STUDIES IN LITERATURE 
 
 BY 
 
 G, W, GI\IFFIN 
 
 BALTIMORE : 
 
 HENRY C. TURNBULL, JR. 
 1870. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 
 HENRY C. TURNBULL, JR. 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Maryland. 
 
TO 
 
 VIRGILINE, 
 
 OUR SWEETEST JOY AND BRIGHTEST HOPE, 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 GEORGE D. PRENTICE, . . 1 
 
 VICTOR HUGO, - - 25 
 
 MARMONTEL'S BELISARIUS, - ... 80 
 
 VATHEK, - - 39 
 
 THE TEMPEST, - 47 
 
 THE SCARLET LETTER, - - 52 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH'S MACBETH, - - ... 58 
 
 PERCY BTSSHE SHELLEY, - ... 69 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA^ - 76 
 
 CYMBELINE, - .... 83 
 
 HAMLET, - - 89 
 
 DAVID GARRICK, - .... 97 
 
 THACKERAY, - 104 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, - - I 9 
 
 DREAMING, 117 
 
 DANTE, - - 121 
 
 THE GYPSIES, - 126 
 
 AUTOGRAPHS, - - 132 
 
 JANAUSCHEK, - . 144 
 
 A PHILOLOGICAL STUDY, 152 
 
STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 THE life of. this distinguished poet and journalist has 
 been a crown of glory to the world ; but only those who 
 have been brought within the charmed circle of his ac 
 quaintance, and enjoyed his confidence and friendship, can 
 form the least idea of the peerless grace and lofty beauty 
 of his soul. He seemed to belong to a higher order of 
 beings than those of this earth ; and I can but feel, in ap 
 proaching the subject of his memory, that I am treading upon 
 sacred ground. He was my best and truest friend. I con 
 sulted him upon nearly every duty and obligation that I 
 owed to society and to the world, and I always found him 
 the wisest and gentlest teacher, and the safest and surest 
 guide. His heart was so eloquent in the deep pathos and 
 purity of its affections, that I was never in his presence with- 
 i 
 
2 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 out feeling wiser and better. I had known him so long and 
 well, and had been the recipient of so many acts of love 
 and kindness from his hands, that I began to look upon his 
 existence as necessary for my happiness upon earth. There 
 was nothing that he could do for me that he did not do cheer 
 fully. In no instance did he endeavor to make me sensible 
 of the obligation I owed him, but ever appeared more like 
 the receiver than the giver. There has scarcely been a day 
 during the past five years that I did not see him, or 
 receive some message from him. It was his custom to 
 spend at least two evenings in every week at my house. A 
 chair was placed for him regularly at our table, and no one 
 was allowed to occupy it during his absence. This little 
 mark of respect seemed always to please him exceedingly, 
 for even trivial kindnesses were never passed unnoticed by 
 him, and those who conferred them were always well 
 paid by some pleasant word or acknowledgment. There 
 was a mildness, a dignity, a love and a patience about him 
 that seemed peculiarly his own ; and now that he is dead 
 I feel half ashamed of the little that I can add to his 
 memory. 
 
 GEORGE DENNISON PRENTICE was born at Griswold, 
 Connecticut, on the i8th of December, 1802. He dis 
 played very early in life talents of no common order. He 
 excited the admiration of every one who knew him by the 
 marvellous facility with which he acquired the most diffi 
 cult and complicated branches of knowledge. He was 
 able to read fluently when only four years of age. He was 
 a fine Greek and Latin scholar, and at the age of fifteen 
 could translate and parse any sentence in Homer or Vir 
 gil. At this time he was prepared to enter the Sophomore 
 class at college, but was compelled to teach a district school 
 in order to defray the expense of a collegiate education. 
 In 1820 he entered Brown University, at Providence, 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 3 
 
 Rhode Island, where he was graduated in 1823. A few 
 years later he studied law, and was soon admitted to the 
 bar. He did not find the law congenial to his tastes, and 
 he devoted himself to the profession of literature. In 1828 
 he started the New- England Review. This paper was a 
 success from the beginning. The editor at once distin 
 guished himself by his bold and incisive style of writing. 
 In 1830 he left the New- England Review in charge of the 
 poet Whittier, and accepted an invitation to go to Ken. 
 tucky for the purpose of writing the biography of Henry 
 Clay. As soon as he reached Lexington, the home of Mr. 
 Clay, he went to work at once upon the biography. It was 
 . completed in a very short time. It met with a most enthusi 
 astic reception, not only from the people of Kentucky, but 
 from the entire Whig party of the nation. It contains by far 
 the most correct account ever given to the public, of the life 
 of that distinguished statesman, as well as the most anima 
 ted and eloquent exposition of the political principles of his 
 party. Mr. Clay cherished for his biographer the warmest 
 feelings of affection, and often said that he owed the greater 
 part of his fame to him. It is almost useless to speak of the 
 services Mr. PRENTICE rendered Mr. Clay, for they are so 
 manifold and varied that the names of the great statesman 
 and journalist are inseparably associated. 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE removed to Louisville in the month of 
 September, 1830, and on the 24th day of the following 
 November he published the first number of the Louisville 
 Journal. The politics of the country were at that time 
 exciting in the extreme. The Democratic party determined, 
 if possible, to defeat Mr. Clay in his own State. The lead 
 ing Democratic organ in Kentucky was a paper called the 
 Louisville Advertiser. It was under the editorial manage 
 ment of Shadrack Penn, one of the most eloquent and ef 
 fective writers in the State. Mr. Penn's friends had the 
 
4 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 most unbounded confidence in him. They predicted that 
 he would demolish Mr. PRENTICE at a single blow. 
 
 Those who remember the warfare waged between these 
 two knights of the quill, have no difficulty in realising that 
 there were giants in those days. Each of the editors was 
 recognised as a champion with whom ordinary mortals 
 must not interfere. In their respective fields of force they 
 > possessed powers rarely rivalled. Mr. Penn had a great ad 
 vantage in a well and widely established reputation in the 
 venue where the case was to be tried, while Mr. PRENTICE 
 was comparatively a stranger, and apparently weak. Mr. 
 Penn had rarely met an editor able to cope with him. 
 After he had vanquished the redoubtable Amos Kendall, 
 on the Old and New Court issues which convulsed the 
 State, Mr. Penn was the recognised champion of the 
 party that had triumphed in the great contest in which 
 those issues were tried. In this condition of things, it is 
 not likely that Mr. Penn dreaded any contemporary writer 
 on politics. The comparatively young Connecticut writer 
 had fully surveyed the ground before consenting to link 
 himself with the enterprise of a new daily paper in Louis 
 ville. He had measured the powers of the veteran Penn, 
 but he had unbounded confidence in his own powers. 
 
 When the emeute began to brew in the Advertiser, Mr. 
 PRENTICE gave an admonitory warning, announcing that 
 without desiring strife he was ready for it. He stated that 
 his editorial quiver was armed with quills of all sizes, from 
 those of the humming-bird to those of the eagle. The war 
 began, and was waged with activity and vigor for the 
 space of eleven years. Each of the combatants possessed 
 great powers, and up to the end of the war each had hosts 
 of friends. Mr. PRENTICE became famous throughout the 
 Union. The remarkable purity of his diction a purity in 
 which he had few equals and no superior ; his wonderful 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 5 
 
 versatility of expression, by which he was able to use the 
 same thing many times, and never twice alike ; the Attic 
 salt of his wit, the torturing power of his irony, his satire 
 and sarcasm, the terse epigrammatic force which enabled 
 him often to overwhelm an antagonist in a single sentence, 
 made him the most popular and renowned journalist in the 
 country. These qualities made Mr. PRENTICE a power in 
 the land ; a power which he never abused. He was at all 
 times placable, even with those who had most abused him. 
 This is beautifully portrayed in his reconciliation with Mr. 
 Penn. I am indebted to Dr. T. S. Bell, of Louisville, for 
 an account of this noble feature in the lives of the two 
 renowned journalists. Dr. Bell was the intimate friend of 
 each of the editors ; and on the eve of the departure of Mr. 
 Penn for St. Louis, Dr. Bell proposed to both gentlemen 
 the project of an interview. Each assented to the propo 
 sal, and each of them gave Dr. Bell full power to act for 
 him. The interview took place at Dr. Bell's office, and 
 commenced and ended most happily. Mr. PRENTICE 
 began by expressing the hope that the necessity of Mr. 
 Penn's departure was not absolute, and begged to know of 
 Mr. Penn whether he, Mr. PRENTICE, could be of any ser 
 vice in aiding him to remain. He eloquently alluded to 
 the long series of Kentucky enterprises, and the numerous 
 recognised schemes for the prosperity of Louisville, that 
 endeared Mr. Penn to the principles of Kentucky, and Mr. 
 PRENTICE deplored the departure of Mr. Penn from the 
 State as a public calamity. Towards the close of the in 
 terview, Mr. PRENTICE assured Mr. Penn of his earnest 
 purpose to give him all the aid in his power towards 
 making Mr. Penn's career in Missouri a success. This 
 pledge he fulfilled. It is difficult to conceive of anything 
 more beautiful of its kind than Mr. PRENTICE'S tribute to 
 Mr. Penn upon the departure of the latter for St. Louis. 
 
6 STUDIES IN LITER A JURE. 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE read the article, before publishing it, to Dr. 
 Bell, as the common friend of Mr. Penn and of him 
 self, and asked for any suggestions for elaborating this 
 magnanimous editorial. I need not add that Mr. Penn 
 was much gratified with it. 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE was one of the most industrious men that 
 ever edited a daily paper. He wrote with great facility, 
 but kept himself well posted in all political matters, not 
 only those that were contemporary with him, but with those 
 of the past. Until within a few years he never left the office 
 until the editorial page was imposed as he desired it to 
 be, and locked up in the chase. 
 
 In 1840 he was attacked with a disease called Chorea 
 Seriptorum, caused by excessive writing. This disease 
 shows itself only when the hand attempts to write. 
 Mr. PRENTICE, could handle other things than a writing in 
 strument without any trouble. Indeed, for a long time 
 after the appearance of the disease, he was able to write 
 many words until the thumb was pressed towards the index 
 ringer, when the pen would fly from him as though some 
 one had struck it. One morning while suffering in this 
 way, he composed a beautiful song for his friend, Dr. T. S. 
 Bell. Mr. PRENTICE'S amanuensis was not in, and he step 
 ped over to the Doctor's office, and asked him to write 
 something for him, saying " It is for you and your wife. " Mr. 
 PRENTICE then dictated the following beautiful lines, which 
 were afterwards set to music by a distinguished artist of 
 Poland : 
 
 " We've shared each other's smiles and tears 
 
 Through years of wedded life ; 
 And love has bless'd those fleeting years, 
 My own, my cherished wife. 
 
 " And if, at times, the storm's dark shroud 
 
 Has rested in the^air, 
 Love's beaming'sumhas kissed the cloud, 
 And left the rainbow there. 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 7 
 
 " In all our hopes, in all oar dreams, 
 
 Love is forever nigh, 
 A blossom in our path it seems, 
 A sunbeam in our sky. 
 
 " For all our joys of brightest hue 
 Grow brighter in love's smile, 
 And there's no grief our hearts e'er knew 
 That love could not beguile." 
 
 Those who were not acquainted with Mr. PRENTICE'S for 
 giving nature, have been surprised that his enemies should 
 so often display a readiness to forget and forgive the many 
 severe things he said about them. 
 
 At one time, Mike Walsh, a prominent Democratic politi 
 cian of New York, provoked a quarrel with him, and was 
 severely punished for his temerity. Mr. PRENTICE handled 
 him without gloves, and let fall a perfect torrent of wit and 
 sarcasm and satire against him. At the time of the contro 
 versy Mr. PRENTICE and Mr. Walsh were personally strangers 
 to each other, and as may naturally be supposed the latter 
 did not care to alter the relation. They met, however, 
 some time afterward, at a dinner-party in Washington city. 
 Walsh was a splendid-looking man. He was tall and 
 commanding, and everything about him denoted dignity 
 and elegance of demeanor. As Mr. PRENTICE advanced, 
 Walsh fixed his piercing eyes upon him without offering his 
 hand, and exclaimed : " You are GEORGE D. PRENTICE, are 
 you ? " Mr. PRENTICE bowed an assent, and Walsh said : 
 " You must know, sir, that I like you ; although you have 
 skinned me from the crown of my head to the soles of my 
 feet, your instrument was so sharp and so skilfully used 
 that the operation was rather pleasant than otherwise." 
 
 During Mr. PRENTICE'S long and eventful life he was 
 engaged in many controversies, and, strange to say, he 
 invariably came out triumphant. Some of his controversies 
 
8 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 led to violent personal encounters ; but I have his own 
 testimony, and that of many of the oldest and best citizens 
 of Louisville, that he was not the aggressor in a single 
 instance. 
 
 Some years ago, George James Trotter, editor of the 
 Kentucky Gazette, fired at him on Market street, in Louis 
 ville, without the slightest warning, and wounded him 
 near the heart. Mr. PRENTICE, with knife in hand, instantly 
 threw him to the ground, and held him irresistibly in his 
 grasp. A large crowd gathered around the scene, and 
 nearly every one present cried out, "Kill him ! kill him ! " 
 Mr. PRENTICE instantly let go his hold, and exclaimed : 
 " I cannot kill a disarmed and helpless man ! " 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE'S forgiving nature was so widely known 
 that those who had wronged him most did not hesitate to 
 accost him in terms of apparent friendship. 
 
 On one occasion, Thos. Jefferson Pew, without the 
 slightest provocation, said some very scandalous things 
 about him. Pew was so unworthy of PRENTICE'S notice 
 that I do not believe he ever replied to him ; but one 
 morning, several years afterward, he had the audacity to 
 enter PRENTICE'S office. Pew was in a wretched and filthy 
 condition ; his clothes were worn and seedy, and with un 
 combed hair and unshaved face, he presented a most disgust 
 ing and loathsome appearance. He called PRENTICE aside, 
 and after some conversation left the office. Fortunatus 
 Cosby, the distinguished poet, was in the room at the time, 
 and asked Mr. PRENTICE the name of his unsightly visitor. 
 Mr. PRENTICE replied : " He is Thos. Jefferson Pew. He 
 told me that he was in distress, and that he wanted two 
 dollars and a half for the purpose of going to see his 
 mother." "Yes," said Cosby, "and I suppose you were 
 silly enough to give it to him ? " " No," replied PRENTICE, 
 " I recollected that I had a mother, and asked myself the 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE, 9 
 
 question what she would have thought of me had I ap 
 peared before her in such a filthy condition, and I gave 
 him twenty-Jive dollars, and told him to go to see his mother 
 in the garb of a gentleman." 
 
 In 1835 Mr. PRENTICE was married to Miss Harriet 
 Benham, the daughter of Col. Joseph Benham, a distin 
 guished lawyer of Kentucky. 
 
 The Louisville Journal, under the guidance of Mr. PREN 
 TICE, for a period of thirty years probably exercised more 
 political power and influence than any other paper in 
 America. It has been said, and said truly, that " among 
 the newspaper-press it was a monocrat." It exercised as 
 much influence in the field of literature as in the field of 
 politics. It made and unmade poets and essayists as well 
 as politicians and statesmen. A writer whose contributions 
 appeared in its columns considered his reputation as an 
 author established. Fortunatus Cosby, John J. Piatt, Ame 
 lia Welby, Sallie M. Bryan and many others equally distin 
 guished, owe their first public introduction to it. 
 
 Its editor became daily more and more popular. He 
 was known almost as well in Europe as in America. He 
 scorned to be subservient to any clique or party. There 
 was no mortgage on his brain. Everything that was mean, 
 or little, or false, or meretricious, was foreign to him. He 
 never courted popular applause. It seemed that there was 
 nothing outside of the range of his genius. No such word 
 as failure was written in his lexicon. He accomplished 
 everything he undertook. His learning was varied, thorough, 
 and profound. What he did not know he never affected to 
 possess. He imitated no one. He created models rather 
 than followed them. He had no especial fondness for 
 quotations. Whenever he availed himself of the writings 
 of others, they were so refined in the crucible of his genius 
 that they became his own. His memory was not only 
 
! STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 retentive, but trustworthy in the fullest sense of the word. 
 His command over language was extraordinary. It was 
 tyrannous. He could think of a thousand words at once, 
 and select the one best suited to his purpose. He was a 
 natural grammarian. I have heard him say that he under 
 stood every principle of English grammar as if by intui 
 tion, and that when a child he astonished his teacher by 
 finishing the study of Lindley Murray in less than a week. 
 His style of writing was quick, subtle, powerful, and massive. 
 There was nothing dull or commonplace about it. He 
 wrote with marvellous facility, and often dashed off from 
 six to ten columns of printed matter a day. His wit was 
 keen, sparkling, and original. His humor was rich and 
 racy, and like that of Lamb and Fielding, at once broad 
 and fine. He was always willing to fight an up-hill battle, 
 for he was as skilful in attack as in defence. His anger 
 was slow to arouse, but when aroused, it was like the 
 lightning's flash, brief and quick, but sure. 
 
 The affluence of Mr. PRENTICE in genius and in equip 
 ments of education seemed to be well-nigh endless. He 
 was as generous in the beneficent use of his intellectual 
 wealth as he was great in the magnitude of its possession. 
 Those who knew him* intimately during his editorial career 
 in Louisville, can easily call up from the storehouse of 
 memory hundreds of examples of his judicious, unstinted 
 and benevolent kindness" to young aspirants for fame. The 
 term judicious kindness is illustrated in the case of that 
 lovely song-bird, Amelia. Many persons who saw her 
 charming poems in the columns of the Louisville Journal, 
 and who knew of her limited education, were unable to 
 conceive that she was capable of writing the beautiful poe 
 try that appeared in her name. The surmise was quite 
 common among this class of persons that Mr. PRENTICE 
 either wrote the poems or corrected and dressed them up 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. II 
 
 for her. A distinguished gentleman of Louisville who was 
 quite intimate with Amelia, and had often seen her write her 
 poems, mentioned the current story on one occasion to Mr. 
 PRENTICE, who said : " I recognised the priceless beauty o 
 her genius too well to spoil it in that way. I never correc 
 ted a word in any of her writings. On the few occasions 
 when she had used a word which I would not have used, I 
 sent her manuscript back to her with the defective word 
 marked, and she immediately corrected the diction herself. 
 Beyond that I never aided, nor had occasion to aid her." 
 Amelia loved music, and played instrumental music beau 
 tifully without any education in it. She sang as sweetly, 
 and as melodiously, as she wrote. She had an intense 
 love for flowers, and possessed a husband whose gifts as a 
 floriculturist gave him power to abundantly gratify her 
 floral desires. Some of her beautiful tributes to music, birds, 
 and flowers, adorn the tasteful column erected to her 
 memory in Cavehill cemetery. 
 
 Nothing in the career of Mr. PRENTICE was more 
 astonishing than the ease and naturalness with which 
 he at all times called his gifts of education into duty, 
 when an occasion called for their exercise. He never 
 used Greek or Latin words in his compositions, yet such 
 was his intimacy with those languages that upon the spur 
 of the moment he often gave criticisms o!" as profound 
 a character as though he devoted himself exclusively to 
 the study of the classics. Dr. Bell was his physician for 
 thirty-seven years, and was one of his most intimate friends 
 through that long period, yet he was not even aware that 
 Mr. PRENTICE was almost a perfect master of mathemat 
 ics until Dr. S. G. Howe, the renowned philanthropist, 
 visited Kentucky at the invitation of a number of her 
 citizens, to aid in the establishment of a State institution 
 for the education of the blind. Dr. Howe brought with 
 
1 2 STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 
 
 him a pupil of the " Perkins Institute for the Blind," and 
 a pupil also of Harvard College. This pupil, Mr. Smith, 
 possessed a remarkable education as a musician, classical 
 scholar, linguist, and mathematician. Dr. Howe, who was 
 a student of Brown University with Mr. PRENTICE, requested 
 Mr. PRENTICE to attend the public meeting of the citizens 
 of Louisville where Mr. Smith was to show that blindness 
 was not a barrier to the acquisition of a varied and exten 
 sive and profound education. Mr. PRENTICE was called 
 upon at the meeting to make important problems for solu 
 tion by Mr. Smith. The first problems were not remarkably 
 recondite, but as soon as Mr. PRENTICE discovered Mr. 
 Smith's proficiency, he rose into the highest departments 
 of mathematics, and made problems that might have found 
 an appropriate place in Hutton's Mathematical Recreations, 
 which could not be called recreations to any one but a 
 profound mathematician. 
 
 In 1860 Mr. PRENTICE published a volume of his witti 
 cisms under the title of "Prenticeana." This book con 
 sists principally of paragraphs from the Louisville Journal, 
 and a few written for the New York Ledger. Mr. PRENTICE 
 had for years been repeatedly solicited to allow the publi 
 cation of such a volume, but uniformly declined because 
 there were serious objections to many of his wittiest para 
 graphs on account of partisan bitterness expressed in them. 
 He finally consented to publish the book, from a knowledge 
 of the fact that if he did not collect his own paragraphs 
 others would, and make the selection with far less regard 
 to the feelings of many who were his friends. 
 
 Prenticeana contains about three hundred pages. There 
 is not a single paragraph in it that is not characterised by the 
 most piercing keenness and the most exquisite aptness. It 
 does not, however, contain by any means the best specimens 
 of PRENTICE'S wit and humor, but there is probably no similar 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 13 
 
 collection in any language that will begin to compare with 
 it. 
 
 At the beginning of the late war Mr. PRENTICE espoused 
 the cause of the Union. He put on his armor and went to 
 work in earnest. He infused into the columns of his paper 
 all the ardor and enthusiasm of his nature. His old 
 friends, many of whom had periled their lives for him, 
 remonstrated with him, warned him, and threatened him. 
 Even his two sons, whom he loved with a devotion almost 
 unequalled, had entered the Southern army to battle for 
 what they deemed a sacred duty ; but undaunted, he called 
 the people to arms and to consolidate a mighty phalanx 
 against an unrighteous rebellion. He did more. He used 
 all the power and eloquence of his genius to persuade the 
 Southern people to put an end to hostilities and to pursue 
 a hopeless struggle no longer. 
 
 I need not dwell further upon this theme. The part he 
 enacted has passed into history. Had he adopted a differ 
 ent course, the most fearful consequences to the Govern 
 ment might have been the result. 
 
 In person Mr. PRENTICE was above the medium height. 
 His head was finely shaped ; his figure was erect, but his 
 exceedingly sloping shoulders gave him rather a drooping 
 appearance. He was dignified and elegant in his bearing, 
 and graceful and natural in all his movements and actions. 
 His hands and feet were unusually small ; his face was 
 round and full ; his features were irregular but not homely. 
 His forehead was broad and high, and awed the beholder 
 by its expression of intellectual vigor. His eyes were his 
 finest feature ; they were of a dark brown color, rather 
 small, but lustrous and full of strange intelligence 
 
 " Deep searching seen, and seeing from afar." 
 
 His voice was low-toned and persuasive, but, free as a foun 
 tain, it took the form of the conduit thought. 
 
I 4 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 He was one of the finest conversationists I ever heard. He 
 illumined every subject upon which he touched. He knew 
 exactly when to begin and when to stop. He had no set 
 speeches. He delivered no monologues. He never wearied 
 his listeners or insulted them by presuming upon their ignor 
 ance. His favorite poets were Virgil, Byron, and Shelley. 
 He placed Virgil even above Homer. He said there was a 
 freshness, a naturalness and a stately grandeur about the 
 verses of Virgil that were unequalled. He talked more of 
 Shelley than of Byron, and I believe saw more to love and 
 admire in him both as a man and a poet. Mr. PRENTICE, 
 I believe, thought more of Rousseau than of any other 
 French author. He once asked me to read the Nouvelles 
 Heloise: "but for heaven's sake," said he, "read it in the 
 original text. There is a fineness about Rousseau that 
 cannot be translated." 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE'S favorite German author was Jean Paul 
 Richter. Had read everything from his pen. I heard 
 him once advise a young writer to adopt Richter's style as 
 a model, "that is," said he, " if you must have a model." 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE was one of the best judges of character I 
 ever knew. It was almost impossible to hide truth from 
 him. He could see at a glance through the most guarded 
 meanness and hypocrisy. He never doubted the constancy 
 of a friend. Whenever he formed an attachment, it was 
 almost sure to last through life. There was not a particle 
 of selfishness in his nature. He was kind and gentle 
 and charitable to a fault, and felt no enmity towards his 
 rivals. He never allowed his political feelings to alter his 
 personal relations. I have often heard him speak in the kind 
 est and most affectionate terms of Mr. Greeley. These two 
 great journalists were for many years the most bitter politi 
 cal opponents, and although engaged in a countless num 
 ber of polemic duels, neither of them at any time enter- 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. !ij 
 
 tained the slightest doubt of the honesty and sincerity of 
 the other's convictions. When Mr. Greeley came to Louis 
 ville for the purpose of delivering one of his famous lectures, 
 Mr. PRENTICE urged me to go to hear him, saying, " I regard 
 him as the ablest as well as the most conscientious journal 
 ist in the North ; he has outlived the ordinary period of 
 life, but his mind is in the fullness of its power. It is 
 something for the people of the rising generation to look 
 upon the form and features of such a brave and daring 
 chieftain. When he shall depart from among us he will 
 probably not leave a single peer behind." 
 
 On the evening of Mr. Greeley's lecture Mr. PRENTICE 
 occupied a chair near the speaker's stand, and listened atten 
 tively to every word that fell from his lips. A few weeks 
 after the lecture Mr. PRENTICE wrote the following beauti 
 ful poem to him, entitled " To a Political Opponent " : 
 
 "I send thee, Greeley, words ot cheer, 
 
 Thou bravest, truest, best of men ; 
 For I have marked thy strong career, 
 
 As traced by thy own sturdy pen. 
 I've seen thy struggles with the foes 
 
 That dared thee to the desperate fight, 
 And loved to watch thy goodly blows, 
 
 Dealt for the cause thou deem'st the right. 
 
 " Thou'st dared to 'stand against the wrong 
 
 When many faltered by thy side ; 
 In thy own strength hast dared be strong, 
 
 Nor on another's arm relied. 
 Thy own bold thoughts thou'st dared to think, 
 
 Thy own great purposes avowed ; 
 And none have ever seen thee shrink 
 
 From the fierce surges of the crowd. 
 
 " Thou, all unaided and alone, 
 
 Didst take thy way in life's young years, 
 With no kind hand clasped in thy own, 
 No gentle voice to soothe thy tears. 
 
1 6 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 But thy high heart no power could tame, 
 
 And thou hast never ceased to feel 
 Within thy veins a sacred flame 
 
 That turned thy iron nerves to steel. 
 
 " I know that thou art not exempt 
 
 From all the weaknesses of earth ; 
 For passion comes to rouse and tempt 
 
 The truest souls of mortal birth. 
 But thou hast well fulfilled thy trust, 
 
 In spite of love and hope and fear ; 
 And e'en the tempest's thunder-gust 
 
 But clears thy spirit's atmosphere. 
 
 " Thou still art in thy manhood's prime, 
 
 Still foremost 'mid thy fellow-men, 
 Though in each year of all thy time 
 
 Thou hast compressed threescore and ten. 
 Oh, may each blessed sympathy, 
 
 Breathed on thee with a tear and sigh, 
 A sweet flower in thy pathway be, 
 
 A bright star in thy clear blue sky." 
 
 I regret that the limits prescribed for this article will not 
 admit of an extended notice of Mr. PRENTICE'S poetry. It 
 has been said that " he wrote verses simply as a recreation," 
 and that "he estimated lightly his poetic gift." There is 
 no truth whatever in such a conclusion. A more silly 
 thought never took possession of a critic's brain. 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE wrote poetry because he loved it, because 
 he could not help it, and because it was one of the elements 
 .in which he lived, and moved, and breathed, and had his 
 being. It was so deeply interwoven in his nature that it 
 became an integral part of it, and ever clung around and 
 about him as the tendrils of the ivy to the oak. It was to 
 his existence what the dew and sunshine are to the flowers. 
 
 In the stillness of night, when alone in his room, " a 
 time for memory and tears," his great soul loved to com 
 mune with itself and the spirit of the universe. I have 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 17 
 
 heard him say that at such moments, if it had not been for 
 his paralysed hand, he could have expressed thoughts such 
 as only the truly inspired feel. 
 
 His poems entitled " My Mother's Grave," and a little 
 poem called " Violets " (published in the Ledger a few weeks 
 before his death, but written last summer), "The Closing 
 Year," "The Stars," "To a Poetess on her Birth-day," 
 " The River in the Mammoth Cave," are among his best 
 pieces. 
 
 The last poem he ever wrote was inscribed to my wife. 
 It is so very beautiful that I hope I shall be pardoned for 
 inserting it here. 
 
 "TO MY POETESS A. M. G. 
 
 " Dear Alice, for two happy hours 
 
 I've sat within this little nook, 
 To muse upon the sweet soul-flowers 
 
 That blossom in thy gentle book. 
 They lift their white and spotless bells, 
 
 Untouched by frost, unchanged by time ; 
 For they are blessed immortelles 
 
 Transplanted from the Eden clime. 
 
 " With pure and deep idolatry 
 
 Upon each lovely page I've dwelt, 
 Till to thy spirit's sorcery 
 
 My spirit has with reverence knelt. 
 Oh, every thought of thine to me 
 
 Is like a fount, a bird, a star, 
 A tone of holy minstrelsy 
 
 Down floating from the clouds afar ! 
 
 "The fairies have around thee traced 
 
 A circle bright, a magic sphere, 
 The home of genius, beauty, taste, 
 The joyous smile, the tender tear. 
 Within that circle, calm and clear, 
 
l8 STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 
 
 With Nature's softest dews impearled, 
 
 I sit and list with pitying ear 
 The tumults of the far-off world. 
 
 "Thy book is shut its flowers remain, 
 
 'Mid this mysterious twilight gloom, 
 Deep-imaged on my heart and brain, 
 
 And shed their fragrance through my room . 
 
 Ah, how I love their holy bloom, 
 As in these moonbeams, dim and wan, 
 
 They seem pale blossoms o'er a tomb 
 That's closed upon the loved and gone ! 
 
 " Young angel of my waning years, 
 
 Consoler of life's stormiest day, 
 Magician of my hopes and fears, 
 
 Guide of my dark and troubled way, 
 
 To thee this little votive lay 
 In gratitude I dedicate, 
 
 And with an earnest spirit pray 
 God's blessing on thy mortal state." 
 
 "The Closing Year" is one of his earliest productions. 
 It is more frequently quoted than any of his poems. It is 
 generally regarded as his finest creation. It bears some 
 resemblance to Bryant's " Thanotopsis," to which it has often 
 been compared, but the imagery in " The Closing Year " is 
 far bolder and more inspiring, and besides there is a greater 
 breadth of vision and a wider range of imagination in it. 
 There is, however, in " Thanatopsis " a soft and mellow 
 beauty which is hardly equalled in the other, but there is a 
 compactness, or rather completeness about Bryant's poem 
 that seems to leave no room for suggestiveness. 
 
 " The Closing Year," however, is no more beautiful or 
 suggestive than some of Mr. PRENTICE'S later productions : 
 for instance, " The Summit of the Sierra Madre," and the 
 " Thoughts on the Far Past," written but a few months 
 before his death. 
 
 The truth is, Mr. PRENTICE'S genius shone out with 
 increasing splendor toward the close of his life. 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 19 
 
 In the spring of 1868 he said to me, " I have promised Mr. 
 Bonner to write ten pieces of poetry for the Ledger. I am 
 glad of it. I am growing old ; pain and sickness and 
 trouble and sorrow have laid their corroding fingers upon 
 my brow, and many think that I cannot write as well as I 
 did in my younger years. I am determined to prove to the 
 contrary, for the rose of my spirit is as bright and fresh as 
 in the days of my boyhood." On the first day of 1869 
 he said, " The past year was a bad old year ; I am glad 
 that it is gone, and that a new one has come with its buds of 
 hope and promise. I am determined to make this year the 
 best year of my life." 
 
 How well he fulfilled his resolution is known to the 
 world. There was not a line that fell from his pen that 
 did not bear upon it the ineffaceable stamp of his genius. 
 
 I have already referred to the affection in the hands of 
 Mr. PRENTICE. It is called Chorea Scriptorum, or Scriveners, 
 Cramp. As everything about Mr. PRENTICE is interesting, 
 and in relation to this malady may be instructive, I pur 
 pose to give some details additional to those I have men 
 tioned. This Chorea Scriptorum was the torture of Mr. 
 PRENTICE'S life for over thirty years. It showed itself soon 
 after an exciting canvass for the Presidency, during which 
 he wrote excessively. After trying a multitude of remedies* 
 including galvanism and electricity, without getting relief, 
 he managed to write by using a pen the handle of which 
 was made very large by wrapping silk around it. The pen 
 was grasped by all the fingers and the thumb kept in a state 
 of extension. This plan soon began to fail, and in view of 
 this possibility Mr. PRENTICE learned to write with his left 
 hand. The left hand soon fell into the condition of the 
 right one. Amanuenses were then employed, and upon 
 these he was mainly dependent the rest of his life. The 
 inventive genius of the country was taxed for the invention 
 
20 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 of a suitable writing-machine for him, but all machines 
 failed, and were of course abandoned. One season he 
 went to New Orleans and placed himself under hydropathic 
 treatment, with a hope of cure. He pursued this until his 
 constitution was severely ravaged. The entire skin was in a 
 state of serious paralysis. This induced him to moderate his 
 use of hydropathy, but he never gave it up until a foreigner 
 whom he had brought with him from New Orleans, and 
 who resided with him because of his great pretensions as a 
 hydropathist, undertook one night to reduce a dislocation 
 of the right shoulder by pouring pitchers of cold water over 
 the shoulder. This filled the cup of Mr. PRENTICE'S sus 
 picions of the ignorance of his hydropathic attendant. The 
 family physician was sent for, and he immediately reduced 
 the dislocation. From this time Mr. PRENTICE gave up 
 hydropathy. 
 
 This mysterious disease is incurable as a general rule. 
 Neimeyer quotes Fritz for the most sensible view of this 
 malady that has been given. Brown-Sequard and Claude 
 Bernard have explained the phenomena of reflex actions of 
 the nervous system, and have shown that they have their 
 origin mainly in the skin. Fritz says that this affection is 
 a reflex neurosis, in which, however, excitement of the mater 
 nerves is not derived from the cutaneous nerves, as in most 
 reflex neuroses, but proceeds from the muscular nerves. 
 The evil, no matter how long it may be quiescent by 
 abstinence from the use of the muscles that produced the 
 disorder, will invariably show itself even if the hand merely 
 is held in the position for the use' that created the malady. 
 As soon as this special use is suspended, the malady ceases 
 during abstinence from this use. Mr. PRENTICE, notwith 
 standing his afflictions, occasionally wrote poems and 
 letters to his particular friends. Mr. PRENTICE never 
 wearied talking of the beauties and mysteries of nature ; 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 21 
 
 and I have often listened spell-bound, as it were, to his 
 description of the Mammoth Cave with its deep chasms, 
 Stygian pools, awful aisles, fathomless gulfs, crystal foun 
 tains, and high-pillared domes fretted with the semblance 
 of stars and flowers. He had arranged with my family to 
 visit the cave during the coming spring. He said, " I 
 want to stand once more upon the banks of Echo River, 
 that wild and wizard stream, in which no star or rainbow 
 ever glassed their image of love and beauty, and extinguish 
 my lamp and see what darkness is." 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE, at one time, thought of retiring from the 
 press for the purpose of devoting himself wholly to the 
 pursuit of poetry and other light literature. His son, Col. 
 Clarence G. Prentice, had purchased a beautiful farm nine 
 miles below Louisville, on the Ohio River, and it was his 
 wish that his father should pass the remainder of his life 
 away from the noise and bustle of the city ; but a fondness 
 for newspapers prevented Mr. PRENTICE from acceding to 
 the wishes of his son, and it may be said that he died 
 literally in harness, with accumulated and accumulating 
 duties around him. The last time I saw Mr. PRENTICE in 
 Louisville was the day before he started to his son's. He 
 came to spend the evening with us, and as he sat in his 
 chair in the library I thought that I had never seen him 
 look so well before. He was unusually cheerful, and talked 
 with much pleasure of a visit to his son's during the ap 
 proaching holidays ; but I fancied that his voice assumed 
 a more melancholy tone than usual when he said, " It is 
 a dreary trip at best during the winter. The roads are in 
 a bad condition, and I look forward to the time with no 
 little anxiety when I shall again have the pleasure of 
 passing an evening with you and Alice and dear little 
 Virgiline." I did not then think that he was soon des 
 tined to leave us forever, and that the walls of our little 
 
22 STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 library had echoed for the last time the musical tones of 
 his much-loved voice. The next morning he started 
 to his son's. The day was the coldest of the year. He 
 made the trip in an open carriage. The exposure gave 
 him a severe cold, which resulted in an attack of pneumonia. 
 Dr. J. W. Benson, of Louisville, was sent for, and though 
 he treated Mr. PRENTICE'S disease with the utmost skill, 
 there was not enough strength in his enfeebled constitution 
 to rally from its effects. 
 
 I saw Mr. PRENTICE several times during his illness, and 
 each time thought he would recover, but I believe that from 
 the first he anticipated his own destiny. He said, " It is 
 almost impossible for one who has suffered as much as I 
 have to get well ; but I do not complain. Death has no 
 terrors for me : this world is not our only home j there is a 
 brighter and a nobler existence beyond the grave." 
 
 About a week after the interview I saw him again. He 
 appeared to suffer less pain than at any time during 
 his illness. He inquired kindly, very kindly, about some 
 of his friends in Louisville, and expressed a faint hope that 
 he would be able to go to see them in a few weeks ; but I 
 could see in his countenance that he was calmly and 
 patiently awaiting the hour when he would no longer be a 
 dweller beneath the skies. On Friday, the 2ist of Janu 
 ary, he sent me word that he was dying. I felt it my duty to 
 be by his bed-side. The river had overflowed its banks 
 and the messenger who arrived from the farm reported the 
 roads in an almost impassable condition. My wife, who 
 had loved and admired Mr. PRENTICE'S poetry from her 
 childhood, could not be dissuaded from accompanying me. 
 
 We left the city late in the evening, and after proceeding 
 some distance we were compelled to leave the road and 
 go through a dense wood in order to avoid the back 
 water. The darkness was enough to appal stouter 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 2 3 
 
 hearts than ours. At last we reached a temporary lake 
 which had surrounded the house of the dying. 
 
 A little boat was in waiting to take us across the water ; 
 but I shall not attempt to describe the picture that pre 
 sented itself to our view as I lifted my wife into the boat, 
 and saw the physician standing on the steps with a flicker 
 ing lamp in his hand, reflecting the scene of death in the 
 background. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock when we entered the room. 
 Mr. PRENTICE had been in a dying condition since eight in 
 the morning. Not a murmur or word of complaint crossed 
 his lips. My wife approached his bed and said, " Do you 
 know me, Mr. PRENTICE ? " He did not recognise her at 
 first, and thinking she was Mrs. Prentice's little sister, 
 Josephine, said, " Yes, it is Josephine ; " but when my wife 
 told him her name, he said, " Yes, yes, I know you now 
 it is Alice." 
 
 Mr. PRENTICE was in the full possession of his faculties 
 until the last moment of existence ; and I have been 
 informed by Captain J. M. Hewet, who faithfully nursed 
 him throughout his sickness, that in not a single instance 
 did he abandon that patient forbearance and elegant polite 
 ness which so beautifully characterised all his actions in 
 life. I have heard it said that the last words of great men 
 are great like themselves, and I felt no little curiosity to 
 hear the last words of Mr. PRENTICE. My wife, who held 
 his hand in hers at the time, says they were (as near as she 
 could understand them), " I want to go, I want to go." 
 I have often stood by the side of the dying, but I never 
 before beheld a death-scene half so solemn or impressive. 
 Mr. PRENTICE'S little grandson, Georgie, was asleep on a 
 lounge in the room, unconscious of the end that was await 
 ing the being he most loved upon earth. The attending 
 physician had ceased to hope even against hope, and weary 
 
24 STUDIES IN LITERA JURE. 
 
 with watching, fell asleep in his chair. At last Col. Prentice 
 knelt at the side of his father and exclaimed in accents of 
 deepest woe, " Pa, Pa, speak to me once more ; " but no 
 answering word. came to relieve the awful silence; and a 
 few moments afterwards the golden bowl was broken and 
 the silver cord unstrung, and the spirit of the great man 
 winged its flight to the bosom of the God who gave it. 
 
VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 WITH A GLANCE AT HIS WORKS. 
 
 VICTOR HUGO has been successful in every department 
 of literature. He has made a brilliant reputation, not 
 only as an essayist and novelist, but as a poet and drama 
 tist. His " Claude Gueux," " Studies upon Mirabeau," and 
 " Litterature et Philosophic Melees," aided in securing his 
 election to the French Academy. His " Marion de Lorme " 
 and " Lucrece Borgia," in spite of their faults and incon 
 sistencies, and questionable morality, occupy a prominent 
 place upon the stage. His political speeches and orations 
 are read and studied in every civilised country upon the 
 globe. He has written any number of odes and ballads, 
 and lyrical and legendary poems. 
 
 He claims to belong to one of the noblest families of 
 France. He traces his noble descent as far back as the 
 year 1531. His residence, " Hauteville House," in the 
 island of Guernsey, is famed for its costly magnificence 
 and sumptuous splendor. There is not a room in it that 
 is not ornamented with some exquisite carvings and rare 
 curiosities. Every department is arranged entirely after 
 his own taste and designs. He has spent a large portion 
 of his life in collecting the rarest works of art, including 
 oak carvings of the middle ages and Renaissance, ancient 
 tapestries, statues, vases, porcelains and enamels. He is 
 2 
 
2 6 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 said to have covered his walls and furniture with inscrip 
 tions and devices illustrative of the most eventful passages 
 in his life and of his peculiar ideas of moral and ethical 
 philosophy. 
 
 His chimney-piece is thus described by Lecanu : 
 
 Let us imagine a cathedral of carved wood, which, firmly rooted in 
 the flooring, rises in a towering mass to the ceiling, indenting the tapes 
 try above with its highest pinnacles. The doorway is represented by 
 the hearth, and the rose window by a convex mirror placed above the 
 fireplace. ' The central gable rises in a double entablature, decorated 
 with arcades and fantastic foliage in a deliciously bastard style, in 
 which the rococo blends with Byzantine architecture. Surmounted on 
 this are two towers, supported by buttresses, which most happily repeat 
 the ornamentation of the main body. This crowning piece reminds 
 one of the fa9ades of the guild-halls in Antwerp and Bruges. Here, 
 also, as in the roofs of these old remains of the time of Philip II. 
 some plain figures stand out in rigid simplicity, and give life to the 
 bold indental lines of the architecture. One figure is that of a bishop, 
 with a gilt crozier ; and on two adjacent escutcheons is the proverb : 
 
 CROSSE DE BOIS, EVEQUE D'OR. 
 CROSSE D'OR, EVEQUE DE BOIS. 
 
 Below are two carved figures, representing one, St. Paul, with 
 
 LE LIVRE 
 
 underneath ; the other a monk, and the words 
 
 LE CIEL. 
 
 On two plain volutes are inscribed the names of the greatest benefac 
 tors of humanity, in chronological order : 
 
 MOISE, SOCRETE, CHRIST, COLOMB, LUTHER, DANTE, SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 MOLIERE. 
 
 In this palatial residence he indites his literary works for 
 the edification and corruption of mankind. It is here that 
 he stigmatised the execution of John Brown as " worse 
 than the murder of Abel by Cain," and said, " C'est Wash 
 ington tuant Spartacus." It is here that he wrote " The 
 
VICTOR HUGO. 27 
 
 Man who Laughs," one of the most singular and meretri 
 cious of all his works. 
 
 This book is terribly open to criticism, but on that 
 account it is only the more read and praised. 
 
 We do not see how it can be regarded in any other light 
 than an attack upon society, upon virtue and religion. It 
 depicts glowingly almost every species of villainy. It is 
 full of hate, revenge, cruelty, murder, intrigue, scandal, 
 animal passion and illicit love. There is scarcely a touch 
 of refinement and purity in it. All the characters, with 
 the exception of Dea, are intensely coarse and vulgar. 
 
 The author has grouped together some of the most 
 miserable and contemptible gossip of history. He stops 
 in the midst of a description of his heroine, Josiane, a 
 singular, compound of beauty, lasciviousness and bestial 
 passion, to tell us that " Elizabeth is a type that has ruled 
 in England for three centuries. * * She struck with her 
 fist her maids of honor, sent Dudley to the devil, beat 
 Chancellor Burleigh, who whimpered (the old fool), spit 
 upon Matthew, throttled Hatton, boxed Essex on the ears, 
 showed her thigh to Bassompierre. What she did for Bas- 
 sompierre the Queen of Sheba had done for Solomon. 
 W T herefore it was correct, holy scriptures having established 
 the precedent." 
 
 He then goes on to say that Mary Stuart had her weak 
 ness for a Rizzio ; Maria Theresa had a little familiarity 
 with a negro : whence the Black Abbess. He then in 
 dulges in the following amusing contradictions about 
 Josiane : " Never a passion had approached her, and she 
 had gone to the bottom of them all. She had a distaste 
 for realisation and a liking for them at the same time." 
 " It is tiresome to be forced to marry Lord David when 
 there is nothing that I should like better than to love him." 
 
 "Josiane, c'etait la chair. Rien cle plus magnifique. Elle etait 
 tres-grande, trop grande. Ses cheveux etaient de cette nuance qu'on 
 
2 8 STUDIES IN L ITERA TV RE. 
 
 pourrait nommer le blond pourpre. Elle etait grasse, fraiche, robuste, 
 vermeille, avec enormement d'audace et d'esprit. Elle avait les yeux 
 trop intelligibles. D'amant, point ; de chastete, pas d'avantage. Elle 
 se murait dans 1'orgueil. Les hommes, fi done ! un dieu tout au plus 
 etait digne d'elle, ou un monstre. Si la vertu consiste dans Pescarpe- 
 ment, Josiane etait toute la vertu possible, sans aucune innocence. 
 Elle n'avait pas d'aventures, par dedain ; mais on ne 1'eut point fachee 
 de lui en supposer, pourvu qu'elles fussent etranges et proportionnees a 
 une personne faite comme elle. Elle tenait peu a sa reputation et 
 beaucoup a sa gloire. Sembler facile et etre impossible, voila le chef- 
 d'oeuvre. Josiane se sentait majeste et matiere. C'etait une beaute 
 encombrante. Elle empietait plus qu'elle ne charmait. Elle marchait 
 sur les coeurs. Elle etait terrestre. On 1'eut aussi etonnee de lui 
 montrer une ame dans sa poitrine que de lui faire voir des ailes sur son 
 dos. Elle dissertait sur Locke. Elle avait de la politesse. On la 
 soupconnait de savoir 1'arabe." 
 
 In one sentence the author tells that she made much 
 of Lord David's mistresses, and in the next that she is 
 without spot or blemish. We can but believe that the 
 most enthusiastic admirer of French literature will be com 
 pletely disgusted with this intolerable nonsense. Even if 
 such inconsistencies really existed in the human character, 
 what possible good can come from the portrayal of them 
 with such apparent relish and abandon ? 
 
 The author's conception of his hero, Gwynplaine, is gro- 
 esque in the extreme. Gwynplaine was the son of a noble 
 man. The king wished to deprive him of his inheritance, 
 and ordered him to be sold when two years of age, and 
 employed a physician of Flanders to mutilate his features 
 by performing an operation called " bucca fissa usque ad 
 aures," which stamps an eternal laugh upon the face. 
 
 The whimsical exaggeration of this character is almost 
 unendurable, but, however, some of the scenes in which he 
 is an actor are strikingly portrayed ; for instance, the ter 
 rible scene in the House of Lords, where he is made to 
 endure the scorn of his brother peers. 
 
 We give the following description of a storm at sea as a 
 
VICTOR HUGO. 29 
 
 specimen of the author's wild extravagance and quaint and 
 ridiculous illustrations : 
 
 " Where the ocean was free from foam it had a sticky appearance. 
 The waves, losing their sharp edges in the twilight, looked like 
 puddles of gall. Here and there a flattened billow showed cracks 
 and stars like a window at which stones had been thrown. At the 
 centre of these stars, in eddying apertures, trembled a phosphores 
 cence which recalled the cat-like after-gleam of departed life in a 
 screech-owl's eyes." 
 
 The denouement of this novel is fully in keeping with 
 the style in which it is written. Josiane is never heard of 
 after the memorable interview with Gwynplaine, in which 
 she threw herself with the bound of a panther upon his 
 neck, and told him in words which came out " pell-mell, 
 like an eruption," that " she idolised him because she 
 disdained him," that "she loved him because he was 
 grotesque, hideous," and " that he was exquisite because he 
 was infamous." 
 
 Dea dies from excess of joy at the return of her lover, 
 and Gwynplaine puts an end to his miserable existence by 
 drowning himself. 
 
 The absurdity of this novel we think destroys the very 
 interest it was intended to create. The author speaks of 
 writing two other books of the same character, to be 
 entitled " Monarchy " and " Ninety-three." We hope, 
 however, that he will abandon the idea. His genius is 
 fitted for something better. 
 
MARMONTEL'S BELISARIUS. 
 
 MARMONTEL'S Belisarius was written in 1777. As a 
 literary production, it ranks far below Les Contes Moraux 
 and Les LX.CIS. The author claims to have relied wholly 
 upon the faith of history for the material of his work. He 
 quotes extensively in the introductory chapter from the 
 writings of Procopius, and cites, we think, some very excel 
 lent reasons for not attributing to that historian a work 
 entitled " Anecdotes of Secret History." Gibbon, Lebeau, 
 and Guizot regard the book as genuine, though it is said 
 that it does not conform with the author's style and diction, 
 and that it was not even attributed to him until 500 years 
 after his death. Agathias, and other contemporary histo 
 rians, enumerate his works without mentioning it. This 
 work is full of the most disgusting accounts of court 
 intrigues and scandals. It contains a number of stories 
 about BELISARIUS' relations almost as ridiculous and impro 
 bable as Harriet Beecher Stowe's revelations of Lord Byron. 
 
 It is a matter of regret that so little is known in regard 
 to the last days of BELISARIUS. Gibbon, in the Decline and 
 Fall of the Roman Empire, devotes considerable space to 
 the military achievements of this great warrior, but for 
 some unaccountable reason passes hurriedly over many 
 important events which took place towards the close of 
 his life. Had Gibbon examined these events with his 
 accustomed care and fidelity, much light doubtless would 
 
MARMONTEDS BELISARIUS. 3! 
 
 have been thrown upon this interesting period of Roman 
 history. Lord Mahon attempted to repair the deficiency, 
 but his genius and scholarship were inadequate to the 
 task, although he devoted much energy and research to it. 
 He examined minutely the writings of Crinitus, Volaterra- 
 nus, Pontanus, Marcellinus, and Ignatius, to say nothing 
 of those of Procopius, Thucydides, Agathias, and Livy. 
 He also brought forward information from a work hitherto 
 unpublished, the four books descriptive of the city of Con 
 stantinople inserted in Bandun's Imperium Orientate, for 
 the purpose of settling the vexed question of BELISARIUS' 
 blindness and mendicity. Milman, however, in his notes 
 on Gibbon, refuses to credit the testimony, and says that all 
 accounts of BELISARIUS' blunders are fabled and entitled to 
 no earthly consideration. 
 
 BELISARIUS was born on the confines of Thrace and Illyria 
 about 500 years after Christ. In early youth he was dis 
 tinguished as a warrior, and when only 25 years of age he 
 was named Governor of Dara. A few years later he was 
 chosen general of the Roman forces in the East. In 531 
 he won the famous battle of Callinicum. In 533 he under 
 took an expedition into Africa. It was crowned with the 
 most brilliant success. He besieged the heroic Gelimer on 
 the mountain of Papua. The Vandal chief made a deter 
 mined resistance. He was reduced to sufferings and hard 
 ships of indescribable horror. His army was compelled to 
 subsist in the midst of winter on the coarsest oaten cakes 
 baked in ashes. The half-starved soldiers were even ready 
 to devour their women and children. In the midst of this 
 terrible distress the Vandal monarch displayed the loftiest 
 courage and fortitude. He had been accustomed to the 
 most luxurious pleasures, and the recollection of them, as 
 may readily be imagined, only served to heighten his suffer 
 ings. In a letter to Pharas (the besieging commander), 
 
3 2 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 imploring mercy, he exclaims, " I have been suddenly cast 
 from the throne into the abyss of misery. Justinian is a 
 man and an emperor: does he not fear for himself a similar 
 reverse of fortune ? Send me, I pray you, to solace my 
 sorrows, a lyre, a sponge, and a loaf of bread." The 
 request was granted, but the besieging army only redoubled 
 its vigilance, and the unfortunate king was compelled to 
 capitulate. He was led in triumph to Constantinople in 
 company with his wife and children, and a long train of 
 Vandal nobles. The capital had never witnessed before 
 such a magnificent procession. As the triumphal car 
 moved from the palace of BELISARIUS toward the gates of 
 the Hippodrome, the enthusiasm of the populace exceeded 
 all bounds. It seemed as if all the wealth of the African 
 continent was displayed. Jewelled thrones, glittering 
 armor, costly vases and statues, and the magnificent chari 
 ots which had been used by the Vandal kings, composed 
 part of the conqueror's procession. Gelimer, with dejected 
 countenance, advanced slowly on foot, clothed in a robe of 
 purple and gold. He maintained the utmost dignity of 
 demeanor. Not a tear glistened in his eye, nor a single 
 sigh was heaved from his manly breast. He is said to 
 have derived a melancholy pleasure in repeating the words 
 of Solomon, " Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." 
 
 BELISARIUS nobly refused to ride in the triumphal car, 
 but walked modestly by the side of his brave comrades. 
 As the procession approached the throne on which were 
 seated the Emperor and Empress, the victorious general 
 and captive hero were compelled to prostrate themselves 
 on the ground and kiss the roval footstool. 
 
 o ./ 
 
 BELISARIUS was now made the First Consul of the 
 Empire, but Justinian soon became jealous of him, and 
 waited only for a pretext to accomplish his ruin. In 542 
 he sequestered his estates and degraded him from the 
 rank of a General. 
 
MARMONTEUS BELISARIUS. 33 
 
 His crime seems to have been simply the expression 
 of an opinion that the Emperor's nearest kinsman should 
 succeed to the throne instead of Theodora. 
 
 As BELISARIUS entered the city of Constantinople with 
 his small and squalid retinue, the ungrateful people re 
 ceived him with insults and scoffings. He was made a 
 prisoner in his own palace, and expected every moment 
 either to fall by the hands of an assassin or to receive from 
 the Emperor a sentence of death. At this time the Empire 
 was threatened with invasion, and BELISARIUS was rein 
 stated in his command. 
 
 His victories were more brilliant than ever ; but they 
 excited the bitterest jealousy at the Imperial Court, and he 
 was again recalled and disgraced. His last victory was 
 won at Ghettos, in 559, against the Bulgarians. In 563 he 
 was accused of being engaged in a conspiracy with Mar- 
 cellus Sergius and others to murder the Emperor. Justin 
 ian was weak enough to believe the accusation, and ordered 
 him under arrest. 
 
 Here Gibbon and other historians leave us in doubt as 
 to the real facts of BELISARIUS' fate. It is said that the 
 Emperor on account of BELISARIUS' past services, spared his 
 life; but in accordance with an existing custom at the 
 Byzantine Court, decreed that his eyes should be put out, 
 and deprived him of all means of support by confiscating 
 his property. There is a tradition that he was reduced to 
 beg his bread from door to door, and that he held forth a 
 platter of wood or earthenware for charity, with the plea, 
 "Give a penny to the old soldier to poor and blind 
 Belisarius." 
 
 One of the most singular things in Marmontel's ro 
 mance, is the view he has taken of Justinian. He says 
 that the Emperor was a wise and virtuous man, and raised 
 himself by his valor from the lowest station in the army to 
 
 2* 
 
34 
 
 STUDIES IN LITER A TORE. 
 
 the Imperial throne. He also represents him as having 
 done everything in his power to atone for the ruin he 
 inflicted upon BELISARIUS in decreeing his eyes to be put 
 out. 
 
 This position is entirely inconsistent with the character 
 of one who, according to Gibbon and other historians, was 
 an upstart monarch, who scarcely ever unsheathed his 
 sword, and who shared his crown with a public prostitute, 
 the vilest of her sex. 
 
 MarmonteFs romance contains some very fine passages, 
 but upon the whole it is dull and tedious. He represents 
 BELISARIUS as conversing most eloquently upon such sub 
 jects as moral and ethical philosophy, the science of govern 
 ment, and the art of war ; but many of the specimens he 
 gives are full of weak and wishy washy sentiments. 
 
 We have endeavored to translate, as literally as possible, 
 what we regard as the finest chapter in the book. 
 
 BELISARIUS directed his steps toward an old castle in 
 ruins, where his family expected him. He was compelled 
 to beg alms as he went. His dignified bearing and lofty 
 expression of countenance could not do otherwise than 
 attract the attention of the beholders, but he warned his 
 guide not to reveal his name upon the route. In passing 
 through a village he stopped in the evening at the door of 
 a neat but plain-looking house. The owner of the dwell 
 ing was just returning home with a spade in his hand. 
 He was struck with the noble appearance of BELISARIUS, 
 and asked him who he was. The latter replied, " I am a 
 poor old soldier." "A soldier!" exclaimed the villager; 
 " and is this your reward ? " " It is the misfortune of a 
 sovereign," said BELISARIUS, " not to be able to reward all 
 those who have fought in his service." 
 
 This reply touched the heart of the villager, and he 
 begged him to accept his hospitality. " I introduce to 
 
MARMONTEVS BELISARIUS. 
 
 35 
 
 you," said the master of the house to his wife, " a brave 
 soldier, who supports courageously the severest trials of 
 affliction." He then addressed BELISARIUS, saying, " Be not 
 ashamed of your condition, for we too have experienced 
 misfortune. I pray you be seated while supper is being 
 prepared, and tell me in what wars you have served." " In 
 the wars of Italy," said BELISARIUS, " against the Goths, and 
 in those of Asia, against the Persians, and in those of 
 Africa, against the Vandals and the Moors." At these last 
 words the villager was not able to suppress a deep sigh. 
 He said, "You have, then, made all the campaigns with 
 BELISARIUS, who exhibited ever the utmost purity of heart 
 and grandeur of intellect. In my retirement I have not 
 heard from him for a quarter of a century. I hope he is 
 still living, and that Heaven will bless and prolong his 
 days." 
 
 BELISARIUS answered, " He is still living ; but if he could 
 hear you he would be deeply moved at your kind wishes." 
 " Then," said the villager, " how is he at court? All power 
 ful, adored by every one ? " " Alas ! " replied his guest, 
 " do you not know that envy ever attaches itself to great 
 ness ? " " Very true ; but the Emperor should be upon his 
 guard in listening to the enemies of so great a man. He 
 was the tutelar genius and the protector of the Empire. 
 He is very old, but no matter j he would still be as great 
 in the council as he was in the field." 
 
 BELISARIUS was now convinced that his host was some 
 officer whom he had rewarded while in the army. During 
 supper the latter was inquisitive about the wars in Italy 
 and in the East, but did not refer to those of Africa. 
 " Let us drink," said the host, at the conclusion of the 
 repast, " to the health of your General. May Heaven not 
 be unkind to him for the evil he inflicted upon me." 
 " How did he ever injure you ? " said BELISARIUS. " He dis- 
 
36 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 charged his duty ; I do not complain ; I have learned how 
 to bear up under adversity. Since you have served in the 
 African wars, you have doubtless seen the King of the Van 
 dals, the unfortunate Gelimer, with his captive wife and 
 children, led in triumph by BELISARIUS to Constantinople, 
 I must tell you that I am Gelimer, the unfortunate King of 
 the Vandals." "Are you, then, indeed, Gelimer?" said 
 BELISARIUS. " Is it possible that the Emperor has made your 
 lot so humble ? " " The Emperor offered me honors, and 
 I refused them. When one has been a king, and ceases to 
 be a king, he has no recompense save in repose and 
 obscurity. Yes, I was besieged upon the mountain of 
 Papua. There I suffered hardships unheard of. In the 
 midst of the severest winter I felt the pangs of hunger, and 
 beheld the awful spectacle of a nation driven to despair 
 and ready to devour their women and children. The vigi 
 lance of the brave Pharas was unremitting, but he did 
 everything to direct my attention to the miserable condition 
 of my people. This, together with the confidence I had 
 in the integrity of your General, led me to lay down my 
 arms. 
 
 " BELISARIUS received me with the greatest dignity. 
 Every attention was paid to me. He did everything he 
 could to console me in my affliction. I have passed six 
 lusters in retirement, but each and every day I have 
 offered up a fervent prayer for BELISARIUS. Before the sur 
 render I had lived the most voluptuous of kings. I was 
 nursed as it were in the lap of pleasure. Suddenly I passed 
 from my palace to the cavern of the Moors, slept upon 
 straw, and lived upon barley coarsely pounded and half 
 washed upon cinders. Nay, to such hardships was I 
 reduced that a loaf of bread sent to me by the enemy was 
 a present inestimable. I was loaded with chains, and com 
 pelled to walk in the conqueror's triumph. After under- 
 
MARMONTEVS BELISARIUS. 
 
 37 
 
 going such affliction the heart must either break with grief 
 or rise superior to it." 
 
 BELISARIUS replied, " You have in the composure of your 
 soul many resources against calamity, and I promise before 
 we part to give you a further consolation." 
 
 Early the next morning Gelimer found his guest with 
 stick in hand ready to set out upon his journey. He begged 
 him to pass a few days longer with him. BELISARIUS 
 replied, " I have a wife and daughter inconsolable during 
 my absence. Farewell ! but hear unmoved what I have to 
 reveal BELISARIUS, though old and blind, will never forget 
 the reception you have given him." 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! " exclaimed Gelimer ; " BELISARIUS 
 blind, and in his old age abandoned ? " 
 
 " Yes ; my enemies, before they reduced me to poverty, 
 put out my eyes." 
 
 "Oh, just Heaven ! who were the monsters? " 
 
 " The envious" said BELISARIUS. " They accused me of 
 aspiring to the throne, when I thought only of the grave. 
 They had the power to ruin me. I was placed in irons, 
 but the people clamored for my deliverance. It was im 
 possible to resist them ; but, in restoring me to 'liberty, I 
 was deprived of my sight ; and Justinian ordered it. It was 
 that that most pained me. You know with what zeal, with 
 what love, and with what fidelity I served him. Even now 
 I feel no anger toward him, and I deeply regret that he is 
 surrounded by wicked men to darken the evening of his 
 days. When I heard that he had pronounced the fatal sen 
 tence, I must confess that my constancy failed me. My 
 executioner melted into pity and fell prostrate at my .feet. 
 Thanks be to Heaven ! it is over now, and I have but a 
 little while to be blind and poor." 
 
 Gelimer now asked BELISARIUS to pass the remainder of 
 his life with him. 
 
-8 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 o 
 
 BELISARIUS replied : " It would indeed be consoling, but I 
 owe a duty to my wife and children, and I go to die in 
 their arms." 
 
 Gelimer embraced him with tears. He at last parted 
 from him with the utmost difficulty ; but watched him with 
 longing eyes, and exclaimed, " O prosperity ! O prosperity ! 
 who can confide in thee ? " 
 
VATHEK. 
 
 THIS celebrated Oriental story was written at one sitting, 
 in French, by Sir WILLIAM BECKFORD, of Fonthill, England, 
 when about eighteen years of age. 
 
 It abounds in scenes of surpassing beauty and magnifi 
 cence. Its splendor of description, varied liveliness of 
 humor, gorgeous richness, of fancy, and wild and super 
 natural interest, are perhaps unequaled in the whole range 
 of fictitious literature. It seems as if all the sweets of 
 Asia are poured out upon it. It is full of glittering palaces, 
 and temples and towers, of jewelled halls, tables of agate 
 and cabinets of ebony and pearl ; of crystal fountains, 
 radiant columns, and arcades and perfumes burning in 
 censers of gold. 
 
 Lord Byron says, that " even Rasselas must bow before 
 it, and the Happy Valley will not bear a comparison with 
 the Hall of Eblis." 
 
 It is pervaded by an awful spirit of mockery and deri 
 sion, which contrasts strangely with the author's reflections 
 at the conclusion of the story. 
 
 The history of the author's life is scarcely less wonderful 
 than his book. He was the son of Sir William Beckford, 
 a prominent English statesman in the time of George III. 
 The elder Beckford distinguished himself by a speech 
 
40 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 addressed to the King, in which he dared to upbraid his 
 counsellors, and to denounce them as enemies to the con 
 stitution and laws of the country. The city of London 
 erected a statue to his memory, with the speech engraved 
 upon the pedestal. 
 
 The fortune he left his son was of the largest in Eng 
 land. His income was more than half a million dollars 
 per annum. Young BECKFORD early displayed talents of 
 the highest order. His education was conducted by some 
 of the most eminent men of the nation. The Earl of 
 Chatham and Lord Camden directed his studies in litera 
 ture and philosophy, and Mozart instructed him in the 
 science of music. He was not only versed in the classics, 
 but was enabled to speak and write in nearly all -the living 
 languages of the earth, including the Persian and the 
 Arabic. He endeavored to make himself familiar with 
 every branch of science. He studied not only the natural, 
 but the supernatural, the possible and the fantastical. He 
 wrote, when but seventeen years of age, "The Memoirs of 
 Extraordinary Painters," a work in which the richest 
 humor and the keenest powers of sarcasm are displayed. 
 He is also author of a brilliant series of letters entitled, 
 " Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal," and a work 
 called " Recollections of an Excursion to the Monasteries 
 of Alcobaca and Batalha." 
 
 In 1794 he removed to Portugal and constructed a mag 
 nificent palace at Cintra, which was allowed to go to 
 destruction on his return to England. It suggested the 
 following reflections in Childe Harold : 
 
 "There, thou too, Vathek ! England's wealthiest son, 
 Once formed thy paradise, as not aware, 
 When wanton wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, 
 Meek peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun ; 
 Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, 
 Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow. 
 
VATHEK. 41 
 
 But now, as if a thing unblest by man, 
 
 Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ; 
 
 Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow, 
 
 To halls deserted, portals gaping wide ; 
 
 Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how 
 
 Vain are the pleasurances on earth supplied, 
 
 Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide." 
 
 He seemed to live only to "realise the dreams and 
 fictions of his fancy." He had as great a passion for build 
 ing palaces and towers as VATHEK himself. It is said that 
 he embodied in his residence at Fonthill much of the 
 splendor of the Hall of Eblis. The magnificent mansion 
 erected by his father at a cost of nearly a million dollars 
 failed to satisfy his fastidious taste. He had it pulled 
 down, and built upon its ruins a palace famed throughout 
 the world for its architectural beauty and costly magnifi 
 cence. This wondrous structure seemed to spring into 
 existence as if by enchantment. He employed four hun 
 dred and sixty men to work upon it by day and night. It 
 is said that at one time every cart and wagon in the district 
 were pressed into service, and that even the royal works of 
 St. George's Chapel, Windsor, were abandoned in order to 
 supply carpenters and masons to work upon it. The top 
 of the building was inclosed in immense sweeps of plate 
 glass. The central tower was two hundred and sixty-seven 
 feet in height. It was indeed a palace of pleasure. Its 
 decorations seemed to surpass the wildest dreams of 
 Oriental splendor. The building was pushed forward with 
 such rapidity that the foundation became insecure, and 
 during a gust of wind the main tower fell to the earth. 
 
 Mr. BECKFORD was gifted with the most extraordinary 
 vision. He gazed upon the sun with the eye of an eagle. 
 He observed from a distance of forty miles, while on au em 
 inence at Bath, that his tower had disappeared, and made 
 known the fact to his friends before the news of its destruc 
 tion arrived from Fonthill. 
 
42 STUDIES IN LITER A 7 URE. 
 
 He then erected another palatial tower, which, if possible, 
 surpassed the former in beauty and magnificence. Its 
 furniture beggared description. The spacious saloons 
 were crowded with the rarest treasures of art. He had 
 three hundred and sixty different sets of tableware, one for 
 each day during the year, of the costliest material. 
 
 He lived in this fairy dwelling in the utmost seclusion. 
 It was seldom that any one ever beheld the splendors of 
 his home. On one occasion the Duchess of Norfolk 
 visited him. She was entertained for a week with the 
 most varied and splendid generosity, but the owner of the 
 mansion kept himself savagely inaccessible. 
 
 At one time he had a hideous and an emasculated 
 Oriental dwarf attached to his person, after the fashion of 
 the Asiatic princes. This eccentricity, together with his 
 boundless wealth and secluded life, occasioned the igno 
 rant and superstitious to believe that he was leagued with 
 the devil and possessed the secrets of alchemy. 
 
 Vathek was first published in 1786. It was followed 
 shortly afterward by an English translation, now included 
 in Bonn's Standard Library. It has never been repub- 
 lished in this country. A brief outline of the plot cannot 
 fail to be of interest to the reader. 
 
 VATHEK was the ninth Caliph of the race of the Abas- 
 sides. He surpassed in magnificence all his predecessors. 
 His dominions extended from Africa to India. His 
 personal appearance was the very embodiment of majesty 
 and dignity, but, when angry, one of his eyes became so 
 terrible that no one could behold it and live. He was 
 addicted to every pleasure and every vice. He was skilled 
 in the occult sciences. He consulted the stars and pene 
 trated into the profoundest mysteries of the soul. His 
 palace commanded the whole city of Samarah, but it was 
 too meagre to satisfy his vanity, and he erected five other 
 
VA THEK. 
 
 43 
 
 palaces, designed for the gratification of each of the senses. 
 The first was called the Eternal or the Unsatiating Banquet. 
 Here the most delicious wines and cordials flowed from a 
 hundred inexhaustible fountains. The second palace was 
 styled the Temple of Melody or the Nectar of the Soul. 
 It was frequented by the most distinguished poets and 
 musicians of the land, who caused even " the surrounding 
 scenery to reverberate with song." The third palace was 
 termed the Delight of the Eyes or the Support of Mem 
 ory. In it was collected everything that could pos 
 sibly tend to dazzle and bewilder the senses. " Here 
 a well-managed perspective attracted the sight, there 
 the magic of optics agreeably deceived it, whilst the 
 naturalist on his part exhibited in their several classes 
 the various gifts that Heaven had bestowed on our 
 globe." The two remaining palaces were called the Palace 
 of Perfumes and the Retreat of Mirth. The latter was 
 ever graced with " troops of young females as beautiful as 
 the Houris and not less seducing." 
 
 VATHEK'S subjects, notwithstanding his excesses, wished 
 for him a long and happy reign. His pride reached its 
 height and wickedness ran riot in him. He sullied himself 
 with a thousand crimes. The Prophet Mahomet beheld 
 his conduct with indignation, and resolved to leave him to 
 his fate, and to see where his folly and impiety would lead 
 him. 
 
 VATHEK determined to construct a tower, not in imi 
 tation of Nimrod, but for the purpose of penetrating the 
 secrets of heaven. He fancied that even insensible 
 matter showed a forwardness to subserve his designs, for 
 when a cubit was raised in a day two cubits would be 
 added at night. 
 
 It is said that when he ascended for the first time the 
 fifteen hundred stairs of his tower, and looked down upon 
 
44 
 
 STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 
 
 men no larger than pismires, and mountains than shells, 
 and cities than bee-hives, he would have adored himself 
 had he not looked upward and saw that the stars were as 
 far above him as they appeared when he stood on the sur 
 face of the earth. He soon became the prey of a malig 
 nant giaour who promised him the diadem of Gian Ben 
 Gian, the talismans of Solomon, and the treasures of 
 the pre- Adamite kings. 
 
 His mother, Carathis, the most perfect incarnation of 
 crime, fired his ambition to this end. Under the guidance 
 of the giaour, he started to seek the treasures. " He 
 trod upon the cloth of gold spread for his feet, and 
 ascended his litter amidst the general acclamations of his 
 subjects." His expedition was interrupted by portentous 
 omens, such as darkness, fire, and tempest, and became 
 lost in the mountains. He was met by two dwarfs who 
 conducted him to the delightful retreat of the good Emir 
 Fakreddin, in the midst of a valley of fruits, melons and 
 flowers. Here he met the young and lovely Nouronihar, 
 and persuaded her to accompany him to the palace of fire, 
 and to share with him the honor and glory of his crown. 
 
 At last they beheld the darkened summits of Istakar. 
 A benificent spirit in the form of a shepherd appeared, 
 and warned them that beyond the mountains, Eblis and 
 his accursed Dives held their infernal fire. The spirit 
 informed VATHEK that but one moment of grace was 
 allowed him, that when the sun passed from behind a 
 cloud, if his heart was not changed he would be lost 
 forever. 
 
 The Caliph scorned the advice and exclaimed, " Let the 
 sun appear. Let him illumine my career. It matters not 
 where it may end." Nouronihar importuned him to hasten 
 his march, and lavished on him a thousand caresses to 
 beguile reflection. 
 
V A THE 1C. 45 
 
 The ruins of Istakar were revealed to them, and they 
 proudly entered its gloomy watch-towers. 
 
 After passing through a labyrinth of horrors interspersed 
 with flitting visions of delight, they beheld an immense 
 hall in which " a vast multitude was incessantly passing, 
 who severally kept their right hands on their hearts, with 
 out once regarding any one around them. They had all 
 the livid paleness of death. Their eyes deep sunk in 
 their sockets, resembled those phosphoric meteors that 
 glimmer by night in places of interment. Some stalked 
 slowly on, absorbed in profound reverie, some shrieking 
 with agony ran furiously about like tigers wounded with 
 poisoned arrows, whilst others grinding their teeth in rage, 
 foamed along more frantic than the wildest maniac. 
 They all avoided each other, and though surrounded by a 
 multitude which no one could number, each wandered at 
 random unheedful of the rest, as if alone on a desert 
 where no foot had trodden." 
 
 VATHEK and Nouronihar, though frozen with terror at this 
 sight, moved on until they reached the throne of Soliman. 
 As the mighty potentate raised his hand to heaven in 
 token of supplication, they discerned through his bosom, 
 which was "transparent as crystal, his heart enveloped in 
 flames. 
 
 VATHEK and his companions were informed that a like 
 fate awaited them, and " their hearts immediately took fire, 
 and they at once lost the most precious gift of Heaven 
 Hope." 
 
 This scene belongs to the highest order of intellectual 
 poetry. There is nothing in Dante or Milton that sur 
 passes it in grandeur, power and sublimity. 
 
 Mr. BECKFORD lived to the advanced age of 84. His 
 intellect remained unclouded to the last. His fame as an 
 
46 STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 author, however, rests principally upon his earlier pro 
 ductions. His letters in which he gives an account of his 
 travels, were not published until fifty years after they were 
 written. He employed the last years of his life in collect 
 ing treasures for his residence at Bath, where he united two 
 houses in London Crescent by an arch thrown from one 
 street to another, in which he placed his library, which was 
 one of the best selected and most extensive in England. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE was indebted solely to the inspiration of his 
 genius for the material of this exquisite creation. His 
 critics and commentators have wholly failed to trace the 
 origin of the plot to any other source. The poet Collins, 
 however, claimed that it was founded upon a romance en 
 titled " Amelia and Isabella," printed in the Italian, Spanish, 
 French, and English, in 1588. There is nothing, however, 
 in " Amelia and Isabella," not even the faintest outline, to 
 warrant such a conclusion. Warton, in commenting upon 
 the above, says that Collins had searched the subject with 
 no less fidelity than judgment and industry ; but during a 
 moment of mental aberration probably gave the name of 
 one novel for another. Warton also expresses the opinion 
 that the original novel will yet be discovered, inasmuch as 
 Collins mentions that the principal character of the romance 
 answering to Shakspeare's Prospero was a chemical necro 
 mancer, who had bound a spirit like Ariel to obey his call 
 and perform his services. 
 
 Tieck earnestly maintains that the TEMPEST was taken 
 from an Italian drama, of which a German version is pre 
 served in Ayer's play entitled Die Schone Sidea (the Beau- 
 ful Sidea). His arguments are based principally upon 
 some striking points of resemblance between the two plays ; 
 but as the earlier drama is not known to exist, it is proba 
 ble that the Beautiful Sidea is only an adaptation or imita 
 tion of the TEMPEST. 
 
48 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE'S reference to " the still vex'd Bermoothes " 
 has given rise to the opinion that the scene of the drama 
 was laid in the Bermudas. 
 
 Sir George Somers, who was wrecked upon one of these 
 isles, published an account of his voyage about three years 
 before the play was written, in which he gave a glowing 
 description of this land of enchantment, of groves of coral, 
 of perpetual blossoms and ever verdant bowers. The poet 
 doubtless had read the account of this voyage, and had had 
 the Bermudas in his mind's eye ; but Ariel's flight from " a 
 nook of the isle " to " fetch dew " from " the still vex'd 
 Bermoothes," is, we think, a convincing proof that the isles 
 were some distance from the scene of the drama. 
 
 The TEMPEST has often been compared with the " Mid 
 summer-Night's Dream." The contrast between the real 
 and the ideal, the natural and the supernatural, in both of 
 these dramas, is unquestionably carried to a greater extent 
 than in any other of the author's productions. The two plays, 
 however, are too widely dissimilar to admit of any general 
 comparison. The " Midsummer-Night's Dream " is perhaps 
 adorned with the fairest flowers of poetry, and the most 
 exquisite and delicate word-paintings, and the most varied 
 and complicated confusions of beauties ; but the TEMPEST 
 possesses a greater unity of effect, and a greater combina 
 tion of thought and interest, and a more harmonious blend 
 ing of opposite elements. 
 
 It also possesses more depth of feeling, affection and 
 sentiment, and a more refined and contemplative philo 
 sophy. The TEMPEST is generally regarded as the finest 
 play, and the " Midsummer-Night's Dream " as the finest 
 poem. 
 
 In the character of Ariel we have a beautiful exhibition 
 of the poet's power for giving form and distinctness to 
 winged and immortal beings. Ariel is called " the feature- 
 
THE TEMPEST. 49 
 
 less angel." He hurries to and fro with the swiftness of 
 thought, and drinks the air before him. We have scarcely 
 time to look at him in one shape before we see him in 
 another. He is as frolicsome and mischievous as he is 
 bright and ethereal. He does all his spiriting gently, and 
 is too delicate to act earthly, and abhors commands. It 
 matters not how he presents himself to our fancy, either as 
 a water-nymph or a harpy, or " sleeping in a cowslip's bell," 
 or " imprisoned in a cloven pine," or "diving into the fire" 
 or " into the salt sea," or "riding upon the curled clouds," 
 or " living in the colors of the rainbow," or "running upon 
 the sharp wind of the north," or " flying upon the bat's 
 back, after summer merrily," or " refusing to do his master's 
 strong bidding," he seems ever the same self-consistent 
 being, kindling thoughts to wander throughout eternity. 
 
 We confess our inability to analyse the character of 
 Caliban. He is something infrahuman, a mixture of man, 
 brute, and devil, and yet in no way presents the distinctive 
 elements of either. Monster as he is, he is sensible to 
 kindness, and endeavors to show his gratitude as best his 
 savage nature will allow him. He says to Prospero : 
 
 "When thou cam'st here first 
 
 Thou strok'dst me and made much of me j wouldst give me 
 Water with berries in't, and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less 
 That burn by day and night, and then I lov'd thee, 
 And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine pits, barren places and fertile." 
 
 His mind has been compared to a dark cave through 
 which the rays of light serve not to warm or illumine, but 
 to set in motion the poisonous vapors that generate in it. 
 
 His malignity is easily aroused, and when it is he cares 
 only for the use of language to vent the deepest curses. 
 
 Prospero moves through the diverse elements of the 
 3 
 
50 STUDIES IN LITER A JURE. 
 
 TEMPEST with unequaled power and beauty and wisdom. 
 His high charms work only for the noblest and most praise 
 worthy ends. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE has chosen him to utter two of the finest 
 passages of poetry in the drama. It is almost unnecessary 
 to say that we mean the description of the disappearance 
 of the vision he has conjured up, and the speech where he 
 abjures his art and proposes to break his staff and bury it 
 " fathoms in the earth," and drown his book 
 
 "Deeper than did ever plummet sound." 
 
 The former is so full of poetic splendor that we cannot 
 resist reproducing it here : 
 
 " Our revels now are ended. These, our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
 And, like this unsubstantial pageant, faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." 
 
 Miranda is the most purely ideal of all SHAKSPEARE'S 
 women. She seems to belong to a higher order of beings 
 than of this earth. All the aerial splendor and magical 
 mystery of her father's isle seem to be interwoven in her 
 nature, and yet she is as distinct and palpable a creation 
 as if she actually existed in real life. She has no acquired 
 or artificial manners, and is totally ignorant of the false 
 notions of society that teach us to flatter and dissemble. 
 Modesty, and truth, and honor, and purity, and virtue, and 
 nnocence, are her dower, She never saw one of her own 
 sex, and has grown up with no companions save her father, 
 
THE TEMPEST. 5 ! 
 
 and the ministering spirits of the air and the rocks and 
 trees and caves and dells and brooks and fountains of her 
 fairy home. Her heart swells with filial affection and all 
 the attending virtues of holy innocence. She is a celestial 
 being, breathing thoughtful breath. She sees everything 
 through her own hallowed imagination. Even Caliban is 
 to her simply " a villain she does not love to look on." 
 No wonder Ferdinand approaches her as something above 
 the earth earthy, as "a goddess upon whom the airs 
 attend." 
 
 The courtship between her and Ferdinand is managed 
 with exquisite grace and delicacy. 
 
 " At the first sight 
 They have changed eyes." 
 
 We cannot imagine anything more beautiful than the 
 following extracts from the third act : 
 
 FER. " Full many a lady 
 
 I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Brought my too diligent ear. For several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd 
 And put it to the foil : But you, O, you 
 So perfect and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best." 
 **** *### 
 
 " Wherefore weep you ? " 
 
 MIRA. " Atrmine own unworthiness, that dare not offer 
 What I desire to give, and much less take 
 What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
 The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, 
 And prompt me plain and holy innocence ! 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
 If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow, 
 You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, 
 Whether you will or no." 
 
THE SCARLET LETTER. 
 
 HAWTHORNE is, we think, the ablestwriter of pure fiction 
 in the language. There is nothing commonplace about 
 him. Unlike most novelists, he deals less with accidental 
 manifestations than with universal principles. His charac 
 ters are not mere shadowy abstractions, but "veritable 
 human souls, though dwelling in a far-off world of cloud- 
 land." He is a purist in style, and is at all times as scru 
 pulously exact in his choice of words as if he were writing 
 a complete and perfect poem. All his works, from his 
 earliest productions, the " Twice Told Tales," to his later 
 efforts, the " Marble Faun " and " Our Old Home," bear 
 upon them the ineffaceable stamp of genius, and ever 
 awaken idea^ of beauty, of solemnity, and of grandeur. 
 The SCARLET LETTER is perhaps his greatest creation. 
 
 There is a suggestiveness and an originality about it for 
 which we may search in vain for a parallel outside of the 
 writings of Shakspeare. In it he penetrates into the 
 recesses of the heart, and touches the secret springs of 
 our inmost passions and desires. It is a deep, a strange, 
 a profound and an awful tragedy, in which the severest 
 and most appalling sufferings known to man are not only 
 depicted with wonderful naturalness and intensity, but laid 
 bare as it were to the gaze even of persons of the dullest 
 and most unimaginative sensibilities. Hawthorne is said 
 to have derived his first conception of this story from 
 
THE SCARLE T LE TTER. 5 3 
 
 reading a sentence written upon an old yellow parchment, 
 accidentally found among some rubbish in the Custom 
 house at Boston, decreeing that a woman convicted of 
 adultery should stand upon the platform of a pillory in 
 front of the market-place with the letter " A h written on 
 her breast. A friend who saw him read it remarked to a 
 gentleman standing near: "We shall hear, I am sure, 
 of the letter ( A ' again." HAWTHORNE, in the introduc 
 tory chapter to the romance, not only relates the story of 
 reading the sentence, but says that he actually found a 
 piece of fine red cloth, much worn and faded by time and 
 wear, in the shape of the letter " A," and that he involun 
 tarily put it upon his breast, and seemed to experience a 
 sensation of burning heat, as if the letter were not of 
 scarlet cloth but of red-hot iron, and that he shuddered 
 and let it fall upon the floor. He added that it was the 
 subject of meditation for many an hour while pacing to 
 and fro across his room, or traversing with a hundred-fold 
 repetition the long extent from the front door of the 
 Custom-house to the side entrance and back again. He 
 felt there was a mystic and a terrible meaning in it most 
 worthy of interpretation. 
 
 The interpretation he gave will endure forever. He 
 has portrayed, as no one else could portray, the reli 
 gious faith of the Puritans. In depicting it in all its 
 hideous deformity, he does not exaggerate anything or 
 conceal anything. Its victim, Hester Prynne, whether 
 whether or not a true type of her class, must forever be 
 associated with the intolerance, narrow prejudices and vin 
 dictive feelings of the bigoted sect who thought themselves 
 especially chosen by Heaven to punish the guilty with the 
 most damnable instruments of torture. The author, in 
 discoursing upon the hard and unyielding severity of their 
 laws, never allows his indignation to overmaster his 
 
54 
 
 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 judgment In the very whirlwind of passion he begets a 
 temperance which gives it smoothness. It has been urged 
 as an objectionable feature in his writings that he does not 
 solve moral and psychological problems, " but exhibits 
 their bearings and workings in concrete and living 
 forms, for experiment and illustration." Now this is 
 exactly what we most admire in him. It is a part of 
 the peculiarity of genius not to be decisive, to raise 
 questions rather than to settle them. HAWTHORNE 
 seems to care more for giving his readers an opportu 
 nity of discovering truth themselves than to point it out 
 to them. But sometimes, we admit, he abuses this power ; 
 for instance, when he refuses to tell us in the " Marble 
 Faun " whether Donatello has pointed and furry ears or not, 
 or where he excites our curiosity by concealing the cause 
 of the influence of the ill-omened Capuchin over the cour 
 ageous and noble-hearted Miriam; or in the following 
 comparison of hatred and love in the SCARLET LETTER : 
 "It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry whether 
 hatred or love be not the same thing at bottom. Each 
 in its utmost development supposes a high degree of inti 
 macy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual 
 dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life 
 upon another ; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no 
 less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal 
 of his subject. Philosophically considered, therefore, the 
 two passions seem essentially the same, except that one 
 happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in 
 a dusky and lurid glow." 
 
 There is something about HAWTHORNE'S children that 
 affects us with singular love and admiration. They are 
 not prodigies, like Paul Dombey and Elinor Trench, but 
 have all the natural bloom, freshness and simplicity of 
 childhood. They are imbued with a spell of infinite 
 
THE SCARLET LETTER. 
 
 55 
 
 variety. They breathe an atmosphere of love and beauty, 
 of enchanting hopes and dreams. We feel that theirs is 
 the only flowery path, the golden period of existence, the 
 unclouded dawn of life. We do not find anything incon 
 sistent even in the conduct of little Pearl, one of the most 
 shadowy, ethereal and mystical of all his creations, when 
 we recollect that "she seemed the unpremeditated offshoot 
 of a passionate moment,". and that "the child's nature had 
 something wrong in it, which continually betokened that 
 she had been born amiss, the effluence of her mother's 
 lawless passion ;" indeed, we except the terrible scene at 
 the brook side, where she refused to come to her mother, 
 though called in accents of honeyed sweetness, until she 
 placed the scarlet letter upon her breast, but stood motion 
 less, pointing with her finger where she was accustomed 
 to see it. The author, however, endeavors to reconcile 
 her conduct in the following : ' " Children will not abide 
 any, the slightest change in the accustomed aspect of 
 things that are daily before their eyes. Pearl misses 
 something which she has always seen me wear." 
 
 We know of nothing in the whole range of literature 
 that equals the sufferings of the mother when she again 
 fastens the letter on her breast, feeling that she must bear 
 the torture a while longer. " Hopefully but a moment 
 ago as Hester had spoken of drowning it in the deep sea, 
 there was a sense of inevitable doom upon her as she thus 
 received back this deadly symbol from the hand of fate. 
 She had flung it into infinite space ! She had drawn an 
 hour's free breath ! and here again was the scarlet misery 
 glittering on the old spot ! So it ever is, whether thus 
 typified or not, that an evil deed invests itself with the 
 character of doom." 
 
 We have a hint at the conclusion of this mystical 
 romance that little Pearl grew to womanhood, and that her 
 
56 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 wild, rich nature had been softened and subdued, and 
 made capable of the gentlest happiness. The description 
 of Hester's repentance is so full of divine philosophy that 
 no one can rise from its perusal without a purer and deeper 
 sympathy for the failings of humanity. 
 
 "But there was more real life for Hester Prynne, here in 
 New England, than in that unknown region where Pearl 
 had found a home. Here had been her sin ; here, her sor 
 row j and here was yet to be her penitence. She had 
 returned, therefore, and resumed, of her own free will, 
 for not the sternest magistrate of that iron period would 
 have imposed it resumed the symbol of which we have 
 related so dark a tale. Never afterwards did it quit her 
 bosom. But, in the lapse of the toilsome, thoughtful, and 
 self-devoted years that made up Hester's life, the scarlet 
 letter ceased to be a stigma which attracted the world's 
 scorn and bitterness, and became a type of something to 
 be sorrowed over, and looked upon with awe, yet with 
 reverence too. And as Hester Prynne had no selfish ends, 
 nor lived in any measure for her own profit and enjoy 
 ment, people brought all their sorrows and perplexities, and 
 besought her counsel, as one who had herself gone through 
 a mighty trouble. Woman, more especially, in the con 
 tinually recurring trials of wounded, wasted, wronged, 
 misplaced, or erring and sinful passion, or with the 
 dreary burden of a heart unyielded, because unvalued 
 and unsought, came to Hester's cottage, demanding why 
 they were so wretched, and what the remedy! Hester 
 comforted and counseled them, as best she might. She 
 assured them, too, of her firm belief, that, at some brighter 
 period, when the world should have grown ripe for it, in 
 Heaven's own time, a new truth would be revealed, in order 
 to establish the whole relation between man and woman on 
 a surer ground of mutual happiness. Earlier in life, 
 
THE SCA RLE T LE TTER. 5 7 
 
 Hester had vainly imagined that she herself might be the 
 destined prophetess, but had long since recognised the 
 impossibility that any mission of divine and mysterious 
 truth should be confided to a woman stained with sin, 
 bowed down with shame, or even burdened with a life-long 
 sorrow. The angel and apostle of the coming revelation 
 must be a woman, indeed, but lofty, pure, and beautiful ; 
 and wise, moreover, not through dusky grief, but the ethe 
 real medium [of joy ; and showing how sacred love should 
 make us happy, by the truest test of a life successful to 
 such an end." 
 
 We regret that we cannot now give further extracts from 
 this romance, illustrative of the author's delicate sentiment 
 and mystical imagination, as well as of his suggestiveness 
 and originality. He has the purest and loftiest ideas of love 
 and virtue. Unlike Thackeray, he never indulges in petty 
 and contemptible sneers at women, nor dwells with exqui 
 site delight upon their timorous debasement and self-humil 
 iation. He does not stop to prove that " they are born 
 timid and tyrants," and are terrified into humility, and 
 bullied and frightened into devotion. 
 
EDWIN BOOTH'S MACBETH. 
 
 IT has been said that many gifts and accomplishments 
 must meet in him who would be a commentator upon 
 Shakspeare j that in this case, to know something of every 
 thing, but everything of something, is necessary for 
 success. 
 
 But great as are the attributes required of a commenta 
 tor, incomparably greater must be the gifts of the actor of 
 Shakspeare. He must be a being who can rise superior to 
 time and place, for the thoughts and passions. he is to 
 express and delineate belong not only to the past and the 
 present, but to the future. His mind must be capable of 
 comprehending the arts and sciences. He must be versed 
 not only in history, but in the philosophy of history. He 
 must be a student of nature and a judge of nature, and, 
 above all, of character. He must possess the quality of 
 identifying himself with the being he is to personate. He 
 must be his own teacher, for if he stoops to imitation he 
 degrades his art. Hence it is that our greatest actors have 
 been the greatest innovators on the customs and manners 
 of others. The innovations of Garrick on the style of 
 acting adopted by Quin and Betterton, were such as for a 
 time to make him very unpopular. Kemble attempted to 
 set up a school of his own, and in some respects succeeded. 
 Both Garrick and Kemble were men of fine scholastic 
 attainments, but the former, in spite of his many excel- 
 
ED WIN BOOTHS MA CBE TIL 
 
 59 
 
 lences, represented MACBETH as a blustering and cowardly 
 tyrant, who thought only of blood and murder, as a being 
 wholly destitute of any redeeming traits whatever. 
 
 Byron was accustomed to say that of actors Cooke was 
 the most natural, Kemble the most supernatural, and Kean 
 the medium between the two, and that Mrs. Siddons was 
 worth them all put together. He did not, however, record 
 any opinion of Junius Brutus Booth, who combined excel 
 lences that did not belong to any of the above-named. 
 But, to judge from contemporaneous criticism, and the 
 traditions of the stage, EDWIN BOOTH, the son of Junius 
 Brutus, has surpassed in the power and brilliancy of his 
 genius all the great actors who have gone before him. He 
 seems to have taken the lovers of the drama, as it were, by 
 storm. He has brought to bear upon his profession the 
 rarest personal gifts and the most superior mental accom 
 plishments. He has revealed beauties in Shakspeare that 
 were undreamed of before. He has thrust aside old stage 
 tricks and customs. He has shown us the folly of set 
 speeches and pompous intonations. He has completely 
 charmed us with the varied witchery of his powers. He 
 has aspired to the universal in the realms of art and 
 knowledge, and success has crowned his efforts. We can 
 account very readily for his success in some of his characters, 
 for instance, in Hamlet, for the character is not wholly unlike 
 his own. His handsome person, elegant graces and quiet 
 dignity, combined with his wealth of voice, are eminently 
 fitted for the sublimest representations of this great concep 
 tion of Shakspeare. 
 
 The mournful words, 
 
 " I have of late, but wherefore I know not, 
 
 Lost all my mirth, foregone all customs of exercises," 
 
 seem to bespeak his own sentiments and passions. The 
 
6o STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 same thing can be said of the soliloquy on suicide, whilst 
 the friendship of Rosencranz and Guildenstern, the deferred 
 but deeply-seated revenge, the wild love for Ophelia and the 
 philosophical meditations at her grave, the chivalric bearing 
 towards Laertes, the speech, 
 
 " If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; 
 if it be not come yet, it will come. The readiness is all, since no man 
 of aught knows what is't to leave betimes. Let be," 
 
 And all Hamlet's thoughts, speeches, words and actions 
 are anything else but foreign to the proud and sensitive 
 and philosophical and poetical nature of EDWIN BOOTH. 
 
 But by what wondrous power doth he transform himself 
 into the bloody Thane of Cavvdor, and fearlessly visit the 
 blasted heath, invoke the magic spell of the weird sisters, 
 look on death itself, and sleep in spite of thunder ? The 
 question must remain unanswered. It is inexplicable. We 
 only know that it is the exclusive gift and prerogative of 
 genius. 
 
 BOOTH studied the character of MACBETH thoroughly 
 and completely before he attempted to portray it. His 
 Hamlet, we believe, has been slowly perfected by study, 
 time and thought ; but there has been no improvement in 
 his MACBETH since his appearance in the character, nor 
 can there be any, for he mastered it from the beginning. 
 If he does not play it as well at one time as at another, it 
 is from sheer lack of physical force. He seizes at once 
 upon the imagination, and holds us spell-bound until the 
 end of the drama, and we cannot break the spell if we 
 would. 
 
 His appearance upon the stage, heralded by distant 
 strains of martial music, and the exclamation of the weird 
 sisters, 
 
 " A drum ! a drum ! MACBETH doth come ! " 
 
 presents a picture of the grandest magnificence. We 
 
ED WIN BOO TII'S MA CBE TIL 6 1 
 
 realise the approach of all the splendid pageantry of war 
 and the glory of a conqueror. He is proudly followed by 
 his victorious army, that beat back " Norway himself with 
 terrible numbers." He surveys majestically their burnished 
 shields, waving banners and glittering spears. His brow 
 is flushed with triumph, and every look and movement 
 bespeaks the conqueror, whose brandished sword but an 
 hour before smoked with bloody execution. 
 The warlike cry 
 
 "Command ! they halt upon the heath !" 
 
 is distinctly heard. The pictured representation of that 
 dreary moorland consecrated to infernal orgies, with not a 
 tree or shrub to relieve the desolation, where murky fogs 
 are ever settling upon pestilential pools, becomes a reality. 
 How strangely sound the foreboding words, 
 
 " So fair and foul a day I have not seen ! " 
 
 How prophetic of the coming evil, of the workings of the 
 powers of darkness, of the weird sisters, the wild and 
 secret midnight hags, who keep the word of promise to the 
 ear and break it to the hope ! Only those who have seen 
 BOOTH'S MACBETH can form the least idea of the expres 
 sion of his countenance on beholding the weird sisters. 
 There is something about it that affects us with mingled 
 admiration and awe. When these foul anomalies greet 
 hifn as "Thane of Glamis," "Thane of Cawdor," and as 
 " All hail Macbeth, that shall be King hereafter," we feel 
 that he is indeed under the influence of superhuman 
 beings, who are to control his destiny and urge him on to 
 his fate. He seems to believe all their predictions possi 
 ble. He does not listen, like Banquo, passively, neither 
 begging nor fearing, but his whole being is moved. He is 
 lost in thought ; wrapped withal. When they are about to 
 quit his sight, we hear with strange emotion the speech : 
 
62 STUDIES I A 7 LITER A TURE. 
 
 " Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more. 
 By Sinel's death, I know I am Thane of Glamis ; 
 But how of Cawdor ? The Thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and to be King 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence ? or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greetings ? Speak, I charge you." 
 
 But in order to appreciate fully his acting, we must 
 follow MACBETH to the palace at Forres, where the things 
 that did sound so fair have been partially realised, where 
 the King of Scotland named him Thane of Cawdor, and 
 
 " Two truths are told, 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the Imperial theme," 
 
 and behold him break the intelligence to his wife of Dun 
 can's promise to visit him at the castle of Inverness, that 
 pleasant seat where heaven's breath smells wooingly, and 
 where no jutty frieze, buttress, or coigne of vantage can 
 heighten the mansion's beauty, for the temple-haunting 
 martlets have there made their pendant beds and pro- 
 creant cradles, but where the direst cruelty makes thick 
 the blood, and stops up the access and passage to re 
 morse. 
 
 BOOTH, in this scene with LADY MACBETH, makes us 
 deeply sensible of all the hidden virtues of the character. 
 The murder is resolved upon, but we read in his counte 
 nance waywardness and hesitancy. We know intuitively 
 that he does not consent willingly to the unnatural deed, 
 that he is full of the milk of human kindness, of the 
 noblest sentiments and feelings, that he wishes to be great, 
 but holily, and that which he fears to do he would wisl 
 undone. Although his thoughts are upon the golde 
 round, he cannot look like the innocent flower and be 
 
EDWIN BOOTHS MACBETH. 63 
 
 serpent under it. He has won golden opinions from all 
 sorts of people, and he feels that they should be worn in 
 their newest gloss. The King hath honored him of late, 
 and now visits him in a double trust. 
 
 As a host and subject he feels that he should shut the 
 door against the murderer, and not bear the knife him 
 self. 
 
 We cannot describe the varied expressions of BOOTH'S 
 countenance when attempting to beat back the wicked 
 impulses of LADY MACBETH, or his lofty bearing towards 
 her when overcome by her reasoning, he says : 
 
 " Bring forth men-children only, 
 For thy undaunted metal should compose 
 Nothing but males." 
 
 To have witnessed him in the scene previous to the 
 murder of Duncan, forms, we think, an epoch in one's 
 existence. In it he seems to surpass himself. If he is 
 great in any other part of the play, he is almost super 
 human in this. A darkness more terrible than nature's 
 pervades the chamber through which he moves to kill the 
 King. He does his utmost to dispel the supernatural 
 vision, but cannot. The silence is dreadful. It is too 
 painful to be borne. Each moment seems an eternity. 
 We can almost hear his heart-throbs. 
 
 When the shadows proceeding from the heat-oppressed 
 brain are dispelled, he indeed moves like a ghost, with 
 " Tarquin's ravishing strides towards his design." But 
 when the murder is committed, and he shows his blood 
 stained hands to his guilty wife, and exclaims, 
 
 " This is a sorry sight ! " 
 
 we are so lost in the character that we do not think once of 
 the mighty genius that is portraying the mightiest effort of 
 Shakspeare. 
 
64 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE, 
 
 When he recites the following : 
 
 " Methought I heard a voice cry, ' Sleep no more ; 
 Macbeth doth murder sleep ; ' the innocent sleep ; 
 Sleep, that knits up the ravel'd sleeve of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast ; 
 Still it cried sleep no more to all the house ; 
 Glamis hath murdered sleep ; and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more ; MACBETH shall sleep no more " 
 
 we feel indeed that the author's genius has here taken 
 its full swing, and " trod upon the farthest bounds of nature 
 and passion." But we do not feel all the terrible despera 
 tion of him who has given his eternal jewel to the common 
 enemy of man, until the actor calls fate into the list to 
 champion him to the very utterance. 
 
 What an infinite variety of contrasts he reveals to us in 
 the banquet scene ! Would that we could describe his im 
 perial look, his smooth dissimulation in welcoming the 
 guests, his conciousness of murder, and his unearthly hor- 
 ror on seeing the table full and his own chair occupied by 
 him whose presence he had just affected to desire. 
 
 But when he cries out, with that wonderful and passion 
 ate intonation peculiarly his own, 
 
 " Thou canst not say I did it ! never shake 
 Thy gory locks at me ! 
 
 Avaunt ! quit my sight ! Let the world hide thee ! 
 Thy bones are marrowless ; thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in the eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with," 
 
 we behold the sublimest description of impassioned terror. 
 It is well that the action of this play is so violent and 
 the scenes so wonderfully varied, or else we should go 
 mad with horror. The incidents are crowded together 
 in rapid succession, and each rivals the other in magni- 
 
ED WIN BOO TIPS MA CBE TIL 6 5 
 
 tude and power. We are hurled hither and thither without 
 guide or compass, through guilt and crime, darkness and 
 despair. We are swayed to and fro as if by the power of 
 fate. The central figure in this dense mass of chaotic 
 confusion is MACBETH ; around him every other interest 
 must bend and break. He resolved to seek again the 
 weird sisters, and to know the worse by the worst means ; 
 and with him we, too, long for their presence, for even the 
 thoughts of their vile incantations, the grotesque strange 
 ness of their charms the grave from a murderer's gibbet, 
 the finger of a baby strangled in its birth, the fillet of a 
 fenny snake, the eye of newt and the toe of frog, the gall 
 of a goat and the liver of a Jew, the blood of a baboon 
 and the sweltering venom of other hideous ingredients 
 afford us a brief respite from the sufferings of such a con 
 science as BOOTH lays open to us. 
 
 In that part of the play where MACBETH grows more and 
 more desperate, battling with fate, and even the season of all 
 nature's calm can bring no rest to his weary soul, it is indeed 
 melancholy in the extreme to behold the breathing imper 
 sonation of this gallant soldier, this wise leader, whose 
 ambition was once guided and restrained by an instructed 
 conscience, subjected to such vehement and tumultuous 
 passions, and cut off from all hope and consolation, save 
 such as he may derive from the double-meaning promises 
 of the juggling fiends who are urging him on to destruc 
 tion. The suffering of Vathek in the Hall of Eblis, under 
 the cabalistic influence of the malignant giaour, forms 
 scarcely a parallel. When there is nothing left for MAC 
 BETH save to abandon himself wholly to the power of the 
 weird sisters, even though on horror's head horrors accumu 
 late, we behold in the impersonation the loftiest energy and 
 courage. He proudly descends the rugged steps that lead 
 to the gloomy recesses of the cave, where the midnight 
 
66 STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 hags are practising their incantations around a filthily 
 seething cauldron. When he summons the spirits that 
 know all mortal consequence to answer him " if Banquo's 
 issue shall ever reign in the kingdom," BOOTH'S acting 
 reaches a degree of sublimity which can only be described 
 as something above nature. When the shadows of eight 
 kings pass before him, all like the spirit of Banquo, the 
 prolonged and ringing intonations of his voice will be 
 remembered for a lifetime, when he says : 
 
 " What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ? 
 Another yet ! A seventh ! I'll see no more ! 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass 
 Which shows me many more, and some I see 
 That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry. 
 Horrible sight! Now I see 'tis true, 
 For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me, 
 And points at them for his ! " 
 
 It is useless to multiply instances of his eloquent and 
 masterly renditions of the text. What we most admire in 
 him is that he makes the meaning of the author perfectly 
 clear to us. What a singular anomaly of consistent incon 
 sistencies he reveals in the character. He is sensible to 
 pity, and is cruel and treacherous ; he is kind and generous, 
 and murders innocence and virtue. His imagination is 
 lofty, and his energy is equal to his imagination, and his 
 heroism is greater than both. His hatred is severe beyond 
 measure, and his envy is intolerable ; but his love of glory 
 is unsurpassed, and ever throws a resplendent light around 
 his vices and his crimes. All his purposes are broken and 
 disjointed. Hope alternates with despair, and there is 
 ever an appalling and a desperate struggle for the mas 
 tery. 
 
 One of the finest scenes in the play is where the death 
 of his wife is announced. 
 
ED WIN BOOTITS MA CBETIL 67 
 
 The recollection of her delicate and unremitting atten 
 tion to his conscience-stricken soul, the complacency with 
 which she listened to his tempestuous wailings, without so 
 much as the faintest murmur of her own sufferings, crowd 
 upon him, and sicken his soul to the last faint echoes of 
 moral death. He mourns her loss in all the terrible bitter 
 ness of his soul. BOOTH'S recitation of the following beg 
 gars description : 
 
 " She should have died hereafter ; 
 There would have been a time for such a word. 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle, 
 Life's but a waking shadow ; a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more ; it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing " 
 
 We know full well that LADY MACBETH is not " a mere 
 female fury," though we both hate and fear her. She has 
 been compared to Medea and to Clytemnestra, but she is 
 ^finitely more terrible than either of them, because she 
 has more intellect, more passion and more refinement. 
 She is free from selfishness, and has no petty vices, no low 
 and vulgar passions, no indelicacy or gross licentiousness 
 of character. She sacrificed every womanly feeling for 
 the aggrandisement of her husband. If she longed for 
 the crown and sceptre, it was only that she might share 
 them with him "to give all their days and nights sole 
 sovereign sway and masterdom." Great as was her crime, 
 we feel that others have been more debasing, for, judge her 
 as we may, there is something about her that must forever 
 be associated with her sex and with humanity. 
 
68 STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 
 
 But we must hurry on to a conclusion. The combat 
 scene is indescribable. 
 
 We behold indeed an awful grandeur in the conclusive 
 throes and dying agonies of "valor's minion," of him who 
 threw before his body his warlike shield, and would try the 
 last, though "Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane," and 
 being opposed by " none of woman born." 
 
 But we would suppress the shouts of the victorious 
 Scots over the fallen hero, for fate and metaphysical aid 
 conspired against him. 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 IT is almost impossible to think of SHELLEY without 
 feelings of the deepest sorrow. The many sad incidents 
 in his brief life, his wild and restless disposition, his 
 insane ideas of the Christian religion, and his sudden and 
 horrible death, crowd upon us in mournful and rapid succes 
 sion. 
 
 He was born on the 4th of August, 1792, at his father's 
 residence, known as Field Place, in Sussex county, England. 
 
 Through an imperfect knowledge of the facts of his 
 birth, he has been represented as a descendant of Sir 
 Philip Sidney. His grandfather, Sir Bysshe Shelley, 
 married (the last time) Miss Sidney Perry, who was a 
 descendant of Sir Philip Sidney ; but the poet's father, 
 Timothy Shelley, sprang from a previous marriage. It is 
 useless, however, to attempt to correct the error, for, like 
 the mythical story of William Tell and the apple, it has 
 passed into history. And, indeed, it seems almost a pity 
 to spoil the fiction, for SHELLEY resembled Sidney that 
 " chivalric warbler in poetic prose " somewhat in personal 
 appearance, in dignity and elegance of demeanor, in refine 
 ment and cultivation of taste, and in magnanimity and 
 nobleness of soul. 
 
 At the age of thirteen, SHELLEY was sent to Eton to 
 prepare for a course of study at the University of Oxford. 
 At Eton he made much progress in Latin and Greek, but 
 
70 STUDIES IN LITERA TUtfE. 
 
 at Oxford he neglected the regular course of study in order 
 to gratify his taste in the science of metaphysics. 
 
 SHELLEY at this time had begun to compose in both 
 prose and verse, and with some assistance, wrote several 
 romances; but it was his misfortune to offend the dignity 
 of the faculty of Oxford by writing a pamphlet in which 
 he endeavored to prove the non-existence of a Deity. For 
 this offence he was very foolishly expelled. The vain and 
 weak judges attempted to justify his expulsion on the 
 ground that it was in conformity with a statute which ex 
 pressly provided that the presence of an atheist should not 
 be tolerated within the walls of the University. This 
 statute has, however, to the credit of this celebrated institu 
 tion of learning, been repealed. It must have required 
 the height of stupidity to suppose that the sublime teach 
 ings of the Christian religion, glittering, as it were, with all 
 that is great and good since the world began, could be en 
 dangered by the erratic speculations of a youth scarcely 
 eighteen years of age. 
 
 SHELLEY'S expulsion from college was a sad disappoint 
 ment to his family. They believed that they were in some 
 measure involved in his disgrace. His father refused to 
 allow him to return home except on condition of his re 
 nunciation of his religious opinions. This he indignantly 
 refused to do. He went to London, thoroughly convinced 
 that he was a martyr to the most oppressive tyranny. 
 
 While in London, he formed the acquaintance of Har 
 riet Westbrook, a lady young and beautiful, but who was 
 beneath him in rank and social position, being the daughter 
 of a tavern-keeper. Notwithstanding the most vehement 
 opposition, he married her. 
 
 In 1812 SHELLEY went to Ireland. He immediately 
 became interested in the cause of Irish freedom. He 
 issued an address to the people, in which he deprecated 
 
PERC Y B YSSHE SHELLE Y. y ! 
 
 the prevalence of the Catholic religion. He said that 
 " the Inquisition was set up, and in the course of one year 
 thirty thousand people were burnt in Spain for entertaining 
 a different opinion from the Pope and the priests. The 
 bigoted monks of France massacred, in one night, eighty 
 thousand Protestants." He warned the people of Ireland 
 to take care that while one tyranny was destroyed, another 
 be not allowed to spring up. He told them to think, talk 
 and act for themselves, and to be free and happy, but first 
 to be wise and good. 
 
 SHELLEY professed to have little respect for the marriage 
 relation. In a letter to a friend he says : " I am a young 
 man, not of age, and have been married for a year to a 
 woman younger than myself. Love seems inclined to stay 
 in prison, and my only reason for putting him in chains, 
 whilst convinced of the unholiness of the act, was a know 
 ledge that, in the present state of society, if love is not 
 thus villainously treated, she who is most loved will be 
 treated worst by a misjudging world." 
 
 His marriage proved an unhappy one. Domestic discord 
 ensued, which soon ended in separation and divorce. 
 Circumstances ere long brought them together, and they 
 were again united. But the heart, once estranged from 
 the object of its affections, is ever afterward cold and 
 passionless. A faint light may glimmer for a while on the 
 altar, but the sacred fire is never again renewed. The urn 
 itself is polluted, and breaks as it were from very cold 
 ness, refusing even to hold the ashes of its former love. 
 After the separation, SHELLEY traveled on the continent 
 with Mary Godwin, the daughter of William Godwin and 
 Mary Wolstonecraft. On his return to England he learned 
 that his wife had committed suicide. This event tinged 
 with sorrow the remainder of his life. 
 
 It is thought that he endeavored to describe his feelings 
 
7 2 STUDIES IN LITER A TV RE. 
 
 at this occurrence in the portrait of the maniac in " Julian 
 and Maddalo." 
 
 It is almost impossible to say to what extent SHELLEY is 
 to blame for the causes which led this unhappy woman to 
 seek refuge from her troubles in the grave. It is certain 
 that she became imbued with his religious opinions, and 
 was thus deprived of the only comfort that could possibly 
 bring rest to her weary soul. 
 
 In a short time after this occurrence, he married Miss 
 Godwin, and to her we must attribute the inspiration of 
 some of his greatest poems. In 1818 he wrote his " Beatrice 
 Cenci," and in 1819 his beautiful tribute to Keats. 
 
 SHELLEY was passionately fond of boating. There was 
 no other amusement that afforded him so much pleasure. 
 In July, 1822, he and a Mr. Williams sailed from Leghorn 
 to Lerici in a boat of peculiar construction, requiring the 
 most skilful management. The boat was upset in a storm, 
 and their bodies were washed ashore. In SHELLEY'S pocket 
 was found a copy of Keats' poem, "Lamia." The quaran 
 tine regulations of Tuscany required everything to be burnt 
 that drifted to shore. In accordance with this custom, his 
 remains were burned in the presence of Lord Byron, Leigh' 
 Hunt, and Mr. Trelawney. A funeral pyre was made of 
 the most precious materials, including frankincense, per 
 fume, and wine. As the beautiful flame lifted its quivering 
 light to heaven, it is said to have looked as though it con 
 tained the glassy essence of vitality. 
 
 His ashes were collected and deposited in the Protestant 
 burial-ground in Rome, near the grave of Keats, where 
 flowers ever bloom and breathe their perfume upon the air. 
 
 SHELLEY has been cited as an august example to those 
 who aspire to universal knowledge. He was the most 
 diligent of students. He read and studied at all times 
 at table, in bed, and while walking and riding. Out of the 
 
PERCY B YSSHE SHELLS i\ 73 
 
 twenty-four hours he frequently read eighteen. It is said 
 that he was unrivaled in the justness and extent of his 
 observations on natural objects, and that he knew every 
 plant by its name, and was familiar with all the productions 
 of the earth. 
 
 It would be difficult to define his views of religion. 
 Indeed, it would seem that he had no fixed or settled ideas 
 of religion. In " Queen Mab " he speaks of a spirit of the 
 universe and a co-eternal fairy of the earth. At one time 
 he believed in the doctrine of a pre-existing state. On 
 one occasion he met a ragged, bare-headed gypsy girl, 
 about five or six years old, gathering shells. He ran up to 
 her and exclaimed : " How much intellect is here, and what 
 an occupation for one who once knew the whole circle of 
 the sciences who has forgotten them all, it is true, but 
 who could certainly recollect them, though it is most prob 
 able she never will." 
 
 After propounding a number of questions to the little 
 gypsy, which of course were unintelligible to her, he turned 
 from her and said to a friend accompanying him, " Every 
 true Platonist .must be fond of children, for they are our 
 masters in philosophy. The mind of a new-born child is 
 not, as Locke says, a sheet of blank paper. On the con 
 trary it is an Elzevir Plato, say rather an encyclopaedia, 
 comprising all that ever was or ever will be discovered." 
 
 Quite a number of similar stories are told illustrative of 
 SHELLEY'S faith in the doctrine of Pre-existence. It is said 
 that one day he met a woman on Magdalen Bridge with a 
 child in her arms. He immediately seized it, to the horror 
 of the mother, who took him for a madman, and was fear 
 ful that he might throw it in the water. SHELLEY exclaimed, 
 " Madam, will your baby tell us anything about Pre-exist 
 ence ? " On being assured that the child could not speak, 
 he continued, " Worse and worse ; but surely the babe can 
 4 
 
74 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 speak if he will, for he is only a few weeks old. He may 
 perhaps fancy that he cannot, but that is a silly whim. He 
 cannot have entirely forgotten the use of speech in so short 
 a time. The thing is impossible." 
 
 We cannot take leave of SHELLEY without a few words 
 in regard to his poetry. 
 
 He was perhaps the most perfect versifier in the language. 
 His words seemed ever to come winged and obedient to 
 his call. His lines to "An Indian Air," and his "Ode to 
 the Skylark," are unequaled for the exquisite softness and 
 delicacy of their rhythm and melody. They give " a very 
 echo to the seat where Love is throned." Words fail to 
 express sufficient admiration for the " Sensitive Plant." It 
 seems that a touch would profane it. It is of this world, 
 and yet not of this world. We have in it everything that 
 is deliciously ravishing in romance and poetry. It is every 
 where enameled with thoughts of gold. Passion seems to 
 emanate from it as if from a shrine. It is like an exhala 
 tion from the most exquisite perfume that dies, as it were, 
 from its very sweetness. All the inspiration at the com 
 mand of genius, beauty, power, and passion, breathes and 
 glows and burns around it, and we are as much impressed 
 with its weird and inexplicable philosophy, 
 
 " Where nothing is, but all things seem, 
 And we the shadows of the dream," 
 
 as with the delicious and entrancing music of its numbers. 
 What could be finer than the description of the flowers 
 that bloomed in the garden where the Sensitive Plant 
 closed its fan-like leaves beneath the kisses of night ? 
 
 " And the Naiad-like Lily of the vale, 
 "Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale ; 
 
 And the Rose like a nymph to the bath addressed, 
 Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, 
 Till fold after fold to the fainting air 
 The soul of her beauty and love lay bare." 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 75 
 
 The description of the Eve of this Eden, who " tended 
 this garden fair," is even more passionately beautiful : 
 
 " She had no companion of mortal race, 
 But her tremulous breath and flushing face 
 Told, while the morn kissed the sleep from her eyes, 
 That her dreams were less slumber than Paradise. 
 
 " As if some bright spirit, for her sweet sake, 
 Had deserted Heaven while the stars were awake ; 
 As if yet around her he lingering were, 
 Though the veil of daylight concealed him from her." 
 
 "Epipsychidion," next to the "Sensitive Plant," is the 
 most strangely beautiful of all the author's productions. It 
 is one of the most exquisite love-poems in the whole range 
 of English literature. It is the very soul of passion and 
 purity. There is not the slightest taint of indelicacy about 
 it. There is nothing whatever in it that could tend to 
 convey the impression of licentiousness or sensuality. It 
 is confused in passion's golden purity. 
 
 " Like a naked bride, 
 Glowing at once with love and loveliness, 
 Blushes and trembles at its own excess." 
 
 In a former part of this sketch we spoke of SHELLEY'S 
 insane speculations upon the Christian religion. It is 
 gratifying to know that as he advanced in life his faith 
 became more and more weakened in the wretched philo 
 sophy which he endeavored to substitute for the divine pre 
 cepts of our Saviour. Had he lived a few years longer, we 
 do not doubt that his atheistical opinions would have been 
 wholly discarded. 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA deservedly stands in the front 
 rank of SHAKSPEARE'S Roman historical dramas. It is one 
 of the most wonderful, varied, and magnificent of all his 
 creations. There is an irregular grandeur about it that 
 presents a striking contrast to the restrained and thought 
 ful emotions and passions delineated in "Coriolanus" and 
 "Julius Cassar." Critics unite in the opinion that it was 
 written at a period when the author's mind was in the 
 fulness of its power. Coleridge says : " The highest 
 praise, or rather form of praise, of this play which I can 
 offer in my own mind, is the doubt which the perusal 
 always occasions in me whether ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 is not, in all exhibitions of a giant power, in its strength 
 and vigor of maturity, a formidable rival of " Macbeth," 
 " Lear," " Hamlet," and " Othello." 
 
 He places it in mental contrast with "Romeo and 
 Juliet " " as the love of passion and appetite opposed to 
 the love of affection and instinct." 
 
 There is little or no resemblance between Juliet and 
 CLEOPATRA. The love of Juliet is the love of youth and 
 innocence. It has all the warmth, and tenderness, and 
 luxuriance of the climate in which she lived. The love of 
 CLEOPATRA, on the contrary, is the love of a woman, as she 
 herself says, who has passed her " salad days," and is no 
 longer " green in judgment." It is a love that rages like the 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 77 
 
 fury of a north wind. It is vehement, tumultuous, stormy. 
 It has the strength and fierceness of the tiger in it. There 
 is nothing crude and unripe about it. She ever struggles 
 to increase and stimulate it, and to mingle with it all the 
 cravings of a licentious and voluptuous nature. 
 
 The minuteness with which SHAKSPEARE has followed 
 history in this play is truly wonderful. He has embraced 
 in it almost every incident and person mentioned by 
 Plutarch, and what is added has such an air of truth 
 that we do not once think of doubting its reality. Hence 
 SHAKSPEARE'S CLEOPATRA is the CLEOPATRA of history. 
 In depicting her rare beauty and accomplishments, he is 
 not unmindful of the dark shades of her nature. She 
 regards human life and happiness as mere playthings. 
 Murder and violence are not strangers to her any more 
 than passion and lust. She is " the foul Egyptian " as well 
 as the "great fairy " and "sweet queen." It is next to an 
 impossibility to understand her character or to unravel it, 
 if indeed it is not inexplicable. The more we study it, the 
 more we are puzzled and bewildered. Every attempt to 
 analyse it leads us into an interminable labyrinth of error 
 and inconsistency. It may be because she is made up of 
 inconsistencies. If she is consistent in anything it is in 
 being inconsistent. There is a fascination about her that 
 is irresistible. She displays a thousand graces and beau 
 ties at once, and a thousand faults and follies. It is 
 impossible to tell what to admire most in her, or what 
 most to detest. She seems to be as full of truth and 
 honor as she is of fickleness and falsehood. At times she 
 is more charming and witty than Beatrice, more tender and 
 beautiful than Imogen, more passionate and enthusiastic 
 than Juliet, more graceful and ethereal than Miranda, more 
 poetic and imaginative than Viola, and more stately and 
 dignified than Hermione. Then, again, she seems to be 
 
7 8 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 very far from anything of the kind. If she is unlike any 
 one it is Octavia, who is of a dull and still conversation, 
 who shows a body rather than a life, a statue rather than 
 a breather. 
 
 CLEOPATRA is well called the " great fairy," " enchant 
 ress," " a most triumphant lady," " cockatrice," " serpent of 
 old Nile," " cunning past man's thought," " a most wonder 
 ful piece of work," "the rare Egyptian," and "noble 
 queen." 
 
 Every word she utters, every thought she expresses 
 seems to belong wholly to her. 
 
 What a strange method she has of enforcing love when 
 she says, 
 
 " See where he is who's with him what he does. 
 (I did not send you.) If you find him sad, 
 Say I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
 That I am sudden sick ! Quick and return." 
 
 How thoroughly and completely she fills the idea of a 
 wilful and capricious coquette, but a coquette unlike any 
 other in the world's history. Enobarbus tells ANTONY, in 
 speaking of the latter's departure for Rome, " CLEOPATRA, 
 catching the least noise of this, dies instantly. I have 
 seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment." 
 
 The imagination is surfeited with the description of her 
 charms. We need not be told of globed and gleaming 
 
 limbs, 
 
 " For her own person 
 It beggared all description. She did lie 
 In her pavilion (cloth of gold of tissue) 
 O'erpicturing that Venus where we see 
 The fancy outwork nature. 
 ***** 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety. Other women cloy 
 The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry 
 Where most she satisfies : for vilest things 
 Become themselves in her." 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 79 
 
 The charm by which she enslaved the passions of 
 ANTONY, " the greatest soldier of the world," " the demi- 
 Atlas of the earth," " the arm and burgonet of men," is 
 admirably portrayed in the following. It is a wonderful 
 description of the imperial and self-conscious power of 
 woman's evil influence over the affections and passions of 
 man. 
 
 " That time O time ! 
 
 I laughed him out of patience ; and that night 
 I laughed him into patience ; and next morn, 
 Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; 
 Then put my tires and mantles on, whilst 
 I wore his sword Philippan." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE has endowed ANTONY with the noblest 
 attributes. While we deplore the spell of " the enchant 
 ress " over him, we feel that he must be admired as " the 
 garland of war," and that upon his sword should sit " laurel 
 victory and smooth success." 
 
 His lasciviousness and illness did hatch ten thousand 
 ills; but he is the ANTONY who fought at Philippi and at 
 Modena, who slew Hirtius and Pansa, and endured famine, 
 though "daintily brought up, with patience more than 
 savages could suffer." He is the triple pillar of the world, 
 the great Triumvir who would be " treble-sinewed hearted, 
 breathed and fight maliciously," the ANTONY whom none 
 but ANTONY could conquer. The scene in which his death 
 is foreshadowed is what Hazlitt calls the finest piece of 
 poetry in SHAKSPEARE. "The splendor of the imagery, 
 the semblance of reality, the lofty range of picturesque 
 objects hanging over the world, their evanescent nature, 
 the total uncertainty of what is left behind, are just like 
 the mouldering schemes of human greatness." 
 
 " Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish, 
 A vapor sometime like a bear or lion, 
 
8o STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 A towered citadel, a pendant rock, 
 
 A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
 
 With trees upon't, that nod unto the world 
 
 And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs : 
 
 They are black vesper's pageants." 
 
 He was indeed a fit companion for CLEOPATRA; for who 
 but one " with half the bulk of the world played as he 
 pleased," could mate with her ? 
 
 The influence she wielded over Caesar and Pompey 
 serves to heighten the power of her blandishments, and 
 palliate the conduct of him who " madly threw a world 
 away." 
 
 Caesar's marriage with her was merely nominal, but it is 
 stated that he lived openly with her in his palace under the 
 eyes of his legitimate wife. 
 
 ANTONY speaks of CLEOPATRA as being "half blasted 
 ere he knew her," and as finding her " a morsel cold upon 
 dead Caesar's trencher," and as a fragment of Cneius 
 Pompey's, but history hardly confirms the story of her 
 libertinism with Pompey. 
 
 It is said to be inconsistent with the character of the 
 man whom Cicero describes as hominum castum et severum 
 et integrum et gravem. 
 
 One of the finest scenes in the play is where the Egyp 
 tian Circe calls Charmian to give her " drink of mandagora," 
 that she may "sleep out this great gap of time while 
 ANTONY is away." It is here that she says, 
 
 " He's speaking now 
 
 Or murmuring, * Where's my serpent of old Nile ? ' 
 For so he calls me. Now I feed myself 
 With most delicious poison. Think on me 
 That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, 
 And wrinkled deep in time." 
 
 ANTONY sends her, in this part of the play, a pearl, with 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 8 1 
 
 a message that he will piece her opulent throne with king 
 doms, and all the East shall call her mistress. 
 
 CLEOPATRA'S warmth of affection is admirably contrasted 
 with her perverseness and petulance in the scene where 
 she receives a messenger from Rome with the tidings of 
 ANTONY'S marriage : 
 
 " ANTONY'S dead ! 
 
 If thou say so, villain, thou killest thy mistress. 
 But well and free, 
 
 If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
 My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand that kings 
 Have lipped, and trembled kissing." 
 
 The pride and beauty of high rank are here grandly dis 
 played. It seems almost a pity to take this poetic gem 
 from its setting. 
 
 The entire scene should be read in order to fully appre 
 ciate its wonderful variety of imagery and gorgeousness 
 of coloring. In no other part of the play does she seem 
 to fuse together so much majesty and spirit, and talent, 
 tact and wit, pride and generosity, petulance and wilful- 
 ness, caprice and fickleness. 
 
 CLEOPATRA'S peculiar qualities are displayed in every 
 thing she does, even in the choice of her attendants. 
 Charmian and Iris have a recklessness and daring, a 
 wantonness and levity, that seem especially adapted for 
 ministering to the wants and pleasures of such a queen. 
 A woman like Charmian, who wished to be married to 
 three kings in an afternoon, and to widow them all and 
 have a child at fifty to whom Herod of Jewry might do 
 homage, would hardly suit for the companionship of any 
 one else but CLEOPATRA. 
 
 The grandeur of CLEOPATRA'S death does much to re 
 lieve her unpardonable crimes, and to soften the dark traits 
 of her character. She preserved her majesty and dignity 
 4* 
 
82 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 to the last. She would be seen even in death only as a 
 queen, crown and all. Her command is : " Go fetch my 
 best attires j I am again for Cydnus to meet MARC ANTONY." 
 She who boasted in the presence of " the case of that 
 huge spirit " 
 
 " It were for me 
 
 To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods, 
 To tell them that this world did equal theirs, 
 Till they had stolen our jewel," 
 
 might indeed be said to look in deathlike sleep as 
 
 " She would catch another ANTONY 
 In her strong toil of grace." 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 CYMBELINE is the most romantic and imaginative of all 
 SHAKSPEARE'S plays. It seems to give birth to every wave 
 of thought, of feeling and reflection. Every excellence in 
 woman is delineated in the character of the heroine, Imo 
 gen. She is the very soul of purity, of honor and good 
 ness. Every word she utters sounds like a sweet note of 
 music from some undiscovered orb of song. Her intellect 
 is almost as wonderful as her beauty, and her beauty is the 
 most perfect dream of luxuriant loveliness. There is 
 nothing vain, or haughty, or selfish about her. She is as 
 peerless in the innate delicacy and majesty of her charms 
 as a goddess. She moves through an atmosphere of corl 
 ruption and deceit like a breath of summer, a glimpse of 
 sunshine. She has the deepest and most exquisite sensi 
 bilities and the purest and loftiest affections. She com 
 bines in herself all the grace and tenderness and innocence 
 and simplicity of youth, and all the strength and firmness 
 and constancy of mature womanhood. 
 
 The plot of CYMBELINE is derived from various sources. 
 SHAKSPEARE found in Hollingshead's Chronicles of England 
 and Scotland some of the material of the play, including 
 the names of CYMBELINE and his sons, together with some 
 account of the King's reign, and the tribute demanded by 
 the Romans. It is said that he also derived the beautiful 
 name of Imogen from the same source, and that in the old 
 
84 STUDIES IN L2TEKA 1 UKE. 
 
 black-letter it is scarcely distinguished from Innogen, the 
 wife of Brute, King of Britain. The story of the discovery 
 of the rnole upon Imogen's breast is taken either from 
 Boccaccio's beautiful novel of "Zeneura" in the Decameron, 
 or from a French romance entitled De La Violettc, first 
 published in the thirteenth century. 
 
 The hero of La Vioktte is Gerard de Nevers, called the 
 false Paridel of French romance. He is described as 
 being young and handsome, and graced with many accom 
 plishments. He obtains by stealth the knowledge of a 
 secret mark upon the breast of the heroine. 
 
 " Et vit sur sa destre mamele, 
 line violete novele, 
 Ynde parut sous la char blanche." 
 
 The above lines, Verplanc says, bear some resemblance 
 to the description of the same incident in CYMBELINE ; but 
 adds, it is probable the English poet never read the story, 
 and what seems to -be an adaptation should be regarded 
 only as a remarkable coincidence. 
 
 Collier, in his " Shakspeare's Library," gives an account 
 of a French miracle-play, published in 1639, which contains 
 some of the incidents of CYMBELINE, the wager on the 
 chastity of the heroine, her flight in the disguise of a page, 
 the proof of her innocence, and her final restoration to her 
 husband. Mr. Collier says that the French play contains 
 two circumstances introduced into CYMBELINE not found 
 in any other version of the story, viz., the method of assail 
 ing the heroine's virtue by exciting her anger and jealousy, 
 and the boast of one of the characters that " if he were 
 allowed the opportunity of speaking to her but twice he 
 should be able to accomplish his design." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE was doubtless acquainted with this play, 
 but it is evident that he made use of Boccaccio's novel. 
 
CYMBELINE. 85 
 
 He was doubtless sufficiently versed in the Italian to read 
 it in the original. We can imagine the impression Boccac 
 cio's charming story made upon his mind. It is the most 
 exquisite creation in the Decameron. The Griseldis will 
 not begin to compare with it. It is even more fascinating 
 than the " Giletta di Narbonna." Each and all the incidents 
 are related with singular sweetness, and power, and beauty 
 and clearness. We deeply sympathise with the trials and 
 sufferings, the long and patient wanderings of the fair 
 Zeneura, and rejoice at the punishment of the fiend who 
 boasted, " Woman only is pure who has never been asked, 
 or she who herself has asked and been refused." 
 
 But beautiful as is Boccaccio's story, Zeneura cannot be 
 compared with Imogen. We see in the former only a 
 rugged outline of the depths and soundings of the human 
 passions, of the delicate and tender and confiding love 
 liness of the soul so wonderfully and eloquently portrayed 
 in the latter. There are so many beauties in Imogen's 
 character that it is almost impossible to analyse them or 
 describe them. 
 
 In the parting scene in the first act we have the follow 
 ing inimitable description of unselfish love : 
 
 " Nay, stay a little. 
 
 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
 Such parting were too petty. Look here, love : 
 This diamond ring was my mother's ; take it, heart, 
 But keep it till you woo another wife, 
 When Imogen is dead." 
 
 How deeply she feels the reproaches of her father against 
 her husband when she says, 
 
 " There cannot be a pinch in death 
 More sharp than this ! " 
 
 She is compelled to submit to the unexampled tyranny 
 of " a father governed by a step-dame hourly coining plots," 
 
86 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 and to the serpent-like approaches of the " yellow lachimo," 
 who is destitute of any redeeming traits whatever. This 
 fiend, armed with audacity from head to foot, like lago, 
 only lives to assail virtue and destroy happiness. His 
 moral constitution is utterly incapable of digesting anything 
 but poison. And yet he is introduced to IMOGEN as " one 
 of the noblest note," as one to whom her husband is " most 
 infinitely tied." When this base slanderer insinuates that 
 Posthumus is a renegade from her bed, and indulges in 
 " vaulting variable ramps " at her expense, she believes 
 nothing in haste, and offers no other reproach than 
 
 " My Lord, I fear, has forgotten Britain." 
 
 The more we study her the more we love and admire 
 her. She ever presents the most complete and perfect idea 
 of womanhood. Even in the most trying scenes she never 
 loses her self-possession. SHAKSPEARE has nowhere given 
 a wider scope to his imagination than in the delineation of 
 her character. And yet none of his heroines are more life 
 like and natural. She charms all who behold her. Even 
 in her male attire we are constantly impressed with the 
 inborn delicacy and refinement and purity of her princi 
 ples. She is indeed the embodiment of love and innocence, 
 the sweetest, fairest lily. No wonder Guiderius exclaims 
 when seeing her disguised as a page, " Were you a woman, 
 youth, I should woo hard but be your groom, in honesty," 
 and that Lucius, the Roman General, should call her " the 
 page, so kind, so duteous, diligent." 
 
 Perhaps the most luxurious display of the personal 
 charms of woman in SHAKSPEARE is the description of 
 Imogen in the sleeping scene. It is unequaled for the 
 gorgeous richness of its coloring, and the variety and 
 splendor of its imagery. 
 
 " The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabor'd sense 
 Repairs itself by rest ; our Tarquin thus * 
 
CYMBELINE. 87 
 
 Did softly press the rushes, ere he 'waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily, 
 And whiter than the sheets ! that I might touch ! 
 But kiss, one kiss ! rubies unparagon'd ! 
 How dearly they do't ! Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus ; the flame o' the taper 
 Bows toward her, and would underpeep her lids 
 To see th' inclosed lights now canopied 
 Under these windows, white and azure, lac'd 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct ; on her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted like the crimson drops 
 I' the bottom of a cowslip." 
 
 The words in which she mourns the loss of her bracelet, 
 which lachimo had stolen for the purpose of convincing 
 her husband of her infidelity, are beautiful beyond de 
 scription : 
 
 " Go, bid my woman 
 Search for a jewel that too casually 
 Hath left my arm. It was thy master's : 'shrew me, 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 Of any king in Europe. I do think 
 I saw't this morning ; confident I am 
 Last night 'twas on mine arm. I kiss'd it. 
 I hope it has not gone to tell my lord 
 That I kiss aught but he." 
 
 It has been said that " our consciousness that the brace 
 let is really gone to bear false witness against her, adds an 
 inexpressibly touching effect to the simplicity and tender 
 ness of the sentiment." 
 
 In studying this play it is difficult to believe that Posthu- 
 mus deserves forgiveness. His wager about his wife's 
 chastity and his readiness to believe her guilty, to say 
 nothing of his rashness in pursuing his revenge, one would 
 think could scarcely excite any other feeling than that of 
 contempt. But then, on the other hand, we must not 
 
88 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 forget Imogen's unconquerable love for him, and that she 
 herself forgave him, and that he is described as one who 
 sat among men like a descended god, with an honor about 
 him more than mortal seeming. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 IN discussing, some years ago, with a friend, the merits 
 of Edwin Booth's performance of HAMLET, he urged as an 
 objectionable feature in Booth's delineation of the charac 
 ter that he did his utmost to convey the impression that 
 HAMLET'S madness was not real but only feigned. My 
 friend argued that there was nothing in the play to war 
 rant such a conclusion. He said it was certainly SHAKS- 
 PEARE'S intention to define clearly and unmistakably one 
 of the most palpable, as well as one of the most interesting 
 phases of insanity, and that we could not assign any other 
 reason than madness for his wild and irregular disposition, 
 and pointless and purposeless conduct. 
 
 I attempted to refute this theory by suggesting that any 
 refined and cultivated nature would have acted just as 
 HAMLET did, if surrounded by the same circumstances. I 
 said that, in order to understand fully the secret workings 
 of HAMLET'S conscience, we must look upon him as a being 
 compounded, like other men, with a goodly share of both 
 the faults and virtues of humanity, and that we must re 
 member the horror of his situation, the supernatural 
 visitation of his father's spirit in arms, and the awful com 
 mand it gave him "not to let the royal bed of Den 
 mark be a couch for luxury and damned incest." These 
 suggestions were met by a eulogy upon the character of 
 Ophelia. She was described as the most perfect incarna- 
 
9 o 
 
 STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 tion of virtue, of gentleness and innocence. She was 
 compared "to the rose of May O flower too soon 
 faded ? " to the summer cloud, the snow-flake, the voice 
 of silvery fountains, the charm of earliest birds, and to all 
 that is lovely and lovable in the worlds of reality and 
 imagination. 
 
 Being unable to recall any considerable portion of the 
 text by which I hoped to sustain the position that HAM 
 LET'S madness was assumed, I was at length silenced with 
 the exclamation that no one but a brute or a madman 
 " loosed out of hell," could outrage the exquisite sensibili 
 ties of a woman constituted like Ophelia, by ordering her 
 to a nunnery, asking her if she would be a breeder of 
 sinners, and saying, "God hath given you one face, and 
 you give yourselves another ; you jig, you amble, and you 
 lisp, and nickname God's creatures, and make your wan 
 tonness your ignorance." 
 
 I am free to confess that I was so impressed with this 
 conversation that I determined immediately to study the 
 play with the greatest care, and to read everything that I 
 could procure in relation to it, with a view of settling defi 
 nitely and forever in my mind this perplexing feature in 
 the character of this darling of the English stage this 
 prince courtier, scholar and gentleman, whose subtle argu 
 ments and philosophical meditations penetrate into the 
 profoundest recesses of the soul. My study and researches 
 have been rewarded with the most fixed and settled convic 
 tions that HAMLET was not mad neither partially nor 
 wholly and that SHAKSPEARE never intended to convey 
 the idea of madness any further than to surround the play 
 with an air of mystery for the purpose of heightening its 
 beauty and sublimity. 
 
 In the earliest edition of HAMLET, that of 1603, we 
 find that SHAKSPEARE made the description of HAMLET'S 
 
HAMLE7\ 91 
 
 madness much stronger than he did in the amended copy. 
 The edition of 1608 was doubtless an imperfect copy of 
 the first conception of the poet. The later edition was 
 such an improvement on the first that the date of it has 
 generally been regarded as the period that marks the birth 
 of that thoughtful philosophy so wonderfully portrayed in 
 all the carefully-elaborated works of the author. 
 
 In the first copy the King speaks of HAMLET as having 
 " lost the very heart of all his sense," while in the amended 
 one he speaks of him simply as being " put from the under 
 standing of himself." 
 
 In the first copy, Polonius speaks of his madness chang 
 ing by continuance " into this frenzy which now possesses 
 him." In the revised copy we have " a fast, a watch, a 
 weakness, a lightness, and a madness." 
 
 Charles Knight, one of the most indefatigable of Shak- 
 spearean scholars, remarks that the reason of this change is 
 that " SHAKSPEARE did not, either in his first sketch or his 
 amended copy, intend his audience to believe that HAMLET 
 was essentially mad, and he removed, therefore, the strong 
 expressions which might encourage that belief." 
 
 Dr. Johnson thought HAMLET'S madness feigned, but 
 was silly enough to add that it "excited much mirth." 
 
 Coleridge has, perhaps, shown a more critical apprecia 
 tion of HAMLET than any of the other modern Shakspearean 
 scholars (unless, indeed, we except some of the German 
 critics, Lessing and Schlegel for instance), takes the posi 
 tion that HAMLET'S wildness is but half false, that he 
 plays that subtle trick of pretending to act only when he is 
 very near really being what he acts. Coleridge, however, 
 reconciles HAMLET'S sanity in the scene with Ophelia on 
 the ground that. "the Prince perceived, from the strange 
 and forced manner of Ophelia, that the sweet girl was not 
 acting a part of her own, but was a decoy, and his after 
 
02 S TUDIES IN LITER A TUR E, 
 
 speeches were not so much directed to her as to the spies 
 and listeners." 
 
 The idea that HAMLET'S wildness was but half false 
 doubtless formed the ground-work for the beautiful and 
 ingenious theory of Henry Hudson, viz., that "HAMLET'S 
 madness is neither real nor affected, but is a sort of natural 
 and spontaneous imitation of madness ; the triumph of his 
 reason over passion naturally expressing itself in the tokens 
 of insanity, just as the agonies of despair naturally vent 
 themselves in flashes of mirth." 
 
 Dr. John Connoly, in a little work entitled " A Study of 
 Hamlet," sustains the theory of HAMLET'S madness with 
 considerable zeal, on the ground that the Prince could not 
 have misled Ophelia, who was accustomed to read his 
 inmost thoughts. Dr. Kellogg, a physician to the State 
 lunatic asylum of New York, takes the same position, and 
 says, " Ophelia was no incompetent judge. The lynx-eyed 
 vigilance of woman's love could not be deceived, and she 
 has read correctly the riddle which has so perplexed all 
 Shakspearean critics." 
 
 Dr. Ray in his work on Medical Jurisprudence, also 
 maintains the same view ; but surely these physicians, 
 who claim to have given so much study to the pathology 
 of the mind, ought not to forget that chronic mania is very 
 easily feigned, and often feigned successfully. Dr. Buck- 
 nill relates an instance of a gentleman who kept up the 
 practice of insanity for more than two years before he 
 broke down in his part, and of another who kept up the 
 practice much longer. I have myself observed cases 
 where the ablest physicians were unable to detect the 
 imposture. Indeed, the task is often as difficult as the de 
 tection of partial idealiation insanity, where the patient is 
 suspicious and tries to hide it. 
 
 The theory of HAMLET'S madness is very popular with 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 93 
 
 the French school of critics. M. Villemain, in a late work, 
 has quite settled it to his entire satisfaction ; but of all 
 critics of SHAKSPEARE, the French have shown themselves 
 the most incompetent and unappreciative. Those who 
 have undertaken to translate his plays into French, without 
 a single exception performed their work most abominably- 
 The story of the Frenchman translating the phrase " Frailty, 
 thy name is woman," into " Frailty is the name of a 
 woman," is scarcely an exaggeration. 
 
 It has been said that HAMLET'S conduct cannot be 
 accounted for solely on the ground of the absorbing and 
 overwhelming influence of the one paramount thought 
 which renders hopeless and jWorthless all that formerly 
 occupied his affections, from the fact that it is not directly 
 supported by the text, though worthy of the feeling and 
 conception of the poet. Whether worthy or not, I can but 
 believe that HAMLET'S purpose of avenging his father's 
 murder is the chief business of the play. It seems to have 
 occupied HAMLET'S thoughts to the exclusion of " all trivial 
 fond records, all saws of books, all forms, all pressures 
 past." He considers nothing else half so deeply. Be 
 cause he should have doubts and misgivings, and ask if the 
 ghost is an honest ghost, and be deeply affected at Ophe 
 lia's too confiding obedience to her father, there is no 
 reason to believe that there is anything unnatural or incon 
 sistent in it. The play would not be what it is if HAMLET 
 had but one thought and object. The truth is, SHAKS 
 PEARE did not intend to portray HAMLET unlike the rest 
 of the human family, but to give us a kind of idealised 
 picture of humanity ; not the portrait of an individual 
 character, but of a universal nature, a nature that pervades 
 all classes of society ; and this alone is the cause of a want 
 of unanimity of opinion concerning the purpose of the 
 author. If there were no complexity about the play we 
 
94 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 could see through it at a glance, and would cast it aside, 
 caring nothing -whatever about it. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say anything further in pallia 
 tion of HAMLET'S treatment of Ophelia; but those who 
 have had the good fortune to witness Booth's personation 
 of HAMLET cannot fail to have observed the painful ex 
 pression of his countenance when upbraiding her. With 
 brow slightly knit and the lower lip tightly compressed, and 
 " pale as his shirt," he endeavors, almost as if by a super 
 human effort, to conceal the pain it gives him ; but when 
 his face is turned from her, the indescribable agony of his 
 soul is made wonderfully apparent in the fearful writhings 
 of his countenance. We almost hear 
 
 " A sigh so piteous and profound 
 That it did seem to shatter all his bulk, 
 And end his being." 
 
 If HAMLET wished the command of the ghost to live 
 within the book and volume of his brain, and to avenge 
 
 " Such an act, 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
 Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 As false as dicers' oaths," 
 
 surely Ophelia should be the last person in the world to 
 possess a knowledge of the means by which he hoped to 
 accomplish it. He could not help " being cruel in order 
 to be kind." Moreover, HAMLET'S harshness was aimed 
 not so much at her as at her sex. The plague he gave her 
 as a dowry, " Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, 
 thou canst not escape calumny," is the severest speech he 
 makes directly to her. 
 
 When HAMLET first conceived the idea of putting an 
 antic disposition on, his next thought was how to conceal 
 
HAMLET. 95 
 
 it, and for this reason he treated the ghost with pretended 
 levity, in such speeches as 
 
 " Ha, ha, boy ! says't thou so ? art thou there, true penny ? 
 Come on you hear this fellow in the cellarage 
 Consent to swear ! " 
 
 And 
 
 " Well said, old mole ! can't work in the earth so fast, 
 A worthy pioneer." 
 
 Hence his swearing Horatio and Marcellus to secrecy 
 
 " That you at such times seeing me never shall, 
 With arms encumbered thus, or this, head shake, 
 Or, by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 As, Well, well, we knew ' or, ' We could an if we would ' 
 
 or, ' if we list ' or, 
 ' There be an if they might,' 
 Or such ambiguous giving out to note 
 That you know aught of me, this not to do, 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you. 
 Swear ! " 
 
 HAMLET, the reader will observe, evaded the curiosity 
 of his friends as best he could. The speech, " There's 
 ne'er a villain in all Denmark," was followed by " But he's 
 an arrant knave." Why should he trust them ? His con 
 fidence in all earthly things was shaken. He had heard 
 " the secrets of the prison-house," " the eternal blazon that 
 must not be to ears of flesh and blood." It was fitting that 
 he should beg them to overmaster their curiosity as best 
 they could, and shake hands and part " without more cir 
 cumstance at all." "The time was out of joint," and he 
 alone was called upon " to set it right." 
 
 But, alas ! the tragical end that awaited him and all its 
 accompanying horrors. The meditative and thoughtful 
 philosophy of his disposition unfitted him for the awful 
 
96 STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 duty enjoined upon him by the voice from the unseen 
 world. It was an act of vengeance against the laws of the 
 land, to be justified only in the court of his own conscience, 
 and by the philosophy, "There's nothing good or bad, but 
 thinking makes it so ; " but he unhesitatingly and unshrink 
 ingly devoted his life to the sacrifice. 
 
DAVID GARRICK. 
 
 DAVID GARRICK was born at Hereford, in 1716. He 
 Jived during one of the most interesting periods in the 
 history of English literature. His father was a captain in 
 the English army, but settled at Litchfield on half-pay, with 
 the hope of being able to support his family. All his efforts 
 in this direction were fruitless. He experienced the severest 
 trials of poverty. He was compelled to join his regiment 
 again in 1731, in order to relieve distress. His wife, poor 
 dear, faithful creature, broken in health and spirits, under 
 took the care of a family of seven children. We cannot 
 attempt to describe her suffering during the absence of her 
 husband. She loved him with a devotion not of earth, but 
 of some purer realm. In the midst of trouble and sickness 
 and distress, she ever looked forward to a bright and happy 
 future, when no cloud should darken the threshold of her 
 happy home. The words of comfort she sent to the absent 
 husband and father unlock all the portals of the heart 
 capable of being moved by words of sympathy and love. 
 " I must tell my dear life and soul," she writes, in a letter 
 breathing the tenderest vow of affection, and which a 
 reviewer says reads like a bit of Thackeray or Sterne, 
 " that I am not able to live any longer without him, for I 
 grow very jealous. But in the midst of all this I do not 
 blame my dear. I have very sad dreams for you, but I 
 have the pleasure when I am up to think were I with you, 
 5 
 
98 STUDIES IN 'LITER A TURE. 
 
 how tender my dear would be to me nay, was when I 
 was with you last. Oh, that I had you in my arms ! I 
 would tell my -dear life how much I am his." 
 
 How slowly the time passed ! Only two years were 
 gone three more were to elapse before they were to be 
 together again. O cruel fate ! why is it that the records 
 of loved and loving hearts are so often written in tears and 
 blood? The husband returned at last, but only to die in 
 the arms of his fond and faithful wife. It is almost 
 unnecessary to add that in less than one year her troubled 
 soul too was at rest. 
 
 In early youth GARRICK displayed extraordinary talent 
 for acting. When eleven years of age he acted in a play 
 entitled " The Recruiting Officer," and received no little 
 applause from a select audience. In 1728 he went to Lis 
 bon to visit a wealthy uncle, and while at his .V*use often 
 amused dinner parties by the recitation of poems and 
 speeches. He would then have adopted the profession of 
 an actor, but his family had a great prejudice against the 
 stage, and his kind and gentle and affectionate disposition 
 would not allow him to do aught that would add to their 
 displeasure. 
 
 At eighteen he was one of the three pupils at Dr. John 
 son's " Academy." A few years afterward he went to Lon 
 don in company with his teacher. The latter described 
 their pecuniary condition by saying that one had but two 
 pence half-penny in his pocket, and the other three half 
 pence in his. Johnson doubtless endeavored to make 
 sport of their condition, but it is certain that their means 
 were indeed limited. 
 
 GARRICK tried his fortune as a wine merchant, with 
 indifferent success. Foote, the author of the popular farce 
 on Taste, and one of the wittiest as well as one of the 
 meanest of men, used to say that he recollected GARRICK 
 
DAVID GARRICK. 
 
 99 
 
 calling himself a wine merchant with but three quarts of 
 vinegar in his cellar. 
 
 GARRICK attended the theatres of London constantly, 
 and in 1740 had made some reputation as a dramatic critic 
 and as an elocutionist. In 1741 he made his first appear 
 ance as an actor at Ipswich. A few months later he played 
 Richard III. before a London audience. His reputation 
 was at once secured. His fame spread rapidly throughout 
 the country. The beau monde of London vied with one 
 another in doing him homage. He was everywhere admired 
 and praised. He was dined, wined and feasted, not only 
 by people of fashion, but by the greatest authors, lawyers 
 and statesmen. He won the friendship of Burke, of Pitt, 
 and of Lyttleton, of Reynolds and Goldsmith. Leonidas 
 Glover called to see him every day. Even the bard of 
 Twickenham, now old and feeble and ill in health, left his 
 home to see him. The London press teemed with the 
 most enthusiastic eulogies upon his wonderful gifts. The 
 Post declared him to be the most extraordinary man ever 
 known. The history of the stage was searched in vain for 
 a parallel. He had totally eclipsed the fame of Booth, and 
 Quin, and Betterton. The Duke of Argyle could not find 
 language extravagant enough to praise him. The cynical 
 Walpole said that he was the greatest actor that ever lived, 
 either in tragedy or comedy. Even Bishop Newton wrote 
 to him, " I have seen your Richard, Chamont, Bayes, and 
 Lear. I never saw four actors more different from one 
 another than you are from yourself." Macklin, who dis 
 liked him, and who struggled to rival him, thus spoke of 
 his Lear, " The curse was particularly grand. It seemed 
 to electrify the audience with horror. The words ' Kill ! 
 kill ! kill ! ' echoed all the revenge of a frantic king." 
 Everything he played added to his reputation. There was 
 something almost idolatrous about the honors shown him. 
 
j oo STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 He was looked upon " less with admiration than wonder." 
 Though small in stature, he awed every one who beheld 
 him with the majesty of his appearance. Johnson, who 
 had no appreciation whatever of acting, at one time pre 
 tended to dislike him, but would never allow any one else 
 to speak ill of him. When GARRICK suggested some 
 changes in the tragedy of " Irene," " Sir," said Johnson, " the 
 fellow wants me to make Mahomet run mad, that he may 
 have an opportunity of tossing his head and kicking his 
 heels." At another time he spoke of him " as a fellow who 
 claps a hump on his back and a lump on his leg, and cries, 
 * I am Richard III.' ' : Even Boswell confesses that Johnson 
 was jealous of the fame of GARRICK, and that it was incom 
 prehensible to him that an actor's art should be esteemed 
 so highly. Johnson, however, was either too conscientious, 
 or had too high a regard for the opinion of others, not to 
 acknowledge him the greatest actor he had ever seen. 
 
 But notwithstanding the many epithets Johnson applied 
 to GARRICK, he offered to write his life, wept the bitterest 
 tears at his funeral, and afterwards spoke of his death as 
 an "event that had eclipsed the gaiety of nations." He 
 took leave of the stage in 1776, in the part of Don Felix, 
 in the comedy of " Wonder." He was greeted by a dis 
 tinguished and an enthusiastic audience. His farewell 
 address was eloquent and affecting in the extreme, and 
 moved his hearers to tears. He died in 1779, and was 
 buried in Westminster Abbey, near the monument of 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Few persons have been more distinguished for domestic 
 and social virtues than this great actor. He was kind, and 
 gentle, and charitable. He was on terms of intimacy with 
 nearly all the great men of his time. He was ever ready 
 to assist, both with his purse and with his sympathy, every 
 deserving person who applied to him. There was but one 
 
DAVID GARRICK. 101 
 
 thin about him that we do not love to think of. We 
 
 o 
 
 allude to his unworthy attachment to the beautiful but 
 frail Peg Woffington. She was a fine actress, and pos 
 sessed the rarest gifts for the appreciation of excellence 
 and merit in others. She was a brilliant talker, and 
 charmed all who drew near her with her quick, ready 
 wit, and sparkling humor. She could portray a fine lady 
 to perfection. In such characters as Millamant and Lady 
 Townley she reigned without a rival. She sprang from 
 the lowest dregs of society. She had been actually picked 
 up out of the streets of Dublin, crying " half-penny salads." 
 She has been described as a dazzling creature, with a head 
 of beautiful form, perched like a bird upon a throat mas 
 sive, yet shapely, and smooth as a column of alabaster, 
 with dark eyes full of fire and tenderness, a delicious 
 mouth with a hundred varying expressions, and that mar 
 velous faculty of giving beauty alike to love or scorn, a 
 sneer or a smile. But with all her graces of mind and 
 person, she lacked constancy and fidelity. She professed 
 to care only for the society of gentlemen, and often said 
 that women talked of nothing but silks and scandal. She 
 is said to have played the character of Sir Harry Wildair 
 even better than GARRICK. The latter refused to compete 
 with her in it, and abandoned the part wholly to her. On 
 one occasion she was so pleased .with the applause she 
 received in this character, that she ran from the stage into 
 the green-room, and exclaimed, " By Jove ! I believe one- 
 half the audience think I am a man." To which Quin 
 replied, " Madam, the other half, then, have the best rea 
 son of knowing to the contrary." 
 
 GARRICK at one time thought of marrying her, but his 
 better nature triumphed over this folly. 
 
 He was a singularly pure-hearted man, a profound 
 scholar, and was versed in an infinite variety of know- 
 
I o 2 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 ledge, both of a literary and scientific character. All his 
 contributions to literature, his poems, his verses, his pro 
 logues, his farces, and his dramatic criticisms, were written 
 with more than average ability. Many of his epigrams, 
 such as the one upon Goldsmith, will live as long as the 
 language is spoken. He was wholly free from envy and 
 jealousy. No language is sufficiently strong to describe his 
 affection for his wife. She has herself said that he was 
 more of a lover to her than a husband. Her devotion to 
 him was almost unequaled. During the thirty years of 
 their married life they were never one day apart. She was 
 one of the most beautiful and accomplished women of her 
 time. 
 
 She came from Vienna. She had been a dancer in the 
 theatre. She brought letters of recommendation from the 
 Empress Theresa, who thought her too beautiful to remain 
 near the court of Francis I. In crossing the ocean in a 
 ship from Helvoet to Harwich, she was dressed in male 
 attire, and was taken for a young German Baron. During 
 the voyage her conduct was modest and becoming. Indeed, 
 it could not be otherwise, for, like Shakspeare's Rosalind, 
 she had " no hose and doublet in her disposition." Her 
 name was Eva Maria Veigel, and her friends called her 
 *' the beautiful Violette." She had little difficulty in win 
 ning her way into fashionable society with her virtue, grace, 
 beauty, naivete, and brilliant accomplishments. The Coun 
 tess of Burlington took her to live with her, and gave her 
 on the occasion of her marriage a dowry of .5,000. 
 
 Foote, who scarcely ever spoke well of any one, wrote to 
 GARRICK in 1776 : 
 
 " It has been my misfortune not to know Mrs. GARRICK, 
 but from what I have seen and all I have heard, you will 
 have more to regret when either she or you die, than any 
 man in the kingdom." 
 
DAVID GARRICK. 
 
 103 
 
 Wilkes called her the " first woman in England," and 
 Churchill " the most agreeable one." Gibbon said that she 
 possessed a secret more valuable than the philosopher's 
 stone, that of gaining the hearts of all those who had the 
 happiness of knowing her. 
 
 Hogarth painted their pictures in 1772, just two years 
 after their marriage. It is one of the most beautiful, life 
 like, and interesting of the author's productions. Even the 
 ordinary engraving taken from it has a delicacy, a freshness, 
 and a beauty which we seldom see in the most carefully 
 elaborated works of art. 
 
 We look at it involuntarily with the devotion of an enthu 
 siast. There is something about it that speaks at once to 
 the heart, to the feelings, and to the understanding. The 
 spirit of truth, of consciousness, and beauty breathes 
 around it. 
 
 This picture is known to every one. It portrays GARRICK 
 in the act of composition. His countenance displays the 
 deepest thought. His Violette, the best and truest of wives, 
 is just behind him, ready to steal the pen from his hand, 
 She is weary of his being "lost in thought wrapt withal." 
 She has the utmost confidence in his genius, and seems to 
 feel that he has written enough to immortalise him, and 
 that it is time for the inspiration to be dispelled, that she 
 may tell him with love's own voice how dear he is to her. 
 
 Mrs. GARRICK survived her husband forty-three years. 
 For more than a quarter of a century she would not allow 
 any one to enter the sacred precincts of his darkened room. 
 She died in 1822, loved and honored to the last. After 
 such devotion, we need not wonder that every one who 
 knew them was struck with the beautiful oneness of their 
 lives. 
 
THACKERAY, 
 
 WITH A GLANCE AT VANITY FAIR. 
 
 THE leading magazines and periodicals of Europe and 
 of this country have within the last few years been filled 
 with essays and criticisms upon the life and genius of 
 THACKERAY. One class of his admirers proclaim him to 
 be the greatest novelist who ever lived, and another the 
 greatest humorist and satirist. As a critic and essayist he 
 has been placed above Goldsmith, Macaulay, Carlyle, and 
 Hazlitt. His poetry is said to be as good as Pope's and 
 Beranger's, and better than Suckling's, or Pryor's, or Gay's, 
 or Thomson's, or Southey's. The " Chronicle of the Drum," 
 "The Cane-Bottomed Chair," and the ballad of "Bouilla 
 baisse," go the rounds of the press as if written but yester 
 day. His epigrams and witty repartees speak volumes of 
 sentiment. Not a few of his novels have passed into 
 history. 
 
 The characters in " Vanity Fair," in " Pendennis," in the 
 "Virginians," in "Esmond," and in the "Newcomes," are 
 not only distinct and palpable creations, but are discussed 
 and talked about like living human beings of flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 Nearly everything he has written is tremulous with 
 thought and emotion. He seems ever to display the 
 keenest perception of truth, of beauty, and wisdom. His 
 
THACKERAY. 
 
 105 
 
 tenacious and penetrating intellect, his depths of sympathy 
 and consciousness, his mingled gayety and earnestness of 
 sentiment, and his subtle attractiveness of manner, are not 
 surpassed by Scott, or Bulwer, or Dickens. He began his 
 literary career at Cambridge, in 1829, by editing a series 
 of papers called " The Snob ; a Literary and Scientific 
 Journal." In these papers he made some attempt at wit 
 and humor, by committing droll errors in orthography and 
 by aggrandising insignificant things. He soon became a 
 contributor to the London press and to Frasers Magazine. 
 He wrote for the latter " Fitzboodle's Confessions," the 
 "Fatal Boots," and the " Hoggarty Diamond." These 
 efforts displayed talent of no common order, but attracted 
 very little attention. He struggled almost ineffectually 
 through weary years of obscurity, of neglect, and hardship, 
 before he derived any reputation or profit from his labors. 
 His greatest work, VANITY FAIR, had been rejected by 
 several magazines, and he was compelled to publish it in 
 monthly numbers after the fashion of Dickens' stories. Its 
 success was at first doubted, but before it was completed he 
 became known as one of the ablest writers of his time. 
 VANITY FAIR presents a dreary picture of life, but, for aught 
 we know, a true one. The characters that figure in it are 
 drawn, not from the imagination, but from observation and 
 experience. It is a pity that such villains as Lord Steyne 
 exist in the world, but certainly the author is entitled to 
 much credit for portraying them. We have met in real life 
 an exact prototype of the weak and dissipated Captain 
 Crawley, and have derived no little satisfaction from the 
 manner in which we have been taught to regard him. The 
 resemblance is carried so far that he never wrote home in 
 his life except when he wanted money, and then his letters 
 were full of dashes and bad grammar, and doubtless he 
 spelled * beseech ' with an a, and ' earliest ' without one. We 
 5* 
 
1 06 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 do not know whether or not he is capable of exhibiting 
 the same kind of courage that Captain Crawley did in the 
 encounter with Lord Steyne, but we are quite sure that he 
 is mean enough to accept favors from one who had sought 
 to ruin him. The good-natured and reckless spendthrift, 
 George Osborne, is a perfectly natural creation. So is 
 also the vain and fat Joseph Sedley. The power, beauty, 
 and interest of the story, however, cluster around the 
 heroine, Becky Sharp. She is the most original, wonder 
 ful, and varied of all the author's creations. She is a 
 perfect type of a class of bold, ambitious, cunning, in 
 triguing, and selfish women. All the other characters in 
 the book, wonderfully natural and life-like as they are, 
 become, when brought in contact with her, but supernu 
 merary beings, or, as it were, mere auxiliaries for the purpose 
 of aiding in the development of the circumstances by which 
 she is surrounded. She is constantly presenting some new 
 phase in humanity, or illustrating some great lesson in moral 
 and ethical philosophy. Whenever "she made a little circle 
 for herself with incredible toils and labor, somebody came 
 and swept it down rudely, and she had all her work to 
 begin over again." All her powers of fascination, her 
 artful appeals for sympathy, her exclamation, " Poor little 
 me ! " her wit, her beauty, her grace, ease and abandon, her 
 archness and simplicity of manner, and girlish lightness of 
 sentiment, fail to soften the dark shades of her character, 
 or make us wish for her a better fate. She neglects her 
 child, and lives only for the gratification of the meanest and 
 lowest desires. She sells her virtue without even having 
 the excuse of love or passion. THACKERAY was in his 
 element when he conceived and portrayed her. He has 
 done nothing else half so well. With all our admiration 
 for his genius, we must confess that he delineates the 
 character of a depraved being a thousand times better 
 than he does that of a good one. 
 
THACKERAY. 107 
 
 He has a terrible insight into the hearts of frivolous and 
 intriguing women. He is almost enthusiastic in his descrip 
 tions of their base and ignoble passions. He not only 
 describes their meanness, their spitefuiness, their jealousy, 
 and their selfishness, with painful minuteness, but actually 
 rips them to pieces. It is believed 'that he could not por 
 tray a good woman at all. He attempted it in Ethel New- 
 come and in Amelia Sedley, two of his most prominent 
 characters, and utterly failed. He made one a flirt and 
 the other a fool. He has not escaped censure for such 
 sermons as the following in VANITY FAIR and the " New- 
 comes" : 
 
 " I know few things more affecting than that timorous 
 debasement and self-humiliation of a woman. How she 
 owns it is she and not the man who is guilty ! How she 
 takes all the faults on her side ! How she courts in a 
 manner punishment for the wrongs which she has not com 
 mitted, and persists in shielding the real culprit. It is 
 those who injure women who get the most kindness from 
 them. They are born timid and tyrants, and maltreat 
 those who are humblest before them." 
 
 " To coax, to flatter and befool some one is every 
 woman's business ; she is none if she declines this office. 
 But men are not provided with such powers of humbug or 
 endurance. They perish and pine away miserably when 
 bored, or they shrink off to the club or public-house for 
 comfort." 
 
 The closing scenes in VANITY FAIR, in which Becky 
 Sharp's vagabond career is described, are beyond all ques 
 tion the finest in the book. THACKERAY was evidently a 
 man of the world an observer rather than a philosopher. 
 He studied men and things more than he did books, or else 
 he could not have pictured so vividly Joseph Sedley, creak 
 ing and puffing up the stairs which led above the rooms 
 
1 8 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 occupied by gamblers, small tradesmen, peddlers, and 
 Bohemian vaulters and tumblers, " to where Becky had 
 found a little nest, as dirty a little refuge as ever beauty 
 lay hid in." The scene where the Dutch student, with the 
 whitey-brown ringlets and large finger-ring, is bawling at the 
 key-hole, while the gentleman from Bengal is approaching, 
 is inimitable. Becky opens the door to see who is coming, 
 and in an instant puts a rouge-pot, a brandy-bottle, and a 
 plate of broken meat into the bed, gives a smooth to her 
 hair, and lets in her visitor. Poor Joseph deserved to be 
 wheedled by a woman who could sit upon a brandy-bottle, 
 and play the coquette with rouge up to her eye-lids and a 
 handkerchief of torn and faded lace. " She never was 
 Lady Crawley, though she continued so to call herself." 
 
 But we close the book. If the author has not portrayed 
 life as it ought to be, he has painted it as it really is. 
 The lesson inculcated by exhibiting the awful and fearful 
 consequences of placing the moral in subordination to the 
 intellectual being, cannot easily be forgotten. 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 THIS play was originally called "Love's Labor Won." 
 It is not known why or by whom the title was changed. 
 Meares, a contemporary of SHAKSPEARE, speaks of " Love's 
 Labor Won " as being among the best of SHAKSPEARE'S 
 comedies. He doubtless alludes to this play, for there is 
 IK) other of the author's dramas to which the title is appli 
 cable. Moreover, there are several passages in the text in 
 which allusions are made to its original name. In the fifth 
 act Helena says to Bertram : 
 
 "This is done ; 
 "Will you be mine now you are doubly won ? " 
 
 And again we have 
 
 " The King's a beggar, now the play is done ; 
 All is well ended if this suit be won." 
 
 Coleridge describes this drama as the counterpart of 
 "Love's Labor Lost," and expresses the opinion that it was 
 written at two different and distant periods of the poet's 
 life, and points out two distinct styles, not only of thought, 
 but of expression. Evidently its chief purpose is to depict 
 the labor of love, or the triumphs of love, over the most 
 untoward circumstances. The following speech of Helena 
 beautifully illustrates the unwavering and self-confident 
 power of this absorbing passion : 
 
 " Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
 Which we ascribe to Heaven ; the fated sky 
 Gives us free scope ; only doth backward pull 
 
HO TUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
 What power is it which mounts my love so high, 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
 The mightiest space in fortune, nature brings 
 To join like likes and kiss like native things. 
 Impossible be strange attempts to those 
 That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose 
 What hath been cannot be. Whoever strove 
 To show her merit that did miss her love ? " 
 
 The plot, like that of " Cymbeline," is taken from Boc 
 caccio. With the single exception of the story of Zeneura, 
 it is unquestionably the best in the Decameron. 
 
 The heroine, Giletta de Narbonne, is the daughter of 
 a distinguished physician at the court of Roussilon, in 
 France. When but a child she falls in love with a hand 
 some youth, Count Beltram de Roussilon, with whom she 
 was brought up. His father's death obliged him to go to 
 Paris. Giletta was almost inconsolable during his absence, 
 and anxiously awaited some pretext to go thither to see 
 him. Her hand, the author tells us, was sought in marriage 
 by many on whom her guardian would willingly have 
 bestowed her, but she rejects them all without assigning 
 any reason. She receives intelligence that the King is 
 suffering from a painful and dangerous disease, which had 
 baffled the skill of the ablest physicians of the land. She 
 suddenly conceives the idea of going to Paris with the hope 
 of curing him with one of her father's prescriptions. Her 
 plans are soon put in execution. The King receives her 
 with the utmost kindness, and promises her, if she succeeds 
 in conquering his disease, to bestow her in marriage on a 
 person of noble birth. Through her skill he is completely 
 restored to health, and she claims the hand of her playmate 
 and early love, Count Beltram de Roussilon. The Count 
 at first rejects her offer of marriage with scorn and con 
 tempt, but finally consents to the union in obedience to the 
 
ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 wishes of his sovereign. He deserts her upon the day of 
 the wedding, and engages in the war of the Florentines 
 against the Senesi. 
 
 Giletta does everything in her power to win his love 
 and esteem, and to induce him to return to his home. 
 Her conduct is indeed exemplary. Her subjects almost 
 worship her for her queenly dignity, modesty, beauty, pru 
 dence, virtue, and wisdom. These excellences make no 
 impression whatever upon her husband, who refuses to 
 return to her only on the seemingly impossible conditions 
 that she shall bear him a son, and obtain possession of a 
 ring which he always wears upon his finger. Love is too 
 deeply enthroned in her bosom to allow her to despair. 
 She disguises herself as a pilgrim, and goes to Florence, 
 where she learns that the Count is making improper over 
 tures to a lady of that city. She becomes acquainted with 
 her, and, through her, obtains possession of the ring. She 
 also induces her to make an assignation with him, in which 
 she supplies her place. Giletta gives birth to two sons, and 
 the Count, on learning her stratagem, is confounded with 
 love and admiration, and lives with her ever afterward 
 with great joy and happiness. 
 
 The principal incidents in the story are followed with 
 wonderful minuteness and fidelity in the drama. The poet 
 changed the name of Giletta to Helena, and Beltram to 
 Bertram. 
 
 Hazlitt, whose love for SHAKSPEARE is almost idolatrous, 
 and who indeed openly confesses his idolatry, says that the 
 poet dramatised Boccaccio's novel "with great skill and 
 comic effects, and preserved all the beauty of the charac 
 ter and sentiment without improving upon it which was 
 impossible." 
 
 This praise is perhaps too extravagant, though it is diffi 
 cult to imagine anything finer in the way of a story than 
 
112 
 
 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 Boccaccio's, for it is told with the utmost simplicity, sweet 
 ness, and pathos. But SHAKSPEARE has, we think, im 
 proved it by elaborating the incidents, and by adorning it 
 with new creations, and developing the individual beauty 
 of the heroine. Indeed, it could not be otherwise. The 
 truth is, that SHAKSPEARE'S genius consecrates everything 
 it touches. He carries the world along with him, and 
 whenever an object pleases him, he gives it a new life and 
 beauty. A power mightier than Nature's seems ever to be 
 unbosoming its secrets to him. It is impossible to describe 
 his soft and delicate fancy, or the breadth and clearness 
 of his vision ; for he sees all things as far as angels' 
 ken. Everything about him is subtle, wonderful, and mag 
 ical. He gives even " to airy nothing a local habitation 
 and a name." All his creations are symbols of truth and 
 moral beauty. They address every feeling of humanity, 
 every sentiment and passion. He bestows grace and 
 dignity upon the most common-place subjects, and they 
 become ever afterward objects of delight and reverence. 
 
 His female characters have an irresistible charm about 
 them for which we may look in vain for a parallel else 
 where. His Helena is a pure effusion of genius. She is 
 the very apotheosis of womanhood. She is not only a 
 maid too virtuous for the contempt of empire, but the 
 most perfect ideal of a wife. Our thoughts refer to her 
 again and again, and each time with increasing admiration 
 and delight. The depth and intensity of her love, and the 
 refinement and purity of her principles, vibrate with every 
 breeze of feeling. Her gentleness and resolution are 
 almost equal to her beauty, and she is described as one 
 
 " Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
 
 Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive ; 
 Whose dear perfection hearts that scorned to serve, 
 Humbly called mistress." 
 
ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 "3 
 
 She is placed in the most trying situation, and surrounded 
 by the most degrading circumstances. In her the ordi 
 nary rules of courtship are reversed. She is compelled to 
 appear herself as a wooer, and to court her lover both as 
 a maid and as a wife, and yet she does not violate a single 
 law of modesty or propriety. Her combination of intellect 
 and passion is truly wonderful. Her self-possession never 
 deserts her. She is ever looking forward to a bright ard 
 happy future. She seems to hope even against hope, and 
 to believe when faith seems fatuity. What could be finer 
 than her description of her love for Bertram, who, by the 
 laws of society, is placed above her in social position ? 
 
 " My imagination 
 
 Carries no favor in it but my Bertram's ; 
 I am undone there is no loving, none, 
 If Bertram be away. It were all one 
 That I should love a b.ight particular star, 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me ; 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted not in his sphere ? 
 Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself; 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion 
 Must die for love." 
 
 Poor Helena, true to the instincts of her sex, has not 
 the slightest idea of her own merit. When she cannot win 
 her lord to look upon her, she thinks it is because she is 
 unworthy of him. 
 
 Her unwearied patience is rewarded at last, 
 
 
 
 " For time will bring on summer, 
 When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
 And be as sweet as sharp." 
 
 It has been well questioned whether Bertram deserves 
 her unconquerable faith of affection, her deep and lasting 
 attachment. Dr. Johnson describes him as a man noble 
 without generosity, and young without truth. He con- 
 
1 1 4 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 demns him, as well as he may, for sneaking home to a 
 second marriage, and defending himself with falsehood 
 against his wife's accusations. His foolish pride of birth 
 seems to be his greatest fault. His compulsory marriage, 
 " being compelled to submit his fancy to other eyes," when 
 the ardor and impetuosity of his youth longed for freedom 
 and frowned upon restraint, should, we think, in some 
 measure, extenuate his conduct. Besides, his faults seem 
 absolutely necessary in order to develop Helena's in 
 tensity of passion, and strength and firmness of character. 
 It is impossible to help loving the Countess, Helena's 
 guardian. She is a living and an essential truth. Mrs. 
 Jameson says, " She is like one of Titian's old women, who 
 still amid their wrinkles remind us of that soul of beauty 
 and sensibility which must have animated them when 
 young." She is a perfect mistress of her own thoughts. 
 The rose of her spirit is kept bright and beautiful to the 
 last. Age cannot dull her sensibilities, or curb even for a 
 moment the sweet and gentle, and kind and generous, 
 and pure and holy emotions of her soul. The purity of 
 her principles and her self-forgetting love are enough to 
 evoke the admiration of the angels. She is never unmind 
 ful of the lessons of experience, but ever cherishes them 
 as sacred treasures. How beautiful are her reflections 
 when she discovers the pangs of Helena's unrequited love ! 
 She says: 
 
 " Even so was it with me when I was young. 
 * * * This thorn 
 
 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 
 It is the show and seal of Nature's truth, 
 When love's strong passion is impressed in youth." 
 
 The witty and eccentric Lord Lafeu is a very charming 
 character. 
 
 Every one has the utmost contempt for Parolles. His 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 115 
 
 impudence and poltroonery are disgusting in the extreme. 
 " His soul is in his clothes." He is, in every sense of the 
 word, a contemptible " pronoun " of a man. Critics may 
 well marvel that this " lump of counterfeit ore " " should 
 know what he is and be what he is." " He is created on 
 purpose for men to breathe themselves upon." He is " a 
 notorious liar," " a great way fool," and " solely a coward ; " 
 and yet the elements of wit and humor are so mixed in 
 him that he furnishes us with an inexhaustible vein of mirth 
 and laughter. 
 
DREAMING. 
 
 THE subject of Dreaming is always interesting. It is too 
 deeply interwoven with philosophy and superstition to 
 be otherwise than interesting. Dugald Stewart defined 
 Dreaming to be a series of thoughts not under command of 
 reason, or that condition in which we have nearly or quite 
 lost all volition over bodily organs, but in which those 
 mental powers retain a partial degree of activity. 
 
 It has been said that though the power of volition does 
 not seem to be altogether absent in sleep, the will appears 
 to lose its influence over the faculties of the mind and 
 members of the body, which during our waking hours are 
 subject to its authority. 
 
 In sleep we seem to experience every kind of emotion, 
 and at times our reasoning powers appear to be as clear as 
 the noonday sun. Spurzheim and Gall, in their Physiog 
 nomical system, affirm, in the most positive manner, that 
 we often reason better when dreaming than when awake. 
 Hazlitt, however, makes a good deal of sport of this theory, 
 and calls it a fine style of German mysticism. 
 
 It is generally supposed that dreaming is an evidence of 
 imperfect sleep, but it is possible that the state of sleep is 
 always accompanied by dreams, though we may not be able 
 to remember them. 
 
 At a dinner party we heard one of the most distinguished 
 authors in the country remark, that if he ever dreamed in 
 
DREAMING. 117 
 
 his life he did not know it, and that if it were not for the 
 positive assertions of others, he would be forced to disbe 
 lieve in dreams. 
 
 Locke relates an incident of a gentleman who never 
 dreamed until he was twenty-six years of age, when he had 
 a fever and dreamed for the first time. 
 
 On the authority of Plutarch, we learn that Cleon and 
 Thrasymedes, both of whom lived to an advanced age, 
 never experienced the phenomenon of Dreaming. Upham, 
 in his Mental Philosophy, refuses to admit the possibility 
 of such cases, arguing that they may have dreamed and 
 forgotten, but adds, undoubtedly such persons dream very 
 seldom. Kant inclines to the same opinion, and says that 
 those who fancy they have not dreamed, have forgotten 
 their dreams. The truth is, we know so little about Dream 
 ing that it is almost useless to speculate on the subject. 
 
 Nearly all the ancient philosophers and moralists believed 
 in the Divine or spiritual character of dreams. Plato 
 believed that all dreams could be trusted when the body 
 and mind are in a healthy condition. The sublimest illus 
 trations, however, of the prophetic character of dreams are 
 found in the Bible. For instance, those of Saul, Solomon, 
 Abimelech, and Daniel, in the Old Testament, and those 
 of the wise men of the East, of Joseph, and of the wife of 
 Pilate, in the New Testament. The following passage from 
 the Scriptures seems to proclaim the prophetic character 
 of dreams: "In slumbering upon the bed, God openeth 
 the ears of men and sealeth their understanding." 
 
 The dream of Calphurnia the night before the assassina 
 tion of her husband, Julius Caesar, is perhaps the most 
 extraordinary example we have in profane history of this 
 kind of dreaming. 
 
 Columbus dreamed that a voice said to him, " God will 
 give to thee the keys of the gates of the ocean." 
 
1 1 8 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 The theory that dreams are but the continuation of our 
 waking thoughts is very popular in Germany and France, 
 and, indeed, one of the most distinguished savans of the 
 latter country asserts that some of his most profound and 
 abstruse calculations were left in an unfinished state, and 
 completed in his dreams after he had went to bed. While 
 on the subject of the relation of dreams to our waking 
 thoughts, we will relate Coleridge's story of the composition 
 of one of his most beautiful poems, " Kubla Khan." 
 
 In the summer of 1797, Coleridge retired to a farm 
 house on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. 
 He was ill, and had taken an anodyne. He fell asleep in 
 his chair. while reading the following lines in " Purchas's Pil 
 grimage " : " Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace 
 to be built, and a stately garden thereunto, and thus ten 
 miles of fertile ground were enclosed with a wall." 
 
 He continued to sleep very profoundly for several 
 hours, during which he composed not less than two to 
 three hundred lines of poetry. On waking he endeavored 
 to write out what he had composed, but was called away 
 on business just as he had written that part of the poem 
 he has given us in his published works. When he returned 
 he was unable to finish the poem j but what he wrote ere 
 the charm was broken contains a world of beauty. 
 
 " In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree, 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man, 
 
 Down to a sunless sea. 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground, 
 With walls and towers were girded round, 
 And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, 
 
 Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, 
 And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. " 
 
DREAMING. 119 
 
 Coleridge then pictures a wild, romantic chasm, where 
 huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, amid the 
 tumult of which Kubla Khan heard from afar, 
 
 " Ancestral. voices prophesying war." 
 
 The poem concludes with a description of a dome of 
 pleasure, in which an Abyssinian maid sings with the 
 sweetest symphony of Mount Abora. 
 
 " Singing of Mount Abora. 
 Could I revive within me 
 
 Her symphony and song, 
 To such a deep delight would win me, 
 
 That with music loud and long 
 I would build that dome in air ; 
 
 That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
 And all who heard should see them there, 
 And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair ; 
 
 Weave a circle around him thrice, 
 And close your eyes with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed, 
 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise." 
 
 One of the most singular things connected with Dream 
 ing is the rapidity with which time seems to pass while in 
 that state. 
 
 Dr. Carpenter relates an incident of a clergyman falling 
 asleep in his pulpit during the singing of a psalm before 
 the sermon, and awaking with the conviction that he must 
 have slept for at least an hour, and that the congregation 
 had been waiting for him, but on referring to his book he 
 was consoled by finding that his slumber had lasted only 
 during the singing of a single line. 
 
 The apparent reality of dreams has often occasioned 
 many ridiculous blunders in leading persons to relate their 
 dreams as actual occurrences. One of the most religious 
 and truthful men we ever knew on one occasion assured 
 us that he had traveled in Russia, when we were satisfied 
 that he had scarcely been outside of the confines of the 
 
! 2 o STL' DiES IN L17EKA 7 L'RE. 
 
 neighborhood in which he lived. We have also heard a 
 distinguished professor in a leading medical college of 
 Kentucky say that he had dreamed so much about the 
 catacombs at Paris that it was impossible for him to tell 
 whether he had actually visited them or not. This, how 
 ever, is not so bad as the story of the man who dreamed 
 that his head had been cut off, and refused to believe other 
 wise until allowed the privilege of looking at himself in 
 the glass. However, none of these examples are any more 
 extraordinary than a dream of our own which we will 
 relate. 
 
 A few years ago, after a severe and continued spell of 
 sickness, we dreamed that we had received a letter from a 
 friend in Europe. It was written at Geneva. The scenery 
 of the surrounding country was glowingly described. 
 Nearly all the famous names in history with which this 
 romantic place is associated, including those of Gibbon, 
 De Stael, Necker, Kemble, Rousseau, and Voltaire, were 
 recalled and commented upon with singular clearness and 
 beauty. We had the most vivid impression of reading the 
 letter over and over again, and of putting it in the drawer 
 of our writing-desk, with the intention of perusing it again 
 after breakfast. On waking the impression was not dis 
 pelled. It became for a time an actual event in life, as 
 palpable to the senses as what we feel and touch. 
 
 We were mortified beyond endurance an hour or two 
 afterwards, when we related the supposed fact of having 
 received the letter to a friend, who informed us that the 
 gentleman had not gone to Europe, but contemplated doing 
 so in the course of a few months. 
 
 Fortunately, however, we are not often troubled with the 
 difficulty of being unable to distinguish between our waking 
 and sleeping thoughts, and when we are, we console our 
 selves with the reflection that those who never dream never 
 think. 
 
DANTE. 
 
 DANTE has been fortunate in his translators. Gary and 
 Longfellow have perhaps furnished the best and truest to 
 the spirit of the original. Either of them will give the 
 reader a better idea of the genius of the great Florentine 
 than Carlyle's literal prose version. 
 
 In 1867 Dr. James Parsons published the first canto of 
 the " Divina Commedia," in which he substituted the decasyl 
 labic quatrain for the triple rhyme of the Italian with toler 
 able effect, but his work is regarded in no other light than 
 as a free translation. 
 
 Gary's translation is even better known in this country 
 than Longfellow's. Prescott said of it : " If DANTE could 
 have foreseen it he would have given his translator a place 
 in his ninth heaven." 
 
 But notwithstanding this praise, and the popularity of the 
 work, it lacks the music, the terza rima, the " continuous 
 interchanging harmony" of the original. Longfellow, in 
 the opinion of our ablest critics, has given us a rigorous 
 adhesion to the words and idioms of the text, and at the 
 same time has preserved all its delicious and entrancing 
 music. We rejoice to know that DANTE is now being 
 more thoroughly read and studied than ever before. No 
 poet who has ever lived has equaled him in intensity of feel 
 ing or surpassed him in fiery bursts of passionate eloquence. 
 He has often been compared with Petrarch, but there is 
 6 
 
122 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 little or nothing in the poetry of the latter to justify the 
 comparison. It is true that there is much to admire in 
 Petrarch, but there is also much that is prurient, insipid, 
 and disgusting. We weary of his love speeches to Laura. 
 They are too monotonous. They lack strength, variety, 
 depth, and originality. The incident he relates of seeing 
 a young peasant girl, on a summer day, washing in a run 
 ning stream a veil of the same texture as one worn by 
 Laura, and of his trembling before her as if in the pres 
 ence of Laura herself, may be very sentimental and roman 
 tic, but we hardly think it worthy of being enshrined in 
 verse, and least of all such verse as Petrarch was capable 
 of writing. 
 
 DANTE'S love speeches, on the contrary, are never occa 
 sioned by such ludicrous incidents. He seems to have a 
 soul above the aggrandisement of insignificant things. 
 His poetry is ever marked by a uniform excellence. He 
 is at all times terribly in earnest. It is almost impossible 
 to think of him without regretting that the age in which he 
 lived was incapable of appreciating his rare and wondrous 
 gifts. It seems that fortune frowned upon him from his 
 birth. When only nine years of age he met Beatrice Porti- 
 nari, to whose love and beauty he attributed the inspiration 
 of his genius. She died in early youth, but not until she 
 became the wife of another. It is said that she did not 
 wholly turn a deaf ear to his vows of affection, but main 
 tained for him the loftiest ideas of Platonic love. His dis 
 consolate grief on being unable to secure her for his bride, 
 won for him the affections of the beautiful Gemma Dei 
 Donati, a descendant of a long line of powerful and warlike 
 nobles. His marriage with her was anything else but a 
 happy one. In the revolution of Ghian Delia, he was 
 arrayed in the ranks of the citizens against the nobility. 
 He was elected one of the Priors of Florence, but when 
 
DANTE. 
 
 the opposite party came into power he was condemned to 
 pay a fine for an alleged malversation in office. He was 
 sentenced to be burned alive if taken within the bounda 
 ries of the Republic. Thus cruelly banished from Florence, 
 forsaken by his friends and relatives, he became a home 
 less wanderer on the face of the earth. He stepped 
 awhile in Sienna and in Bologna, and with the Ghibelline 
 chieftian, Fazuola, on the mountains near Ubini. It is 
 said that he wandered to France and England, and was 
 seen in Paris and at Oxford. Wherever he went, trouble, 
 and pain, and sorrow marked his footsteps. He has 
 himself said : 
 
 " Through almost all parts where the Italian is spoken, 
 a wanderer and well-nigh a beggar, I have gone, showing 
 against my will the wound of fortune. Truly I have been 
 a vessel without sail or rudder, driven to divers ports, 
 estuaries and shores by that hot blast, the breath of poverty, 
 and I have shown myself to the eyes of many who, per 
 haps, through some fame of me had imagined me in quite 
 another guise, in whose view not only my person was 
 debased, but every work of mine done or yet to do became 
 valueless." 
 
 In the midst of his sufferings an effort was made to pro 
 cure his return to Florence. Alas ! that genius should so 
 often draw upon itself the bitterest persecution. It is not 
 the gift of the crowd. It is an original and a creative 
 being, ever diffusing its light upon the world, yet asking 
 none from it. It is often idolised, crowned and sceptred, 
 clothed in purple and decked with glittering jewels, but 
 oftener trampled under foot, and pierced by the shafts of 
 envy and jealousy, which, like the fabled arrows of Acestes, 
 take fire as they fly. 
 
 The conditions on which DANTE was allowed to return 
 to Florence were conceived in a spirit of the bitterest malig- 
 
124 
 
 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 nity. We can form some idea of the loftiness of his pride 
 from a letter on this subject addressed to a relative: 
 
 " I will return," said he, " with hasty steps, if you or any 
 other can open to me a way that shall not derogate from 
 the fame and honor of DANTE j but if by no other way 
 Florence can be entered, then Florence I shall never see. 
 What 1 shall I not everywhere enjoy the light of the sun 
 and the stars, and may I not seek and contemplate in 
 every corner of the earth, under the canopy of heaven, 
 consoling and delightful truth, without first rendering myself 
 inglorious, nay, infamous, to the people and Republic of 
 Florence ? Bread, I hope, will not fail me." 
 
 A monument was erected to him at Ravenna, where he 
 passed the last days of his life. Florence made two formal 
 demands for his remains, but the city that had given him a 
 home in his distress could not, in justice to itself, grant the 
 request. 
 
 In person, DANTE was above the medium height. His 
 complexion was of a dark olive. His eyes were dark and 
 piercing, and of a singular brilliancy of expression. His 
 countenance was resolute and determined, and ever dis 
 played a shade of melancholy. His disposition was natu 
 rally mild and gentle, but became harsh and irascible 
 through intense mental suffering. 
 
 By the common consent of mankind, his " Divina Corn- 
 media "ranks with the "Iliad" and "Odyssey." His Bea 
 trice, as portrayed with her flowing hair and starry eyes, and 
 cheeks whose roseate hue shames the glory of the morn, 
 whose breath is the perfume of the opening rose, whose 
 snowy bosom swells with love's own sighs, is indeed no mor 
 tal, but an angel of light, throned among the supremely blest. 
 He was the first poet of his country who gave elegance of 
 style and diction to his native tongue. He has been often 
 called the father of Italian literature. The statesmen and 
 
DANTE. 125 
 
 scholars of his time thought it an evidence of vulgarity to 
 speak or write in any other language than the Latin ; but 
 DANTE found in the speech of the illiterate peasantry the 
 sweetest tones of music. 
 
 " Di Monarchia " and the " Convito " are, perhaps, his 
 most popular prose works. 
 
 Mr. Norton has recently translated the " Vita Nuovo.' 
 His version of " II Dolarosa " is greatly admired. 
 
 Shelley's translation of the ode entitled " A Wish," which 
 we give below, is unequaled for the exquisite flow of its 
 numbers : 
 
 " Guido, I would that Lappo, thou and I, 
 Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend 
 A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly 
 With the winds at will, where'er our thoughts might wend, 
 So that no change or any evil chance 
 Should mar our joyous voyage, but it might be 
 That even satiety should still enhance 
 Between our hearts their strict community ; 
 And that the bounteous wizard then would place 
 Vanna and Bice and my gentle love, 
 Companions of our wanderings, and would grace 
 With passionate tales, wherever we might rove, 
 Our time, and each were as content and free 
 As I believe that thou and I should be." 
 
THE GYPSIES. 
 
 THE Gypsies are wholly ignorant of their origin, and 
 have kept but an imperfect record of their migrations ; but 
 it is evident that they are a distinct race of people. Like 
 the Jews, they have no country of their own, and are scat 
 tered over all parts of the globe. Time has made little or 
 no change in their peculiarities. They have the same 
 language, personal appearance, habits, and customs, that 
 they had centuries ago. The name of Gypsies (meaning 
 Egyptians) is doubtless an incorrect one. At least we 
 know of nothing to justify them in the assumption of the 
 title. In Italy they are called "Zingari," in Germany 
 " Zigeuner," in Spain " Gitanos," in Turkey " Tchengen- 
 ler," in Persia " Sisech Hindu," in Sweden "Tartars," 
 and in France " Bohemiens." 
 
 Borrow expresses the opinion that the name of Gypsies 
 originated among the priests and learned men of Europe, 
 who expected to find in Scripture some account of their 
 origin and some clew to their skill in the occult sciences. 
 
 Simson, the author of a recent work entitled the " His 
 tory of the Gypsies," believes that they are a mixture of the 
 shepherd-kings and the native Egpytians, who formed part 
 of the " mixed multitude " mentioned in the Biblical ac 
 count of the expulsion of the Jews from Egypt. Grell- 
 man, however, traces their origin to India. He says that 
 they belong to the Soodra caste. Vulcanius describes 
 
THE GYPSIES. 127 
 
 them simply as robbers and outlaws, and Hervas regards 
 their language as "a mere jargon of banditti." 
 
 Their keen black eyes, swarthy complexion, long raven 
 locks, high cheek-bones, and projecting lower jaws evi 
 dently indicate Asiatic origin. It is certain that neither 
 their language nor physiognomy are African. It is argued 
 that if really Egyptians, they would in all probability have 
 preserved a religion, or some of the forms of worship so 
 characteristic of the descendants of that people ; whereas, 
 the Gypsies have no religion at all. 
 
 Indeed, it is a proverb with them that " the Gypsy 
 church was built of lard, and the dogs ate it." 
 
 Whether Egyptians or not, they are doubtless what they 
 claim to be, " Rommany Chals," and not " Gorgios." 
 Very few who have seen them will refuse to believe that 
 they do not understand the art of making horse-shoes, and 
 of snake-charming, fortune-telling, poisoning with the drows, 
 and of singing such songs as the following : 
 
 " The Rommany chi 
 And the Rommany chal 
 Shall jaw tasaulor 
 To drab the bawlor, 
 And dook the gry 
 Of the farming rye." 
 
 " The Rommany churl 
 And the Rommany girl 
 To-morrow shall hie 
 To poison the sty, 
 And bewitch on the mead 
 The farmer's steed." 
 
 At one time the Gypsies were under the protection of 
 the Scottish kings. James IV. gave Antonius Gawino, who 
 claimed to be " Count of Little Egypt," a letter of recom 
 mendation to the King of Denmark. 
 
I 2 8 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 It fe well known that James V. issued a document guar 
 anteeing protection to " Our lovit John Faa, Lord and Erie 
 of Litil Egypt." This document also called upon the 
 people of Scotland not to molest the said John Faa or his 
 band "in doing their lawful business." It has been a 
 matter of conjecture what that business was ; but it was, 
 doubtless, as Mr. Petelengro would say, "business of 
 Egypt." 
 
 The history of the Faas is singularly interesting. The 
 tribes in England and Scotland were ruled by them for 
 several centuries. 
 
 Andro Faa possessed sufficient influence with the crown 
 to procure a pardon for manslaughter in 1554- 
 
 In the seventeenth century one of his descendants, Cap 
 tain John Faa, made such an impression on the heart of 
 the beautiful Countess of Cassilis, that she was persuaded 
 to elope with him from her husband, but the Captain and 
 most of his band were soon afterward captured and exe 
 cuted. 
 
 This incident gave rise to the celebrated song entitled 
 " The Gypsie Laddie." We give below the first and con 
 cluding verses : 
 
 "The Gypsy came to Lord Cassilis' yett, 
 
 And O but they sang bonnie ; 
 They sang sae sweet and sae complete, 
 That down came our fair ladie. 
 
 " They were fifteen valiant men, 
 
 Black, but very bonnie, 
 And they all lost their lives for ane 
 The Earl of Cassilis' ladie." 
 
 The Faas afterward changed their name to Fall. Many 
 of them were distinguished for their fine personal appear 
 ance, dignified and elegant bearing, and superior mental 
 accomplishments. They are connected by marriage with 
 
'I HE GYPSIES. 
 
 129 
 
 some of the noblest families in Scotland. Captain James 
 Fall, member of Parliament, was particularly proud of his 
 Gypsy origin, and took every opportunity to boast of it ; 
 and a Mrs. Fall, wife of the Provost of Dunbar, repre 
 sented with her own hands, in needle-work, the whole 
 family, " with their asses and Gypsy paraphernalia, leaving 
 Yetholm." 
 
 According to Mr. Simson, it is almost impossible to tell 
 in Scotland who are not Gypsies. He says that they are 
 to be met with in every sphere of Scottish life, and that he 
 is acquainted with youths and men of middle age, of edu 
 cation and character, who follow very respectable occupa 
 tions, who are Gypsies. He thinks that the race has 
 become so prolific that there are probably 500,000 of them 
 in the British isles alone. 
 
 One of the Miss Falls married Sir John Anstruther, of 
 Elie, Bart. 
 
 It is said that during an exciting election for Parliament, 
 in which Sir John was a candidate, that his opponent 
 taunted him with his wife's Gypsy origin, and sought to 
 injure him by reference to it. The streets, it is said, 
 resounded with the song of " The Gypsy Laddie," whenever 
 Lady Anstruther entered them, and on one occasion a friend 
 expressed the deepest regret that the rabble should thus 
 insult her. " Oh, never mind," replied Lady Anstruther, 
 " they are only repeating what they hear from their 
 parents." 
 
 The Gypsies have a great passion for horses, and treat 
 them with the utmost kindness. It is well known that while 
 they will eat almost every kind of carrion, they will not 
 touch the flesh of a horse. 
 
 It would seem that there is a peculiar charm attached to 
 Gypsy life, for it is seldom that one of their number de 
 serts them, and when he does he is almost sure to return 
 6* 
 
I3 o STUDIES IN LITERATURE. 
 
 the first opportunity. Hence the saying : " Once a Gypsy, 
 always a Gypsy." But there are a good many who take 
 the appearance of Gypsies without having a Gypsy origin, 
 and this reminds us of an amusing anecdote related by 
 that accomplished scholar and author, Noble Butler. 
 While riding on the top of an omnibus in the Duke of 
 Devonshire's grounds, he saw before him a gang of what 
 appeared to be Gypsies. A gentlemen sitting by him said, 
 " A great many dye their faces in this part of the country, 
 and pass themselves as Gypsies, that they may beg and 
 steal." As the omnibus rolled on, a little boy ran out 
 from the gang to the side of the omnibus, crying out, 
 " Pleas'e to lave us a pinny," with unmistakable Irish 
 accent. The Gypsy diet is said to be very savory and 
 palatable, but while we, like Dominie Sampson, might be 
 won over to the goodly stew of Meg Merrilies, which was 
 composed of fowls, hares, partridges, and moor-game, 
 boiled in a mess with potatoes, onions, and leeks, we 
 hardly think that we could become reconciled to the doc 
 trine that " what God kills is better than what man kills." 
 
 This curious people are superstitious in the extreme. 
 They consult the stars, the flight of birds and the soughing 
 of the wind for good and evil omens ; and it is said they 
 watch a corpse by day and night until it is buried, and 
 believe that " the Diel tinkles in the lykewake " for those 
 who feel, during what is called the " death-throe," the ter 
 rors of remorse. They are both cowardly and treacherous, 
 and are not only malicious, but cruelly vindictive. They 
 seem to have every vice but the want "of chastity. The 
 marriage tie with them is regarded as sacred. The cere 
 mony of divorce is very imposing, and is performed around 
 the body of a dead horse, sacrificed for the occasion at the 
 time of high noon. 
 
 Both sexes have an inordinate passion for jewelry, and 
 
THE GYPSIES. 
 
 have ever exhibited a fond ness for a union of filth and taw 
 dry finery. But whatever may be said of them, the virtue 
 of their women is inviolable. It is seldom if ever con 
 quered, and when it is, the punishment is death. We have 
 heard of a beautiful Gypsy girl who left her camp near 
 Madrid one evening, attracted by the strains of delicious 
 music, to engage in the festivities of a ball-room. She was 
 received with the utmost enthusiasm, and loaded with jewels 
 and caresses. When the guests had departed, she was 
 detained by one who hoped to accomplish her ruin. She, 
 for a time, heroically resisted every attack upon her virtue, 
 but yielded at last. The next morning she was found hung 
 upon a post not far from the scene of her crime. The 
 country was instantly scoured for the purpose of bringing 
 the malefactors to justice, but there was scarcely a vestige 
 of the camp left, nor was there a Gypsy to be seen in the 
 neighborhood for many years afterward. 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 THE collection of Autographs seems to have begun 
 about the middle of the sixteenth century. The Germans 
 claim that the custom first originated in their country. I 
 know of no reason to deny them this honor ; and I cheer 
 fully accord to them the right of sharing it in common with 
 the renown of giving to mankind the three great elements 
 of modern civilisation printing, gunpowder, and the Pro 
 testant religion, .and of being the first to catch the light of 
 Shakspeare's genius and to reflect it upon the world. 
 
 The custom is said to have originated among travellers, 
 who carried with them a book or album for the purpose of 
 securing the signatures of distinguished persons. The old 
 est book of this kind is dated 1558. It is in the British 
 Museum, the repository of the most valuable collection of 
 Autographs in the world. 
 
 Magna Charta, granted in 1215, is also deposited there. 
 This instrument serves to establish tjie fact that neither the 
 king nor any of his nobles could write their own names. 
 The signature of Shakspeare is perhaps the most precious 
 of all autographic treasures. Five of his autographs, 
 known to be genuine, have been preserved. One of them 
 is his last will and testament, and is deposited at Doctors' 
 Commons, London. It bears his signature in three places. 
 
 A number of scholars have tried to establish the theory 
 that the character may be determined by the rapid writing. 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 133 
 
 Their arguments, however, are entitled to but little consid 
 eration. 
 
 Hood, in one of his essays, makes a good deal of sport 
 of a gentleman who asked him for his autograph He 
 pretended not to know what kind he wanted. He said 
 autographs were of many kinds. For instance, charity 
 boys write theirs on large pieces of paper, illuminated with 
 engraving ; Draco wrote his, to oblige Themis, in human 
 blood, and servants sometimes have a habit of scrawling 
 autographs on a tea-board with slopped milk. He con 
 cluded by telling the gentleman that as he had not sent 
 him a brick wall, or a looking-glass, or a bill-stamp, or a 
 kitchen-door, that he supposed he wanted a common pen, 
 ink, and paper autograph ; but in the absence of any par 
 ticular direction for transmitting it, either by a carrier- 
 pigeon or in a fire-balloon, &c., he would send him one in 
 print. Hood was fully aware of the dignity of the profes 
 sion of the genuine autographic collector, but could not 
 resist the temptation of indulging in his quaint and inimi 
 table humor. 
 
 The collection of Autographs, pursued in the proper 
 spirit, cannot do otherwise than increase historical and bio 
 graphical knowledge. 
 
 One of the most distinguished collectors in the United 
 States is Mr. L. J. Cist, of St. Louis. He is not only a 
 fine scholar, but one of the best judges of the genuineness 
 of letters and manuscripts in the country. He was for 
 many years a resident of Cincinnati, and is the author of a 
 volume of delightful poems. I had heard so much of his 
 famous collection that I felt no little curiosity to examine 
 it and to talk with him about it. I went to St. Louis a 
 few years ago, and had the pleasure of making his acquain 
 tance. He received me with the utmost kindness and cor 
 diality. The subject of Autographs was soon introduced, 
 
134 
 
 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 and in a few moments I found myself surrounded by his 
 priceless treasures. He informed me that he began his col 
 lection more than thirty years ago. He said that he came 
 accidentally into the possession of the signatures of three 
 Presidents of the United States Madison, Monroe, and 
 John Q. Adams. These led him to wish for others. He 
 then undertook to make a small collection of some of the 
 most prominent living American statesmen and authors, 
 in which he succeeded. 
 
 His collection now comprises about twelve thousand 
 letters and documents, written or signed, of which about 
 one-half are American, the rest European, with a small 
 sprinkling of Asiatic and African (the King of Siam, 
 Rammohun Roy, Hussein, the last Dey of Algiers, the 
 Presidents of Liberia, &c., &c.), illustrated with about 
 eight thousand engraved portraits and views, and not less 
 than fifty thousand newspaper-cuttings containing biograph 
 ical, historical and anecdotal matters of interest relating to 
 the persons whose autographs they illustrate, classified as 
 follows : 
 
 AMERICAN ANTE-REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 Colonial and Royal Governors, Proprietaries, Judges, 
 Statesmen, &c., before the Revolution, in which may be 
 found the autographs of more than one hundred and fifty of 
 the original founders, proprietors, and early Governors of the 
 thirteen colonies from 1630 to 1776, including such names 
 as Roger Williams, Duke of York (James I.), Lord Berkeley, 
 Sir George Carteret, William Penn and sons, Cecil Lord 
 Baltimore, and General Oglethorpe, founders or proprieta 
 ries. Of the Governors of Massachusetts from John Endi- 
 cott, John Winthrop, and Sir Henry Vane, down to Hutch- 
 inson and Gage, the last two Royal Governors of Massachu 
 setts, wanting only John Haynes (Governor from 1635 to 
 
A UTOGRAPHS. 
 
 135 
 
 1636) to be complete. Of New York, Peter Stuyvesant 
 (an autograph letter), Sir Edmund Andros (an autograph 
 letter), Thomas Dongan, Jacob Leisler, Sir Charles Hardy, 
 DeLancey, Cadwallader Golden, General Monckton, Lord 
 Dunmore, and the last Royal Governor Tryon. Of Penn 
 sylvania, Thomas, Richard, and John Penn, Lloyd, Mark- 
 ham, James Logan (from whom the famous chief was 
 named), and others. Spottiswood, Drysdale, Dinwiddie, 
 Fauquier, &c., of Virginia ; Dobbs, Tryon, Craven, Mid- 
 dleton, Francis Nicholson, Reynolds, Wright, and others of 
 North and South Carolina and Georgia. 
 
 Of Statesmen and Judges, are Chief-Justice Samuel Sew- 
 all, of Massachusetts j also the Judges who tried, and Geo. 
 Corwin, the sheriff who hung the witches at Salem ; Col. 
 James Otis, the elder (father of the great orator and 
 patriot), the Delancys (Oliver, Stephen, and James) ; lead 
 ing men of New York in old Colony times, &c., &c. 
 
 Here also may be found two very rare documents of spe 
 cial interest to typos, the first being 
 
 " The humble memorial of William Bradford, printer, to the Governor 
 and Council of the Province of New York, etc., sheweth : 
 
 " That the tenth day of this instant, January, there was one quarter's 
 salary due to him, and humbly prays that it may be allowed. 
 
 " And, further : That, whereas, he came to serve their Majesties in 
 this government by printing such things as there might be occasion of 
 for their Majesties' service," &c., he goes on to state that " he has 
 printed for their said Majesties' service as much as hath stood him in 
 ^"50 charge, and not sold of the same to the value of ^5," &c., and 
 therefore humbly prays their favorable consideration of the same, and 
 subscribes himself, &c. 
 
 This rare and precious relic of the first printer of Penn 
 sylvania and New York is unfortunately not dated, but as 
 " their Majesties " alluded to were William and Mary, the 
 memorial must have been written between the years 1693 
 (in which Bradford came to New York) and 1695, in 
 
136 STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 
 
 which Queen Mary died. Bradford was born in England 
 in 1659, came to America in 1683, and landed where Phila 
 delphia now stands, before a house was built there. 
 
 He was the first printer there, and in 1687 published an 
 almanac. He removed to New York city in 1693, and was 
 for thirty years the only printer in the Province, now State 
 of New York, and in 1725 started the New York Gazette, 
 the first newspaper published there. He died May 23, 
 1752, at the ripe old age of ninety-three. 
 
 The other interesting typographical document of early 
 date referred to, is a short note from James Franklin, 
 the elder brother of Ben. Franklin, with whom the latter 
 served his apprenticeship and learned the trade of a 
 printer. He started in 1722, at Boston, the New-England 
 Courant, which was the third newspaper ever started in 
 America. He afterward, in 1732, published the Rhode 
 Island Gazette, the first paper published in the Province of 
 Rhode Island. 
 
 Any one familiar with the well-known chirography of Dr. 
 Franklin, looking at this paper, will be struck by the re 
 markable similarity in the style of handwriting of the two 
 brothers. Probably Benjamin, who was younger than 
 James, was taught to write by his brother. If so, the 
 pupil afterward far excelled his master in this as in most 
 other acquirements. 
 
 Next we have in this division the Generals and officers 
 of the French and Indian Colonial wars, including all the 
 British Generals commanding-in-chief in America from 
 1755 to 1775, viz., Braddock, Shirley, Loudoun, Abercrom- 
 bie, Amherst, and Gage, together with many Colonial offi 
 cers of distinction, such as Sir William Pepperell, Sir 
 William Johnson, Generals Dwight, Waldo, Winslow, Col. 
 Ephraim Williams, and others. 
 
 Two other series belonging to Colonial times and his- 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 137 
 
 tory are the Delegates to the Convention which met at 
 Albany in 1754, and the members of the Colonial (or 
 Stamp Act) Congress of 1765, the former consisting of 
 twenty-five delegates from New Hampshire, Massachusetts, 
 Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, and 
 Maryland ; the latter of twenty-seven members, represent 
 atives of the Colonies of Massachusetts, Connecticut, 
 Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Del 
 aware, and South Carolina. Each of these series in this 
 collection lacks but two names of being full and complete. 
 
 The earliest American paper in the collection is an auto 
 graph of Governor John Winthrop, of Massachusetts, bear 
 ing date "(3) 23 40." March 23d, 1640. A document 
 signed by Thomas Dudley, Governor in 1645, ' ls tne on ly 
 other American specimen of earlier date than 1650. 
 There are some eighteen or twenty written between 1650 
 and 1685, between which latter date and the close of the 
 seventeenth century the specimens are numerous. 
 
 The reader's attention is now invited to another part 
 of the collection, if possible still more interesting. It is 
 the department devoted to the autographs of distinguished 
 men during what may be called the Revolutionary period, 
 from 1774 to 1788. It opens at once to the student a 
 world of thought and reflection. It embraces the promi 
 nent Generals and Statesmen not only of the Revolution 
 from 1775 to 1783, but up to the time of the Constitution 
 of 1787, when the Confederation gave way to the more 
 vigorous form of our present government. This depart 
 ment includes the following subdivision : 
 
 THE SIGNERS OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, 
 
 It contains one or more original letters of every one of the 
 signers of that instrument. Some of these letters are of the 
 deepest interest, as, for example, where Josiah Bartlett, of 
 
1 3 8 STUDIES IN LITER A 7 URE. 
 
 New Hampshire, writes, under date of January 29th, 1775 : 
 " This colony chose deputies who met in congress at Exe 
 ter the 1 7th day of May last, and agreed to raise two 
 thousand men for the common defense of the colonies ; " 
 or where William Whipple, in September, 1776, says: " It 
 seems to be settled that our troops have quitted Long 
 Island. The consequence there will be that they must 
 also evacuate New York ; " or where John Adams writes 
 Elbridge Gerry, from Paris, 1780 : " What am I to do for 
 money ? Not one line have I received from Congress or 
 any member of Congress since I left America." There is 
 also a letter from William Williams, dated May 25th, 1775, 
 to the " Delegates from Connecticut to ye General Con 
 gress," with a reply to the same, signed by Eliphalet Dyer 
 and Roger Sherman, relating to the capture of Ticon- 
 deroga. The answer of William Floyd, dated July 4th, 
 1821, to the address of his fellow-citizens who had met to 
 celebrate the anniversary of Independence, is of special 
 interest when we think that he was then in his 87th year, 
 and that he died August 4th, 1821, precisely one month 
 afterward. 
 
 Here is found a letter from Dr. Franklin, written in 1750, 
 inclosing a draft of a course of study "for the English 
 School," in which he says: "I am very unfit, having 
 neither been educated myself (except as a tradesman) nor 
 concerned in the education of others." Another letter of 
 Franklin to his wife, dated London, July $th, 1769, is char 
 acteristic for the style of its address, commencing, " My 
 dear child," and ending, "Your affectionate husband, B. 
 Franklin." 
 
 Here are letters of Robert Morris, the great financier of 
 the Revolution, some written when he filled the office 
 of Secretary of Finance, and others penned in jail, where 
 he died a prisoner for debt. One member of the Pennsyl- 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 vania delegation, writing to his wife in 1776, concludes 
 with, " I am in good health and spirits, and live mostly at 
 my own little house, as the people call it. Give Peggy, 
 Betsy and Jim each a buss for me. I write this in Con 
 gress chamber, not having time to go to my lodging, and 
 am, dear Ellen, your loving and affectionate spouse, James 
 Smith. Mr. Hancock [meaning John Hancock] calls me 
 to the other room. Adieu. J. S." 
 
 A long letter from William Hooper details the landing 
 of the enemy, in 1781, at Wilmington, and the capture of 
 his family and property there, saying : " Where I shall go 
 from this, God knows. The world is open before me. 
 Without a family and without property, I bear my all 
 about me." 
 
 Francis Lightfoot Lee, writing to his brother, Richard 
 Henry Lee, in 1777, from Yorktown, says: "I have 
 received no letters from Richmond these two posts past 
 There is some rascality in the postoffice. Lwish you could 
 find it out." Postmasters, even in those early days, were 
 not always immaculate. 
 
 We have a letter from John Hancock (1778) to Dr. 
 Franklin in Paris, one from John Adams (1779) to Arthur 
 Lee, and Robert Truit Paine (1778) to Elbridge Gerry, 
 Roger Sherman (1781) to Josiah Bartlett, Francis Lewis 
 (1778) to Governor George S. Clinton, Charles Carroll to 
 General Washington, Thomas Jefferson (1779) to Richard 
 Henry Lee, Richard Henry Lee (August, 1776) to Patrick 
 Henry, and Thos. Nelson to B. Harrison. 
 
 Here I saw an autograph of Thomas Lynch, Jr., cut 
 from the fly-leaf of a book, the only one extant save his 
 signature to the original document at Washington. His 
 letters have been sought for in vain by collectors in South 
 Carolina and elsewhere. 
 
 Forty-eight autographs of this department are what are 
 
1 40 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 called holographs, letters or documents entirely written 
 and signed by the writers. 
 
 A large majority of the signers of this instrument had 
 passed from the stage of action more than a generation 
 before Mr. C. began his collection. It will be seen that 
 his task was one of the utmost difficulty. He accomplished 
 it in about fifteen years. His success in its final comple 
 tion is equaled only by the energy and patience he brought 
 to bear upon it. 
 
 I regret that I have time only to notice briefly that part 
 of Mr. Cist's collection comprising the distinguished Gen 
 erals and officers of the Revolutionary war. He has in this 
 department about three hundred and fifty original letters, in 
 cluding letters from Washington, Kosciusko, DeKalb, Lee, 
 Wayne, Marion, Sumter, Pickens, and others. This branch 
 of his collection is illustrated by two hundred engraved por 
 traits. It also includes letters from a number of distin 
 guished British officers, such as Burgoyne, Howe, and Corn- 
 wallis. There is also a letter from the famous Indian chief, 
 Joseph Brandt, or Thaendaneger, written in 1795, in which 
 he expresses, in very good English, his indignation at the 
 Indians being compared to the French. " Indians," he 
 says, " are not wholly destitute of humanity." 
 
 There is another division which comprises the Presidents 
 and members of the old (or Continental) Congress from 
 1774 to 1778. This interesting series contains autographs 
 of all the Presidents (fourteen in number), and about three 
 hundred of the three hundred and fifty Revolutionary wor 
 thies who represented their States (the old thirteen) in 
 Congress during the fifteen years above mentioned. The 
 Presidents were Peyton Randolph, Henry Middleton (acting 
 for a few days only), John Hancock, Henry Laurens, John 
 Jay, Sam'l Huntington, Thomas McKean, John Hanson, 
 Elias Boudinot, Thomas Mifflin, Richard Henry Lee, 
 Nathaniel Gorham, Arthur St. Clair, and Cyrus Griffin. 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. I4J 
 
 Next after the Continental Congresses comes the Anna 
 polis Convention of 1786, the precursor of the Federal Con 
 vention of 1787, which formed the present Constitution of 
 the United States. 
 
 This Convention, called by the Congress, consisted of 
 the following delegates from their respective States : Alex. 
 Hamilton, and Egbert Benson, New York ; Abraham Clark, 
 Wm. C. Houston, and James Schureman, New Jersey ; 
 Tench Coxe, Penna. ; John Dickinson, George Read, and 
 Richard Bassett, Delaware ; James Madison, Edmund 
 Randolph, and St. George Tucker, Virginia. It met Sept. 
 nth, 1786, chose John Dickinson as its chairman, and 
 adjourned Sept. i4th, having limited its labors to the re 
 commendation of a more general convention from all the 
 States, to be held in Philadelphia the following year. 
 
 That Convention, which met in May, 1787, is generally 
 known as the " Federal Convention of 1787," and its mem 
 bers are designated by autograph collectors as the 
 " Signers " or " Framers of the Constitution of the United 
 States." 
 
 The number of Delegates who attended the Convention, 
 and took part in its proceedings, who may be called the 
 " Framers of the Constitution," was 55, of whom, however, 
 only 37 (including Geo. Washington as President, and Wm. 
 Jackson as Secretary), were actually Signers of the instru 
 ment when completed. Besides the 55 delegates in attend 
 ance, there were 10 others (65 in all) originally appointed, 
 but who declined, or failed to attend the Convention. It 
 will be seen it is thus a difficult matter, in making a list or 
 collection of the autographs of the " Members of the 
 Federal Convention " or " Signers of the Constitution," to 
 decide of how many and what names it shall be com 
 posed. Some collectors confine themselves to the Signers 
 proper, others collect all the members who actually attended 
 
I 4 2 STUDIES IN LITERA TURE. 
 
 the Convention. Mr. C. having, many years ago, com 
 pleted both these, subsequently extended his plan to em 
 brace all those who were elected or appointed delegates to 
 the Convention, whether they attended it or not, and his 
 series now consists of choice letters of every such dele 
 gate, with but a single exception. 
 
 The balance of the collection, which may be classified 
 under the general head of 
 
 LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, AND MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 is further sub-divided into 
 
 AUTHORS. Historians and Biographers, Novelists and 
 Belles-Lettrists, Poets, &c. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC. Naturalists, Inventors, Travellers, and 
 Arctic Voyagers, &c., &c. 
 
 MEDICAL, CLERICAL. From Increase and Cotton 
 Mather down, including complete a series of the Bishops 
 of the Protestant Episcopal Church since the commence 
 ment ; another (nearly complete) of the Methodist Bishops 
 in the United States, from Coke and Asbury down ; 
 together with all the Archbishops, and most of the 
 eminent Bishops of the Catholic Church, from its first 
 American Bishop, John Carroll, to the present day. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. Distinguished Jurists, Judges, and 
 Lawyers; Editors and Politicians; Hartford Convention, 
 &c., &c. ; while a curious miscellaneous medley brings up 
 the rear, in which the names of Lafitte the Pirate, Burr and 
 Blennerhassett, Walker, Lopez and other filibusters ; Davy 
 Crockett, Lorenzo Dow, and Lord Timothy Dexter ; 
 the Rapps, Robert Owen, and Fanny Wright ; Joe Smith 
 and Brigham Young ; Siamese Twins, Barnum, and Tom 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 143 
 
 Thumb ; John Ross, the Cherokee Chief, Wm. Lloyd Gar 
 rison and John Brown, whose 
 
 " Body lies mouldering in the grave, 
 While his soul is marching on " 
 
 all jostle each other, or like 
 
 " Black spirits and white, 
 Blue spirits and gray, 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 Those that mingle may." 
 
JANAUSCHEK. 
 
 IT is somewhat singular that we should find among the 
 Germans the greatest delineator of one of the sublimest 
 of Shakspeare's characters. We have always had the 
 highest appreciation of German intellect. We thought 
 that they knew more about everything else than about the 
 art of acting. We knew well enough that they had taught 
 us something about the arts and sciences, about criticism, 
 mechanism, aesthetics, poetry, philosophy, and religion ; 
 but until we saw JANAUSCHEK, we could not divest our 
 selves of the idea that they are awkward and clumsy. 
 
 Schlegel had but an indifferent opinion of German 
 acting. He said that the theatre was at a very low ebb. 
 He did not attribute this deficiency to a want of talent 
 among his people for dramatic art, but to a want of proper 
 appreciation and cultivation of it. In speaking of German 
 plays he says, " there is too much romance in them," and 
 that " the word romantic is too often profaned by being lav 
 ished upon rude and monstrous abortions." 
 
 If the Germans, generally, have not produced great 
 actors, they have certainly produced some of the greatest 
 critics upon Shakspeare, if indeed they were not the first 
 to catch the light of his genius and reflect it upon the 
 world. Hazlitt, in speaking of German criticism, says, " I 
 am free to confess that my national pride was wounded at 
 the reflection that it was reserved for foreign critics to give 
 
JAN A USC HE K. ! 4 5 
 
 reasons for the faith that the English have in Shakspeare." 
 Hazlitt's admiration for Schlegel was unbounded. He 
 said that " no one has shown the same enthusiastic admi 
 ration for Shakspeare's genius, or the same philosophical 
 acuteness in pointing out his characteristic excellence." 
 
 These compliments to Schlegel are richly deserved, for 
 his criticisms will compare favorably with those of any of 
 the English critics. Lessing, we believe, was the earliest, 
 if not indeed the greatest of the German Shakspearean 
 scholars. But Herder in the " Blatter von Deutscher 
 Art," and Kunst and Tieck in " Letters on Shakspeare," 
 and Goethe in " Wilhelm Meister," and Schiller and Schell- 
 ing, are other august examples of the German appreciation 
 of Shakspeare's genius. Our indebtedness to German crit 
 icism will be more fully appreciated when we recollect how 
 unfavorably Shakspeare has been treated by some of the 
 ablest English scholars and authors. For instance, Dr. 
 Johnson sneers at him, and says that his pathos is not 
 natural, but far-fetched and full of affectation, and that his 
 characters are mere " species, instead of individuals." 
 Hume, the historian, also vents his spleen against him 
 who is the first in the world's literature, and in the appre 
 ciation of the arts, sciences, religions, knowledge, and 
 philosophy ; who has conjured up landscapes of immortal 
 fragrance and freshness and beauty, and peopled them 
 with beings who have displayed all the varied and compli 
 cated phases of humanity, and whose thoughts, speeches, 
 words, sentiments, passions, and imaginings, have become 
 the common property of mankind. Hume says, " It is in 
 vain that we look into Shakspeare for either purity or sim 
 plicity of diction. His total ignorance of all theatrical art 
 and conduct, however material a defect, yet, as it affects the 
 spectator rather than the reader, we can more easily excuse 
 than that want of taste which prevails in his productions." 
 7 
 
146 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 Whether or not we acknowledge the supremacy of Ger 
 man criticism in regard to Shakspeare, we must acknow 
 ledge the grandeur, power, and beauty, and pathos of 
 JANAUSCHEK'S acting in Lady Macbeth, which is, perhaps, 
 the least understood of any of Shakspeare's characters. 
 
 Lady Macbeth is generally regarded as a mere blood 
 thirsty and despicable female fury, but JANAUSCHEK has 
 given us an insight into those sweet and tender and gentle 
 emotions of the soul which made the Thane of Cawdor 
 regard and address her as the dearest partner of his 
 greatness. 
 
 Some years ago we spoke of JANAUSCHEK in connection 
 with Ristori, but there is really no comparison between 
 them. Ristori may have strength, power, beauty, and 
 originality of conception, but she lacks the culture, the 
 refinement, the intellect, the delicacy of feeling, the pro 
 found thought and depth of penetration, the subtle and 
 keen analysis of character, the wonderfully varied emotions 
 and passions, the energy, the spirit, the fire and genius of 
 her rival. 
 
 We have said that there is no comparison to be made 
 between these two great artists, but we are reminded that 
 both of them lend their splendid gifts to the delineation of 
 such sensational dramas as Giacometta's "Elizabeth." 
 This abominable play has been translated into the French, 
 the German, the Spanish, and the English languages, and 
 has been made popular in this country by the acting of 
 Mrs. Lander, Ristori, and JANAUSCHEK. It abounds in 
 ridiculous and sensational passages, and presents little 
 or no claims to either dramatic art or literary merit. There 
 is one scene in the third act which strikes us as particularly 
 objectionable. It is where Elizabeth is dictating two letters 
 at once, one to the Earl of Leicester and the other to Chief- 
 Justice Popham. She is represented as delivering her 
 
JANAUSCHEK. 147 
 
 words in an arrogant and imperial tone, and at the conclu 
 sion she pronounces her name Elizabeth with startling 
 effect. The strangest part about it is that this scene is 
 always vehemently applauded but perhaps, after all, not 
 so strange as that a gifted and highly cultivated artis; 
 should abuse her talents in thus attempting to display such 
 clap-trap nonsense. Elizabeth, though endowed with more 
 than the usual vanity of her sex, attached her name, in all 
 probability, to public documents, letters, and State papers, 
 with very little parade, at least without indulging in such 
 unnecessary bombast and pomposity. 
 
 But to return to Lady Macbeth. A short time since 
 JANAUSCHEK personated this character at the Boston 
 Theatre. She was supported by Edwin Booth as Macbeth. 
 The occasion of two such brilliant stars appearing together 
 was indeed a rare one.. It was looked upon as an epoch 
 in the history of the American stage. More than four 
 thousand persons were present. The audience extended 
 to the distant and almost suburban amphitheatre of that 
 magnificent building. Poets, authors, scholars, orators, 
 and statesmen were among the vast auditory that assembled 
 to witness the performance. The acting that followed 
 revealed beauties in Shakspeare almost undreamed of 
 before. Booth's Hamlet was no longer considered his 
 greatest character. The ablest critics in Boston were 
 forced to acknowledge that, if his Hamlet was the most 
 refined and natural creation, his Macbeth was the most 
 vigorous and brilliant. 
 
 Booth never perhaps played so well before, unless we 
 except his acting on the occasion of the production of 
 Macbeth for the first time at his new theatre in New York. 
 
 Such a spell of enchantment was thrown around the 
 play, that even the weird sisters appeared not as fanciful 
 creations but as fearful realities. 
 
148 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 The scene previous to Duncan's murder was grandly 
 portrayed. We felt that Lady Macbeth indeed shamed 
 her husband with a superhuman audacity when JANAUS- 
 CHEK delivered the following : 
 
 " What beast was it, then, 
 That made you break the enterprise to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more than man. Nor time, nor place, 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck and knew 
 How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me : 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn 
 As you have done to this ! " 
 
 It is said that Mrs. Siddons, in her personation of Lady 
 Macbeth, uttered these horrible words in a demoniacal 
 scream, as if frightened to madness by the audacity of her 
 language. Upon which Hudson says, " We can easily con 
 ceive how a spasmodic action of fear might lend her the 
 appearance of superhuman or inhuman boldness. At all 
 events, it should be observed that Lady Macbeth's energy 
 and intensity of purpose overbears the feelings of the 
 woman, and that some of her words are spoken more as 
 suiting the former than as springing from the latter ; and 
 her convulsive struggle of feeling against that overbearing 
 violence of purpose might well be expressed by a scream." 
 
 When JANAUSCHEK uttered this speech, her voice sud 
 denly assumed a deep and husky tone. There was some 
 thing almost unearthly about it. Her words seemed to 
 come from her lips shivering with horror, conveying the 
 loftiest ideas of impassioned scorn infinitely, we think, 
 more effective than any maniacal scream, and which might 
 
JANAUSCHEK. 149 
 
 well overcome Macbeth's determination "to proceed no 
 further in this business." 
 
 It would, however, be a difficult matter to determine 
 which scene was the greater: the one which we have 
 endeavored to describe, or that in which the following 
 dialogue takes place : 
 
 " Lady M. Give him tending 
 He brings great news. 
 The raven himself is hoarse, 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, all you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood ; 
 Stop up th' access and passage to remorse ; 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose ; nor keep pace between 
 The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
 Nor Heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 To cry, Hold, hold ! ' 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 " Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macb. My dearest love, 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. And when goes hence ? 
 
 Macb. To-morrow as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. Oh, never 
 Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men 
 
150 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 May read strange matters. To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand your tongue ; look like the innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
 Must be provided for : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my dispatch ; 
 Which shall to all our days and nights to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom." 
 
 JANAUSCHEK'S genius is probably better displayed in the 
 sleep-walking scene than in any other in the play. Booth 
 himself remarked to us that this scene could not be sur 
 passed, and that JANAUSCHEK was the only actress he ever 
 saw who seemed capable of comprehending the lofty hero 
 ism, and womanly refinement combined with the unscrupu 
 lous daring and demoniacal fury and firmness of the char 
 acter. 
 
 Her form seemed wasted with torturing and sleepless 
 midnight watchings, and the glazed glamour displayed 
 terribly upon her haggard countenance the ever-burning 
 fever of remorse, when she, " open-eyed yet sightless," 
 endeavored to free her hands from the imaginary spots of 
 blood, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! One ; Two ; Why, then, 'tis 
 time to do't ! Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and 
 afeard ? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our 
 power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to 
 have had so much blood in him ? " 
 
 She repeats the words " Hell is murky " with compressed 
 lips, and their horrible mockery is indeed enough to sicken 
 the soul. 
 
 This scene formed a striking contrast to the one where 
 she' endeavored to relieve Macbeth of " thick-coming 
 fancies," when she says 
 
 " How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making, 
 
JANA USCHEK. ! 5 1 
 
 Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died 
 With them they think on ? Things without remedy 
 Should be without regard : what's done is done." 
 
 Or in the scene where she says 
 
 " Come on, 
 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks, 
 Be bright and jovial amongst your guests to-night." 
 
 JANAUSCHEK does her utmost to portray the tender sym 
 pathy ever springing up between Lady Macbeth and her 
 unhappy husband. 
 
 How different from the portraiture of Mrs. Kemble, who 
 can see but little in Lady Macbeth's character save blood, 
 the feeling of blood, the sight of blood, and the smell of 
 blood, thus divesting her of those womanly touches of na 
 ture so apparent when Macbeth leans upon her for support, 
 and says 
 
 " O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife !" 
 and when she tells him 
 
 " You lack the season of all natures, sleep." 
 
 But we have not space to dwell further upon JANAUSCHEK'S 
 acting. It is sufficient to say that her Lady Macbeth is 
 such a creation of genius that the students of Shakspeare 
 will be grateful for the insight she has given them into the 
 soul of that terrible being, who was the prop and stay of 
 " Bellona's bridegroom ; " that doomed and dauntless spirit 
 who would not "play false," and yet would "wrongly 
 
A PHILOLOGICAL STUDY. 
 
 POL. What do you read, my lord ? 
 HAM. Words, words, words. 
 
 THE rules which form the grammar of any particular 
 language, so far as they differ from those of any other, are 
 occasioned by accidental and temporary circumstances. 
 Probably for this reason these rules have been treated by 
 our ablest scholars and authors under the head of the his 
 tory of language rather than the science of language. 
 Sir John Stoddard says that in order to understand the 
 English grammar we must have a knowledge of universal 
 grammar as well as of the history of language. He says 
 that universal grammar disregards that which is peculiar 
 to the speech of this or that individual tribe, race, or 
 nation, and considers only what is common to man in all 
 ages and countries, both as to an arrangement of his 
 thoughts and feelings with a view to their communication 
 to others, and also as to the bodily organs or instruments 
 with which the Almighty has furnished us for the purpose 
 of such communications. 
 
 His work on " Glossology, or the Historical Relations of 
 Languages," dwells at length on the possibility and proba 
 bility of forming from the existing languages a universal 
 language. His investigations into the science and philo 
 sophy of language are learned and varied in the extreme. 
 They are, however, of too speculative a character to be of 
 
A PHILOLOGICAL STUDY. 153 
 
 much assistance to those \vho wish to understand the prac 
 tical principles of Philology. 
 
 The English language is wholly free from that labyrinth 
 of cases, moods, and tenses, common to the Greek and 
 Latin. 
 
 There are but few terminations in its verbs, and none at 
 all in its adjectives," save for the expression of the degrees 
 of comparison. There is no language better suited for the 
 formation of derivatives from their roots. It has none of 
 the untranslatable idiomatic expressions of the French, the 
 German, the Spanish, and the Italian. 
 
 One of its chief beauties is its distinction of gender, 
 or the modification of its nouns to denote the distinction of 
 sex through gender. 
 
 The French, for instance, have no neuter gender. Their 
 two articles, masculine /<?, and feminine /<7, one or the other 
 is prefixed to their substantive nouns to denote their gen 
 der, and as a natural consequence the most perplexing 
 difficulties must inevitably follow. Beau in their lan 
 guage is of the masculine gender, and yet the fair sex are 
 called le beau sexe. Vossius says that gender is properly a 
 distinction of sex, but it is improperly attributed to those 
 things which have not sex, and only follow the nature of 
 things having sex in so far as the agreement of substantive 
 with adjective. Sex is properly expressed in reference to 
 male and female, as Pythagoras and Theona ; ager, a field, 
 therefore, is improperly called masculine, and herba, an herb, 
 is improperly called feminine. But animal is neuter, 
 because it is construed neither way. It never occurred to 
 Vossius that all substantives could be properly classed by 
 gender. Harris says that every substantive is male or 
 female, or both male and female, or neither one nor the 
 other, so that with respect to sexes and their negation, all 
 substantives conceivable are comprehended under this 
 fourfold consideration. 
 
154 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 Harris failed to include the common gender in his classi 
 fication of substantive nouns. Lindley Murray says that 
 there is no such gender, and that the business of parsing 
 can be done without it. Goold Brown agrees with Murray, 
 and says the term "common gender" is applicable to the 
 learned languages, but in the English it is plainly a solecism. 
 Noble Butler has completely overthrown this theory. Ac 
 cording to Butler, nouns which are applied to living beings 
 without reference to sex are of the common gender, as 
 parent, cousin, child, sheep, friend, neighbor. The term 
 common gender is a grammatical term, applied merely to 
 the words, and does not imply any common sex. 
 
 We have also what is called the transfer of gender in 
 our own language, and by means of it we are enabled to 
 distinguish between prose and poetry, or between the lan 
 guage of reality and imagination. 
 
 For instance, we can give form, distinctness, and beauty 
 to an object by raising that object to the dignity of a person. 
 There are some very fine illustrations of what is meant by 
 the transfer of gender in Milton and in the Bible, though 
 it is well enough to remark that the neuter possessive pro 
 nouns were then not generally in use. 
 
 If gender were permanently fixed in our language, the 
 following description of thunder, in Milton, would lose half 
 its beauty : 
 
 " The thunder, 
 
 "Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage, 
 Perhaps has spent his shafts." 
 
 We give below a quotation from Milton in which gender 
 is applied with singular force and beauty to the idea of 
 form : 
 
 " His form had yet not lost 
 All her original brightness, nor appeared 
 Less than archangel ruined." 
 
A PHILOLOGICAL STUDY. 155 
 
 But perhaps the finest example that can be given of the 
 transfer of gender occurs in a description of night in the 
 Book of Wisdom : " While all things were in quiet silence, 
 and that night was in the midst of her swift course. Thine 
 Almighty word leaped down from Heaven out of Thy royal 
 throne, like a fierce man of war into a land of destruction." 
 
 There is a great disposition on the part of a certain class 
 of philologists to do away with the use of the words sung 
 and sprung. 
 
 Richard Savage has been charged with ignorance for the 
 use of sprung and sung, instead of sprang and sang, in the 
 lines, 
 
 " From liberty each noble science sprung 
 A Bacon brightened and a Spenser sung." 
 
 But we do not know of any reason why sprung and sung 
 should not be considered correct words. Worcester, in his 
 large lexicon, says that sprang and sang are obsolescents, 
 and Webster admits them partially so. 
 
 Dr. Bullion, Hallock, Pinneo, Brown, Kirkham, and, 
 best of all, Noble Butler, prefer sung and sprung to sang 
 and sprang. In Butler's list of irregular verbs in which the 
 past tense and the auxiliary perfect participle are alike in 
 form, we have : Imperfect, or present infinitive, sing ; past 
 indicative, sung ; auxiliary perfect participle, sung. The 
 word sang is placed at the right of the column of past 
 indicatives to indicate that sung is the choicest word, and 
 the one most in use. Shone is thus placed before shined. 
 
 We have in the same list : Imperfect, or present infinite, 
 spring ; past, sprung ; auxiliary perfect, sprung. So like 
 wise string, strung, strung, and swing, swung, swung. 
 Some grammarians prefer drank to drunk for the participle 
 of drink. At one time drank was used occasionally by 
 good writers, but according to Mr. Butler it is only em 
 ployed by writers of an inferior class. The best authors 
 
1 5 6 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 say " Toasts " were drunk, and not " Toasts " were drank. 
 We have a correct use of the word in Coleridge's lines, 
 
 " He on honey dew hath fed 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise." 
 
 The following examples have been furnished me by Mr. 
 Butler from the advanced proof-sheets of his new gramma : 
 
 "Nobody can write the life of a man but those who have ate, and 
 drunk, and lived in social intercourse with him." Dr. Johnson. 
 
 " The toast is drunk with a good deal of cheering." Dickens. 
 11 Claret equal to the best which is drunk in London." Macaulay. 
 11 O'Doherty's health being drunk." Prof. Wilson. 
 
 11 The health of King James was drunk with loud acclamations." 
 Macaulay. 
 
 " He had drunk largely." Thackeray. 
 
 " Wine was more generally drunk than now." Hawthorne. 
 
 *' I have not drunk a glass of wine for twelve months." Hood. 
 
 Probably enough examples have been given to show 
 that drunk is preferred to drank by our best writers. 
 
 Goold Brown, Pinneo, and some other grammarians, set 
 down bear, to carry, and bear, to bring forth, as two distinct 
 verbs, the former with the participle borne, and the latter 
 with the participle born. These authors are supported in 
 their theory by Dr. Webster, who says that " a very useful 
 . distinction is observed by good authors, who in the sense 
 of produced or brought forth write this word born, but in 
 the sense of carried write it borne." It is true enough 
 that in the sense of carried the participle is borne; but 
 surely in the sense of produced the participle is not born. 
 
 We do not say the tree has born fruit, but the tree has 
 borne fruit ; nor that the mother has born children, but 
 borne children. Born is never used in the active voice, 
 and never in the passive when followed by the preposition 
 by. 
 
A PHILOLOGICAL STUDY. 157 
 
 It is somewhat singular that there should be any trouble 
 whatever about the correct use of irregular verbs, and yet 
 how often the transitive verbs Jay, raise, and set, are con 
 founded with the intransitive verbs lie, rise, and sit. 
 
 Set, set, set, and sit, sat, sat, are as simple as simplicity it 
 self. We set a thing in its place, and we sit down when we 
 are tired. The same simplicity is characteristic of lay, laid, 
 laid, and lie, lay, lain ; and yet Lord Byron, in one of the 
 sublimest passages in Childe Harold, in speaking of man 
 and his Creator, says : 
 
 " And sendst him shivering in the playful spra)% 
 And howling to his gods, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth ; there let him lay." 
 
 Such errors as " he laid down," for he lay down, are very 
 common in conversation, but the best plan we have seen to 
 avoid them is given by Mr. Butler. It consists simply of a 
 table where the transitive verbs lay and set are conjugated 
 by the side of the intransitive verbs lie and sit. 
 
 Dr. Webster contends that the phrase you was is correct 
 but we fear few good writers agree with him. If you was is 
 correct, it would be little use to argue that a verb should 
 agree with its subject in number and person. 
 
 Webster says, " The verb must follow its nominative. If 
 that denotes unity, so does the verb." But there is not much 
 unity in a pronoun of a second person requiring the verb of 
 the third person. 
 
 Pinneo, in his grammar, says : "In common conversa 
 tion, and by the practised class, was in the singular is almost 
 always used, and among the the more highly educated the 
 tendency is increasing daily." Mr. Butler, in commenting 
 upon this, observes : "If any unfortunate pupil should be 
 led by this statement to the use of you was, he would soon 
 find himself suffering the penalty of misplaced confidence." 
 
158 STUDIES IN LITER A TURE. 
 
 Some persons seem to have" great difficulty in seeing the 
 difference between signification and form. N.o one con 
 tends that you always denotes more than one, as no one 
 contends that we always denotes more than one, or that 
 the German sie always refers to several persons spoken of. 
 The question is simply about form. 
 
 If you is not always plural in form, let us say you art ; 
 even if we should follow the analogy of you was and say you 
 is. And, according to the same principle, let the editor of 
 the newspaper when he means only himself say we am, or we 
 is. We shall then have everything, as Tony Lumpkins's 
 friend expresses it, in " a concatenation accordingly." 
 
 The use of the plural we for 7 is comparatively of recent 
 date. There certainly can be no objection to it, for it is 
 nothing like as egotistical as the latter form. A recent 
 writer tells us that it originated with King John, who found 
 out the art of multiplying himself, whereas his predecessors 
 had been content with the simple ego. The use of we by 
 editors when a single person is meant, is explained on the 
 ground that the opinions expressed under this form are 
 those of a class or party. This expression, however, has 
 the same excuse as that of you for thou. It is republican 
 in form and respectful in every sense, and avoids direct 
 personality. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
A WONDERFUL BOOK. 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 "SEEN AND HEARD," by MORRISON HEADY, the "Blind 
 Bard of Kentucky,"" * as he was called by the late George D. 
 Prentice. A collection of poems by an author Blind and Deaf, 
 would be of the highest interest, if its merits were only ordi 
 nary ; but, as the work is one of true poetry, showing the writer 
 to be a man of rarest endowments and high poetic genius, 
 the " surprise and admiration " of the veteran poet Whittier 
 cannot be wondered at, and his assertion that he " knows of 
 nothing in modern literature more remarkable " than this 
 book, will be reechoed by every person that reads it. The late 
 Geo. D. Prentice, himself a distinguished poet and a world- 
 renowned Journalist and critic, adds new strength to Mr. 
 Whittier's endorsement, by saying "the people of Mr. Heady's 
 State have a right to be proud of him. When I consider the. 
 disadvantages that have doubly rested upon him throughout 
 nearly all his life, I cannot but, wonder at what he has been able 
 to achieve." 
 
 The volume is an elegant one, beautifully printed on the 
 finest tinted paper, nnd richly bound in a novel style an ele 
 gant ornament alike for the Parlor Table or the Library Shelf. 
 Price $2.00. Sent Postage Free, upon receipt of price to any 
 part of the country. 
 
 H. C. TURNBULL, JR., 
 
 54 Lexington st, 
 
 BALTIMORE. 
 
 [Copy of a letter written to Morrison Heady, by the late Geo. D. Prentice.} 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY., Kov. llth, 1869. 
 MR. MORRISON HEADY, 
 
 Dear Sir /Permit me to thank you very heartily for your recently 
 published volume of poetry. 1 Lave read the whole of it with much 
 pleasure, and a large portion of it with high admiration. It has 
 passages that I think sublime. That such a book could be produced 
 by a poet under the extraordinary disadvantages that rest upon you 
 is to me a matter of wonder. Accept my best wishes for your hap 
 piness and fame. Yours truly, 
 
 GEO. D. PRENTICE. 
 
 [ Copy of a letter nceived by the publisher from the late Geo. D. Prentice.} 
 
 LOUISVILLE, Nov. Yith, 1869. 
 MR. HENRY C. TUKNBULL, JR., 
 
 Dear Sir : I thank you for a very finely printed and bound volume 
 of the poems of Morrison Heady, the Deaf and Blind poet of Ken- 
 
11 
 
 tucky ; I think that it has very fine merit. I have known the Author 
 many years, and always regarded him as a man of genius and true in 
 spiration. The people of his State have a right to be proud of him. 
 When I consider the disadvantages that have doubly rested upon him 
 throughout nearly all his life, 1 cannot but wonder at what he has 
 been able to achieve. 
 
 Very respectfully, 
 
 GEO. D PRENTICE. 
 
 [ Copy of a letter received by the. publisher fi om the celebrated and veteran 
 l j oet, J. G. WUITTIEU ] 
 
 AMESBURY*, IWi October, 18G9. 
 DEAR SIR : 
 
 I thank thee for a copy of the beautiful volume of my friend 
 Ileady's Poems. Some years ago I read with surprise and admira 
 tion the opening poem in the book, in which he described with 
 almost Miltonic power and pathos his double night of blindness and 
 deafness. I have looked over the long Indian Poem, which, notwith 
 standing what seems to me an unfortunate rhythmical method, isfull 
 of felicitous passages of description and characterisation, whichauy 
 one in possession of all his senses might well be proud of. The same 
 might be said of the Apocalypse of the treasons, which rises from quiet 
 pastoral beauty to a lofty hymn of Christian faith and hope. As 
 might be expected, the volume is open to criticism, out 1 kntnv of 
 iioihingin modern literature rnorertmaikable than its production under 
 the circumstances in ichich its author i placed. 
 I am, very truly, thy friend, 
 
 JOHN G. WHITTIER. 
 
 COPY. 
 
 [Extracts from a Utter, published in the " Virginia Gazette," written by 
 
 MRS. MAKGARET J. PRESTON, author of "Beechenbrook," and 
 
 other 2wems.] 
 
 Nothing superior to the volume $etn and Heard, in typography, 
 paper or binding, has ever been issued from any press south of Phil 
 adelphia. ***** The Poems feenand Heard ought not to he 
 arraigned at the bar of ordinary criticism. The knowledge that they 
 are the production of one who is forever shut within that drear do 
 main, 
 
 " Where echoless Silence tolls the passing bell- 
 Where shadowless Darkness weaves the shrouding spell," 
 
 as he himself so mournfully describes it in the Poem entitled The, 
 Double Night, would, or at LeaatA0f#<2, drain from the bitterest critical 
 pen all its venom. And even were the contents of the book far less 
 creditable than they are, who would not stretch out in utmost ten 
 derness, a helping and pitying hand to aid the uncertain footsteps of 
 this sad groper through Olympian arcades ? 
 
 MR. HEADY'S pages abound in such rich imagery, display so much 
 delicate sketching from nature, and manifest an almost. Flemish finish 
 in details, that it is hard to persuade oneself that almost since child 
 hood he has been wrapped in "-ever-during dark." But Providence 
 has given him a compensation in the possession of 
 
 "That inner eye. 
 Which is the bliss of solitude." 
 
 * * * * Heartily do we commend this volume to the kind appre 
 ciation of the reading public. We feel sure that the blind man's ex 
 quisite sense of touch must be gratified as he passes his hand over 
 
Ill 
 
 the creamy leaves and handles the rich binding. We hope for hiin 
 the still higher gratilicatiou of a wide circle of most appreciative 
 readers. 
 
 Feen and Heard. Poems or the like. Why Mr. Heady allowed the 
 last three words of the title to accompany the other four, we caimot 
 understand; for if his he not poetry, we know not what is: and 
 poetry, too, of a high order. ***** The longest poem in the 
 book is YOONKM?KOTA : an Indian Idyll. It enters as fully into Indian 
 modes of thought and feeling, and speech, as Longfellow's Hiawatha* 
 and is, in our opinion, fully equal to it in everything except perhaps 
 the artistic fluUh. Mor is it an imitation: for, in the first place, it is 
 written in several different measures ; and in the second place, parts 
 of it date back to 1852. which is three or four years earlier than the 
 publication of Hiawatha. * * * * In the Apocalypse of the sea 
 sons, at the close of the book, the description of that apparently un- 
 poetical thing the Heaping Machine ia equal to anything in 
 Thomson. We wish we had space for it ; but we muet content our 
 selves with advising our agricultural friends to get the book and read 
 it for themselves. * * * * The book is beautifully gotten up, 
 and will bear comparison with the best productions of the American 
 Press. Southern R 
 
 follows the Double Right, and is full of many 
 beauties, and written in that style so very rare and beautiful, seldom 
 found, and strange to say, by the " mass " of readers, not appreciated 
 as its truly beautiful rhythm merits. * * * The End of Time is 
 an unparalleled poem, which, in awful sublimity and grandeur, ex 
 ceeds anything we have ever read. * * * * This collection of 
 poems, taken separately or collectively, is a rare jewel, and should 
 gra9e the library of every lover of what is really beautiful. * * * 
 The volume is gotten up in" the very best style, surpassing in fact 
 anything we have ever seen. Spencer Journal, Ky. 
 
 * * * It is interesting to note what perceptions he still retains 
 from the days when he looked out on the world with youthful eye, 
 not knowing how brief the time allotted him to amass a treasure of 
 fair sights and sounds to serve as his portion of earth's beauty during 
 his life-time to come. It is interesting to note these memories, their 
 vividness, and the skill with which he uses the things which he has 
 once ' seen and heard." * * * * We are astonished at the wealth- 
 of a memory which is ever ready with life-like pictures, as if the poet 
 had come fresh from the hills and forests of his native Kentucky, to 
 fix the fleeting images on paper. 
 
 Yoommskota, an Indian Idyll, is decidedly the most powerful and 
 original of these poems, both in matter and in form. * * * * 
 The descriptions of scenery in the poem are everywhere singularly 
 fresh and vivid. For instance, the moon-rise, where we actually see 
 the widening light, the sharp edge suddenly protruding above the 
 peak, and then the full-orbed splendor as the planet disengages her 
 self and hangs clear and round in the sky. so the sunset and the 
 sunrise, with the successive awakening of motion and life among 
 inanimate things, the creatures of the forest, and finally the red men 
 in their lodges. * : * * But Mr. Heady can depict sweet and 
 peaceful scenes as well as eavage ferocities, and depicts them too in 
 befittiugly musical verse. * * * * We feel no hesitation in pro 
 nouncing Mr. Heady a poet of true genius and no mean skill in his art, 
 whose works under any circumstances would attract notice and de 
 serve praise; but which, considering the deprivations under which 
 the author suffers, are little less than wonderful. We should not do 
 entire justice to the book were we to omit to notice the extreme ele 
 gance of its dress and general finish, on which the publisher seems to 
 have spared neither care nor coat. Baltimore Statesman. 
 
IV 
 
 * * * " Seen and Heard" is the title of an elegant volume of 
 poems, * * * * all of which display poetic power, and even if 
 not issued under peculiar circumstances, which lend additional in 
 terest, the work would be worth while as one of the best collections 
 of amateur poetry made for some time. The elegance of the paper, 
 typography and binding, are worthy of note. New York Evening 
 Mail. 
 
 * * Mr. Ileady's compositions show a great deal of poetical 
 feeling, and profound sensibility to and love of the phenomena of 
 nature, and they are ethically of a transparent purity and sweetness. 
 It is impossible to say how high Mr. Heady would have risen in his 
 chosen path with the use of all his exterior senses. For one deprived 
 of the two chief ones, his powers of imagination, expression and 
 description are very remarkable, and the poetical merit of his com 
 positions very high. American Publisher and bookseller, N. Y. 
 
 This strangely named volume is the product of a true and remark 
 able genius. Deprived of sight and hearing when a youth, whatever 
 imagery the poet draws ef external nature must come from memory's 
 storehouse, lighted up by fancy's glowing lamp. Hence, " Seen and 
 Heard." And it is surprising how well stored is his memory, and 
 how vividly the poet's fancy paints the many-voiced and ever-varying 
 outer world that has so long been to him as a sealed book. His 
 shorter poems are smooth of verse, pathetic, finely expressive in 
 language and versification. In " Yoonemskota" Mr. Heady shows 
 himself to be a poet of original and varied powers. Here we have 
 the Indians, and their haunts, and their ways of life, the seasons and 
 their phenomena, all the varying aspects of nature, limned with rare 
 freshness, force and fidelity, aglow with striking and highly poetical 
 imagery, and evincing no common mastery of rhythmical harmony and 
 variety of movement. There are scenes or situations in this poem so 
 uncommonly fresh and vivid in conception and handling, as would 
 furnish worthy subjects for the greatest living Painters. * * * * 
 Mr. Heady is certainly no "mute, inglorious Milton." Only one of a 
 very rare order of endowments could have written these poems under 
 similar afflictions. The style in which the volume is brought out re 
 flects high credit upon the publisher. New Orleans Picayune. 
 
 * * * * These poems exhibit a power of personification equal to 
 that of Shelley, and a delicacy and truthfulness of touch in word- 
 painting that imparts to their descriptions of nature a life-likeness, 
 reminding us of Keats' Jive of St. A gnes. ***** The Apoca 
 lypse of the Seasons is a poem that we were charmed with at first 
 sight, and have learned to love more and more with each successive 
 reading, until admiration has become a passion. * * * * The 
 book is appropriately named. For although the poet is blind and 
 deaf, so real are his conceptions that we are constrained to acknow 
 ledge he has seen deeper into nature's soul, and heard more of her 
 confidential whispers than ourselves, with eyes and ears open to 
 every sight and sound. He has almost beguiled us of our sympathy 
 for his affliction, and tempted us to covet a glimpse of the glorious 
 worlds of fancy " forever singing as they shine," which has made his 
 " Double Night," " a day supernal." Baltimore Episcopal Methodist. 
 
 * * * Mr. Heady's privations, which in ordinary men would be re 
 garded as a sufficient reason for inactivity, seem to have stimulated 
 our author to preternatural thirst for knowledge and industry in its 
 acquisition. The result we have in part in the exquisite volume now 
 before us. The art of the printer has fitly set these jewels. No one 
 need fear to purchase lest he should buy pinchbeck for gold, or paste 
 for diamonds. = * * * Those loving true poetry will buy the 
 volume and react for themselves. The enjoyment we guarantee. 
 Lexington Gazette. 
 
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