poetical spirit; none much elegance of versification. Some of them may aftord pleasure by their manly cast of thought and vigour of expression ; but, on the whole, they contribute nothing to his fame as a poet. About his 50th year he had the misfortune totally to lose his sight, which had been long in a progress of decay. Of this ca- lamity he felt the full force, as he has ev'nced by several pathe- tic passages in his later works. But though he complains that "wisdom was at one inlet quite shut out," it is not probable that his store of poetical imagery incurred any considerable diminu- tion from his loss. He had made a poet's use of his eyes while he possessed them ; and he had long enough enjoyed the sense of seeing to be indelibly impressed with all the ideas of beauty and grandeur which it is capable of affording. Not long after- wards, fhe great national change produced by the Restiiration exposed him to personal danger, and for ever blasted all the hopes MILTON. 185 he might have entertained of au easy and honoured old a2:e. He was indeed, suffered to live quietly, but it was in obscurity and discoun- tejiauce : — how well deserved, is not here the question ; but this darkness and desolation, these "evil days," as he thought them, were probably the efficient cause of the Paradise Lost ! He re- nounced the design ofpursuing those tales of chivalry and romance, those heroical, but iiuman topics which had onceoccupied his poetic meditati«»ns ; and he sought his theme, as he did his consolation, in those scriptures which had always been a principal object of his study. Chiof Thee, Slon, and I lit flovvt-i-y brooks benesith. That wash thy liallowed feet, and warbling flow, Nishil) I visit, P. L. in. 29. It was the divine Urania who now cheered his solitude; and under her inspiration he was satisfied with the consciousness of a more than mortal flight, and with the intelligent applause of an "audience fit, though few." This was tlie happiest mood for one who was to undertake a performance so great, so novel, so re- mote from common tastes and examples ; for one who was to re- sign temporary popularity, in order to make future ages his own. The number of epic poems which have obtained general and lasting fame is so small, that each is susceptible of being dis- tinctly characterised. The Paradise Lost is essentially a theo- logical poem. Its subject, properly speaking, is not merely that announced in the opening — "Man's first disobedience, and the fruit of the forbidden tree" — but the whole celestial economy, and that train of events which produced the creation of this world, together with the contest between divine benevolence and diabolical malignity in fixing the condition of its inhabitants The disobedience of man is, indeed, the great incident which the machinery is employed to bring into effect, and which influences all the after-events of the piece ; but the cause of that disobe- dience is deeply laid in occurrences long anterior and of higher importance, involving the fate and actions of beings infinitely superior to the human. It is in this part alone that Milton ap- pears as an inventor ^ for his deference to the authority of the sacred writings has restrained him, in relating the history or al- legory of the fall of man, from making any considerable addi- tions to the original narration. It is, therefore, a peculiarity of this poem, that what in others is called the machinery, and is nf> A a 186 MILTON. more than an ornamental adjunct, or, at most, an occasional aux iliary, is, in this, the main subject. For although the fate of the human personages is the point on which the interest is concen- trated, the agents in its determination are superhuman beings, on whom all the proper action of the fable depends, and whose pow- ers and characters are the principal objects of the reader's cu- riosity. But since it is impossible for a man to form any idea of moral or intellectual qualities which is not primarily derived from hu- man nature, these beings of poetical creation must, after all, be essentially men ; and their discriminating characters can be no other than compounds of such qualities as we see existing among ourselves, exalted, perhaps, in degree, but substantially the same. To the best and most perfect of beings we can assign only suck virtue and such wisdom as our experience of mankind has brought to our acquaintance; and we can give no other features of vice and depravity to the worst, than such as we have viewed in our fellow-creatures. Further, even the external figures of beauty and deformity in our imaginations, must be mere transcripts of pictures already formed by our senses. We can compound dif- ferently from what nature has done ; we can aggrandise and di- minish ; but we can form no truly original conceptions. And as the strongest impressions, both agreeable and disgusting, have been made upon us by beings in the human shape, there is no other which we can so happily associate with moral character. All poets, therefore, from Homer to his latest successors, who have intermixed machinery with their fables, have done no more than superinduce a set of agents really human, though distin- guished by a different local residence, and by the possession of powers and attributes which in man would be called supernatu- ral. The grossness of the heathen mythology even caused the celestial personages to fall below the human, in all that consti- tutes real dignity of nature. The divinities of Homer and Virgil are distinguished by nothing so much as bad passions, and an in- satiable appetite for doing mischief; and the heroes of those poets- are much more estimable than the gods. Milton's system, as it was infinitely superior to theirs in a moral view, so it was more favourable to poetical effect. By dividing his spiritual beings into the too great classes of good and bad, he was able to keep their character and agency perfectly distinct, and to exhibit opposite moral qualities in all their strength and purity. At the same MILTON. U7 time, by assigning to each class a community of natural powers, he produced that kind of balance which was requisite to throw any interest upon scenes in which they should be opposed to each other. A difficulty however occurred, which it was impos- sible entirely to surmount, and which, in fact, forms the chief de- fect of the plan of Paradise Lost. The transcendent excellence of the Supreme Being in the Jewish and Christian systems, to which Milton has most religiously adhered, places him so much beyond all parallel in respect to power and dignity, and renders him so indubitably the master of all events, that the ambiguity of success which might be preserved in a mere contention be- tween angelic beings, similar in power, though opposite in cha-» racter, is entirely destroyed, when the good ^re represented as the immediate delegates and ministers of the Deity, and aided by his resistless might. Homer could make even Jupiter him- self subject to the decrees of Fate ; but the God of xMilton is the creator of fate, the original planner and sovereign disposer of every occurrence. It is not, however, the philosophical difficul- ty of an intermixture of evil in a world created by infinite power and infinite goodness, which joecw/iar/y presses upon our poet; but it is the contest which he imagines between the partisans and the adversaries of the Supreme Being. The latter of these, though in their pristine state admitted to a direct view and com- prehension of the divine majesty, must yet be supposed to have entertained the absurd idea of effectual resistance to his will; while the former, firm in their faith, and confident in the match; less power of their great Lord, have no room left for the exer- tion of those virtues which most inspire esteem and admiration. Hence, although the original revolt of Satan and his party is an act of madness, for which an adequate motive can scarcely be conceived, yet in the subsequent transactions, evevy display of the qualities which can be termed heroical necessarily belong to them. Courage to dare, fortitude to endure, perseverance and self devotion in the chief, tried fidelity in the followers, are only to be found among those who contend under circumstances of known danger and difficulty, and struggle with misfortune and discomfiture. The Son, moving on to sure victory, armed with all the terrors of his Father's majesty, is indeed a most awful and sublime figure; but Satan, taking upon himself an enterprise full of toil and hazard, which had made the boldest of his chiefs to shudder, and regarding his exalted station only as a call to 188 MILTON. i)io-her exertions for the general advantage, is a real hero. Nov can we withhold a sentiment of applause and sympathy for that fallen host which — — — — — faitliful stooil Tl)eir glory withi I'M ; and in the midst of " fierce pains," prided themselves in obe- dience to their great leader. It must then, I think, be allowed that Paradise Lost really labours under the defect whicli has been charged upon it, that of engaging the high passions at the commencement of the poem in favour of the cause it is meant to condemn. Yel the art of the poet in counteracting this impression, by assigning a perpetual superiority in point of sanctity and purity of sentiment to the angelic host, and making the devils themselves depose, as it were, in testimony of the justice as well as the power of that Being against whom they have revolted, is eminently conspicu- ous. It may be added, that in proportion as the fate of the hu- man persons of the fable becomes more interesting, the diaboli- cal machinations against them excite more detestation ; and that Satan and his crew at length lose all their grandeur, and sink into equal contempt and abhorence. It is true, this change is the cause that the latter books fall extremely short of the earlier in sublimity ; and that the reader's interest, which undoubtedly at the commencement is placed upon the contest in heaven, is finally transferred to a totally different scene, and to new actors. The field in which the imagination of Milton freely expatiates is the extra-mundane system, the regions of heaven, hell, and chaos. In describing and peopling these scenes, he has display- ed a force and sublimity of conception which no poet has ever equalled. He has expanded our ideas to the utmost limits of possibility; and has filled the fancy with things new and strange, many of which, painted by an inferior artist, would have formed only grotesques, but under the touch of his genius become pic- tures of unparalleled grandeur. It cannot, however, he affirmed that his success is every where alike ; for while his view of the infernal mansions, his council in Pandemonium, and his Satanic voyage, are replete with the true sublime in imagery and senti- ment, his battle between the faithful and the i^volted angels is puerile and full of inconsistencies. Scenes of combat are grand MILTON. 189 in human actionj because thej call forth exertions of the soul, which, however mischievous in their eifects, we cannot help ad- miring; but, transferred to immortal and nearly impassive be- ings, thej become mere child's play. They resemble those en- gagements of Italian mercenaries in complete armour, in which, after half a day's fighting, scarcely any other mischief was done, than unhorsing some of the combatants, and trampling them in the dirt. That the sixth book of Paradise Lost should have beetj the subject of so much admiration, must be attributed to an artificial taste formed by the works of Homer and his imitators, which gave to deeds of arms the first place among the splendid -incidents of epic poetry. Yet there are in it many detached passages of great excellence, and the diction is highly animated and poetical. If the sublimity of Milton's genius is chiefly displayed in his flight to regions beyond human ken, its elegance and beauty are most conspicuous where he descends to earth, and paints the first pair of mankind in that delicious Paradise which was the happy abode of their innocence. Nothing can be more admirable than the art with which he has allied all the tender softness and even the voluptuousness of the Italian school, with the purity and sanc- tity of a religious record. Descriptions so charming to the sense were never before joined to sentiments so dignifying to the soul. It must, however, be observed, that the features of character he has given to Adam and Eve do not altogether accord with that simplicity which might be expected in beings newly created, and whose minds must be totally unpractised in abstract reasoning and reflection. Adam, in particular, exhibits a fund of moral wisdom which in him could not possibly be the acquisition of experience; and the manner in which he is aft'ected with what he beholds in reality or vision, is by no means that of one who views objects for the first time. This prematurity of understand- ing, however, seems in a certain degree necessary in order to render them actors in the scenes in which they are engaged; in- deed, tiie very use of speech in them supposes a faculty acquired difterently from the common mode of practice and instruction. The Rabbins have assigned to the first man perfect knowledge of all arts and sciences. Milton has been contented with repre- senting him as possessed of strong sense and ready apprehen- sion ; and though, philosophically speaking, there may be as muck error iti his conception of the character, as in that of the Rab- 190 MILTON. bins, yet he will scarcely be found to have exceeded the license "which the construction of his fable demanded. As the scriptural account of the temptation and fall, to which Milton has literally adhered, was not sufficient to fill up the measure of an epic poem, he has enlarged the field of human action, by a proleptical view of the leading events which were to attend the descendants of Adam, communicated in vision or narration through the min- istry of the angel Michael. For this kind of anticipation he had an example and authority in the practice of several of his pre- decessors ; and he has employed it with the happiest effect. The pictures of peace and war, of the deluge, and of the patriarchal life, are scarcely to be surpassed by any scenes of descriptive, poetry, and they contribute to sustain the interest of the piece, which, after the great catastrophe of the fall, would otherwise be apt to languish. For though Milton seems to have considered the purely theological part ot his work as the most important, and to have expected that his elaborate argumentations concerning free-will, grace, justification, atonement, and the like, would engage the attention of the religious reader, it may safely be affirmed that Paradise Lost would long ago have been consigned to oblivion, had these been its only topics. And it is undoubtedly the large admixture of passages in which God the Fatlier turns a school divine, that justifies the assertion, that it is a poem "more praised tliau read ;" and that few who sit down to read it through do not find it a task of which they grow somewhat weary before it is accom- plished. But, in reality, long compositions in poetry are seldom re-perused in their whole extent; and the reader, whose curiosi- ty with respect to the plan and termination is already gratified, usually contents himself afterwards with recurring to favourite passages of distinguished excellence. Of such passages, what piece can boast more than Paradise Lost ; and whither can the exhausted mind resort with surer success, to renovate itself with those high ideas and enthusiastic sensations, which it is the pre- rogative of poetry to excite in so superior a degree ? The style of this poem is in some measure characteristic of its nature and subject. With the severe and even naked simplicity of primitive language, it unites every figurative form that can give elevation and dignity to speech, and that uncommon con- MILTON. 191 struction and use of words which impresses the stamp of erudi- tion. It is, indeed, to be observed, that Milton's prose is formed upon a like imitation of the languages of antiquity ; and thii taste seems to have grown upon him as he advanced in years. Perhaps, a sense of the increasing weight and importance of his subjects led him to clothe his thoughts in terms more remote from vulgar use. It is certain, likewise, that the example of the ancient poets themselves, particularly Virgil and his followers, sanctioned the practice of employing antiquated words and the anomalies of dic- tion, in order to establish a characteristic difference between the styles of poetry and prose. The annotators on Milton seem in general to have regarded as peculiar beauties his learned forms of phraseology and foreign senses ; and man}" of his imitators ap- pear to have thought that in these particulars consisted the es- sence of Milfordc didion. I confess it, however, to be my opinion that his taste really suffered from the barbarism of a controver- sial age, in the disputes of which he had borne so conspicuous a part; and that, although his poetical genius had been wonder- fully preserved amid the wreck of elegant literature, his delicate perception of beauty and propriety in expression had been some what impaired since the golden days of his Comus. With respect to the versification of Paradise Lost, it is justly considered as exhibiting the whole compass of harmony and va- riety of which blank verse is capable. No poet seems to have possessed a more musical ear than Milton; and as well in the simple melody of varied pauses, as in the adaptation of sounds to particular expressions, he displays all the power of a master. At the same time, it must be allowed that his long work abounds with instances of violations of the common rules of measure, which would scarcely be tolerated in an inferior writer. Of these, however, a part are to be imputed to design; the irregularity or defect being manifestly accommodated to the meaning: and the judgment of the poet in such cases has been sanctioned by the admiration of critics and imitators. A much greater number are merely the products of haste and negligence ; of a mind too much absorbed by serious contemplations to attend to the nice- ties of position ; and poiiring forth unpremeditated strains, which the ferver of his temper, joined with his bodily infirmity, did not permit him to elaborate into perfection. These may well be ex- cused, but it is prejudice or false taste to admire them ; and they v.'ho have made Milton's negligenscefs "an 'apology for their own t9ii MILTON. indolence or carelessness, should have reflected that when faults are tolerated, it is in consideration of a decided preponderancy of excellencies. After the attention bestowed upon Paradise Lost, few remarks will suffice respecting Pakadise Regainkd. This poem, whether it be ranked among the epic or heroic, is in reality a kind of af- ter piece, sprinfjing; rather from the theological than the poetical conception of the great work above mentioned. This idea of it is contirmed by the history of its origin, which was from the sug- gestion of the quaker El wood, who seems to have thought the poet's task incomplete, till he should have rounded his system by adding a Paradise Found to a Paradise J^ost. Its subject is a single event in the history of Christ ; his temptation by Satan in the wilderness: and it is very remarkable, that in Milton's divinity the triumph of the Son of God on this occasion should be consi- dered as of itself completing the redemption of mankitid, and be- ing the efficient cause of the recovery of Paradise. The commen- tators suppose that he adopted this notion, for the sake of con- trasting that diaobedience of Adam which causetl him to yield to temptation, with the obedience of Christ, which enabled him to resist it. But whatever be thought of the soundness of Milton's theology in this point, his poetical judgment may justly be caMed in question : for, the Temptation forms so inconsiderable a part of that eventful history of the life and actions of the founder of the Christian religion, which is indelibly impressed upon the me- mory of every reader of the scriptures, that it is impossible the mind can be satisfied with a narration of it given as a whole, and made a kind of parallel to the splendid story of Paradise Lost. The awful words. It is finished, will never by a Christian be taken from the solemn catastrophe of the death of his Saviour, and be applied to the completion of his first trial. The Temptation, however, considered as a single scene of the great drama, possesses that character of the marvellous, which renders it not unsuitable for poetry. It is true, there is less ac- tion in it than discourse ; and Milton's reverence for the original records would not permit him to make any material addition to the circumstances ; yet he has happily intermixed with the dia- logue, which forms the chief matter of the piece, as great a va- riety of description as the subject would afford. It perhaps had been better for him to have avoided any community of poetical fiction with the Paradise Lost, since it was not likely that his MILTON. 193 fancy should again soar to the sublime heights it had reached in that poem. Thus, the consultation among the infernal powers which forms the machinery of Paradise Regained, is so faint a copy of Pandemonium, and Satan and his chiefs appear in it with a lustre so diminished, that the character of an inferior produc- tion is at once fixed in the reader's mind. Without such a pa- rallel. Paradise Regained might well sustain itself, as a work abounding in excellent reasoning and sentiment, and containing many pleasing sketches of natural scenery. There are even parts in which the Miltonic genius displays itself in all the vigour of its best days ; nor do I know any passages in all the works of this great poet to which a reader may oftener recur with fresh delight, than those in which bird's-eye views are painted of the three capitals, Ctesiphon, Rome, and Athens. It is impossible for learning more happily to aid the imagination, than it has done in suggesting the characteristic features by which these places are distinguished and contrasted ; and the pen never more perfectly fulfilled the task of the pencil than in these living descriptions. On the whole, though Paradise Regained was justly regarded by the public as a fall ing-off from the majesty of Paradise Lost, yet it is a piece which Milton only could have written, and bears all the peculiar marks of his master hand. Tradition says that it was his own favourite work, and this circumstance has been ad- duced as a proof of the incompetency of a writer to judge of his own performances. But is probable that Milton, in this case, judged rather as a theologian than as a poet ; and having with much art contrived to introduce all the leading doctrines of Christianity into this piece, he considered it as the consumma- tion of a grand scheme, and measured its value by the impor- tance of its subject. There remains to speak of the only tragedy composed by Mil- ton, his Samson Agonistes, also the work of this declining pe- riod of his life. We are not to conceive of Milton as a writer ior a modern stage. His own taste, and that of the public at his time, with respect to dramatic compositions, were formed upon totally different principles ; nor could his name and character be expected to obtain favour for him in an English theatre. He, therefore, did not think it worth while to adapt his Samson for the stage; whence it appears without any division inta acts and scenes. His idea of tragedy was entirely derived from Grecian models, which he has finely characterised in the following lines : Bb 194 MILTON. TlxTice what the lofty throve tPfgeclians taught In Cl)orus or lanihic, teachers best Of itioral prudence, wiih delight received In bi uf senlentinus pncepts, wliilt- they treat Of Fute, and Chance, and change in human life. High actions and high passions best describing. Pur. Reg. iv. 251. It is this strain of moral precept and sententious remark which he has cliosen for his imitation ; and he has chosen as their vehi- cle a story simple in its texture, affording neither the intricacies of plot, nor the play of violent passions. Indeed, as Milton's knowledge of mankind appears to have been drawn more from books than from personal observation, and to have consisted rather in general propositions than particular facts, he was little qualified to paint the genuine language of passion, or to trace the workings of the affections through all the windings of the heart. But what he attempted, he well performed. He gave a closet drama, replete with admirable maxims of prudence and morality, public and private ; containing, indeed, few passages of high poetry, but many sentences of strong and nervous ex- pression, excellently fitted to dwell upon the memory, and to make a part of that store of true philosophy which, in a well- furnished mind, lies ready for the uses of life. The most pa- thetic part of this piece is Samson's lamentation for his blind- ness, in which the poet copied from his own sensations. The scene with Harapha is spirited ; and the description of the final catastrophe has the colouring of a master. It is observable, that though the form of the composition is Grecian, the manners and sentiments are purely Hebrew, in strict conformity to the scene and persons. It has been invidiously suggested, that Milton chose the story of Samson for the opportunity it gave him of satirising bad wives. I should rather imagine, that the assertion of pure religion, and the resistance of tyrannical power, were the chief circumstances which gave him a predilection for this fable ; though it must be acknowledged that here, as well as in his Paradise Lost, he holds extremely high the authority of a hus- band, and represents the female sex as objects of caution and suspicion to a wise man. Such, in a compendious view, are the Poems of Milton, the richest treasure of the kind our language possesses, unless an exception be pleaded for the works of Shakespeare. But although these abound in passages of the noblest poetry, yet their distin- MILTON. 195 guishing merit is of another kind. It is the insight into the hu- man heail, and the delineation of all its passions and affections, which place Shakespeare beyond all competition among his bro- ther dramatists. In pure poetry, his flights, though lofty, are short aid wavering; while Milton, upborne by the combined powers of native genius and unremitting study, elevated by all that can give force and dignity t(, the mind, holds on a stead- fast coarse, which knows no limits but those impassable by the human intellect. AN ESSAY ON THE HEROIC POEM OF A PERSON engaged in the pursuit of literary fame must be severely mortified on observing the very speedy neglect into which writers of high merit so frequently fall. The revolution of centuries, the extinction of languages, the vast convulsions which agitate a whole people, are causes which may well be sub- mitted to in overwhelming an author with oblivion ; but that in the same country, with little variation of language or manners, the delights of one age should become utter strangers in the next, is surely an immaturity of fate which conveys reproach upon the inconsistency of national taste. That noble band, the English Poets, have ample reason for complaining to what unjust guar- dians they have entrusted their renown. While we crown the statue of Shakespeare as the prince of dramatic poets, shall we forget the works, and almost the names, of his contemporaries who possessed so much of a kindred spirit ? Shall the Italian Pastor Fido and Amynta stand high in our estimation, and the Faithful Shepherdess, the most beautiful pastoral that a poet's fancy ever formed, be scarcely known amongst us? Shall we feel the fire of heroic poetry in translations from Greece and Rome, and never search for it in the native productions of our own country ? The capital work of Sir William D'avenant, which I now de- sire to call forth from its obscurity, may well be considered as in a state of oblivion, since we no where meet with allusions to it, or quotations from it, in our modern writers; and few, I ima- gine, even of the professed students in English classics, would GONDIBERT. 197 think their taste discredited by confessing that they had never read Gondibert. A very learned and ingenious critic, in his well-known Discourse upon Poetical Imitation, has, indeed, taken notice of this poem ; but though he bestows all due praise upon its author, yet the purpose for which it is mentioned being to in- stance an essential error, we cannot suppose that his authority has served to gain it more readers. Having very judiciously laid it down as a general observation, that writers by studiously avoid- ing the fancied disgrace of imitation are apt to fall into improper methods, forced conceits, and affected expression ; he proceeds to introduce the work in question after the following manner: " And, that the reader may not suspect me of asserting this without experience, let me exemplify what has been here said in the case of a very eminent person, who, with all the advantages of art and nature that could be required to adorn the true poet, was ruined by this single error. The person I mean was Sir William D'avenant, whose Gondibert will remain a perpetual monument of the mischiefs which must ever arise from this af- fectation of originality in lettered and polite poets." A considerable degree of deference is undoubtedly due to a critic of such acknowledged taste and abilities ; yet, since it ap- pears to vnP ihnt in this inetanrp hp ivrites under the influence of system and learned prejudice, I shall venture to canvass the principles upon which he supports his censure. The method of Gondibert is first objected to by Dr. Hurd, and upon two accounts. First, that the compass of the poem is con- tracted from the limits of the ancient epic, to those of the dra- matic form ; and by this means, pursuing a close accelerated plot, the opportunity is lost of introducing digressive ornaments, and of giving that minuteness of description which confers an air of reality. Now, since the author sets out with disavowing the common rules of epic poetry, it is certainly unjust to try hisn by those rules. That effects are not produced which he never de- signed to produce, can be no matter of blame ; we have only to examine the justness of the design itself. It is wrong to expect incompatible qualities as well in compositions as in men. A work cannot at the same time possess force and diffusiveness, rapidity and minuteness. Every one who has read Homer with prejudice, will, T doubi: not, confess that the eftects which should result from the great events of the story are much broken and impeded by that very 198 GONDTBERT. minuteness of description, and frequency of digression, which D'aveuant is blamed for rejecting. The mind, warmed bv an interesting narration, either in history, poetry, or romance, re- quires tlie writer to keep up with its exertions, and cannot bear him to flag in his pace, or turn aside in pursuit of other objects. The proper end of epic poetry, according to Dr. Hurd, is admi- ration. This, I imagine, would by no means have been allowed by our author, who seems rather to have placed it in interesting the passions, inculcating noble sentiments, and informing the understanding. Nor does it answer the idea of Horace, who praises Homer for his moral lessons, for teaching quid sit pulchrum,quid turpe, quid utile, quid non. However, a due limitation of subject, and something of rapid- ity in pursuing it, appear very necessary to the production of a considerable effect of what kind soever; and a pompous dreplay of foreign circumstances must always debilitate more than adorn. It appears an extremely bad compliment to an epic poem, to say that its chief beauty lies in the episodes. Indeed, epic poetry as existing in the models of antiquity, or their copies, by no means, I think, deserves the title given by critics, of the highest species of poetical COmpOSitiun. The Icdiuus i^uiiipass uf the fsubject, the necessity of employing so large a share of the work in the rela- tion of trifling occurrences for the sake of connection, and the frequency of interruptions from collateral matter, inevitably cause both the poet's exertions and the reader's attention to in- termit ; and it is no wonder that Homer and Virgil, too, some- times nod over their labours. The author of Gondibert seems to have been sensible of these inconveniences, and, upon fair com- parison of the epic and dramatic form, to have preferred the lat- ter as capable of more spirit, and uniform dignity. We shall find, however, in reviewing the poem, that he has by no means re- stricted himself so narrowly as to preclude all ornamental devi- ations; and though they may not deserve the title of episodes, yet in his short and unfinished piece, they have all the desirable effect of a pleasing variety. The second objection which Dr. Hurd brings against the me- thod of this poem, is the rejection of all supernatural agency, or what constitutes the m.achinery of the ancient epic poem. But, for this, the critic himself offers a vindication, when be conimei)ds the author for not running into the wild fables of the Italian ro- GONDIBERT. 199 mancers, " which had too slender a foundation in the serious be- lief of his age to justify a relation to them." Now by making this ic/ic/" an essential rule of propriety with respect to the ma- chinery, an author in an enlightened period, such as tha< of D'ave- nant, is, in eftect, prohibited from its use altogether; for the ab- stracted nature of a pure and philosophical religion renders it utterly unfit for the purposes of poetical fiction. The works of such Christian poets as have attempted to form a system of ma- chinery upon the ideas of saints, angels, and tutelary spirits, will sufficiently prove that their religion, even with a mixture of pop- ular superstition, was ill calculated to assist their imagination. Two writers, whom one would little expect to meet upon the same ground, fcir Richard Blackraore and Voltaire, have given instances of the same faulty plan in this respect; and nothing in the good Knight's epic labours can more deserve the attack of ridicule, (han the divine mission in the Henriade for instructing his Majesty in the sublime mysteries of transubstantiation. It was a very just charge which Plato brought against Homer, that he had greatly contributed to debase religion by the unv/or- thy and absurd representations he has given of the celestial be- ings, both with respect to their power and their justice ; and this is a fault which the poet must always in some measure be guilty of when he too familiarly mixes divine agency with human events. Nor does it appear more favourable to the greatness of the human personages, that they are on all occasions so beholden to the im- mediate interposition of divine allies. The refined and judicious Virgil, though he has tolerably kept up the dignity of his Deities, has yet \ery much lowered his heroes from this cause. When we see ^neas, the son of a Goddess, aided by a God, and covered with celestial armour, with difficulty vanquishing the gallant Turnus, we conclude that without such odds the victory must have fallen on the other side. Under such a system of super- natural agency, there- was no other way of exalting a man than making him, like Diomed, war against the Gods, or like Cato, approve a cause which they had unjustly condemned. Surely a " sober intermixture of religion" can never be attributed to the ancient epic. The poem of Gondibert is, indeed, without all this mixture of religious machinery, whether it be termed sober or extravagant. Human means are brought to accomplish human ends ; and Cowley, in his recommendatory lines prefixed to the work, has thus expressed his approbation of this part of the plan ; ':00 GONDIBERT, l\Ictliiiiks heroick poesie till now Like some fantasiique fairy-land did sliow ; Gods, Devils, Nymphs, Witches, and Giants' i-ace, And all hut Man in man's best wdrk had place. Tliou, like some worihv Knight, with sacred arms Dost drive the Monster's thence, and end tht' charms; Instead olthtse dost Men and Manners plant, Thelhii'gs which that rich sod did chiefly want. We shall see hereafter that the author has not neglected to in- troduce religious sentiment, and that of a more noble and eleva- ted kind than can easily be paralleled in poetry. But as the poet, in the critic's opinion, did too much in ban- ishing every thing supernatural in the events, so he did too lit- tle in retaining the fantastic notions of love and honour in the characters of his piece, which were derived from the same source of fiction and romance. There is, however, an essential differ- ence between the cases. Artificial sentiments, however unnatu- ral at first, may, from the operation of particular causes, become so familiar as to be adopted into the manners of the age. In- stances of fashion in sentiment are almost as frequent as of fash- ion in dress. It is certain that the romantic ideas of love and honour did in fact prevail in a high degree during a considera- ble period of the later ages, owing to causes which the same in- genious critic has, in a very curious manner, investigated in his Letters on Chivalry and Romance. They gave the leading tone to all polished manners ; and gallantry was as serious a principle in the Italian courts, as love to their country in the states of Greece or old Rome. Supernatural agency in human events, on the other hand, however commonly pretended, or firmly believ- ed, would never approach one step nearer to reality. After all, the author of Gondibert could not intend to reduce his poem to mere history ; but he chose to take a poetical license in the dig- nity and elevation of his sentiments, rather than in the marvel- ousness of its events. He thought he might attribute to the ex- alted personages of courts and camps the same nobleness of mind which himself, a courtier and a soldier, possessed. If his work be allowed less grand and entertaining from the want of such ornaments as those of his predecessors are decorated with» it will yet be difficult to show how, at his time, they could have been applied consistently with good sense and improved taste. So much in vuulicaiion of the general method of Sir W. D'avenant's poem. With respect to its execution, the justice of GONDIBERT. 201 Dr. Hurd's censure cannot be controverted. That his sentiments are frequently far-tetched and affected, and his expression quaint and obscure, is but too obviously apparent ; and these faults, to- gether with the want of harmony in versification will sufficiently account for the neglect into which the work is fallen, though in- teresting in its story, and thick sown with beauties. Readers who take up a book merely for the indolent amusement of a lei- sure hour, cannot endure the labour of unharbouring a fine thought from the cover of perplexed expression. The pleasure arising from a flowing line or a rounded period is more engaging to them, because more easily enjoyed, than that from a sublime or witty conception. The author's faulty executio7i, however, arose from a source directly contrary to the "dread of imitation." Imitation itself led him to it; for almost all the models of polite Hterature existing in his own country, and indeed in the other polished nations of Europe, were characterised by the very same vitiation of taste. Among our own writers it is sufficient to in- stance Donne, Suckling and Cowley for this constant aftectation of wit and uncommon sentiment, and for a consequent obscurity of expression. Yet all these, and Sir W. D'avenant, perhaps, in a more eminent degree than the rest, had for great occasions, above the temptation of trifling, a majestic and nervous simpli- city both of sentiment and expression ; which, with our more re- fined taste and language, we have never been able to equal. I should now hope that the reader would set out with me upon a nearer inspection of this poem, with the general idea of its being the work of an elevated genius, pregnant with a rich store of free and noble sentiment, fashioned by an intimate commerce with the great world, and boldly pursuing an original but not an unskilful plan. The measure chosen for this poem is that which we now almost confine to elegy. This choice does not appear very judicious j iov although our elegiac stanza possesses a strength and fulness which renders it not unsuitable to heroic subjects, yet in a piece of considerable length, every returning measure must become tiresome from its frequent repetitions. And this is not the worst eftect of returning stanzas, in a long work. The necessity of comprising a sentence within the limits of the measure is the ty- ranny of Procrustes to thought. For the sake of a disagreeable uniformity, expression must constantly be cramped or extenu- ated. In general the latter expedient will be practised, as the Cc 202 GONDIBERT. easiest ; and tlius both sentiment and language will be enfeebled by uiimeanin The Duke (as restless as his fame in war) With martial toil could Oswald weary make, And calmly do what lie with rage did dare, And give so much as he might deign to take. Him as their founder cities did adore ; The court he knew to steer in storms of State ; In fields a battle lost he could restore. And after force the victors to their fate. Of these great rivals, Gondibert was he whom the king had destined for his son-in-law, and the heir of his throne ; and Rho- dalind, too, in the privacy of her own breast, had made the same choice. This is related in a manner little inferior to Shake- speare's famous description of concealed love. Yet sadly it is sung that she in shades Mildly as mourning doves love's sorrows felt; Whilst in her secret teai'S her freshness fades. As roses silently in lymbecks melt. Gondibert, however, though of a nature by no means unsus- ceptible of the tender passion, had not as yet felt it for a parti- cular object ; and Oswald, who stood forth as the public suitor to the princess, was incited by no other motive than ambition Not Rhodalind herself (says the Poet) Could he affect but shining in her throne. His cause was powerfully pleaded with the princess by his sister Gartha, with whom we are next brought acquainted. A bold, full, majestic beauty ; and a corresponding mind, high, restless, and aspiring, are her distinguishing features. The Prince and Duke were urged on to ambitious pursuits by their respective armies, which, just returned from conquest, lay en- camped, the one at Brescia, and the other at Bergamo. That of Gontlioert was composed of hardy youth whom he had selected from his father's camp, and educated in martial discipline under GONDIBERT. 205 his own inspection. Temperance, chastity, vigilance, humanity, and all the high virtues of chivalry, remarkably distinguish these young soldiers from those of later times. Beauty, indeed, com- manded no less regard amongst them than in a modern camp ; but it was an object of passion, and not of appetite ; and was the powerful engine in their education which inspired them with no- ble and exalted sentiments. This is an idea on which our author, true to the principles of chivalry, very frequently enlarges, and always with peculiar force and dignity. In the present instance it is thus finely expressed : But iliougli the Duke taught rigid discipline. He let ihem beauiy thus at distance know ; As pi-iests discover some more sacred shrine, Which none must touch, yet all to it may bow. Whi n thus as suitors mourning virgins pass Through their clean camp, thenoselves in form they draw. That they with martial reverence may grace Rtauiy, Uie stranger, which tiiey seldom saw. They vayi'd their ensigns as it by did move. Whilst inward, as from native conscience, all Woiship'd the poet's darling god-head, Love ; Which grave philosopiiers did Nature call. Indeed, the influence of this passion in its purest and most exalted state, during the cowrse of education, is a subject that might, perhaps, shine as much in the hands of a moralist as of a poet. The soldiers of Oswald were his father's brave veterans, in whose arms he had been bred. The story thus opened, and our attention awakened to the expectation of important events, the first canto is closed. ♦ The second canto introduces us to a solemn annual hunting, held by Duke Gondibert in commemoration of a great victory- gained on this day by his grandsire. His train was adorned by- many gallant and noble persons, the friends of his family, and commanders in his army. The hunting, which is described with much poetical spirit, terminates in a combat. As Gondibert and his party are returning weary homeward, an ancient ranger hasti- ly brings the tidings that Oswald, who had lain in ambush with a body of chosen horse, is advancing upon them. The Duke, re- jecting all counsels of flight, prepares to receive his foes ; and 206 GONDIBERT. with an account of their principal leaders, and the order ot their inarch, the canto concludes. A parley between the chiefs now succeeds, in which the cha- racter of each is well preserved. Oswald warmly accuses his rival for usurping his claims on the princess and the kingdom. Gondibert defends himself with temper, and disavows all ambi- tious designs. The other disdains accommodation ; and the con- ference ends in a generous agreement to decide their differences in single fight. When every thing is prepared for, the combat, Hubert, the brother of Oswald, steps forth with a general challenge to the opposite party. This is instantly accepted, and serves for a pre- lude to so many others, that a general engagement seems likely to ensue ; when Oswald reproves their disobedient ardour : and, upon Hubert's insisting to share his fate from the rights of bro- therhood, it is at length decided that three persons of each party should enter the lists along with their generals. The duel then comes on, in the fourth canto ; in which Oswald, Hubert, Para- dine and Dargonet, are severally matched with Gondibert; Hur- gonil, the lover of Orna, the Duke's sister ; and Arnold and Hugo, generous rivals in Laura. Descriptions of battle are so frequent in epic poetry that scarcely any circumstances of variety are left to diversify them. Homer and his imitators have attempted novelty in the multiplicity of their combats by every possible variation of weapon, posture, and wound. They considered the human body with anatomical nicety ; and dwelt with a savage pleasure upon every idea of pain and horror that studied but- chery could excite. I shall leave it to the professed admirers of antiquity to determine under what head of poetical beauty such objects are to be ranged. The terrible is certainly a prin- cipal source of the sublime ; but a slaughter-house or a surgery would not seem proper studies for a poet. D'avenant has drawn little from them. His battles are rendered interesting chiefly by the character and situation of the combatants. When Arnolds the favoured lover of Laura, is slain by Paradine, Hugo, who had over-thrown his antagonist, springs to avenge his rival, with these truly gallant expressions : Vain conqueror, said Hugo then, return! Instead of laurel which the victor wears Go gather cyprf ss for thy broili* r's u' n. And learn of me to water it with tears. ; GONDIBERT. 20r T!»y brother lost liis life aitcmpting mine ; Which cannot For Lord Arnold's loss sufllce ; I must reven.;e, unliu-ky Paradine! The blood his dealli will draw from Laura's eyes. We rivals were in T^aura ; but though she My griefs der'ided, his with sighs approv'd. Yet I, in love's exact integrity. Must take thy life for killing him she lov'd. His generosity, however, was fatal botii to his foe and himself. Hubert, disabled by a wound in his arm, is dishonoured by re- ceiving his life from his conqueror ; upon which occasion the poet thus beautifully apostrophisis : O Honour, frail as life thy fellow flower ! Cherish'd and wateh'd and hum'rously esteera'd, Then worn for short adornments of an hour; And is, when lost, no more than life iweem'd. The two chiefs are still left closely engaging ; and when Hur gonil approaches to assist his lord, he is warmly commanded to retire. At length, after many mutual wounds, Oswald falls. The death of the Prince at the same time takes off all restraint from his party, and incites them to revenge. Led by the wound- ed Hubert, old Vasco, and Borgio, they attack the hunters, who, besides the fatigue of the chase, are represented as somewhat in- ferior in number. A furious battle, the subject of the fifth canto, now ensues. Gondibert shines forth in all the splendour of a hero. By his prowess his friends are rescued, and the opposite leaders overthrown in various separate encounters ; and by his military skill the brave veterans of Oswald are defeated. The whole de- scription of the battle is warm and animated. In Gondibert's generous lamentation over the fallen, every heart must sympathise with the following pathetic tribute to the rival lovers : Brave Arnold and his rival strait remote. Where Laura shall bestrew their hallow 'd ground ; Protectors both, and ornaments of love ; This said, his eyes out-Wfpt his widest wound. Tell her now these, love's faithful saints, are gone The beauty they ador'd sJie ought to hide ; For vainly will love's miracles be shown, Since lover's faith with these braTe riraU dy'd. 208 GONDIBERT. Say little Hugo never more shull mourn Id niiblii numbers, her uukind nisdain ; "Who now, not seeing benuiy, feels no scorn ; And wanting pk'i(Sure, is exempt from pain. When she with flowers Lord Arnold's grave shall Strew, And hears wh} Hugo's life was tlirown away, She on that rival's hearse will drop a few, Which raeiits all that April gives to May. The Duke now draws off his remaining friends towards Ber- gamo : but, on the journey, overcome by fatigue and loss of blood, he falls into a deadly swoon. His attendants, amidst their anx- iety and confusion upon this event, are surprised, in the sixth canto, with the approach of a squadron of horse. This, however, proves to be a friendly body, led by old Ulfin, who, after reco- vering the Duke by a cordial, declares himself to have been a page to his grandsire, grief and fury in the breasts of the brave veterans. They spend the night in this storm of contending passions ; and at day break assemble round the tent of Hubert, who by a noble harangue gives additional fire to their revenge. They instantly arm, and de- mand to be led to Bergamo ; when Gartha arrives. She turns their vengeance against the court, where she represents the tri- umph of Gondibert's faction, and the dishonour cast upon their own. The rage discovered in her countenance, overpowering the symptoms of grief, is painted with amazing grandeur in the fol- lowing simile : The Sun ight by Dry- den : — when tliey met, lliey made a surley stand. And glar'd like angry lions as they pass'd. Among many supposed representations in the temple of Venus, of too abstract a nature to be made manifest to the senses, which he has rather injudiciously copied from his original, he adds the visible forms of issuing sighs that smok'd along the wall. Chaucer's " porter Idleness" becomes a characteristic figure in the hands of Dryden : Before the palace-gate, in carel-'ss dress, And loose array, sat portress Idleness. The " small houndes about the fete" of Diana are, by him, ani- mated with the affections of their species. And watch vvith upward eyes the motions of their qupen. Many more instances of similar embellishment might be cited ; and indeed nothing less could be expected from such a master in his art, whose attention was solely occupied in beautifying and polishing a ready-furnished design. In the tale of Sigismonda and Guiscardo, from Boccacio, he could derive no store of poetical imagery from his original, whiclx is an unadorned narrative in prose ; nor has he aimed at more than that middle style of verse which suits the relation of a do- mestic occurrence, and the eloquence of sentiment. Force and dignity of language, with singular clearness, are his character- istics in this story, which keeps close to the Italian author, both in the narrative and the sentimental part. In one point, indeed, Dryden has better consulted morals and decorum ; which is, that he has made a secret marriage precede the accomplishment of 2£2 DRYDEN. the lovers' wishes ; but, on the other hand, he has added so much warmth of colouring to the description, that decency cannot upon the whole be reckoned a gainer. Female delicacy, indeed, was a thing of which he never seems to have entertained a concep- tion. The love here painted is simply what the French would call amour jjhysiqiie ; a natural and allowable affection, it is true, but such as all writers, attentive to the preservation of mental purity, have studiously kept out of sight. Dryden, on the con- trary, brings it to open view, without any veil to soften its fea- tures. The address of Sigismonda to her father after detection, the firm and dignified language of which gives it an air of eleva- tion, almost incurs the charge of impudence, from the broad and vmdisguised confession of feelings which none but the loosest of the sex would avow. The incidents of this story are, however, striking and pathetiC; and the catastrophe is wrought with skill. The address of Sigis monda to her lover's heart in the vase, is copied from the Ital ian ; but Dryden has not the excuse of Italian conceit for hi^ extravagant line — My tears shall set thee first afloat withia thy tomb. The manner in which she sets about this duty to her lover's remains seems to require the serious application of the comic- maxim, " Women, when they list, can weep." Dryden has, how- ever, made it truly poetical by the beauty of his verses, and the simile of the " low-hung clouds." It were to be wished that his judgment had rejected the idea of " discharging her head" by the flow of tears, which gives an image rather medical than poetical. The parallel passage in Boccacio is worth copying, as it will af- ford an useful comparison between the writer in prose and the writer in verse. " Et cosi detto, non ultramente che se una fonte d'acqua nella testa havuta havesse, senza fare alcun femminil romore, soprala coppa chinatasi piangendo, comincio a versare tante lagrime, che mirabil cosa furono a riguardare, basciando infinite volte il morto cuore." " Thus having spoken, as if there had been a fountain of water in her head, bending over the cup, without any feminine lament- ation, she shed such an abundance of tears as was wonderful to behold, giving innumerable kisses to the dead heart." The simplicity is certainly no diminution of the pathetic. DUYDEN. 223 TiiK Cock and the Fox ; or The Tale of the Nun's Pkies i , owes almost all its beauty, its learning, and its absurdity, to the orio-inal author, Chaucer. The fable, in which birds and beasts talk like school-men and divines, bespeaks the taste of the dark ages ; a taste which Dryden had sanctioned by his " Hind and Panther." Ascribing to the inferior animals the speech and rea son of men (the essence of fable) is already such a deviation from nature and truth, that an additional improbability costs little more to tlie imagination. It must be owned, however, tliat quo tations from the philosophers and fathers have a whimsical effect in a dialogue between Chanticleer and Partlet. The Latili passage, "Mulier est hominis confusio," so complaisantly in- terpreted to Partlet, is a piece of waggery literally copied from Chaucer ; there is an inconsistency, however, in making her unacquainted with Latin, after she had quoted Galen and Cato, unless it be supposed, that Dame Partlet's learning, like Shakespeare's, was derived from translation. The most striking parts of the description in this tale are taken from Chaucer with little addition or improvement : the lively pictures, for example, of the cock and the fox, are only- new varnished by Dryden's versification. The humourous group of pursuers of the fox is Chaucer's with the exception of the vicar who is introduced with little propriety: and no advantage is gained by the more exaggerated terms in which their action is described by the modern poet. It is not in his natural, but in his intellectual paintings, that the superiority of Dryden appears with its proper lustre. Thus, the fine passage respecting the na- ture of dreams, Dreams are but interlnries that fancy makes, &c. is barely suggested by four simple lines of the original. He has displayed his theological skill in discussing more at length, and with more argumentative precision, the knotty point of predesti- nation. It is observable, that he has superadded to the treach- erous character of Reynard, the circumstance of religious hypo- crisy ; a vice he was always fond of lashing, both in season and out of season. Like many other amusing fables, it has not much instruction to boast of. The most obvious moral deducible from it, is a £24 DRYDEN. warning a,2:ainst love of flattery. Chaucer to this has added the exposure of one That j:»nglflh wiicu lliat lie should liold his peace, alluding to the folly of the fox, wlio gives the cock an opportu- nity of escaping, by opening his mouth to make a speech: but this purpose is overlooked or rejected by Dryden. In none of these tales does the genius of the poet break out with more splendour than in that of Theodore and Honoria, from Boccacio. Exclusive of the names, which are different in the Italian author, his narrative is exactly followed by Dryden, who is an inventor only in the picturesque touches with which he has animated the recital. The story in itself is, indeed, highly impressive, and full of that romantic wildness which seizes on the imagination ; but the effect is greatly enhanced by the art of the poet, who has improved every circumstance that might con- tribute to the leading emotion, that of terror. The manner in which he prepares the reader for the first appearance of the hor- rid phantom cannot be too much admired ; Wliilst iistfcning to the murm'i-iiig leaves he stood, &cc. The singular happiness of the versification in the lines de scriptive of the sudden calm and pause in nature, previous to the whirlwind which ushered in the apparition, has attracted the notice of various critics, and must be felt by every ear sensible of the harmony of poetry. The figures of the flying maid, the hell-hounds, and the infernal huntsman, are drawn with wonder- ful force ; but it must be acknowledged that no small part of the praise belongs to the original, which has sketched the same ob- jects in a very spirited manner. The passage is worth quotation. " Yide venire per un boschetto asai folto d'arbuscelli e di pruni, correndo verso il luogo dove egli era, una bellissima giovane ignuda, scapigliata e tutla grafliata dalle frasche e dai pruni, piagnendo e gridando forte merce ; e oltre a questo le vide a fianchi due grandissimi e fieri mastini, liquali duramente appresso correndole spesse volte crudelmente dove la giungevano, la mordevano; e dietro allei vide venire sopra un corsiere nero un cavalier bruno forte nel viso crucciato con uno stocco in mano, lei di morte con parole spaventevoii e villane minacciando." DKYDEN; 225 " He saw, issuing from a thicket overgrown with bushes and thorns, and running towards the place where he was, a very beautiful damsel, naked with dishevelled hair, and all torn with the briars and brambles, wailing and crying aloud, ' Mercy !' And 1)6 further saw at her flanks two great and fierce mastifFsj which running close after her, frequently reached and cruelly bit her: behind them he saw riding upon a black courser a dark complexioned cavalier, with fury in his countenance, and a drawn sword in his hand, threatening her with death in terrible and injurious terms." Dryden has with good effect made the damsel's cry for mercy correspond with the bite of the dogs, and added the superstition of the relief produced by invoking the name of Heaven. The picture of the knight, too, is finely heightened by the line, Willi flashing flames his ardent eyes were fill'd, and by the action of cheering his dogs to the chase. It is a proof of the poet's extraordinary powers, that he has been able to make the second representation of the visionary scene scarcely less impressive than the first; it is aided, indeed, by the contrast of the splendid feast preceding it, and by the presence of Honoria herself to witness it. Dryden has much enlarged upon the original in describing the operation of the tremendous spectacle on the lady's mind, according to his usual practice of dwelling diffusely upon circumstances of mental af- fection. Her looking back at every noise, and starting as if she heard ' the horseman-ghost come thund'ring for his prey. are strokes of nature. The lessen of the tale was probably the least part of the concern of either writer. Its coarse conclusion in Dryden is entirely his own. The Flower and the Leaf, or. The Lady in the Arbour, a vision, from Chaucer, possesses in the original that degree of descriptive splendour, which limits the merit of the modern poet to little more than improved diction and harmonious versifica- tion. The very beautiful introductory picture of spring, as in- fluencing the vegetable creation, is, however, Dryden's own, and displays the power of a master to throw novelty upon a trite sub- ject. The progress of the buds, which at first shrink from the Ff 226 DRYDEN. cold blast, and stand "doubting at the door of life," till at length, filled with the genial spirit, they expand to the sun, and breathe out their souls of fragrance, is delineated with exquisite fancy and elegance. The scenery of this vision is not less gorgeous than that of the Knight's Tale ; and like it, derives most of its brilliancy from the costume of chivalry. Dryden seems to riot in description of this kind, which he decorates with all the pomp and pride of his verse. He professes, however, to have been attracted to this tale principallv by its moral, which consists in extolling active virtue and fortitude in comparison with inglorious ease and self- indulgence. Yet the allegory is confused and obscure, and little interest is attached to the action or actors. There is no hint in Chaucer of the fairy system adopted by Dry- den for the personages in the pageant, and which somewhat re- sembles the maciiinery in the Rape of the Lock. Chaucer, in- deed, supposes them to have had a prior existence, and identifies some of them as the Nine Worthies, the knights of the Round Table, the " Douseperis" (twelve peers of Charlemagne), &c. ; but he does not concern himself to account for their appearance on the present occasion. So far, therefore, the fiction is improved by the modern poet. Dryden has fallen into a singular inadvertence in giving boivs to Arthur's knights, in which he finds an emblematical propriety. For bows the strength of brawny arms imply. The original, it is true, speaks of their "baring bowes in their hand," but these are only the laurel boughs mentioned in the beginning of the description, disguised under a different ortho- graphy. The comparison between the qualities of the leaf and of the flower is wrought by Dryden with much beauty, and the moral is well pointed ; yet the fable upon the whole partakes of the languor usually attached to allegory, and probably will to most readers appear the least entertaining in the collection, though certainly not the least poetical. The keen and lively sarcasm against the priesthood with which the Wife of Bath's Tale opens, is found in the original author, Chaucer: butitso well suited the disposition of his moderniser, that he has given it with enlargements. The " midnight parson post- ing o'er the green with gown tucked up to wakes'' is a figure of DRYDEN. SL9J7 his own invention, by which he doubtless meant to extend his satire to the clergy of his own time ; but he did not reflect that the same person could not consistently sustain the part of Chau- cer's friar, who "bids his beads both even-song and morn." The subsequent story is related by Dryden in a paraphrasti- cal manner, with free license of invention. One of his added passages is remarkable, as it alludes to that species of apology for his own licentiousness in writing, which the attacks of Col- lier and others had forced from him. Then courts of kings were held in high renown, Ere mt.de the common brothels of the town : There virgins honourable vows receiv'd. But chaste as maids in monasteries liv'd : The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave, JSTo bad example to his poets gave : And they, not bad but in a vicious age. Had not, to please the prince, debauch'd the stage. At this time he was, indeed, if not cured by age and reflection of his propensities, yet awed into some regard for decorum ; and he has taken credit in his preface for abstaining from versifying Chaucer's prologue to this very tale, which was afterwards one of Pope's juvenile exercises. The story of Midas, introduced by the way of illustration, is enlivened with some humourous strokes, not very reverential to royalty ; for Dryden, though accustomed to use the language of the most obsequious courtier, appears in his heart to have re- garded the distinctions of rank and birth, as they will always be looked upon by the man who is conscious of possessing, in his own mind, something intrinsically superior to both. In the progress of the tale, after the beldam has agreed with the knight to furnish him with a solution of the queen's ques- tion, Dryden adds a circumstance of which there is no vestige in the original. He makes her spread her mantle on the ground, and seat the knight and herself upon it, when they are conveyed with a wish to King Arthur's court. This fiction, apparently borrowed from the Arabian Nights, is not unsuitable to the fairy machinery on which the tale is founded ; yet it seems to injure the final effect, by anticipating supernatural powers, which should, have remained concealed from the knight till the concluding trial of his obedience. The " long sermon," as Dryden justly calls it, of the bride on 2^8 DRYDEN. the wedding night, is greatly amplified by the modern writer, par- ticulaily with respect to the topic of nobility. As this is also discussed at length in the story of Sigismonda and Guiscardo, he has thought it necessary to apologise in his preface for the re- petition, which he imputes to the failure of his memory. In the present instance he has borrowed some thoughts from Juvenal, an author with whom he was familiar as a translator. The beautiful metaphor in which nobility is termed a long trail of light to thee descending down, is the product of his own fancy. The tale of Cymon and Iphigenia, from Boccacio, begins with an apologetical preface, in which the poet, in his own name, defends himself from the " severe divine" who had inveighed against the licentiousness of his verse, and retorts upon him in a way that displays more irritation than penitence. His praise of virtuous love, however, is equally just and noble, and forms a suitable prelude to a story, of which the animating eflfects of that passion are the subject. All the incidents of the tale, as well as many of the descrip- tive beauties, are copied from the Italian. The natural circum- stance of Cymon's quarter-staff, which appears truly English, is taken from the " bastone in collo'' of Boccacio ; but the happy line. He whistled as he went for want of thought, is Dryden's addition. In the picture of the sleeping nymph, he has exerted his utmost skill ; and every reader, sensible to the charms of versification, will admire the lines in which the "fan- ning wind" and the " rising bosom" are so melodiously alterna- ted. The apt simile of the light running through chaos, by which the sudden effect ot love upon the sluggish soul of Cymon is il- lustrated, is original in our poet ; yet it might have been suggest- ed by the * Ignea rima micans percurrit lumine ninabos" of Virgil. That of the pilgrim who — — — stands with awful eyes to watch the dawn of day, is another of his poetical contributions. DRYDEN. 229 His propensity to exaggerate in all his paintings has led him too much to multiply epithets denoting the stupidity of the new lover, such as "the man beast," " the fool of nature," "the sla- vering cudden." The miracle of creating sense in an absolute idiot is too great for even love to effect ; and the more modest wonder of rousing to action the latent seeds of intellect, affords suflBcient scope for the encomiast of that passion. This, indeed, is the liirht in which the change produced in Cymon is afterwards viewed ; for Dryden, varying a little from the poetical imagery of the original, thus describes the operation of the new agent in his soul : What then of nitered Cymon sliall we say. But that ihf fire which chok'c) in ashes lay, A load loo heavy for his >oul to move, Was upward blown helow^ and brvish'd away by love? Tlie subsequent events of the fable will not bear a rigourous examination in a moral view, since the sole maxim they inculcate is, that every thing is lawful to lovers. The ladies are to deter- mine how far Dryden has improved the story by representing Iphigenia as a willing prey to the ravishers, of which no symp- tom appears in the narration of Boccacio : it may, however, be presumed, that his habitual coarseness of sentiment, with respect to feminine attachments, will excite their displeasure, and that they will disavow the line She hugg'tl th' offender, and forgave Ih' offence. The modest Italian takes care to inform his reader, that Cymon lost his newly gained Iphigenia, "senza altro haverle tolto, che alcun bascio" — having taken nothing from her but a few kisses. Tney who are acquainted with Dryden's manner and princi- ples will not doubt that the lively satire on the " rude militia raw in fields" is ail his own. When this is compared with what he has said of the regular soldiers of Tancred, Dangerous fo freedom, and desir'd alone By kings who seek an arbitrary throne, in which he doubtless alluded to the guards of King William, it will curiously exemplify the inconsistencies of a party spirit. The sudden changes of fortune in this story render it interest- ing, though its bloody catastrophe is displeasing, and we feel a 230 DRYDEN. repugnance to ally the cause of Cymon with that of Lysimachuh which has no colour of right or justice. By way of atonement for his perpetual vein of satire against the clergy, Dryden has wrought with uncommon care his Cha- racter OF A GOOD Parson, imitated and enlarged from that of Chaucer in the prologue to his Canterbury Tales. The features are essentially the same as those of the original ; nor is there one truly pastoral virtue added to the draught of the ancient poet ; but Dryden's has a more sanctified air, and is more conformable to the Roman Catholic model. Chaucer is contented to praise the patience with which he submitted to indigent circumstances; while his imitator thinks it necessary to add the merit of volun- tary abstinence : the first makes his parson charitable to the poor ; the second represents him as renouncing every idea of pro- perty, and regarding all he received as part of the public store. The beautiful similies and illustrations with which Dryden's portrait is interspersed, are his own, one excepted, which alludes to the superior degree of holiness required in the clerical cha- racter, thus expressed in the original : "And this figure he added yet thereto, That if gold rustes, what shuid irtii do ?" The salvo for papal power, under the notion of the double reign of St. Peter's successor, is an offering paid by the convert to his Jiew faith : Chaucer, addicted to the principles of Wickliffe, was not likely to give a sanction to Romish usurpation. All the latter part of Dryden's piece is an addition, evidently referring to the nonjuring clergy under King William. It sup- ports the doctrine of indefeasible right to the crown in the lineal heirs, anil the consequent duty of subjects to conform to it: That the title stood entail'd,had Richard had a son ? What he stigmatises as " the senseless plea of right by provi- dence," invented by "a flattering priest," must allude to the injudicious defence of William's succession to the throne, by Bishop Burnet. Of this plea, Dryden justly observes, that it lasts no longer than the present sway. But justifies the next who comes in play. His picture of the priest after he had voluntarily quitted his benefice, extending, like a primitive apostle, his care of souls DRYDEN. 231 throughout the land, is highly interesting, and was pi'obably drawn from the life. Whatever be thought of the judgment or consis- tency of the nonjuring clergy, it cannot be denied that some of them were bright examples of pious resignation under sufferings for conscience sake. Such are the varied contents of this noble production of Dry- den's old age. At a similar late period of life, Milton wrote his Paradise Lost. The two works will bear no comparison in point of magnitude and grandeur ; yet those beauties in detail, for which alone such a design as that of renovating and adorning an- cient writings affords scope, are not less conspicuous in Dryden's Fables, than the higher qualities of poetry are in the master- piece of Milton. All that at any time constituted the charac- teristic excellence of Dryden's muse, appears in full perfection in these autumnal fruits; and it is impossible to conceive a time whilst English poetry shall continue to be cultivated, when the harmony of numbers and splendour of diction in these pieces, shall cease to inspire admiration and delight. OBSERVATIONS ON POPE'S OF the poems of Pope, none perhaps is more celebrated in popular fame, none has afforded more passages for storing in the memory, and applying on common occasions, than the Essay ON Man. It cannot, therefore, be an uninteresting topic, to in- quire what has given it such a share of the public approbation ; and how its author has contrived to render it at the same time the favourite of the graver part, and the admiration of the more polished, of his readers. The work is by the writer himself represented as a short sys- tem of ethics, which he might as well have composed in prose as in verse, had he not preferred the latter for two reasons ; — one, that principles and maxims when versified are more impressive^ and adhere more firmly in the memory; the other, that he was able to express himself with more brevity in verse than in prose. With respect, then, to the subject itself, it appears that he did not select it on account of any peculiar fitness he discerned in it to become the ground-work of a poem ; but, that, having chosen it for another reason, he gave it the clothing of verse, as in his opinion the most advantageous. And this representation nearly coincides with the received fact, that the work was sug- gested to him by his friend, Lord Bolingbroke, who sketched out the plan, and furnished most of the materials, with the intention of ushering into the world a system of his own, decorated with the poetry of Pope. Bolingbroke had himself sufficient vigour of imagination and brilliancy of style to have written a prose essay which might engage the attention of persons fond of moral and philosophical speculation; but by judiciously borrowing the POPE. 233 Muse of Pope, lie has (liflTnsed his sentiments on these topics through all classes and ages of English literature; has made Ihem familiar to our early and our mature conceptions ; and stamped them in indelible characters on the language of the country. This conversion of a dry and argumentative subject into a splendid and popular one, is a miracle of the poetic art; and an inquiry into the means by which it has been effected will probably go far into the elucidation of that essential character of poetical composition which distinguishes it from prose. On taking a survey of the Essay on Man for the purpose of marking and arranging its most striking passages, it will proba- bly be found that they are reducible to three principal heads. 1st. A maxim, proposition, or sentence often occurs, presented in the naked simplicity of philosophical language, but so concen- tred by nervous brevity, and rounded by the harmonious struc- ture of the verse, that it sinks into the mind with the same kind of force that a weighty and polished ball penetrates solid matter. It would be easy from every epistle to adduce examples of this excellence. Tims, speaking of the Deity, he says, To him no h g!i, no low, no great, no small; He tills, he buuu must ever endear him to the friends of truth and virtue ; and, in particular, his genuine patriotism and zeal in the cause of liberty will render his writings always estimable to the British reader. But, just and important as his thoughts on these topics may be, there may remain a doubt in the breast of the critic, whether their introduction in a piece like this do not, in some instances, break in upon that unity of character which every work of art should support. We have seen, from the general plan and tenor of the poem, that it is professedly of the rural cast. The objects it is chiefly conversant with are those presented by the hand of nature, not the products of human art; and when man himself is introduced as a part of the group, it would seem that, in con- THOMSON. 25T I'orm'ity to the rest, he ouglit to be represented in such a state only, as the simplest forms of society, and most unconstrained situations in it, exhibit. Courts and cities, camps and senates, do not well accord with sylvan scenery. From the principle of congruity, therefore, a critic might be induced to reject some of these digressive ornaments, though intrinsically beautiful, and doubtless contributing to the elevation and variety of the piece. His judgment in this respect would be a good deal influenced by the manner of their introduction. In some instances, this is so easy and natural, that the mind is scarcely sensible of the devia- tion ; in others it is more abrupt and unartful. As examples of both, we may refer to the passages in which various characters from English and from Grecian and Roman history are display- ed. The former, by a happy gradation, is introduced at the close of a delightful piece, containing the praises of Britain ; whici» is itself a kind of digression, thougli a very apt and seasonable one. The latter has no other connection with the part at which it is inserted, than the very forced and distant one, that, as reading may be reckoned among the amusements appropriated to Win- ter, such subjects as these will naturally offer themselves to the studious mind. There is another source of sentiment to the poet of the Sea- sons, which, while it is superior to the last in real elevation, is also strictly connected with the nature of his work. The gen- uine philosopher, while he surveys the grand and beautiful ob- jects every where surrounding him, will be prompted to lift his eye to the great cause of all these wonders ; the planner and ar- chitect of this mighty fabric, every minute part of which so much awakens his curiosity and admiration. The laws by which this being acts, the ends which he seems to have pursued, must ex- cite his humble researches ; and in proportion as he discovers infinite power in the means, directed by infinite goodness in the intention, his soul must be wrapt in astonishment, and expand- ed with gratitude. The ceconomy of Nature will, to such an ob- server, be the perfect scheme of an all-wise and beneficei.t mindj and every part of the wide creation will appear to prociai ii the praise of its great author. Thus a new connection will manifest itself between the several parts of the universe ; and a new order and design will be traced through the progress of its vari- ous revolutions. Thomson's Seasons is as eminently a religious as it is a de- Kk '25B THOMSON. scriptive poein. Thoroughly impressed with sentiments of vene- ration for the author of that assemblage of order and beauty which it was his province to paint, he takes every proper occa- sion to excite similar emotions in the breast of his readers. En- tirely free from the gloom of superstition and the narrowness of bigotry, he every where represents the Deity as the kind and beneficent parent of all his works, always watchful over their best interests, and from seeming evil still educing the greatest pos- sible good to all his creatures. In every appearance of nature he beholds the operation of a divine hand ; and regards, accord- ing to his own emphatical phrase, each change throughout the revolving year as but the " varied God." This spirit, which breaks forth at intervals in each division of his poem, shines full and concentred in that noble hymn which crowns the work. This piece, the sublimest production of its kind since the days of Milton, should be considered as the winding up of all the va- riety of matter and design contained in the preceding parts ; and thus is not only admirable as a separate composition, but is con- trived with masterly skill to strengthen the unity and connec- tion of the Great Whole. Thus is planned and constructed a poem, which, founded as it is upon the unfading beauties of Nature, will live as long as the language in which it is written shall be read. If the perusal of it be in any respect rendered more interesting or in- structive by this imperfect Essay, the purpose of the writer will be fully answered. A COMPARISON BETWEEN ^:riEi(Dsa§®:^ ^mm (©(dwiphib DESCRIPTIVE POETS. NO descriptive poem in any language has obtained equal popularity with the Seasons of Thomson, a work of which the description of rural nature was the proper subject, while moral and philosophical sentiment was its appendage and decoration. It was happily calculated to please as well those whose imagi- nations were readily impressed with the sublime and beautiful, as those whose hearts were alive to feelings of tenderness and humanity. It found so many readers, that probably no single circumstance has contributed so much to that love of the coun- try, and taste for the charms of nature, which peculiarly cha- racterise the inhabitants of this island, as the early associations formed by the perusal of this poem. It also, like all popular compositions, drew after it a current of imitation ; and it was the model of that exact style of painting which is discernible in the performances of most of our later descriptive and didactic poets. This style is a distinguishing feature of that very singular and original poem, the Task, a work, the numberless beauties of which have acquired it a popularity scarcely inferior to that of the Seasons ; and have secured it a permanent place among the select productions of English poetry. Whether it is more pro- perly to be arranged in the descriptive or the didactic class, is a question of little moment ; but considering it as possessing pe- culiar excellence in the first of these characters, it may be an interesting topic of critical discussion to compare the different 260 THOMSON AND COWPER. manners of the Task and the Seasons in the description of natu- ral objects, and to estimate their several merits. To select a variety of circumstances which shall identify the object, and at the same time present it to the imagination in strong and lively colouring, is the essence of poetical descrip- tion. The qualities enumerated must not be so lax and general as to apply equally to several species of things (which is the ordinary fault of the oriental manner of delineating ;) nor yet so methodically precise as the descriptions in natural history, which, are addressed more to the intellect than to the imagination. Grand and sublime objects are best described by a few bold touches ; for greatness is lost by being parcelled into minute portions ; but objects of beauty and curiosity will bear to be viewed microscopically ; and if the particulars are skilfully chosen, the eftect is enhanced by distinctness. It is also desi- rable that the circumstances should be suggested by personal observation ; else, the picture will probably be defective in ac- curacy, or at least will be marked with the faintness of a copy from another's conceptions. No poetical artist can well venture to draw with minuter strokes than Thomson has done, in the delineations of rural scenery and occupations, which constitute the proper matter or staple of liis poem, and which are generally both pleasing to con- template and happily selected for the purpose of characterising the season. It would be difficult to determine whether the grand or the agreeable objects presented by nature were most conge- nial to his disposition. If his imagination was captivated by the former, his heart inclined him to the latter, especially to such as called forth kind and benevolent emotions ; and as those offered themselves most copiously to his observation, they occur most frequently in his poem. His scenes of sublimity are chiefly taken from the polar and tropical regions, in depicting which, he jonly transcribes (with a poetical pen and fancy, indeed) the de- scriptions of travellers. His home scenery seems to have been almost entirely suggested by his own remarks, first made when he was a youth on the banks of the Tweed, and afterwards en- larged when he was a guest or an inhabitant in some of the finest parts of England. As he rejected no objects, however trivial, which could serve to mark the season he was describing, he ap- pears to have thought it incumbent upon him, in order to sup- port the dignity of verse, to intermix the figures and phraseology THOMSON AND COWPER. 261 ■of the higher kinds of poetry ; and to this he was particularly in- duced by the character of blank verse, in which he composed ; for this species, being so little distinguished from prose by its measure, had acquired, in the practice of several eminent wri ters, an artificial stateliness of diction, more remote from com- mon speech than the usual heroic rhymed couplet. This mixture of high wrought language with a humble topic is one of the pecu- liar features of Thomson's style in descriptive poetry. A few •examples will illustrate the manner of this combination. In Summer a picture is given of hay making, in which, the various operations of that pleasing, rural labour, are minutely represented. The following lines are part of the description : — Ev'n stooping age is here, and infant hands Trail the long rake, or with the fragrant load O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppressioji roll. all in a row Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, They spread the breathing Iiarvest to the sun. / In the autumnal scene of the hare hunt, when the poor animal i-i put up,— * * * she springs amazed, and all The savage soul of game is up at once. The stag, in similar circumstances, G'vcs all his sivift aerial soul to flight. When a herd of cattle has taken alarm from the attack of a >warm of gad flies, * • • * tossing the foam They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain. Thro' all the bright severity of noon. All these quotations afford examples of that abstraction or generalisation which is one of the distinctions of poetical lan- guage, and which, when in unison with the subject and the ordi- nary strain of the diction, often produces a very happy effect. How far it does so in the preceding passages, the reader may determine according to his own feelings. To me, while the two last appear not only excusable, but worthy of admiration, the 262 THOMSON AND COWPER. former give the perception of turgidity and ill applied eft'oit. The following lines in the description of the vintage, afford a singular mixture of vulgar and lofty phraseology : — Then comes the crtif:fdng- swain, the country floats And Joams unbounded with tiif manhy flood, Tlistt by degrees fermented and refined, Hound the raised nations pours the cup of joy. There are few pages of the Seasons which do not present some- what of this combination of elevated language with common mat- ter, which, whatever critical judgment be passed upon it, must be regarded as characteristic of the author's manner. Another artifice which he employs to give dignity to a humble topic, is to annex to it moral sentiment, and, as it were, hu- manise the animal natures concerned in the scene. Thus, •where he has perhaps descended the lowest, — in his description of a spider catching flies in a window, — this insect is termed The villain spider • » » cunning and fierce. Mixture abhorr'd ! He is afterwards called the ruffian ; and the victim fly, the dreadless wanderer ; and the whole action is minutely told in a tragical style that would suit the murder of a Duncan or a Cla- rence. In like manner, the bear, seeking his winter retreat, is endowed with a human soul : — • • with stern patience, scorning weak complaint. Hardens his breast against assailing want. Whatever be thought of these particular examples, it is pre- sumed that no reader of sensibility will object to the pleasing de- tails of the passion of the groves, though in some instances the writer may have assigned to his feathered pairs feelings which only belong to human lovers. The frequent use of compound epithets is another circumstance by which Thomson's diction is strongly marked. These are el- liplical modes of expression, by means of which, qualities or at- tributes are annexed to a subject in the most concise form pos- sible. The effect of this compression is often truly poetical, — a striking idea being excited by a single word, which it would take a line to convey in detail. It is, however, a license in language, and when arbitrarily framed, with no regard to grammatical pro- THOMSON AND COWPER. 263 priety, is apt to give offence to a correct taste. This is the case when the two parts of the compound have no natural connection, or stand in no relation to each other of substantive and attribute, or of cause and effect. Thus, in the Seasons, blood-happy, mean- ing happy in the taste of blood ; thick-nibbling, standing close and nibbling; pale-quivering, pale and iYXWtv'm^; fair-exposed, fair and exposed ; seem examples of harsh and vicious formation. In many instances, the compounding is effected merely by using an adjective adverbially, as, wild-throbbing ior \\\\A\y i\\vobhmg', loose-Jioating, for loosely floating ; where too little appears to be gained to justify the license. Upon the whole, Thomson's em- ployment of this device to render language poetical may justly be termed excessive ; and it is so characteristic of his style, that Brown, in his " Pipe of Tobacco," has personated this poet chiefly by his compound epithets : — * * • * forth issue clouds. Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around, And many-mining fires. To speak of Thomson generally as a descriptive poet, it may then be said, that in choice of subjects, he rejects none that can be rendered pleasing and impressive, and that he paints with a circumstantial minuteness which gives the objects clear and dis- tinct to the imagination ; that with respect to diction, he is usu- ally expressive and energetic, with frequent touches of truly poetic imagery, but occasionally verging to the turgid and cum- brous, particularly when he is desirous of elevating a humble topic by a pomp of phrase. It may be added, that no poet before him ever viewed nature either so extensively or so accurately ; and that a benevolent heart, and a soul tutored by philosophy and impressed by the sentiments of a pure and enlarged theology continually animate his pictures of rural life. Of the merit of his versification, different ears have judged very different. That his lines sometimes move heavily beneath an overweight of matter, and that they are occasionally harsh and unmelodious, is sufficient!}' perceptible ; but, considering the length of his poem, such defects may be excused ; and the general flow of his strain appears to me equal in harmony to that of most composers of blank verse, *hnugh rarely attaining excel- lence. As he is said to have been a very uncouth reader of his 264 THOMSON AND COWPER. own lines, it is probable that his musical perceptions were not remarkably nice. Thomson still bore the palm of descriptive poetry, and his man- ner was the principal object of imitation, when Cowper, who had failed of exciting attention by a volume of poems displaying abun- dant genius, but in a repulsive garb, burst on the public \tith his Task. This work, without professed subject or plan, consists of a mixture of description, chiefly rural, and of moral and religious sentiment, each introduced as it seems to have suggested itself to the mind of the author, with no other connection than casual association. Educated at a public school, and afterv/ards initia- led in the school of the world ; of a temper frank and undisguised; naturally inclined to hilarity, but with great inequality of spirits, which at length plunged him into a morbid melancholy, and ren- dered him the victim of a gloomy and appalling system of reli- gion ; kind and benevolent in his feelings, but converted by principle to a keen and caustic censor of life and manners; long consigned to a retirement in which his chief employment and so- lace was the contemplation of nature ; Cowper brought a very extraordinary assemblage of qualities, moral and intellectual, to give direction to a genius of the first order. A free converse with men of the world, and an abhorrence of every thing like af- fectation, in language as well as in manners, had formed him to a style purely English, not disdaining a mixture of common words, and rendered poetical, not by a lofty cant, but by expres- sions warmed with the vivid imagery that played before his fancy. Equally minute and circumstantial with Thomson in his mode of description, and by no means fastidious in his choice of sub- jects, in which he was partly influenced by a strong relish for humour, as well as a taste for the beautiful and sublime, he some- times paints in a manner resembling the Dutch or Flemish school, but always with touches of the true picturesque. When his sub- ject is low, he is content to leave it so, without any effort to raise it by the ambitious ornaments of artificial diction, secure of inter- esting his reader by the truth and liveliness of his delineation. Thus, in his picture of the Woodman, which has been happily transferred to canvass, not a word is employed that rises above the matter, yet the language could present no other terms equally expressive : — Slriggy Mncl leiin, and slrewd, wit'i pomted ears, And tail cropt sUoit, htiU-lurcher and half-cur, THOMSON AND COWPER. 265 llis clog altenils him. Close bc-liirid his heel Now creeps he slow, and now with many a frisk Witle-scamperiiig, sntitchcs up ihc ih-ified snow With ivory tfelli,orplnugI)s it with Ins snnut, Then shakes his powder'il coat, and barks tor joy. Heedless of all his i)ranks, the stui-dy churl Moves right towanl Iho inaik, nor stops for aught But now and then, with pressure of his thumb, T' adjust the fragrant charge of a short lube That fumes beneath his nose. The trailing cloud Streams lar behind him, scenting all the air. The Carrier, in a snow storm, — With iialf-shuteyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teetli Presented bare against the storm, — 3 a draught of the same kind, something more bordering on the Dutch style, but perfect as a copy of reality. In both these pas- sages, words are found which could not have suggested themselves :o Thomson, or, if they had, would scarcely have been admitted; |ret what reader of true taste would change them ? This niascu- ine vigour of vernacular diction, which is characteristic of Cow- )er's style, and in which it resembles that of Dryden, by no means jrecludes (any more than it did in that poet) the highest degree )f grace and elegance when those qualities are congenial with ;he subject. What can surpass in gracefulness of language, as veil as in beauty of imagery, his enumeration of plants in the lowering-shrubbery r — The tall guelder-rose — — throwing up into the darkest gloom Of neighb'ring cypress, or more sable yew. Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf That the wind severs from the broken wave. -K sjt JJ? ^ 'I* <^ ^ ******* ^ * * * * * luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets. The deep dark green of whose unvaniish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more. The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. If the passage in which these lines are contained be compared .vith a resembling one in Thomson describing the flowers that )low from early Spring to Summer, it will appear, that whilst he latter poet attempts little more than to annex to each some LI* 266 THOMSON AND COWPER. mark of distinction properly belonging to it, the former asso- ciates with the subject of his desjcription some idea of the imagi- nation which enhances its effect by parallelism Nothing de- notes the mind of a poet so much as this operation of the fancy when objects are presented to the external senses. That Thomson was in general an exact, as well as a minute, observer of nature is evinced in almost every page of the Sea- sons ; yet there are some instances in which Cowper, in touching upon the same circumstances, has displayed superior correctness. Thus, where Thomson, with a truly picturesque selection of in- cidents, represents the effects of a hard frost, he augments the real wonders of the scene by painting a cascade as if it were con- gealed into ice at the instant of falling :— *■ * * the dumb cascade, Whose idle lori-'tnts only seem to roar. But this is an impossibility, and is regarded as such by Cow- per, who has formed a beautiful frost picture from the opposite appearances. Speaking of a stream stealing away beneath its frozen surface, he says, — Not so, wluTc scornful of a check, it leaps The mill-dam, (lashes oii the restic ss wheel, AikI wantons in the jit-hhiy gulf helow. No frost can bind it there : its utmost force Can but arrest the lijrht and smoky mist That in its fall the liquid shei;l throws wide. In this passage, too, Cowper is more accurate in the silent stealthy flow of the frost-bound stream, than Thomson, who, pro- bably for the sake of poetical effect, represents it as indignantly murmuring at its chains : — The ivhole in)prison'd v'lvev ^'rowls below. Cowper's exactness was probably owing to his having been, from his situation, an observer of nature at an advanced period of life, when the novelty of common objects being exhausted, the rural solitary is reduced to pry more closely into surrounding scenes, in order to excite a new interest in them. Hence, his observations are commonly of a more curious and recondite kind than those of Thomson, who usually takes what lies obvious upon the surface of things. Every reader of the Seasons has ad- THOMSON AND COWPER. 267 mired the pleasing description of the red-breast, "paying to trusted man his annual visit:" it is recognised for perfect, na- ture, because every one has witnessed the reality: but few in their winter walks have made those remarks on the same bird which dictated to Cowper the following lines:-— The reil-bit'iibt warbles still, hut is content \^'ilh sbider notes :.ti(l iiioi'f than half suppressM. Plf .'.S' il with his solitiwle. :incl flitting light F otn spi ay to spray, whi'i'i-'er In- r^sts \n- shaki's From many a twig \i>t pciid nt di-opsol'icc. That tinkle in th(- witherM leaves below. This picture is equally natural with the former, and has the additional merit of furnishing new images to the fancy. It was from such a mature and deliberate study of nature that Mr. "White of Selborne derived that store of curious observation, which he has presented in tlie most entertaining misceUany of natural history that was ever composed. Both of these poets occasionally employed personification, which is a kind of abstract and comprehensive description. To the poet of the Seasons it was an obvious piece of mechanism that each should make its entrance as a living figure; distinguished by some characteristic of that portion of the year of which it was the harbinger; but it cannot be said that in these draughts he has displayed much fancy. The epithet of "ethereal Mildness" which he gives to Spring presents no visual image; and it has been justly objected by Miss Seward, that the "showers of sha- dowing roses'' in which she descends is an usurpation upon the property of Summer. To Summer is assigned nothing more than "refulgent youth," and an "ardent look." Autumn has the comiTion bearings of the sickle and wheaten sheaf, with which he, or she, is oddly said to be " crowned :" and Winter is only marked by the qualities of gloom and surliness. Tlie other sketches of personification in his poem are too slight to merit notice. The case is very different with Cowper. His powerful imagi- nation was equal to those creative exertions which are perliaps the highest triumph of poetry ; and though his purpose in the Task did not urge him to frequent attempts of this kind, yet he has exhibited specimens which in grandeur and elegance have scarcely ever been surpassed. His personified figures of Win- ter and of Evening will justify this assertion to every reader sus- £68 THOMSON AND COWPER. ceptible of the charms of pure poetry ; and, I think, clearly es- tablish his claims to a higher seat on Parnassus than that occu- pied by Thomson. The descriptive matter in the Seasons is diversified by some little history pieces, the subjects of which have a reference to that part of the year in which they are introduced. It is gene- rally admitted that the style of Thomson is little suited to the narrative of common life. Destitute of ease, and wholly unlike the language of real conversation, it proves an awkward vehicle for the dialogue and incidents of story-telling ; and though an in- terest is excited by the pathetic of the circumstances, as in the maid struck by lightning, and the man lost in the snow, it owes nothing to the manner of narration. Cowper, on the contrary, was a master in this style. He perfectly understood common speech, and could readily accommodate his phraseology to his subject. The touching story of Crazy Kate, and the various pas- sages in which he alludes to the melancholy history of his own life, are examples of the natural mode of narration ; of which many more instances might be aaduced from his other poems. As the versification of Thomson has been mentioned, it will be proper, by way of comparison, to say something of that of Cowper. His blank verse is in general the apparently negli- gent eftusion of one who, pouring out his thoughts in exuberance, does not long study to put them into measure. But he evident- ly possessed a musical and practised ear; and his irregularities are not always without design. It is known that in his version of Homer he paid very particular attention to the melody of his lines and its adaptation to the subject; and if, in the Task, his mind was more occupied with the sentiments, there are not want- ing passages the flow of which is remarkably harmonious. One example shall suffice for a proof of his talents in this respect:— How sol't the music of those village bells Falling :ii inttrvaU Upon ihe eai- lii cadence sweet ! now dying all away, Now jiealing loud again, and louder still. Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on. A fine ear is, then, another poetical requisite in which nature seems to have been more liberal to Cowper than to Thomson. It would, perhaps, be easy to quote from the latter, instances in which harsh or appalling sounds are happily imitated, for our language abounds with words which echo tones of that class ; but ■n THOMSON AND COWPER. 269 to make English verse " discourse eloquent music" is a much more difficult task. Such appear to me to be the principal characteristics of these two original poets in that delineation of natural objects and the incidents of rural life, for which both are so justly admired. Thomson is so far entitled to the first place, that if his minute style of painting had not obtained admission into English poe- try, the descriptions in the Task would probably never have ex- isted : yet Covvper cannot be denominated an imitator in them, since his manner is entirely his own, and the objects he has re- presented were evidently suggested by individual observation. Between the two poems no comparison can subsist; for while the Seasons is the completion of an extensive plan, necessarily comprising a great variety of topics, most of which would occur to every poetical mind occupied in the same design ; the Task owes nothing to a preconceived argument, but is the extemporane- ous product of the very singular mind and genius of the author, ft had no model, and can have no parallel. AN ESSAY .iiAiiil?''^ POEM ON THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. THE Poems termed didactic may be considered as of two kinds. Those to which the term is more properly applied, arc such as directly profess to teach some art or science. The other species consists of those which, taking up some speculative topic, establish a theory concerning it by argument and illustration. Of the former kind, many will familiarly occur to the reader's memory ; and the piece before us is an example of it. Of the latter, are various philosophical and argumentative pieces, from the poem of Lucretius on the Epicurean system, to Pope's Essay on Man, and Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination. A mid- dle place between the two seems to be occupied by moral poetry which, at the same time that it lays down practical rules for the conduct of life, discusses the theoretical principle on which they are founded. Now in estimating the respective value of these different pro- ducts of the poetic art, it will be necessary to begin with con- sidering what poetry essentially is, and what are its powers and purposes. It is, I conceive, essential to poetry that it should present ideas to the imagination, either agreeable of themselves, or rendered so by the clothing and accompaniments given to them. Its leading aim is to please; and its powers are, to a cer- tain degree, to make pleasing what would not be so of itself. If, therefore, by the poet's art, to the main end of giving pleasure, can be associated that of communicating instruction in such a way as will more strongly and agreeably impress it on the mind. ARMSTRONG. 271 its complete purpose may be said to be attained. Delight and profit combined are all that can be wished from the noblest of the fine arts. But there are subjects, the nature of which renders such a combitia^on scarcely possible, and in which every attempt to produce it, can only yield an incongruous mixture of ill placed ornament and defective instruction. These are especially to be found in those arts of life which depend upon the application of metlianical rules, or the practical skill acquired by experience. "^To describe the minute processes of manual art in verse, in such a manner as that they shall be understood, is not only a very difficult task, but a wholly fruitless one ; since, after all, the de- scription cannot be so clear and precise as one written in prose, nor can the verse rise to poetry. We may, indeed, admire the skill shown in the attempt to decorate a barren subject, but we must regret that the writer's talents were so ill employed. So obvious is this conclusion, that we may be assured no one ever wrote a didactic poem for the simple purpose of teaching an art. The choice has therefore been dictated by a search after novelty, or the desire of exhibiting a proof of poetical skill. These mo- tives are expressly avowed by Virgil in his Georgics, and are much more probable than the deep political design attributed to that poem, of exciting the Roman nobility to the pursuits of agri- culture. But while perhaps every poem strictly didactic labours under the inconvenience of a subject not calculated for displaying the art of poetry in its fairest form, some, both from their nature, and from the manner of treating them, are less defective in this respect than others. Thus, certain arts are closely connected in their theory with large and philosophical views of the system of the universe, or ot the principles of the human mind. Some, even, in their practice, aftbrd matter for pleasing description, and admit of easy illustration from the most striking and agree- able objects of external nature. For example, the arts of hus- bandry are evidently allied to a vast variety of great and inte- resting topics ; and we all know how advantageously Virgil has employed them as the ground work of one of the most pleasing- poems of antiquity. This piece, however, will also serve to show the unfavourable effect of attempting to express matter purely technical in a poetical manner. For no unprejudiced reader will deny, that in many of the preceptive passages, notwithstanding 272 ARMSTRONG. the variety of resources he employs to elevate them into poetrj - he is overpov/ered by his subject, and chained as it were, to the earth he is labouring ; — while on the other hand, as a teacher of the art, he is frequently so obscure, as to have embarrassed the whole race of agricultural and literary critics since his fime. It' may also be observed, that had he extended his views further into the philosophical part of his subject, and made a full use of the moral and physical variety it was capable of affording, he would not have found it necessary to wander into digressions so re- motely connected with his proposed topics, as scarcely to be justified by any reasonable claim of poetic license. For even the semblance of teaching is destroyed by deviations, the manifest purpose of which is to disengage the reader's attention from the main subject, and fix it upon somewhat more captivating to the imagination. With respect to the piece before us, its subject seems on the whole as happily calculated for didactic poetry, as most of those which have been taken for the purpose. To say that it is a pe- culiarly proper one for a physician to write upon, is saying no- thing of consequence to the reader. But the preservation of health is, in the first place, a matter of general importance, and therefore interesting to readers of every class. Then, although its rules, scientifically considered, belong to a particular pro- fession, and require previous studies for their full comprehen- sion ; yet, in the popular use, they are level to the understand- ing and experience of every man of reading and reflection. Had the subject been more strictly medical, such as the nature and cure of a particular disease, it would have been liable to the ob- jections attending a confined and professional topic ; and, like the Siphylis of Fracastorius, could scarcely, by the greatest poe- tical skill, have been rendered generally pleasing or instructive. But every man being in some measure entrusted with the care of his own health, and being accustomed to speculations concern- ing Air, Diet, Exercise, and the Passions, the subject may be considered as universal. It is true, these topics can be poeti- cally treated only in a popular manner, and the writer who chooses the vehicle of verse in treating of them, must take up with common and perhaps superficial notions. But by associa- ting these notions with images addressed to the imagination, he may convi?y them in a more agreeable form ; and he may advan- tageously femploy the diction of poetry to give to practical rules ARMSTRONG. ^73 an energy and conciseness of expression which may forcibly im- print them on the memory. This power is, indeed, the principal circumstance which imparts real utility to didactic poetry; and we all feel its effects on becoming acquainted with the moral and critical works of such authors as Horace, Boileau, and Pope. Further, the topics with which the Art of Health is conversant, are connected witli various of the loftiest and most extensive speculations on general nature ; and in pursuing the regular vein of thought, many sources of truly poetical ideas may be opened. It remains now to examine how far the author has availed himself of the advantages of his subject, and in what manner he has sup- ported the character of a didactic poet. As Invocation is an established part of a regular poem, it was necessary that the piece before us should be provided with that decoration. The choice of Hygeia, or the Goddess of Health, for the object of address, was dictated by a very obvious pro- priety. The manner is imitated from that of Lucretius in his fine invocation of Venus; and much imagination is displayed in the description of her approach, and of the various baleful forms of disease and death that fly from her presence. Of the sources from which health is drawn, salubrious air is one of the most remarkable. Air, therefore, with propriety, is made the peculiar topic of the first book. Perhaps a descriptive passage of more strength can scarcely be met with than that which enumerates the various contaminations of this element in a crowd- ed city. The ideas, indeed, in their own nature disgusting, might be thought almost too vividly represented, did they not by con- trast add to the sweetness of the subsequent rural picture, the effect of which is almost equal to that of the fabled calenture in calling forth irresistible longings after the country. Every rea- der familiar with the vicinity of the metroplis will feel peculiar pleasure from the glimpses given of those favourite summer re- treats, Windsor, Richmond, Dulwich, and Hampstead, which will excite in his mind peculiar images, always much more engaging to the fancy than general ones. The poet next exercises his in- vention in one of the higher efforts of the art, that of allegorical personification. His figure and genealogy of Quartana are well imagined ; but like most of those who create these fancy formed beings, he fails in the agency he attributes to her ; for in merely inspiring a fit of the ague, she acts not as a person, but as an in= corporeal cause. M m 274 ARMSTRONG He goes on to describe the different sites unfriendly to health, particularly the too moist and the too dry, which he makes the foundation of what are called in the schools of physic, the phleg- matic and melancholic temperaments. In his instructions how- to guard against the evils of different situations, he somewhat anticipates his future topics of diet and exercise. The passage, however, is full of vigorous description ; and the means of cor- recting the watery and the parched soil afford spirited sketches of landscape. But he is no where so minute, as in that perpetual topic of an Englishman, the bad weather under which our island is so frequently submerged. A kind of splenetic strength of painting distinguishes his gloomy draught of loaded skies and eastern blasts, and of that vexatious fickleness of weather, itt which all the seasons seem to " mix in every monstrous day." We are, however, brought into good humour again by the de- scription of cheerful, dry, and sheltered spots in which atmo- spherical evils may be palliated ; and the concluding eulogy on the cheering and invigorating influence of solar heat, leaves the fancy agreeably impressed with a sensation similar to that im- parted by a serene summer's day. On the whole, the descriptive beauties of this book are considerable ; but as a leading head of his subject, it might I conceive, have been lengthened with ad- vantage, by some circumstances relative to the influence of air upon health, which he has not touched upon. The sudden ope- ration upon the spirits by alterations in the weight of the atmo- sphere, as indicated by the barometer, and the medicinal effects of change of climate upon invalids, would have afforded matter both for curious discussion, and interesting, and even pathetic, narration. Diet, the subject of the second book, is, as the writer observes on entering upon it, comparatively barren and unfavourable to poetry. It is evidently more immersed in technical investiga- tions than the former; and its connection with the grossest of the sensual pleasures, renders it difficult to be treated on with- out derogating from the dignity of a pliilosophical poem. Dr. Armstrong, however, has managed it with judgment. He be- gins with a scientific topic, necessary as a foundation for the preceptive part which is to follow — the circulation of the blood. This function, however, admits of easy illustration from the common principles of hydraulics, as displayed in the motion of water through pipes and channels. The constant waste of solid ARMSTRONG. 275, particles that such a perpetual current must produce, demon- strates the necessity for a new supply by means of somewhat taken in. Hence naturally follows the consideration of food, its concoction, and the choice of aliments, solid and fluid, suited to persons of different constitutions and in different climates. This is the general plan of the book. The poet's skill consists in taking the subject out of the language and reasonings of science, familiarising it by apt illustration, and diversifying it by amusing digression. All this he has attempted, and with success. We shall not closely follow his steps while he treats of the digestibility and salubriousness of different foods, and lays down rules for the regulation of appetite. The subject, as we before hinted, is not of the most pleasing kind, and it is apparently rather from necessity than choice that he enters into it. His expressions and images are strong, but strength so employed is unavoidably a kin to coarseness. A more agreeable topic is the praise of temperance and simple diet, from which he easily slides into a beautiful moral passage, showing how much better riches may be employed than in the luxuries of the table — by relieving indigence and unfriended merit. One line is alnr.ost unri- valled in pathetic energy, Tliougii husli'd in psitient wretchedness at home. The opposite evils arising from too full and too scanty a diet are next enumerated, and cautions are given respecting the pro- gress from one to the other. The different regimen proper for the several seasons of the year is then touched upon ; and this naturally leads the poet to open a new source of variety in des- cription, derived from a view of human life as subsisting in cli- mates removed to the two extremes from our own. The pic- ture of the frigid zone is but slightly sketched ; that of the tor- rid regions is much more minute, and will strongly remind the reader of a similar one by the hand of Thomson ; but I dare not assert that it will lose nothing by the comparison. It is render- ed less appropriate, by the enumeration of vegetable articles which in reality belong to very different climates ; the cocoa and anana being many degrees separated from the countries rich in corn and wine. The cedar of Lebanon, likewise, as a native of the bleak tops of high mountains, ought not to be placed by the side of the palm and plantain. The succeeding passage, however, which paints the wonders 276 ARMSTRONG. of the Naiad kingdom, though it also has its parallel in i\\t Seasons, is not, I think, surpassed by that, or any other poem, in strength and grandeur of description. The awful sublimity of the scenes themselves and the artifice of the poet in intro ducing himself as a spectator, and marking the supposed impres- sions on his own mind, elevate this piece to the very summit ot descriptive poetry. The praise of water-drinking follows ; with the precepts of the father of physic for choosing rightly this pure and innocent beve- rage. Notwithstanding the apparent earnestness with which the poet dwells on this topic, there is some reason to suspect that he was not quite hearty in the cause. For he not only adopts the notion of those who have recommended an occasional debauch, as a salutary spur to nature; but descanting on the necessity a man may find himself under to practise hard drinking in order to promote the pursuits of ambition or avarice, he advises him (between jest and earnest) to inure himself to the trial by slow degrees. Here the physician and sage seem lost in the jolly com- panion. He soon, however, resumes those characters ; and after remarking the tendency of a continued use of wine to bring on premature old age, he digresses into a theoretical account of the process by which the animal machine is gradually impeded in its motions, and at length comes to a full stop. This conducts him to a striking termination of the book, in a lofty description of the ravages made by time upon the works of human art, and the world itself. Exercise, the subject of the third book, is a theme more adapt- ed to poetry, and less immersed in professional disquisitions, than that of the preceding. Its benefits in the preservation of health are universally known ; and the poet's task is rather to frame upon it pictures agreeable to the imagination, than to treat of it in a closely preceptive or scientific manner. Dr. Armstrong begins with a lively portrait of the rustic, rendered firm and ro- bust by toil, like a sturdy oak of the forest; and he produces him as a specimen of the influence of exercise on the human frame. He then exhorts the votary of health to partake of the various kinds of rural pastime, the walk in all seasons, the chase, and the sport of fishing. This last amusement introduces a very pleasing passage, in which the poet characterises various streams, particularly the Liddel, on whose pastoral banks he first drew breath. The tribute of affection he pays to his native place, and ARMSTRONG. 277 x\\c retrospect of his own boyish years, are sweetly interesting, and vie with all that Thomson and Smollet have written on a similar topic. The species of exercise afforded by gardening, gives occasion to a moral picture, of a man retired from public life, to the cul- tivation of his estate, surrounded with a select society of old companions, of the same tastes and pursuits with himself. This is wrought so much in the manner of Thomson, that were it not for some difference of style, it might pass undistinguished as a passage of the Seasons. The " noctes ccenseque deura" of Hor- ace, have contributed to adorn the piece. Resuming the medical consideration of exercise, he next ad- verts to its power in strengthening weak parts by habitual exer- tions ; and he dwells on the propriety of a gradual progress from rest to labour, and on the mischiefs attending too violent and heedless toils. This leads him to a serious and pathetic apos- trophe on the fatal effects proceeding from exposure to cold, oi draughts of cold liquor, when heated, which he represents as the most frequent of all causes of mortal disease. The ancient use of warm baths and unctions after exercise is his next topic, in speaking of which, he finds it necessary to touch upon that im- portant function of the body, insensible perspiration. The strict connection of this with health and disease, according as it is re- gular or deranged, has been a favourite argument with certain medical schools, and is here briefly illustrated in poetical lan- guage. The use of cold bathing in steeling the frame against the inclemencies of a cold climate, and the advantages of fre- quent ablution in hot ones, and of cleanliness in all, are further subjects of digression. He returns to the consideration of exercise, as it is limited by recurring changes of the day and year; warning against it while the body is loaded with food, and during the heats of a summer's noon, and the chills of evening. These preceptive re- marks lead him to a vein more fertile of ideas addressed to the imagination ; for conceiving the day to be sunk into the silence and gloom of midnight, he views the toil -spent hind wrapt in the arms of profound repose, the sweet soother of his labours. Hence he digresses to the subject of dreams, and paints in vivid colours the horrid scenes that disturb the mind during the delirium of unquiet slumber. The proper period in which sleep is to be in- dulged, with its due measure to different constitutions, are next ^27B ARMSTRONG. considered. The influence of habit in this respect, brings on an exhortation to proceed very gradually in altering every corpo- real habit ; and this is made an introduction to a description of the successive changes of the year, with the distempers they bring. All this, and the remainder of the book, might perhaps with great- er propriety have made a part of the first head; since its connec- tion with exercise is less obvious than with air. To introduce in some part of his plan an account of epidemic diseases was, how- ever, evidently proper, both as matter for important instruction respecting the preservation of health, and as affording scope for poetical variety. After some common observations on the diseases of Spring and Autumn, and the means of guarding against them, with a forcible injunction against delay as soon as symptoms of danger appear ; the poet proceeds to an imitation of Virgil and Lucretius in the particular description of a pesti- lence ; and he very happily chooses for his subject the Sweating- Sickness which first prevailed in England when the Earl of Rich- mond, afterwards Henry VII. came hither on his expedition against the tyrant Richard. So many graphical descriptions in prose and verse have been made of visitations of this kind, that scarcely any source of novelty remained in the general circum* stances accompanying them. Dr. Armstrong has, therefore, ju- diciously introduced as much as possible of the particular cha- racter of this singular distemper, which, as far as we learn, was entirely unknown before, and has never appeared since that pe- riod. He has not even rejected certain popular errors prevalent respecting it, which, though they ought carefully to be avoided in a medical treatise, may perhaps be permitted to enhance the wonder of a poetical narration. Such is that, which asserts Eng- lishmen to have been its only victims, both in their own country and abroad — a notion which certainly adds to the interest with which a native of this country reads the relation. The conclu- sion of this book is a close copy from Virgil in the design, suit- ably varied in the circumstances. The deaths beyond the Atlan- tic allude to the unfortunate expedition to Carthagena, a popular topic of complaint at that period. The title with which the fourth and last book is inscribed, is Ihe Passions ; but its subject would be more accurately express- ed by the influence of the mind over the body — a large and ele- vated topic, detached from the technical matter of any particular profession, and in its full extent comprising every thing sublime ARMSTRONG. 279 and affecting in moral poetry. The theory of the union of a spi- ritual principle with the gross corporeal substance, is that which the writer adopts as the basis of his reasonings. It is this ruling power which Wields at his will the dull material world, And is the body's health or malady. He evidently confounds, however, (as all writers on this system do) matter of great subtilty, with what is not matter — or spirit. These " viewless atoms," he says, " are lost in thinking," yet thought itself is not the enemy of life, but painful thinking, such as that proceeding from anxious studies, and fretful emotions. To prevent the baneful effects of these, he counsels us frequently to vary our objects, and to join the bodily exercise of reading aloud, to the mental labour of meditation. Solitary brooding over thoughts of a particular kind, such, especially, as pride or fear presents to the imagination, is warned against, in a passage full of energy, as the usual parent of madness or melancholy. Sometimes what the poet terms a chronic passion, or one arising from a misfortune which has made a lasting impression, such as? the loss of a beloved friend, produces a sympathetic languor in the body, which can only be removed by shifting the scene, and plunging in amusement or business. Some persons, however, take a less innocent method of dispelling grief, and in the tempting bowl Ofpoison'd nectar sweet oblivion swill. The immediately exhilirating effects, and the sad subsequent re- verse, attending this baneful practice, are here painted in the most vivid colouring, and form a highly instructive and pathetic lesson ; in particular, the gradual degradation of character which it infallibly brings on, is finely touched. A kind of moral lecture succeeds, introduced as the supposed precepts of a sage in human life, whose character is represented as a compound of manly sense and cheerfulness. How to acquire happiness by moderation in the pursuit of pleasure, and by the practice of virtue, is the topic of this passage, which, though cer- tainly digressive, has, however, a natural affinity with the lead- ing subject of the book. Virtue has seldom been characterised with more spirit and dignity ; and trite as the sentiments arc, the energy with svhich they are expressed commands attention. 280 ARMSTRONG. The poet next reverts to his more direct purpose, that of con- sidering the passions in their influence upon bodily health. In general, he lays it down as a rule, that all emotions which are pleasing to the mind, are also salutary to the body. But there are exceptions, some being in their nature prone to hurtful ex- cess ; as an instance of which he gives the passion of Love. Here, again, he tries his strength with Thomson, and his description cannot but remind the reader of the fine picture of a love-sick youth drawn by that writer in his Spring. Thomson, however, dwells much more minutely on the mental effects of love. Arm- strong, with propriety, fixes the attention more on the changes it induces in the corporeal frame, and this, both as it is a pas- sion, and as it leads to sensual indulgences. With great force, yet with sufficient delicacy, he paints the condition of one un- nerved and exhausted by excess in amorous delights. This, in- deed, is deviating from the express subject of the book; since love as a passion, and the appetite for sexual enjoyment, are dis- tinct things, the latter being certainly able to subsist without the former, if not the former without the latter. But an insen- sible gradation led him easily from the one to the other. The passion of Anger is his next theme, and the bold personi- fication with which he has introduced it, is admirably suited to its violent and precipitate character. A fit of rage has frequent- ly been known at once to overpower the vital faculties, and strike with instant death. To guard against it was therefore a point of peculiar importance; and the poet has presented many strik- ing moral arguments against the indulgence of that habit which,, makes us prone to ungoverned sallies of this passion. But where reason proves too weak for the control of this and other unruly affections of the mind, to what other power shall we re- sort for aid ? We may, he hints, oppose passion to passion, and extinguish one by its opposite. But without dwelling on this contrivance (.which, indeed, is neither very philosophical nor manageable) he proceeds to recognise a power in Natuie which may be rendered the universal tranquilliser of the breast ; and this power is Music. With a contrasted description of the mu- sic which exercises this sympathetic dominion over the emo- tions, and that which is only the execution of difficult trifles, followed by an allusion to ^he fabulous stories of some ancient masters, and the praise of the art itself, the poet, somewhat ab- ruptly, closes the book and the work. ARMSTRONG. £81 I'rom this cursory view of the contents of Dr. Armstrong's piece, it will probal^lj appear, that, together with a sufficient va- riety for the purpose of amusement, there is miiforraity of de- sign enough to constitute the proper character of a didactic poem. xVlmost every thing essential to the preservation of health is touched upon during its course; and the digressive parts are neither wholly impertinent to the main object, nor do they occu- py a disproportionate space. Many topics of an elevated nature are occasionally introduced ; and moral sentiment is agreeably interwoven with precept and description. The writer has, ap- parently, found some difficulty in adhering to tlie arrangement of his design ; for neither are the proposed topics of the four books equally copious of matter, nor has he with precision con- fined himself to the subjects belonging to each. However, as the real intention of such a work is not to afford systematic in- struction, but to impress the mind with detached particulars, and to amuse it with variety, objections in point of method are little to be regarded. If this performance on the whole offers a fund of useful advice and rational entertainment to every cultivated reader, and at the same time is in a good degree what it pro- fesses to be, it has fulfilled its purpose. It now remains to consider how far this work is characterised by any peculiarity of style and manner. English blank verse in its structure approaches so nearly to prose, that they who have employed it on elevated subjects, have adopted a variety of methods to give it the stamp of poetry. Some have transplanted as much as possible of the idiom of the ancient languages into their own. They have used words in un- common senses, derived rather from etymology than practice ; and in the formation of sentences, they have studiously deviated from the natural order, and copied the involutions and inver- sions of the Latin and Greek. Others have enriched their style with novel terms and compound epithets, and have aimed at an uncommon mode of saying the commonest things. Very dif- ferent from these is the manner of Armstrong. It is distinguish- ed by its simplicity — by a free use of words which owe their strength to their plainness — by the rejection of ambitious orna- ments, and a near approach to common phraseology. His sen- tences are generally short and easy, his sense clear and obvious. The full extent of his conceptions is taken at the first glance ; and there are no lofty mysteries to be unravelled by repeated N n 382 ARMSTRONG, perusal. "What keeps his language from being prosaic, is Uip vigour of his sentiments. He thinks boldly, feels strongly, and therefore expresses himself poetically. Where the subject sinks, his style sinks witli it; but he has for the most part excluded topics incapable either of vivid description, or of the oratory of sentiment. He had from nature a musical ear, whence his lines are scarcely ever harsh, and are usually melodious, though ap- parently without much study to render them so. Perhaps he has not been careful enough to avoid the monotony of making seve- ral successive lines close with a rest or pause in the sense. On - the whole, it may not be too much to assert, that no writer in ' blank verse can be found more free from stiflness and affectation, more energetic without harshness, and more dignified without formality. AN ESSAY ON THE POEMS OF ■' MR. MATTHEW GREEN was of a family in good repute amongst the Dissenters, and had his education in the sect. He was a man of approved probity and sweetness of temper and man- ners. His wit abounded in conversation, and was never known to give the least offence. He had a post in the Custom House, and discharged the duty there with the utmost diligence and ability. He died at the age of forty-one years, at a lodging in Nag's Head Court, Gracechurch Street." — Dodsley's Collection of Poems, vol. I. In the productions of poetry, as in those of the other fine arts not only is consummate excellence in every point which contri- butes to the perfection of a work extremely rare, but a high de- gree of it in any one of these points is not frequently to be met with. If, as has been done with respect to painting and music, a scale were to be framed for poetical merit, in which all the principal qualities belonging to the art, such as invention, versi- fication, diction, pathos, and the like, were plated at the head of separate divisions with a number annexed denoting the max- imum of each,^ — how few poets could be found who might fairly be said to have reached that highest degree even in one of tliese; how much fewer, who have approached it in several ! In considering such a scale, it might be a question whether the poet who stood at a medium height in all of the divisions, or he wlio was at the top in one or two, and near the bottom in the rest, were the better artist ; but it could be no question whether the latter or the former were the greater genius. Excellence in one point will ever deserve a praise, to which mediocrity in many cannot arrive ; and though its productions may afford less of the calm delight received from performances in which taste and skill 284 GREEN secure moderate satisfaction o.nd preclude disgust, yet thev will better deserve the study and admiration of a true lover of the art. It would be easy to enumerate various works of English poe- try possessed of this partial or disproportionate excellence ; and several of them maintain their place as acknowledged specimens of true genius, though perhaps they are more admired than read. But the celebrity of writers depends much upon accidental cir- cumstances; and if, in particular, we examine the share of fame obtained by our minor poets, whose performances have not mass enough to fill a considerable space in the public eye, we shall ' find it very far from commensurate with their proportion of merit. Besides the advantajres bestowed by high patronage and con- nections, and the praise of cotemporaries of name and reputation, there are certain merits more obvious to the generality of rea- ders than others of a superior order, as well as certain topics more popular and interesting than others. Thus it has happened, that the soft and harmonious elegies of Hammond, referring to a pas- sion familiar to all the readers of poetry, and replete with senti- ments pleasing and natural, though none of them original to the "] writer, and sometimes bordering on triteness and insipidity — have had much more fortune in the world than the pieces of Green, distinguished as they are by brilliancy and originality of thought, but singular in their subject and somewhat uncouth in their manner. The writer before us was neither by education nor situatiou , in life qualified to attain skill in those constituent parts of poe-» tical composition upon which much of its elegance and beauty .' depend. He had not, like a Gray or a Collins, his mind early ' fraught with ail the stores of classic literature ; nor could he de- vote months and years of learned leisure to the exquisite charms of versification or rhe refined ornaments of diction. He was a man of business, who had only the intervals of his regular em- ployment to improve his mind by reading and reflection; and his poems appear to have been truly no more than hasty eiFu- " sions for the amusement of himself and his particular friends. Numbers of works thus produced are born and die in the circle of every year ; and it is only by the stamp of real ge- nius that these have been preserved from a similar fate. But nature had bestowed on the author a strong and quick con- ception, and a wonderful power of bringing together remote GREEN. 285 ideas so as to produce the most novel and striking effects. No man ever thought more copiously or with more orginality ; no man ever less fell into the beaten track of common place ideas and expressions. That cant of poetical phraseology which is the only resource of an ordinary writer, and which those of a superior class find it difficult to avoid, is scarcely any where to be met with in him. He has no hackneyed combinations of substantives and epithets ; none of the tropes and figures of a school boy's Gradus. Often negligent, something inaccurate, and not unfrequently prosaic, he redeems his defects by a rapid va- riety of beauties and brilliancies all his own, and affords more food to the understanding or imagination in a line or a couplet, than common writers in half a page. In short, if in point of versification, regularity, and correctness, his place is scarcely assignable among the poets; in the rarer qualities of variety and vigour of sentiment, and novelty and liveliness of imagery, it would not be easy to find any, in modern times at least, who has a right to rank above him. The longest and most elaborate of Mr. Green's compositions, and that by which he is best known, is an epistolatory piece en- titled The fcpleen, of which the ingenious and elegant Mr. Mel- moth has said, " that there are more original thoughts thrown to- gether than ever he had read in the same compass of lines.-' The writer calls it a motley performance, and apologises for its want of method : a general subject may, however, be traced through it, which is, the art of attaining a tranquil state of mind, undisturbed by vexatious emotions and gloomy imaginations, and free from that mixture of listlessness and melancholy which has been denominated the Spleen. For this purpose, a sort of regi- men for the soul is laid down, consisting chiefly in the practice of an easy good humoured philosophy, resembling that of Horace in his gay but sober mood, and comprising the best practical Epicurean system that has, perhaps, ever been sketched out. To speculate upon the various scenes of human life without deep- ly engaging in them ; to indulge the excursions of fancy, but to restrain conduct by the reins of prudence ; to give free entrance to all musive and agreeable objects, and carefully to exclude all of an opposite kind — are the principal heads of his didactic mat- ter. But it appears to have been no small part of his design, to take the occasion his subject afforded, of bestowing strokes of sa- tire en passant ; at the same time that a fixed antipathy to those 286 GREEN. high claims upon our belief and acquiescence which cramp the exertions of reason and liberty, and a tendency to free specula- tion concerning theological topics, are sufficiently discernible throughout the piece. It is not the purpose of this Essay to give a moral or philosophical comment upon the author's system. Readers may take what they approve of it— and surely much may be approved — without embarrassing themselves about the rest. It is thus that Horace is read by all his rational admirers. Meantime, as all we know of Mr. Green authorises us to believe that he led an innocent and useful life we may conclude that he, at least, received no injury from his speculative tenets ; de- serving, on this account, a praise the opposite of that bestow- ed by Dr. Johnson on some of the subjects of his biographical sketches, who are commended for the stedfastness with which they held orthodox opinions, in the midst of worthless and li- centious lives. ^ To proceed to a more particular survey of the poem : — The author, after an introduction in which, with great truth, he dis- claims plagiarism, represents his purpose to be, that of replying to his friend's question, " what method he took to keep oflf attacks of the Spleen, and preserve serenity through the storms of the world." He sets out with a novel and very appropriate image of this noxious being, whom he represents as holding a magic lanthorn, by means of which he throws frightful figures upon the scene of life — an idea thought worthy of being copied in one ot the designs with which the poem has been decorated. The corporeal regimen prescribed against the Spleen consists of temperance and exercise. The early hours of the hunter, whose sport he recommends, gives occasion to a spirited picture of morning freeing herself from the defilements of the night, and triumphantly mounting the skies, which affords a specimen of his talents for inventive description; as the well known line con- cerning exercise, Fling but a stone, tlie giant dies, does of his singular turn for ingenious allusion. A satirical and entertaining enumeration follows, of objects proper to dispel Spleen by the ridicule they excite. This is succeeded by a description of the effects of theatrical represen- tations, and music, in harmonising the soul ; — which, however, GREEN. 9jS7 cannot be much praised for originality. The description of a rainy day and its resources has more novelty ; and the simile of the flying iish, with the allusions to the ark, and the manna of the Israelites, are striking specimens of the author's peculiar manner. It may be remarked respecting Green, (and I believe the remark would apply to many other writers educated among the Dissenters) that he abounds in references to scripture his- tory ; a habit derived from early familiarity with those writings, which has not unfrequently survived any particular veneration for their authority. There is much feeling as well as fancy in the testimony given to the power possessed by the fair sex in banishing intrusions of Spleen. The contrast of black eyes and blue eyes is very strik- ing ; and the allusion to the miracle of St. Januarius's head is one of the most ingenious in the piece. The succeeding grave censure on modern female education may suggest useful reflec- tions ; yet few, it may be supposed, will now concur in the ad- vice to confine girls for their security within " the safe high wall of ignorance." What to avoid, is the next topic of the author's friendly ad- monition. At the head of the particulars enumerated he places, properly enough, that species of religion which inculcates gloomy and desponding ideas. With no less prudence he cautions against going to law ; and his allegory of a forest may by lawyers them- selves be admitted to be happily sustained. In warning against party strife, he takes occasion to characterise the two leading parties in church as they existed at his day. The contrast is drawn with truth and humour; but the force of his satirical wit is principally expended on the puritannical sect, the rigid and unamiable manners of which had very commonly the eftect of dis- gusting most those who from birth and education took the near- est survey of them. The nature and motives of the writer's present conformity are then explicitly stated. Not able to satisfy his doubts, he resorts to the laws for a decision, and goes " to Mecca with the cara- van." As a consequence of such a principle, it is not extraor- dinary to find him renouncing all "reforming schemes," the end of which he seems to think absolutely unattainable, and therefore rather chooses to laugh at the follies of mankind, than run the hazard of making himself unhappy by " baffled zeal.'' In this conclusion he appears more consistent than he is in the subse- 288 • GREEN. quciit exceptions made in favour of a zeal for civil liberty and freedom of the press. But the fact probably was, that his origi- nal habits of thinking, as well as the prevailing spirit of the times, preserved his attachments, to the latter, while scepticism and the practice of occasional conformity had subdued his regard for religious truth. The passage, however, in which he main- tains the cause of liberty and knowledge, is striking and spirit- ed; and there is much pregnant truth in the concluding remark, that they who apply the gag, always rob first. He proceeds in his enumeration of the things to be avoided, as parents of disappointment and chagrin. A very lively and ap- propriate image of Fortune, or rather Court-favour, is given in the similitude of a figure sportively throwing the reflected light of a mirror into the eyes of a gaping crowd. Like many other poets. Green is a declaimer against his own art ; and indulges in some lively strictures upon those who mistake a fond desire after poetical fame, for real talents, as well as upon those who sup port their claims to reputation by plagiarism and artifice. The denomination of " the hop-grounds of the brain" given to verse^ is peculiarly happy. His praise of Glover, another citizen-poet of distinguished merit, is liberal and affectionate. Quitting admonition and satire, he comes at length to the direct means of procuring happiness in life ; and having preluded with a rapturous address to contentment, he pours forth his sweetest strains, and the most pleasing effusions of his fancy, in a wish. Many poets have anticipated him in the indolent amusement of building castles in the air; but I know not if any one has been so successful in delineating a scene captivating to the lover of rural beauty and philosophic retirement. It is equally delightful as a piece of landscape painting, and as a moral portraiture ; and the plan of life it lays down is a happy medium between that of the contemplative sage, and of the rational man of the world, who knows how to appreciate its comforts and enjoyments. He next touches upon a higher topic, and with the seriousness of one friend addressing another, displays his sentiments con- cerning the prospects of a future existence. Whatever be thought of his mode of philosophising, it will not be denied that the whole passage is eminently distinguished by his characteristic vigour of expression and liveliness of fancy ; and the spirited assertion of a free right to private judgment, uncontroled by those who boast themselves " lords of the manor of the soul,'' will meet vrith GREEN. 289 the concurrence of all whom such a writer could in any degree expect to please. The address to the Creator, suddenly checked by a consciousness of incapacity, and terminating in 'mute praise and humble negatives," almost reaches the sublime. The allegor}' representing human life as a voyage, with which the piece concludes, is an extremely hackneyed one. It may be traced through poets of various periods and nations ; and, in par- ticular, has been more than once employed by Horace, in pas- sages in every one's memory. But perhaps it can no where be met with applied with so much exactness, and with such a varie- ty of circumstances, as in the present instance. Reason sitting at the helm of the vessel, the Passions forming the crew, Philo- sophy putting forth the lights. Experience employing the glass and lead, the careening places ot Bath and Tunbridge, and the dolphins sporting around, all together compose a wonderfully animated picture, clear in its conception, and happy in its re~ semblance. Such is this singular poem on the Spleen, which few persons, it is imagined, will once read, without frequent re-perusals, every ane of which will be repaid by new discoveries of uncommon and ingenious turns of thought. It possesses that undoubted mark of excellence, the faculty of impressing the memory with many of its strong sentiments and original images : and perhaps uot more lines of Hudibras itself have been retained by its ad- ;nirers, than of this poem. The Epigram on Echard's and Burnet's Histories, and The Sparrow and Diamond, are sprightly trifles, on which it is unne- aessary to bestow any remarks. The Seeker is a curious piece of theological painting in the iiumoi'ous style, the figures of which many will recognise to be Irawn from the life. The poem on Barclay's Apology for the Quakers is written perfectly in the manner of the serious and philosophical part [)f The Spleen ; and is, indeed, an admirable piece, clear and correct in its language, and full of original thoughts. The de- scription of the retired votary, receiving in silence and self an- nihilation the visitation of the spirit, is very striking and poeti- cal, and renders solemn and impressive what has more com- monly been represented in a ludicrous manner. The sentence. For so fliviiie aud pure a guest The emiiliest rooms nrc iiirnish'd best, o 290 GREEN. is, indeed, capable of a sinister interpretation ; but from the general air of the passage, he could not intend a sarcasm in this place ; and the emptiness must mean no more than what proceeds from the temporary exclusion of external objects. Though there is an occasional sportiveness in his manner there seems no rea- son to doubt that he was in earnest in his approbation of the Quaker system, at least so far as to reckon it the nearest ap- proach to pure Christianity ; and his allusion to the case of king Agrjppa fairly displays the state of his mind. His apologies for not openly adopting the principles he approves, have all the ap- pearance of sincerity, and are such as will touch the heart of every reader whose situation in life prevents him from acting up to his convictions. The honest confession, Like yoti 1 think, but cannot live might become many characters of higher pretension than Mr. Green. : .. The most singular of our author's poems is entitled The Grotto, and was written on the erection of one of those edifices in Rich- mond Gardens by queen Caroline. It is not easy to say what sort of a poem such a subject should naturally produce ; but we may be assured that from no other pen would it have produced any thing similar to the present. Yet, digressive as it is, we may discern a general design running throught it, that of considering the Grotto as A temple from vain glories free, WlKjse goddess is Piiilosophy ; an idea suggested as well by the character of the elevated per- sonage who built it, as by the busts of the great men with which it was furnished. This edifice is the same that Pope invidiously calls the "hermitage" in which Dr. Clark was improperly placed; but no one free from party prejudice will think that he disgraces his company. The variety of thoughts which our author has found means to connect by his plan is very extraordinary, and many of them are truly admirable, though we may sometimes " wonder how the devil they came there." The character of the heathen deities, and the necessity imputed to them of "recruit- ing from earth's first commoners," are excellent strokes of sa- tire. The comparison of the insect tribe with the human race is lively, but one does not see what insects have peculiarly to do with a grotto. GREEN. 291 One of the best and most appropriate passages is the enumera- tion of things which should, as it were, be exorcised frtiin this sacred spot. Many of them are characterised with peculiar feli- city, as scandal, adulation, spleen, and prophecy. The mention of Melancholy among the group, serves to bring in the writer's Delia, whom we may suppose to be some favourite fair, too much addicted to gloom and low spirits. She is made the vehicle of some very sprightly and poetical description, thougli perfectly digressive from the topic of the piece. The comparison of the soul in a pensive fit to a sick linnet, and that of the teaiful circle i'ound the eye to a halo about the moon, are highly ingenious; and the enumeration of superstitious terrors is well conceived. Were we inclined to moralise on the occasion, it might be sug- gested, that this disposition to indulge in gloomy and terrific imaginations has been too much encouraged by some late works of fiction, which have delighted in painting with all the strength of pencil in antique hall The moonlight monsters on the wall; And shadowy spectres darkly pass Trailing their sables o'er the grass. After this excursion, the poet returns to his exorcism, forbid- ding the entrance of the grotto to various other inauspicious Ije- ings, among whom the bigot is well characterised, as confined to look one way only Through blinkers of authority. He then invokes the proper nymph of the place, who seems to be the Urania mentioned in a former part of the piece, and allots her the fit companions, reason, religion, philosophy, and morals, —-religion having first ceased " crusading against sense," and renewed her ancient alliance with philosophy. He represents nature as smiling at the nymph's presence, and zephyr " playing with her curls instead of leaves. '' In conclusion, he raises the fair sex to the upper seats of the shrine, and pursues a very fan- ciful parallel between the female form and mind, and some of the phenomena of nature. The poem terminates with a just com- pliment to the royal founder of the gidtto, wi'o, though a queen prised the friends of freedom, and canonised wise men though a woman. 292 GREEN. It appears that this piece was printed at its lirst composition, but not published. Probably the author was sensible that it was likely neither to be relished nor understood by the common readers of grotto poetry. Indeed, it is not calculated to give out its beau- ties, or its meaning, to a single perusal ; yet it will amply repay a closer examination. Why it was to pass under the name of "a Fisherman of Brentford" is not apparent. Certainly, it is ex- tremely remote from the simple and rustic character which would suit a supposed author of that class. The poems of Green, which have hitherto appeared chiefly or solely in miscellaneous collections, do not seem favourably placed in them, since the reader, in the midst of a variety of light and agreeable pieces, is apt to overlook those of more thought and solidity, especially if they have any thing forbidding in their first aspect. If their separate publication shall mark them out more pointedly to the lovers of English poetry, it is presumed that the writer's fame and the reader's pleasure will receive an equa^ accession. 4 A CRITICAL ESSAY ON OF THE CHASE. THE true idea of a didactic poem being once established — that its real purpose is not to teach, but to amuse under the semblance of teaching — it will remain to be considered, what kinds of sub jects afford the happiest themes for these compositions. The two great requisites appear to be, interest and variety. With out the former, the work will prove insipid ; without the latter, tedious. The first point is secured by choosing a topic which is capable of rousing the passions, or, at least, of agitating the mind by lively emotions. The second is attained by frequent changes of scenery, and a due mixture of images derived from the senses and the understanding. The subject of the poem before us will, it is presumed, be ge- nerally thought to possess both these advantages in no incon- siderable degree. As far as instinctive propensities can be at- tributed to man, it may be asserted that he has ever, in almost all the different states of society in which he has been placed, exhibited a native passion for the chase ; and he may, perhaps, be denominated a hunting animal, with as much propriety as the dog or the panther. Like the former of these, he receives de- light from the chase itself, independently of the acquisition ;' for it is found, that no degree of plenty obtained by the labours of others, or by exertions of a different kind, has been able to sub- due that ardour by which many are impelled to incur hardships, iatigues, and even dangers, in pursuit of an object, which would 294 yOMERVILLE. be perfectly trifling, were it not for the gratification experienced in the very pursuit. What but the chase (or war, wliich is an image of it,) can urge the rich man to forego the pleasures of luxurious indolence, and submit to privations and bodily suft'er- ings which for a time put him upon a level with the lowest ol his train ? — while the poor man is equally prone to encounter hazards of all kinds for the sake of a participation in the same animating delights. M. de Saussure, in his travels among the Alps, giving an account of the dangerous sport of chamois-hunt- ing, relates the following circumstance. " 1 knew a young man, of an engaging figure and countenance, just married to a charm- ing woman, who, in conversing upon this subject, said to me, My grandfather died in the chase, so did m^ father, and so per- suaded am I that the same will be my destiny, that 1 call this sack which 1 take with me on my hunting expeditions, my wind- ing-sheet, because 1 am certain 1 shall have no other. And yet, Sir, were you to oiFer to make my fortune on condition of my re- nouncing chamois-hunting, I would not comply." Within two years the poor man's prediction was verified. M. de Saussure, in accounting for this extraordinary passion, which could not be excited by any reasonable hopes of profit, justly attributes its power to the alternations of hope and fear, and the perpetual agitation of the mind from these strong emotions, which actuate the hunter as they do the gamester, the warrior, and the navi- gator. With respect to the variety afforded by the chase as a subject for the poet, it is considerable, not only in direct description, but in digressive and incidental matter. The speculatist, who is inclined to take a wide range, may descant on various topics of philosophy and natural history connected with it; such as the separate powers of instinct and education in animals, the oppo- site laws of preservation and destruction in the economy of na- ture, the influence of climate and season, and the moral effects of the passion for the chase. If to these be added, historical di- gressions relative to the manners of different stages of society and periods of the world with respect to this object, intermixed, perhaps, with a portion of mythology, which might without force be introduced, it will appear, that a poem on hunting may pos- sess compass and elevation enough to prove interesting even to those who are not practically attached to the sports of the field. The poem of Mr. Somerville, however, is much less a philoso- SOMERVILLE. 295 phical than it Is a descriptive one. The writer was a real, not a speculative, sportsman ; and it was not till fixed to his elbow- chair by infirmity, that he thought of writing on the chase, in- stead of following it. Classically educated, but, as it appears, with a mind not remarkably opened by habits of investigation, or elevated by images of the fancy, he has produced a piece, the principal excellence of which consists in pictures drawn from the life, and animated by the warm genuine feelings of the painter. The language, the sentiments, the incidents, all display perfect acquaintance with the scenes described ; and in hurrying from narration to narration, with little interposition of digressive and fanciful matter,, he seems rather borne directly onward by his ardour for a favourite subject, than bounded by incapacity for excursive flights. By his manner of writing he has certainly at- tained that which should be the principal aim of every writer, whether in verse or prose— he has deeply interested his reader in his descriptions, and has placed every thing before the ima- gination in the strong light and vivid colours of reality. But the merit of the work is not confined to truth and spirit alone. Its plan and arrangement are formed with competent skill ; va- riety and contrast are studied with success; and the attempt, at least, to break the uniformity of description by the intermixture of sentiment and reflection has not been neglected. To proceed to a more particular examination of the poem: — After a dedicatory address to the Prince of Wales, in strains sufficiently adulatory, the writer give^ a slight sketch of the ori- gin of hunting in times of barbaiism, and of its introduction ia a more polished form into this island. The brevity with which he passes over tiiese topics, certainly not unfertile of poetical ideas, proves his impatience to quit speculation and conjecture for the realities of description. A short but spirited passage on the praises of Britain, next introduces the proposed subject of the work, declared in an address to the youth of hereditary land- ed property; and the poet feelingly alludes to his own situation, prevented by years and infirmities from joining in the pleasures of the chase, but still recalling with delight his former triumphs, and pleased to point out to others the way to like renown. The proper business of the book commences with a descrip- tion of the dog-kennel, in which he soon exhibits his talent for accurate and lively painting, by representations of the pack is- suing forth in the morning, oppressed by the fervor of noon, 296 SOMERVILLE. bathing in the cool stream, sporting with each other, and engag- ing in broils and combats. A particular and beautiful descrip- tion of the hare hound or beagle succeeds, which is followed by a sketch of other kinds, adapted for different departments of the chase. This introduces a digression concerning the blood-hounds which were formerly kept on the Scottish border, and employed in detecting robbers. The picture of one of these at work in pursuing by the scent and at last detecting the felon, is highly animated. Hence the poet is naturally led to some philosophi- cal discussion on the nature and cause of those effluvia which exercise the admirable sagacity of the canine species; and he concludes the book with showing the effects of atmospherical changes on the scenting power of dogs, and with some liberal sentiments concerning the advantages of a cultured mind in ena- bling a person to enjoy at home those days which are unfit for the diversions of the field. The second book opens with a philosophical subject, which the poet, had he been so disposed, might not unsuitably have pursued to a greater extent. It is the power of instinct in modifying the actions and habits of the brute creation. He contents himself, however, with instancing its effects in two ani- - mals, the roebuck and the hare. In speaking of the latter, he slides into a fuller description ol its manners and mode of life, preparatory to the first grand picture in his work, that of a hare-hunt. A pleasing view of autumn, and a spirited sketch of the dawn of day, are the immediate preludes. The impatience of the fiery courser, and the ecstasy of the pack let loose from their kennel, and ready to begin the chase, are finely painted. The ensuing description receives peculiar value from its circum- stantial minuteness; which, displayed in natural and energetic language, intermixed with bursts of genuine feeling, gives won- derful force and truth to the whole scenery. If any one com- pares the finished picture of a chase by Somerville, with the draughts by Thomson, formed upon general ideas, and inter- spersed with sentiment and reflection, he will be sensible of the great difference between writing upon a topic merely as belong- ing to a general subject, and indulging in a favourite theme, which dwells on the mind in the vivid colours of memory anifi affection. It would be scarce possible even in prose to describe the hunting of the hare with more exactness than is here done) yet the language throughout is sufficiently elevated, and some o| SOMERVILLE. 9.97 the passages are truly poetical. Such is Miat describing ihe mu- sic of the chase, and its fascinating eftect upon all the hearers; well exemplifying the universality of that passion which urges men to partake of the hunter's pastime. Though there are touches in the representation which may call forth the emotions of pity in a feeling mind, yet the poet has judiciously refrained from enforcing them by moral sentiment and reflection, which would act in contradiction to his purpose. Tiie effect of the op- posite conduct of Thomson, in converting a joyous scene into a melancholy one, is obvious. This humble though animated English hunting piece is suc- ceeded by a contrast, representing the chase in its utmost pomp and magnificence, with respect both to the persons engaged in it, and the objects. It is an eastern picture, copied from the re- lations of travellers ; and to which, therefore, the writer has brought nothing but his acquired skill in poetical painting, with the enthusiasm inspired by a favourite subject. It is truly a grand and noble piece, abounding in rich images and striking incidents, and wrought with great force and distinctness of colouring. Its character being, as it were, historical, there is little scope for strokes of H)c fancy; yet the effect of the martial music and shouts of the surrounding hunters upon the inclosed wild beasts, is conceived with true poetic imagination : — — tjgers fell Shrink at the noise ; deej) in kis gloomy den The lion staits, and morsels yet unchewed Drop from his trembling jaws. And the mutual rage of the encircled savages against each other^ with their sudden tameness at the approach of their human foe, are striking ideas. If any objection lies against this splendid picture, it is, that being introduced thus early, it has a tendency to flatten and diminish the subsequent scenes. We shall see, however, that the poet has made the best use of his personal knowledge, to throw an interest, by force and clearness of cir- cumstance, upon the home descriptions which he afterwards in- troduces. The third book commences with the fox-chase, a subject which he seems to have laboured more con amore than an}- other. It is, indeed, the capital scene of action to the English sportsman ; for though the stag is a much nobler object of pursuit, the chase of 298 SOMERVILLE. the fox more abounds with variety of incidents, and is a severer trial to the spirit of the hunters, and the perseverance of the dogs and horses. The brief account of the extirpation of the wolf, a kindred animal, from this island, forms an appropriate introduc- tion. The casting off of the hounds, their working upon the scent, the unkennelling of the fox, his breaking away to the open coun- try, and the full cry of the pack, are all highly animated pictures. In the pursuit, somewhat of the ludicrous is intermixed, together with some pathetic incidents, which last appear rather incon- gruous in a scene which is represented as inspiring " the madness of delight." The notice taken of other modes of destroying this noxious animal, introduces a digression, in which are described the me- thods of taking the lion and the elephant in pitfalls, the curious manner of hunting the leopard by means of a mirror, and a wild- boar chase. All these pictures are copied from other authors, and of course are not enlivened with the spirit and circumstance of the British ones. Yet they afford an agreeable variety ; and the draughts of the lion astonished by his fall into the pit, and of the elephant issuing majestically from his covert in the even- ing, are vigorously conceived. The other capital picture of this book is that of a stag hunt in Windsor forest. Though vastly inferior in magnificence to that of the Indian hunting before described, it is, however, drawn in a dignified style, and made to partake of the polish and splen- dour of a court. Such being its character, it is no wonder that the ardour and animation congenial to the chase when partaken of by equals, is somewhat kept down ; and that a kind of awe and respect for the exalted personages who compose the princi- pal figures takes place of the sportiiian's rapture. This, too, is the only scene in which ladies are introduced as forming part of the group ; whence gallantry has its share in the sentiments. But, much as we must admire the graceful form of the huntress* the pensive lover at her side makes rather an insipid figure. There is, however, considerable variety and interest in the events of the chase ; and much diligence is employed to render the de- scriptions full and poetical. It concludes with a compliment to the sovereign on a supposed exertion of mercy in saving the life of the hunted animal ; but the occasion is too trivial to justify tlve pomp of the sentiment. The fourth book commences with a strain of philosophising, SOMERVILLE. 299 'le (Iritt of which it is not easy to discover. If the purpose were to establish the position, that unless a pack of hounds be recruited with a young brood, it will fall to decay, less eftort and solem- nity would have sufficed : it serves, however, as an introduction to various didactic topics belonging to his general subject; such as, the mode of rearing a young progeny, the choice of those which are best worth preserving, and the discipline by which they are to be trained, all which are treated in an interesting manner. The character of the babbling and unsteady hound is well drawn; and the method of curing the propensity to worrying sheep forms a natural and humourous picture. Touching on the diseases of dogs, the poet is led to a particular description of that dreadful malady, canine madness, in which the contrasted figures of me- lancholy and fury in the animal subject are sketched with great force. In describing the hydraphobia in the human subject, he seems not equally successful ; and more knowledge of fact would have enabled him to render the draught more striking, without any mixture of fabulous circumstances. All this part of the fourth book would seem more naturally attached to the first, which treats of introductory matter; but the writer probably re- served it for this place, in order to break that continuity of hunt- ing pieces, which might otherwise have proved tiresome. The last picture of this kind is well discriminated from the rest by a change of scene to another element. The chase of the otter, though an animal rather mean and inconsiderable, affords some Tery lively and amusing description. The view of a rivilet, and the various tribes of fish by which it is peopled, is truly beautiful; and there are some very picturesque touches in the watery land- scape of the otter's retreat. It may be remarked, that though every former chase has contained full and rapturous descriptions of the "gallant chiding," the music of the hound and horn, the poet has been able in the present to repeat it with circumstances of novelty that give it striking eflfect The poem concludes with an imitation of Virgil's well known praise of a rural life, in the second Georgic. The application, however, is less happy than in the original; for the poem of Somerville being professedly addressed to the heirs of great fa- milies, as those best qualified to enjoy the pleasuresof the chase, there exists no real opposition between them and the possessors of opulence and splendour. It is true, he has, as much as pos- sible, given it the turn of a contrast between town and country — 300 SOMERVILLE. between the ambitious courtier and tbe sportsman ; but since, in fact, the fox hunter in the country is often a politician in town, and hunting matches are usually associated with party, the dis- tinction is rather apparent than real. Further, the sports of the hunter are noisy, tumultuous, attended with parade, and gene- rally ending in conviviality; they ill accord therefore, with the calm, retired, reflective disposition of the lover of nature and votary of philosophy. If these tastes were united in Somerville, it is certain that they are rarely found to be so in his brother sportsmen. In reality, it is not among them that the admirers even of a poem on the chase are to be looked for. This work will briefly be read by the readers of English poetry in general ; and its chief merit will be, to have attorded them a source of pleas- ing novelty ; — to have placed in their view a set of lively pictures, which will strike with the appearance of truth even those who are not practical judges of their subjects. From what has been above remarked, the poetical character of Somerville will be easily deduced. He is strictly and almost solely a descriptive poet ; and his talent lies in delineating actual scenes with fidelity and spirit, adorning them with the beauties of diction, but leaving them to act upon the imaginatioi^by their own force, without aid from the creations of fancy. In classical allu- sion he is not deficient, but it is of the more common kind ; and little occurs in his writings that indicates a mind inspired by that exalted enthusiasm which denotes the genius of superior rank. His versification is generally correct and well varied, and evi- dently flows from a nice and practised ear. His language is well suited to his subjects, rising and sinking with them, and free from that stiffness and affectation so commonly attendant on blank verse. It more resembles that of Armstrong, than of Thomson or Akenside. Some of his other poems show him to have had a strong perception of the ludicrous ; and in this, too, traits of humour are discernible. On the whole, Somerville occupies a respectable place among our native poets ; and his Chase'is pro- babi V 'he best performance upon that topic which any country has produced. AN ESSAY ON rHE POETRY OF AMONG those false opinions which, having once obtained cur encj, have been adopted without examination, may be reckoned ;he prevalent notion, that notwithstanding the improvement of this country in many species of literary composition, its poeti- :al character has been on the decline ever since the supposed \ugustan age of the beginning of the 18th century. No one 5oet, it is true, has fully succeeded to the laurel of Dryden or Pope; but if without prejudice we compare the minor poets of ;he present age [minor, I mean, with respect to the quantity, not he quality, of their productions) with those of any former pe- iod, we shall, I am convinced, find them greatly superior not )nly in taste and correctness, but in every other point of poeti- :al excellence. The works of many late and present writers liight be confidently appealed to in proof of this assertion ; but t will suffice to instance the author who is the subject of the ^resent Essay ; and I cannot for a moment hesitate to place the [lame of Goldsmith, as a poet, above that of Addison, Parnel, rickel, Congreve, Landsdown, or any of those who fill the greater part of the voluminous collection of the English Poets. Of these, ;he main body has obtained a prescriptive right to the honour of :lassical writers, while their works, ranged on the shelves as fiecessary appendages to a modern library, are rarely taken lown, and contribute very little to the stock of literary amuse- ment. Whereas the pieces of Goldsmith are our familiar com- panions ; and supply passages for recollection, when our minds are either composed to moral reflection, or warmed by strong emotions and elevated conceptions. There is, I acknowledge. 302 GOLDSMITH. much of habit and accident in the attachments we fonn to par ticular writers ; yet I have little doubt, that if the lovers of Eng 3ish poetry were confined 1o a small selection of authors, Gold smith would find a place in the favourite list of a great majority. And it is, I think, with much justice that a great modern critic has ever regarded this concurrence of public favour, as one of the least equivocal tests of uncommon merit. Some kinds of excellence, it is true, will more readily be recognised than others; and this will not always be in proportion to the degree of men- tal power employed in the respective productions ; but he who obtains general and lasting applause in any work of art, must have happily executed a design judiciously formed. This re- mark is of fundamental consequence in estimating the poetry of Goldsmith ; because it will enable us to hold the balance steady, when it might be disposed to incline to the superior claims of a style of loftier pretension, and more brilliant reputation. Compared with many poets of deserved eminence. Goldsmith will appear characterised by his simplicUy. In his language will be found few of those figures vvliich are supposed of themselves to constitute poetry ; — no violent transpositions ; no uncommon meanings and constructions ; no epithets drawn from abstract and remote ideas ; no coinage of new words by the ready mode of turning nouns into verbs; no bold prosopopoeia, or audacious metaphor : — it scarcely contains an expression which might not be used in eloquent and descriptive prose. It is replete with imagery; Dut that imagery is drawn from obvious sources, and rather enforces the simple idea, than dazzles by new and unex- pected ones. It rejects not common words and phrases ; and, like the language of Dryden and Otway, is thereby rendered the more forcible and pathetic. It is eminently nervous and con- cise ; and hence affords numerous passages which dwell on the memory. With respect to his matter, it is taken from human life, and the objects of nature. It does not body forth things unknown, and create new beings. Its humbler purpose is to re- present manners and characters as they really exist; to impress strongly on the heart moral and political sentiments ; and to fil the imagination with a variety of pleasing or affecting object, selected from the stores of nature. If this be not the highest department of poetry, it has the advantage of being the most universally agreeable. To receive delijiiit from the sublime fic- tions of Milton, the allegories of Spencer, the learning of Gray. GOLDSMITH. 303 and the fancy of Collins, the mindmust have been prepared by a course of particular study ; and perhaps, at a certain period of life, when the judgment exercises a severer scrutiny over the sallies of the imajjination, the relish for ftrtificial beauties will always abate, if not entirely desert us. But at every age, and with every degree of culture, correct and well chosen represen- tations of nature must please. We admire them when young; we recur to them when old; and they charm us till nothing longer can charm. Further, in forming a scale of excellence for artists, we are not only to consider who works upon the noblest design, but who tills his design best. It is, in reality, but a poor excuse for a slovenly performer to say magnis tamen excidil ausis ; and the addition of one master-piece of any kind to the stock of art, is a greater benefit, than that of a thousand abortive and mis-shapen wonders. If Goldsmith then be referred to the class o( descriptive poets, including the description of moral as well as of physical nature, it will next be important to inquire by what means he has at- tained the rank of a master in his class. Let us then observe how he has selected, combined, and contrasted his objects, witli what truth and strength of colouring he has expressed them, and to what end and purpose. As poetry and eloquence do not describe by an exact enume- ration of every circumstance, it is necessary to se/ec^ certain par- ticulars which may excite a sufficiently distinct image of the thing to be represented. In this selection, the great art is to give characteristic marks, whereby the object may at once be re- cognised, without being obscured in a mass of common proper- ties, which belong equally to many others. Hence the great superiority of particidar images to general ones in description ; the former identify, while the latter disguise. Thus all the hackneyed representations of the country, in the works of ordi- nary versifiers, in which groves, and rills, and flowery meads are introduced just as the rhyme and measure require, present no- thing to the fancy but an indistinct daub of colouring, in which all the diversity of nature is lost and confounded. To catch the discriminating features, and present them bold and prominent, by few, but decisive strokes, is the talent of a master; and it will not be easy to produce a superior to Goldsmith in this respect. The mind is never in doubt as to the meaning of his figures, nor 304 GOLDSMITH. does it languish over the survey of trivial and unappropriated circumstances. All is alive — all is filled — yet all is clear Tlie proper combination of objects refers to the impression they are calculated to make on the mind ; and requires that they should |iarmonise, and reciprocally enforce and sustain each other's effect. They should unite in giving one leading tone to the imagination ; and without a sameness of form, they should blend in an uniformity of hue. This, too, has very successfully been attended to by Goldsmith, who has not only sketched his single figures with truth and spirit, but has combined them into the most harmonious and impressive groups. Nor has any de- scriptive poet better understood the great force of contrast, in setting off his scenes, and preventing any approach to weari- someness by repetition of kindred objects. And with great skill, he has contrived that both parts of his contrast should conspire in producing one intended moral effect. Of all these excel- lencies, examples will be pointed out as we take a cursory view of the particular pieces. In addition to the circumstances already noted, the force and clearness of representation depend also on the diction. It has already been observed that Goldsmith's language is remarkable for its general simplicity, and the direct and proper use of words. It has ornaments, but these are not far-fetched. The epithets employed are usually qualities strictly belonging to the subject, and the true colouring of the simple figure. They are frequently contrived to express a necessary circumstance in the description, and thus avoid the usual imputation of being expletive. Of this kind are, " the rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ;" " indnrat- ed heart ;'' " shed intolerable day ;'' " matted woods ;" " ventrous ploughshare ;" " equinoctial fervours." The examples are not few of that indisputable mark of true poetic language, where a single word conveys an image ; as in these instances : " resigna- tion gently slopes the way ;" " scoops out an empire ;" " the ves- sel idly waiting^ajos with every gale ;" " to winnow fragrance;*' " murmurs fluctuate in the gale." All metaphor, indeed, does this in some degree; but where the accessory idea is either indis- tinct or incongruous, as frequently happens when it is intro- duced as an artifice to force language up to poetry, the effect is only a gaudy obscurity. The end and purpose to which description is directed is what distinguishes a well planned piece from a loose effusion ; for GOLDSMITH. S05 though a vivid representation of striking objects will ever afford some pleasure, yet if aim and design be wanting, to give it a basis, and stamp it with the dignity of meaning, it will in a long performance prove flat and tiresome. But tliis is a want which cannot be cliarged on Goldsmith ; for both the Traveller and the Deserted Village h-dve a great moral in view, to which the whole of tlie description is made to tend. I do not now inquire into the legitimacy of the conclusions he has drawn from his premises; it is enough to justify his plans, that such a purpose is included in them. The versification of Goldsmith is formed on the general model that has been adopted since the refinement of English poetry, and especially since the time of Pope. To manage rhyme coup- lets so as to produce a pleasing effect on the ear, has since that period been so common an attainment, that it merits no particu- lar admiration. Goldsmith may, I think, be said to have come up to the usual standard of proficiency in this respect, without having much surpassed it. A musical ear, and a familiarity with the best examples, have enabled him, without much apparent study, almost always to avoid defect, and very often to produce excellence. It is no censure of this poet to say that his versifi- cation presses less on the attention than his matter. In fact, he has none of those peculiarities of versifying, wliether improve- ments or not, that some who aim at distinction in this point have adopted. He generally suspends or closes the sense at the end of the line or of the couplet ; and therefore does not often give examples of that greater compass and variety of melody which is obtained by longer clauses, or by breaking the coincidences of the cadence of sound and meaning. He also studiously rejects trip- lets and alexandrines. But allowing for the want of these sources of variety, he has sufficiently avoided monotony ; and in the usual flow of his measure, he has gratified the ear with as much change, as judiciously shifting the line-pauses can produce- Having made these general observations on the nature of Goldsmith's poetry, I proceed to a survey of his principal pieces^ The Traveller, or Prospect of Society, was first sketched out by the author during a tour in Europe, great part of which he per- fomed on foot, and in circumstances which afforded him the full- est means of becoming acquaintnd wilh the most numerous class in society, peculiarly termed the people. The date of the first Qq 306 GOLDSMITH. edition is 1765. It begins in the gloomy mood natural to genius in distress, when wandering alone Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. After an affectionate and regretful glance to the peaceful seat of fraternal kindness, and some expressions of self-pity, the poet sits down amid Alpine solitudes to spend a pensive hour in meditating on the state of mankind. He finds that the natives of every land regard their own with preference ; whence he is led to this proposition, — that if we impartially compare the ad- vantages belonging to different countries, we shall conclude that an equal portion of good is dealt to all the human race. He fur- ther supposes, that every nation, having in view one peculiar species of happiness, models life to that alone ; whence this fa- vourite kind, pushed to an extreme, becomes a source of peculiar evils. To exemplify this by inscances, is the business of the subsequent descriptive part of the piece. Italy is thp first country that comes under review. Its general landscape is painted by a few characteristic strokes, and the felicity of its climate is displayed in appropriate imagery. The revival of arts and commerce in Italy, and their subsequent de- cline, are next touched upon ; and hence is derived the present disposition of the people — easily pleased with splendid trifles, the wrecks of their former grandeur ; and sunk into an enfeebled moral and intellectual character, reducing them to the level of children. From these he turns with a sort of disdain, to view a nobler race, hardened by a rigorous climate, and by the necessity of unabating toil. These are the Swiss, who find, in the equality of their condition, and their ignorance of other modes of life, a source of content which remedies the natural evils of their lot. There cannot be a more delightful picture than the poet has drawn of the Swiss peasant, going forth to his morning's labour, and returning at night to the bosom of domestic happiness. It sufficiently accounts for i\i?it patriot passion iov which they have ever been so celebrated, and which is here described in lines that reach the heart, and is illustrated by a beautiful simile. But this state of life has also its disadvantages. The sources ot enjoyment being few, a vacant listlessness is apt to creep upon the breast ; and if nature urges to throw this off by occasional bursts of pleasure, no stimulus can reach the purpose but gross GOLDSMITH. 307 sensual debauch. Their morals, too, like their enjoyments, are of a coarse texture. Some sterner virtues hold high dominion in their breasts, but all the gentler and more refined qualities of the heart, which soften and sweeten life, are exiled to milder cli- mates. To the more genial climate o( France the Traveller next re- pairs, and in a very pleasing rural picture he introduces himself in the capacity of musician to a village party of dancers beside the murmuring' Loire. The leading feature of this nation he represents as being tiie love of praise ; which passion, while it inspires sentiments of honour, and a desire of pleasing, also af- fords a free course to folly, and nourishes vanity and ostenta- tion. The soul, accustomed to depend for its happiness on foreign applause, shifts its principles with the change of fashion, and is a stranger to the value of self-approbation. The strong contrast to this national character is souffht in Holland; a most graphical description of the scenery presented by that singular country, introduces the moral portrait of the people. From the necessity of unceasing labour, induced by their peculiar circumstances, a habit of industry has been form- ed, of which the natural consequence is a love of gain. The pos- session of exuberant wealth has given rise to the arts and con- veniences of life; but at the same time has introduced a crafty, cold and mercenary temper, which sets every thing, even liber- ty itself, at a price. How different, exclaims the poet, from their Belgian ancestors 1 how different from the present race of Britain ! To Britain, then, he turns, and begins with a slight sketch of the country, in which, he says, the mildest charms of creation are combined. Extremes are only in the master's mind. He then draws a very striking picture of a stern, thoughtful, in- dependent freeman, a creature of reason, unfasljioned by tht com- mon forms of life, and loose from all its ties; — and this he gives as the representative of the English character. A society form- ed by such unyielding self dependent beings, will naturally be a scene of violent political contests, and ever in a ferment with party. And a still worse fate awaits it; for the ties of nature, duty, and love failing, the fictitious bonds of wealth and law 305 GOLDSMITH. must be empioyed to hold together such a reluctant association ; whence tho time may come, that valour, learning, and patriot- ism may all lie levelled in one sink of avarice. These are the ills of freedom ; but the poet, wha would unlv repress to secure, goes on to deliver his ideas of the cause of such mischiefs, which, he seems to place in the usurpations of aristocratical upon regal authority ; and with great energy he expresses his indignation at the oppressions the poorsufter from their petty tyrants. This leads him to a kind of anticipation of the subject of his Deserted Village, where, laying aside the politician, and resuming the poet, he describes, by a few highly pathetic touches, the depopu- lated fields, the ruined village, and the poor forlorn inhabitants driven from their beloved home, and exposed to all the perils of the trans-atlantic wilderness. It is by no means ray intention to enter into a discussion of Goldsmith's political opinions, which bear evident marks of confused notions and a heated imagina- tion. 1 shall confine myself to a remark upon the English na- tional character, which will apply to him in commoa with va- rious other writers, native and foreign. This country has long been in the possession of more unre- strained freedom of thinking and acting than any other perhaps that ever existed : a consequence of which has been, that all those peculiarities of character, which in other nations remain con- cealed in the general mass, have here stood forth prominent and conspicuous; and these being from their nature calculated to draw attention, have by superficial observers been mistaken for the general character of the people. This has been particularly the case with political distinction. From the publicity of all proceedings in the legislative part of our constitution, and the independence with which many act, all party differences are strongly marked, and public men take their side with openness and confidence. Public topics, too, are discussed by all ranks; and whatever seeds there are in any part of the society of spirit and activity, have full opportunity of germinating. But to ima- gine that these busy and high spirited characters compose a ma- jority of the community, or perhaps a much greater proportion than in other countries, is a delusion. This nation, as a body, is, like all others, characterised by circumstances in its situation; and a rich commercial people, long trained to society, inhabiting a climate where many things are necessary to the comfort of GOLDSMITH. 309 life, and under a government abounding with splendid dis- tinctions, cannot possibly be a knot of philosophers and patriots. To icturn from this digression. Though it is probable that few of Goldsmitli's readers will be convinced, even fiom the in- stances he has himself produced, that the happiness of mankind is every where equal; yet all will feel the force of the truly philosophical sentiment which concludes the piece, — that man's chief bliss is ever seated in his mind ; and that a small part of real felicity consists in what human governments can either be- stow or withhold. The Deserted Village, first printed in 1769, is the companion- piece of the Traveller, formed, like it, upon a plan which unites description with sentiment, and employs both in inculcating a political moral. It is a view of the prosperous and ruined state of a country village, with reflections on the causes of both. Such it may be defined in prose ; but the disposition, manage- ment and colouring of the piece, are all calculated for poetical effect. It begins with a delightful picture of Auburn when in- iiabited by a happy people. The view of ilie village itself, and the rural occupations and pastimes of its simple natives, is in the best style of painting by a selecion of characteristic circum- stances. It is immediately contrasted by a similar bold sketch of its ruined and desolated condition. Then succeeds an ima- ginary state of England, in a kind of golden age of equality; with its contrast likewise. The apostrophe that follows, the personal complaint of the poet, and the portrait of a sao-e in re- tirement, are sweetly sentimental touches, that break the con- tinuity of description. He returns to Auburn, and having premised another masterly- sketch of its two states, in which the images are chiefly drawn from sounds, he proceeds to what may be called the interior his- tory of the village. In his first figure he has tried his streuo^h v.ith Dryden. The parish-priest of that great poet, improved irom Chaucer, is a portrait full of beauty, but drawn in a loose linequal manner, with the flowing vein of digressive thought and imagery that stamps his style. The subject of the draught, too, is considerably different from that of Goldsmith, having more of the ascetic and mortified cast, in conformity to the saintly model of the Roman Catholic priesthood. The pastor of Auburn is more human, but is not on that account a less venerable and in- teresting figure; though I know not whether all will be pleased SIO GOLDSMITH. with his familiarity with vicious characters, which goes beyond the purpose of mere reformation. The description of him in his professional character is truly admirable; and the similes of the bird instructing his young to fly, and the tall cliff" rising above the storm, have been universally applauded. The first, I believe, is original ; — the second is not so, though it has probably never been so well drawn and applied. The subsequent sketches of the village school -master and the alehouse are close imitations of nature in low life, like the pictures of Teniers and Hogarth. Yet even these humorous scenes slide imperceptibly into senti- ment and pathos ; and the comparison of the simple pleasures of the poor, with the splendid festivities of the opulent, rises to the highest style of moral poetry. Who has not felt the force of that reflection. The heai-t rlistnisting asks, if this be joy ? The writer then falls into a strain ot reasoning against luxury and superfluous wealth, in which the sober inquirer will find much serious truth, though mixed with poetical exaggeration. The description of the contrasted scenes of magnificence and misery in a great metropolis, closed by the pathetic figure of the forlorn ruined female, is not to be surpassed. Were not the subjects of Goldsmith's description so skilfully varied, the uniformity of manner, consisting in an enumeration of single, circumstances, generally depicted in single lines, might tire ; but where is the reader who can avoid being hurried along by the swift current of imagery, when to such a passage as the last, succeeds a landscape fraught with all the sublime terrors of the torrid zone ; — and then, an exquisitely tender history-piece of the departure of the villagers ; concluded with agroupe (slight- ly touched, indeed) of allegorical personages ? A noble address to the genius of poetry, in which is compressed the moral of the wh( le, gives a dignified finishinjj; to the work. If we compare these two principal poems of Goldsmith, we may say, that tlie Traveller is formed upon a more regular plan, has a higher purpose in view, more abounds in thought, and in the expression of moral and philosophical ideas; the Deserted ViU lage has more imagery, more variety, more pathos, more of the peculiar character of poetry. In the first, the moral and natu- ral descriptions are more general and elevated ; in the second? GOLDSMITH. 311 tliey are more particular and interesting. Both are truly origi- nal productions; hnt t\\Q Deserted Village lias less peculiarity, and indeed has given rise to imitations which may stand in some parallel with it; while the Traveller remains an unique. With regard to Goldsmith's other poems, a few remarks will suffice. The Hermit, printed in the same year with the Travel- ler, has been a very popular piece, as might be expected of a ten- der tale prettily told. It is called a ballad, but I think with no correct application of that term, which properly means a story related in language either naturally or affectedly rude and sim- ple. It has been a sort of fashion to admire these productions; yet in the really ancient ballads, for one stroke of beauty, there are pages of insipidity and vulgarity ; and the imitations have been pleasing in proportion as they approached more finished compositions. In Goldsmith's Hermit, the language is always polished, and often oruiiineuted. The best things in it are some neat turns of moral and pathetic sentiment, given with a simple conciseness that fits them for being retained in the memory. As to the story, it has little fancy or contrivance to recommend it. We have already seen that Goldsmith possessed humour; and, exclusively of his comedies, pieces professedly humourous form a part of his poetical remains. His imitations of Swift are hap- py, but they are imitations. His tale of the Double Transforma- tion may vie with those of Prior. His own natural vein of easy humour flows freely in his Haunch of Venison and Retaliation ^ the first, an admirable specimen of a very ludicrous story made out of a common incident by the help of conversation and cha- racter; the other, an original thought, in which his talent at drawing portraits, with a mixture of the serious and the comic, i« most happily displayed. Mai(PI^3jILiiSril®Wg IPI!31(DIig< APHORISMS ON MIND AND MANNERS. HE who, after a loss, immediately, without staying to lament it, sets about repairing it, has that within himself which can con= trol fortune. The youth who can sneer at exalted virtue, needs not wait for age and experience to commence a consummate knave. He whose first emotion on the view of an excellent production, is to undervalue it, will never have one of his own to show. The conscious merit of true ability, never goes further than " I too am a painter." The hardest trial of the heart is, whether it can bear a rival's failure without triumph. Him whom descrying at a distance, you turn out of the way to avoid, you may call your friend or benefactor, but you do not love. He, who begins life with " Nil admirari,'^ will end it " Epicwi de grege porcus.^^ The man who, improving in skill or knowledge, improves in modesty, has an undeniable claim to greatness of mind. Bravely to contend for a good cause is noble — silently to suffer for it, is heroical. Would a man of rank estimate his real dignity, let him con- ceive himself in a state in which all rank is abolished. All professions, it is said, have their mysteries — these are pre- cisely the points in which consists their weakness or knavery. To choose a good book, look into an inquisitor's prohibited list — to choose a good cause, see which interested men dislike. There are three sights most detestable ;--a proud priest giving MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 313 his blessing, — a knavish hypociite saying his prayers, — and a lalse patriot making an harangue. Who says hypocritical, says all that is despicable in morals : — who says affected, says all that is odious in manners. Columbus steering steadily westward for a land seen only by the eye of his reason, was one of the greatest of human cha- racters: — a projector obstinately running himself in pursuit of a visionary scheme, may be one of the foolishest, but certainly not of the lowest. Thoroughly to try a man's patience, he must have the labour of years consumed before his eyes in a moment: — thoroughly to prove it, he must instantly begin to renew his labour. The woman of sensibility, who preserves serenity and good temper, amid the insults of a faithless and brutal husband, wants nothing of an angel but immortality. The woman who rises above sickness and poverty combined, may look dov/n upon the noisy heroism of kings and generals. Better to be moved by false glory, than not moved at all. Nothing is such an obstacle to the production of excellence, as the power of producing what is pretty good with ease and ra- pidity. As reasonably expect oaks from a mushroom bed, as great and durable products from small and hasty efforts. Every work of great genius, and every work of great care and industry, will have its value ; but mediocrity, with negligence, gives products of no value at all. WHAT MAN IS MADE FOR. SOON after the marriage of the dauphin and dauphiness of France, (the late unfortunate Louis XVI. and Antoinette,) when all the conversation ran upon the splendid fire- works exhibited at their nuptials, a friend of mine happening to be at Paris, was much amused with a circumstance to which he was witness, in a room full of company. A boy, about seven years old, possessed of rather more than an ordinary degree of that forward vivacity which is so characteristic of the youthful part of the French na- Kr 314 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. tion, was haranguing, in the midst of the circle, with great volu- bility and emphasis, on the subject of (ire works, and giving a description of what he conceived woul.l make a perfect specta- cle of that kind. But while he was painting with all his eloquence, the immense volumes of flame, and prodigious explosions, that filled his imagination, a by-stander ventured to observe, that all the people employed about them would be in danger of being blown to pieces. " ^h, (says the boy, with a nonchalance worthy of the privileged orders) — Ah, ils sont fails four cela,^' — " Tt is what they are made for." This expression has often come into my mind, on reflecting upon the destiny of the great bulk of mankind, in all past, and in the present periods ; I have wished, if possible, to satisfy my- self, what, in reality, the human race was made for ? and I con- fess, willing as I am to entertain better hopes, I cannot discover, from any principles of philosophising, so sure a ground for rea- soning concerning the future condition of mankind, as the uni- form experience of some thousands of past years. If I breed up a horse for the course, or a dog for the chase, or a game cock for the pit, it is because a long course of experiments has convinced me that such is the nature of those animals, and that I am pretty sure of finding in the progeny those qualities and dispositions which I remarked in the parents. May not then a king of Prus- sia, with equal reason, train a number of two legged unfeathered creatures, called men, to pillage, enslave, and murder other men> at the word of command, in the confidence, that as the experi- ment succeeded with !;esostris, Cyrus, Alexander, Csesar, Gen- giskan, Tamerlane, Charles, Louis, and a great many more men- masters, it will so succeed with him ; — in other word??, as the French boy said, that " ils sont fails pour cela .^" Further — Man is a creature of strong appetites and passions. These are evolved in him earlier than the principles of reason and understanding, and, in much the greater part of the species, they continue to take the lead during life. Sensual pleasures have attractions for all men ; and it is only that class who, by means of the bodily labour of the majority, are able to live in comparative ease and leisure, that can acquire a relish for intel- lectual enjoyments. Now, the more numerous mankind become, the more sedulous must be their exertions to procure the neces- saries of life, which must ever be the first concern. The more refinement and luxury prevail among the higher classes, the MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 315 greater proportion of the lower must devote the whole of their time to labour, in a variety of new modes. Even the improvements in arts and sciences require the additional manual toil of inferior artists ; and the ingenuity of one head sets at work a thousand pair of hands. Wliat is implied by the sublime discoveries of a Herschel ?• — the existence of the collier, miner, forgeman, smith, brazier, glassmaker and grinder, carpenter, &c. &c. all of whom must be hard-working men, living in garrets or cellars, drinking porter and drams, when they can get them, and placing their summum boniim in a hot supper and a warm bed. That is what they are made for. And when thegovernmentunder which they live and of which they must always be subjects, not members, chooses to quarrel with a neighbouring state, about the right of fishing or trading on the other side of the globe, or some equally worthy matter of debate, these very men must be compelled or debauch- ed to clap an uniform on tlieir backs, and a musket on their shoulders, and learn to kill and be killed, at the word of com- mand — for this, too, is what they are made for. An acquaintance of mine, who is fond of the Linnsean mode of characterising objects of natural history, has amused himself with drawing up the following definition of man : — Simla Homo: sine caude : pedibus posticis ambulans : grega- rium, omnivorum, inquietum, mendax, furax, rapax, salax, pugnax, artium variarum capax, animalium reliquorum hostis, sui ipsius inimicus acerrimus. ON THE TOUCH FOR THE KING'S EVIL, I CONFESS myself to be one of those, whom a pretty long experience of mankind has not tended to render highly enamour- ed of the species, or very confident of its progress towards me- lioration. I think I see the same radical defects of character prevailing in all periods, and through all external circumstances and though diversely modified, yet ever operating to produce the principal part of the evils under which the human race conti- nually labours. In particular, the disposition to deceive and be 516 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. deceived, appears to me always in full operation in all societie.=^ whether savage or civilized ; and, since much of the weakness and unhappiness, if not of the vice, of men, proceeds from this source, I conceive that to detect and counteract it, will ever be one of the best services that a thinking mind can render its fel- Iqw creatures. An instance having occurred to me in my read- ing, which I think remarkably well calculated to display the joint action of fraud and credulity, with respect to a very com- mon object of superstition, — that of the miraculous cure of dis- ease, — I propose to lay it before the public, together with the remarks which it has suggested to me. Those who have endeavoured to support the reality of the effi- cacy of the royal touch, in the cure of the scrophula, or king's evil, have laid particular stress on the testimony of Wiseman. This person was serjeant surgeon to Charles II.; of high reputa- tion in his profession, and the author of a work in surgery, long reckoned a standard performance, and which shows him to have been a fair and modest man, as well as an excellent practitioner. It contains an express treatise on the king's evil, in which he speaks of the touch, in the following strong terms : " I, myself, have been a frequent eye witness of many hundreds of cures performed by his majesty's touch alone, without any assistance of chirurgery ; and those, many of them, such as had tired out the endeavours of able chirurgeons before they came thither. It were endless to recite what I myself have seen, and what I have received acknowledgments of, by letter, not only from the several parts of this nation, but also from Ireland, Scotland, Jersey, and Germany.'^ Is it possible for a testimony to be more direct and positive or to proceed from a more competent witness ^ Yet, probably, there is scarcely at present a man in England who is not convinced that the whole pretension was a falsehood (for that imposture is now worn out.) How then are we to account for Wiseman's conduct ? Was he himself deceived, or did he knowingly lend his aid to carry on a cheat ? Both suppositions have their difficulties, yet both are in some degree probable. His warm attachment to the royal family, and early prejudices, might inspire him with a faith beyond the control of his judg- ment. On the other hand, certain passages in this treatise show a necessary consciousness of collusion, and are, indeed, the true confutation of that above quoted, which otherwise might stagger one who judged from direct evidence alone. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Sir It was Ills office, as serjeant surgeon, to select such afflicted objects, as were proper to be presented for the royal touch. In the history of the disease, when describing its various states and appearances, he says, " Those which we present to his majesty, are chiefly such as have this sort of tumor about the musculus niastoideus, or neck, with whatever circumstances tliey are ac- companied ; nor are we difficult in admitting the thick chapped upper lips, and eyes afflicted with a lippitudo : in other cases we give our judgment more loarily."" Here is a selection of the slightest cases, which most readily undergo a spontaneous alte- ration, and a manifest doubt expressed concerning the success iu more inveterate ones. A little below, observing that the strumse will often suppurate, or be resolved unexpectedly from acci- dental ferments, he says, " In case of the king's touch, the reso- lution doth often happen, where our endeavours have signified nothing; yea, the very gummata, insomuch that I am cautious of predicting concerning them (though they appear never so bad) till fourteen days be over." From this passage we may infer, that the touch was by no means infallible, and that the pretence of its succeeding was not given up, till a fortnight had elapsed without any change for the better. Indeed, it appears very evident, that the worst kind of cases were seldom or never offered to the touch ; for in no disease does Wiseman adduce more examples from his own practice of diffi- cult and tedious chirurgical treatment, nor do we find, that in one of these he called in the aid of the royal hand. It was proposed in a single instance; but under circumstances that furnish a stronger pj-oof of imposture, than any thing yet mentioned. A young gen- tlewoman had an obstinate scrophulous tumor in the right side of the neck, under the jaw ; Wiseman applied a large caustic to it, brought it to suppuration, treated it with escharotics, and cur- ed it. " About a year after," says he, " I saw her again in town, and felt a small gland of the bigness of a lupin, lying lower on that side of the neck. I would have persuaded her to admit of a resolvent emplaster, and to be touched; but she did not, as she said believe it to be the king's evil." Here, after allowing his patient to undergo a course of very severe surgery, he is willing to trust the relics of the disease to the royal touch assisted bj a resolving plaster ; but the complaint was now too trifling to en- gage her attention. Surely, the greatest opponent of the touch could not place it in a more contemptible light. 3ia MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Thus do the boldest assertions of wonderful and supernatural occurrences, shrink into nothing before a patient and critical ex- amination; and thus inconsistent with itself is an extravagant pretension ever found to be. It was enough to refute the impu- dent claims of the alchemists, that these pretended gold makers were beggars in rags ; as it is a very convincing proof, that the royal touch cannot cure the king's evil, when it becomes the evil of kings. in order fully to prove the reality of an extraordinary cure, three points of evidence are necessary : — that the disease exist- ed, that it was cured, and that the alleged means were what alone performed the cure. But how seldom have these concurred in an authentic form, to establish a wonderful tale of this kind! Yet men are still the dupes of their own credulity ; and who can forsee an end to this delusion ? LITERARY PROPHECIES FOR 1797, 1 DISCERN in embryo three new tragedies, five comedies, and six musical entertainments for the London Theatres. The tragedies will be splendid,, stately, and abundantly loyal — they will be praised in the papers till nobody goes to see them. The comedies will be partly sentiment, partly farce ; and two of thejn, at least, by the efforts of the actors for whom they are written, will be preserved from oblivion till the year 1798. The musical pieces will certainly expire with the almanacs. A new imposition will be practised on the black-letter gentle- men with some success ; but the hero, this year, will not be Shakspeare, nor will a six shilling book be written, after its de- tection, to prove that it ought to have been believed. The controversy about the talents of women, will give birth to two bulky volumes, from a female pen ; which will, at least, prove that lightness and vivacity are not, as has been supposed, charac- teristic of the writers of that sex. The Oxford University press will this year be chiefly employ- ed in printing catechisms for the use of French emigrants and MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 319 their converts ; yet some progress will be made in re-editing a German edition of a forgotten classic. — N. E. Dr. Bradley's as- tronomical papers will not appear this year. The alliance of church and state, and the consanguinity of a// religions, will be ably supported by an eminent divine, in full prospect of a seat on the episcopal bench. The political world will be thrown into a strange ferment to- wards the end of autumn, by an extraordinary publication of an extraordinary character, containing a renunciation of all former principles. I am sorry that the delicate nature of the subject obliges me, in this instance, to adopt somewhat of the ambiguous language of other prophets. The elegant press of Bulmer will, this year, send forth a Col- lection of the Puerile Poetry of England ; wherein the popular compositions of " Hey my kitten, my kitten ;" "Jack and Gill went up the hill ;'' " There were three crows they sat on a stone;'' and a variety of the like kind, will be carefully edited and illus- trated with historical and critical notes, by a learned member of the Society of Antiquaries. Vignettes, head and tail pieces, and designs, by a lady of quality, as usual. Two Pindaric Odes, by a hackney coachman; a Collection of Sentimental Sonnets, by a washer-woman ; and an Epic Poem, in twenty books, by a printer's devil, composed in types, instead of being committed to paper, will agreeably entertain the lovers of poetry. An infallible method of cure for the yellow fever, which wants only a trial beyond the Atlantic to demonstrate its efficacy, will be communicated to the public by a young graduate from Scot- .^ahd. A new project of nutrition, by inhaling the gases of bakers', cheesemongers* and cooks' shops, will administer food to the pneumatic speculators. I see this moment on the road from Edinburgh, two bulkly MSS. one, an absolutely new Theory of the Human Understanding; the other, a Complete History of the Proceedings of one of the Provincial Synods ever since the Reformation : but whether any bookseller will be found to undertake their publication, my art does not positively inform me. A novel, by a lady, will make some noise ; in which tlie hero- , ine begins by committing a rape, and ends with killing her mar; in a duel. >20 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. A proposal for a Reform in Law-proceedings, published under the name of an eminent barrister, will greatly astonish the gen- tlemen of the long robe, and occasion much debate as to its au- thenticity, till a statute of lunacy taken out against the author will clear up the matter. REMARKS ON THE CHARGE OF JACOBINISM. IT has at all times been so common an artifice of party to stigmatise its adversaries by some opprobrious name, that par- ticular examples of the fact may be deemed unworthy of notice. Yet, where individuals actually suffer from the impudent licen- tiousness with which this is done, and obnoxious ideas are asso- ciated in the public mind which have not the least real connec- tion, some appeal to truth and reason, on the part of the injured, is natural, if not necessary. I conceive this at present to be the case with respect to the charge of Jacobinism, so industriously brought forward on all occasions, by a certain set of writers, against all who disapprove of the measures of ministers, however differing from each other in political principles, and however free the greater part may be from any designs which can justify such an imputation. Every one acquainted with the history of the French Revolu- tion must know, that a club called the Jacobins, from the place of their meeting in Paris, connected with a number of others throughout the kingdom, openly attempted to overcome the legal representatives of the nation, to overturn a constitution estab- lished by general consent, and to involve everything in anarchy and confusion, that no obstacle might exist to their schemes. The essence of Jacobinism, according to its true signification, then, is — To hold that a majority may lawfully be governed by a minor- ity, upon the pretext of the public good : To pay no regard to the will of the nation, as declared by those who have been fairly delegated for the purpose: To scruple no means, however base or violent^ to compass a political end : MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 321 To consider absolute anarchy, and the destruction of all na- tural and civil rights, as a cheap purchase for speculative im- provements in a constitution. I am sure I have no objection that every man in this kingdom, who avows, either in word or action, these principles, should by name be exposed as a Jacobin to the hatred and suspicion of his fellow -citizens. But it is not Jacobinism to maintain- That government was instituted for the good of the many, not the emolument of the few : That there at all times exists, in the majority of a political so- ciety, a right of making such alterations in their form of govern- ment, as upon mature deliberation they shall think conducive to the public welfare : That privileged bodies derive all title to their privileges from the consent and advantage of the whole : That, therefore, wars and public burdens for the particular in- terest of those bodies are a public injustice : That a friend of mankind may wish well to the cause of liberty all over the globe, without waiting for the permission of his own partial or prejudiced countrymen. Finally, Republicanism, the spirit of which is, in fact, the very essence of every thing free in political constitutions, is not Ja- cobinism, but the very reverse. ON THE PROBABILITY OF A FUTURE MELIORATION in the STATE OF MANKIND. THAT man, who, during the course of a few late years, has not made very serious reflections on the condition and prospects of his fellow-creatures ; who has not been agitated with alter- nate hopes and fears, and felt his wishes and expectations in a state of perpetual tumult and fluctuation, must either have been absorbed in stupid and selfish indifference, or must have arrived at that state of security concerning all human affairs which is the Ss 322 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. highest point of philosophy. For my own part, I have been lai from either of tiiose conditions. I have most ardently sympa- tiiised in the surrounding scenes ; but from the present \\ew ot things, I could wish that the tranquillity arising not from indif- ference, but from philosophy, should succeed to the painful sus- pense and uneasy apprehensions of a mind too strongly impres- sed by actual events. This, too, may probably be the state of many others. Let us then see, if, by meditating on the past and present state of mankind, we can discover any principles which may reconcile us to what we behold, and secure us for the future against the folly and the pain of expectations never likely to be gratified. The human race has now subsisted some thousand years, and under all the differences of climate and external circumstances that can be supposed incident to it. "With respect to what we call civilisation, likewise, it seems to have undergone all the vi- cissitudes of which it is capable ; for this has in a great many instances been carried to a degree, which seems to have been the direct cause of its own decline. States more commercial, more military, more polished, more luxurious, than have already ex- isted, are not likely again to appear on the theatre of the world. What then remains on which to found expectations of a new state of things, unless it be knoivledge ? This, in fact, is the present anchor of our hopes for a meliorated condition of mankind; it is, therefore, a matter of high importance to consider what that improvement in know ledge must be which is to eftect this desir- able change, and what are the probabilities of its taking place. Knowledge may, in a loose way, be divided into that which is a source of happiness in itself, and that which is a means of pro- ducing happiness. With respect to the former, inasmuch as it contributes to the enjoyment of individuals by affording interest- ing and agreeable occupations for their leisure, and by dignify- ing and exalting their natures, it cannot, I fear, be made a ground of much advantage to the great mass of mankind. For too few in society can ever possess leisure and opportunity sufficient for the pursuit, or if they have these, will prefer the pleasures ot knowledge to the more obvious ones flowing from the attections and the senses, to render advances in literature and science the source of much substantial benefit to the world. It may be added, that as it is pursuit and progress, rather than real attainment of any precise objects, which gives the pleasure in this case, an MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 323 advanced state of knowledge is not more favourable than an carhj and immature one, to the happiness of its votaries. Whatever may be the modern improvements in physics and metaphysics, the ardour, and consequently the delight, with wliich they are pursued, cannot now be much greater than that felt by tjje phi- losophers of antiquity. The other species of knowledge is to be regarded as a means to an end ; and, from the nature of mankind, formed capable of transmitting the experience and discoveries of one generation to another, and thus making unlimited progress in the adaptation of the fittest means to the best ends, we may very reasonably ex- pect an addition to the stock of general good from this source. But, in order to form some estimate of its amount, it will be first necessary to consider of what ingredients human happiness is composed, and how far it lies within the power of man to add to or diminish the general sum. There is, indeed, an opinion that many seem fond of maintain- ing, which, if true, would renderunnecessary every consideration of this sort, and induce us to sit down in perfect apathy : this is, that good and evil are so equally balanced in all the different states and conditions of mankind, that what is gained on one side, is lost on the other, and vice vtisd ; so that it can never be worth while to attempt a melioration, by which nothing can be really acquired in point of happiness. And if happiness be the true end and object of our being, it is certain that a change, which does not conduce to its augmentation, is but an idle waste of our industry. But, surely, a fair and impartial survey of the world can never lead to such a conclusion. Place happiness as low as we please — let it consist in mere animal enjoyments, and that security of life and its comforts, and that freedom of action, which even a savage must prize — and we cannot be insensible of the superior advantages which some states of society offer in these respects over others. It is impossible for any one seriously to suppose, that the American or English farmer, surrounded with plenty, which no one can hinder him from enjoying, and resting in full peace and tranquillity under the protection of strong and equal laws, is not a happier being than the cultivator of the Turkish dominions, who is forced to hide the little wealth he possesses, lest it should be forcibly taken from him ; and fears a brutal and insolent foe in the person of eveiy one stronger or better armed than himself. The difference here is nothing less 324 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. than fanciful — it bears upon the solid comfort of every day, and comes home to the feelings of every human creature. The happiness of man, as far as it applies to the whole species, will probably never admit of a high or complex estimate. Sen- sual gratifications, and the ordinary pleasures of social and do- mestic life, may be reckoned to compose almost the whole of it. As already observed, the wants of mankind are too many to allow to the majority leisure enough for intellectual pursuits ; nor are the enjoyments arising from that source, so strong and constant in their attraction, as those from the two former. I have, there- fore, no idea of a higher degree of happiness, attainable by a community, than that proceeding from abundance of the neces- saries and most obvious conveniences of life, fairly shared, and temperately used ; from peace, security, freedom of action, and mutual kindness and good offices. To these may be added, im- munity from those superstitious terrors, and self tormenting practices, which have attended so many forms of false religion. Now let us inquire how far the increase of knowledge accruing from experience, is likely to further these desirable objects among the great family of mankind. Not much need be said concerning the improvements in the common arts of life in this view. Being almost all of them the offspring of necessity, they can scarcely do more than keep pace with the demands of that necessity. Such is the natural increase of the human species when not checked by unfavourable circum- stances, that there will be perpetual occasion for the full em- ployment of the human abilities to prevent the share of good things already possessed by each individual from being dimin- ished. The utmost improvement of agriculture can only give wholesome and palatable food to greater numbers than are now fed from the same extent of land : the like may be said of all other branches of economics and manufactures, at least in every country where already enough has been discovered to make life comfortable. Most countries in Europe might probably main- tain a much larger population than they possess ; but what has the sum of population to do with the happiness of the individuals which compose it ? This has long ago, in China and Japan, reached its maximum, and in its consequences has pushed the more essential arts of life to a degree of perfection much beyond what we see among ourselves ; but it seems to have been very far from meliorating the condition of the species. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 325 A much more promising consequence of increased knowledge, is the imprtfvement to be expected from it in government, legis- lation, and all the contrivances by which a community are se- cured in the enjoyment of those advantages which nature and industry bestow. Mere seems, indeed, to be a wide and almost boundless field for melioration ; for old as the world is, how very few examples has it yet seen of civil institutions, purely and fairly framed with a view to the production of the greatest possible good ! How difficult it would be to name a single one in which partial interests have not, in many important points, taken the lead of general interests ! But, in order to know what improvements may be expected in this matter, it will be neces- sary to consider what errors have been owing to ignorance, and ill intention. The former may perhaps admit a cure ; the latter hardly can, unless the majority become so enlightened concern- ing their interests, and so wise, steady, and unanimous in the pursuit of tliem, as to overcome all that resistance which the pos- sessors of undue advantages will always make to a change un- favourable to themselves. , That ignorance on the part of rulers, in the true principles of 'legislation, police, and the other branches of government, has been, and is, the cause of much evil to nations, cannot be doubt- ed. And as it must be, upon the whole, the interest of rulers to see their subjects flourishing and happy enough to be kept in good humour, there seems no reason to doubt, that in proportion as prejudices and false conceptions give way to the gradual pro- gress of truth, many improvements will be made in these partic- ulars which will materially better the state of mankind. 1 make no question but much has been done during the course of the present century, to amend the distribution of private justice, to check the oppression of the great, and to secure life and property to all the members of a state, in almost every country in Europe. Industry has been more encouraged, trade freed from many im- politic shackles, punishments rendered less cruel, and, in general, a more just and liberal spirit of internal government has been in- troduced. The rule of a Frederick and a Catherine, despotic as the principles of both have been, cannot be denied to be much more lenient, and better calculated to promote the public wel- fare, than that of their predecessors. All this is very well as far as it goes. But since arbitrary rulers must ever have an interest nearer and dearer to them than 326 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. the happiness of their subjects, viz. that of their power, they will never willingly acquiesce in promoting the public improvement with respect to those points on which this power is founded. And as great part of the worst abuses in corrupt governments are in- timately connected with the maintenance of the sovereign au- thority, it is vain to expect that they will ever be reformed till the people themselves come to understand and pursue their own interests. But here is the great difficulty. How is it possible that the mass of a nation should ever, in the hands of their old masters, become enlightened enough to comprehend their evils, and the remedies of them — should be able peaceably to deliber- ate about them, and take proper steps for their relief — should avoid the snares of crafty demagogues, and pursue steadily the light objects by the wisest means — and, finally, amidst the unjust opposition they would be sure to meet with, should preserve their minds from that irritation which will in the end break out in acts of the most dreadful violence ? Alas ! have we not too well learned what a nation will do that rises to revenge those injuries which either wisdom cannot, or selfishness will not, redress in a proper time and manner ? But they should first have been en- lightened, say the friends of knowledge and liberty. How ? when their meetings for instruction are prevented by the bayonet ; when the press is shackled by penal restrictions ; and when hired teachers will tell the people that they have nothing to do with the laws but to obey them ? The melioration of mankind by means of political revolutions, is, indeed, a noble subject of spec- ulation ; and I am far from asserting, that the hopes of patriots on this head are futile and visionary ; but, for my own part, I have only the ivish left — the confidence is gone. But are there not modes in which increased knowledge may more quietly and gradually meliorate the condition of mankind? May we not expect much from improved systems of morality ? — for, morals being in fact nothing else than such a rule of life as will promote the greatest degree of happiness ; and the art of living happily being as much an experimental art as any other, will it not be making a continual progress in human societies, who can have no interest so dear to them as carrying it to per- fection ? This, undoubtedly, seems a plausible deduction ; but, I fear, an impartial survey of history will not permit us to be very sanguine in our expectations. Has it, in reality, appeared that either individuals or bodies of men, in proportion as they MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 527 have advanced in those branches of knowledge which adorn and elevate the species, have been more just, more temperate, more beneficent ? What are the great moral evils under which mankind labour? Are they not, with respect to ourselves, the indulgence of oux' appetites and passions, and false estimates of happiness, pro- ceeding from vicious associations — with respect to others, the preference we give to our own interests above that of the com- munity ? — And are not these propensities interwoven in our very nature, and only to be controlled by a long course of discipline? Is the man of knowledge, to whom so many new sources of en- joyment are opened, less likely to grasp with eagerness at the means of attaining those enjoyments, than the illiterate and ea- sily satisfied peasant ? Can luxury ever be separated from refine- ment, avarice from commerce, or rapacity from power ? It is granted, that a strong and enlightened system of government may check many of the public mischiefs which would flow from these sources ; but how, without intolerable restraints upon free- dom of action, shall it prevent the private ones? Look at our manufacturing towns, and try to separate, even in idea, the vices and miseries that overrun them, from the circumstance of a vast population composed of artificers, who, if their wages are low, must employ their whole time in providing the necessaries of life ; if high, v.'ill lie under temptations to excess, which they have no principles that can enable them to resist. The almost insuperable difficulties experienced in every plan for amending the state of the yearly increasing poor in great towns, sufliciently evinces the intimate connection between private calamity, and what has always appeared to constitute public prosperity. The new order of things wiiich seemed opening upon Europe, afforded no prospect more flattering to the lovers of mankind, than that of a probable extinction of the wars which from the earliest records have never ceased to ravage the world. It was very plausibly argued, that since nothing was more demonstra* ble than the preponderance of evil which a war brought even upon the successful party, as soon as nations should become ca- pable of pursuing a-; well as discovering their true interests, the sword would no longer be resorted to for the decision of their differences. But the tirst consequence of the French Revolu- tion has been a very extensive and most bloody war, entered into with as much eagerness and animosity by the several parlies as 328 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. any former one ; and, in the mean time, tliree potentates have joined unmolested in a scheme of sharing between them -tne of the principal portions of Europe, and abolishing a rising liberty which had every plea of justice in its favour. Nor does it ap- pear, that a temporary peace can be restored without leaving abundant seeds of future discord ; or that even the greatest suf- ferers by the war, are likely to be cured of the fatal propensity to rush again into quarrels on the slightest occasions of ambition or contention. War is in so many ways the author of misery, and the obstacle of melioration, that unless somewhat decisive shall be effected for abolishing it from the ordinary course of human affairs, it may be affirmed, that nothing comparatively is done towards a better state of things. The propensity to national hostility 1ms already withstood all the efforts of a religion appa- rently promulgated for the express purpose of restoring peace on earth. It did not, even when its influence was strongest, bestow the shortest breathing-time on mankind : and its ministers have long been, and are at the present day, some of the most active promoters of the horrid spirit of mutual enmity. The banner is consecrated at the altar before it is dipped in blood ; and prayers are solemnly offered up in every church in Christendom for suc- cess in every act of public violence that the sovereign of each country shall please to engage in. The spirit of commerce too, which so much distinguishes the present age, instead of binding the nations in a golden chain of mutual peace and friendship, seems only to have given adilltional motives for war. Each state aims at a monopoly, only to be es- tablished by an armed force ; and the improvements of naviga- tion have contracted the dimensions of the world so as not to allow space enough for the schemes of a merchant's counting- house. Further, the present system of trade can only be main- tained by the slavery or subjugation of great numbers of man- kind ; and while the East and West Indies compose links in the chain of European commerce, cruelty and injustice must be the means by which it is made to hold together. From these considerations, I fear, we have very insuflficient grounds to suppose, that the desired melioration of the world upon public pi'inciples is as yet commenced. All that a compa- rison of this century with the last will allow us with certainty to infer, is greater lenity and regularity in the administration of government in some countries ; more encouragement to the ex- MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 329 eitioiis of industry ; and a desire in governors to participate in the improvements made by art and science, which has the good effect of inciting them to encourage the means of advancing use- ful knowledge, though often from narrow and selfish motives. If, in opposition to these advantages, be set the prodigious increase of standing armies .; the vast accumulation of national debts and burthens ; and the extinction of a spirit of independence in num- bers of the middle and superior ranks of society, while the lowest are doomed to ceaseless toil in order to gain a mere subsistence, I question if the most sanguine friend of mankind can strike a fair balance which will give him much satisfaction. But, not to dwell entirely upon the dark side of the prospect, I shall state a few circumstances of private improvement, on which I think we may safely place some reliance. It is impossible to doubt that, in all the more civilised parts of the world, superstition and bigotry, those bitter foes of human happiness, have lost much of their power ; and that this has been owing to that progress of good sense and knowledge which may be expected to go on still further diminishing their influence. It is true, the connection between old systems of belief and old claims of authority, may for a while maintain the struggle of falsehood and violence, against truth and equity ; but I would fain hope that imposture and persecution have received their death wound in Europe, and will never again be able to produce the follies and miseries under which men so many ages groaned. Religious systems are still, indeed, full of error, and are little, if at all, mended in their principles ; but the spirit of the times has been too potent for them, and doubt or indifference has effected what mere argument could not have done. Emancipation from the servile dread of supernatural evils, and from theburthensome and degrading practices by which they were to be averted, is a gain in point of happiness which cannot be too highly prized. It enters deep into the comfort of private life, and makes all the difference between a freeman and a slave. And that increased lenity in governments and liberality in individuals, which ren- ders the profession of a different religious faith from the estab- lished one, no longer dangerous or degrading, is a most impor- tant advantage to all dissidents. The great diff'usion of knowledge, though perhaps of a super- ficial kind, among ranks of people who formerly possessed scarcely the smallest portion of it, has certainly added much to Tt 338 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. the pleasures and variety of life ; and if it has tended to soften and humanise the raanuers, and introduced asreater love for se- dentary arauaements, and the pursuits of tuUivated leisure, I own 1 am -one of those \\ho think this a good exchange against the rough vigour and rude simplicity of former ages. Nor can it est ape any observer, that even the arausive writings of the present dav are almost invariably friendly to decency, human- ity, generositv, and all the finer and nobler feelings of the heart. And as a consequence of the propagation of such sentiments, the virtues of charity, beneficence, and aflfability, were certainly ne- ver more conspicuous. From these considerations, I am not will- ing to accept the concession of a very zealous believer in the progression of the human race, the late Condorcet, who asserts •'that though much has been done for the glory of mankind, scarcelv any thing has yet been done for its happiness." It is true, that the continuance of destructive wars, and of the im- mense inequality of conditions, perpetuates a vast mass of evilg in societj ; yet these evils, which at no period did not exist, are undoubtedly softened by modern manners ; and private life has in various respecfs been made happier to all ranks of people. But I own that the very circumstance of some improvement in these points, leads roe to despair of those radical and effectual meliorations which many expect from vigorous schemes of reform, conducted upon principles of general interest and public virtue. Our situation has too many advantages to be readily hazarded ; and the exertions requisite to maintain those advantages too much occupy our miiids to allow of the application of much time and attention to matters remotely concerning ourselves. Our tempers, too, with the sternness, have lost the force, of the he- roic ages ; nor do I conceive that any considerable number of us would be capable of going through the rough work of a reforma- tion when brought from theory to practice. It the instance of a neighbouring nation be brought to refute the notion of a ne- cessary connection between advancement in civilisation and ef- feminacy of character; it may be urged, on the other hand, that the shocking calamities which have attended its revolutionary exer- tions will with certainty for a long time render its history more a warning than an exjimple to other nations. Melioration, according to its warmest advocates, cannot be effected without overthrowing all usurpations in government, all impositions in religion, rooting up all prejudices, levelling all artificial distinctions, and equal- MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 331 izing mankind so tar as can be done consistently with the funda- mental principles of social union. But where are the engine? by which these mighty operations are to be brought about? The pulpit, the bar, the sword, are already engaged in suppi)rt of ex- isting institutions; and the press, on whicli the chief reliance of reformers is placed, is at least half bought by the same powerful bidders. Not a single axiom on whicli the rights of man are founded, has been able to fix itself beyond the reach of assault. All is disputed ; and where argument fails, authority is called in to give succour ; while wit and eloquence fight indiscrimi- nately on either side. I shall conclude with one more reflection which forcibly presses upon me. All the proofs that have been adduced of the amend- ed state of mankind, and all that I have admitted as real or probable, relate only to Europe and her immediate connec- tions, and not even to the whole of that. But what a small por- tion of the human race does this comprehend ! The last ac- counts of China state the population of that empire alone at up- wards of three hundred millions, of which sum all Europe can only show a trifling fraction. Who can with the least proba- bility suggest improvement in that ancient, vain and prejudiced people, who only know enough of us and our institutions to sus- pect and despiac us ? Who |>rt;tends to see less ferocity in the African, less pride in the Turk, less rapine in the Arab, less perfidy in the Indian, less cruelty in the Persian? Alas! while we are overwhelmed at home with business enough to occupy reformation for centuries, all these vast regions have not yet heard the word sound in their ears, and would probably shud- der at the proposal of any innovation as the direst of crimes ! The imagination can scarcely conceive that change which should render our books, our knowledge, our opinions, familiar to these people. Nothing but entire conquest would seem anywise ade- quate to this effect ; and what a Pandora's box does that word conquest comprise ! Better, surely, that the world should re- main in its present mixed and imperfect state, than that an uni- formity of good should be aimed at by means which are them- selves the greatest of evils ! 332 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. ON TOLERATION IN RUSSIA. THERE has lately been published by a German divine an account of the state of religious toleration in Russia, which ap- pears to me not only to contain some curious matter of fact, but to afford important matter for reflection also. Both these will form the topics of the following paper. For three centuries past it has been the practice of the Russian sovereigns to indulge strangers in the free enjoyment of their re- ligious worship ; and under the name of strangers appear to have been included those numerous tribes or nations which have been adopted into the Russian empire by submission or conquest. This policy has probably been derived from the Turks and other eastern nations ; and it has, in later reigns, been enforced by the necessity of inviting strangers in order to carry into effect the great plans of civilisation and improvement, which have been transmitted from one sovereign to another. The Account in question was drawn up in the time of the late empress Catherine, whose managing spirit reduced this, like every other public con- cern, into a system. The following are its essential points. All religions are tolerated in Russia. Christian of every deno- mination, Jew, Mahometan, Pagan, may each worship his God or Gods, in the way his father has done before him. Neither is there any thing like a religious test for admission to public of- fices. The first persons in the civil and military departments are Greek, Roman-catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist, &c. as it may happen. The sovereign's choice is a sufficient qualification ; nothing exists to control it. Yet there is a national church, strongly marked by its privileges, and perfectly secured against that dread of all churches, innovation. In the first place, though the different sectaries may change at pleasure from one church to another, yet the true native Russian must inviolably adhere to the religion in which he is born, the Greek : any change in him is apostacy ; and foreign ecclesiastics are forbidden to re- ceive a Russian into their communities. Nay, if a foreigner once conforms to the established religion, he is fixed in it for ever. If a foreigner's children, in defect of a minister of his MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 333 own persuasion, chance to receive baptism from a Greek priest, they must likewise ever remain members of the national church. Moreover, in marriages between a Russian and a foreigner, the ofFspriog, without a very particular dispensation from the court, must be brought up in the Greek faith. The marriage ceremony, even of strangers, must always be performed according to the Russian ritual ; but this, indeed, imposes no subsequent obliga- tion on the parties, or their children. Such is the plan philosophical despotism has formed for the management of religion in a great empire ; and I doubt not there are many who will admire it as an extraordinary effort both of liberality and of good policy. It may seem to unite in the hap- piest manner the support of a national church with a regard to the rights of conscience in those who have been educated in a different communion ; and may be thought equally to guard against the evils of innovation, and those of a forced uniformity. For myself, however, I cannot but consider it as a remarkable instance of the impudence of power — of the propensity of mortals elevated by station above their fellow-creatures, to assume the prerogative of dictating to them in their most important con- cerns. The spirit of the preceding regulations is this — " All religions are equal — equally true, or equally false. It is useful to the sovereign to have a prevailing one under his special in- fluence and protection ; yet it is not worth while to quarrel with strangers, or deprive the state of their services, for the sake of uniformity. Subjects, however, are to be taught, that the choice of religion does not belong to them, but to their master. They are to follow authority in that, as in any other matter of civil re- gulation ; and it would be punishable presumption in them to decide for themselves, as if they had any concern in the conclu- sion. A person may be of any religion he is commanded to be — -he may bring his soul to submit as well as his body ; and no duty can be supposed to supersede that of absolute submission to the sovereign." This manner of considering the subject is, in fact, a greater affront to the human understanding, than the power assumed by a Spanish Inquisition. The latter founds all its authority upon the supposition that what it maintains is ex- clusively the truth, and truth of the highest importance to man- kind ; and its effects to make conviction the basis of that uni- formity of belief and practice which it compels. It equally, in- deed, with the other, denies the right of private judgment ; but it 334 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. is on the plea that the matter has already been judged by the only competent tribunal ; and it will not permit reasons of state or local circumstances to sway the decision of points not amen- able to civil jurisdiction. The Russian scheme is evidently formed upon political considerations ; but it is accommodated only to a nation, the great body of which are stupid barbarians. It proves that despots, with all the free thinking they may pro- fess, are only half philosophers. They would gladly enjoy all the benefit which can arise from the mental energies of their slaves, without taking off their shackles when acting for themselves. But to reduce the mind to such a state of disci- pline is beyond their power. It will not be limited in its exer- tions. It will not expand itself freely upon topics of compara- tively small consequence, and pass over those of the greatest. While the native Russians are to be mere hewers of wood, and drawers of water, they may perhaps be made to continue to wor- ship pictures bought at their god shops, and fast and pray just as their priests bid them. But if the noble plan is really pursued of reclaiming a great people from barbarism, and placing them on a level with the most enlightened nations of Europe, they must be allowed at least as much liberty as the strangers who come to teach them, and not have their religion chosen for them like a footman's livery, or a soldier's regimentals. How mean and bar- barous is this policy, as well as every other scheme for restrain- ing free inquiry, compared with the simple transatlantic plan of leaving religion, like other matters of individual concern, to the care of individuals themselves, secure that it can never injure the peace of a well regulated state, as long as the state abstains from interposing in its differences ! MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. MILITARY PIETY. " WAR,* (says an eminent writer) is so bad a thing, that no^ thing but a mixture of religion can make it worse." This, how- ever, by no means appears to be the general opinion, and the union of the military and religious character is one of the most popular ideas of the time. Indeed it could scarcely be other- wise, when we are engaged in a war, one great object of which is the support of religion of every species against atheism and impiety ; and when we have the happiness to be connected with allies so distinguished for religious zeal. It is peculiarly edify- ing to be informed of the exemplary regularity observed by that humane and civilised body, the Russian soldiery, in the perform- ance of their devotions. This, indeed, is not to be wondered at, since the very robbers of that nation are equally punctilious in this respect. We are told by a writer of credit, that a famous Russian leader of banditti, whose thirst for human blood was such, that he was accustomed to tie his captives to a tree, and open tlieir breasts while alive, in order that he might drink the vital fluid fresh and warm ; on being asked by his confessor, as he was led to execution, whether he had duly observed the fasts and festivals of the church ? was aifronted with the question, and in his turn asked the priest whether he did not take him for a christian ? Under the late conscientious empress Catherine, the Russian court-manifestoes were remarkable beyond any in Eu- rope for solemn appeals to the Deity ; and it is to be presumed that her successor has not degenerated in this point. The ac- counts that have been published of the devotional spirit of the celebrated conqueror of Ismael and Praga, cannot fail of giving high delight to those who regard him as the destined restorer of monarchy and Catholicism in France. As there is always some- thing interesting in the parallels between great men in different periods, I shall beg leave to place beside these the sketch given by Brantome of an illustrious commander of his time, also a dis tinguished chief in a catholic league, the constable of France, Anne de Montmorenci. • Written during the French revoliuion war, 336 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. "Every morning (says the historian) whether he was at home or in the army, on a march or in camp, he never neglected to re- cite and hear his paternosters. But it was a saying among the soldiers, * Take care of the paternosters of Monsieur the Con- stable ;' for whilst he was muttering them over, he would throw in, by way of parenthesis, as the occasions of discipline or war demanded, • Hang me that fellow on the next tree — pass me that other through the pikes — bring me hither that man and shoot him before my face — cut me in pieces all those rascals who are so audacious as to defend that steeple against the king — burn me that village — set i&re to all the country for a quarter of a league round :' and all this he would do without the least interruption to his devotions, which he would have thought it a sin to defer to another hour, so tender was his conscience .'" This I think an admirable picture of a soldier's devotion ; and though it is not quite suited to an English camp or quarter-deck, it would, I suppose, appear natural enough in a Russian field marshal, or a bashaw of three-tails ; whom we are now so happy as to be entitled in some measure to call our own. INQUIRY INTO THE NATURE OF FAMILY PRIDE. MORALISTS and Divines agree in the condemnation oi pride, from whatever source it is derived ; but some kinds of it have ever been treated with lighter censure than others ; and some, in the common estimate, have even been elevated into laudable principles of action, and have been supposed to denote an exalt- ed soul. The pride of virtue among the ancient philosophers, especially of the Stoic sect, though it was apt to inspire an arro- gant and unamiable demeanor, certainly in many cases raised the mind above every thing mean and vulgar, and proved an in- citement to worthy conduct. Similar effects have usually been attributed to i\\Q pride of family ; and no common place is more frequent in works of fiction, and even in popular morality, than the influence of high descent in dignifying the sentiments, and prompting to noble deeds. It is obvious, that the reality of such MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 337 eftects must depend upon the character and foundation of this species of pride ; for the mere aifection of pride, consisting in a higli estimate of one's-self, is more likely to debase than to en- noble, to repress than to rouse, since it supposes the object al- ready attained for the sake of which great exertions are made. Let us therefore inquire into the actual source of family pride, as prevailing among ourselves. It is possible, that its character may admit of diiferent shades and variations from local circum- stances ; yet I siiould imagine, that it must every where derive its essence from the general principles of human nature. There are two grounds upon which a sentiment of this kind may be made to appear not unreasonable ; one, the supposition that superior qualities are actually transmitted in certain fami- lies by pro-creation ; the other, that descendants possess a sort of inheritance in the public merits of their ancestors. With respect to the first, as it is an undoubted fact, that not only the bodily but the mental constitution of parents is, in some degree, renovated in their children ; it was no improbable opinion that those qualities which in a rude state of society had raised the possessors above their fellows, should, for a time at least, shine conspicuous in their lineal progeny. A race of Heraclidse might long be distinguished by a portion of the strength and for- titude of their great progenitor. Horace, by the analogy of the brute creation, supports his position of " Fortes creantur fortidiis et bonis :^' "The brave and good produce the good and brave." It was unfortunate, that the race of human beings by whom he exemplified his doctrine, was the family of the Nero^s ; but he was a poet and not a propliet, and could not foresee how soon a name which great qualities had raised to honour, might be ren- dered eternally infamous by the vices of a degenerate offspring. In more modern times it has been asserted, that valour, honour, and good sense, have been hereditary in certain families ; and epitaphs have told of noble breeds of which " all the males were brave, and all the females virtuous." But in a long line, so many accidents may happen to interrupt the stream of propagated ex- cellencies, that I presume the credit of such pretensions is quite at an end. Nor do I suppose, that the inheritors of high blood would themselves be forward to put in claims which might excite too large expectations in the public. Who would venture to pro- Uu 338 MISCELLxVNEOUS PIECES. fess himself an heir to the political wisdom of a Cecil, or the military talents of a Churchill ? The truth is, that natural per- fections of mind and body are indifferently the lot of all condi tions of life ; and the chance is just the same, as far as birth is concerned, that a Bacon or a Newton should honour the palace or the cottage. Every thing further is the result of education ; and whether that of the great be best adapted to carry the human species to its highest degree of perfection, may be left to the great themselves to determine. Scarcely any man, therefore, is probably proud of his descent on the supposition, that he has derived from it moral or intellectual endowments superior to those of mankind in general. And with respect to the body, they who talk, almost as if they understood it literally, of the purity of the blood which flows in their veins, must be perpetually re- called from the pleasing delusion, by the homeliness, deformi- ties, and hereditary diseases, which render so many noble races extremely bad specimens of the human form divine. The supposed participation in the merits of ancestors is next to be considered as a ground of family pride. The public gratitude, which, in its displays, has frequently comprehended with the person of a public benefactor those of his children, and even of his remote descendants, has given a sanc- tion to this notion of transmitted merit, and proved it to have a foundation in human nature. Yet reason and reflection must teach, that every tribute paid by society on this account, has its just bounds; that present demerit may cancel all the claims of past desert ; and that even length of time may obliterate the debt. We can scarcely conceive of services so great, that they may not be repaid in honour and emolument, if not to the person himself, at least to his immediate representatives ; and it is evi- dent, that, were public rewards to be perpetuated to all poster- ity, future generations would find the stock anticipated, by which they should remunerate benefits of their own growth. lu order to establish a just title to the honours associated with a noble name, along with the name there should be a transmission of a portion of the character and principles which first made it the object of respect. If a I'ace of Publicolas think it a duty af- fixed to their appellation, to continue from age to age the guar- dians of the people's rights, they will continue entitled to their attachment and veneration ; but if they dwindle down to the sa- tellites of a court, how shall they dare to arrogate respect on MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 339 account of their relation to ancestors whose principles they have renounced, and whose actions, by their own conduct, they disa- vow? No consideration, indeed, ought to be more awful, or even oppressive to the mind, than that of being the representative of men whose remembrance will ever live in the breasts of their admiring countrymen : for wliat is its effect, but tliat of provid- ing a perpetual fund for humiliating comparisons? This is the topic particularly dwelt upon, with a mixture of humour and in- dignation, by the manly Juvenal, in his energetic satire upon nobility. But the claim to public reverence on account of the signal merits of ancestors, be it well or ill founded, cannot possibly come within the view of a great majority of those who boast of family. From the august genealogies of kings and emperors, down to the pedigrees of country squires, how few are there which can exhibit characters of distinguished virtue or abilities, or to whom their country can justly be reckoned indebted ! If names now and then occur, which the historian has deigned to record among the actors in memorable events, it is to be consi- dered, that high stations are necessarily the lot of property and influence ; and that transactions of great moment, which are conducted by the united exertions of many, are often ascribed to an individual, who had no other share in them, than that of being the nominal head. Battles are gained, and negotiations brought to effect, under the auspices of persons of rank, in whose abili- ties perhaps not the least confidence is placed even by those who employ them. They merely serve for the decoration ; while all the real business is done by men not highly born enough to dis- pense with professional knowledge. Thus the brave and skilful Chevert obtained a victory and a marshal's staff for the prince de Soubise; concerning which it was wittily said in an epigram, "Who should have the staff, but he who cannot walk alone?" But without entering into a ngorous scrutiny, but making a li- beral allowance o( every imputed public service, it may be asked. Will our men of family consent to take precedence, according to the aggregate of meritorious deeds recorded of the whole race? It will not, I believe, come under the charge of scandalum mag- natvm to affirm, that the nobility and gentry, neither of this, nor of any other country, would acquiesce in such a proposal. In fact, a person must be little acquainted with the sentiments that really prevail in the world, to suppose that the pride of ancestry 340 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. has, in general, any connection whatever with merit, either gen nine or imputed. Us grounds are, simply, relative superiority of condition, together with the length of time in which that supe- riority has been enjoyed. It is, therefore, no other than a modi- Jication of the pride of ivealth ; and while more absurd in its ap- plication than this sentiment, it is not at all more elevated or dignified in its nature. The English ^lobleman who traces his lineage to one " who came in with the Conqueror," is content to refer his origin to a soldier of fortune, a subaltern leader of banditti, who, for his as- sistance in turning out the lawful possessors, was rewarded with a share of their property. He was brave, as were all his Norman countrymen. The greedy appetite for spoil would lead him, as it would the meanest of his band, to confront any dangers ; but he was ignorant, unlettered, unprincipled, and brutal. By the number of vassals he brought into the field, was estimated the proportion of conquered land that fell to his share ; and this pro- portion constituted the sole difference between the greater and the inferior families built upon this foundation. Where the spoil was half or the whole of a county, it gave rise to an earldom or barony, which, descending through various fortunes to the present time, has conferred the highest hereditary honours this kingdom affords. Now, the original mode in which this property was ac- quired, certainly conveys no valuable lesson to a descendant; and amidst the train through v/hich it has successively passed, may probably be found all that variety of character and conduct which the human condition, joined to power and wealth, is likely to produce. Some of them were, of course, generals, ministers, heads of factions, now on the royal, now on the popular side, as it suited their interests ; now rewarded with new honours and possessions as supporters of the crown, now attainted and brought fo the scaffold as traitors. " Treason, sacrilege, and proscrip- tion, (says Gibbon,) are often the best titles of ancient nobility." Is it, then, from a moral or intellectual estimate of such men as these, that the idea of a noble and illustrious race is derived by the judges of family consequence — the adepts in heraldry and genealogy ? No;— It is quite sufficient for them to trace Bohuns and Mowbrays from century to century, as the possessors of cer- tain liereditary honours, and the owners of certain manors ; and all individuals are sunk in the abstract notion of a great house. The Spaniards, though prouder of nobility than any nation in MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. S4l Europe gave to their original great landholders only the appro- priate title of JRicos Honibres — rich men. The untitled country gentleman cannot be supposed to enter- tain more elevated ideas of ancestry than the ennobled patrician. The connection of his name with a certain parcel of land at a re- mote period, is all that he thinks it incumbent upon him to esta- blish in proof of his gentility ; and the measure of his relative consequence is the number of acres in this land, combined with the length of time during which his family have been the posses- sors of it. These two considerations, it is true, somewhat inter- fere ; so that it may become a matter of doubt, whether an ancient race of small property be not more honourable than a more mo- dern one with ampler possessions : and this is one of the modi- fications by Avhich the pride of family somewhat differs from the simple pride of wealth. But the foundation of both being the same, namely, distinction from the mass of people by a superi- ority in riches, it does not appear how the mere circumstance of the length of time in which this has been enjoyed, can constitute any essential difference in effect. In this country, where cer- tainly more sobriety and consistency in estimating the advan- tages of life prevail than in most others, it is very seldom that the proudest gentleman of ancient descent will refuse to ally himself to superior wealth and influence, how recent soever be their date. What is usually meant when it is said. Such an one is a person of good family ? Is any other idea excited, than that of opulence and living at ease? Do not we immediately paint to ourselves a good landed estate, a rich church preferment, or a thriving profession ? And if any moral notions associate them- selves with the word good, are they not merely such as naturally belong to a condition which rises above the ordinary temptations to meanness and dishonesty, and renders it easy to perform acts of generosity and liberality ? In this sense, is the gentleman of ancient name superior to the wealthy trader of yesterday ? Whatever be the forms under which family pride appears, they are for the most part only varieties of self-consequence derived from property. Thus, wlien a person boasts that his ancestors have never sullied themselves with low or mercenary employ- ments, what is it but boasting that they have been able to live upon their hereditary possessions, without any exertions of per- sonal industry ? The rich trader may promise the same here- after for himself and his descendants, as long as the wealth he :A:i MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. has accumulated shall last. And if the gentleman falls into po verty, what becomes of his boast ? He will scorn, perhaps, to cringe behind a counter; but he will not scruple to bow at a minister's levee. He will think it beneath him to practise for gain any useful talents he may possess ; but he will deem it hon- ourable to let himself out to hire, for the purpose of butchering those who never offended him, on the mere considerations of pay and plunder. He will be a venal senator, a prostitute lawyer, or an unbelieving priest, without derogating from gentility. But is not the man who goes to market with his conscience, as much a trader as if he set up a stall at a fair ; with this difference only, that he deals in a viler commodity than ever came out of a ma- nufacturer's hands ? Does the gentleman value himself upon his education and man- ners ? These, too, if of a superior kind, have only been rendered so by superiority in the means of obtaining improvement, or of appearing in society with respect and independence. None are at present better educated, than the children of many who have become opulent by commerce; as, on the other hand, instances are sufficiently common of mean and narrow educations given to inferior branches of great families. A common literary educa- tion is within the reach of persons much beneath the rank of gen- tility; and as its success chiefly depends upon the motives to improve it to the best advantage, it is less to be expected from the heirs of opulence, than from those who are sensible that their livelihood must depend upon their own exertions. With respect to the extraordinary advantages of particular tuition, of travel, and the like, these are all open to the persons who can pay for them, and to no others. The manners which are supposed to de- note a familiarity with good company, have two sources; the sense of self consequence, and the habits of artificial politeness. The first will, doubtless, attend persons of real rank and impor- tance ; but it is derived rather from station and fortune, than from what is properly called family. It is often surprisingly soon caught by men of very low origin, who arrive at posts of dignity, or high commercial prosperity ; while it may be totally extinct in the needy descendant of ten noble generations. The second is an accomplishment which, like all others, must be studied by those who wish to excel in it. High birth is, doubtless, an ad- vantage towards its acquisition : but the opportunities it affords are often neglected. That arbiter elegantiarum, Lord Chester- MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 343 field, has scarcely allowed any of the first men of his time, in point of rank and office, to have had the manners and conversa tion of gentlemen. (See his Characters.) Indeed, the very circum- stance of elevated situation may operate unfavourably upon the manners, from the carelessness it is likely to inspire with respect to pleasing in society, tlie desire of which is the only true source of politeness. The lowest appendages of quality are more likely to acquire that deportment which conciliates regard and good will, than their lords and patrons. If a just interpretation of the nature and origin of family pride have been given in the preceding remarks, it will not be easy to show, why it should tend to elevate the mind, or stimulate to great and lionourable exertions. We may, indeed, image to our- selves a parent exhorting his child in the warmest strains of af- fectionate eloquence, to prove himself the worthy descendant of a long race of heroes or patriots. But the misfortune is, when we quit fancy for reality, that these pure races are no where to be found; and it is not without great selection, that a noble youth can safely draw his examples from his genealogical table. How many names, and, perhaps, the most distinguished ones too, will occur in every line, which instead of the love of public virtue, will inspire a lawless lust of power, or an admiration of unprin- cipled daring; instead ot the heart-felt esteem of private worth and integrity, will kindle the ambition of dazzling by splendid profligacy! The lesson he is of all the most likely to learn is, the great importance of riches ; he sees how much they conduced to the consequence of his progenitors, and why should he form a different estimate of his own ? If, therefore, he inherits wealth, he is proud of that wealth. If he inherits only the title and memory of past opulence, he is mortified by the contrast between his name and his circumstances ; and feels no necessity so ur- gent, as that of retrieving the honour, that is the fortune, of his family. To one whose prejudices preclude him from many of the most useful and honest ways of gaining a fortune, such an impression must often be the cause of hurtful and dishonourable expedients. And, in fact, none have in all cauntries been so sys- tematically hostile to the liberties and rights of their fellow sub- jects, as the brood of indigent nobility, who seem to think them- selves unjustly treated by the community, as long as their reve- nues are inadequate to the expectations of their birth. To revert to the question proposed as the object of inquirv,— • 344 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. I conceive it to be the true nature of family pride, to institute an estimate of personal value, essentially founded upon superiority of wealth, and recurring to such a superiority for its support. It cannot, therefore, be relied upon as a solid principle for the ele- vation of the character. It may occasionally prompt to great and noble actions, but there is no security against its inspiring pernicious and disgraceful ones. It is inferior in worth, not only to genuine morality, but to a regard for the common good opinion of mankind, which implies a sense of community of sentiment and interest; whereas family pride is a secluding and dissoci- ating principle. APOLOGY FOR THE DEMOLITION OF RUINS. * I KNOW not where I can better apply than to your liberal publication, for the purpose of making my protest against what I conceive a very unjust censure passed upon my character. Allow me, therefore, without further preface, to state my case to your readers. Three years ago, on the death of a distant relation, I came un- expectedly into possession of an estate situated in one of the most pleasing rural situations in this kingdom. Having always had a fondness for the country, which, till that time, professional engagements would not suffer me to indulge, I determined, without hesitation, to fix my future residence in the spot which fortune had bestowed upon me. I therefore hastened down, with the purpose of making such alterations and improvements as fancy or convenience might suggest, in a place which had been more indebted to nature than to the attention of its late posses- sors. In going the round of my domains, I observed in a sweet retired vale, within the flexure of a clear brook, a mass of un- sightly ruins, overgrown with weeds, offering to the eye nothing • This fancy piece was originally sent as a eommunication to a pei'iodical work. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 345 better than some half-demolished walls, surrounding heaps of shapeless rubbish. The soil about it was rich; and the spot was well defended "from cold septentrion blasts" by a rising hillock to the north, and a tall plantation to the east. Among my little tastes, one of the strongest is a delight in the cultivation of rare and beautiful plants ; and as at the instant a plan of fortifica- tions was suggested to uncle Toby, his bowling-green presented itself to his imagination, so, on the view of this sequestered place, I cried to myself, in a kind of rapture, " What a charming situ- ation for a botanical garden !'' " And then, (I proceeded) we shall find stones enow among this rubbish for an inclosure ; and on that largest heap, which overlooks the stream, I will build a little summer-house, and convert all the base of it into a piece of rock work." To make my story short, so much did this scheme run in my head, that I did not rest till it was put in execution; and if, Mr. Editor, you are a lover of plants, I may venture to say you would be delighted to see the number of beautiful vege- tables which I have already established here, and would enjov the verdant scenery round the windows of my little cabinet. But now comes the unpleasant part of the history. Soon after the ruins were demolished, and the edifices erected upon them, a Dr. Moulder, a. vary learned man, and a distinguished fellow of the Antiquarian Society, who happened to be visiting in the neighbourhood, called one morning when I was abroad, and de* aired my gardener to show him about my grounds, particularly requesting to see the remains of the convent. " Convent ! sir, (says the fellow,) we have no such thing that I ever heard of; but, perhaps, your worship means the old walls that my master pulled down when he made his new garden by the brook." " Pulled down !" cried the doctor ; " what do you mean ? — but show me to the place." The man took him to the vale, and was going to open the garden door, when a flat stone in the wall, on which vv^ere some traces of letters, caught the doctor's eye He stopped short, lifted up his hands, and broke forth into exclama- tions which frightened the poor fellow, and of which he remem- bers only the words " barbarous! monstrous ! sacrilege!" He then took out of his pocket a memorandum book, and began, with much pains, and no little ill-humour, to transcribe the inscrip- tion, which unfortunately gave him additional trouble by being fixed in the wall the wrong end upwards. He ended by exactly measuring the length and breadth of the stone with a pocket rule. Xx 346 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. " Well, (says he, turning to the man,) I see you have done your work completely. I suppose you dug up the old building from the foundation ?" "We did, sir, (replied he,) and a power of trouble we had with it. They say it was a famous place in the time of the Papishes. But if your worship wants to see any more gravestones, I can show you som£." The doctor acquiescing iti this proposal, he was led to the fragments of a few more monu- mental stones in different parts of the wall, the rude letters of which, where they were at all legible, he faithfully copied, and then, without deigning to pay the least attention to my improve- ments, he made the man an acknowledgment, and hastily walked off-. The circumstances of tTiis visit, when related, only diverted me, till, a few months afterwards, an acquaintance calling upon me, " Do you know," says he, with a serious face, " what an at- tack has been made upon you in print?" I was startled; upon which he took out a periodical publication, renowned for its gra- vity in trifles, and showed me a letter concerning the lately ex- isting remains of the Monastery of Cistercians in the parish of -, which I presently discovered to have been written by my testy visitant. In this letter, the owner of the place was treated in the harshest terms, as " a Vandal, a foe to reverend antiquity, a violator of the dead, and a person void of all taste and all re- gard for literature." — "The precious relics which time and the rough hand of reformation had spared, M'ere utterly destroyed by my ruder hands ; and, as far as in me lay, I had contributed to the overthrow of one of the most pleasing and useful of studies." To these charges, Sir, I am loth to plead guilty ; for though I have not ranked in that class of men whose sole business in life is the employment of literary leisure, yet neither by education nor habit am I a total stranger to the Muses ; and I trust I have a heart not inaccessible to the pleasures of knowledge nor har- dened against the impressions of sentiment. I must, indeed, ac- knowledge that I have not learned to value a thing merely be- cause it is old and useless : nor do my feelings plead with me in favour of relinquishing to the bones of ancient possessors the' perpetual occupation of those seats which, when living, they wisely selected on account of their beauty or convenience. I see not why I should not enjoy my garden as well as the monks did theirs in the same spot; and I think it a much less crime to disturb the repose of their skeletons, than to banish Flora and MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 347 Pomona from a favourite residence. The rights of the dead, I confess, affect me little in comparison with those of the living; and I reckon it high time for the particles of bodies three or four centuries defunct, to return quietly to the bosom of the earth, and fulfil their destiny. As to the share of posthumous fame which may be preserved by the inscription of Gualter de Thorpe Prior hiijus Monast. — I can accuse myself of a very small degree of injury in bringing it to a conclusion, when so many elaborate works under the tile of iMonasticons, Repertories, Topographical Remains, County Histories, &c. have taken such laudable pains to secure the immortality of these worthies by monuments xre perenniora. The motives which inspire a reverence for the remains of an- tiquity, and plead against their demolition, are various ; but I think the rational ones may be reduced to very few. Where they possess intrinsic beauty or grandeur, and aiFord specimens of the taste and ingenuity of former ages, they certainly deserve preservation ; as likewise where they illustrate manners and modes of living, concerning which history is silent or obscure. Also, when they are associated with any remarkable event, though not essential to the transmission of such event, I should be as unwilling as any to break an association which may excite in sensible hearts feelings of the most interesting kind. But why should ruinous piles without elegance or magnificence be left to cumber the ground, when they refer only to inconsiderable per- sonages and ordinary modes of life, much less valuable in them- selves than what has succeeded them, and at least as fully re- corded as they deserve to be in the pages of history } Surely the stones of our wretched old mansions called castles, and of our gloomy monasteries, are not all so sacred, that they may not be applied to the better uses that modern taste and good sense would find for them ! 348 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. INQUIRY INTO THE ESSENTIAL CHARACTER OF MAN. THERE is nothing in which civilised antiquity appears more laudable, and indeed more enviable, than in the philosophical li- berty it allowed of discussing speculative questions relative to some of the most important topics, without affixing either a pub- lic or a private stigma on an individual, on account of the con- clusions he might deduce from his reasonings. Deriving the character of a man from the manner in which he fulfilled his duties in society, and taking for granted, that, if he acted well, he possessed the motives proper to influence him to that course of action, it regarded with great indifference the metaphysical or theological system he had chosen to adopt, and never entertained an idea of converting tenets of opinion into tests of qualification for the offices of a citizen. Our modern dogmatists, though very far from agreeing among themselves upon many fundamental points of doctrine, have yet associated their several modes of thinking so exclusively to the best principles of action, that they have refused the very name of goodness to virtues not deduced from their theories on the nature and relations of man. We have seen even so mere a matter of speculation, as the origin of evil, represented as the great hinge of morality ; and a belief of that system which refers it to a supposed corruption of human nature, made the discrimination between genuine and spurious morals. That evil or imperfection exists throughout the whole sentient creation, is sufficiently obvious, but it would seem equally so, that our business can only be the correction of it; and that the means of doing this must be general to all human creatures, as far as they make use of reason and experience, whatever notions ancient fable or history may have given them concerning its ori- gin. On this subject, as on many others, the rage for forming hy- potheses seems to have created difficulties and perplexities which do not necessarily belong to it. If we content ourselves " with reasoning only from what we know,'' and consider the character and condition of man merely as facts in natural history, I con- ceive that our speculations concerning them need not be either MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 349 intricate or unsatisfactory ; and that we shall be able to free our minds from a mass of error and prejudice tending to bewilder our ideas and mislead our conduct. Man is the terminating link of the animal creation. It is equally evident that he participates the nature of this class of beings, and that he is at the summit of the scale. His points of conformity with the animals beneath him are striking and nume- rous. Like them, he passes through the stages of growth, ma- turity, and decline: like them, he perishes as an individual, but perpetuates himself as a species : like them, he has his pains and pleasures, diseases and remedies, wants and the means of supplying them. The first law of nature in both, is that of seeking happiness. In both, this happiness is partly personal, partly social. In both, oc- casions arise in which the personal and social coincide, and others in which they interfere. Now comes the principal moral difference. In brute animals, wherever the storge, or parental and conjugal affection, does not take place, the individual uniformly (a few dubious cases, perhaps, excepted) prefers his own gratification to that of another, or of any number of others : in man, the strength of sympathy, the pleasures of sentiment, the habits of society, and the reciprocal ties and dependencies of various kinds, have so involved the interests of numerous individuals, that happiness cannot be pursued to any extent but as a matter of alliance and conjunction. Hence cases perpetually occur in which a man is induced to resign his immediate and single gratifications for the sake of that common good in which he is a sharer. This is a law of his nature ; and, considering it as such, it is not of the smallest consequence whether a theorist finally refers it to a be- nevolent or a selfish principle. Further, he is enabled, by that idea of the connection of cause and eifect, and that memory of past and anticipation of future events, which he possesses, if not solely, at least in a degree greatly superior to other animals, to resist the impulse of present appetite and passion, when his own greater good, or that of persons dear to him, requires it. Here, then, is a large provision made in his nature for the attainment of all the personal and social virtues. He will be prudent and temperate in the use of sensual enjoyments, both that he may not exhaust the source, and that the consequences of excess may not overbalance the pleasures. He will be kind and benevolent, compassionate and charitable, because he is so constituted as to sympathise in the happiness and misery of those around him ; 350 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. because he is a social, and not a solitary being. He will even interest himself in the concerns of large communities, and forego his ease, and hazard his safety, to promote their advantage ; be- cause he is capable of personifying the ideas of country and man- kind, and identifying himself with the human race ; because he is sensible of the exalted pleasure of being admired and beloved when living, and can associate these feelings to his memory after tleath. If to this fund for useful and generous action be added the capacity of receiving pure and inexhaustible delight from the exertion of intellect, what an idea must be formed of the nature and condition of man, and how fitted must he seem to occupy the elevated rank assigned him in this visible system of things ! But it is also an invariable law of nature, that upon every ad- vantage should be entailed, as it were, an appropriate inconve- nience — upon every good should be quartered its evil. As in the tropical climates the same sun that nourishes a luxuriance of the richest vegetation, and provides abundance for all the wants of man, fills the air and earth with noxious insects, and exhales pes- tilence from the stagnant waters ; so the noble powers bestowed upon the human race, and the multiplicity of strong motives per- petually rousing these powers to action, render its individuals more liable to err in the pursuit of their own happiness, and more capable of inflicting mischiefs upon each other. The keen relish for varied gratification stimulates the intemperance of man, and administers food for insatiable cupidity. His love of power, of honour, of fame, involves him in endless rivalries a,nd interferences. Even those attachments which take him in some measure out of self, and engage him in the interests of kindred, party, and country, enlarge the sphere of his contention, and pre- cipitate him against whole masses of fellow men, with whom, in a private capacity, he could not come into contact. Political in- stitutions, and forms of government, which in one view are ad- mirable contrivances for restraining the hurtful passions of man- kind, in another, by the creation of a multiplicity of new rela- tions and remote interests, are causes of unthought-of and inter- minable quarrels. Without experience, how could it be conceived that a hundred thousand human beings could, by any force, be set in array against another hundred thousand, with the mutual purpose of destruction, when the subject of the dispute perhaps concerned not a single person on either side, and even their pas* sions took so little part in their hostility, that the signing of a MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 351 piece of paper might immediately convert them all into friends and allies ? If one swarm of bees engages in battle with ano- ther, it is for the possession of the hive and honey ; and thus the warlike tribes of men which issued from the great northern hive, were wont to contend for the occupation of more fertile lands in a better climate than their own. But the fruits of victory now belong only to the few, who, sitting quiet at home, direct this chess-play for their amusement or emolument. To such civilised gamesters, however, less than the extermination of an adversary will suffice; and a few bold moves may decide the contest with little comparative loss. A circumstance which seems most remarkably to violate the analogy between the human and brutal nature, is the amazing difference of perfection attained by different individuals in the former, while those of the latter, in their several species, appear to be nearly upon the same level. Hence it has been inferred, that a very small part of mankind are what their creator intend- ed they should be ; and, consequently, that a great future melio- ration in the mass is to be expected. But does not the nature of a being, capable, indeed, of high intellectual attainments, yet at the same time subjected to numerous corporeal wants and ne- cessities, which are not to be supplied without care and toil, ren- der such a difference unavoidable; and is it not manifestly impos- sible that the highly cultivated part should ever be more than a small minority ? The leisure that they enjoy, and all the ad- vantage of books, instruments, and other things necessary to the pursuit of literature, are at the expense of the majority, whose bodily labours are by so much the more augmented, as a higher degree of cultivation augments the demands of those who can compel their services. Of this consequence some phi- losophers have been so sensible, that they have condemned not only the refinements of sensual pleasure, but even those mental luxuries which require a large apparatus ; and they have looked for the perfection of human nature in that state of simplicity and equality which attends the rude beginnings of society. Though I by no means agree with them in their estimate of the real hap- piness of man, and think it a timid and narrow policy to acqui- esce in imperfection through fear of the effects of a full exertion of the powers bestowed upon us ; yet the general fact, that one part of mankind must be depressed proportionally to the exalta- tion of the other, I regard as indisputable. It is, indeed, a per- 352 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. fectly laughable ignorance in the speculatist who, sitting in his study, with all his conveniences about him, fancies that all the world might devote as much time to mental exercise as he does. Were he to trace the history of his fire and candle, his paper, pen, and ink, he would perhaps be shocked to find how many pairs of hands are employed to favour the work of his head. AVe may observe in nature numerous instances in which a pro- vision seems to be made for proceeding much further in the at- tainment of certain purpose? than is actually done. The amaz- ing powers of generation bestowed upon fishes, insects, and the ■whole vegetable race, are, in great measure, apparently employed to pure loss, — to the production of an abortive progeny, or of one which it is impossible to bring to maturity. But for this seem- ing waste of effort we can satisfactorily account from the neces- sity of securing a point so essential to the economy of nature, as the constant renovation of what is subjected to constant destruc- tion. Thus, too, in the self-preservation of the individual, we often see an exertion of faculties, either of acting or enduring, vastly beyond the common calls of life, and which lie latent in the greater part of the species during their whole existence. These examples should perhaps diminish our surprise, that the sublime faculties granted to man so rarely find opportunity for full expansion, and that in whole nations, for many ages, no in- dividual arrives at the intellectual excellence of which he is cre- ated capable. It is enough that they are inherent in his nature, readv to be produced when the general condition of the society in which he lives, and his own rank in that society, make it ex- pedient. If a difficulty can be diminished by extending it, we may allege that it presses as much upon the corporeal as the men- tal nature of man. For how few of the species are there who acquire the bodily powers of athletes, dancers, or posture-mas- ters ; or the nobler and more useful talents of artists of every kind ? If we conceive it necessary that a state of things should arrive in which all men should be mathematicians, astronomers, and metaphysicians, it seems equally so that they should be all artificers, painters, and musicians. But the moralist, while he readily gives up the probability of a general attainment of these points of human excellence,, will strongly plead the necessity of supposing a future improvement in virtue; for the true definition of this quality being such a dis- position of mind or course of conduct as promotes happiness, it MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 353 must, in all places, conditions, and states of society, be essential to the welfare of man. And, indeed, no prospect can be so cheering to the heart of the philanthropist, as that of a period in which mankind, wisely and faithfully employing the powers with which they are endued, and profiting by the lessons of experi- ence, shall steadily pursue their own and the general good, and cease to inflict upon themselves and others thoss evils which are the most numerous and exquisite of the catalogue. If, however, we consider what are tiie causes of these moral evils, I fear we shall find little reason to expect their abolition, or even their considerable diminution, while man is the creature we every where find him. It may be said of a high degree of moral, as well as of intellectual, excellence, that it is the result of those favourable circumstances in which a comparatively few only of the species can be placed. The early discipline of a good edu- cation, a happy immunity both from the stimulus of urgent wants, and the temptations of power and opulence, leisure for the cul- ture of the heart and understanding, freedom from false princi- ples and bad examples, are advantages which can be obtained only under the shelter as it were of social institutions, to the support of which numerous moral sacrifices must be made by the mass of the community. They who are maintained, protected, and governed, without any efforts of their own, may well afford a greater attention to moral duties than those who do all these offices for them. But it is not from such a select and favoured class that an idea is to be formed of what the human species is capable of becoming. Let us now imagine an inhabitant of another world making a survey of this, in the spirit of a naturalist and a philosopher. He would discern a beautiful economy of things, in which every sin- gle species, besides providing for its own existence, is made sub- servient to the necessities of another species ; so that throughout all nature nothing exists purely for itself, but the interests of one are blended and involved with those of another. By virtue of this economy, however, he would find that sacrifices are per- petually made of the advantage and even the being of indivi- duals, and that life is maintained at the expense of life, and en- joyment procured at the expense of enjoyment, throughout the sentient creation. Moreover, he would perceive, that the opera- tions of inanimate powers, such as the elements of fire, air, and water, the principle of gravitation, and the like, though so bene 354 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. ficial on the whole, are often converte^uch a supposition would only enhance to him any difficulty arising from the inadequate employment of the faculties bestowed upon man ; and he would sooner rest sa- tisfied in that universal analogy which shows evil every where mixed with good, defect with excellence. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 355 THOUGHTS ON THE FORMATION OF CHARACTER. IN an interesting Memoir of the late Professor Person, no- thing appeared to me more curious and worthy of observation than the manner in which his father habituated iiim from infancy to the exercise of the faculties of memory and attention, by ac- customing him to work all the common rules of arithmetic as far as the extraction of the cube root by the head alone. It is justly remarked, that to this early training he was much indebted for the extraordinary powers he afterwards displayed in storing up knowledge, and applying it to the occasions of that critical in- vestigation in which he so greatly excelled. There is, in fact, no part of biography so important, with re- spect to the history of the human mind, as that which points out the external circumstances which have contributed to the forma- tion of moral and intellectual character. It will, indeed, always be matter of doubt in what proportion original conformation, and incidental circumstances, severally operate in this respect, and some reasoners will attribute more to one cause, some to the other. But that both exert a powerful influencte cannot be ques- tioned ; and as external causes alone are within our direction, it is in the consideration of them that we are to look tor practical instruction. Two characters more diflferent than Richard Porson and Jean Jacques Rousseau can scarcely be conceived, and it is proba- ble that a great part of the difference was original and con- stitutional ; but neither could any two things be more different than the courses of mental training which each underwent. The parents of both were men of parts, in humble life, and were them- selves the early teachers of their children. But Porson's father was an unlettered villager, who probably knew nothing of man and his concerns beyond his own narrow circle, and the force of whose mind had been employed upon speculations which had nothing of feeling or fancy attached to them. Rousseau's father, on the contrary, was the citizen of a little republic, full of poli- tical intrigue, and in which a taste for general literature was more widely diffused than, perhaps, in any other spot on the globe. The manner in which he t)[)eriei his son's ir-nd was to read to him till his eighth year all the romances he could procure. 356 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. and then to go over with him all Plutarch's Lives, interspersing such remarks as might impress him with patriotic ardour and high notions of moral excellence. It is impossible not to recog- nise in the subsequent life and writings of this singular man the pernmnent effects of an education thus expressly calculated to make him all feeling and imagination. If we now conceive the boys to have been contemporaries, and to have changed fathers, we shall scarcely be able to set any bounds to our ideas of the alteration in their respective characters. No one will suppose that Person would have become Rousseau, or Rousseau, Porson ; but it is probable that the eloquence and enthusiasm of the one, and the critical inv stigatiiig spirit of the other, would have been in great measure suppressed, and the native genius of each would have burst out in some new direction. I confess that I have not much faith in the decisive and inde- lible effects of single and perhaps unobserved incidents, to which those who adopt the theory of association are apt to ascribe so much in the formation of temper and disposition. I rather im- pute such effects to the gradual operation of a continued agency, which has time to induce an habitual mode of _^thinking or feel- ing, and to convey into the very substance of the mind what is analogous to the nutritious part of food received into the bodj. Instances are numerous in the records of biography, in which ac- cidental circumstances, operating in this manner during the sus- ceptible period of early youth, have laid the foundation of those irresistible propensities to particular pursuits which have almost always preceded the attainment of distinguished excellence in them. I shall mention a few of these as they occur to my me- mory. The puerile fancy of Cowley was nourished by Spenser's Faery Queen, which lay in his mother's parlour window, and which he had entirely devoured before he was twelve years old. Its product was a little volume of " Poetical Blossoms,'' publish- ed at the age of fifteen or sixteen. Pope's early fondness for reading led him to the perusal of Ogilby's Homer and Sandy's Ovid. He was afterwards, while yet a boy, an occasional visitor of the theatre, and the fermenta- tion of verse and heroism in his mind brought forth an Homeric drama, which he procured to be acted by his school-fellows. He did not, it is true, afterwards write tragedies, but be trans- lated Homer. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 357 The father of Goldoni, who was a phj'sician, having indulged his son when a child with the erection of a little theatre at his house, in which the boy and his companions acted plays, after- wards in vain attempted to bring him up to his own profession, and to that of the law ; and he became the most copious writer of comedy in his age. Ricliardson, who seems from childhood to liave been a formal narrative little man, was early practised in gossip and letter wri- ting by the circumstance of being chosen by three damsels as the confident of their love affairs and the inditer of their epistles. Who does not see that this secretaryship was the immediate parent of Pamela, and the remote progenitor of Clarissa and Grandison ? Gessner^ the pastoral poet and landscape painter, we are told, was extremely backward in acquiring the rudiments of learning, till a sagacious tutor took him out into the fields, and gave him lessons in the midst of the striking objects afforded by nature in Switzerland. These so happily impressed him, that he for ever associated literature with an ardent passion for rural scenery and manners, and charmed his countrymen with his creations of the pen and pencil in this walk. Sir William Jones had the happiness to receive his first edu- cation under a mother who was well qualified to cultivate his promising talents. When he asked her questions about any mat- ter of information she would answer, "Read, and you will know;" and by thus habitually connecting reading with the gratification of his curiosity, she inspired him with that insatiable ardour for study which ever distinguished him. Linnaeus was the son of a poor Swedish clergyman, one of whose simple tastes it was to cultivate in his little garden all the kinds of plants which he was able to procure. This garden was the occupation and delight of his son from childhood, and a passion for botany " grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength." In all these instances, to which many additions might easily be made, it will be found that not a transient impression, but a course of repeated action or sensation, was the instrument by which that lasting taste or disposition was formed which charac- terised the man. It may be useful to pursue somewhat further this train of speculation. In each of the two great branches of human character, the 358 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. moral I'lnd the intellectual, may be discerned the influence bolls of original conformation, and of secondary or adventitious cir- cumstances ; and it is upon just and precise views of the respec- tive operation of these two sets of causes, that all conclusions^ practical and speculative, concerning character are to be found- ed. The records of biography present numerous facts vvliereon to build such conclusions ; and facts alone can be relied upon in an inquiry which, in reality, is a department of natural history. To begin with moral character — The position that temper or disposition is a radical quality of mind, never entirely to be changed, but only modified in its agency by superinduced habits, or by principles of conduct, which, while they serve to give it a direction as far as their influence extends, leave it the supreme arbiter of life and manners in other points — will probably receive illustration and proof from the following examples. Cato the Younger was characterised almost from infancy by a firm unyielding temper, joined with a slow but solid under- standing, which rendered indelible, impressions once form- ed, and made him immutable in his purposes. This disposition, in and untutored an ill-governed mind, might have been mere vi- cious stubbornness and obstinacy ; but the maxims of Roman patriotism and Grecian philosophy elevated it to amoral heroism of which history aflfords few parallels. It is related, that Pope- dius Silo, one of tlie deputies sent to the Italian states to de- mand their participation in the rights of Roman citizenship, hav- ing been entertained as a guest in the house of Livius Drusus, uncle and guardian to Cato and his brother Csepio, once in a playful manner, requested the two boys to intercede with their relation in his behalf. Ceepio readily promised compliance ; but Cato, who had doubtless been nourished in all the lofty senti- ments of a Roman, looked in silence at Popedius with an expres- ■ sion of jlispleasure. — Unable by soft words to overcome his sur- liness, Popedius carried him to the window, and threatening to throw him out, held him as if ready to let him drop ; but the boy bore it without the least indication of fear, or a single concilia- tory expression. Popedius had sagacity enough to discern in this scene the future bulv/ark of his country's rights. At the age of fourteen, being taken to pay his respects to the dictator Sylla, with whom his family was connected, and seeing a number of heads of noble victims carried out from an inner apartment, he asked of his Greek preceptor, Why such a man was suffered to MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 359 live ? " Because, (he replied) Sylla is still more feared than hat- ed." " Give 7nc, then, a sword, (said young Cato,) that I may free my country from tyranny ;" and this he uttered with so stern and determined an air, that his tutor was obliged to watch him closely, lest he should put his purpose in execution. Here were manifestly the dawnings of that great character which matured and principled by the stoic philosophy, produced the invincible assertor of Roman liberty, and the most uprigiit of patriots. In the earlier ages of the republic it might also have been marked with unfeeling severity; but letters had softened Cato into hu- manity, and no man displayed more substantial kindness upon adequate occasions. His unsubmitting spirit, indeed, sometimes led him into useless and imprudent opposition ; and his strict adherence to the rule of right embarrassed his friends as much as his enemies ; but it was not his fault that the times were unfit for him. John Lilburne, the English republican, was not inferior to Cato in firmness of resolution and unyielding intrepidity. Perhaps there was more of the restless and contentious mixed in his dis- position ; yet the differences between the two characters may be chiefly ascribed to the difference of their education and situation in life. John was an apprentice in London when he first exhi- bited his impatience of tyranny by a complaint before the cham- berlain against his master for ill usage. He then began to study the divinity of the time, which was all turned to controversial dis- putation, and he became a zealous puritan, with all the austerity of the sect. The Book of Martyrs inspired him with an enthu- siastic fervour for acting and suffering in what he deemed the righteous cause. He was soon called upon to suffer, and no one could go through his trials with a more unsubdued spirit. His stedfast appeals to the laws of his country and the privileges of Englishmen, procured him great popularity with the inferior classes, and the title of Freeborn John. Lilburne passed a life of content against power in every hand in which it was placed, of dispute with all his superiors in command, and of virulent con- troversy on civil and religious topics. He was a brave soldier, but never found an authority under which he could continue to act. He appears to have been fond of contention for "its own sake; yet without doubt there was much of principle in his con- stant opposition to injustice and oppression, and the event often proved him to be in the right. That a kind of ridicule is attached 360 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. to his memory, is perhaps chiefly owing to the contemptible na- ture of many of the disputes in which he was engaged, and the vulgarity of his style and manners. The philanthropist Jolni Howard (no man ever better deserved that title) was equal to either of the former in tirmness of mind but it was unattended with the litigious propensity of the last and was accompanied with a singular restlessness that perpetu ally urged him to some active pursuit. With only an ordinar;y share of moral principle, this might have rendered him merely a busy man, occupied in gratifying a mutable curiosity with per- severing industry ; but Christianity was to him what stoicism was to Cato, " Non sibi sed toti genitum se credere mimdo^^ — a system "of practical benevolence, impelling him to sacrifice his repose and hazard his life in promoting the welfare of his fellow creatures. His determined spirit, and his love of action, were modified and directed by this great principle. It rendered him in his peregrinations as superior to the calls of appetite, as Cato was in the deserts of Africa ; and enabled him to face the dan- gers of disease with as much courage as a soldier could display on the day of battle. It overcame even curiosity and the love of knowledge, and fixed his attention to the one great business of benevolence which he had undertaken. He keeps his object ever full in sight. And that assurance holds him firm and right. DUTDEX. In the preceding instances, native resolution was actuated by motives which outweiglied the selfish principle, and inspired a course of conduct of which public good was the object. In the class of men who have popularly obtained the denomination of great, we shall always meet with the fundamental quality above mentioned, but too frequently under a very different direction. An example or two of this kind may usefully be adduced by way of comparison. Julius Csesar, brought up as a young man of rank in a most dissolute metropolis, was, for a time, whirled in the vortex of pleasure, and confined his exertions to exploits of gallantrj* and the attainments of splendid accomplishments. Yet tlie tirmness with which he resisted the terrible Sylla, who imperiously urged him to divorce his wife, the daughter of Cinna; and the com- manding intrepidity he displayed when a captive among pirates; MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 361 gave manifest tokens of a character born for distinction in any walk of life which he should finally pursue. The prospects of am- bition at length opened on his mind ; and meeting with no prin- ciple to circumscribe them within the limits of legitimate power, he entered upon that career, which led him by undeviating steps to the subversion of the liberties of his country. The union of indefatigable activity and prompt decision with daring enter- prise, gave him a superiority over all his competitors, and ensur- ed success to his plans. There appears to have been in his com- position either a native mildness, or an acquired spirit of mode- ration, which rendered him one of the most clement of conquerors in a civil war; but the baneful effects of uncontrolled power on the temper were beginning to show themselves before he was made a sacrifice to patriotic vengeance. Intrepidity and resolution have seldom been more conspicuous than in the character of Cromwell. This extraordinary person seems in his youth to have been noted for a turbulent ungovern- able disposition, which threw him into a licentious course of life. From this he was reclaimed by an early marriage and admission into respectable society ; and he soon began to attach himself to that party in which an appearance, at least, of sanctity was re- quisite to gain reputation. Nor can it be doubted that his mind, naturally prone to enthusiasm, imbibed a portion of real religious fervour. But his projects for advancement rendered it necessary for him to affect more than he felt ; and in a mixture which, re- markable as it may seem, is not uncommon, he combined hypoc- risy and cunning with fanaticism. Had not, however, the civil contests of the time terminated in an appeal to the sword, he might have remained only distinguished in the groupe as a busy oppositionist, and a long-winded canter, greatly inferior in ta- lents and accomplishments to the parliamentary leaders. But the vigour and abilities that he displayed in the field gained him the confidence of his party ; and being shackled by no principle, he made use of his acquired credit to supplant his competitors, and raise himself to sovereign power. Had this man been originally bred to arms under a settled government, it is highly probable that he would have attained an elevated rank, in which his tur- bulent spirit might possibly have incited him to embroil affairs for the purpose of further advancement ; but the habitual dis- simulation and hypocrisy which the peculiar circumstances of S62 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. the time rendered necessary to his actual progress, might never have formed an essential part of his character. Inflexibility was the base of the extraordinary character of Charles XII. of Sweden. In his youth he was stubborn and in- docile ; and having the disadvantage of being born heir to a mon- archy, he might have been totally uneducated, had not means been found of working upon that spirit of emulation which was one of his active principles. He was induced to learn Latin by being told that the kings of Denmark and Poland were profi- cients in that language. He read Quintus Curtius, and from that time the ardour for martial glory seems to have taken pos- session of his breast. Alexander became his hero and the model for his imitation; but without the splendid qualities of that con- queror, he possessed what he wanted — ^resolution to resist the allurements of pleasure. When called forth to action by the unjust aggression of his neighbours, he for ever renounced the society of the fair sex and the use of wine, and steeled himself to all the toils and hardships of a military life. His temper, na- turally insensible, was rendered more unfeeling by the principles of arbitrary power, which caused the lives and fortunes of his subjects to appear as nothing in his sight, whilst pursuing his ro- mantic schemes of conquest. In all his subsequent adventures, his successes and failures, the same inflexibility, or obstinacy as it might justly be termed, characterised him. He appeared a hero at Narva, and a madman at Bender ; but he was radically the same in both — inaccessible to fear, to pity, to all the common feelings of human nature. He would excellently have filled the part of Talus the Iron Man in Spenser ; but to the lasting injury of his country, and the disturbance of Europe, fortune had made him the directing head as well as the executing arm. He was as ready to fight for a punctilio as for a kingdom, and nothing but a bullet could stop his career, Virgil, in his third Georgic, describing the tokens by which a generous nature may be discerned in the young steed, mentions the impulse to take the lead of his fellows, and to be the first in every daring adventure : Pi-imus et ire viam, et fiiivios teiitare ininaccs Audet, it ignoto sese coiunwtlere ponti. The same spirit is said to show itself in young hounds of an ex- cellent breed, and in various other animals of superior races. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 363 The human species is not devoid of individuals born with similar indications of nobleness of nature — with a strong aspira- tion after excellence, and readiness to undergo any toils and hardships in pursuit of it. Happy is the parent or instructor to whose share one of these choice productions has fallen; for with this temper of mind theie is no point of attainment within the reach of the pupil's faculties that may not be expected. It is, however, a disposition that requires peculiar delicacy and at- tention in the management: for when suffered to run untrained, or misdirected in its objects, it may easily be the source of more mischief than benefit, both to its owner and to society. Its al- most inseparable companion is an ardent thirst of praise and ad- miration ; and these are so often bestowed by the world without judgment or consideration, that unless a true estimate of things be first established in the youth's own mind, this emotion, so useful as a stimulative, may be exercised upon the most frivo- lous or improper objects. Another frequent attendant upon this disposition is the ambition of grasping at a great number of at- tainments at the same time, in order to dazzle beholders by un- expected combinations of excellence ; through the indulgence of which desire, real excellence in any is often precluded, and fine abilities are seen to blossom without bringing any frait to matu- rity. For these reasons, there is no class of minds in which so much may be usefully done by discipline and instruction towards the formation of character, as that which is our present subject — a fact which will be rendered apparent by those biographical examples both of excellence and defect which will occupy the remaining part of this paper. The most splendid instance of the passion for excelling, pre- sented by history, is that of Alexander the Great. This prince, to whom fortune gave the means ready prepared of rising to the summit of martial fame, would probably have distinguished him- self in any condition. The tamer of Bucephalus and the pupil of Aristotle couM scarcely have been a common man. It is in some respects unfortunate for mankind that there should be a class of human beings, so much elevated above the rest of the species, that they can scarcely find any object on which to exer- cise the desire of pre-eminence, at the same time innocent, and sufficiently dignified. Thus Alexander refused to enter his name at the Olympic games unless he could have kings for competi- tors J and the great game of contending for the empire of the 364 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. world was the only one that could satisfy his noble emulation. Even in this he seems rather to have been moved by the passion of accomplishing difficult and extraordinary tasks, than by the vu'gar desire of aggrandisement ; and the conqueror in him was subordinate to the hero. In the pursuit of this object he shewed himself, at least in the early part of his career, superior to the allurements of ease and luxury, and capable of confronting every kind of toil and danger ; and thus has established a claim to that genuine ardour for excelling, which cannot be gratified without the consciousness of personal merits. Sovereigns have such easy methods of indulging the wish for distinction, that no force of mind is required for the attempt. An Egyptian king had onlj to employ all his subjects in the idle work of erecting a loftier pyramid than any of his predecessors had done, to render his name eternally illustrious among a people of slaves. In more enlightened countries, the building of sumptuous palaces, and the formation of grand establishments for the arts and sciences, though costing nothing to the monarch but an exertion of his will, shall perpetuate his memory with the most magnificent eulogies. Thus Louis XIV. by nature cold and inactive, by edu- cation uninformed and illiterate, having in the pride of self-con- sequence said to himself — In whatever point other kings have been great, I will be so too — employed the stock of wealth, power, and talent which he inherited with his crown, in such a man- ner as to become the most conspicuous name in Europe during Haifa century, though without a quality which could have dis- tinguished him from the mass, if born in a humble condition. To return from the spurious to the genuine exemplifications of the class in question. — One of the most memorable examples aiForded by history of the passion for excelling, joined with ta- lents and industry, and many advantages of nature and fortune, is that of Alcibiades. This celebrated Athenian displayed from childhood the resolution which is essential to greatness of cha- racter, as we learn from the following remarkable incident: Be- ing at play with other boys in the street, a loaded wagon came up just as the game required him to run across : he called to the driver to stop, and finding that he paid no regard to his man- date, he threw himself upon the ground before the wheel, and bade the man drive on if he chose. Many were the frolics of his youth, in all of which he exhibited a daring and imperious tem- per, and a resolution to distinguish himself in every thing he MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 365 undertook. He was an attentive and favourite pupil of Socrates, and at the same time the most noted debauchee in Athens. He was an eloquent speaker, a valiant commander, and a deep poli- tician, whilst he was the first racer at the Olympic games, and dazzled all Greece by his profuse magnificence. He was every thing in extremes, and nothing moderately. In Sparta he was admired as a pattern of abstemiousness and hardiness, and in Persia he surpassed a satrap in luxury. Every where he was an object of wonder, but no where long of esteem ; and for want of fixed principles and steadiness of conduct he passed his life in perpetual change, and at length perished miserably ; a signal ex- ample of the abuse of great talents, with powers of mind ca pable of bringing them into full exertion, but mis-directed in their application. Various parallels might be found to the character of Alcibia- des, the splendour of which seems to have made it an object of emulation to men of parts and of loose principles. As far as the passion for exciting admiration by extraordinary actions and accomplishments was its prominent feature, that of the Duke of Wharton nearly resembled it. Of this nobleman, Pope, in his finely drawn portrait [Moral Ess. Ep. 1.) says, that the "ruling passion was the lust of praise:" and that Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, Women and fools • must like him, or he dies ; Tho' wond'ring senates luing on all he spoke. The club must hail him master of the joke, &c. In Wharton this propensity seems to have been of a lower quali- ty than in Alcibiades, and attended with inferior powers of ex ertion. Accordingly, the Athenian never sunk into the contempt which attended the Englishman, but in the lowest ebb of his for- tune retained consequence enough to make him feared. Wharton ended " flagitious but not great." When the love of praise preponderates the desire of excelling, or when the latter is occupied with unworthy objects, the cha- racter is chiefly marked by childish vanity and incongruity. Even the detestable Nero displayed a great passion for being admired in the arts of poetry, music, and acting; and not en- • A most injurious combination, characleristip of the splenetic misogynist who made it ! 366 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. tirely satisfied with the hired or compelled acclamations of his servile audiences, he actually took great pains, and underwent many privations, to qualify himself for appearing before the re- fined connoisseurs of Gieece. He was much more affected by being called, in the manifesto of one who had taken up arms against him, "a sorry musician," than by all the reproaches for his cruelty and mis-government; and amidst the terrors of his approaching fate, frequently repeated, " What an artist 1 perish!'' The emperor Julian was a singularly compounded character, the basis of which was a passion for becoming conspicuous ; and though in some points it displayed itself in puerile vanity, in others it inspired exertions worthy of his high station. Early a convert to heathen philosophy, he adopted with fanatical zeal all the tenets of pagan theology, and pried with futile curiosity into all its mysteries ; but at the same time he practised all those high lessons of self-command, temperance, and contempt of pomp and splendour, which are infinitely more difficult to a phi- losopher on the throne, than to one in the schools. Vain of his learning and talents, and imbued with the spirit of literary equality, he descended to act the haranguer, the disputant, and the satirist, and sunk the dignity of the emperor in the loquacity of the sophist. Yet he aimed, not unsuccessfully, at the glory of a legislator; and, more unhappily and inconsistently, at that of a conqueror ; aspiring to be at the same time an Antoninus and an Alexander. After emulating the greatest warriors in courage, activity, and the endurance of hardship of every kind, he lost his life and brought the empire into extreme danger, by a rash attack upon a foe from whom, even in better times, the Ro- man arms had reaped little but disgrace. He was, in fact, an enthusiast clad in a philosopher's mantle. The ambition to excel has rarely appeared with more lustre than in the two famous orators of Greece and Rome, Demos, thenes and Cicero; for in both it was accompanied with a steadi- ness of pursuit, and a limitation to important objects, which raised them to high distinction in their several states, and has perpetuated their names among those of the greatest characters of antiquity. In Demosthenes the passion was more confined, embracing only the wish of attaining the first rank among the political ora- tors of his country ; and numerous are the anecdotes recorded of his indefatigable efforts to overcome the natural defects under MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 367 which he labouret], and to surpass all the most eloquent speakers of his time. It was, indeed, no common object of emulation to become the man, quern mirattantur Atheiise Torrentem, et pltni moderaniem frcena theatri. JurKjTAr,. or, in the words of Milton, who Wielded at will tliat fierce democraty, Sliook ill' ai-senal, and lulmin'd (ivef Greece, To Macedon, and ArtMxei'xes' throne. Par. Reg. And although his love of praise may be thought to have stooped to a vulgar gratification when he was delighted to hear one mar- ket woman say to another — That is the famous Demosthenes ! — yet those women were Athenians ; and he knew at the same time that the Macedonian court by its hatred bore an equal tes- timonj- to his reputation. Though not superior to corruption, he possessed a fund of real patriotism, and the liberty of his country expired with him Cicero was so much favoured by nature in genius and dispo- sition, that while yet a : chool boy he became the pride and won- der of his young companions. The facility, however, with which he obtained youthful distinction did not slacken his efforts in pursuit of mature excellence ; and when he had determined upon the forum as his chief scene of action, there was no study con- nected with the theory and practice of perfect oratory in which he did not engage with the greatest ardour. His ideas of this perfection were more extended than those of Demosthenes, as his topics of public speaking were more varied. He had like- wise a peculiar relish for philosophical discussion ; and having, during the course of his education, furnished his mind from the copious stores of Grecian literature in this branch of research, he was enabled, after the subversion of the Roman constitution had set him aside from professional duties, to distinguish him- self as the greatest writer on morals and philosophy in the Latin language. How much that thirst of praise which stimulated him to these extraordinary exertions was the foible of this admirable person, is too well known ; but though weakly covetous of fame, his excellent sense and liberal principles led him to seek it in the paths of true glory. 368 MISCELLANEOUS PrECES. fcir William Jones appears to have been inspired with as pure and honourable a passion for excelling, as almost any individual upon record. He was not less distinguished among the compa- nions of his early studies than Cicero himself; and his masters might confidently predict that he would turn out no common man. Perhaps he had something of the splendid fault so fre- quently accompanying this cast of character, the ambition of aiming at too many acquisitions at once ; but how few have really equalled him in the extent of his knowledge and the brilliancy of his performances ! It is, indeed, a kind of presumption to set limits to the capacities of a mind endued with great natural powers, and excited to action by a strong and unremitting im- pulse. Many examples prove that much more may be effected by generous enterprise than timid indolence would conceive possible ; and although we may sometimes wish that ardour were spontaneously tempered by discretion, yet we should be reluc- tant to damp it by discouragement or censure. It is scarcely necessary to prolong this paper by instances of the passion in question displayed by the votaries of particular arts or professions, since wherever superior excellence is found, that may be presumed to have preceded. Those arts which ad- dress themselves in a peculiar manner to public admiration ex- hibit the emulative spirit in a high degree, and the history of painting and sculpture affords remarkable examples of its agency. But when thus confined to one object, and to that with which every flattering prospect in life is connected, it perhaps does not so clearly designate the general disposition, as when operating more excursively. It cannot, however, be doubted, that when the pursuit of excellence has occupied the whole man during life, as in the case of Michael Angelo, the same temper would have shown itself under any circumstances. It is, indeed, a disposi- tion so ready to burst forth into display, that it scarcely admits of concealment; and as Dryden beautifully says of Mrs. Kille- grew, whom he represents as fired with the passion for universal excellence, the " bright soul breaks out on every side." MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 569 ON SELF-BIOGRAPHERS. AS it must be admitted that men know more of their own story than any other persons can know of them, an obvious advantage arises from the disclosures they may choose to make to the pub- lic, as being moi-e exact and particular than can be given by any other pen. This is especially the case with respect to those early periods of life which precede entrance on the open stage of the world ; and also to a number of minute domestic facts which, however trifling in appearance, are often of fundamental conse- quence in the elucidation of character. As far, then, as it is in- teresting to contemplate the history of any human being from its very origin, and to mark the rise and progress of those qualitieSj moral and intellectual, by which he is distinguished from every other individual, the information communicated by himself must be peculiarly valuable. Who, for example, but Montaigne him- self was likely to have acquainted us with that singular mode of education by which he was talked into a knowledgeof the learn- ed languages, without ever committing to memory the common rules of grammar ; and was initiated into that course of promis- cuous and excursive reading, which, while it stored his mind with a vast mass of fact and opinion, and freed him from the shackles of the schools, also rendered him that lax and irregular thinker which we find him in his Essays ? What friend of Frank- lin's knew him so early and intimately as to have been able to relate those circumstances relative to the manner in which he passed his childhood and youth, which, in his own narrative, so instructively point out the steps of his progress to that character of practical wisdom, public and private, for which he was so con- spicuous ? What other person but Rousseau himself was ac- quainted with the impressions his mind underwent in childhood, from that course of novel reading, followed by political lectures on Plutarch's Lives, by which his father administered fuel to his imagination, and at the same time inculcated the high senti- ments of republican equality? But it is chiefly in this disclosure of unknown facts, and the secret workings of the soul to which no other mortal is conscious, that the peculiar advantage of autobiography consists j for no- 3 A 370 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. thinj; is more rare than that degree of self-knowledge which enables a person, even if wisliing to be sincere, to draw a true portraiture of himself. Though a man who internally feels all his own foibles ought to be more sensible of them than a by- stander, who observes them only in their occasional operation, yet such is the blinding power of the self-love which is rooted hi every bosom, that they are often rendered either wholly incon- spicuous to their owners, or appear with such softenings and mo- difications that they are scarcely recognised in their proper cha- racter. Hence what promises in the outset to be a frank con- fession of a fault, is sometimes so diluted and neutralised in the progress, that its effect on the mind of an unwary reader is al- most obliterated. A remarkable example of this juggle of self love it afforded by a passage of Lord Clarendon's Life of him- self, where he is speaking in the third person of his own temper and habits. "-He indulged his palate very much, and even took some delight in eating and drinking w^ell, but without any ap- proach to luxury; and in truth rather discoursed like an epicu- rean, than tvas one." Here the language is so ludicrously in- consistent, that the noble writer must have laboured under an extraordinary degree of mental obscuration not to have perceiv- ed it. In another passage the same want of self-knowledge is displayed, but without such a contradiction in terms. " He was in his nature inclined to pride and passion, and to a humour be- tween wrangling and disputing, very troublesome ; which good company in a short time so reformed and mastered, that no man was more affable and courteous," &c. Now the fact was, that a stately, unbending, ungracious behaviour, always adhered to this eminent person, and was one cause why in his prosperity his ene- mies were much more numerous than his friends. Another manner in which self-importance gives a bias to auto- biographers is in leading them to imagine that there is some- thing very peculiar and extraordinary in their own characters^ and in the incidents of their lives. It is flattering to a man's vanity to indulge the conception that he is formed in a different mould from other mortals, and is marked out by events as one destined to act a part appropriate to himself on the theatre of the world. This humour is happily exposed by Shakespear in the person of Glendower : — -At mv nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, &c. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. sri And after much rodomontage of this kind, he adds. These si^^ns have marked lae extraordinary, Anil :ill the courses of ni)- lifj (In shew I HDi not in the roll of comnuou men. The " Religio Medici'' of Sir Thomas Browne is filled with -imilar assertions of the writer's singularities in mind and dis- j)osition, as well as with extravagant pretentions to almost uni- versal knowledge, at the same time that he disclaims the re- motest disposition to pride or self-conceit. The celebrated Lord Herbert of Cherbury has exhibited in his Memoirs a propensity of the same kind. Persons in whom pious feelings predominate, are led by this infirmity to arrogate the special proiection of Providence, and to find miraculous interpositions in their favour in the common escapes from difficulty or danger. For this tendency, however, a reader will soon know how to make due allowance : and the little ebullitions of self-conse- quence appearing in such forms are rather amusing than decep- tive, and indeed exhibit a feature of real portraiture; but there are causes of misrepresentation in autobiography, the effects of which are less obvious to detection. In order to be put suffi- ciently on our guard against these sources of error, it is neces- sary to consider the motives that usually influence persons to become the narrators of their own history. The desire of being favourably known to the world must be regarded as nearly univei-sal in self- biographers; for although there is a kind of blabbing loquacity in some men which urges them to write, as well as to talk, of themselves, solely for the gratification they find in it, yet, as this disposition is usually ac- companied with a degree of vanity, a secret purpose of showing themselves off in the fairest colouring will scarcely fail to be- come an additional motive. Hence, in all the confessions that are made before the public with so much apparent frankness, al- though foibles, defects, and even some vices are readily acknow- ledged, yet care is taken to suppress every thing that would in- dicate meanness, dishonesty, selfishness, cowardice, and all those propensities which debase a character in universal estimation. And if the writer occasionally discloses facts which would in- jure him in the estimation of f exact moralist, it is because, not being such himself, he is not aware of the consequence. I recollect no instance of a man's betraying his own secrets at the 37:^ MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. hazard oi' appearing both contemptible and odious, so extraordi- nary as that of the Confessions of Rousseau ; but his cast of mind was so singular, and indeed in some points approach so nearly to insanity, that his conduct can scarcely be cited as an excep- tion to the preceding remark. It is, moreover, evident that in this very work (which, too, was posthumous) his object was to inculcate a very exalted opinion of himself in the most essential points ; and he probably thought that the amelioration of his character by philosophy obliterated all the stains of his early life. In the same manner, fanatical religionists are ready to charge themselves with having been the worst of sinners pre- viously to that regeneration which has made them saints. That remarkable character, Cardan, was also one who, with high boasts of himself, has confessed to faults of temper and con- duct, which cannot fail to depreciate him in the estimation of every sober reader of his life : but it is apparent that his moral sense was by no means delicate; for when he mentions his un- happy son, who was executed for the murder of his wife, he re- presents him as an injured sufterer, rather than as a victim to justice. In like manner we find that vain glorious artist, Ben- venuto Cellini, in his curious memoirs, mentioning his acts of violence and brutal revenge more as matter of boast, than of penitence. In professed Jipologies no one would look for much sincerity of confession ; yet the loose unabashed character of Colley Cibber has rendered his biography of himself, under that title, a tolerably resembling portrait of the coxcomb and liber- tine ; and certain female apologists, whose reputation was past retrieving, have not scrupled to record their slips with reason- able fidelity, for they risked nothing in exposing themselves, and thereby gained an opportunity of exposing others. The Marshal de Bassompierre, another autobiographer, is at no pains to con- ceal his deep and successful gaming, and the unbounded license of his amours, because, though devout enough in the Roman Ca- tholic form, he felt no compunction for these peccadilloes, which could not hurt his character as a gentleman. Polonius, in Ham- let, when he directs his servant to throw some slander upon his son Laertes, by way of fishing out his secrets from his compa- nions, only cautions him to breathe his faults so quaintly That they may seem the taints of liberty. The flash and outbreak of a 6ery mind. A savageness in unreclaimed blood MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 373 rhese observations may suffice to show that open confession of some faults by no means implies that others are not conceal- ed ; and that although we may safely admit all the ill a man speaks of himself, we must not conclude that one who knew him tiioroughly could not bring to light a great deal more. And on the whole, it may be taken for granted that the portraits of per- sons drawn by their own hands will, if likenesses, at least be flattering ones; and that the narratives of their lives, if com- posed by themselves, will, indeed, be rendered interesting by circumstances which could not be communicated by others ; but, at the same time, by the suppression of some facts, and the mis- representation of others, will mislead the I'eader who has no means of checking them by different relations. If we possessed no other account of Margaret of Valois, the divorced queen of Henry IV., and one of the most licentious women in France, than her own memoirs, she might pass for a model of chastity. Of the works of this class, we have many written by states- men, genex'als, and persons employed in important public trans- actions, one object of whom may be generally concluded to have been the giving a favourable view of the part they themselves acted on the scene ; for it would be too much to expect of hu- man nature that a public man should sit down to make a state- ment of his own errors, purely for the benefit of his successors. Such narratives, therefore, though often highly valuable for the information they convey, as being derived from sources inacces- sible to other writers, must always be read with a degree of scepticism. We know that- Csesar, notwithstanding the air of unpretending simplicity in his Commentaries, was charged in his own time with having passed over in silence various in- stances of failure and defeat. If Cicero's different narratives of the acts of his consulate had been transmitted to posterity, though they might have acquainted us with some circumstances of which we are now ignorant, yet we may be sure that he who did not scruple to request his frien different reckoning of style. 392 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. do not correspond with the supposition of poison. In the un- wholesome climate of Rome, the sudden cooling of the body at the close of a hot day by a large draught of cold liquor, is surely a very probable cause of an acute disease : and it appears, both from the express words of the writer, and from the treatment, that this disease was fever. The supposed poison, resembling sugar, was doubtless a preparation of arsenic; but its effects are not to excite fever, nor would bleeding be thought of as a reme- dy. If it were possible that any death of Alexander VI. should not be attributed to poison, the circumstances of this would seem as little suspicious as any mode in which he could die. It is true, the concomitant illness of his son renders tHe fact more singular ; but as the same natural cause operated on both, it is reasonable to suppose that the effects would be similar.* * P. S. Since this paper was written, I find from Mr. Roscoe's Life of Pope Leo. X., that Muratori has produced many authorities to refute the notion that Alexan- der VI. died of poison. The note from Burchard is transcribed from that valuable work. A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY. UNFORTUNATE Philosophy ! not only to have retained the enmity of all her old foes, the tyrants and deceivers of mankind; but to have incurred the reproaches of many who in better days were well pleased to be regarded as her friends and coadjutors ! Perhaps, however, the prejudice conceived against her is begin- ning to subside ; at least, an inquiry how far the imputations un- der which she has laboured have been merited, may at this time hope for a patient hearing. Philosophy has been accused of contributing to the subver- sion of every thing sacred and venerable among men, of vilify- ing authority, insulting dignities, unsettling established customs and opinions, and substituting her own crudities and fallacies to the results of long experience. I have no doubt that her real MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 393 influence has been greatly exaggerated, and that the bad pas- sions of mankind have been the true causes of the deplorable evils which the world has lately witnessed : but admitting that Philosophy has had her share in the work of destruction, let us calmly consider what were the things against which her batte- ries were erected. Politics and religion, the two master springs of human affairs, have both been touched by Philosophy, and, it must be acknow- ledged, with a free hand. She has been guilty, too, of what many seem to regard as an unpardonable offence — resorting to first principles in order to justify her attacks upon existing systems, and lay a foundation for proposed improvements. Thus, in the science of politics (to begin with that department) she has boldly assumed that men come into the world with rights — that the maintenance of these rights ought to be the great object of social institutions — that government was intended for the good of the whole, not the emolument of the few — that legitimate authority can have no other basis than general consent, for that force can never constitute right— that civil distinctions, originating from the agreement of society, always remain within the determina- tion of society — and that laws, in order to be just, must bear equally upon all. These principles have doubtless borne a hostile aspect towards the greater part of existing governments, which have supported themselves upon maxims so much the reverse; but has Philoso- phy urged the demolition of all such governments? Certainly not, unless she is identified with Fanaticism. It has been her invariable method first to recommend to the usurpers of undue authority to repair their wrongs by gradual concessions ; and secondly, to the sufferers under tyranny, to state their grievances in a quiet way, and patiently, though firmly, to expect redress. This she has done as the decided friend o^ peace; for Philosophy (and Philosophy alone ^ has been incessantly employed in lifting up her voice against war, that monstrous aggregate of all the evils, natural and moral, that conspire against human happiness. The works of all the writers, ancient and modern, who have me- rited the title of philosophers, may be confidently appealed to for their strenuous endeavours to correct the false opinions of men with respect to the glory of warriors and conquerors, and to inculcate the superior claims to admiration and gratitude ari- sing from the successful culture of the beneficent arts. 3D 394 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Had, then, the dictates of Philosophy been equally listened to by the governors and governed, reforms might have been effect- ed by mutual agreement to the advantage of both, and a progress have been made towards that melloralion of the state of man- kind, vv^hich a philanthropist can never cease to have in view amidst all his disappointments. That such expectations have failed through the predominance of the selfish principle, com- bined with the impetuous and ungovernable character of a par- ticular nation, is not the fault of Philosophy. She held up a torch to point out the safest path to a necessary reformation, but incendiaries snatched it from her for the purposes of mischief. It is acknowledged that some of the evil proceeded from the fanaticism of her honest but deluded votaries ; but much more from those who disclaimed all connection with her. The most sanguinary tyrant of the French revolution was notoriously the ioQ to all mental cultivation, and obliterated the precepts of phi- losophy in the blood of its professors. And no one can suspect the man who now aims at uniting all Europe in the fetters of a military despotism, of an inclination to promote liberal discus- sions on the rights of man and the foundation of government. In point of fact, it appears that the sole European power that stea- dily resists the present tendency to an universal barbarism of civil polity, is that which is most enlightened by free investiga- tion, and in which alone Philosophy at this time possesses a pen and a tongue.* Whith respect, therefore, to the political system of the world. Philosophy (I mean of that kind which was chiefly prevalent in the latter half of the eighteenth century) may stand acquitted of any thing inimical to the true interest of mankind ; and what- ever improvements took place in the administration of the con- tinental governments of Europe during that period may fairly be ascribed to her influence. She promoted the enfranchisement of slaves and vassals, the relief of the lower orders from arbitra- ry and burthensome requisitions, the liberation of internal com- merce from impolitic restrictions, the encouragement of every species of useful industry, the melioration of laws, the abolition • This is said not with regard to all the acts of its occasional administrations, but to that public voice which, through ihe medinm of a free press, pronounces upon the principles and conduct, as well of its own government, as of those of other nations. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 395 of cruel punishments and of judicial torture, and, above all, reli- gious toleration — which leads me to the second point, namely, the conduct of Philosophy with respect to religion. Here, again, it is proper to begin with inquiring what it was that Philosophy actually opposed under the appellation of reli- gion ; for nothing can be more unfair than to draw a picture of religion as it has existed only in a comparatively few philoso- phical minds, and then to display it as the object against v/hich Philosophy has aimed her shafts. A system of faith, the sole es- sentials of which should be a belief in the existence of a Supreme Being of infinite perfections, the moral governor and judge of mankind, and of a future state of rewards and punishments, would, I am persuaded, command the respect of every genuine philanthropist, who would rejoice in such a powerful support to morality, and such a consolation under the unavoidable evils of life, and prize it the more for the sanction of revelation. But where has national religion appeared under this simple aspect? Certainly not in those countries in which philosophers have been its adversaries. There cannot be a more copious source of error than to con- found under a common name, on account of an agreement in cer- tain particulars, things in their nature essentially different. To instance in the different sects which bear the general title of christian — though all referring to the same primary authority, it is scarcely possible to conceive of greater variations than subsist among them, both with relation to each other, and to the doc- trines of their common founder. Accuracy, therefore, requires that in speaking of them they should be specifically denominated, and not be grouped under a generical appellative. Thus it is rlHit to say, the religion of Rome, the religion of Ltdher, the religion of Calvin, and the like ; for the religion of Christ, will convey but a very inadequate idea of their several characters and tenets. Let us then see what that Roman religion was which peculiarly excited the enmity of what is called the French school of philo- sophy. It was a system which, in the first place, demanded the renun- ciation of all right of private judgment, and subjected the religi- ous opinions and practices of all the world to the determination of a foreign priest — which took from men the direction of their own consciences, and put it nto the hands of a cast, detached in all countries from their feUow subjects, and universally connec- 396 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. ted by peculiar claims and interests — which uniformly discour- aged all inquiries and discussions tending, however remotely, to invalidate its own authority, and exacted implicit submission in all points on which it had thought fit to decide — which taught doctrines the most irreconcileable to reason and common sense, and enjoined observances the most trifling, degrading, and bur- thensome. It was a system, moreover, radically hostile to every other, spurning all community or accommodation, annexing ex- travagant ideas of merit to proselytism, and, therefore, when al- lied to power, infallibly leading to persecution : a system, the influence of which was traced in lines of blood through every page of modern history. Was it then no just object to the friends of reason and humanity to loosen the hold of such a religion upon the minds of men ? Was it not a necessary preliminary to every attempt for introducing substantial improvements in the coun- tries where it prevailed; and if, in the contest with a mass of opinion so powerfully supported, some things were necessarily endangered which were w orth preserving, was not the prize ade- quate to the hazard ? A consistent protestant cannot, certainly, dispute these con- clusions ; but he may blame philosophers for not fairly examin- ing Christianity at the source, and adopting it in such a form as shall approve itself to a rational inquirer. Before he does this, however, he must be prepared to admit that an inquiry conduct- ed upon such a principle justifies itself, whatever be the system in which it settles. He must renounce all anathematising denun- ciations ; disclaim any preference due to a particular system be- cause it is that of the state; and disavow any right of annexing penalties and privations to non-conformity to a predominant faith. Unless he agrees to these preliminaries, he is in effect no more a friend to free inquiry than the Romanist ; and when he urges examination, it is only upon the tacit condition that its result should be conversion to his own opinions. The philosopher who has thrown oft' the authority of a pope and council is not likely to yield to that of Luther or Calvin, a convocation or a synod. To conclude — Philosophy, understood in its proper sense of "the love of wisdom," or of truth (which is the same thing,) is the only principle to be relied on, not only for meliorating the state of the world, but for preventing a relapse to barbarism. If she be excluded from all guidance of human affairs, in whose hands shall it be placed ? — in those of Avarice, of Ambition, of MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 397 Bigotry ? She may have had her moments of delirium, but she is essentially the votary of Reason, and possesses within herself the power of correcting her own errors. Policy, if she be not called in as a counsellor, degenerates into craft; and Religion, without her direction, into superstition. They who are afraid of her searching spirit, must be conscious of something that will not bear the light of investigation. They arc foes to the truth be- cause " the truth is not in them." ON CANT. Canfo qux solitus. Vikg. THE motto prefixed may serve as a kind of definition of mj subject ; for cant is, in reality, an accustomed formula of words employed on certain occasions— the chant or cry adopted by par* ties, sects or professions, repeated from habit or imitation, with- out any other design in the speaker than that of saying what has been usual in similar circumstances. The beggar in the street, who addresses passengers with "Heaven bless your Honour! Health and prosperity to you," &c. cannot be supposed to take any real interest in the welfare of those on whom he bestows his benedictions : he only uses the cant of his trade, and does not expect that it should be taken for more than it is worth. The same is the case with other canters. They employ habitual forms of speech, through a sort of bienseance, or regard to decorum, which the inexperienced may, indeed, if they please, take for earnest, but which no one conversant with the world considers as such. Cant, therefore, is different from hypocrisy, though, perhaps, originating from it, and though hypocrisy generally implies a cant. In the use of cant there is, doubtless, somewhat of an in- tention to appear in a favourable light to those to whom it is ad- dressed ; but this scarcely amounts to a serious purpose of decep- tion, and in some instances is totally free from it. Thus, when in the cant of politeness a man calls himself the devoted humble servant of another, he has no idea of being understood according 398 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. to the literal sense of these words; he only wishes to be regard ed as a well bred man. Real hypocrisy seldom confines itsell to cant. On the contrary, an artful hypocrite will studiously avoid that phraseology which common use has rendered unmean- ing, and will perhaps seek for credit by afiiecting a blunt disre- gard of the ordinary forms of civility. The variety of cants is as great as that of the different condi- tions and callings of men. Some, however, stand pre-eminent on account of the frequency and solemnity with which they, are brought before the public. A brief notice of these, with their several characteristics, will form the subject of the present paper. Political cant is one of the most noted and prominent species; and notwithstanding the daily proofs of its inanity, it still ex- erts no small influence over the minds of the credulous and igno- rant. Each party in a state has its own appropriate cant ; and states employ a cant in their transactions with each other, which is regarded as common property. The public good is a common place equally belonging to all these cants, though variously mo- dified according to circumstances and situations. The monarch laments the necessity of laying additional burdens upon his dear subjects, but the public good imperiously demands such sacri- fices, which, however, he hopes, will not be of long duration : in the mean time he is resolved in his own mind not to abandon any scheme of ambition or cupidity in which he is engaged, whatever his dear subjects may suffer. These patriotic senti- ments are re-echoed in addresses from the people, expressive of the highest confidence in the wisdom and benevolence of the roval breast, though perhaps at the same time associations are forming for eff*ecting a compulsory change of measures. In these cases the language on each side passes with the experienced only as words of course, and no surprise is excited on finding not the least correspondence in actions. The cant of party delights to dwell on general terms. Thus the watch word with one is the constitution, with the other re- form, each knowing that by interpretation any thing or nothing can be made of either of these words. A very common cant of the party in power is to express a confident hope of unanimity, although they may be conscious that they have acquired their stations by fomenting as much as possible the spirit of division. A general election is the period at which, in this country, cant MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 599 is most triumphant, filling the columns of every newspaper, and the walls of every empty house. Its basis is the shibboleth of each party, combined with the personal protestations of the in- dividual candidate. Thus, one in great letters parades his in- dependence ; another, his attachment to king and constitution ; a third, his zeal for t\\Q p^'otestant religion; while all agree in prof- fering the most active and disinterested services to their worthy constituents. In many of these cases, the mockery of profession is so gross, that one might suppose the writers had adopted the line of Horace, Virginibus puerisque canto. But the most dignified display of political cant is in the manifestos and memorials issued from belligerent courts. The most com prehensive philanthropy, the strictest adherence to good faith and the principles of public justice, and the most laudable spirit of moderation are assumed by all in turn, who avow no other wish than to stop the effusion of blood and restore the blessings of peace to mankind. The late Catherine of Russia was the most cofispicuous canter of her time, and was distinguished for the benevolence of her sentiments, and her frequent pious appeals to heaven for the sincerity of her declarations. At present the em- peror Napoleon seems to have taken her place, who, good man ! would live in perfect peace and quiet, had he not the misfortune of being surrounded with quarrelsome neighbours. It must, how- ever be acknowledged, that he is not the only imperial or royal proficient in this way. A particular species of the cant of sovereigns is that of prefa cingall their severe and tyrannical acts with self-applied epithets of justice and humanity. Thus, when the patriot Patkul was so cruelly sacrificed to the vengeance of Charles XII. of Sweden, an officer read the sentence in the following terms : " It is here- by made known to be the express order of his majesty, our most mercifid sovereign, that this man, who is a traitor to his country, be broken upon the wheel and quartered,'' &c. " What mercy!" exclaimed the poor criminal. In like manner, those theologians who maintain that the great majority of mankind were created for the deliberate purpose of being consigned to everlasting tor- ments, usually couple their horrid doctrine with solemn asser- tions of the infinite goodness of the Creator. The humane court of Inquisition is remarkable for a cant of this kind, and it never 400 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. submits a culprit to the torture without expressing the tenderest concern for his temporal and eternal welfare. The cunt of religion has, if possible, played a greater part on the theatre of the world than that of politics ; indeed, with a large proportion of mankind, religion has always been nothing more than a cant. This may be safely predicated of all those who, while they have it continually in their mouths, are never sway- ed by its precepts in any action of their lives in which their worldly interest is concerned. No sect has a right to reproach another on this head : they are all Etcantare pares, et respondere parati. If powerful establishments seem on one hand to have less motive for canting than their weaker rivals, as being less dependent on public opinion ; on the other, the consciousness of exciting envy by their opulence and high pretentions operates to inspire them with the cant of humility and moderation. The haughtiest priest that the world ever saw assumed the title of "the servant of the servants of God,'' at a time when he expected that kings and emperors should kiss his toe and hold his stirrup. In countries where the civil authority has so far prevailed over the ecclesias- tical as to enforce a political toleration of different religions, it is curious to remark how the predominant sect has accommodat- ed a cant to its situation. " God forbid that they should think of forcing men's consciences, or denying to any of their brethren the right of private judgment !" All who dissent from them are to be sure, in the wrong, and their blindness and perversity are to be lamented; but they disclaim all methods of bringing back the stray sheep into the fold, except those of lenity and persua- sion. Meantime they do not hesitate to hold up the separatists to the hatred and reproach of their fellow subjects as guilty of the heinous sin of schism ; and they strenuously support every unjust and impolitic restriction which ancient prejudice has im- posed upon them. Such a church boasts of being tolerant, that is, of enduring what it cannot prevent. It may surely be affirm- ed that toleration in this sense is a mere cant word. Religious cant displays itself in nothing more than in the prac- tice of calling in Providence on all occasions. I am sufficiently aware that a real belief of providential interferences in cases of importance has pervaded all faiths, nor do I mean to censure the pious application of it, whatever may be my opinion of the just- MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 401 ness of such application. But when Te Deum is ordered to be sung by both parties after a dubious battle, manifestly for the purpose of raising the spirits of a desponding people ; or when the most trivial incidents are construed into proofs of the divine favour by an itinerant fanatic ; who does not recognise the cant of hypocrisy? In the lime of Cromwell, when the language of piety was that of every department in the state, we may be well assured that in many cases it was nothing more than a cant. No where did it prevail more than in the army. A commander, who from good intelligence had marched a troop of horse to surprise the enemy's quarters, in his despatches pre- tended to have had an answer to his prayers instigating him to the attempt. A council of war always began business with seek- ing the Lord for direction, while the general had in his pocket the plan of operations which he had concerted with his confiden- tial officers. The Scotch preachers who compelled old Leven to quit his strong post at Dunbar in the confidence of a victory promised to their prayers, were honest enthusiasts ; but Crom- well, when he exclaimed, at the enemy's approach, " The Lord has delivered them into our hands," well knew that he had long been employing all his artifice to bring them to this resolution. Moral cant, at least till lately, was become more fashionable in this country than religious cant; and to this head I fear must be referred much of the pure and refined sentiment with which the public are treated on various occasions. Thus, the solemn and pathetic lectures on morality which are delivered at the bar in trials of crim. con., or for other flagrant violations of the laws of virtue, can scarcely avoid this designation, when it is known that a prior fee would have secured all the speaker's eloquence to the opposite party. I dare not affirm that the zeal manifest- ed in the senate against corruption and public abuses is a cant ; although, when we find the same orators when in place entirely forgetting their former language, and defending the very enor- mities against which they had so loudly declaimed, we must con- clude either that some extraordinary process of conviction has suddenly taken place in their minds, or that they were merely before reciting a part in the drama of opposition. The cant of sentimentality, which is a kind of sickly and overstrained mora- lity, may be mentioned under this head. Its most copious source is in plays and novels. Sterne was one of those who dealt most largely in this commodity and brought it into fashion. He had SE 40£ MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. a crowd of imitators, who, as usual, exaggerated their original, and carried the affectation of tine feeling to the borders of bur- lesque. On the stage the comedies termed sentimental gave the tone, which is still followed by our modern dramatists, but with the addition of caricature, and a most unnatural combination of qualities, so that nothing is now more common among the dra- matis personse than generous sharpers and benevolent banditti- The public kindly applauds all the cant put into the mouths of these wortliies, while the authors laugh and fill their pockets. Of other cants, that of authorship is not one of the least con- spicuous. A versifier, who with infinite pains has strung toge- ther a parcel of rhymes, which, after every preliminary of ob- lique puffing, he gives to the public, aiFects to regai'd his per- iormances as mere trifles, composed for his private amusement, and without the most distant view to fame. " Nos heec novimus esse nihil." " His indulgent friends have been pleased to think them worthy of the light, otherwise he should have condemned them to merited obscurity. Some pieces, indeed, had already got into print without his knowledge, and his principal object is. to give in a more correct form what he could not recall." Even Pope was not above this kind of cant. Though more a poet by profession than most of the versifying tribe, one of his favourite topics in his letters, as Dr. Johnson observes, is an af- fected disparagement of his own poetry. He writes, he says, " when he has just nothing else to do." He constantly pretends the utmost insensibility to censure and criticism, and yet com- posed the Dunciad. The same indifference is affected at the present day by many, who ar^ in agonies on opening a review\ As to the cant of pretending to write for the public good, since it has been assumed by every compiler who works by the sheet with the aid of paste and scissars, creditable authors have scarcely ventured to use it. Criticism itself has its cant, of which one of the most provok- ing instances to a poor condemned author is the affected excla- mation of hardship and misery on the part of the critic, in being obliged to drudge through the wretched stuff" that every month obtrudes upon the public, though without such stuff" our periodi- cal censors would not have an existence. The royal pronoun we, the fiction of a board of greybeards sitting in solemn judgment round a table, and the assumed dignity of an office, frequently MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 403 the self-creation of conceit and inexperience, are other examples of tiie cant belonging to the critical trade. There is no species of cant so strongly marked by a jargon of peculiar phraseology as that of connoisseurship in the fine arts. The connoisseur's vocabulai'y is besprinkled with a number of indefinite and metaphorical terms, which convey no precise ideas to proficients themselves, who are found widely to differ in their application of them to different performances. Their chief pur- pose seems to be to furnish with a set of knowing phrases those who think themselves obliged to talk about a thing, whether they have any clear conceptions of it or not. I shall not lengthen this paper by enumerating the several kinds of professional cant, of which the essence is a speciousness and pretence originally adopted for the purpose of deception, but continued througli habit and established form, like the lawyer's wig and the clergyman's cassock. This may have its use in the common intercourse of society, yet it will always be disdained ■'by commanding talents and high-spirited integrity. ON MOTTOES. THE application of passages from eminent authors, by way of luthority, illustration or ornament, has been a very ancient prac- tice, and in modern times has become a custom which, like all prevalent customs, has often deviated into excess. At the revi- val of literature, when it was the chief object with men of letters to display the extent of their reading, scarcely any work appear- ed without a multiplicity of decoration of this kind. Not a pam- phlet was published without its mottoes in Greek and Latin, and not a sentiment, however trivial, was hazarded without confir- mation by parallel sentences from the ancients. The pedantry of this practice at length became an object of ridicule. It is certain, however, that the moderate use of quotation, when di- rected by judgment and taste, has been at all times agreeable to cultivated readers, who have received from it the double plea- sure of unexpectedly meeting with passages which they have ad- 404 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. mired in their proper places, and of seeing them happily intro- duced in new connections. It is not my intention in the present paper to speak gene- rally of quotations, but only of that species of them which are pe- culiarly called mottoes. These are short sentences, either pre- fixed to books, or inscribed on portraits, coats of arms, edifices, devices, and the like, which serve as beads or titles indicating the essential character, object or design. The French have a happy term to express the motto to a device or emblem ; they call it Vamc, the sonl. In fact, a well chosen motto contains the spirit or essence of thing to which it is applied. There are two different modes of application of these quoted passages, which divide them into two distinct classes. In the first the author's words are taken in their proper sense; in the second, they are allusively employed, and transferred to a dif- ferent meaning. Of the first, the excellence consists in the ner- vous and pointed expression of the thought which it is intended to enforce : the beauty of the second depends upon starting some unexpected but exact resemblance, which surprises by the inge- nuity of the application. Examples shall be given to illustrate this distinction, which it is hoped, may afford some entertain- ment to the classical reader, whatever be thought of the intro- ductory matter. Those of the first class will take the lead. A variety of mottoes have been inscribed on clocks and sun- dials, with the intention of warning the spectator of the unheed- ed lapse of time. I recollect none superior in energy to the two following, afforded by Seneca's Epistles. " Inscii rapimur." "Nisi properamus, relinquimur." The English language is so inferior in conciseness to the Latin, that no adequate version can be given ; but we might say, " Time whirls us on unfelt." " Haste, or you stay behind." The same author gives in three words what would serve for a striking sentence on a tomb stone, " Abstulit, sed dedit :" the words are similar to those of Job, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away," which is simply pious resignation ; but Sene- ca, who applies them to Fortune, has a different meaning, " She has taken away, but she first gave" — and the lesson is, " Remem- ber that you have enjoyed what you now lament to have lost." By the substitution of Deity to Fortune, it would become pious as well as philosophical. What Seneca says of certain frivolous and useless modes of MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 405 sophistical reasoning in his time, would not unaptly apply to the modern subtleties of metaphysicians: "Nee ignoranti nocent, nee scientem juvant:" "Ignorance of them does no harm, and knowledge no good :" which is not quite so satirical as a line on logicians, quoted by Guy Patin, Gens ratione furens, et mentem pasta chimajris. A political writer meaning to reproach a nation for its readi- ness to plunge into war upon any view of profit, might adopt this sentence from Livy, " Maxime omnium belli avida, modo praeda aut merces esset." On the other hand, he might apply to an un- feeling despot, who had involved his country in a war destruc- tive to himself and his subjects, these lines from Statins : Tu merito : ast horum miseret, quos sanguine vile^ Conjugibus natisque infanda ad pr^Iia raptos Prqjicis excidio, bone rex ! Unpltied thou ! but these deserve a tear. Who, with their wives and babes, a race despised, By thee are thrust to slaughter — best of kings ! An incapable minister, whose presumption has led him to as- sume the direction of the state in a time of danger, which is ten- fold augmented by his own rashness and ignorance, could not be more forcibly imaged than in the following simile applied by Si- lius Italicus to the consul Flaminius in the second Punic war ; Ut pelagi rudis, et pontem tractare per artem Neseius, accepit misei x si jura carinie Veutoruiti tenet ipse vicero, cunctisque procellis Dat jactare ratem ; fertur vaga gurgite puppis, Ipsius in scopulos dextra impellcnte magistii. As he who takes a hapless vessel's helm. New to the sea, nor taught the pilot's art, Does the storm's office, gives the bark a sport To every adverse gale ; wide o'er the main She flies, his own rash hand amid the rocks Steering her fatal course. It would be an elegant compliment to apply to a master of one of our great schools the lines which Statius in his Sylvae ad- dresses to a person of the same profession. Et nunc ex illo forsan grege gentibus alter Jura datEois, alter compescit Iberos ; 4U6 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, Hi dites Asiie i);ipulos, hi Pomica frsenant, Hi fora pacificis emeiidant t'ascibus, illi Castra [liu statione tenent : tu laudis origo. And now, p('rchance, amid the studious flock, One to the Easi gives law, one rules thr West ; These the rich Asian tribes, the Pontic these O'erawe ; in peaceful courts their wholesome sway These exercise, while those in watchful eannps Their sacred couotry gpard — tliiue a)l their praise ! These examples, which, perliaps, will have the merit of novel- jy to most readers, may suffice for the first class of mottoes. Of the second, the following instances may be given : There is not, 1 think, in all Shakespear a passage of greater poetical beauty than that in which Prospero describes the gra- dual return of reason in those who had been bewildered by his magic. How finely would it apply to the progress of light and knowledge succeeding an age of ignorance and superstition ! The charm dissolves apace ; And as the morning steals upon the night. Melting the darkness ; so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. A modest writer in Natural Plistory or Natural Philosophy might adopt for his motto the reply of a soothsayer in Antony and Cleopatra, when questioned concerning his knowledge. In Nature's infinite book of secrcsy A little I can read. I once saw in an edition of Pope's works a line from Ovid happil}' prefixed in manuscript to the epistle of Eloisa to Abe- lard. It is taken from the Fasti, where the poet describes the ■conflagration of the temple of Vesta; Mistaque erat flaminte flainma profana pix : Mixed with a holy flame, a flame profane. The same hand, to a list of orders of knighthood had written, from Banquo's remark on the witches in Macbeth, The earth has bubbles as the water hath, Ane suffered himself to be persuaded to retain it. In fine, the crisis of the institution arrived in 1783, and its embarrassments were cured by its dissolution. However toilsome and anxious this period of Dr. Enfield's life might have been, it was that of rapid mental improvement. By the company he kept, and the business he had to go through, his faculties were strained to full exertion : nor was it only as a tutor that he employed his talents ; he greatly extended his reputation APPENDIX. 423 as a writer. The following list comprises those works which lie published during his residence at Warrington. Several of them belong to the humble but useful class of compilations; yet in them he found occasion to display the elegance of his taste, and the soundness of his judgment. A Sermon at the Oi'dination of the Rev. Philip Taylor; 1770. I'hf l're:tclier's Directory ; 1771 , 4to. Tiu- Enp;lish Preaclicr ; a Collection of Sermons abridged and selected from va- rious authors; 9 vols. 12mo. 1773. An Essay townrd the History of Liverpool, from the papers of the late Mr. Geo. Perry, with other materials since collected ; small fol. 1774. Observations on Literary Property ; 4to. 1770. The Speaker; or Miscellaneous Pieces selected from the best English Writers, for the purposes of Reading and Speaking ; 8vo. 1774. To this very popular Work was prefixed an Essay on Elocution ; and to a subsequent edition was subjoined an Essay on Reading Works of Taste. Biographical Sermons, on the principal Characters mentioned in the Old and New Testament; 12mo. 1777. A Sermon on the Death of Mr. J. Gallway, a Student in the Academy at War- rington ; 1777. A Sermon on the Ordination of the Rev. J. Prior Estlin; 1778. A Sermon on the Death of the Rev. J. Aikin, D. D. 1780. Exercises in Elocution, being a Sequel to the Speaker ; 8vo. 1781. To an edition of this in 1794 was added, Counsels for Young Men. A Collection of Hymns ; intended as a Supplement to Watt's Psalms; 1781. A Translation of Rossignol's Elements of Geometry ; 8vo. Institutes of Natural Philosophy, Theoretical and Experimental; 4to. 1783, It will be remarked, that mathematical science is included among the later topics ; and no circumstance is better adapted to give an idea of the power of his mind than the occasion and manner of his taking up this abstruse study, which had previously by no means been a favourite with him. On a vacancy in the mathematical department of the academy, it was found imprac- ticable to give adequate encouragement from the funds it pos- sessed to a separate tutor in that branch. Dr. Enfield was there- fore strongly urged to undertake it; and by the hard study of one vacation he qualified himself to set out with a new class, which he instructed with great clearness and precision; himself advancing in the science in proportion to the demand, till he be- came a very excellent teacher in all the parts which were requi- site in the academical course. The degree of doctor of laws, which added a new title to his name during his residence at Warrington, was conferred upon him by the university of Edinburgh. 424 APPENDIX. After the dissolution of the academy, Dr. Enfield remained two years at Warrington, occupied in the education of private pupils, a small number of whom he took as boarders, and in the care of his congregation. For the instruction of the latter he drew up a series of discourses on the principal incidents and moral precepts of the gospel, in which he displayed both his ta- lents as a commentator, and his skill in expanding into general lessons of conduct, those hints and particular observations which occur in the sacred narratives. This will not be an improper place to give some account of Dr. Enfield's character as a preacher and a divine. His manner of delivery was grave and impressive, affecting rather a tenor of uniform dignity than a va- riety of expression, for which his voice was not well calculated. It was entirely free from what is called tone, and though not highly animated, was by no means dull, and never careless or indifferent. As to his matter, it was almost exclusively that of a moral preacher. Religion was to him rather a principle than a sentiment; and he was more solicitous to deduce from it a rule of life, enforced by its peculiar sanctions, than to elevate it into a source of sublime feeling. Despising superstition, and fearing enthusiasm, he held as of inferior value every thing in religion which could not ally itself with morality, and condescend to hu- man uses. His theological system was purged of every myste- rious or unintelligible proposition ; it included nothing which appeared to him irreconcileable with sound philosophy, and the most rational opinions concerning the divine nature and perfec- tions. Possibly the test of rationality might with him supersede that of literary criticism. It will be seen from the subjects se- lected for this publication, that moral topics were much more con- genial to him than doctrinal ones ; and his character as a public instructor must be derived from the manner in which he has treat- ed these. Probably it will be found that scarcely any writer has entered with more delicacy into the minute and less obvious points of morality — has more skilfully marked out the nice dis- criminations of virtue and vice, of the fit and unfit. He has not only delineated the path of the strictly right, but of the amiable and becoming. He has aimed at rendering mankind not only mutually serviceable, but mutually agreeable ; and has delighted in painting true goodness with all those colours which it was said of old would make her so enchanting should she ever become visible to mortal eyes. APPENDIX. 425 It will, perhaps, be expected that something should be said of Dr. Enfield in the peculiar character of a Dissenter. To dissent was by no means a part of his natural disposition ; on the con- trary, he could not without a struggle differ from those whom he saw dignified by station, respectable for learning and morals, and amiable in the intercourse of society. Nor was the voice of au- thority, when mildly and reasonably exerted, a signal to him of resistance, but rather a call to acquiescence. It is therefore not to be wondered at, that there was a period in his life when he looked towards the religious establishment of his country with a wish that no insuperable barrier should exist to the admission of those who, without violating the absolute dictates of conscience, might desire to join it. Inclined by temper and system to think well of mankind, and to entertain sanguine hopes of their pro- gress towards truth and reason, he could not bring himself to imagine that the active efforts (which we may all remember) of many excellent persons to produce a further reform in the Eng- lish church, and render the terms of entrance into its ministry more easy and liberal, would in the end fail of their effect. This idea dwelt long and weightily on his mind, and disposed him rather to regard the conformities, than the differences, between systems which he expected to see continually more nearly ap- proaching each othen Moreover, the correct and elegant language, and the manly strain of morality, which then characterised the pul- pit compositions of the most eminent of the clergy, command- ed his entire approbation ; and he thought that a mutual oblivion of topics of controversy might take place, from a consent in all friends of rational religion to confine their public discourses to subjects on which no differences existed between them. He lived, however, to see all his expectationb of this amicable union frus- trated — to see hierarchical claims maintained more dogmatically than before— and the chief stress of religion placed upon those doctrines in which the English church-articles most differ from the opinions of that class of dissenters to which he belonged. He lived, therefore, to become a more decided separatist than ever; and I am sure, that for many years before his death, though all his personal candour and good will towards the opposite party remained, no consideration would have induced him to range himself under its banners. The rights of private judgment and public discussion, and all the fundamental points of civil and re- ligious liberty, were become more and more dear to him ; and he 3H 4i2G APPENDIX. asserted them with a courage and zeal which seemed scarcely to belong to his habitual temper. A very manly discourse, which he published in 1788, on the hundredth anniversary of the revo- lution, sufficiently testifies his sentiments on these important sub- jects. It is now time to return to biographical narrative. In 1785, receiving an invitation from the congregation of the Octagon cha- ple at Norwich, a society with whom any man might esteem it an honour and happiness to be connected, he accepted it, under the condition of residing at a small distance from the city, and con- tinuing his plan of domestic tuition. He first settled at the plea- sant village of Thorpe; but at length he found it more convenient to remove to Norwich itself. Though he was eminently happy in his mode of educating a small number, of which several strik- ing examples might be adduced ; yet, like most who have adopt- ed that plan, he found that the difficulty of keeping up a regular supply of pupils, and the unpleasant restraint arising fr.om a party of young men, so far domiciliated, that they left neither time nor place for family privacy, more than compensated the advan- tages to be derived from such an employment of his talents. He finally removed, therefore, to a smaller habitation, entire declin- ed receiving boarders, and only gave private instructions to two or three select pupils a few hours in the forenoon. At length he determined to be perfectly master of his own time, and to give to his family, friends, and spontaneous literary pursuits, all the lei- sure he possessed from his professional duties. The circum- stances of his family confirmed him in this resolution. He was the father of tw'» sons and three daughters, all educated under his own eye; and had he had no other examples to pro- duce of his power of making himself at the same time a friend and a tutor — -of conciliating the most tender affection with ready and undeviating obedience — his children would, by all who knew them, be admitted as sufficient proofs of this happy art. They became every thing that their parents could wish ; — but the eld- est son, after passing with uncommon reputation through his clerkship to an attorney (Mr. Roscoe of Liverpool,) and advan- cing so far in his professional career as to be appointed, when just of age, town-clerk of Nottingham, was suddenly snatched away by a fever. The doctor bore his grievous loss with exem- plary resignation ; but the struggle produced effects on his health which alarmed his friends. Symptoms resembling those of the APPENDIX. 427 fatal disease termed angina pectoris came on ; indeed, it may be said that he really laboured under an incipient state of this dis- order. LtUt time, medicine, and happier subjects of reflection, restored him to health and cheerfulness. He had the felicity of seeing two of his dau{j,hters most desirably settled in marriage. His remaining son bid fair to become all that tlie other had been; He was, therefore, fully entitled to enjoy himself in the domes- tic freedom he loved, and to confine his future exertions to those lettered employments which, to one of his industrious habits, were necessary to give a zest to social relaxation. He had net yet completely detached himself from the business of tuition, when he undertook the most laborious of his literary tasks, an abridgement of Briickcr^s History of Philosophy. This work appeared in two volumes 4to. in the year 1791, and would alone have been sufficient to establish the writer's character as a master of the middle style of composition, and as a judicious se- lector of what was most valuable in the representation of man- ners and opinions. The oiiginal work has obtained a high re- putation among the learned, for the depth of its researches, and the liberality of its spirit; but its Latin style is involved and prolix, and the heaviness that pervades the whole has rendered it rather a book for occasional consultation than for direct perusal. Dr. Enfield's abridgement is a work equally instructive and agreeable; and it may be pronounced that the tenets of all the leading sects of philosophers were never before, in the English language, displayed with such elegance and perspicuity. It was, indeed, his peculiar talent to arrange and express other men's ideas to the greatest advantage. His style, chaste, clear, correct, free from all affectation and singularity, was proper for all topics; and the spirit of method and order which reigned in his own mind, communicated itself to every subject which he touched upon. These qualities, together with that candour which was interwoven in his very constitution, especially fitted him to take a part in a literary journal ; and to one of the most respectable of these works he was long a considerable contributor. The in- stitution of a new magazine, under the name of the Monthly, which in its plan embraced a larger circle of original literature than usual with these miscellanies, engaged him to exercise his powers as an essayist on a variety of topics ; and the papers with which he enriched it, under the title of The Inquirer, obtained 428 APPENDIX. great applause from the manly freedom of their sentiments, and the correct elegance of their language. Thus did his latter years glide on, tranquil and serehv,, in the bosom of domestic comfort, surrounded by friends to whom he became continually more dear, and in the midst of agreeable occupations. So well confirmed did his health appear, and so much did he feel himself in the full vigour and maturity of his powers, that he did not hesitate, in the year 1796, to associate himself with the writer of this account, one of his oldest and most ii^timate companions, in a literary undertaking of g^at magnitude, which looked to a distant period for its completion. Were it not the duty of mortals to employ their talents in the way they can approve, without regarding contingencies which they can neither foresee nor overrule, such an engagement, in per- sons descending into the vale of years, might be accused of pre- sumption ; but it implied in them no more than a resolution to act with diligence as long as they should be permitted to act- to work while it is called to-day, mindful of that approaching night when no man can work. The composition, that of a Gene- ral Biographical Dictionary, proved so agreeable to Dr. Enfield, that he was often heard to say his hours of study had never passed so pleasantly with him ; and the progress he made was proportioned to his industry and good will. Every circumstance seemed to promise him years of comfort in store. He was hap- py himself, and imparted that happiness to all who came within the sphere of his influence. But an incurable disease was in the mean time making unsuspected advances. A scirrhous contrac- tion ot the rectum, denoting itself only by symptoms which he did not understand, and which, therefore, he imperfectly de- scribed to his medical friends, was preparing, without pain or general disease, to effect a sudden and irresistible change. The very day before this disorder manifested itself he was compli- mented on his cheerful spirits and healthy looks, and himself confessed that he had nothing, bodily or, mental, of which he ought to complain. But the obstruction was now formed. A sickness came on, the proper functions of the intestines were suspended, nothing was able to give relief; and after a week, passed rather in constant uneasiness than in acute pain, with liis faculties entire nearly to the last, foreseeing the fatal event, and meeting it with manly fortitude, he sunk in the arms of his f hildren and friends, and expired without a struggle. This ca- APPENDIX. 429 (astroplie took place on November 3d, 1797, in the fifty-seventh year of his life. The deep regrets of all who knew him — of those the most to whom he was best known — render it unnecessary to enter into any further description of a character, the essense of which was to be amiable. A man's writings have often proved very inadequate tests of his dispositions. Those of Dr. Enfield, however, are not. They breathe the very spirit of his gentle and generous soul. He loved mankind, and wished nothing so much as to render them the worthy objects of love. This is the lead- ing character of those of his discourses which have been select- ed for publication ; as it is, indeed, of all he composed. May their effect equal the most sanguine wishes of their benevolent author! 428 APPENDIX. (C. p. 122.) DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY ABOUT DORKING. Iris a sufficiently trite remark, that objects of admiration and curiosity near at hand are commonly neglected for those at a distance ; and that even their existence is often unknown to those who might become spectators of them any day of their lives. I was never more struck with the truth of this observa- tion, than on a late residence for some weeks at Dorking, in Surrey, the vicinity of which place affords scenes not only of such uncommon beauty, but of so romantic a cast, as few would expect to meet with so near the metropolis. I should probably have made use of the term picturesque to characterise the general scenery of this district, had 1 not been fully convinced by the ingenious Mr. Gilpin, that this word loses all true meaning the instant we deviate from its etymological definition, that of "fit- ness for pictured representation.'' Now, being myself but a very inadequate judge of this point, and, moreover, considering it as a manifest degradation of natural beauty and sublimity to sub- mit their merit to the test of the capacity of art to copy them, I shall rather obliterate from my descriptive vocabulary an epithet, however fashionable, than employ it without distinct ideas. The tract of which I mean to attempt a slight sketch, may be reckoned to commence at the pleasant village of Leatherhead, whence a narrow valley extends southwards, forming the bed of the small river Mole, in its course from the foot of Box-hilI_ The western side of this valley is composed of a chain of heights j, the principal part of which is comprehended in the precincts of APPENDIX. 431 Norbury park. To them succeed the hills of Ranmer and Den- beighs, which last bends round to join the long ridge running to- wards Guilford. The eastern side of this valley is formed by the rising grounds of Leatherhead and Mickleham Downs, and finally by Box-hill, which like its opposite Denbeighs, sweeps round to form the ridge running on to Ryegate, and thence quite into Kent. Thus, the vale of Leatherhead, after a course of about four miles, terminates perpendicularly in another vale, opening on each hand from the town ot Dorking, and extending many miles in an eastern and western direction. The river Mole, entering Leatherhead vale from the foot of Box hill, and meandering through it from side to side, bestows on it a beauti- ful verdure and rich vegetation, though from its narrowness and scanty supply of water, it contributes little to the landscape. Many are the elegant seats and pleasant farms and cottages which decorate this delightful vale ; but its two capital objects are Norbury park on one hand, and Box hill on the other. JVor- bury park is well known as the domain of Mr. Locke, a gentle- man highly celebrated for the elegance and correctness of his taste. It is fortunate that a tract so favoured by nature should have fallen to the lot of a master capable of giving it all the ad- vantages of art, in a style perfectly correspondent with its natu- ral character. The grounds of Norbury consists of rich meadows bordering on the Mole, and abruptly terminating in the steep green sides of a range of irregular eminences, of considerable height, and uniting into a common level at the top. Chalk hills, of which kind are those in question, have commonly a grotesque singularity in their outline. They give the idea of having been formed by vast masses of liquid mortar, poured along over a plain, and at once setting into solidity. Hence, with a general rotundity of shape, the edges are composed of unequal promi- nences, pushing into or retiring from the subjacent low grounds, and separated from each other by deep narrow ravines. Such is the surface nature has given to Norbury park. Art has contri- buted the dress and decoration by means of planting ; and this has been managed so as to produce the most striking effects. The bottom of meadow is besprinkled with fine trees, partly fol- lowing the windings of the river, partly forming rows or avenues, and partly scattered without obvious order. The bold ascents, consisting of round knolls and amphitheatrical sweeps, are for the most part left in their natural nakedness : but the ravines 432 APPENDIX. are filled up with shrubs and trees, which shade all detonnities, and add great softness and richness to the whole. The summit of the eminence is crowned by noble masses of trees, expanding into full luxuriance, and appearing either as detached groups, or long connected ranges, according to the points whence they arc viewed. In the midst of these, on the very edge of a command- ing brow, the house is placed ; an edifice of striking though not quite regular architecture, and well fitted to reign over the do- main in which it is placed. Some fine larches planted near it just on the descent stamp it with somewhat of an alpine charac- ter, which its elevation above the \ale, and the great variety and extent of prospect visible from it, enable it to maintain. The level plain around the house is a lawn interspersed with timber, chiefly beech, disposed either in grand clumps, or in single trees of vast magnitude, filling the eye with the gigantic rotundity of their forms. The planting is so managed that the lawn seems to terminate all round in a close wood, of which the boundaries are not discoverable. From the house extends a sort of terrace on the brow of the eminence, which at length leads to a thick plantation clothing the steep sides of a precipitous declivity. Through this are led rides and walks, presenting sylvan scenes of exquisite beauty, in which the beeches, drawn up to avast height with straight unbranched trunks, acquire a character of airy elegance, totally different from the massy roundness of this tree when suffered to expand without interruption A very beau- tiful appendage to the planting of Norbury, not readily discov- erable by a stranger, is a close walk round a coppice or planta- tion on the back of the park, formed of young trees, among which the pendent birch is one of the most frequent This walk winds round in the most free and graceful curves, by which the view is successively lost in foliage, and again recovered in long reaches. The trees on each hand form a skreen, just thick enough to exclude surrounding objects, yet admitting a soft and chequered light, the effect of which is rather cheerful than gloomy. In many places the trees arch over at the top. Here and there, in peculiarly happy situations, views are opened into the surrounding country ; but these do not impair the leading character of the walk, which is that of perfect retirement. I do not recollect ever to have felt a sweeter emotion of the kind, than when accident first led me to this sequestered spot- In the descriptions of celebrated places, I think the distinc- APPENDIX. 433 tion is seldom clearlj made between the scenes they themselves afford, and the prospects to be viewed from them. Yet this is a distinction obvious and material. Some spots, if denuded of every ornament of their own, and left merely in a state of nature, would be eagerly resorted to as stations whence surrounding beauties might be viewed to the greatest advantage. Others, like tlie spots of verdure in an African desert, contain within them- selves all the charms they have to boast. The happiest situations combine both these circumstances ; but rarely in equal propor- tions. Norbury-park, naturally a sterile soil, has been rendered, chiefly by exquisite skill in planting, a tine object in itself; but the prospects from it are beauties gratuitously bestowed upon its local situation, which perhaps contribute most to its pre-emi- nence among the seats in its neighbourhood. From the houses and the whole crest of the eminence on which it is placed, suc- cessive views open of the subjacent valley and the remoter dis- tances, scarcel}"^ to be paralleled for their gay variety and finish- ed softness. Northwards, Leatherheatl, with the variegated country beyond it extending towards Kingston and Epsom; — directly opposite, the charming village of Mickelham, backed by its fine green downs ; — onwards to the south-east, the seat of Sir Lucas Pepys, apparently lying upon the bosom of a steep pine- clad hill, of truly alpine character ; — somewhat further, Box-hill, presenting its precipitous side, partly disclosing bare and craggy spots of chalk, partly clothed with its proper shrub, of peculiar hue; — beyond it, the richly wooded eminences of parks and seats near Dorking, bending round to the south, and terminating an interme- diate vale of perfect beauty,divided to the eye by the aid of planting into separate portions, made more or less extensive at pleasure, and forming landscapes which I should have called singularly picturesque, had I not doubted of the power of painting to give any adequate idea of scenes lying in such a striking manner im- mediately beneath the sight. Mr. Gilpin, in his late Western Tour, has given a sketch of the prospects from Norbury; and from his remarks may be gathered how they appear to an eye in search of the true picturesque. I believe, however, that a more untaught spectator, gratified with the charms of nature, without referring them to a remoter test, would receive from them a purer delight. Mr. Locke's celebrated painted room is, in fact, the subject of much more of Mr. Gilpin's description than the park 3 I 434 APPENDIX. itself. This room, presenting a fine landscape on each of its sides, together with the decorations of figures, foliage, flowers, &c. is, I doubt not, an extraordinary work of art; but placed as it is, the effect upon my feelings was that of a proof of the infin- ite superiority of real to pictured scenery ; and the burst of splendour poured in at the windows almost entirely extinguish- ed to my eye the magic lights of Barrett's pencil. I could not help wishing, that the cost bestowed upon this piece of painting- had rather been devoted to some architectural ornaments out of doors; since the style of cultured beauty prevalent in Norbury- park would, in my opinion, admit with advantage ajudicious in- termixture of such decoration, though it cannot be said abso- lutely to require it. The only attempt at an edifice is a thatched plaster building with green window shutters, the appearance of which, in one of the most commanding sites of the park, is, in my judgment, wholly incongruous. And there is nothing in which the modern English taste seems to me so faulty, as in the cus- tom of placing mean and rustic buildings in the midst of scenes certainly not intended to convey the idea of the absence of art and expense. This love of simplicity has, in various other par- ticulars, injured our national taste ; and has produced incongrui- ties in our style of poetry and oratory, as well as in our external decorations. I have already mentioned Box-lull as the other great feature of the vale 1 am describing. It is indeed the most striking ob- ject of this part of the country, and best known as a popular cu- riosity. It comprehends a considerable space, being composed of three or four smooth green I'idges, separated from each other by narrow dells, and uniting at the summit into one lofty wooded top. On the side facing the vale of Leatherhead, its descent is not much short of perpendicular, forming a kind of chalky crag, naked and crumbling where not bound by the box trees and other shrubs, which in most parts give it a rich and thick covering. Its foot is bathed in the Mole, abruptly terminating its declivity, and giving it a fringe of aquatic trees and verdant meadows. Its peculiarity arises from its resemblance to the bold broken crags of mountainous countries; which, however, it only holds on this side ; for where it bends round to join the Ryegate ridge of chalk hills, it puts on the same rotundity of form with the rest. Its crest aftbrds a walk uncommonly striking; winding through the plantations of box, and at the openings affording bird's eye views APPENDIX. 435 of all the charms, as well as of the Leatherhead Vale, as of that much longer one in which the former terminates. It is difficult to determine whether this romantic hill produces a greater effect as an object from the subjacent vale, or as a station for a pros- pect. The point of view whence the hill itself is the most strik- ing spectacle, is from the very elegant cottage and grounds of Mr. Barclay, seated directly beneath it. The vast perpendicular wall of verdure, forming a side-skreen to those grounds, has an effect of real sublimity as well as uncommon beauty ; and a simi- lar happy circumstance is perhaps scarcely to be met with in any other ornamental scene. The waters of the Mole are commonly said to sink into the ground under Box-hill. No interruption of the stream, however is to be observed at the foot of the hill it- self ; though after it has passed Burford bridge, in its course through Norbury-park, there are several such interruptions. The map of Surrey will show a remarkable ridge running across the county, quite from the border of Hampshire to Kent, near the centre of which the town of Dorking is situated. This is a range of chalk or limestone hills, the general nature and ap- pearance of which 1 have already described. From Dorking it may be seen running on one hand to the neighbourhood of Guil- ford, on the other beyond Ryegate. This ridge forms one side or wall of a long valley. It is for the most part naked, and of steep ascent ; broken into a chain of separate rounded eminences, and here and there displaying the nature of its soil by chalk pits, which have been opened in different parts of it. The other side of the valley is much less distinctly marked, consisting of scat- tered eminences, approaching or receding, mostly clothed with wood, and by their breaks aftbrding frequent openings into the southern parts of Surrey. The vale, however, is, upon the whole, sufficiently marked by the streams which run along it, and which are, the Mole, coming from the neighbourhood of Ryegate, and turning short round the foot of Box-hill ; Pitt-brook, flowing from the west under Dorking, and at length terminating in the Mole; and another brook which flows in a contrary direction towards Guilford. These brooks are enlivened by a number of mills; and a tract of verdant meadows accompanies their course. The continuation of Box hill towards Ryegate consists of naked round eminences, the sterile appearance of which serves as a striking contrast to the richness of the vale below. The first object immediately beneath them is Beachworth castle and 436 APPENDIX. park, now the propertv of Peters, Esq. This is an an- cient seat, chieHy remarkable for the noble timber belonging to it. Approaching it from Dorking, the road leads through an outer park, skirted with rows of old chesnut trees, of large di- mensions, and of forms which perhaps a painter would rather denominate grotesque than picturesque. The peculiar manner in which this tree sends off its branches, making elbows and sharp angles, and often crossing each other in the most irregular lines, gives it a very singular character : but, on the whole, the chesnuts fl/JBeachworth impress the beholder with extraordina- ry ideas of giga^aiic greatness. The inner park, at the extremity of which the house is situated, has two fine avenues, the one of elm trees, the other of limes, the tallest I ever beheld. This last is a triple avenue, resembling the nave of a cathedral, but greatly surpassing in grandeur the works of human hands. The trees. touch each other with their branches, forming on the out- side a vast screen, or wall of verdure. Within, the branches, meeting at a great height in the air from the opposite sides of the rows, form Gothic arches, and exclude every ray of the me- ridian sun. I never felt a stronger impression of awful gloom than on entering these solemn walks in the dusk of evening. The river Mole, washing the edge of Beachworth park, has in some parts a respectable breadth, and is beautifully shaded with aquatic trees and bushes. A very little to the south of Beachworth park lies Chart, the pleasing seat and grounds of Mrs. Cornwall. The former inha- bitant was Abraham Tucker, Esq. well known for his acute me- taphysical writings, under the name of Search. Chart park is of no great extent; but the ground in it is strikingly varied in its surface* and has been planted with great taste. Its steep sum- mits are crowned with trees of various kinds. The house, a plain \vhite building, lies low. Close behind it the ground rises ab- ruptly to a terrace, planted with a line of beeches, and affording fine views of the adjacent country. Some remarkablj'^ large plane trees decorate the slope ; and on one hand is a rookery on the top of some lofty pines. Mrs. Cornwall cultivates many curious plants, and her shrubbery is furnished with some beautiful exo- tics in high perfection. Joining to Chart park, on the side of Dorking, are the elegant woods and grounds of the house of Ladj Burrell, a large modern brick edifice, which forms a con- spicuous object in the views of that town. The series of irregu- APPENDIX. 437 lar heights which compose the southern side of the vale formerly mentioned, next leads to an eminence marked by a clump of lirs, and commonly called Doj-king's Glory. This is a very happy station for a prospect, commanding not only the vales of Lea- therhead and Dorking, but a long tract of the southern part of Surrey, extending to tiie borders of Sussex. Passing westwards, behind tlje town of Dorking, tlie chain of elevated ground leads to Berry hill, a seat belonging to Lord Grimston, now in the occupancy of George Shum, Esq. A low ridge of hill, loosely planted with wood, terminates in a thick dark fir plantation, just behind which, fronting the south, stands the house. This is an edifice of more show and architectural pretention than those of the other seats in the neighbourhood ; and by the complete shel- ter it receives from the north and east, and its exposure to a southern sun, must enjoy a full share of all the warmth this cli- mate can boast. Before it is a handsome piece of water, artifi- cially made at great cost ; and beyond, the view terminates in some bold eminences crowned with fir and larch. The charac- ter of this seat is elegance united with the true English charm of snugness. It seems rather calculated for the enjoyment of the owner, than the gaze of the spectator. About a mile westward from hence, on the lower Guilford road, is the Rookery, the villa of Richard Fuller, Esq. This de- lightful place occupies one of those dells which descend from the south into the long vale we have above described, each serv- ing as the bed of a little stream. The imagination can scarcely conceive a scene of the kind more complete than this. The dell, at a distance, appears like a break or chasm between two hills, entirely filled with wood. On entering it, however, there is found to be room for a sweet verdant meadow, containing a stream which descends in several little falls (rather too artifi- cial) and turns a mill near the house. The house itself, a plain white building in a kind of antique style of architecture, stands upon a sloping bank, having directly opposite to it a bold emi- nence finely planted with trees, and subsiding in a green lawn. The stream, now widened, runs between; and, a little higher, expands into an extensive pool, shaded on all sides with trees and shrubs to the water's edge, and winding out of sight. A nar- row strip of green lawn bordering the water, spreading at length into a small meadow, forms all the rest of the grounds which is not occupied with wood. Plantations of beeches and other tall 438 APPENDIX. timber trees fill the remaining space, insulating (as it were) the whole with a belt of forest scenery, and securing to it a character of coolness and sequestered retreat, which no other place that I have seen possesses in an equal degree. The hottest and most sunny season of the year seems the time for enjoying this place to full advantage. In dark and chilly weather, it must probably appear to super-abound with shade and moisture ; yet the site of the house is tolerably cheerful and open. A little to the south-west of the Rookery, another dell de- scends in the same direction, called by the appropriate name of Valley Lonesome. This is occupied by the house and grounds of Mr. Haynes, and presents a scene considerably different from any yet described. The house, an elegant piece of architecture, ap- pears, by a. jet (Peau playing in front, with two equidistant bridges, and various ornamental appendages, disposed with perfect cor- respondence and regularity, to have been planned before the mo- dern taSte of rural decoration took place. The stream flowing through the valley is made to put on a variety of forms in ba- sins, falls, channels, &c. which are rather trifling; but a cascade, really of some effect, bursts out from a high bank which borders the vale, though the steps or ledges down which the water is made to fall, and the round stone basin which at last receives it, give it too formal an appearance. The general character of Val- ley Lonesome is gay and cheerful notwithstanding its seques- tered situation. Its upper end terminates in that wild tract, which, at length becoming a black naked moor, rises into the celebrated Xeith Hill. The ascent on this side is very gentle; and the elevation would scarcely be suspected, were it not for the very extensive prospect that bursts on the sight at the fur- ther extremity. A tower, now in a ruinous state, marks the spot most favourable for the view. The southern part of Surrey, and a vast reach into Kent and Sussex, particularly the latter coun- ty, bounded by the line of elevated downs, compose the field of this extensive prospect, which is rather striking from its extent alone, than from any peculiar beauty or singularity of the de- tached parts. A flat and tolerably wooded country reaches to the downs ; which last afford a wavy horizon, broken in some places by gaps ; through one of which the sea, near Shoreham, may in clear weather be discerned by the aid of a glass. In a line with Leith hill are other high moors, stretching away to the western side of Surrey. Returning from Leith hill, a long and APPENDIX. 439 singular avenue of firs, planted in small clumps at regular dis- tances, leads to the main valley we have left, by the back of the noble woods and plantations surrounding the seat of Sir Frede- rick Evelyn at Watton. The seat itself is an ordinary house, strangely placed in a bottom ; but few mansions can boast of such an imposing accompaniment of lofty groves and thick woods, fill- ing and characterising a large tract of land. In order to bring our tour round Dorking within moderate compass, we will now take our course from Sir Frederick's straight to the chalky ridge we have so long left ; and ascend- ing it, proceed over Ranmer common to Denbeighs, the seat of Mr. Denison, impending over the town of Dorking, to which it affords one of its most conspicuous objects. This house was built by Mr. Tyers, first proprietor of Vauxhall, who transport- ed to it many of the ideas of his public gardens, dark walks, tem- ples, theatrical deceptions, ruins, monuments, and the like. These have been mostly removed, or suffered to go to decay ; but there remains on one side of the house a fine green terrace, backed with trees ; and on the other a close plantation of considerable extent, crowning the verge of the hill. Though taste has done much less for this place than for Norbury park, yet it may be questioned, whether its site be not equally advantageous, and the prospect it commands equally striking, with respect to va- riety and beauty. Almost all the places we have been describing lie within its view ; to which may be added the town of Dork- ing, and all the lesser charms of the subjacent valley. Its de- scent to Dorking is very steep; and the road passes by some ex- tensive chalk-pits, which are continually wrought, and furnish a lime in great esteem for its property of hardening under water. It would be easy to enlarge the list of beautiful scenes in this neighbourhood, all within the reach of a morning's walk or ride, and affording a source of daily variety for several weeks. The purity of the air, the fragrance from an exuberance of aromatic plants and shrubs, the music from numberless birds, the choice of sheltered or open country, the liberty of wandering without obstacle or question through the most cultured scenes, and the perfect repose which reigns all around, unite to render this tract of country one of the most delightful to the contemplative man., and the most salutary to the invalid, that I have ever visited. 440 APPENDIX, (D. p. 134.) BIOGRAPHICAL x\CCOUNT OF THE LATE DR. PULTENEY. RICHARD PULTENEY, M.D. F.R.S. L. and E. was born in the year 1730, at Loughborough, in Leicestershire. His parents had thirteen children, of whom he alone arrived at the age of maturity. From early youth he was of a delicate habit, and supposed to be inclined to a consumption ; and it was by means of rigid temperance, w-hich he observed during his whole life, that he maintained himself in a tolerable state of health. He has recorded (in Mr. Nichols's History of Leicestershire,) his ob- ligations to his uncle, Mr. George Tomlinson, of Hathern, who possessed some property in that village, and adorned an obscure station with virtue and science. " Those (says Dr. Pulteney) who remember and intimately knew the subject of this memoir, Avill not, it is believed, judge it otherwise than impartial, though, confessedly, a tribute from his nearest relative, one who reveres his memory with the truest affection, who, through the early stage of life, received from him, as from a father, the genuine dictates of wisdom, virtue, and religion ; all of which were truly exem- plified in his own conduct throughout the whole of his life." From this relation he imbibed his taste for botanical studies ; and it was probably through his instigation that he was destined to the medical profession. The youth's first situation in a professional capacity was that of apprentice to an apothecary in Loughborough; an humble school, which, however, his industry and talent for observation were able to render instructive. He passed through the usual course of a country education, and then complied with an invi- tation to settle at Leicester. That town, like most provincial APPEKDIX. 441 capitals, was divided into two political and religious parties; and it was that of the dissenters (to which his parents belonged) whence Mr. Pulteney received his support. His sphere was still further narrowed, by t'le limitation of practising only as an apo- thecary ; for it was thought due to the consequence of the party, to possess a surgeon of their own as a separate professional cha- racter, which office was filled by Mr. Cogan, aman of merit and agreeable manners. Few remarks can be necessary on the hardship of placing per- sons of abilities and liberal sentiments in situations so unfavour- able to the acquirement of that reputation and those emoluments which are justly due to professional superiority; and in which they must be reduced to an unworthy and degrading dependence upon a few party-leaders. Mr. Pulteney was of a timid and cautious disposition; and, though his mind was by no means formed for shackles, his tem- per was not firm enough to enable him effectually to assert his freedom. It would be an unpleasant task to dwell upon the share he had in those " scorns which patient merit of the unwor- thy takes ;" or of the struggle he maintained with narrow cir- cumstances, which obliged him to contract habits of rigid cecon- omy rendered more necessary by the passion for buying books, to which he was content to sacrifice every other inclination. Sci- ence was, indeed, his great resource under the discouragements of his situation, and it eventually proved the means of raising him from obscurity. To his private friends he was known as one who had inquired largely and thought freely on a variety of to- pics. To the public he first appeared as a votary of the pleasing study of botany. He became a correspondent of the Gentleman's Magazine at an early period ; and communicated to it, anony- mously, a series of valuable letters concerning the poisonous plants of this country, and a dissertation on Fungi, contained in the xxvth volume of that miscellany. To the same publication he sent, in 1757, a translation of a curious paper in the Upsal Amcenitates Academics^ on "the Sleep of Plants." This subject he pursued more at large in a paper inserted in the fiftieth vol- ume of the Philosophical Transactions, for 1758, entitled "Ob- servations on the Sleep of Plants, with an enumeration of several Plants which are subject to that Law." He had before appeared among the contributors to the Philosophical Transactions by a " Catalogue of the rare Plants of Leicestershire, with Bptanical 3K 442 APPENDIX, and Medical Observations;" vol. xlix. for 1756. This paper he gave to Mr. Nichols, in an improved state, in 1795, who has in- serted it in the first volume of his history of that county. In 1758 he printed, in the Gentlemmi's Magazine, a translation from the same Amtenitates, of the instructive paper entitled " Pan Suecus," giving a catalogue of plants which, from experimentj were found to be either chosen or rejected as food by the differ- ent species of domestic quadrupeds. This he adapted more par- ticularly to English readers by referring to English authors; and he subjoined to it some notes and observations. Its utility caus- ed him afterwards to annex it, in a more enlarged form, to his *' View of the Writings of Linnseus." He distinguished himself in a manner more purely professional by a paper published in the Philosophical Transactions, vol. Hi. for 1761, giving an account of a singular medical case attended with palpitation of the heart and other uncommon symptoms, and which, upon dissection, exhibited a preternatural enlargement of "that organ. In 1762, he received the honour of being elected a fellow of the Royal Society. His name was now associated to those of men of science in various departments ; and his personal merits were becoming known to a wider circle of acquaintance, to whom he was endeared by his modest worth, and the good «ense and discretion which peculiarly characterised him. Nor can it be doubted, that, even with his original disadvantages of situation, he would have attained a respectable share of business at Leicester, though still in that inferior branch of the profes- sion on which he had at first entered, to which, however, he had added the practice of midwifery. But it was his lot to possess a friend whose ardent and enterprising spirit was an admirable ■corrective of his own diffidence, and who esteemed him too much to acquiesce in his continuing in a rank and employment beneath Iiis merits. This was Mr. Maxwell Garthshore, then eminent in .medical practice at Uppingham, in Rutlandshire. By means of a common friend, much revered by both, they were made ac- quainted in the year 1758, and this acquaintance soon ripened into a warmth of friendship which death alone could extinguish- As it was, Mr. Garthshare's own plan, after a residence for some years at Uppingham, to take the degree of doctor at Edinburgh, where he had received his medical education, he strongly urged Mr. Pnlteney to accompany him thither, and offer himself to the examinations of the university, though he had never enjoyed the APPENDIX. 443 advantage of academical instruction there or elsewhere. His reluctance was at length overcome ; and the two friends set out upon their expedition in the spring of 1764. Mi. Pulteney was already known by reputation at Edinburgh, particularly to Dr. Hope, the professor of Botany ; and he had the benefit of his companion's extensive connections in the place. He passed through all the necessary preliminaries with credit, and 'n May received the honours of graduation. The subject of his inaugu- ral dissertation was " l)e Cinchona," or, On the Peruvian Bark ; of the natural and medical history of which important article he gave a very satisfactory and instructive account. The botanical description is particularly accurate, and is illustrated by a plate; and his Thesis has been thought worthy of re-printing in a col- lection of the most valuable compositions of the kind which the medical school of Edinburgh has produced. A circumstance relative to his graduation, honourable to him- self, but affording matter of reflection relative to the conduct of public bodies, ought not to be passed over in silence. The uni- versity of Edinburgh had now for a considerable timebeen rising in reputation as a school of medicine, and its degrees in that fa- culty became of course more and more respectable. It is well known that the universities of Scotland, modelled upon those of the continent, have adopted the practice of conferring degrees upon examination, without requiring in the candidates a pre- .vious residence in their own seminary, or, indeed, in any other. In some of them the examination itself has been dispensed with, and the requested distinction has been bestowed upon persons at a distance, in consequence of mere recommendation. It is no wonder that such a laxity should have thrown occasional discredit upon academical honours ; nor that the public should have been prone to confound the degrees conferred at universities similarly constituted, in one general note of disesteem. The Edinburgh medical students justly considered themselves entitled to be re- garded among those of the profession who had received the greatest advantages of education, and were the most deserving of those testimonials of competency which titular distinctions imply. They had therefore begun to remonstrate against a mode of conferring degrees which might confound them with persons altogether unworthy of the honour ; and their discontent had been aggravated by some late instances of notorious incapacity in Edinburgh doctors by favour. Thinking their complaints not 444 APPENDIX. sufficiently attended to, some of the students of the longest standing had entered into a mutual engagement publicly to op- pose every future attempt at decorating with the degree of doc- tor of physic at Edinburgh any person who should not have stu- died there, and to take their own degrees elsewhere in case their opposition should prove unsuccessful. It happened that Mr. Pulteney was the first candidate under these circumstances, after this resolution was adopted. The sub- scribers handsomely expressed to him their concern that a per- son of his acknowledged merit should be the object of their op- position ; but they adhered to their determination. His reputation and interest carried him through the contest ; but he was (I be- lieve) the last in favour of whom the condition of studying at that individual seminary has been violated. And so sensible have the Edinburgh professors since become, that augmenting the credit of their university's degrees, and the difficulty of ob- taining them, was conducive to their own personal emolument, that they have extended the period of requisite study there from two to three years, and made it comprehend every set of lec- tures which can possibly be construed as belonging to a complete medical course ! As Dr. Pulteney had now assumed a new rank in the profes- sion, it was advisable that he should look out for a new situation. The first plan which suggested itself to his London friends, was to procure him an introduction to the celebrated earl of Bath, then in a very declining state of health. This was effected ; and the earl, upon inspection of his pedigree, recognised his descent from the aticientfamil}' of which his own was a branch. He also, upon conversing with him, was so favourably impressed with his professional and literary merits, that he resolved to attach him to himself in the character of domestic physician. He proposed to settle upon him an appointment of 400^. per annum ; and the connection would probably have been attended with mutual sa- tisfaction and advantage, had not the death of the earl followed so speedily that Dr. Pulteney received only one quarterly ad- vance of his intended salary. Not long after this event, a medical vacancy happening at Blandford, in Dorsetshire, he was urged by Dr. Watson, Dr. Baker, and others of his friends, to go down and occupy it. Provided with their warm recommendations, but an utter stran- ger to all the inhabitants of the town and its vicinity, he fixed APPENDIX. 445 his abode in that spot whicii was to be his residence during the whole remainder of his life. A small country town, in the midst of a neighbourhood composed of the usual ingredients of provin- cial society, was not, perhaps, exactly the situation raost desira- ble to a man whose mind was enlarged by free speculation and scientiBc pursuit : but it was now ih: Pulteney's business to es- tablish himself in his professon ; and to that object, prudence required that sacrifices should be made. This is, indeed, the condition of all who have their way to make in the world ; and perhaps a just sense of true dignity of character, as well as re- gard to pecuniary advantage, should lead a man to place before him, as his primary object, the attainment of success in the pro- fession which he has chosen ; and to consider as secondary and subordinate all reputation or gratification derived from other sources. Dr. Pulteney, therefore, seems to have sat down with the resolution, not only ot fulfilling his medical duties with the utmost punctuality, but of avoiding every thing which might in the least degree involve him in ditterences with those on whose good opinion he was to depend. He was sensible that by his removal he had entirely changed his latitude ; and though he was not a man to shift his sentiments and language according to his company, yet he was constitutionally cautious, and could, with- out much effort, practise the allowable policy of silence. "Com- mune withthj'^ heart and be still," was the maxim of 36 years of his life. That it exerted its natural influence upon his charac- ter, will not be denied ; but it did not prevent him from being a very amiable, useful, and respectable member of society. The situation of Blandford had not hitherto afforded any great scope for medical practice; but Dr. Pulteney soon extended its limits. His reputation spread through the circumjacent country, and he received professional calls from the market and trading towns in a compass of twenty or thirty miles round his centre, as well as from many of the country families of principal dis- tinction in that part of the kingdom. As his industry was great, and his expenses were moderate, he began to accumulate pro • perty. He continued to live in a state of celibacy till October 1779, when he married Miss Elizabeth Galton, of Blandford. He could not have chosen more fortunately for domestic happiness; and the addition this connection made to his co'.ntorts was pro- portionable to the want he had previously felt, of that society which alone can interest the heart. No children were the fruit 446 APPENDIX. of this union ; but in the additional society of an amiable young relation of Mrs. Pulteney he enjoyed the pleasure of an adoptive parent. He continued to employ his leisure in occasional writings on topics of medicine and natural history. In 1772 he addressed a letter to his friend Dr. Watson (published in the Philosophical Transactions, vol. Ixii.) concerning the medicinal effects of the (Enanthe crocata, an unbelliferous plant of a poisonous nature, the juice of which was exhibited, by mistake, instead of that of tlie vv'ater-parsnep. In the Ixviiith volume of the same collec- tion, for 1778, he gave an accurate account of the bills of mortali- ty for the parish of Blandford during forty years past, with ob- servations. To the London Medical Journal, vol. v. he commu- nicated an account of the poisonous effects of the Hemlock Drop- wort (the CEnanthe crocata above mentioned.} He had hitherto appeared as an author only in detached me- moirs inserted in periodical publications. But in 1781 he ven- tured to offer to the public a separate volume, on a subject, indeed, with which no man could claim a more intimate acquaintance. This was "A General View of the Writings of Linngeus," 8vo. The purpose of this work was to afford an exact synopsis of all the labours of the great Swedish naturalist, who appears to have been the object of his warmest admiration. Along with the ac- count of his works, memoirs of his life are interwoven, chiefly extracted from the different writings of Linnseus. In the pre- fatory advertisement Dr. Pulteney speaks with great modesty of his performance, which, however, was very well received by the friends of natural history, and obtained for him the present of a medal from Stockholm, as an acknowledgment of the justice he had done to the fame of the illustrious Swede. Many ju- dicious observations and valuable points of information are interspersed in the work. It concludes with a synoptical ac- count of all the papers contained in the first seven volumes of the Amanitates Academicse. Some years afterwards a more extensive and original work^ proceeded from Dr. Pulteney's pen, and which must have cost him much varied research in its composition. This was his " Historical and Biographical Sketches of the Progress of Bota- ny in England, from its Origin to the Introduction of the Lin- nsean System ;" 2 vols. 8vo. 1790. He paid a just tribute to scientific merit in dedicating the first volume of this perform- APPENDIX. 44r ance to Sir Joseph Banks ; and a grateful return to long friend- ship, in inscribing the second to Sir George Baker and Dr. Garthshore. The work itself is highly valuable, as an example of that union of the history of men with that of an object of their common pursuit, which is so peculiarly interesting and instruc- tive. It has likewise made an addition to national biography, which will be duly prized by those who are attached to their country's reputation. It is marked throughout with that can- dour and disposition to commend which always characterised the amiable author. Whilst he was thus tracing the progress of his favourite science in books, he was by no means inattentive to the volume of nature as it lay displayed before him. The county in which he resided is considerably furnished with objects worthy the notice of the naturalist, especially in the fossil kingdom. How well he had made himself acquainted with these treasures, the present writer obtained a proof, which laid him under a parti- cular obligation. This was a brief but masterly account of the products of Dorsetshire, communicated to him for the use of his little work, entitled " England Delineated.'' He afterwards en- riched the second edition of Mr. Hutchins's "History of Dor- setshire" with a catalogue of the birds, shells, and plants ob- served in that county ; and during his last illness he had under revisal a plate of Dorsetshire fossils communicated by himself. The formation of a musfeum was the amusement of many years of his life. By gradual additions, he accumulated a store of na- tural productions in various classes, which was to him a perpetual source of pleasing contemplation, and will, doubtless, become to many students of nature a means of instruction, in the possession of the Linneean Society, to which it was bequeathed. Dr. Pulteney, in his latter years, frequently expressed a wish to retire from business, and take up his residence in the metro polis, for the sake of the scientific advantages with which it is so amply furnished ; but his habits of life were become too strong to permit him to resolve upon so great a change. He continued, though with diminished ardour, to follow his professional avo cations, till he was attacked with a pleuritic complaint, which, after great sufferings, put a period to his existence on October 13th, 1801, at the age of 71. By his last will he gave a signal proof of the deep impression which his early friendships had made upon his mind, and which 448 APPENDIX. no subsequent connections of common acquaintance could obli- terate or equal. After a hamlsonie provision for those who on every account were entitled to the first place in his remem- brance, the remaining objects of his liberality were some of the friends of his early days, and even the sons of those friends. He likewise paid a due attention to the claims of charity by be- quests to the Salisbury, Leicester, and Edinburgh infirmaries, and to the poor of the parish of Blandford ; and he displayed his regard to science by similar bounties to the Royal Societies of liondon and Edinburgh, and to the Linnsean Society. Such are the brief memoirs which I have been able to collect concerning Dr. Pulteney ; whose life aifords, indeed, but little biographical variety, but presents an encouraging picture of mo- dest merit gradually making its way to success, and science even of the most retired kind, becoming the passport to public esteem and reputation. APPENDIX. 449 (E. p. 137.) MEMOIR OF GILBERT WAKEFIELD, B. A. LITERATURE has sustained a severe loss by the death of Gilbert Wakefield, B. A., carried oiFby a fever, in the 46th year of his age, to the unspeakable regret of his family and friends. A person in various respects so distinguished, is a proper sub- ject for the contemplation of survivors ; and he had deserved too well of the public not to be entitled to honourable and affection- ate commemoration. Mr. Wakefield, in " Memoirs of his own Life," published in 1792, has informed the world of all the circumstances attending his education and passage through life down to that period, with a minuteness and frankness which render his work a very cu- rious and entertaining piece of biography. I shall not make any transcripts from it, but confining myself to a slight sketch of the leading events, shall take that view of his character and conduct which suggests itself to the reflection of a friendly but not a prejudiced by-stander. Gilbert Wakefield was born on February 22d, 1756, at Nottingham, of which town his father was one of the parochial clergy. An uncommon solidity and seriousness of disposition marked him from infancy, together with a power of application, and thirst after knowledge, which accelerated his progress in juvenile studies. In his grammatical course he passed under the tuition of several masters, the last and most respectable of whom was the Rev. Mr. Wooddeson, of Kingston-upon-Thaa)es, to which parish his father had then moved. He was used, how- SL 450 APPENDIX. ever, to lament that he had not possessed the advantages of an uniform education at one of thoSe public schools, which undoubt- edly, whatever may be their dangers and deficiencies, eifect the point at which they exclusively aim, that of laying a solid foun- dation for classical erudition in its most exact form. In 1772, he was entered as a scholar of Jesus College, Cambridge ; and it was ever a topic of thankfulness to him, that he became a mem- ber of that university in which the love of truth met with some encouragement from a spirit of liberal inquiry, rather than of tiiat which was devoted either to supine indolence, or to the pas- sive inculcation of opinions sanctioned by authority. During the first years, his attention was chiefly fixed upon classical studies, always his favourites ; and he was excited only by emulation and academical requisitions to aim at that proficiency in mathema- tical knowledge which bears so high a value at Cambridge. Yet while he confesses himself destitute of a genuine taste for spec ulations of this kind, he scruples not to declare the infinite su- periority, in point of grandeur and sublimity, of mathematical philosophy to classical lucubrations. In 1776, he took his degree of B. A. on which occasion he was nominated to the second place among seventy-five candidates; and soon after, he was elected to a fellowship of his college. In the same year he published a small collection of Latin poems, with a few critical notes on Homer, at the University press. If not highly excellent, they were sufficient to establish the claim of a young man to more than ordinary acquaintance with the elegancies of literature. He had already obtained a knowledge of the Hebrew language, as pre- pai'atory to those theological studies which now became his most serious occupation ; and it may safely be affirmed that no man ever commenced them with a mind more determined upon the unbiassed search after truth, and the open assertion of it when discovered. The foundation which he laid for his inquiries was an accurate knowledge of the phraseology of the Scriptures, ac- quired by means of attention to the idiom in which they were written. As at this time some of his most esteemed academical friends manifested their dissatisfaction with the articles of the church of England by a conscientious refusal of subscription, it cannot be doubted that scruples on this point had already taken possession of his mindj and so far had his convictions proceed- ed, that he has stigmatised his compliance with the forms requi- site for obtaining deacon's orders, which he received in 1778, as APPENDIX. 451 ihe most disingenuous action of his whole life." If, indeed, he could receive consolation from the practice of others, there were several of his intimate associates, who, by a superiority to such scruples, have since risen to opulence and distinction in the church, without betraying any uneasiness for a similar acquies- cence. Mr. Wakefield left college after ordination, and engaged in a curacy at Stockport, in Cheshire, whence he afterwards removed to a similar situation in Liverpool. He performed the duties of his office with seriousness and punctuality; but his dissatisfac- tion with the doctrine and worship of the church continuing to increase, he probably considered his connection with it as not likely to be durable. The disgust he felt at what he saw of the practice of privateering, and the slave-trade, in the latter place of his residence, also awakened in his mind that humane interest in the rights and happiness of his fellow-creatures, which has made so conspicuous a part of his character. The American war did not tend to augment his attachment to the political ad- ministration of his country; in short, he became altogether unfit to make one of that body, the principal business of which, in the opinion of many, seems to be, acting as the satellites of existing authority, however exerted. His marriage, in 1779, to Miss Watson, niece of the rector of Stockport, was soon followed by an invitation to undertake the post of classical tutor at the dis- senting academy at Warrington, with which he complied. That he was regarded as a very valuable acquisition to this institu- tion, — that he was exemplary in the discharge of his duty, and equally gained the attachment of his pupils, and the friendship and esteem of his colleagues, — the writer of this account can from his own knowledge attest. Being now freed from all cle- rical shackles, he began his career as a theological controversial- ist, and, it must be confessed, with an acrimony of style which was lamented by his friends, and which laid him open to the re- proach of his enemies. It is not here intended to vindicate what the writer himself cannot but disapprove ; but the real and sub- stantial kindness of Mr. Wakefield's temper, and the benevo- lence of his heart, were such, that this apparent contradiction must be solved by his warmth of zeal in what he thought the cause of truth, and perhaps by a familiarity with scholastic de- bates, which rendered hun in some measure callous to the use, or rather abuse, of vituperative expressions from the press. In 452 APPENDIX. disputatious by word of mouth, no man was more calm and geu tie, more patient in hearing, or more placid in replying ; and if, in his writings, he has without hesitation or delicacy bestowed hiscensures, he has been equally liberal and decided in his praise. His applauses evidently came from the heart, free and unstinted, for envy did not possess a single particle in his composition ; nor has he withheld them when he thought them deserved by partic- ular laudable qualities, even in characters which he could not regard with general approbation. No man, perhaps, ever more fully gave way to the openness of his disposition in speaking the whole truth concerning men and things, unmoved by common, considerations ; whence it is not to be wondered at, that he fre- quently rendered himself more obnoxious to antagonists than the case essentially required, and roused prejudices which a more guarded conduct would have left dornjant. A sentence which, in his Memoirs, he has quoted from Asgill, expresses (as it was probably meant to do) the spirit with which he wrote. " A blunt author in pursuit of truth, knows no man after the flesh, till his chase is over. For a man to think what he writes, may bespeak \\\^ prudence : but to write what he thinks, best opens his prin- ciples." We shall not in this sketch attempt to give an account of all his publications, many of them small in bulk and temporary in their application. The most important of his theological labours will be allowed to be those in which he employs his eminent eru- dition in the explanation of Scripture. Of these, the first was " A New Translation of the First Epistle of Paul, the Apostle, to the Thessalonians," printed in 1781. It was followed in the next year by " A New Translation of St. Matthew, with Notes, critical, philological, and explanatory," 4to ; a work which ob- tained much applause, and amply displayed the extent of his reading, and the facility with which his memory called up its reposited stores for the purpose of illustration or parallelism. At this time he likewise augmented his fund for Scripture interpre- tation by the acquisition of various Oriental dialects. After quit- ting Warrington, at the dissolution of the academy, he took up hia residence successively at Bramcote in Nottinghamshire, at Richmond, and at Nottingham, upon the plan of taking a few pupils, and pursuing at his leisure those studies to which he be- came continually more attached. While in the first of these situations, he published the first volume of An Inquiry into the APPENDIX. 45n Opinions of the Christian Wrilers of the three first Centuries con cerning the Person of Jesus Christ, a learned and elaborate pei formance, but which did not meet with encouragement sufficient to induce him to proceed in the design. A painful disorder in his left shoulder, with which he was attacked in 1786, and which harassed him for two years, interrupted the course of his employ- ments; and he could do no more for letters during that period, than alleviate his sufferings by drawing up some remarks upon the Georgics of Virgil and the Poems of Gray, which he publish- ed with editions of those delightful compositions. As his health returned, his theological pursuits were resumed, and he again engaged in the field of controversy. He also, in 1789, made a commencement of a work, which promised much, as well for his regutation, as for the advantage of sacred literature. It was ^"lu Union of Theological and Classical Learning, illustrating the Scriptures by Light borroived from the Philology of Greece and Rome. Under the title of Silva Critica three parts of this per- formance have issued from the University press of Cambridge. The formation of a dissenting college at Hackney, which it was hoped, by the powerful aid of the metropolis, would become both more considerable and more permanent than former insti- tutions of a like kind, produced an invitation to Mr. Wakefield to undertake the classical professorship. With this he thought proper to comply ; and accordingly, in 1790, he quitted his abode at Nottingham, and removed to Hackney, upon the plan of join- ing with public tuition the instruction of private pupils. He has himself informed the public that "both of these anchors failed him, and left his little bark again afloat on the ocean of life." It is neither necessary nor desirable to revive the memory of dif- ferences between persons really respectable and well-intention- ed, but under the influence of different habits and views of things. We shall confine ourselves to a remark or two. Mr. Wakefield was a person who derived his opinions entirely from the source of his own reason and reflection, and it will not be easy to name a man who stood more single and insulated in this respect throughout life than he. Although his principles had induced him to renounce his clerical office in the church of Eng- land, and he had become a dissenter from her doctrine and wor- ship, yet he was far from uniting with any particular class of those who are u&^ally denominated dissenters. He had an insuperable repugnance to their mode of performing divine service ; and he 454 APPENDIX. held in no high estimation the theological and philosophical knowledge which it has been the principal object of their semi- naries of education to communicate. It has already been ob- served, that the basis of his own divinity was philology. Clas- sical literature, therefore, as containing the true rudiments of all other science, was that on which he thought the greatest stress should be laid, in a system of liberal education. This point he inculcated with an earnestness which probably appear- ed somewhat dictatorial to the conductors of the institution. Further, in the progress of his speculations, he had been led to form notions concerning the expediency and propriety of pub- lic worship, extremely different from those of every body of Christians, whether in sects or establishments ; and as he was incapable of thinking one thing and practising another, he had sufficiently made known his sentiments on this subject, as well in conversation, as by abstaining from attendance upon every- place of religious assembly. They who were well acquainted with him, knew that in his own breast piety was one of the most predominant affections ; but the assembling for social worship had for so many ages been regarded as the most powerful in- strument for the support of general religion, that to discourage it was considered as of dangerous example, especially in a per- son engaged in the education of youth. Notwithstanding, therefore, his classical instructions in the college were received by the students almost with enthusiastical admiration, and con- ferred high credit on the institution, a dissolution of his connec- tion with it took place in the summer of 1791. The subsequent publication of his pamphlet on Public Wor- ship deprived him (as he says) of the only two private pupils he expected. From that period he continued to reside at Hacknej, in the capacity of a retired man of letters, employing his time partly in the education of his own children, partly in the com- position of works which will perpetuate his name among those who have cultivated literature with most ardour and success. His Translation of the New Testament, with Notes, 3 vols. 8vo. appeared towards the close of 1791, and was very respectably- patronised. In language it preserves as much as possible of the old version. Its numerous deviations from that in sense, will be regarded as happy alterations or bold innovations, ac- cording to the prepossessions of the reader. A long list might be given of his succeeding labours, but we shall only particular- APPENDIX. 455 ise some of the most considerable. He printed (no longer at the Cambridge press) two more parts of his Silva Critica. He gave a new edition, much corrected, of his Translation of the New Testament; and besides, proved his zeal for Christianity, by enlarging a former work On the Evidences of the Christian Religion, and by replying to Thomas Paine's attack upon it in his Age of Reason. To the works of Pope, as our most cultivated English poet, and the most perfect example of that splendour and felicity of diction which is not attained without much study of the poetic art, Mr. Wakefijeld paid particular attention. It was his design to have published a complete edition of his works ; but after he had printed the first volume, the scheme was rendered abortive by Dr. Warton's edition. He, however, printed a second vo- lume, entitled Notes on Pope, and also gave a new edition of Pope's Hiad and Odyssey. In these publications he displayed all that variety of comparison and illustration, that power of tracing a poetical thought through different authors, with its successive shades and heightenings, and that exquisite feeling of particular beauties, which distinguish him as an annotator of the writers of Greece and Rome. As a classical editor he appeared in a selection from the Greek tragedians, in editions of Horace, Virgil, Bion and Mos- chus, and finally, in his Lucretius ; a vast performance, which alone might seem the labour of many industrious years. Of his character as a man of letters, I have been favoured with the fol- lowing estimate by an able judge, the Rev. E. Cogan of Ches- hunt: " In extent of erudition, particularly if an acquaintance with the oriental languages be taken into the account, he was per- haps inferior to no man of the present age ; and they who have been considered as having had the advantage over him in some of the less important minutiae of Greek literature, have probably limited their attention to fewer objects, and certainly commen- ced their literary course with a more advantageous preparation. In conjectural criticism he exhibits much of the character of Bentley and Markland : men whom he esteemed according to their high deserts in that species of learning to which his own mind was peculiarly directed.' Like these illustrious scholars, he is always learned, sometimes bold, and frequently happy. Like them, he had a mind which disdained to be held in a ser- 456 APPENDIX. vile subjection to authority ; and in defiance of established read- ings, which too often substitute the dreams of transcribers for the gems of antiquity, he followed, without fear, wherever reason and probability seemed to lead the way. In his earlier critical works, he exhibited, amidst some errors which his riper judg- ment discarded, the promise of his future greatness: and even his faults were the infirmities of genius ; they flowed from that ardour and enthusiasm which cannot always wait for the slow decisions of cool inquiry. They were faults which, though they afforded a small consolation to dull malignity, did not diminish his praise in the estimation of one solid and impartial judge. His favourite study was poetry, and in an extensive acquain- tance with the ancient poets, both Greek and Roman, few men since the revival of letters have equalled him, and no one ever surpassed him in the perception of their beauties. When he applies to them the hand of conjecture, he rarely fails to give new spirit and animation by his touch ; and where we are oblig ed to dissent from his corrections, we are sometimes sorry for the credit of the poet that he does not appear to have v/ritten what the critic has suggested. He was peculiarly fond of trac- ing an elegance of poetical expression through the various mo- difications which it assumed in the hands of different writers, and in the illustration of ancient phraseology he did not over- look the poets of his own country, with many of which he was very familiar. His great work is undoubtedly his edition of jMcreiius, a work which ignorance may despise, at which malice may carp, and hireling scriblers may rail, but which will rank with the labours of Heinsius, Gronovius, Burman, and Heyne^ as long as literature itself shall live. It will share the predic- tion with which Ovid has graced the memory of the great poet himself: Carmina sublimis tunc sunt peritura Lucreti, Exitio terras cum dabit una dies. « Besides its critical merit, it exhibits the richest display of the ilowers of poetry that ever was presented to the world, and will amply reward the perusal of every man who has sensibility to relish the finest touches of human genius. "Mr. Wakefield, even before this immortal specimen of his talents, was deservedly held in the highest estimation by the li- terati of Germany ; and if his honours at home have not equalled APPENDIX. iiis reputation abroad, the candid mind will easily find tliL* ex planation of this phenomenon in the violence of political party, and the mean jealousy which has too often disgraced the scho lars of Great Britain. The name of Hentley is connected with proof enough of the justice of this insinuation." I shall now proceed to an incident of his life whicli will be viewed with regret by the ingenuous of all parties', the additional sensations it inspires will, of course, be different according to tlie particular sentiments of individuals. It has already been liinted that Mr. Wakefield, from the time of his residence at Liverpool, had begun to imbibe a detestation of that policy which trampled upon the rights of mankind, and was founded upon unfeeling avarice and unprincipled ambition. His study of Christianity more and more convinced him that the miixins of the world and those of religion were in direct opposition ; and, in common with many other excellent and learned men, he be- came persuaded of the absolute incompatibility of v/ar with the christian character. He had moreover received those principles of the origin and end of government, which, however they may now be regarded, were once thought fundamental to the British constitution, and the basis of all civil liberty. He had occasion- ally, in the political contests of his country, publicly expressed his opinions upon tliese subjects ; but the French revolution was an event calculated to call forth all his ardour in the cause. His sanguine temper led him to consider it as the undoubted com- mencement of a better order of things, in which rational liberty, equitable policy, and pure religion would finally become tiium- phant. He watched its progress with incredible interest, ex- cused its unhappy deviations, and abhorred the combination of arbitrary power which threatened its destruction. It was im- possible that he should refrain from employing his pen on the occasion, or that he should do it with a "cold and unperforming hand." In his Bemarks on the General Orders of the Duke of York, he had arraigned the justice of the war with France in terms which are supposed to have exercised the utmost forbear- ance of the Ministry. But in his " Reply to some Parts of the Bishop of Landaff's Address," he passed those limits. From that systematic progress in restraining the free communication of political opinions which may be traced in the acts of the late Ministry, it is not unreasonable to conclude, that a victim to the liberty of the press, of name and character sufiicient to inspire a 458 APPENDIX. wide alarm, was really desired. Yet, as the aitoiney general' solemnly protested that his prosecution of this pamphlet M^as spontaneous, and solely dictated to him by the heinous and dan- gerous nature of its contents, it would be uncandid to call his assertion in question. A man of sense, however, maybe allow- ed to smile at the notion of real danger to supreme power, sup- ported as well by public opinion, as by every active energy of the state, from a private writer, arguing upon principles so little applicable to the practice of the world, as those of the Gospel. Further, a man of a truly liberal and generous mind will per- haps view, not without indignation, the thunders of the law hurl- ed upon a head distinguished for virtue and learning, without any humane allowance for well intentioned, if misguided, zeal. The attack commenced, not against the principal, who bold- ly and honestly came forward to avow himself, but against the agents ; and the grand purport of it was sufficiently de- clared by the superior severity with which a bookseller was treated, who was not the editor, but only a casual vender of the work ; but who had long been obnoxious as a distin- guished publisher of books of free inquiry. Mr. Wakefield himself next underwent prosecution 5 and his sentence, upon conviction, was a two years' imprisonment in Dorchester gaol. There exists no other measure of punishment in such a case than comparison, and perhaps, upon the application of this rule, it will not be found inordinately severe. Two years' abode in a prison is, however, a most serious infliction ! it is cutting off so much from desirable existence. Mr. Wakefield, notwithstand- ing his natural fortitude, felt it as such. Though, from his ha- bits of sobriety and seclusion, he had little to resign in respect of the ordinary pleasures of the world; his habits of pedestrian exercise, and his enjoyment of family comfort, were essentially infringed by confinement. He likewise found all his plans of study so deranged, by the want of his library, and the many in- commodities of his situation, that he was less able to employ that resource against tedium and melancholy than might have been expected. One powerful consolation, however, in addition to that of a good conscience, attended him. A set of warm and generous friends employed themselves in raising a contribution which should not only indemnify him fi:om any pecuniary loss consequent upon his prosecution, but should alleviate his cares foi' the future support of his family. The purpose was effected; APPENDIX. 459 and it is to be hoped that Englishmen will ever retain spirit enough to take under their protection men who have faithfully, though perhaps not with due prudence and consideration, main- tained the noble cause of mankind against the frowns of authority. At length the tedious period elapsed, and the last day of May, 1801, restored him to liberty. He was received by his friends, many of whom had visited him in prison, with the most cordial welcome. He was endeared to them by his sufferings, and his character was generally thought to have received a meliorating tinge of mildness and moderation from the reflection which had passed through his mind. He formed extensive plans for future literary labours, and he seemed fully capable of enjoying and benefiting that world to which he was returned. When — Oh, what is man ! — a fever, probably occasioned by his anxious exer- tions to fix himself in a new habitation, cut short all his pros- pects. From the first attack he persuaded himself that the ter- mination would be fatal, and this conviction materially opposed every attempt of medicine in his favour. He surveyed death without terror, and prepared for it by tender offices to the sur- vivor.s. The event took place on September the 9th. It is presumed that the character of Mr. Wakefield is suffici- ently developed in the preceding sketch of his life. It may, how- ever, be added, that there was in him an openness, a simplicity, a good faith, an aff'ectionate ardour, a noble elevation of soul, ivhich irresistibly made way to the hearts of all who nearly ap- proached him, and rendered him the object of friendly attach- ment, to a degree almost unexampled. Let this be placed in balance against all that might appear arrogant or self-sufficient, harsh, or irritable, in his literary conduct ! His talents were rare — his morals pure — his views exalted — his courage invinci= ble — his integrity without a spot. When will the place of such a man be supplied ! 460 APPENDIX. ^F. p. 142.; MEMOIR OF JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, L.L. 1). F.R.S. JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, L.L.D. F.R.S. and member of many foreign literary societies, was born on March iSth, old stjle, 1733, at Field -head, in the parish of Birstall, in the West-riding of Yorkshire. His father was engaged in the clothing manufac- ture, and both parents were persons of respectability among the Calvinistic Dissenters. Joseph was from an early period brought up in the house of Mr. Joseph Keighley, who had married his aunt. A fondness for reading was one of the first passions he displayed ; and it probably induced his friends to change their intentions of educating him for trade, and destine him for a learn- ed profession. He was sent to a school at Batley, the master of which possessed no common share of erudition. Besides the Latin and Greek languages, he was capable of giving instruc- tions in the Hebrew ; and his pupil carried with him the know- ledge of all the three to the academy of Daventry ; at which he was entered, in his 19th year, as a student of divinity. This academy was the successor of that kept by Dr. Dodridge at Northampton, and was conducted by Dr. Ash worth, whose first pupil Mr. Priestley is said to have been. When about the age of twenty-two, he was chosen as an assistant minister to the Inde- pendent congregation of Needham-market in Suffolk. He had at this time begun to imbibe theological opinions different from those of the school in which he had been educated. He had like- wise become a student and admirer of the metaphysical philoso- phy of Hartley, of which, during life, he was the zealous advo cate and the acute elucidator. APPENDIX. 461 After an abode of three years at Needham, he acceptad an in vitation to be pastor of a small flock at Naniptwich in Cheshire. There he opened a day-school, in the conduct of which he exhi bited that turn for ingenious research, and that spirit of improve- ment, which were to be his distinguishing cliaracteristics. He enlarged the minds of iiis pupils by philosophical experiments, and he drew up an English Grammar upon an improved plan, which was his earliest publication. His reputation as a man of uncommon talents and active inquiry soon extended itself among his professional brethren ; and when, upon the death of the Rev. Dr. Taylor, the tutor in divinity at Warrington academy, Dr. Aikin was chosen to supply his place, Mr. Priestley was invited to undertake the vacant department of belles-lettres. It was in 1761 that he removed to a situation happily accommodated to his personal improvement, by the free society of men of large in- tellectual attainments, and to the display of his own various pow- ers of mind. He soon after made a matrimonial connection with Mary, daughter to Mr. Wilkinson of Bersham Foundry, near Wrexham ; a lady of an excellent heart, and a strong under- standing, and his faithful partner in all the vicissitudes of his life. At Warrington properly commenced the literary career of this eminent person, and a variety of publications soon announ- ced to the world the extent and originality of his pursuits. One of the first was a Chart of Biography, in which he ingeniously contrived to present an ocular image both of the proportional duration of existence, and of the chronological period and syn- chronism of all the most eminent persons of all ages and coun- tries, in the great departments of science, art, and public life. This was very favourably received, and suggested a second chart, of History, in like manner offering to the view the extent, time, and duration of states and empires. Subjects of history and gene- ral politics at this time engaged much of his attention. He de- livered lectures upon them, of which the substance w-as given to the world in various useful publications. His notions of govern- ment were founded on those principles of the original and inde- feasible rights of man, which are the sole basis of all political freedom. He was an ardent admirer of the British Constitution. according to his conceptions of it, and ably illustrated it in his lectures. With respect to his proper academical department of the belles - 4G^ APFENDi:^. lettres, he elisplayed the enlargement of his views iu a set ot Lectures on tlie Theory and History of Language, and on the Principles of Oratory and Criticism ; in the latter of which, he successfully applied the Hartleian theory of association, to ob- jects of taste. Although his graver pursuits did not allow him to cultivate the agreeable parts of literature as a practitioner, he sufficiently showed, by some light and playful efforts, that he would have been capable of excelling in this walk, had he given his attention to it. But he was too intent upon things to expend his regards upon words, and he remained contented with a style of writing accommodated to the great business of instruction, of which the characteristics were accuracy and perspicuity. Fully as his time might seem occupied by the academical and literary employments above enumerated, he found means, by per- petual activity and indefatigable industry, to accomplish the first great work in natural philosophy, which laid a 'solid foundation for his fame in that department of human knowledge. Having long amused himself with an electrical machine, and taken an interest in the progress of discovery in that branch of physics, he was induced to undertake a History of Electricity, with an ac- count of its present state. As the science was of late date, and all its facts and theories lay within a moderate compass of read- ing, he thought it a task not beyond his powers to effect com- pletely what he proposed ; although his plan included an exten- sive course of experiment of his own, to verify what had been done bv others, and to clear up remaining doubts and obscuri- ties. It appears from his preface, that, while engaged in this design, he had enjoyed the advantage of personal intercourse with some eminent philosophers, among whom he acknowledges as coadjutors, Drs. Watson and Franklin, and Mr. Canton. The work first appeared at Warrington, in 1767, 4to; and so well w^s it received, that it passed into a fifth edition, in 4to. in 1794. It is indeed an admirable model of scientific history: full with- out superfluity ; clear, methodical, candid, and unaffected. Its original experiments are highly ingenious, and gave a foretaste of that fertility of contrivance and sagacity of observation which afterwards so much distinguished the author. It may be proper in this place to speak of Dr. Priestley's ge- neral character as an experimental philosopher. No person in this class can be met with who engaged in his inquiries with a more pure and simple love of truth, detached from all private APPENDIX. 403 and selfish considerations of fame or advantage. Hence he was solicitous only that discoveries should be made, regardless by wliom they were made: and he was placed far beyond all that petty jealousy and rivalry which has so often led to the sup- pression of hints from casual observations, till the proprietor should have made the most of them for himself. On the con- trary, he was imijatient till all engaged in similar pursuits should be put upon the track which appeared to him most likely to lead to successful investigation. Having no favourite theories to support, he admitted indifterently facts of all appa- rent tendencies ; and felt not tlie least hesitation in renouncing an opinion hastily formed, for another, the result of maturer ex- amination. He regarded the whole field of knowledge as com- mon ground, to be cultivated by the united labour of individuals for the general benefit. In these respects he seems most to have resembled the excellent Stephen Hales, whom Haller just ly entitles " vir indefessiis, ad inveniendum vermn natus.''^ His connection with the Warrington academy ceased in 1768, when he accepted an invitation to officiate as pastor to a large and respectable congregation of protestant dissenters at Leeds, Considering himself now as more especially devoted to theology, he suffered that, which had always been his favourite object, to take the lead amidst his intellectual pursuits, though not to tlie exclusion of others. From infancy his mind had been strongly impressed with de- votional sentiments ; and although he had widely deviated from the doctrinal opinions which he had first imbibed, yet all the pious ardour and religious zeal of the sect among whom he was educated remained undiminished. He likewise retained in full force the principles of a dissenter from the Establishment, and those ideas of congregational discipline which had become obso- lete among many of the richer and more relaxed of the separa- tists. Numerous publications relative to these points soon marked his new residence. His " Institutes of Natural and Re- vealed Religion" gave, in a popular and concise form, his sys- tem of divinity with its evidences. His " View of the Princi- ples and Conduct OT the Protestant Dissenters" exhibited his notions of the grounds of dissent and the proper character and policy of a religious sect ; and a variety of controversial and po lemic writings presented to the world his views of the (Christian dispensation. Id4 APPENDIX. As a divine, if possible, still more than as a philosopher, truth was his sole aim, M'hich he pursued with a more exalted ardour, in proportion to the greater importance of the subject. Natu- rally sanguine, and embracing the conclusions of his reason with a plenitude of conviction that excluded every particle of doubt, he inculcated his tenets witli an earnestness limited by nothing but a sacred regard to the rights of private judgment in others as well as himself. The considerations of human prudence were no- thing in his eye, nor did he admit the policy of introduQing no- velties of opinion by slow degrees, and endeavouring to concili- ate a favourable hearing, by softening or suppressing what was most likely to shock prejudiced minds. He boldly and plainly uttered what he conceived to be the truth and the whole truth, secure, that by its own native strength it would in fine prevail, and thinking himself little responsible for any temporary evils that might be incurred during the interval. To adopt the beau- tiful and happy simile of one of his late vindicators, "he followed truth as a man who hawks, follows his sport; at full speed, straight forward, looking only upward, and regardless into what difficulties the chase may lead him.'' As pure religion was the great end of Dr. Priestley's labours, so perfect freedom of discussion was the means ; and since he was convinced that this could not be attained under the do^ niination of powerful and jealous establishments, interested in maintaining the particular system on which they were founded, he was a warm and open enemy to all unions of ecclesiastical with political systems, however modified and limited. In this respect, as in various others, he diffiered from many of his dissent- ing brethren ; and, while he was engaged in controversy with the Church, he bad to sustain attacks from the opposite quarter. But warfare of this kind he never feared or avoided : it cost him little expense of time, and none of spirits ; it even seemed as if such an exercise was salujtary to his mental constitution. Few readers of this sketch need be told that Dr. Priestley was at the head of the modern Unitarians; a sect, of which the lead- ing tenet is the proper humanity of Christ, and which confines every species of religious worship and adoration to the One Su- preme. If those who have charged him with infidelity meant an}' thing more than an inference from his avowed opinions on this head, and imagined that he intended more than he declared, ahd entertained a secret purpose of undermining the Christian IRe- APPENDIX. 4G5 velation, they have been guilty of a calumny from which the least ejfertion of candour and penetration would have preserved them. They might have perceived that he was one who laid open his whole soul on every subject in which he was engaged ; and that teal for Christianity, as a divine dispensation and the most val- uable of all gifts bestowed upon the human kind, was his ruling passion. The favourable reception of the History of Electricily had in- duced Dr. Priestley to adopt the grand design of pursuing the rise and progress of the other sciences, in a historical form ; and much of his time'at Leeds was occupied in his second work upon this plan, entitled The History and present State of Discoveries relating to Vision, Light, and Colours, which appeared in 2 vols. 4to. 1772. This is allowed to be a performance of great merit; possessing a lucid arrangement, and that clear, perspicuous view of his subject which it was the author's peculiar talent to afford. It failed, however, of attaining the popularity of his History of Electricity, chiefly because it was impossible to give adequate notions of many parts of the theory of optics without a more ac- curate acquaintance with mathematics than common readers can be supposed to possess. Perhaps, too, the writer himself was scarcely competent to explain the abstruser parts of this science. It proved to be. the termination of his plan : but science was no loser by the circumstance ; for the activity of his mind was turn- ed from the consideration of the discoveries of others, to the at- tempt of making discoveries of his own, and nothing could be more brilliant than his success. We find that at this period he had begun those experiments upon air, which have given the greatest celebrity to his name as a natural philosopher. In 1770, Dr. Priestley quitted Leeds for a situation as differ- ent as could well be imagined. His philosophical writings, and the recommendation of his friend Dr. Price, had made him so fa- vourably known to the Earl of Shelburne (afterwards Marquis of Lansdown) that this nobleman, one of the very few in this coun- try who have assumed the patronage of literature and science, made him such advantageous proposals for residence with him, that regard to his family would not permit them to be rejected. It was merely in the capacity of his Lordship's librarian, or ra- ther, his literary and philosophical companion, in the hours that could be devoted to such pursuits, that Dr. Priestley became an inmate with him. The domestic tuition of Lord Shelburne's sons 3N 46b APPENDIX. was alreaily committed to a man of merit, aud tl^e}' received from J)r. Priestley no other instruction than that of some courses of experimental philosophy. During this period, his family re- sided at Calne, in Wiltshire, adjacent to Bow-wood, the country scat of Lord Shclburne. Dr. Priestley frequently accompanied his noble patron to London, and mixed at his house with several of the eminent characters of the time, by whom he was treated with the respect due to his talents and virtues. He also attended his Lordship in a visit to Paris, where he saw many of the most celebrated men of science and letters in that country ; and he as tonished them by his assertion of a firm belief in revealed reli- gion, which had been presented to their minds in such colours, that they thought no man of sense could hesitate in rejecting it as an idle fable. Whilst he was enjoying the advantages of this situation, in every assistance from books and a noble apparatus for the pur- suit of experimental inquiry, he also appeared in the height ot his fame as an acute metaphysician. In 1775, he published his Eoramination of Dr. Reid on the Human Mind ; Dr. Bealtie on the Nature and Immutability of Truths and Dr. Oswald's Sp- peal to Common Sense. The purpose of this volume was to re- fute the new doctrine of common sense, employed as the criterion of truth by the metaphysicians of Scotland, and to prepare the way for the reception of the Hartleian theory of the human mind, which he was then engaged in presenting under a more popular and intelligible form. They who conceive Dr. Priestley to have been triumphant in argument on this occasion, agree in disap' proving (as he himself did afterwards) the contempt and sar- casm with which he treated his antagonists, which they do not think excused by the air of arrogance and self-sufficiency as- sumed by these writers in their strictures upon other reasoners, But tliis was not the only instance in which he thought it allow- able to enliven the dryness of controversy by strokes of ridicule. He never intentionally misrepresented either the arguments or the purposes of an opponent ; but he measured the respect with which he treated him, by that which he felt for him in his own mind. In his publication of Hartley's Theory he had expressed some doubts as to the common hypothesis, that man possesses a soul, or immaterial substance, totally distinct from his body. For this opinion he had undergone obloquy as a favourer of atheism ; but APPENDIX. 467 rts no personal imputation was of weight with hiin in the pursuit of what he thought to be the truth, he did not scruple in 1777, to publish Disquisitions relating to Matter and Spirit, in which he gave a history of the philosophical doctrine concerning the soul, and openly supported the material system, which makes it homo geneous with the body. Perhaps, of all Dr. Priestley's devia- tions from received opinions, this has subjected him to the greatest odium, and has most startled the true friends of reason and free inquiry, on account of its supposed consequences. The natural proofs of a future state appear to be so much invalidated by the rejection of a separate principle, the seat of thouglit, which may escape from the perishing body to which it is tempo- rarily united, that he seemed to have been employed in demo- lishing one of the great pillars upon which i-eligion is founded. It is enough here to observe, that, in Dr. Priestley's mind, the deficiency of these natural proofs only operated as an additional argument in favour of revelation ; the necessity of which, to sup- port the most important point of human belief, was thereby ren- dered more strikingly apparent. It may be added, that as he materialised spirit, so he, in some measure, spiritualised matter, by assigning to it penetrability and other subtle qualities. At this time he also appeared in great force as the champion of the doctrine of philosophical necessity ; a doctrine not less obnoxious to many, on account of its supposed effects on morali- ty, than the former. To him, however, it was the source (as he always asserted) of the highest satisfaction, both religious and moral ; and a number of his followers have found it, in like man- ner, compatible with all the best principles of human conduct. With his intimate friend. Dr. Price, whose opinions in both the last mentioned points were radically different from his, a corres- pondence relative to them took place, which was published in a volume, and affords a most pleasing example of debate, carried on with perfect urbanity, and every token of mutual respect and affection. Such was the wonderful compass and versatility of his mind, that at this very period he was carrying on that course of dis- covery concerning aeriform bodies, which has rendered his name so illustrious among philosophical chemists. In the Philosophi- cal Transactions for 1773, we find a paper containing "Obser- vation on different Kinds of Air,'' by Dr. Priestley j which ob- tained the honorary prize of Copley's medal. These were re- 468 APPENDIX. printed, M'itb many important additions, in the first volume ot his Experiments and Observations on different Kinds of Air, 8vo. 1774. A second volume of this work was published in 1775, and a third in 1777. To give the slightest view of the original mat- ter is these volumes, would occupy more time and space than this sketch permits ; but it may with justice be affirmed, that they added a greater mass of fact to the history of aeriform fluids than the united labours of all others employed upon the same subject. Some of the most striking of his discoveries were those of nitrous, and dephlogisticated, or pure, air ; of the restoration of vitiated air by vegetation ; of the influence of light on vege- tables, and of the effects of respiration upon the blood. In these volumes he did not attempt theory or systematic arrangement, thinking that the knowledge of facts was not sufficiently ad- vanced for that purpose ; and he threw them out hastily as new matter occurred, in pursuance of his liberal principle already- noticed, that fellow-labourers in matters of science should as soon as possible be apprised of discoveries which might putthera. in the track of making others. The name of Priestley was by these publications spread through all the enlightened countries of Europe, and honours from sci- entific bodies in various parts were accumulated upon him. The votaries of physical science now, doubtless, flattered themselves, that the ardour of his powerful mind was durably fixed upon the advancement of natural philosophy and chemistry; but an inti- mation at the close of the last volume, of his intention to inter- mit those pursuits in order to engage in otlier speculative topics, sufficiently proved to all who knew, that experimental inquiries could occupy only a secondary place in his mind. These other and more favourite topics, were ihe metaphysical theories which have been already mentioned, and the theological discussions which he resumed with fresh zeal and industry. The continu- ation of his Institutes of Religion ; his Letters to a Philosophi- cal Unbeliever ; his Harmony of the Evangelists ; and various tracts on moral and religious topics, marked his return to his former studies. The term of his engagement with Lord Shelburne having ex- pired. Dr. Priestley, with a pension for life of 150/. per annum, was at liberty to choose a new situation. He gave the preference to the neighbourhood of the populous town of Birmingham, chiefly induced by the advantages it afford- APPENDIX. 469 ed, from the nature of its manufactures, to the pursuit of che- mical experiments. It was also the residence of several men of science ; among whom the names of Watt, Withering, Bolton, 4nd Keir, are well known to the public. With these he was soon tipon terms of friendly reciprocation of knowledge and mutual aid in research; and their Lunarian Club presented a constella- tion of talent which would not easily have been assembled even in the metropolis. He had not long occupied his new habitation, before he was invited to undertake the office of pastor to a congregation of Dissenters in Birmingham, upon which he entered with great sa- tisfaction towards the close of 1780. He found a society cordially attached to his person and doctrines ; and he merited their es- teem by the most assiduous performance of all the pastoral du- ties. Some of the most important of his theological works soon issued from the Birmingham press. Of these were his Letters to Bishop Newcome, on the Duration of ChrisVs Ministry ; and his History of the Corruptions of Christianity ; afterwards fol- lowed by Ills History of Early Opinions. Controversies upon theological topics multiplied around him, to all of which he paid the attention they seemed to require. The warm disputes which, took place on occasion of the applications of the Dissenters for relief from the disabilities and penalties of the Corporation and Test Acts, supplied a new subject of contest into which he could not forbear to enter, both as a friend to toleration in general, and as one ol the body aggrieved. His hostility to the Estab- lishment became more decided, and he appealed to the people on the points of difference, in his Familiar iMters to the Inhabitants of Birmingham, written with much force, but with his usual dis- regard of caution. Little has hitherto been said of the political exertions of Dr. Priestley, which, indeed, form no conspicuous part of his literary life. He had displayed his attachment to freedom by his Essay on the first Principles of Government, and by an anonymous pam- phlet on the state of public liberty in this country; and had shown a warm interest in the cause of America at the time of its unfortunate rupture with the mother country. The French revo- lution was an event which could scarcely fail of being contem- plated by him with satisfaction. His sanguine hopes saw in it the dawn of light and liberty over Europe; and he particularly expected from it the eventual downfal of all establishments 4.0 APPENDIX. inimical to tlie spread of truth. Such expectations he was at no pains to conceal ; and as parties now began to take their decided stations, and to be inspired with all the usual rancour of oppo- nents in civil contests, he was naturally rendered a prominent mark of party hatred. In this state of mutual exasperation, the celebration of the an- niversary of the destruction of the Bastille, by a public dinner, on July 14th, 1791, at which Dr. Piie&Uey was not present, gave the signal of those savage riots, which have thrown lasting dis- grace on the town of Birmingham, and in some degree on the national character. Amid the conflagration of houses of worship and private dwellings. Dr. Priestley was the great object of pop- ular rage ; his house, library, manuscripts, and apparatus, were made a prey to the flames ; he was hunted like a proclaimed criminal, and experienced not only the furious outrages of a mob, but the most unhandsome treatment from some who ought to have sustained the parts of gentlemen, and friends of peace and order. It would be painful to dwell upon these scenes. Suffice it to say, that he was driven for ever from his favourite residence ; that his losses were very inadequately compensated ; and that he passed some time as a wanderer, till an invitation to succeed Dr. Price in a congregation at Hackney gave him a new settlement. This was rendered more interesting to him by a connection with the new dissenting-college established at that place. His mind^, by its native elasticity, recovered from the shock of his cruel losses, and he resumed his usual labours. This was, however, far from being a season of tranquillity. Parties ran high, and events were daily taking place calculated to agitate the mind, and inspire varied emotions of tumultuous expectation. Dr. Priestley, however he might be regarded by the friends of government, had no reason to entertain apprehensions for his personal safety on the part of authority; but he was con- scious that he lay under a load of public odium and suspicion, and he was perpetually harassed by the petty malignity of bigotry. Having so lately been the victim of a paroxysm of popular rage, he could not be perfectly easy in the vicinity of a vast metropo- lis, where any sudden impulse given to the tumultuous mass might bring irresistible destruction upon the heads of those who should be pointed out as objects of vengeance. It is not, there- fore, to be wondered at, that he looked towards an asylum in a APPENDIX. 471 c-ountry to whicli he had always shown a friendly attachment, and which was in possession of all the blessings of civil and religious liberty. Some family reasons also enforced this choice of a new situation. He took leave of his native country in 1794, and em- barked for North America. He carried with him the sincere re- grets of a great number of venerating and aifectionate friends and admirers; and his departure, while celebrated as a triumph by unfeeling bigots, was lamented by the moderate and impartial, as a kind of stigma on the country which, by its ill treatment, had expelled a citizen whom it might enrol among its proudest boasts. Northumberland, a town in the inland parts of the state ot Pennsylvania, was the place in which he fixed his residence. It was selected on account of the purchase of landed property in its neighbourhood ; otherwise, its remoteness from the sea ports, its want of many of the comforts of civilised life, and of all the helps to studious and scientific pursuit, rendered it a peculiarly undesirable abode tor one of Dr. Priestley's habits and employ- ments. The loss of his excellent wife, and of a very promising son, together with repeated attacks of disease and other calami- ties, severely tried the fortitude and resignation of this christian philosopher; but he had within him what rendered him superior to all external events, and pious serenity was the settled temper of his soul. In America he was received, if not with the ardour of sympa- thy and admiration, yet with general respect ; nor were the angry contests of party able lastingly to deprive him of the esteem due to his character. If he had any sanguine hopes of diffusing his religious principles over the new continent ; or if his friends ex- pected that the brilliancy of his philosophical reputation should place him in a highly conspicuous light among a people yet in the infancy of mental culture, such expectations were certainly dis- appointed. He was, however, heard as a preacher by some of the most distinguished member^ of Congress ; and he was offered, but declined, the place of chemical professor at Philadelphia. It became his great object to enable himself in his retirement at Northumberland to renew that course of philosophical experi- ment, and especially that train of theological writing, which had occupied so many of the best years of his life. By indefatigable pains he got together a valuable apparatus and well furnished 47£ APPENDIX. library, and cheerfully returned to his former employments. By many new experiments on the constitution of airs, he became more and more fixed in his belief of the phlogistic theory, and in his opposition to the new French chemical system, of which he lived to be the sole opponent of note. The results of several of his inquiries on these topics were given, both in separate publi- cations, and in the American Philosophical Transactions. A number of pamphlets on dift'erent occasions of controversy fell from his pen ; and by his comparisons of the Jewish with the Mahometan and Hindoo religions, and of the characters of Christ and Socrates, he endeavoured to strengthen the bulwarks of re- velation. The liberal contributions of his friends in England enabled him to commence the printing of two extensive works, on which he was zealously bent, a Church History, and an Ex- position of the Scriptures^ and through the progress of his final decline he unremittingly urged their completion. The circumstances attending the close of his useful and ex- emplary life are related with such interesting simplicity in the following article of the Philadelphia Gazette, that every one must receive pleasure from reading the narrative entire. " Since his illness at Philadelphia, in the year 1801, he never regained his former good state of health. His complaint was constant indigestion, and a difficulty of swallowing food of any kind. But during this period of general debility, he was busily employed in printing his Church History, and the first volume of his Notes on the Scriptures, and in making new and original experiments. During this period, likewise, he wrote his pam- phlet of Jesus and Socrates compared, and re-printed his Essay on Phlogiston. "From about the beginning of November, 1803, to the middle of January, 1804, his complaint grew more serious ; yet, by ju- dicious medical treatment, and strict attention to diet, he, after some time, seemed, if not gaining strength, at least not getting worse; and his friends fondly hoped that his health would con- tinue to improve as the season advanced. He, however, consi- dered his life as very precarious. Even at this time, besides his miscellaneous reading, which was at all times very extensive, he read through all the works quoted in his Comparison of the dif- ferent Systems of Grecian Philosophers with Christianity ; com- posed that work, and transcribed the whole of it in less than APPENDIX. 47S three months; so that he has left it ready for the press. During this period he composed, in one day, his Second Reply to Dr. Linn. " In the last fortnight of January, his fits of indigestion became more alarming, his lerafe. three distinguish- ed members of the same fraternity, (Dr. Enfield, Dr Priestley, and Mr. Wakefield) besides the excellent person who now em- ploys my pen. Mr. Walker appeared to me not at all declined in health and spirits since last 1 saw him, though with some marks of increased age. He himself, however, was probably conscious of more debility than was apparent ; for he dropped several expressions denoting that he did not expect long to sur- vive. He was soon after attacked with what seemed to be a se- vere lumbago, which rendered motion extremely painful, and fix- ed him, at first, to his chair, and then to his^bed. His recollec- tion at the same time became sensibly impaired, and, at length, totally left him. Under these symptoms he rapidly sunk; and * TJie following reraaikable circumst' nee relative lo this work has been related to me by W. Frend, Esq. Whin Mr. Frend was in Germany, he accidentally met with a copy of a Treatise on Conic Sections, by Father Boscovich, with -which he was so much pleased, that on his return he made it the foundation ot the lectures on that subject which he gave as a public tutor in the Uni?ersity of Cambridge. When he los( that situation, he presented hiS mathematical papers to his successor, the Rev. Mr. Newton, who drew up a work on Conic Sections upon the plan thus derived from Boscovich. This was oft'ered to tlie university press just at the time when Mr. Walkrr presented to the curators an original work on that subject for the same pur- pose. This was found so much to resemble the other (though Mr. W. had cer- tainly never seen the work of Boscovich,) that the univeisity thought it superfluous in print both, and naturally gave the preference to that of its own member. APPENDIX. 48r on the morning of April 21st, after an act of fervent prayer, ex- pressed by his folded hands when the power of articulation was nearly gone, he calmly resigned his soul to his Maker. From the house of his kind friend and former pupil, Mr Smith of Dra- per's-hall with whom he had been a guest, his remains were car- ried, with a respectable attendance of friends, for interment in Bunhill -fields. He left a widow, together with one son, and a daughter married to Sir George Cayley, Bart, of Brompton- house, near Scarborough. I cannot close this account without adding a sketch of Mr. Walker's character from the masterly hand of a friend who re- sembled him in several striking features, the late Gilbert Wake- field. In his Memoirs, after giving a just estimate of Mr. Walk- er's intellectual talents and attainments, he thus proceeds: " But these qualifications, great and estimable as they are, constitute but a mean portion of his praise. Art thou looking, reader ! like iEsop in the fable, for a man ? Dost thou want an intrepid spi- rit in the cause of truth, liberty, and virtue — an undeviating rec- titude of action — a boundless hospitality — a mind infinitely su- perior to every sensation of malice and resentment — a breast susceptible of the truest friendship, and overflowing with the milk of human kindness — an ardour, an enthusiasm, in laudable pur- suits, characteristic of magnanimity — an unwearied assiduity, even to his own hindrance, in public service ? My experience can assure thee, that thy pursuit may cease, thy doubts be ban- ished, and thy hopes realised : for this is the man." To such praise, which honours equally the giver and the re- ceiver, it would be impertinent to make any other addition than a testimony of its justice. THE END. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proce, ^;,"';^''^'"9^9ent: Magnesium OxWe Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnoloqie A WORLD LEADER ,N COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIC "1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA ignfifi