THE GIFT OF 
 
 
 MAY TREAT MORRISON 
 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 
 ALEXANDER F MORRISON 
 

 
 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS.
 
 By the same Author, 
 
 THE 
 
 EARLY FRENCH POETS, 
 
 A SERIES OF NOTICES AND TRANSLATIONS: 
 
 WirH AN 
 
 Introductory Sketch of the History of French Poetry. 
 BY THE REV. HENRY CARY,M.A. 
 
 LONDON : HENRY G. BOHN. 
 MDCCCXLVI. 
 
 Shortly will be published, 
 
 THE ODES OF PINDAR, 
 
 IN ENGLISH VERSE. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, WITH NOTES, 
 
 EDITED BY THE REV. HENRY GARY, M.A. 
 
 Preparing for the Press, 
 THE 
 
 LITERARY JOURNAL AND LETTERS 
 
 OP THE 
 
 REV. HENRY FRANCIS GARY. 
 
 WITH A BIEMOIR. 
 
 BY HIS SON, THE REV. HENRY GARY, M.A
 
 LIVES 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 J^ FUOM 
 
 JOHNSON TO KIRKE WHITE, 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 REV. HENRY FRANCIS GARY, M.A. 
 
 TUANSLATOU OF DANTE. 
 
 LONDON : 
 HENRY G. BOHN, YOKK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 MDCCCXLVI. 
 
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 ^ EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 V 
 
 ^ 
 
 The papers of which this vohime is composed ori- 
 ginally appeared in the London Magazine, between 
 the years 1821 and 1824. It was the author's 
 intention to continue the series of LiA'es to a later 
 period, but a change in the proprietorship of the 
 Magazine prevented the completion of his plan. 
 
 u>. They are now for the first time published in a sepa^ 
 
 ^ rate form, and under their author's name. 
 
 ^' In seeing the work through the press, the Editor 
 
 has had occasion only to alter one or two particulars 
 in the Life of Goldsmith, which the labours of that 
 
 ^4%^ Poet's more recent biographer, Mr. Prior, have 
 subsequently elucidated. 
 
 ^ 
 
 WoacLSiEtt College, 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 Dec. 1, 1845. 
 
 HENRY GARY. 
 
 428058
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Samuel Johnson 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 John Armstrong 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 Richard Jago 
 
 
 
 . 103 
 
 Richard Owen Cambridge 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 Tobias Smollett 
 
 
 
 119 
 
 Thomas Warton 
 
 
 
 146 
 
 Joseph Warton 
 
 
 
 163 
 
 Christopher Anstey . 
 
 
 
 180 
 
 William Mason 
 
 
 
 190 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith 
 
 
 
 222 
 
 Erasmus Darwin 
 
 
 
 246 
 
 William Julius Mickle 
 
 
 
 273 
 
 James Beattie . 
 
 
 
 288 
 
 William Hayley 
 
 
 
 317 
 
 Sir William Jones 
 
 
 
 350 
 
 Thomas Chatterton 
 
 
 
 388 
 
 Henry Kirke White . 
 
 
 
 412
 
 LIVES OF ElSTGlISH POETS. 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no one among our English 
 writers, who for so great a part of his hfe has been an 
 object of curiosity to his contemporaries as Johnson. 
 Almost every thing he said or did was thought worthy 
 of being recorded by some one or other of his asso- 
 ciates ; and the public were for a time wilUng to listen to 
 all they had to say of him, A mass of information has 
 thus been accumulated, from which it will be my task 
 to select such a portion as shall seem sufficient to give 
 a faithful representation of his fortunes and character, 
 without wearying the attention of the reader. That 
 any important addition should be made to what has 
 been already told of him, wall scarcely be expected. 
 
 Samuel Johnson, the elder of two sons of Michael 
 Johnson, who was of an obscure family, and kept a 
 bookseller's shop at Lichfield, was born in that city 
 on the 18th of September, 1709. His mother, Sarah 
 Ford, was sprung of a respectable race of yeomanry 
 in Worcestershire ; and, beinga woman of great piety, 
 early instilled into the mind of her son those principles
 
 2 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of devbtio.li for -which he was afterwards so eminently 
 distinguished. At the end of ten months from his 
 birtfjyhe isas taken from his nurse, according to his own 
 account of himself, a poor diseased infant, almost blind; 
 and, when two years and a half old, was carried to 
 London to be touched by Queen Anne for the e\il. 
 Being asked many years after if he had any remem- 
 brance of the Queen, he said that he had a confused 
 but somehow a sort of solemn recollection of a lady 
 in diamonds and a long black hood. So predominant 
 was this superstition relating to the king's e\il, that 
 there was a form of service for the occasion inserted 
 in the Book of Common Prayer, and Bishop Bull,* 
 in one of his Sermons, calls it a relique and remainder 
 of the primitive gift of healing. The morbidness of 
 constitution natural to him, and the defect in his eye- 
 sight, hindered him from partaking in the sports of 
 other children, and probably induced him to seek for 
 distinction in intellectual superiority. Dame Oliver, 
 who kept a school for little children, in Lichfield, first 
 taught him to read ; and, as he delighted to tell, when 
 he was going to the University, brought him a pre- 
 sent of gingerbread, in token of his being the best 
 scholar her academy had ever produced. His next in- 
 structor in his own language was a man whom he used 
 to call Tom Browne ; and who, he said, published a 
 
 * Bull's Fifth Sermon.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 3 
 
 Spelling Book, and dedicated it to the universe. He 
 was then placed with Mr. Hunter the head master of 
 the grammar school in his native city, but, for two 
 years before he came under his immediate tuition, was 
 taught Latin by Mr. Hawkins, the usher. It is just that 
 one, who, in writing the lives of men less eminent than 
 himself, was always careful to record the names of 
 their instructors, should obtain a tribute of similar re- 
 spect for his own. By Mr. Price, who was afterwards 
 head master of the same school, and whose name I 
 cannot mention without reverence and affection, I have 
 been told that Johnson, when late in life he visited the 
 place of his education, shewed him a nook in the 
 school-room, where it was usual for the boys to secrete 
 the translations of the books they were reading ; and, 
 at the same time, speaking of his old master. Hunter, 
 said to him, " He was not severe. Sir. A master 
 ought to be severe. Sir, he was cruel." Johnson, 
 however, was always ready to acknowledge how much 
 he was indebted to Hunter for his classical proficiencv. 
 At the age of fifteen, by the advice of his mother's 
 nephew, Cornelius Ford, a clergyman of considerable 
 abilities, but disgraced by the licentiousness of his 
 life, and who is spoken of in the Life of Fenton, he 
 was removed to the grammar-school of Stourbridge, 
 of which Mr. Wentworth was master. Here he did 
 not remain much more than a twelvemonth, and, as 
 he told Dr. Percy, learned much in the school, but
 
 4 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 little from the master ; whereas, with Hunter, he had 
 learned much from the master, and little in the school. 
 The progress he made was, perhaps, gained in teach- 
 ing the other boys, for Wentworth is said to have 
 employed him as an assistant. His compositions in 
 English verse indicate that command of language 
 which he afterwards attained. The two following 
 years he accuses himself of wasting in idleness at home ; 
 but we must doubt whether he had much occasion 
 for self-reproach, when we learn that Hesiod, Ana- 
 creon, the Latin works of Petrarch, and " a great 
 many other books not commonly knowai in the Univer- 
 sities," were among his studies. 
 
 His father, though a man of strong understanding, 
 and much respected in his line of life, was not suc- 
 cessful in business. He must, therefore, have had a 
 firm reliance on the capacity of his son ; for while he 
 chided him for his want of steady application, he re- 
 solved on making so great an effort as to send him to 
 the University ; and, accompanying him thither, 
 placed him, on the 31st of October, 1 728, a commoner 
 at Pembroke College, Oxford. Some assistance was, 
 indeed, promised him from other quarters, but this 
 assistance was never given ; nor was his industry 
 quickened by his necessities. He was sometimes to 
 be seen lingering about the gates of his college ; and, 
 at others, sought for relief from the oppression of his 
 mind in affected mirth and turbulent gaiety. So ex-
 
 SAMtEL JOHNSON. O 
 
 treme was his poverty, that he was prevented by the 
 want of shoes from resortmg to the rooms of his 
 schoolfellow, Taylor, at the neighbouring college of 
 Christ Church ; and such was his pride, that he flung 
 away with indignation a new pair that he found left at 
 his door. His scholarship was attested by a translation 
 into Latin verse of Pope's Messiah ; which is said to 
 have gained the approbation of that poet. But his 
 independent spirit, and his irregular habits, were both 
 likely to obstruct his interest in the University ; and, 
 at the end of three years, increasing debts, together 
 with the failure of remittances, occasioned by his 
 father's insolvency, forced him to leave it without a 
 degree. Of Pembroke College, in his Life of Shen- 
 stone, and of Sir Thomas Browne, he has spoken with 
 filial gratitude. From his tutor, Mr. Jorden, whom 
 he described as a "worthy man, but a heavy one," 
 he did not learn much. What he read solidly, he 
 said, was Greek ; and that Greek, Homer and Euri- 
 pides; but his favourite study was metaphysics, which 
 we must suppose him to have investigated by the 
 light of his own meditation, for he did not read much 
 in it. With Dr. Adams, then a junior fellow, and 
 afterwards master of the College, his friendship con- 
 tinued till his death. 
 
 Soon after his return to Lichfield, his father died ; 
 and the following memorandum, extracted from the 
 little register which he kept in Latin, of the more re-
 
 6 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 markable occurrences that befel him, proves at once 
 the small pittance that was left him, and the integrity 
 of his mind: " 1732, Julii 15. Undecim aureos de- 
 posui : quo die quicquid ante matris funus (quod serum 
 sit precor) de paternis bonis sperare licet, \-iginti 
 scilicet libras accepi. Usque adeo mihi fortuna fin- 
 genda est. Interea ne paupertate \-ires animi langue- 
 scant nee in flagitium egestas abigat, cavendum. — 
 1/32, July 15. I laid down eleven guineas. On 
 which day, I received the whole of what it is allowed 
 me to expect from my father's property, before the 
 decease of my mother (which I pray may be yet far 
 distant) namely, twenty pounds. My fortune there- 
 fore must be of my OT\ai making. Meanwhile, let me 
 beware lest the powers of my mind grow languid 
 through poverty, or want drive me to evil." On 
 the following day we find him setting out on foot for 
 Market Bosworth, in Leicestershire, where he had 
 engaged himself as an usher to the school of which 
 Mr. Crompton was master. Here he described to 
 his old school-fellow. Hector, the dull sameness of his 
 life, in the words of the poet : Vitam contmet una 
 dies : that it was as unvaried as the note of the 
 cuckoo, and that he did not know whether it were 
 more disagreeable for him to teach, or for the boys to 
 learn the grammar rules. To add to his miserj^ he had 
 to endure the petty despotism of Sir Wolstan Dixie, 
 one of the patrons of the school. The trial of a few
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 7 
 
 months disgusted him so much with his employment, 
 that he reUnquished it, and, remo-sdng to Birmingham, 
 became the guest of his friend INIr, Hector, who was 
 a chirurgeon in that towia, and lodged in the house of 
 a bookseller ; having remained with him about six 
 months, he hired lodgings for himself. By Mr. Hec- 
 tor he was stimulated, not Tsdthout some difficulty, to 
 make a translation from the French, of Lobo's Voyage 
 to Abyssinia, for which he received no more than five 
 guineas from the bookseller, who, by an artifice not 
 uncommon, printed it at Birmingham, with the date 
 of London in the title-page. To Mr. Hector, there- 
 fore, is due the impulse which first made Johnson an 
 author. The motion being once given did not cease ; 
 for, ha\ing returned to Lichfield in 1735, he sent 
 forth in August proposals for printing by subscription 
 Politian's Latin Poems, with a Life of the Author, 
 Notes, and a History of Latin Poetry, from the age 
 of Petrarch to that of Politian. His reason for fixing 
 on this era it is not easy to determine. Mussato pre- 
 ceded Petrarch, the intenal between Petrarch and 
 Politian is not particularly illustrated by excellence in 
 Latin poetry ; and Politian was much surpassed in 
 correctness and elegance, if not in genius, by those 
 who came after him — by Flaminio, Navagero, and 
 Fracastorio. Yet in the hands of Johnson, such a 
 subject would not have been wanting in instruction or 
 entertainment. Such as were willing to subscribe,
 
 8 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 were referred to his brother, Nathaniel Johnson, who 
 had succeeded to his father's business in Lichfield ; 
 but the design was dropped, for want of a sufficient 
 number of names to encourage it, a deficiency not 
 much to be wondered at, unless the inhabitants of 
 provincial towns were more learned in those days than 
 at present. 
 
 In this year, he made another effort to obtain the 
 means of subsistence by an offier of his pen to Cave, 
 the editor of the Gentleman's Magazine ; but the 
 immediate result of the application is not known ; nor 
 in what manner he supported himself till July 1 736, 
 when he married Elizabeth Porter, the widow of a 
 mercer at Birmingham, and daughter of William 
 Jervis, Esq. of Great PeatUng, in Leicestershire. 
 This woman, who was twenty years older than himself, 
 and to whose daughter he had been an unsuccessful 
 sviitor, brought him eight hundred pounds ; but, 
 according to Garrick's report of her, was neither 
 amiable nor handsome, though that she was both in 
 Johnson's estimation appears from the epithets 
 " formosse, cultse, ingeniosse," which he inscribed on 
 her tombstone. Their nuptials were celebrated at 
 Derby, and to that town they went together on horse- 
 back from Birmingham ; but the bride assuming 
 some airs of caprice on the road, like another Petruchio 
 he gave her such effectual proofs of resolution, as 
 reduced her to the abjectness of shedding tears. His
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. y 
 
 first project after his marriage was to set up a school ; 
 and, with this intention, he hired a very commodious 
 house, at the distance of about two miles from Lich- 
 field, called Edial Hall, which has lately been taken 
 down, and of which a representation is to be seen in 
 the History of Lichfield, by Mr. Harwood, One of 
 my friends, who inhabited it for the same purpose, 
 has told me that an old countryman who lived near 
 it, and remembered Johnson and his pupil Garrick, 
 said to him, " that Johnson was not much of a scholar 
 to look at, but that master Garrick was a strange one 
 for leaping over a stile." It is amusing to observe 
 the impressions which such men make on common 
 minds. Unfortunately the prejudice occasioned by 
 Johnson's unsightly exterior was not confined to the 
 vulgar, insomuch that it has been thought to be the 
 reason why so few parents committed their children to 
 his care, for he had only three pupils. This unscholar- 
 like appearance it must have been that made the 
 bookseller in the Strand, to whom he applied for 
 literary employment, eye him archly, and recommend 
 it to him rather to purchase a porter's knot. But, as 
 an old philosopher has said, every thing has two 
 handles. It was, perhaps, the contrast between the 
 body and the mind, between the incultum corpus, and 
 the ingenium, which afterwards was one cause of his 
 being received so willingly in those circles of what is 
 called high life, where any thing that is exceedingly
 
 10 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 strange and unusual is apt to carry its own recom- 
 mendation with it. Failing in his attempt at Edial, 
 he was disposed once more to engage in the drudgery 
 of an usher, and offered himself in that capacity to 
 the Rev. William Budworth, master of the grammar- 
 school at Brewood, in Staffordshire, celebrated for 
 having been the place in which Bishop Hurd received 
 his education, mider that master. But here again 
 nature stood in his way ; for Budworth was fearful 
 lest a strange motion with the head, the effect pro- 
 bably of disease, to which Johnson was habitually 
 subject, might excite the derision of his scholars, and 
 for that reason declined employing him. He now 
 resolved on trying his fortune in the capital. 
 
 Among the many respectable families in Lichfield, 
 into whose society Johnson had been admitted, none 
 afforded so great encouragement to his literary talents 
 as that of Mr. Walmsley, who lived in the Bishop's 
 palace, and was registrar of the Ecclesiastical Court, 
 and whom he has so eloquently commemorated in his 
 Lives of the Poets. By this gentleman he was in- 
 troduced in a letter to the Rev. Mr. Colson, Lucasian 
 Professor of Mathematics in the University of Cam- 
 bridge, and the master of an academy, " as a very good 
 scholar, and one who he had great hopes would turn 
 out a fine dramatic writer, who intended to try his 
 fate with a tragedy, and to get himself employed in 
 some translation, either from the Latin or the French."
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 11 
 
 The tragedy on which Mr. Walmsley founded his 
 expectations of Johnson's future eminence as a 
 dramatic poet, was the Irene. A shrewd sally of 
 humour, to which the reading of this piece gave rise, 
 evinces the terms of familiarity on which he was with 
 his patron ; for, on Walmsley' s observing, when some 
 part of it had been read, that the poet had already 
 involved his heroine in such distress, that he did not 
 see what further he could do to excite the commi- 
 seration of the audience, Johnson replied, " that he 
 could put her into the Ecclesiastical Court." Garrick, 
 who was to he placed at Colson's academy, accom- 
 panied his former instructor on this expedition to 
 London, at the beginning of March, 1737. It does 
 not appear that JNIr. Walmsley' s recommendation of 
 him to Colson, whom he has described under the 
 character of Gelidus,* in the twenty-fourth paper of 
 the Rambler, was of much use. He first took lodg- 
 ings in Exeter-street in the Strand, but soon retired 
 to Greenwich, for the sake of completing his tragedy, 
 which he used to compose, walking in the Park. 
 
 * In a note to Johnson's Works, 8vo. Edition, 1810, 
 it is said that this is rendered improbable by the account 
 given of Colson, by Davies, in his life of Garrick, which 
 was certainly written vmder Dr. Johnson's inspection, 
 and, what relates to Colson, probably from Johnson's 
 confirmation.
 
 12 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 From Greenwich, he addressed another letter to Cave, 
 with proposals for translating Paul Sarpi's History of 
 the Council of Trent, with the notes of Le Courayer. 
 Before the summer was expired, he returned for Mrs. 
 Johnson, whom he had left at Lichfield, and remaining 
 there three months, at length finished Irene. On his 
 second visit to London, his lodgings were first in 
 Woodstock-street, near Hanover Square, and then in 
 Castle-street, near Cavendish Square. His tragedy, 
 which was brought on the stage twelve years after 
 by Garrick, ha\ing been at this time rejected by the 
 manager of the playhouse, he was forced to relinquish 
 his hopes of becoming a dramatic writer, and engaged 
 himself to wi'ite for the Gentleman's Magazine. The 
 debates in Parliament were not then allowed to be 
 •given to the public with the same unrestricted and 
 generous freedom with which it is now permitted to 
 report them. To elude this prohibition, and gratify 
 the just curiosity of the country, the several members 
 were designated by fictitious names, mider which they 
 were easily discoverable ; and their speeches in 
 both Houses of Parliament, which was entitled the 
 Senate of Lilliput, were in this manner imparted to 
 the nation in the periodical work above-mentioned. 
 At first, Johnson only revised these reports ; but he 
 became so dexterous in the execution of his task, that 
 he required only to be told the names of the speakers, 
 and the side of the question to be espoused, in order
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 13 
 
 to frame the speeches himself ; an artifice not wholly- 
 excusable, which afterwards occasioned him some self- 
 reproach, and even at the time pleased him so little, 
 that he did not consent to continue it. The whole 
 extent of his assistance to Cave is not known. The 
 Lives of Paul Sarpi, Boerhaave, Admirals Drake and 
 Blake, Barretier, Burman, Sydenham, and Roscom- 
 mon, with the Essay on Epitaphs, and an Essay on 
 the Account, of the Conduct of the Duchess of Marl- 
 borough, were certainly contributed to his Miscellany 
 by Johnson. Two tracts, the one a Vindication of the 
 Licenser of the Stage from the Aspersions of Brooke, 
 Author of Gustavus Vasa ; the other, Marmor Nor- 
 folciense, a pamphlet levelled against Sir Robert 
 Walpole and the Hanoverian succession, were published 
 by him, separately, in 1739. 
 
 For his version of Sarpi' s History, he had received 
 from Cave, before the 21st of April in this year, 
 fifty pounds, and some sheets of it had been com- 
 mitted to the press, when, imfortmiately, the design 
 was stopped, in consequence of proposals appearing 
 for a translation of the same book, by another person 
 of the same name as our author, who was curate of 
 St. Martin's in the Fields, and patronized by Dr. 
 Pearce, the editor of Longinus. Warburton* after- 
 wards expressed a wish that Johnson would give the 
 
 Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. v. p. 696.
 
 14 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 original on one side, and his translation on the other. 
 His next engagement was to draw up an account of 
 the printed hooks in the Earl of Oxford's library, for 
 Osborne, the bookseller, who had purchased them for 
 thirteen thousand pounds. Such was the petulant 
 impatience of Osborne, during the progress of this 
 irksome task, that Johnson was once irritated so far 
 as to beat him. 
 
 In May, 1 738, appeared his " London," imitated 
 from the Third Satire of Juvenal, for which he got 
 ten guineas from Dodsley. The excellence of this 
 poem was so immediately perceived, that it reached 
 a second edition in the course of a week. Pope 
 having made some ineffectual inquiries concerning 
 the author, from Mr. Richardson, the son of the 
 painter, observed that he would soon be deterre. 
 In the August of 1/39, we find him so far known to 
 Pope, that at his intercession. Earl Gower applied to 
 a friend of Swift to assist in procuring from the 
 University the degree of Master of Arts, that he 
 might be enabled to become a candidate for the 
 mastership of a school then vacant ; the application 
 was without success. 
 
 His own wants, however pressing, did not hinder 
 him from assisting his mother, who had lost her 
 other son. A letter to Mr. Levett, of Lichfield, on 
 the subject of a debt, for which he makes himself 
 responsible on her account, affords so striking a
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 15 
 
 proof of filial tenderness, that I cannot refuse myself 
 the pleasure of transcribing it. 
 
 December, 1, 1743. 
 Sir, — I am extremely sorry that we have encroached 
 so much upon your forbearance with respect to the 
 interest, which a great perplexity of affairs hindered 
 me from thinking- of with that attention that I ought, 
 and which I am not immediately able to remit to you, 
 but will pay it (T think twelve pounds) in two months. 
 I look upon this, and on the future interest of that mort- 
 gage, as my own debt ; and beg that you will be 
 pleased to give me directions how to pay it, and not 
 mention it to my dear mother. If it be necessary to pay 
 this in less time, I believe I can do it ; but I take two 
 months for certainty, and beg an answer whether you 
 can allow me so much time. I think myself very 
 much obliged for your forbearance, and shall esteem it 
 a great happiness to be able to serve you. I have great 
 opportunities of dispersing any thing that you may 
 think it proper to make public. I will give a note for 
 the money payable at the time mentioned, to any one 
 here that you shall appoint. 
 
 I am, Sir, your most obedient, 
 
 and most humble servant, 
 
 Sam. Johnson. 
 At Mr. Osborne's, Bookseller, 
 in Gray's Inn. 
 
 In the following year (1744) he produced his Life 
 of Savage, a work that gives the charm of a romance
 
 16 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 to a narrative of real events ; and which, bearing the 
 stamp of that eagerness and rapidity with which it 
 was thrown off the mind of the writer, exhibits 
 rather the fervour of an eloquent advocate, than the 
 laboriousness of a minute biographer. The forty- 
 eight octavo pages, as he told Mr. Nichols,* were 
 written in one day and night. At its first ap- 
 pearance it was warmly praised, in the Champion, 
 probably either by Fielding, or by Ralph, who suc- 
 ceeded to him in a share of that paper ; and Sir 
 Joshua Rejrnolds, when it came into his hand, found 
 his attention so powerfully arrested, that he read it 
 through without changing his posture, as he per- 
 ceived by the torpidness of one of his arms that had 
 rested on a chimney-piece by which he was standing. 
 For the Life of Savage, f he received fifteen guineas 
 from Cave. About this time he fell into the company 
 of Collins, with whom, as he tells us in his life of 
 that poet, he delighted to converse. 
 
 His next publication (in 1 745) was a pamphlet, 
 called " Miscellaneous Observations on the Tragedy 
 of Macbeth, with Remarks on Sir T. H. (Sir Thomas 
 Ilanmer's) Edition of Shakspeare," to which were 
 subjoined, proposals for a new edition of his plays. 
 These observations were favourably mentioned by 
 
 * Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. v. p. 15. 
 + Ibid. vol. viii.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 17 
 
 Warburton, in the preface to his edition ; and John- 
 son's gratitude for praise bestowed at a time when 
 praise was of value to him, was fervent and lasting. 
 Yet Warburton, with his usual intolerance of any dis- 
 sent from his opinions, aftei*wards complained in a 
 private letter* to Hurd, that Johnson's remarks on 
 his commentaries were full of insolence and malig- 
 nant reflections, which, had they not in them "as 
 much folly as malignity," he should have had reason 
 to be offended with. 
 
 In 1747, he furnished Garrick, who had become 
 joint-patentee and manager of Drury Lane, with a 
 Prologue on the opening of the house. This address 
 has been commended quite as much as it deserves. 
 The characters of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson are, 
 indeed, discriminated with much skill; but surely 
 something might have been said, if not of Massinger 
 and Beaumont and Fletcher, yet at least of Congreve 
 and Otway, who are involved in the sweeping cen- 
 sure passed on " the wits of Charles." 
 
 Of all his various literary undertakings, that in 
 which he now engaged was the most arduous, a Dic- 
 tionary of the English language. His plan of this 
 work was, at the desire of Dodsley, inscribed to the 
 Earl of Chesterfield, then one of the Secretaries of 
 State ; Dodsley, in conjunction vdth six other book- 
 
 Warburton's Letters, 8vo. Edit. ji. 369. 
 c
 
 18 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 sellers, stipulated fifteen hundred and seventy-five 
 pounds as the price of his labour ; a sum, from 
 which, when the expenses of paper and transcription 
 were deducted, a small portion only remained for the 
 compiler. In other countries, this national desidera- 
 tum has been supplied by the united exertions of the 
 learned. Had the project for such a combination in 
 Queen Anne's reign been carried into execution, the 
 result might have been fewer defects and less excel- 
 lence : the explanation of technical terms would pro- 
 bably have been more exact, the derivations more 
 copious, and a greater number of significant words* 
 now omitted, have been collected from our earliest 
 writers ; but the citations would often have been 
 made with less judgment, and the definitions laid 
 down with less acuteness of discrimination. 
 
 From his new patron, whom he courted without 
 the aid of those graces so devoutly worshipped by 
 that nobleman, he reaped but small advantage ; and, 
 being much exasperated at his neglect, Johnson 
 addressed to him a very cutting, but, it must be 
 owned, an intemperate letter, renouncing his protec- 
 tion, though, when the Dictionary was completed, 
 Chesterfield had ushered its appearance before the 
 public in two complimentary papers in the World ; 
 
 * This defect has probably been remedied by Mr. 
 Todd's enlarg-ement of the Dictionary.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 19 
 
 but the homage of the dient was not to be recalled, 
 or even his resentment to be appeased. His great 
 work is thus spoken of at its first appearance, in a 
 letter from Thomas Warton to his brother.* "The 
 Dictionary is arrived ; the preface is noble. There 
 is a grammar prefixed, and the history of the lan- 
 guage is pretty full ; but joii may plainly perceive 
 strokes of laxity and indolence. They are two most 
 imwieldy volumes. I have written to him an invi- 
 tation. I fear his preface will disgust, by the ex- 
 pressions of his consciousness of superiority, and of his 
 contempt of patronage." In 17/3, when he gave a 
 second edition, with additions and corrections, he 
 announced in a few prefatory lines that he had ex- 
 punged some superfluities, and corrected some faults, 
 and here and there had scattered a remark ; but that 
 the main fabric continued the same. " I have 
 looked into it," he observes, in a letter to Boswell, 
 " very Uttle since I wrote it, and, I think, I found it 
 full as often better as worse than I expected." 
 
 To trace in order of time the various changes in 
 Johnson's place of residence in the metropoHs, if it 
 were worth the trouble, would not be possible. A 
 list of them, which he gave to Boswell, amounting to 
 seventeen, but without the correspondent dates, is 
 preserved by that writer. For the sake of being 
 
 * WooU's Life of Joseph Warton, p. 230.
 
 20 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 near his printer, while the Dictionary was on the 
 an\il, he took a convenient house in Gough Square, 
 near Fleet-street, and fitted up one room in it as an 
 office, where six amanuenses were employed in 
 transcribing for him, of whom Boswell recoimts in 
 triumph that five were Scotchmen. 
 
 In 1/48, he wrote, for Dodsley's Preceptor, the 
 Preface, and the Vision of Theodore the Hermit, to 
 which Johnson has been heard to give the preference 
 over ail his other wxitings. In the January of the 
 ensuing year, appeared the Vanity of Human Wishes, 
 being the Tenth Satire of Juvenal imitated, which he 
 sold for fifteen guineas ; and, in the next month, his 
 Irene was brought on the stage, not without a pre- 
 vious altercation between the poet and his former 
 pupil, concerning some changes which Garrick's 
 superior knowledge of the stage made him consider 
 to be necessary, but which Johnson said the fellow 
 desired only that they might afford him more oppor- 
 tmiity of tossing his hands and kicking his heels. He 
 always treated the art of a player with illiberal con- 
 tempt ; but was at length, by the intervention of Dr. 
 Taylor, prevailed on to give way to the suggestions of 
 Garrick. Yet Garrick had not made him alter all 
 that needed altering ; for the first exhibition of Irene 
 shocked the spectators with the novel sight of a 
 heroine who was to utter two verses with the bow- 
 string about her neck. This horror was removed
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 21 
 
 from a second representation ; but, after the usual 
 course of ten nights, the tragedy was no longer in 
 request. Johnson thought it requisite, on this occa- 
 sion, to depart from the usual homeliness of his 
 habit, and to appear behind the scenes, and in the 
 side boxes, with the decoration of a gold-laced hat 
 and waistcoat. He observed, that he found himself 
 unable to behave with the same ease in his finery, as 
 when dressed in his plain clothes. In the winter of 
 this year, he estabhshed a weekly club, at the King's 
 Head, in Ivy Lane, near St. Paul's, of which the 
 other members were Dr. Salter, a Cambridge divine ; 
 Hawkesworth ; Mr. Ryland, a merchant ; Mr. John 
 Payne, the bookseller; Mr. John Dyer, a man of 
 considerable erudition, and a friend of Burke's ; 
 Doctors Macghie, Baker, and Bathurst, three phy- 
 sicians ; and Sir John Hawkins. 
 
 He next became a candidate for public favour, as 
 the writer of a periodical work, in the manner of the 
 Spectator ; and, in March, 1 7-50, published the first 
 number of the Rambler, which was continued for 
 nearly two years ; but, wanting variety of matter, and 
 familiarity of style, failed to attract many readers, so 
 that the largest number of copies that were sold of 
 any one paper did not exceed five hmidred. The 
 topics were selected without sufficient regard to the 
 popular taste. The grievances and distresses of 
 authors particularly were dwelt on to satiety ; and
 
 22 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the tone of eloquence was more swelling and stately 
 than he had hitherto adopted. The papers allotted 
 to criticism are marked by his usual acumen ; but 
 the justice of his opinions is often questionable. In 
 the humourous pieces, when our laughter is excited, 
 I doubt the author liimself, who is always discover- 
 able under the masque of whatever character he 
 assumes, is as much the object as the cause of our 
 merriment ; and, however moral and devout his 
 more serious \iews of life, they are often defective m 
 that most engaging feature of sound religion, a cheer- 
 ful spirit. The only assistance he received was from 
 Richardson, Mrs. Chapone, Miss Talbot, and Mrs. 
 Carter, the first of whom contributed the 97th 
 number ; the second, four billets in the 1 0th ; the 
 next, the 30th; and the last, the 44th and 100th 
 numbers. 
 
 Three days after the completion of the Rambler 
 (March 17, 1752), he was deprived of his wife, 
 whom, notwithstanding the disparity in their age, and 
 some occasional bickerings, he had tenderly loved. 
 Those who are disposed to scrutinize narrowly and 
 severely into the human heart, may question the sin- 
 cerity of his sorrow, because he was collected enough 
 to write her funeral sermon. But the shapes which 
 grief puts on in different minds are as dissimilar as the 
 constitution of those minds. Milton, in whom the 
 power of imagination was predominant, soothed his
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 23 
 
 anguish for the loss of his youthful friend, in an 
 irregular, but most beautiful assemblage of those 
 poetic objects which presented themselves to his 
 thoughts, and consecrated them to the memory of 
 the deceased ; and Johnson, who loved to act the 
 moralizer and the rhetorician, alleviated his suffer- 
 ings by declaiming on the instability of human 
 happiness. 
 
 During this interval he also wrote the Prologue to 
 Comus, spoken by Garrick, for the benefit of Mrs. 
 Elizabeth Foster, grand-daughter to Milton ; the 
 Prologue and Postscript to Lauder's impudent for- 
 geries concerning that poet, by which Johnson was 
 imposed on, as well as the rest of the world ; a 
 letter to Dr. Douglas, for the same impostor, after 
 he had been detected, acknowledging and expressing 
 contrition for the fraud ; and the Life of Cheynel, in 
 the Student. 
 
 Soon after his wife's death, he became intimate with 
 Beauclerk and Langton, two young men of family 
 and distinction, who were fellow collegians at Oxford, 
 and much attached to each other ; and the latter of 
 whom admiration of the Rambler had brought to 
 London with the express view of being introduced to 
 the author. Their society was very agreeable to 
 him ; and he was, perhaps, glad to forget himself by 
 joining at times in their sallies of juvenile gaiety. 
 One night, when he had lodgings in the Temple, he
 
 24 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 was roused by their knocking at his door ; and ap- 
 pearing in his shirt and nightcap, he found they had 
 come together from the tavern where they had 
 supped, to prevail on him to accompany them in a 
 nocturnal ramble. He readily entered into their pro- 
 posal ; and, ha\ing indulged themselves till morning 
 in such frolics as came in their way, Johnson and 
 Beauclerk were so well pleased with their diversion, 
 that they continued it through the rest of the day ; 
 while their less sprightly companion left them, to 
 keep an engagement with some ladies at breakfast, 
 not without reproaches from Johnson for deserting 
 his friends "for a set of unidea'd girls." 
 
 In 1753, he gave to Dr. Bathurst, the physician, 
 whom he regarded with much affection, and whose 
 practice was very limited, several essays for the 
 Adventurer, which Hawkesworth was then pubUsh- 
 ing ; and wrote for Mrs. Lenox a Dedication to the 
 Earl of Orrery, of her Shakspeare illustrated ; and, 
 in the following year, inserted in the Gentleman's 
 Magazine a Life of Cave, its former editor. 
 
 PrcA-iously to the publication of his Dictionary, it 
 was thought ad\asable by his friends that the degree 
 of Master of Arts should be obtained for him, m 
 order that his name might appear in the title page 
 with that addition ; and it was accordingly, through 
 their intercession, conferred on him by the University 
 of Oxford. The work was presented by the Earl of
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 25 
 
 Orrery, one of his friends then at Florence, to the 
 Delia Crusca Academy, who, in return, sent their 
 Dictionary to the author. The French Academy 
 paid him the same comphment. But these honours 
 were not accompanied by that indispensable requi- 
 site, " provision for the day that was passing over 
 him." He was arrested for debt, and liberated 
 by the kindness of Richardson, the writer of Clarissa, 
 who became his surety. To prevent such humiha- 
 tion, the efforts of his own industry were not wantmg. 
 In 1756, he published an Abridgement of his Dic- 
 tionary, and an Edition of Sir Thomas Browne's 
 Christian Morals, to which he prefixed a Life of that 
 vmter; he contributed to a periodical miscellany, 
 called the Universal Visitor, by Christopher Smart,* 
 and yet more largely to another work of the same 
 kind, entitled, the Literary Magazine ; and wrote a 
 dedication and preface for Payne's Introduction to 
 the Game of Draughts, and an Introduction to the 
 newspaper called the London Chronicle, for the last 
 of wliich he received a single guinea. Yet either 
 conscientious scruples, or his unwillingness to relin- 
 qmsh a London life, induced him to decline the oifer 
 
 • The writers, besides Smart, were Richard Rolt, 
 Garrick, and Dr. Percy. Their papers are signed with 
 the initials of their surnames. Johnson's are marked 
 by two asterisks. — See Hawldns's Life of Johnson, 
 p. 351.
 
 26 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of a valuable benefice in Lincolnshire, wliicli was 
 made him by the father of his friend, Langton, pro- 
 %ided he could prevail on himself to take holy 
 orders, a measure that would have delivered him 
 from Hterary toil for the remainder of his days. But 
 literary toil was the occupation for which nature had 
 designed him. In the April of 1758, he commenced 
 the Idler, and continued to pubhsh it for two years in 
 the Universal Chronicle. Of these Essays, he was 
 suppUed with Nos. 33, 93, and 96, by Thomas 
 Warton ; with No. 67 by Langton, and with Nos. 
 76, 79, and 82 by Reynolds. Boswell mentions 
 twelve papers being given by his friends, but does not 
 say who were the contributors of the remaining five. 
 The Essay on Epitaphs, the Dissertation on Pope's 
 Epitaphs, and an Essay on the Bravery of the Eng- 
 lish common Soldiers, were subjoined to this paper, 
 when it was collected into volumes. It does not 
 differ from the Rambler, otherwise than as the essays 
 are shorter, and somewhat less grave and elaborate. 
 
 Another wound was inflicted on him by the death 
 of his mother, who had however reached her ninetieth 
 year. His affection and his regret will best appear 
 from the following letter to the daughter of his de- 
 ceased wife. 
 
 To Miss Porter, in Lichfield. 
 
 You will conceive my sorrowfor the loss of my mother, 
 of the best mother. If she were to live again, surely I
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 27 
 
 should behave better to her. But she is happy, and 
 what is past is nothing- to her : and, for me, since I 
 cannot repair my faults to her, I hope repentance will 
 efface them. I return you, and all those that have been 
 good to her, my sincerest thanks, and pray God to repay 
 you all with infinite advantage. Write to me, and 
 comfort me, dear child. I shall be glad likewise, if 
 Kitty will write to me. I shall send a bill of twenty 
 pounds in a few days, which I thought to have brought 
 to my mother, but God suffered it not. I have not 
 power nor composure to say much more. God bless you, 
 and bless us all. 
 
 I am, dear Miss, 
 Your affectionate humble servant, 
 
 Sam. Johnson. 
 
 Her attention to his mother, as it is reported in 
 the following words, by ]\Iiss Seward, ensured to 
 Johnson the sympathy of Lucy Porter. 
 
 Prom the age of twenty till her fortieth year, when 
 affluence came to her by the death of her eldest brother, 
 she had boarded in Lichfield with Dr. Johnson's mother, 
 who still kept that little bookseller's shop, by which her 
 husband had supplied the scanty means of existence. 
 Meanwhile, Lucy Porter kept the best company of our 
 little city, but would make no engagement on market- 
 days, lest Granny, as she called Mrs. Johnson, should 
 catch cold by serving in the shop. There Lucy Porter 
 took her place, standing behind the counter, nor thought
 
 28 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 it a disgrace to thank a poor person who purchased from 
 her a penny battledore.* 
 
 To defray the expenses of his naother's funeral, he 
 had recourse to his pen ; and, iu the evenmgs of one 
 week produced the Rasselas, for which he received one 
 hundred pounds, and was presented by the purchasers 
 with twenty-five more on its reaching a second edition. 
 Rasselas is a noble monument of the genius of its 
 author. Reflections so profound, and so forcible a 
 draught of some of the great outlines of the human 
 intellect and passions, are to be found in few writers 
 of any age or country. The mind is seldom presented 
 with any thing so marvellous as the character of the 
 philosopher, who has persuaded himself that he is 
 entrusted with the management of the elements. 
 Johnson's dread of insanity was, perhaps, relieved by 
 embodying this mighty conception. He had seen the 
 shadowy form in the twilight, and might have dissi- 
 pated or eased his apprehensions by coming up to it 
 more closely, and examining into the occasion of his 
 fears. In this tale, the censure which he has elsewhere 
 passed on Milton, that he is a lion who has no skill 
 in dandhng the kid, recoils upon himself. His deli- 
 neation of the female character is wanting in delicacy. 
 
 In this year he supplied Mr. Newbery with an 
 
 * Miss Seward's letters, vol. i. p. 117.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 29 
 
 Introduction to the World Displayed, a Collection of 
 Voyages and Travels : till the publication of his 
 Shakspeare, in 1/65, the only writings acknowledged 
 by himself were a Re\'iew of Tytler's Vindication of 
 Mary Queen of Scots, in the Gentleman's Magazine ; 
 an Introduction to the Proceedings of the Committee 
 for Clothing the French Prisoners ; the Preface to 
 Rolfs Dictionary of Trade and Commerce ; a Dedi- 
 cation to the King, of Kennedy's Complete System of 
 Astronomical Chronology, unfolding the Scriptures ; 
 and a Dedication to the Queen, of Hoole's Tasso. 
 
 In the course of this period, he made a short visit 
 to Lichfield, and thus communicates his feelings on 
 the occasion, in a letter dated July 20, 1762, to 
 Baretti, his Italian friend, who was then at INIilan. 
 
 Last winter I went down to my native town, where I 
 found the streets much narrower and shorter than I 
 thoug'ht I had left them, inhabited by a new race of 
 people, to whom I was very little known. My play- 
 fellows were grown old, and forced me to suspect that I 
 am no longer yoimg. My only remaining friend had 
 changed his principles, and was become the tool of the 
 predominant faction. My daughter-in-law, from whom 
 I expected most, and whom I met with sincere bene- 
 volence, had lost the beauty and gaiety of youth, without 
 having gained much of the wisdom of age. I wandered 
 about for five days, and took the first convenient oppor- 
 tunity of returning- to a place, whei*e, if there is not much
 
 30 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 happiness, there is at least such a diversity of g'ood and 
 evil, that slight vexations do not fix upon the heart. 
 
 I think in a few weeks to try another excursion ; 
 thoug'h to what end 1 Let me know, my Baretti, what 
 has been the result of your return to your own country ; 
 whether time has made any alteration for the better, 
 and, whether, when the first rapture of salutation was 
 over, you did not find your thoughts confessed their 
 disappointment. 
 
 Henceforward Johnson had no longer to struggle 
 with the e\-ils of extreme poverty. A pension of 
 ^300. was granted to him, in 1762, by His Majesty. 
 Before his acceptance of it, in answer to a question 
 put by him to the Earl of Bute, in these words, 
 " Pray, my Lord, what am I to do for the pension ?" 
 he was assured by that nobleman that it was not given 
 him for any thing he was to do, but for what he had 
 done. The definition he had given of the word pen- 
 sion, in his dictionary, that in England it was generally 
 miderstood to mean pay, given to a state hirehng, for 
 treason to his country, raised some further scruples 
 whether he ought himself to become a pensioner ; but 
 they were removed by the arguments, or the per- 
 suasion of Mr. Rejmolds, to whom he had recourse 
 for ad\ice in this dilemma. Wliat advice Reynolds 
 would give him he must have known pretty well 
 before-hand ; but this was one of the many instances 
 in which men, having first determined how to act, are
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 31 
 
 willing to imagine that they are going for clearer 
 information, where they in truth expect nothing but a 
 confirmation of their own resolve. The liberality of 
 the nation could not have been extended to one 
 who had better deserved it. But he had a calamity 
 yet more dreadful than poverty to encounter. The 
 depression of his spirits was now become almost 
 intolerable. " I would have a limb amputated," said 
 he to Dr. Adams, " to recover my spirits." He was 
 constantly tormented by harassing reflections on his 
 inability to keep the many resolutions he had formed 
 of leading a better life ; and complained that a kind 
 of strange oblivion had overspread him, so that he did 
 not know what was become of the past year, and that 
 incidents and intelligence passed over him without 
 leaving any impression. 
 
 Neither change of place nor the society of friends 
 availed to prevent or to dissipate this melancholy. In 
 1762, he made an excursion into Devonshire, with Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds ; the next year he went to Harwich, 
 vdth Boswell ; in the follovdng, when his malady was 
 most troviblesome, the meeting which acquired the 
 name of the Literary Club was instituted, and he 
 passed a considerable time in Lincolnshire, with the 
 father of Langton ; and, in the year after, visited 
 Cambridge, in the company of Beauclerk. Of the 
 Literary Club, first proposed by Reynolds, the other 
 members at its first establishment were Burke, Dr.
 
 32 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Nugent, Beauclerk, Langton, Goldsmith, Chamier, 
 and Sir John Hawkins. They met at the Turk's 
 Head, in Gerrard-street, Soho, one evening in the 
 week, and usually remained together till a late hour. 
 The society was afterwards extended, so as to comprise 
 a large number of those who were most emment, 
 either for their learning or their station in life, and 
 the place of meeting has been since at different times 
 changed to other parts of the town, nearer to the 
 Parliament House, or to the usual resorts of gaiety. 
 A club was the delight of Johnson. We lose some 
 of our awe for him, when we contemplate him as 
 mimicked by his old scholar Garrick, in the act of 
 squeezing a lemon into the punch-bowl, and asking, 
 as he looks round the company, in his pro^dncial 
 accent, of which he never got entirely rid, "Who's 
 for poonch ?" If there was any thing likely to gratify 
 him more than a new club, it was the public testimony 
 of respect from a learned body ; and this he received 
 from Trinity College, Dublin, in a diploma for the 
 degree of Doctor of Laws, an honour the more flatter- 
 ing, as it came without solicitation. 
 
 At the beginning of 1/66, his faithful biographer, 
 James Boswell, who had knoA\ai him for three years, 
 found him in a good house in Johnson' s-court. Fleet- 
 street, to which he had removed from lodgings in the 
 Temple. By the advice of his physician, he had now 
 beg\m to abstain from wine, and drank only water or
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 33 
 
 lemonade. He had brought two companions into his 
 new dwelling, such as few other men would have chosen 
 to enliven their sohtude. On the ground floor was Miss 
 Anna Williams, daughter of Zechariah "Williams, a man 
 who had practised physic in Wales, and, having come to 
 England to seek the reward proposed by Parliament for 
 the discovery of the longitude, had been assisted by 
 Johnson in drawing up an account of the method he 
 had demised. This plan was printed with an Italian 
 translation, which is supposed to be Baretti's, on the 
 opposite page ; and a copy of the pamphlet, presented 
 by Johnson to the Bodleian, is deposited in that 
 library. Miss Williams had been a frequent visitor 
 at Johnson's before the death of his wife, and having 
 after that event, come mider his roof to midergo an 
 operation for a cataract on her eyes vdth more con- 
 venience than could have been had in her own lodg- 
 ings, continued to occupy an apartment in his house, 
 whenever he had one, till the time of her death. Her 
 disease ended in total blindness, which gave her an 
 additional claim on his benevolence. When he lived 
 in the Temple, it was his custom, however late the 
 hour, not to retire to rest until he had drunk tea with 
 her in her lodgings in Bolt-court. One night when 
 Goldsmith and Boswell were with him, Goldsmith 
 strutted off in the company of Johnson, exclaiming 
 with an air of superiority, " I go to Miss WilUams," 
 whileBoswellslunkawayinsilentdisappointment; but it 
 
 D
 
 34 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 was not long, as Boswell adds, before he himself obtained 
 the same mark of distinction. Johnson prevailed on 
 Garrick to get her a benefit at the playhouse, and 
 assisted her in preparing some poems she had written 
 for the press, by both which means she obtained the 
 sum of about ^300. The interest of this, added to 
 some small annual benefactions, probably hindered 
 her from being any pecuniary burden to Johnson; 
 and though she was apt to be pee\ish and impatient, 
 her curiosity, the retentiveness of her memory, and 
 the strength of her intellect, made her, on the whole, 
 an agreeable companion to him. The other inmate, 
 whose place was in one of his garrets, was Robert 
 Levett, a practiser of physic among the lower people, 
 grotesque in his appearance, formal in his manners, 
 and silent before company : though little thought of 
 by others, this man was so highly esteemed for his 
 abilities by Johnson, that he was heard to say, he 
 should not be satisfied though attended by all the 
 College of Physicians, unless he had Levett with him. 
 He must have been a useful assistant in the chemical 
 processes with which Johnson was fond of amusing 
 himself; and at one of which Murphy, on his first 
 visit, found him m a httle room, covered with soot 
 like a chimney-sweeper, making aether, Beauclerk, 
 with his lively exaggeration, used to describe Johnson 
 at breakfast, throwing his crusts to Levett after he 
 had eaten the crumb. The pathetic verses written by
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 35 
 
 Johnson on his death, which happened suddenly 
 three years before his own, shew with what tender- 
 ness of affection he regarded Levett. Some time after 
 (1778), to this couple, who did not live in much 
 harmony together, were added Mrs. Desmoulins, the 
 daughter of Dr. Swinfen his god-father, and widow of 
 a writing-master ; Miss Carmichael, and, as Boswell 
 thought, a daughter also of Mrs. Desmoulins, all of 
 whom were lodged in his house. To the widow he al- 
 lowed half-a-guinea a week, the twelfth part, as Boswell 
 obsen^es, of his pension. It was sometimes more than 
 he could do, to reconcile so many jarring interests. 
 " Williams," says he, in a letter to Mrs. Thrale, 
 "hates every body: Levett hates Desmoulins and 
 does not love Williams : Desmoulins hates them both. 
 Poll loves none of them." Poll was Miss Carmichael, 
 of whom I do not find that any thing else is recorded. 
 Boswell ventured to call this groupe the seraglio of 
 Johnson, and escaped without a rebuke. 
 
 From these domestic feuds he would sometimes 
 withdraw himself to the house of IVIr. Thrale, at 
 Streatham, an opulent brewer, with whom his acquaint- 
 ance had begun in 1765. With this open-hearted 
 man he was always sure of a welcome reception for 
 as long a time as he chose ; and the mistress of the 
 house, though after the death ofher first husband and 
 her subsequent marriage to an Italian she somewhat 
 ungraciously remembered the petty annoyances which
 
 36 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Johnson's untoward habits had occasioned her, was 
 endently pleased by his hearty expressions of regard, 
 and flattered by his conversation on subjects of htera- 
 ture, in which she was herself well able to take a 
 part. 
 
 In this year, his long promised edition of Shak- 
 speare made its appearance, in eight volumes octavo. 
 That by Steevens was published the following year ; 
 and a coalition between the editors having been 
 effected, an edition was put forth mader their joint 
 names, in ten volumes 8vo., 1773. For the first, 
 Johnson received ^375. ; and for the second jfilOO.* 
 At the begmning of the Preface, he has marked out 
 the character of our great dramatist with such a 
 power of criticism, as there was perhaps no example 
 of in the English language. Towards the conclusion, 
 he has, I think, successfully defended him from the 
 neglect of what are called the unities. The observa- 
 tion, that a quibble was the Cleopatra for which he 
 lost the world, and was content to lose it, is more 
 pointed than just. Shakspeare cannot be said to have 
 lost the world ; for his fame has not only embraced 
 the circle of his own country, but is continually 
 spreading over new portions of the globe ; nor is there 
 any reason to conclude that he would have acquiesced 
 in such a loss. Like most other writers, he indulged 
 
 * Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. ii.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 37 
 
 himself in a favourite propensity, aware, probably, 
 that if it offended some, it would van him the applause 
 of others. One avenue of knowledge, that was open 
 to Shakspeare in common with the rest of mankind, 
 none of his commentators appear to have sufficiently 
 considered. We cannot conceive him to have asso- 
 ciated frequently with men of larger acquirements than 
 himself, and not to have made much of their treasures 
 his own. The conversation of such a man as Ben Jon- 
 son alone, supposing him to have made no more dis- 
 play of his learning than chance or vanity would 
 occasionally produce, must have supplied ample sovirces 
 of information to a mind so curious, watchful, and 
 retentive, that it did not suffer the shghtest thing to 
 escape its grasp. Johnson is distinguished in his 
 notes from the other commentators, chiefly by the 
 acute remarks on many of the characters, and on the 
 conduct of some of the fables, which he has subjoined 
 to the different plays. In other respects he is not 
 superior to the rest ; in some, particularly in illus- 
 trating his author from antecedent or contemporary 
 writers, he is uiferior to them. A German critic of 
 our own days, Schlegel, has surpassed him even in 
 that which he has done best. 
 
 From Boswell I have collected an account of the 
 little journeys with which he from time to time re- 
 lieved the imiformity of his life. They will be told 
 in order as they occur, and I hope vdll not weary the 
 
 42S058
 
 38 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 reader. The days of a scholar are frequently not dis- 
 tinguished by varieties even as miimportant as these. 
 Johnson found his mind grow stagnant by a constant 
 residence in the neighbourhood of Charing-cross itself, 
 where he thought human happiness at its flood : and 
 once, when moving rapidly along the road in a car- 
 riage with Boswell, cried out to his fellow-traveller, 
 " Sir, life has few things better than this." In the 
 winter of 1/66 he went to Oxford, where he resided 
 for a month, and formed an intimacy with Chambers, 
 afterwards one of the judges in India. During this 
 period, no publication appeared mider his own name ; 
 but he furnished Miss Williams with a Preface to her 
 Poems, and Adams with another for liis Treatise on 
 the Globes ; and wrote the dedication to the King, 
 prefixed to Gough's London and Westminster Im- 
 proved. He seems to have been always ready to 
 supplv a dedication for a friend, a task which he exe- 
 cuted with more than ordinary courtliness. In this 
 way, he told Boswell, that he believed he "had dedi- 
 cated to all the royal family romid." But in his own 
 case, either pride hindered him from prefixing to his 
 works what he perhaps considered as a token of ser- 
 vility, or his better judgment restrained him from 
 appropriating, by a particular inscription to one indi\i- 
 dual, that which was intended for the use of mankind. 
 Of Johnson's interview with George III. I shall 
 transcribe the accomit as given by Boswell; with which
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 39 
 
 such pains were taken to make it accurate, that it was 
 submitted before pubUcation for the inspection of the 
 King, by one of his principal secretaries of State. 
 
 In February, 1767, there happened one of the most 
 remarkable incidents in Johnson's life which gratified 
 his monarchical enthusiasm, and which he loved to relate 
 with all its circumstances, when requested by his 
 friends. This was his being honoured by a private con- 
 versation with his Majesty in the library at the Queen's 
 house. He had frequently visited those splendid rooms, 
 and noble collection of books, which he used to say 
 was more numerous and curious than he supposed any 
 person could have made in the time which the King had 
 employed. Mr. Barnard, the librarian, took care that 
 he should have every accommodation that could con- 
 tribute to his ease and convenience, while indulging his 
 literary taste in that place : so that he had here a very 
 agreeable resource at leisure hours. 
 
 His Majesty having been informed of his occasional 
 visits, was pleased to signify a desire that he should be 
 told when Dr. Johnson came next to the library. Ac- 
 cordingly the next time that Johnson did come, as soon 
 as he was fairly engaged with a book, on which, while 
 he sat by the fire, he seemed quite intent, Mr. Barnard 
 stole round to the apartment where the King was, and, 
 in obedience to his Majesty's commands, mentioned that 
 Dr. Johnson was then in the library. His Majesty said 
 he was at leisure, and would go to him : upon which 
 Mr. Barnard took one of the candles that stood on the 
 King's table, and lighted his Majesty through a suite
 
 40 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of rooms, till they came to a private door into the 
 library, of which his Majesty had the key. Being en- 
 tered, Mr. Barnard stepped forward hastily to Dr. 
 Johnson, who was still in a profound study, and 
 whispered him, " Sir, here is the King." Johnson 
 started up, and stood still. His Majesty approached 
 him, and at once was courteously easy. 
 
 His Majesty began by observing, that he understood 
 he came sometimes to the library ; and then mentioning 
 his having heard that the Doctor had been lately at 
 Oxford, asked him if he was not fond of going thither. 
 To which Johnson answered, that he was indeed fond 
 of going to Oxford sometimes, but was likewise glad to 
 come back again. The King then asked him what they 
 were doing at Oxford. Johnson answered, he could 
 not much commend their diligence, but that in some 
 respects they were mended, for they had put their press 
 under better regulations, and were at that time printing 
 Polybius. He was then asked whether there were better 
 libraries at Oxford or Cambridge. He answered, he be- 
 lieved the Bodleian was larger than any they had at Cam- 
 bridge ; at the same time adding, " I hope, whether we 
 have more books or not than they have at Cambridge, 
 we shall make as good use of them as they do." Being 
 asked whether All-Souls or Christ-Church library was 
 the largest, he answered, " All-Souls library is the 
 largest we have, except the Bodleian." " Ay, (said the 
 King,) that is the public library." 
 
 His Majesty inquired if he was then writing any 
 thing. He answered, he was not, for he had pretty 
 well told the world what he knew, and must now read to
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 41 
 
 acquire more knowledge. The King-, as it should seem 
 with a view to urge him to rely on his own stores as an 
 original writer, and to continue his labours, then said, 
 " I do not think you borrow much from any body." 
 Johnson said, he thought he had already done his part 
 as a writer. " I should have thought so too, (said the 
 King,) if you had not written so well." — Johnson ob- 
 served to me, upon this, that " No man could have paid 
 a handsomer comphment ; and it was fit for a King to 
 pay. It was decisive." When asked by another friend, 
 at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, whether he made any reply 
 to this high compliment, he answered, " No, Sir. When 
 the King- had said it, it was to be so. It was not for 
 me to bandy civilities with my Sovereign." Perhaps 
 no man who had spent his whole life in courts could 
 have shewn a more nice and dignified sense of true 
 politeness than Johnson did in this instance. 
 
 His Majesty having observed to him that he supposed 
 he must have read a great deal ; Johnson answered, 
 that he thought more than he read ; that he had read 
 a great deal in the early part of his life, but having 
 fallen into ill health, he had not been able to read 
 much, compared with others : for instance, he said, he 
 had not read much, compared with Dr. Warburton. 
 Upon which the King said, that he heard Dr. Warbur- 
 ton was a man of such general knowledge, that you 
 could scarce talk with him on any subject on which he 
 was not qualified to speak : and that his learning re- 
 sembled Garrick's acting, in its universality. His Ma- 
 jesty then talked of the controversy between Warburton 
 and Lowth, which he seemed to have read, and asked
 
 42 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Johnson what he thoug-ht of it. Johnson answered, 
 " Warburton has most general, most scholastic learn- 
 ing- ; Lowth is the more correct scholar. I do not know 
 which of them calls names best." The King was 
 pleased to say he was of the same opinion ; adding, "You 
 do not think then, Dr. Johnson, that there was much 
 argument in the case." Johnson said, he did not think 
 there was. " Why truly, (said the King,) when once 
 it comes to calling names, argument is pretty well at 
 an end." 
 
 His Majesty then asked him what he thought of 
 Lord Lyttelton's history, which was thenjustpublished. 
 Johnson said, he thought his style pretty good, but that 
 he had blamed Henry the Second rather too much. 
 " Why, (said the King,) they seldom do these things 
 by halves." " No, Sir, (answered Johnson,) not to 
 Kings." But fearing to be misunderstood, he pro- 
 ceeded to explain himself: and immediately subjoined, 
 " That for those who spoke worse of Kings than they 
 deserved, he could find no excuse ; but that he could 
 more easily conceive how some might speak better of 
 them than they deserved, without any ill intention ; 
 for, as Kings had much in their power to give, those 
 who were favoured by them would frequently, from 
 gratitude, exaggerate their praises : and as this pro- 
 ceeded from a good motive, it was certainly excusable, 
 as far as errour could be excusable." 
 
 The King then asked him what he thought of Dr. 
 Hill. Johnson answered that he was an ingenious 
 man, but had no veracity ; and immediately mentioned, 
 as an instance of it, an assertion of that writer, that he
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 43 
 
 had seen objects magnified to a much greater degree by- 
 using three or four microscopes at a time than by using 
 one. <' Now, (added Johnson,) every one acquainted 
 with microscopes knows, that the more of them he looks 
 through, the less the object will appear." " Why, (replied 
 the King,) this is not only telling an untruth, but telling 
 it clumsily ; for, if that be the case, every one who can 
 look through a microscope will be able to detect him." 
 
 " I now, (said Johnson to his friends, when relating 
 what had passed,) began to consider that I was depre- 
 ciating this man in the estimation of his Sovereign, and 
 thought it was time for me to say something that might 
 be more favourable." He added, therefore, that Dr. 
 Hill was, notwithstanding, a very curious observer ; 
 and if he would have been contented to tell the world 
 no more than he knew, he might have been a very con- 
 siderable man, and needed not to have recourse to such 
 mean expedients to raise his reputation. 
 
 The King then talked of literary journals, mentioned 
 particularly the " Journal des Savans," and asked John- 
 son if it was well done. Johnson said, it was formerly 
 very well done, and gave some account of the persona 
 who began it, and carried it on for some years : enlarg- 
 ing at the same time, on the nature and use of such 
 works. The King asked him if it was well done now. 
 Johnson answered, he had no reason to think that 
 it was. The King then asked him if there were any 
 other literary journal published in this kingdom, except 
 the Monthly and Critical Reviews ; and on being 
 answered there was no other, his Majesty asked which of 
 them was the best : Johnson answered that the Monthly
 
 44 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Review was done with most care, the Critical upon the 
 best principles ; adding- that the authours of the Monthly 
 Review were enemies to the Church. This the King 
 said he was sorry to hear. 
 
 The conversation next turned on the Philosophical 
 Transactions, when Johnson observed that they had 
 now a better method of arranging their materials than 
 formerly. " Ay, (said the King,) they are obliged to 
 Dr. Johnson for that ;" for his Majesty had heard and 
 remembered the circumstance, which Johnson himself 
 had forgot. 
 
 His Majesty expressed a desire to have the literary 
 biography of this country ably executed, and proposed 
 to Dr. Johnson to undertake it. Johnson signified his 
 readiness to comply with his Majesty's wishes. 
 
 During the whole of this interview, Johnson talked 
 to his Majesty with profound respect, but still in 
 his firm manly manner, with a sonorous voice, and 
 never in that subdued tone which is commonly used at 
 the levee and in the drawing-room. After the King 
 withdrew, Johnson shewed himself highly pleased with 
 his Majesty's conversation and gracious behaviour. He 
 said to Mr. Barnard, " Sir, they may talk of the King 
 as they will ; but he is the finest gentleman I have ever 
 seen." And he afterwards observed to Mr. Langton, 
 " Sir, his manners are those of as fine a gentleman as we 
 may suppose Lewis the Fourteenth, or Charles the 
 Second." 
 
 Nothing in this conversation betrays symptoms of 
 that state which he complains of in his devotional record
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 45 
 
 (on the 2nd of August, 1767) when he says that he had 
 been disturbed and unsettled for a long time, and had 
 been without resolution to apply to study or to business. 
 Half of this year he passed at a distance from the 
 metropolis, and chiefly at Lichfield, where he prayed 
 fervently by the death-bed of the old servant of his 
 family, Catherine Chambers, leavhig her with a fond 
 farewell, and many tears. There was no greater proof 
 of the goodness of Johnson's nature, than his attach- 
 ment to his domestics. Soon after this he placed 
 Francis Barber, a negro boy who waited on him, at a 
 school at Hertfordshire ; and, during his education 
 there, encouraged him to good behaviour by frequent 
 and very kind letters. It is on such occasions that 
 we are ready to allow the justice of Goldsmith's vindi- 
 cation of his friend, that he had nothing of the bear 
 but the skin. 
 
 In the two succeeding years he continued to la- 
 bour under the same restlessness and anxiety ; again 
 sought for relief in a long visit to Oxford, and ano- 
 ther to Brighthelmstone with the Thrales ; and pro- 
 duced nothing but a Prologue to one of Goldsmith's 
 comedies. 
 
 The repeated expulsion of Wilkes from his seat, by 
 a vote of the House of Commons, had (in 1770) 
 thrown the nation into a ferment. Johnson was 
 roused to take the side of the ministry ; and endea- 
 voured in a pamphlet, called the False Alarm, as
 
 46 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 much by ridicule as by argument, to support a vio- 
 lent and arbitrary measure. It appears, both from 
 his conversation and his writings, that he thought 
 there was a point at which resistance might be- 
 come justifiable ; and, surely it is more advisable 
 to check the encroachments of power at their begin- 
 ning, than to delay opposition, till it cannot be re- 
 sorted to without greater hazard to the public safety. 
 The ministry were happily compelled to give way. 
 They were, however, glad to have so powerfid an 
 arm to fight their battles, and, in the next year 
 (1771) employed him in a worthier cause. In his 
 tract on the Falkland Islands, the materials for which 
 were furnished him by Government, he appears to 
 have much the better of the argument ; for he has to 
 shew the folly of involving the nation in a war for a 
 questionable right, and a possession of doubtfid ad- 
 vantage ; but his invective against his opponents is 
 very coarse ; he does not perform the work of dis- 
 section neatly : he mangles rather than cuts. When 
 he applies the word "gabble" to the elocution of 
 Chatham, we are tempted to compare him to one of 
 the baser fowl, spoken of by an ancient poet, that 
 clamour against the bird of Jove. 
 
 Not many copies of this pamphlet had been dis- 
 persed, when Lord North stopped the sale, and 
 caused some alterations to be made, for reasons which 
 the author did not himself distinctly comprehend.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 47 
 
 Johnson's own opinion of these two political essays 
 was, that there was a subtlety of disquisition in the 
 first, that was worth all the fire of the second. 
 When questioned by Boswell as to the truth of a 
 report that they had obtained for him an addition to 
 his pension of 200Z. a year, he answered that, excepting 
 what had been paid him by the booksellers, he had 
 not got a farthing for them. 
 
 About this time, there was a project for enabling 
 him to take a more distinguished part in pohtics. 
 The proposition for bringing him into the House 
 of Commons came from Strahan the printer, who 
 was himself one of the members ; Boswell has preserved 
 the letter in which this zealous friend to Johnson 
 represented to one of the Secretaries of State the ser- 
 vices which might reasonably be expected from his 
 eloquence and fidelity. The reasons which rendered 
 the application ineffectual have not been disclosed to 
 us ; but it may be questioned whether his powers of 
 reasoning could have been readily called forth on a 
 stage so diiFerent from any to which he had been 
 hitherto accustomed ; whether so late in life he could 
 have obtained the habit of attending to speakers, 
 sometimes dull, and sometimes perplexed ; or 
 whether that dictatorial manner which easily con- 
 quered opposition in a small circle, might not have 
 been borne down by resentment or scorn in a large 
 and mixed assembly. Johnson would most willingly 
 have made the experiment ; and when Reynolds re-
 
 48 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 peated what Burke had said of him, that if he had 
 come early into parhament, he would certainly have 
 heen the greatest speaker that ever was there, ex- 
 claimed, " I should like to try my hand now." That 
 we may proceed without interruption to the end of 
 Johnson's political career, it should here he told that 
 he published (in 1774) a short pamphlet in support 
 of his friend, Mr. Thrale, who at that time was one 
 of the candidates in a contested election, and a zea- 
 lous supporter of the government. But his devotion 
 to the powers that be, never led him to so great 
 lengths as in the following year (1775), when he 
 wrote Taxation no Tyranny : an Answer to the Re- 
 solutions and Address of the American Congress. 
 Now that we look back with impartiality and cool- 
 ness to the subject of dispute between the mother 
 country and her colonies, there are few, I believe, who 
 do not acknowledge the Americans to have been 
 driven into resistance by claims, which, if they were 
 not palpably unlawful, were at least highly inexpe- 
 dient and unjust. But Johnson was no statist. 
 With the nature of man taken indi\'idually and in the 
 detail, he was well acquainted ; but of men as incor- 
 porated into society, of the relations between the 
 governors and the governed, and of all the compli- 
 cated interests of polity and of ci\il life, his know- 
 ledge was very hmited. Biography was his favourite 
 study ; history, his aversion. Sooner than hear of 
 the Punic war (says Murphy, he would be rude to
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 49 
 
 the person that introduced the subject ; and, as he 
 told Mr. Thrale, when a gentleman one day spoke to 
 him at the club of Catiline's conspiracy, he withdrew 
 his attention, and thought about Tom Thumb. In 
 his Taxation no Tyranny, having occasion to notice 
 a reference made by the American Congress to a 
 passage in Montesquieu, he calls him in contempt 
 the fanciful Montesquieu. Yet this is the man, of 
 whom Burke, when his just horror of eAery thing 
 fanciful in politics was at its height, has passed the 
 noblest eulogium that one modern has ever made on 
 another, and which the reader vdll pardon me if in 
 my veneration for a great name I place here as an 
 antidote to the detraction of Johnson. 
 
 Place before your eyes such a man as Montesquieu. 
 Think of a genius not born in every country, or every 
 time ; a man gifted by nature with a penetrating 
 aquiline eye ; with a judgment prepared with the most 
 extensive erudition; with an herculean robustness of 
 mind, and nerves not to be broken with labour ; a man 
 who could spend twenty years in one pursuit. Think 
 of a man, like the universal patriarch of Milton (who 
 had drawn up before him in his prophetic vision, the 
 Avhole series of the generations which were to issue 
 from his loins), a man capable of placing in review, 
 after having brought together, from the east, the west, 
 the north, and the south, from the coarseness of the 
 rudest barbarism, to the most refined and subtle civi- 
 lization, all the schemes of government which had ever
 
 60 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 prevailed amongst mankind, weighing, measuring, col- 
 lating, and comparing them all, joining fact with 
 theory, and calling into council, upon all this infinite 
 assemblage of things, all the speculations which have 
 fatigued the understandings'of profound reasoners in all 
 times ! Let us then consider that all these were but so 
 many preparatory steps to qualify a man, and such a man, 
 tinctured with no national prejudice, with no domestic 
 affection to admire, and to hold out to the admiration 
 of mankind the constitution of England. — Appeal from 
 the New to the Old Institutes, at the end. 
 
 It is to be feared, that the diploma of Doctor of 
 Laws, which was sent to Johnson in the same year 
 (1/75), at the recommendation of Lord North, at 
 that time Chancellor of the University, and Prime 
 Minister, was in some measure intended to be the 
 reward of his obsequiousness. In this instrument, 
 he is called, with an hyperbole of praise which the 
 University would perhaps now be more cautious of 
 applying to any individual, "In Literamm Repub- 
 lica Princeps jam et Primarius." 
 
 He had long meditated a visit to Scotland, in the 
 company of Boswell, and was, at length (in 1/73), 
 prevailed on to set out. Wliere he went, and what 
 he saw and heard, is sufficiently known by the rela- 
 tion which he gave the world next year, in his Jour- 
 ney to the Western Islands of Scotland, and in his 
 letters to Mrs, Thrale. It cannot be said of him, as
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 51 
 
 he has said of Gray, that whoever reads his narrative 
 wishes that to travel and to tell his travels had been 
 more of his employment. He seems to have pro- 
 ceeded on his way, with the \dew of finding some- 
 thing at every turn, on which to exercise his powers 
 of argument or of raillery. His mind is scarcely ever 
 passive to the objects it encounters, but shapes them 
 to his own moods. After we lay down his book, 
 little impression is left of the places through which 
 he has passed, and a strong one of his own character. 
 With his fellow-traveller, though kindness sometimes 
 made him over-officious, he was so well pleased, as 
 to project a voyage up the Baltic, and a visit to the 
 northern countries of Europe, in liis society. He 
 had before indulged himself with a visionary scheme 
 of sailing to Iceland, with his friend Bathurst. In 
 1774, he went with the Thrales to the extremity ol' 
 North Wales. A few trifling memoranda of this 
 journey, which were found among his papers, have 
 been lately published ; but, as he wrote to Boswell, 
 he found the country so little different from England, 
 that it offered nothing to the speculation of a tra- 
 veller. Such was his apathy in a land 
 
 Where each old poetic mountain 
 
 Inspiration breathes around, 
 Every shade and hallow'd fountain 
 
 Murmurs deep a solemn sound.
 
 52 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 In the following year (1775) he made his usual 
 visit to the midland counties, and accompanied the 
 Thrales in a Tour to Paris, from whence they returned 
 by way of Rouen. This was the only time he was 
 on the Continent. It is to be regretted that he left 
 only some imperfect notes of his Journey ; for there 
 could scarcely have failed to be something that would 
 have gratified our curiosity in his observations on the 
 manners of a foreign country. We find him in the 
 next year (1776) removing from Johnson's Court, 
 No. 7, to Bolt Com-t, Fleet-street, No. 8 ; from 
 whence at different times he made excursions to 
 Lichfield and Ashbourne ; to Bath with the Thrales ; 
 and, in the autumn, to Brighthelmstone, where Mr. 
 Thrale had a house. This gentleman had, for some 
 time, fed his expectations with the prospect of a 
 journey to Italy. "A man," said Johnson, "who 
 has not been in Italy, is always conscious of an infe- 
 riority, from his not having seen what it is expected 
 a man should see. The grand object of travelling is 
 to see the shores of the Mediterranean. All our re- 
 ligion, almost all our law, almost all om* arts, almost 
 all that sets us above savages, has come to us from 
 the shores of the Mediterranean." Much as he had 
 set his heart on this journey, and magnificent as his 
 conceptions were of the promised land, he was em- 
 ployed with more advantage to his own country at 
 home ; for, at the solicitation of the booksellers, he
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 53 
 
 now (1777) undertook to write the Lives of the Eng- 
 lish Poets. The judicious selection of the facts 
 which he relates, the vivacity of the narrative, the 
 profoundness of the observations, and the terseness of 
 the style, render this the most entertaining, as it is, 
 perhaps, the most instructive of his works. His 
 criticisms, indeed, often betray either the want of a 
 natural perception for the higher beauties of poetry, 
 or a taste unimproved by the diligent study of the 
 most perfect models ; yet they are always acute, 
 lucid, and original. That his judgment is often 
 warped by a political bias can scarcely be doubted ; 
 but there is no good reason to suspect that it is ever 
 perverted by malevolence or en\-y. The booksellers 
 left it to him to name his price, which he modestly 
 fixed at 200 guineas ; though, as Mr. Malone says, 
 1000 or 1500 would have been readily given if he 
 had asked it. As he proceeded, the work grew on 
 his hands. In 1781 it was completed; and another 
 100^. was volimtarily added to the sum which had 
 been at first agreed on. In the third edition, which 
 was called for in 1 783, he made several alterations 
 and additions ; of which, to shew the unreasonable- 
 ness of murmurs respecting improved editions, it is 
 related in the Biographical Dictionary,* on the infor- 
 mation of Mr. Nichols, that though they were printed 
 
 Vol. xix. p. 71. Ed. 1815.
 
 54 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 separately, and offered gratis to the purchasers of the 
 former editions, scarcely a single copy was demanded. 
 
 This was the last of his literary labours ; nor do 
 we hear of his writing any thing for the press in the 
 meanwhile, except such slight compositions as a 
 prologue for a comedy by Mr. Hugh Kelly, and 
 a dedication to the King of the Posthumous Works 
 of Pearce, Bishop of Rochester. 
 
 His body was weighed down with disease, and his 
 mind clouded with apprehensions of death. He 
 sought for respite from these sufferings in the usual 
 means — in short \-isits to his native place, or to 
 Brighthelmstone, and in the establishment of new 
 clubs. In 1781, another of these societies was, by 
 his desire, formed in the city. It was to meet at the 
 Queen's Arms, in St. Paul's Churchyard ; and his 
 wish was, that no patriot should be admitted. He 
 now returned to the use of wine, which, when he did 
 take it, he swallowed greedily. 
 
 About this time Mr. Thrale died, leaving Johnson 
 one of his executors, with a legacy of 200/. The 
 death of Levett, in the same year, and of Miss Wil- 
 liams, in 1783, left him yet more lonely. A few 
 months before the last of these deprivations befel him, 
 he had a warning of his own dissolution, which he 
 could not easily mistake. The night of the 16th of 
 Jmie, on which day he had been sitting for his pic- 
 ture, he perceived himself, soon after going to bed,
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 55 
 
 to be seized with a sudden confusion and indistinct- 
 ness in his head, which seemed to him to last about 
 half a minute. His first fear was lest his intellect 
 should be affected. Of this he made experiment, by 
 turning into Latin verse a short prayer, which he had 
 breathed out for the averting of that calamity. The 
 lines were not good, but he knew that they were 
 not so, and concluded his faculties to be unimpaired. 
 Soon after he was conscious of having suffered a 
 paralytic stroke, which had taken away his speech. 
 " I had no pain," he observed afterwards, " and so 
 little dejection in this dreadful state, that I wondered 
 at my own apathy, and considered, that perhaps 
 death itself, when it should come, would excite less 
 horror than seems now to attend it." In hopes of 
 stimulating the vocal organs, he swallowed two drams, 
 and agitated his body into violent motion, but it was 
 to no purpose ; whereupon he returned to his bed, 
 and, as he thought, fell asleep. In the morning, 
 finding that he had the use of his hand, he was in 
 the act of writing a note to his servant, when the 
 man entered. He then wrote a card to his friend 
 sa\d neighbour, Mr. Allen, the printer, but not with- 
 out difficulty, his hand sometimes, he knew not why, 
 making a different letter from that which he intended ; 
 his next care was to acquaint Dr. Taylor, his old 
 schoolfellow, and now a prebendary of Westminster, 
 with his condition, and to desire he would come and
 
 56 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 bring Dr. Heberden with bim. At the same time, 
 he sent in for Dr. Brocklesby, who was his near 
 neighbour. The next day his speech was restored, 
 and he perceived no deterioration, either in his 
 memory or understanding. In the following month 
 he was well enough to pass a week at Rochester, with 
 Mr. Langton, and to appear again at the Literary 
 Club ; and at the end of August, to make a visit to 
 Mr. Bowles, at Heale, near Salisbury, where he con- 
 tinued about three weeks. 
 
 On his return to London, he was confined to the 
 house by a fit of the gout, a disorder which had once 
 attacked him, but with less violence, ten years 
 before, and to which he was now reconciled, by being 
 taught to consider it as an antagonist to the palsy. 
 To this was added, a sarcocele, which, as it threatened 
 to render excision necessary, caused him more un- 
 easiness, though he looked forward to the operation 
 with sufficient courage ; but the complaint subsided 
 of itself. 
 
 When he was able to go about again, that society 
 might be insured to him at least three days in the 
 week, another club was founded at the Essex Head, 
 in Essex street, where an old servant of Mr. Thrale's 
 was the landlord. " Its principles (he said) were to 
 be laid in frequency and frugality ; and he drew up a 
 set of rules, which he prefaced with two hues from a 
 Sonnet of Milton.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 57 
 
 To-day resolve deep thoug'lits with me to drench, 
 In mirth that after no repenting draws." 
 
 The number was limited to twenty-four. Each 
 member present engaged himself to spend at least 
 sixpence ; and, to pay a forfeit of three-pence if he 
 did not attend. But even here, in the club-room, 
 after his sixpence was duly laid down, and the arm 
 chair taken, there was no security for him against the 
 intrusion of those maladies which had so often 
 assailed him. On the first night of meeting (13th 
 of December, 1 783) he was seized with a spasmodic 
 asthma, and hardly made his way home to his own 
 house, where the dropsy combined with asthma to 
 hold him a prisoner for more than four months. An 
 occurrence during his illness, which he mentioned to 
 Boswell, deserves notice, from the insight which it 
 gives into his peculiar frame of mind. " He had 
 shut himself up, and employed a day in particular 
 exercises of religion — fasting, humiliation, and prayer. 
 On a sudden, he obtained extraordinary relief, for 
 which he looked up to heaven with grateful devotion. 
 He made no direct inference from the fact ; but from 
 his manner of telling it," adds Boswell, " I could 
 perceive that it appeared to him as something more 
 than an incident in the common course of events." 
 Yet at this time, with all his aspirations after a state 
 of greater perfectness, he was not able to bear the can- 
 dour of Langton, who, when Johnson him desired to
 
 58 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 tell him sincerely wherein he had observed his life to 
 be faulty, brought him a sheet of paper, on which were 
 written many texts of Scripture, recommendatory of 
 Christian meekness. 
 
 At the beginning of June he had sufficiently rallied 
 his strength to set out with Boswell, for Oxford, 
 where he remained about a fortnight, with Dr. Adams, 
 the master of Pembroke, his old college. In his dis- 
 course, there was the same alternation of gloominess 
 and gaiety, the same promptness of repartee, and 
 keenness of sarcasm, as there had ever been. 
 
 Several of his friends were now anxious that he 
 should escape the rigour of an English winter by re- 
 pairing to Italy, a measure which his physicians recom- 
 mended, not very earnestly indeed, and more I think 
 in compliance with his known wishes, than in expecta- 
 tion of much benefit to his health. It was thought 
 requisite, however, that some addition shoxild pre- 
 viously be made to his income, in order to his main- 
 taining an appearance somewhat suitable to the 
 character which he had established throughout 
 Europe by his writings. For this purpose, Boswell 
 addressed an apphcation to the Ministry, through 
 Lord Thurlow, who was then Chancellor. After some 
 accidental delay, and some vmsuccessful negotiation on 
 the part of Lord Thurlow, who was well disposed to 
 befriend him, during which time Johnson was again 
 buoyed up with the prospect of visiting Italy, an au-
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 59 
 
 swer was returned which left him no reason to expect 
 from Government any further assistance than that 
 which he was then receiving in the pension aheady 
 granted him . This refusal the Chancellor accompanied 
 with a munificent oifer of supply out of his own purse, 
 which he endeavoured to convey in such a manner as 
 should least alarm the independent spirit of Johnson. 
 " It would be a reflection on us all, (said Thurlow,) 
 if such a man should perish for want of the means to 
 take care of his health," The abihties of Thurlow 
 had always been held in high estimation by Johnson, 
 who had been heard to say of him, " I would prepare 
 myself for no man in England but Lord Thurlow. 
 When I am to meet with him, I should wish to know 
 a day before." One day, while this scheme was pend- 
 ing, Johnson being at the house of Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds, was overcome by the tenderness of his friends, 
 and by the near view, as he thought, of this long- 
 hoped Italian tour being effected, and exclaimed with 
 much emotion, " God bless you all ;" and then, after 
 a short silence, again repeating the words in a form 
 yet more solemn, was no longer able to command his 
 feelings, but hurried away to regain his composure in 
 solitude. 
 
 After all these eiforts, Johnson was fated to dis- 
 appointment ; and the authors of his disappointment 
 have incurred the sentence denounced on them by the 
 humanity of Thurlow. In this. Dr. Brocklesby, the
 
 60 LIVES OP ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 physician, has no share ; for hy him a noble offer of 
 ^100. a year was made to Johnson during his life. 
 
 In the meantime he had paid the summer visit, 
 which had now become almost an annual one to his 
 daughter-in-law, at Lichfield, from whence he made 
 an excursion to Dr. Taylor's, at Ashbourne, and to 
 Chatsworth, still labouring under his asthma, but 
 willing to believe that as Floyer, the celebrated physi- 
 cian of his native city, had been allowed to pant on till 
 near ninety, so he might also yet pant on a little longer. 
 Whilst he was on this journey, he translated an ode 
 of Horace, and composed several prayers. As he 
 passed through Birmingham and Oxford, he once 
 more hailed his old schoolfellow Hector, and his fellow 
 collegian, jidams. It is delightful to see early inti- 
 macies thus enduring through all the accidents of life, 
 local attachments unsevered by time, and the old age 
 and childhood of man bound together by these natural 
 charities. The same willow tree which Johnson had 
 known when a boy, was still his favourite, and still 
 flourishing in the meadow, near Lichfield. Hector 
 (whom I can remember several years after, a man of 
 erect form, and grave deportment) still met him with 
 the same, or perhaps more cordiahty than in their 
 first days ; and the virtues of Adams, which he had 
 seen opening in their early promise, had now grown 
 up to full maturity. To London he returned, only to 
 prove that death was not the terrible thing which he
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 61 
 
 had fancied it. He arrived there ou the 15th of 
 November. In little more than a fortnight after, 
 when Dr. Brocklesby (with whom three other eminent 
 physicians, and a chirurgeon, were in the habit of 
 attending him gratuitously) was paying him a morn- 
 ing visit, he said that he had been as a dying man all 
 night, and then with much emphasis repeated the 
 words of Macbeth : 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff 
 "Which weighs upon the heart ? 
 
 To which Brocklesby promptly returned the 
 answer, which is made by the doctor in that play, 
 
 Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister unto himself. 
 
 He now committed to the flames a large mass of 
 papers, among which were two 4to. volumes, contain- 
 ing a particular account of his life, from his earliest 
 recollections. 
 
 His few remaining days were occasionally cheered 
 by the presence of such men as have been collected 
 about a death-bed in few ages and countries of the 
 world — Langton, Reynolds, Windham, and Biu-ke.
 
 62 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Of these, none was more attentive to him than Mr. 
 Langton, of whom he had been heard to say, I could 
 almost wish "anima mea sit cum Langtono," and 
 whom he now addressed in the tender words of 
 Tibullus, 
 
 Te teneam moriens deficiente manu. 
 
 At another time, Burke, who was sitting with him 
 in the company of four or five others, expressed his 
 fear that so large a number might be oppressive to 
 him, "No, Sir," said Johnson, "it is not so; and I 
 must be in a wretched state, indeed, when your com- 
 pany would not be a delight to me." Burke's voice 
 trembled, when he replied, " My dear Sir, you have 
 always been too good to me." These were the last 
 words that passed between them. Mr. Windham hav- 
 ing settled a pillow for him, he thanked him for his 
 kindness. 
 
 This will do (said he,) all that a pillow can do. Of 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds he made three requests, which were 
 readily granted; to forgive him thirty pounds which 
 he had borrowed of him ; to read the Bible ; and never 
 to use his pencil on a Sunday. The church service was 
 frequently read to him by some clergyman of his ac- 
 quaintance. On one of these occasions, when Mr. 
 Nichols was present, he cried out to Mr. Hoole, who 
 was reading the Litany, " Louder, my dear Sir, louder, 
 I entreat you, or you pray in vain ;" and when the ser-
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 63 
 
 vice was done, he turned to a lady who had come to 
 pray with him, and said to her with much earnestness, 
 " I thank you, Madam, very heartily, for your kindness 
 in joining me in this solemn service. Live well, I con- 
 jure you, and you will not feel the compunction at the 
 last which I now feel." 
 
 He entreated Dr. Brocklesby to dismiss any vain 
 speculative opinions that he might entertain, and to 
 settle his mind on the great truths of Christianity. 
 He then insisted on his writing down the purport of 
 their conversation ; and when he had done, made him 
 affix his signature to the paper, and urged him to keep 
 it for the remainder of his life. The following is the 
 account commmiicated to Boswell by this aifectionate 
 physician, who was very free from any suspicion of 
 fanaticism, as indeed is well shewn by Johnson's dis- 
 course with him. 
 
 " For some time before his death, all his fears were 
 calmed and absorbed by the prevalence of his faith, 
 and his trust in the merits and propitiation of Jesus 
 Christ." " He talked often to me about the neces- 
 sity of faith in the sacrifice of Jesus, as necessary 
 beyond all good works whatever, for the salvation of 
 mankind." "He pressed me to study Dr. Clarke, and 
 to read his Sermons. I asked him why he pressed 
 Dr. Clarke, an Arian. 'Because (said he) he is 
 fullest on the propitiatory sacrifice.' " This was the 
 more remarkable, because his prejudice against
 
 64 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Clarke, on account of the Arianism imputed to him, 
 had formerly been so strong, that he made it a rule 
 not to admit his name into his Dictionary. 
 
 He desired Dr. Brocklesby to tell him whether he 
 could recover, charging him to give a direct answer. 
 The Doctor having first asked whether he could bear 
 to hear the whole truth, told him that without a 
 miracle he could not recover. " Then," said John- 
 son, " I will take no more physic, or even opiates ; 
 for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to 
 God unclouded." He not only kept this resolution, 
 but abstained from all food, excepting such as was of 
 the weakest kind. When Mr. Windham pressed him 
 to take something more generous, lest too poor a diet 
 should produce the effects which he dreaded, " I will 
 take any thing," said he, "but inebriating suste- 
 nance." 
 
 Mr. Strahan, the clergyman, who administered to 
 him the comforts of religion, afiimied that after hav- 
 ing been much agitated, he became tranquil, and con- 
 tinued so to the last. 
 
 On the eighth and ninth of December, he made his 
 will, by which he bequeathed the chief of his property 
 to Francis Barber, his negro servant. The value of 
 this legacy is estimated by Sir John Hawkins, at 
 near sSloOO. From this time he languished on tUl 
 the twelfth. That night his bodily imeasiness in- 
 creased ; his attendants assisted him every hour to
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 65 
 
 raise himself in his bed, and move his legs, which 
 were in much pain ; each time he prayed fervently ; 
 the only support he took was cyder and water. He 
 said he was prepared, but the time to his dissolution 
 seemed long. At six in the morning he inquired the 
 hour ; and, being told, observed that all went on 
 regularly, and that he had but a few hours to live. 
 In two hours after, he ordered his servant to bring 
 him a drawer, out of which he chose one lancet, from 
 amongst some others, and pierced his legs ; and then 
 seizing a pair of scissars that lay near him, plunged 
 them into both his calves, no doubt with the hopes of 
 easing them of the water ; for he had often reproached 
 his medical attendants with want of courage in not 
 scarifying them more deeply. At ten he dismissed 
 Mr. Windliam's servant, who was one of those who 
 had sat up with him, thanking him, and desiring him 
 to bear his remembrance to his master. Afterwards 
 a Miss Morris, the daughter of one of his friends, 
 came into the room to beg his blessing ; of which, 
 being informed by his servant Francis, he turned 
 round in his bed, and said to her, " God bless you, 
 my dear." About seven in the evening he expired so 
 quietly, that those about him did not perceive his 
 departure. His body being opened, two of the valves 
 of the aorta were found to be ossified ; the air cells 
 of the lungs imusually distended ; one of the kidneys 
 consumed, and the liver schirrous. A stone, as 
 
 F
 
 66 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 large as a common gooseberry, was in the gall- 
 bladder. 
 
 On the 20th of December, he was mterred in 
 Westminster Abbey, under a blue flagstone, which 
 bears this inscription. 
 
 Samuel Johnson, LLD. 
 
 ObiitXIII. die Decembris, 
 
 Anno Domini 
 
 MDCCLXXXIV. 
 
 iEtatis sua3 LXXV. 
 
 He was attended to his grave by many of his 
 friends, particularly such members of the Literarj' 
 Club as were then in London ; the pall being borne 
 by Burke, Sir Joseph Banks, Windliam, Langton, Sir 
 Charles Bunbury, and Colman. Monuments have 
 been erected to his memory, in the cathedrals of 
 Lichfield and St. Paul's. That in the latter consists 
 of his statue, by Bacon, larger than life, with an 
 epitaph from the pen of Dr. Parr. 
 
 A— ^ 
 
 Samueli Johnson 
 
 Grammatico et Critico 
 
 Scriptorum Anglicorum litterate perito 
 
 Poetse luminibus sententiarum 
 
 Et ponderibus verborum admirabili 
 
 Magistro virtutis gravissimo 
 Homini optinio et singularis exempli.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 6/ 
 
 Qui vixit ann. Ixxv. Mens. il. Dieb. xiiiil. 
 
 Decessit idib. Dec. ann. Christ, cio. locc. Ixxxiiil. 
 
 Sepult. in AED. Sanct. Petr. Westmonasteriens. 
 
 xiil. Kal. Januar. Ann. Christ, cla. locc. Ixxxv. 
 
 Amici et Sodales Litterarii 
 
 Pecunia Conlata 
 
 H. M. Faciund. Curaver. 
 
 In the hand there is a scroll, with the following 
 inscription : — 
 
 ENJMAKAPKSSinONQANTASlOS EIHAMOIBH. 
 
 Besides the numerous and various works which he 
 executed, he had at different times, formed schemes or 
 a great many more, of whifih the following catalogue 
 was given by him to Mr. Langton, and by that gentle- 
 man presented to his Majesty. 
 
 Divinity. 
 
 A small Book of Precepts and Directions for Piety ; 
 the hint taken from the directions in Morton's exercise. 
 
 Philosophy, History, and Literature in general. 
 
 History of Criticism, as it relates to judging of 
 authors, from Aristotle to the present age. An account 
 of the rise and improvements of that art : of the different 
 opinions of authors, ancient and modern. 
 
 Translation of the History of Herodian. 
 
 New Edition of Fairfax's Translation of Tasso, with 
 notes, glossary, &c.
 
 68 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Chaucer, a new edition of him, from manuscripts and 
 old editions, with various readings, conjectures, remarks 
 on his language, and the changes it had undergone 
 from the earliest times to his age, and from his to the 
 present ; with notes, explanatory of customs, &c. and 
 references to Boccace, and other authors from whom he 
 has borrowed, with an account of the liberties he has 
 taken in telling the stories ; his life, and an exact ety- 
 mological glossary. 
 
 Aristotle's Rhetoric, a translation of it into English. 
 
 A Collection of Letters, translated from the modem 
 writers, with some account of the several authors. 
 
 Oldham's Poems, with notes, historical and critical. 
 
 Roscommon's Poems, with notes. 
 
 Lives of the Philosophers, written with a polite air, 
 in such a manner as may divert as well as instruct. 
 
 History of the Heathen Mythology, with an explica- 
 tion of the fables, both allegorical and historical ; with 
 references to the poets. 
 
 History of the State of Venice, in a compendious 
 manner. 
 
 Aristotle's Ethics, an English translation of them, 
 with notes. 
 
 Geographical Dictionary, from the French. 
 
 Hierocles upon Pythagoras, translated into English, 
 perhaps with notes. This is done by Norris. 
 
 A Book of Letters, upon all kinds of subjects. 
 
 Claudian, a new edition of his works, " cum notis 
 variorum," in the manner of Burman. 
 
 Tully's Tusculan Questions, a translation of them. 
 
 Tully'sDe Natura Deorum, a translation of those books.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 69 
 
 Benzo's New History of the New World, to be trans- 
 lated. 
 
 Machiavel's History of Florence, to be translated. 
 
 History of the Revival of Learning in Euroj^e, con- 
 taining- an account of whatever contributed to the resto- 
 ration of literature ; such as controversies, printing, the 
 destruction of the Greek empire, the encouragement of 
 great men, with the lives of the most eminent patrons, 
 and most eminent early j^rofessors of all kinds of learn- 
 ing in different countries. 
 
 A Body of Chronology, inverse, with historical notes. 
 
 A Table of the Spectators, Tatlers, and Guardians, 
 distinguished by figures into six degrees of value, with 
 notes, giving the reasons of preference or degradation. 
 
 A Collection of Letters from English Authors, with a 
 preface, giving some account of the writers ; with rea- 
 sons for selection, and criticism upon styles ; remarks 
 on each letter, if needful. 
 
 A Collection of Proverbs from various languages. — 
 Jan. 6—53. 
 
 A Dictionary to the Common Prayer, in imitation of 
 Calmet's Dictionary of the Bible. — March, — 52. 
 
 A Collection of Stories and Examples, like those of 
 Valerius Maximus. — Jan. 10, — 53. 
 
 From Elian, a volume of select Stories, perhaps from 
 others. — Jan. 28, — 53. 
 
 Collection of Travels, Voyages, Adventures, and De- 
 scriptions of Countries. 
 
 Dictionary of Ancient History and Mythology. 
 
 Treatise on the Study of Polite Literature, contain- 
 ing the history of learning, directions for editions, 
 commentaries, &c.
 
 70 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Maxims, Characters, and Sentiments, after the manner 
 of Bruyere, collected out of ancient authors, particu- 
 larly the Greek, with Apophtheg-ms. 
 
 Classical Miscellanies, select translations from ancient 
 Greek and Latin authors. 
 
 Lives of Illustrious Persons, as well of the active as 
 the learned, in imitation of Plutarch. 
 
 Judgment of the learned upon English Authors. 
 
 Poetical Dictionary of the English Tongue. 
 
 Considerations upon the Present State of London. 
 
 Collection of Epigrams, with notes and observations. 
 
 Observations on the English Language, relating to 
 words, phrases, and modes of speech. 
 
 Minutice Literariee ; miscellaneous reflections, criti- 
 cisms, emendations, notes. 
 
 History of the Constitution. 
 
 Comparison of Philosophical and Christian Morality, 
 by sentences collected from the moralists and fathers. 
 
 Plutarch's Lives, in English, with notes. 
 
 Poetry, and Works of Imagination. 
 Hymn to Ig-norance. 
 The Palace of Sloth, a vision. 
 Coluthus, to be translated. 
 Prejudice, a poetical Essay. 
 The Palace of Nonsense, a vision. 
 
 In his last illness, he told Mr. Nichols* that he had 
 thought of translating Thuanus, and when that wor- 
 
 Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. ii. p. 532.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. /I 
 
 thy man (in whom he had begun to place much con- 
 fidence) suggested to him that he would be better 
 employed in writing a Life of Spenser, by which he 
 might gratify the King, who was known to be fond 
 of that poet, he replied that he would readily do it 
 if he could obtain any new materials. 
 
 His stature was unusually high, and his person 
 large and well-proportioned, but he was rendered un- 
 couth in his appearance by the scars which his 
 scrophulous disease had impressed upon him, by 
 convulsive motions, and by the slovenliness of his 
 garb. His eyes, of which the sight was very im- 
 perfect, were of a light grey colour, yet had withal 
 a wildness and penetration, and at times a fierceness 
 of expression, that could not be encountered without 
 a sensation of fear. He had a strange way of making 
 inarticulate sounds, or of muttering to himself in 
 a voice loud enough to be overheard, what was 
 passing in his thoughts, when in company. Thus, 
 one day, when he was on a visit to Davies the book- 
 seller, whose pretty wife is spoken of by Churchill, 
 he was heard repeating part of the Lord's Prayer, 
 and, on his saying, lead us not into temptation, 
 Davies turned roimd, and whispered his wife, " You 
 are the occasion of this, my dear." 
 
 It is said by Boswell, that " his temperament was 
 so morbid, that he never knew the natural joy of a 
 free and vigorous use of his limbs : when he walked,
 
 72 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 it was the struggling gait of one in fetters ; when 
 he rode, he had no command or direction of his 
 horse, but was carried as if in a balloon." His daily 
 habits were exceedingly irregular ; he took his meals 
 at unusual hours ; and either ate voraciously, or ab- 
 stained rigorously. He studied by fits and starts ; 
 but when he did read, it was with such rapidity and 
 eagerness, that, as some one said, it seemed as if he 
 would tear out the heart of the book he was upon. 
 He could with difficulty believe any one who spoke of 
 having read any book from the beginning to the end. 
 His mode of composition was in like manner vigorous 
 and hasty; though hissentenceshaveall the appearance 
 of being measured ; but it was his custom to speak 
 no less than to write with a studious attention to the 
 numerousness of his phrase, so that he was enabled 
 to do that by habit which others usually accomplish 
 by a particular effort. 
 
 In matters of fact, his regard to truth was so pimc- 
 tilious, that it was observed he always talked as if he 
 was talking upon oath ; and he was desirous of ex- 
 acting the same preciseness from those over whom he 
 had authority or influence. He had, however, a 
 practice that was not entirely consistent with this love 
 of veracity ; for he would sometimes defend that side 
 of a question, which he thought wrong, because it 
 afforded him a more favourable opportunity of ex- 
 hibiting his reasoning or his wit. Thus when he
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 73 
 
 began, " Why, Sir, as to the good or evil of card- 
 playing ;" Garrick would make this arch comment 
 on his proem ; " Now he is considering which side he 
 shall take." It may be urged that his hearers were 
 aware of this propensity which he had 
 
 To make the worse appear 
 
 The better argument, 
 and were therefore in no danger of being misled by 
 it. But an excuse of the same kind will serve for the 
 common liar, that he is known, and therefore disbe- 
 lieved. It behoved him to be the more scrupulous in 
 this particular, because he knew that Boswell took 
 minutes of his ordinary conversation. Some of his 
 idle sophisms, which thus became current, have, I 
 fear, led to serious mischief; such as the opinion that 
 an author may be at liberty to deny his having written 
 a book to which he has not affixed his name ; his ex- 
 tenuation of incontinence in the master of a family, 
 and the gloss he put on the crime of covetousness ; 
 which last error was not confined to his conversation, 
 but mingled itself with his writings, though no one 
 could well be freer from any taint of the \'ice in his 
 own hfe. Many a man may have indulged his incli- 
 nations to e\al, with much less compunction, while he 
 has imagined himself sheltered under the sanction of 
 the moralist who watches one side of the entrance 
 into the nave of St. Paul's.
 
 74 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 There was, in his mind, a strange mixture of cre- 
 dulity and doubtfuhiess. He did not disbelieve either 
 in the existence of ghosts, or in the possibility of com- 
 muting other metals into gold ; but was very slow to 
 credit any fact that was at all extraordinary. He 
 would tell of Cave's having seen an apparition, with- 
 out much apparent doubt ; and, with more certainty, 
 of his having been himself addi-essed by the voice of 
 his absent mother. The deception practised by the 
 girl in Cock Lane, who was a ventriloquist, is well 
 known to have wrought on him so successfully, as to 
 make him go and watch in the church, where she 
 pretended the spirit of a yomig woman to be, which had 
 disclosed to her the manner of its ha\dng been violently 
 separated from the body. On this occasion, Boswell 
 endeavours in vain to clear him from the imputation 
 of a weakness, which was but too agreeable to the 
 rest of his character. Yet on Hume's argument 
 against miracles, that it is more probable witnesses 
 should lie or be mistaken than that they should 
 happen, he remarked, as I think, very judiciously, 
 that Hume, taking the proposition simply, is right ; 
 but that the Christian revelation is not proved by 
 tlie miracles alone, but as they are connected with 
 prophecies, and with the doctrines in confirmation 
 of which the miracles were wrovight. 
 
 He was devout, moral, and humane ; frequent and
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 75 
 
 earnest in his petitions for the divine succour, anxious 
 to subhme his nature by disengaging it from worldly 
 soil, and prompt to sjniapathise with the sorrows, and 
 out of his scanty means, to relieve the necessities of 
 others ; but such is the imperfection of man, that 
 his piety was apt to degenerate into superstition ; his 
 abstinence yielded to shght temptations, and his 
 charity was often not proof against a discrepancy of 
 opinion either inpoUtics or literature. 
 
 Among his friends, Beauclerk seems most to have 
 engaged his love, Langton his respect, and Burke his 
 admiration. The first was conspicuous for wit, live- 
 liness of feelings, and gaiety ; the next for rectitude of 
 conduct, piety, and learning ; the last for knowledge, 
 sagacity, and eloquence. His praise of Reynolds, 
 that he was the most invulnerable of men, one of 
 whom, if he had a quarrel with him, he should find 
 it the most difiicult to say any ill, was praise rather 
 of the negative kind. The younger Warton, he con- 
 trived to ahenate from him, as is related in the life 
 of that poet. There was, indeed, an entire harmony 
 in their political principles ; but questions of litera- 
 ture touch an author yet more sensibly than those of 
 state ; and the " idem sentire de republica," was an 
 imperfect bond of amity between men who appre- 
 ciated so differently the Comus and Lycidas of 
 Milton, and the Bucolics of Theocritus. To Savage 
 and Goldsmith he was attached by similarity of for-
 
 76 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 tunes and pursuits. A yet closer bond of sympathy 
 united him with ColUns, as the reader will see in the 
 following extracts from letters which he wrote to Dr. 
 Warton. 
 
 How little can we exult in any intellectual powers or 
 literary entertainments, when we see the fate of poor 
 Collins. I knew him a few years ago, full of hopes and 
 full of projects, versed in many languages, high in 
 fancy, and strong in retention. This busy and forcible 
 mind is now under the government of those who lately 
 would not have been able to comprehend the least and 
 most narrow of its designs. — March 8, 1754. 
 
 Poor dear Collins. Let me know whether you think 
 it would give him jjleasure that I should write to him. 
 I have often been near his state, and therefore have it 
 in great commisseration. * * « 
 
 What becomes of poor dear Collins ? I wrote him a 
 letter which he never answered. I suppose writing is 
 very troublesome to him. That man is no common loss. 
 The moralists all talk of the uncertainty of fortune, and 
 the transitoriness of beauty ; but it is yet more dreadful 
 to consider that the powers of the mind are equally 
 liable to change, that understanding may make its ap- 
 pearance, and depart, that it may blaze and expire. — 
 April 15, 1756.* 
 
 Difference of opinion respecting the American 
 war did not separate him from Burke and Fox ; and 
 
 * WooH's Memoirs of Dr. Joseph Warton.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. TJ 
 
 when the nation was afterwards divided by the 
 struggle between the court and populace on one 
 side and the aristocracy on the other, though his 
 principles determined him to that party in which he 
 found the person though perhaps not the interests of 
 his sovereign, yet his affections continued with the 
 great leader in the House of Commons, who was 
 opposed to it. "I am," said he, "for the King 
 against Fox ; but I am for Fox against Pitt. The 
 King is my master ; bu I do not know Pitt ; and 
 Fox is my friend ;" and to Burke, when he was a 
 candidate for a seat in the new Parliament, he wished, 
 as he told him with a smile, " all the success that an 
 honest man could wish him." Even towards "Wilkes 
 his asperity was softened down into good humour by 
 their meeting together over a plentiful table at the 
 house of Dilly the bookseller. 
 
 When he had offended any by contradiction or 
 rudeness, it was seldom long before he sought to be 
 reconciled and forgiven. But though his private 
 enmities were easily appeased, yet where he consi- 
 dered the cause of truth to be concerned, his resent- 
 ment was vehement and unrelenting. That impos- 
 ture, particularly, which he with good reason sup- 
 posed Macpherson to have practised on the world 
 with respect to the poems of Ossian, provoked him 
 to vengeance, such as the occasion seemed hardly to 
 demand.
 
 /8 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Of his dry pleasantry in conversation there are 
 many instances recorded. "When one of his acquaint- 
 ances had introduced liim to his brother, at the same 
 time teUing him that he would find him become very 
 agreeable after he had been some time in his company, 
 he replied, " Sir, I can wait." To a stupid justice of 
 the peace, who had wearied him with a long account 
 of his haraig caused four convicts to be condemned 
 to transportation, he answered, "I heartily wish I 
 were a fifth ;" a repartee that calls to our mind 
 Horace's answer to the impertinent fellow : 
 
 Omnes composui ; Felices ! nunc eg-o resto. 
 
 A physician endeavouring to bring to his recollec- 
 tion that he had been in his company once before, 
 mentioned among other circumstances his having 
 that day worn so fine a coat, that it could not but 
 have attracted his notice. " Sir," said Johnson, 
 "had you been dipped in Pactolus, I should not 
 have noticed you." He could on occasion be more 
 polite and complimentary. When Mrs. Siddons, 
 with whom, in a letter to Mrs. Thrale, he expressed 
 himself lughly pleased, paid him a visit, there hap- 
 pened not to be any chair ready for her. " Madam," 
 said he, "you who so often occasion the want of 
 seats to others will the more readily excuse the 
 want of one yourself." 
 
 His scholarship was rather various than accurate
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 79 
 
 or profound. Yet Dr. Burney, the younger, sup- 
 posed him capable of gmng a Greek word for almost 
 every English one. Romances were always a favourite 
 kind of reading with him. Felixmarte of Hir- 
 cania was his regular study during part of a summer 
 which he spent in the country at the parsonage-house 
 of Dr. Percy. On a journey to Derbyshire, when he 
 had in view his Italian expedition, he took with him 
 II Palermino d'Inghilterra, to refresh his knowledge 
 of the language. To this taste he had been heard to 
 impute his misettled disposition, and his averseness 
 from the choice of any profession. One of the most 
 singular qualities of his mind was the rapidity with 
 which it was able to seize and master almost any 
 subject, however abstruse or novel, that was oifered 
 to its speculation. To this quickness of apprehension 
 was joined an extraordinary power of memory, so that 
 he was able to recall at pleasure most passages of a 
 book, which had once strongly impressed him. In 
 his sixty-fouth year, he attempted to acquire the low 
 Dutch language. He had a perpetual thirst of know- 
 ledge ; and six months before his death requested 
 Dr. Burney to teach him the scale of music. " Teach 
 me," said Johnson to him, " at least, the alphabet of 
 your language." What he knew, he loved to com- 
 municate. x\ccording to that description of the stu- 
 in Chaucer, 
 
 Gladly would he teachj and gladly learn.
 
 80 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 These endovmients were accompanied with a copi- 
 ousness of words, in which it would be difficult to 
 name any writer except Barrow that has surpassed 
 him. Yet his prose style is very far from affording 
 a model that can safely be proposed for our imitation. 
 He seems to exert his powers of intellect and of lan- 
 guage indiscriminately, and with equal effort, on the 
 smallest and the most important occasions ; and the 
 effect is something similar to that of a Chinese painting, 
 in which, though all the objects separately taken are 
 accurately described, yet the whole is entirely want- 
 ing in a proper relief of perspective. What is ob- 
 served by Milton of the conduct of life, may be applied 
 to composition, " that there is a scale of higher and 
 lower duties," and he who confuses it will infallibly 
 fall short of that proportion which is necessary to ex- 
 cellence no less in matters of taste than of morals. 
 
 He was more intent in balancing the period, than 
 in developing the thought or image that was present 
 to his mind. Sometimes we find that he multiplies 
 words without amplifying the sense, and that the ear 
 is gratified at the expense of the understanding. This 
 is more particularly the case in the Ramblers, which 
 being called for at short and stated intervals, were 
 sometimes composed in such haste, that he had not 
 leasure even to read them before they were printed ; 
 nor can we wonder at the dissatisfaction he expressed 
 some years afterwards, when he exclaimed that he
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 81 
 
 thought they had been better. In the Idler there is 
 more brevity, and consequently more compression. 
 
 "When Johnson trusts to his ovvn strong under- 
 standing in a matter of which he has the full com- 
 mand, and does not aim at setting it off by futile 
 decorations, he is always respectable, and sometimes 
 great. But when he attempts the ornamental, he is 
 heavy and inelegant ; and the awkwardness of his 
 efforts is more perceptible from the hugeness of the 
 body that is put in motion to produce them. He is 
 like the animal whom Milton describes as making 
 sport for our first parents in Paradise — 
 
 Th' unwieldy elephant, 
 
 To make them mirth, used all his mig-ht. 
 
 It is a good beast for carrying a burden or trampling 
 down a foe, but a very indifferent one at a lavolta or 
 a coranto. 
 
 His swelling style is readily counterfeited. Our 
 common advertisements have amply revenged them- 
 selves for his ridicule of their large promises in the 
 Idler, by clothing those promises in language as mag- 
 nificent as his own. It is much less easy to catch 
 the subtle graces of Addison. At the conclusion of 
 the Rambler, he boasts that " he has laboured to re- 
 fine our language to grammatical purity, and to clear 
 it from colloquial barbarisms, licentious idioms, and 
 irregular combinations . ' '
 
 82 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 The result of his lahour is awkward stateUness 
 and irksome uniformity. In his dread of incon- 
 gruous idioms he writes almost without any idiom 
 at all. 
 
 He has sometimes been considered as having inno- 
 vated on our tongue by introducing big words into it 
 from the Latin : but he commonly does no more 
 than re\'ive terms which had been employed by our 
 old writers and afterwards fallen into disuse; nor 
 does he, like them, employ even these terms in 
 senses which scholars only woidd be hkely to under- 
 stand. 
 
 At the time of Avriting the Dictionary, he had a 
 notion that our language " for almost a century had 
 been departing from its original Teutonic character, 
 and deviating towards a Gallic structure and phraseo- 
 logy, from which it ought to be our endeavour to recall 
 it by making our ancient volumes the ground-work of 
 style, admitting among the additions of later times, 
 only such as may supply real deficiencies, such as are 
 readily adopted by the genius of our tongue, and 
 incorporate easily with our native idiom." But a 
 little reflection will shew us the vanity of this attempt. 
 Since the age of Chaucer, at least, that is for more 
 than 400 years, our language has been increased by 
 continual transfusions from the French. To these 
 have been added, from time to time, similar accessions 
 from other languages, both ancient and modern.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 83 
 
 Thus a copiousness and a flexibility, which in the 
 instance of the Greek seem to hare arisen out of that 
 subtilty of intellect which gave birth to endless sub- 
 division and distinction, have been in some measure 
 compensated in our own by the influxes which it has 
 received from the languages of many other people ; 
 and have been yet further improved by that liberty 
 which it is to be hoped we shall always retain, 
 each man, of speaking his thoughts after his own 
 guise, without too much regard to any set mode or 
 fashion. 
 
 He had before said, in this same preface, that "our 
 knowledge of the northern literature is so scanty, that 
 of words undoubtedly Teutonic the original is not 
 always to be found in any ancient language ; and I 
 have therefore," he adds, " inserted Dutch or Ger- 
 man substitutes, which I consider not as radical, but 
 parallel; not as the parents, but sisters of the Eng- 
 lish." And in his history of the EngUsh language, 
 speaking of our Saxon ancestors, to whom we must, 
 I suppose, go for that Teutonic original which he 
 so strongly recommends, he observes that, "their 
 speech having been always cursory and extempo- 
 raneous, must have been artless and unconnected, 
 without any modes of transition or involution of 
 clauses, which abruptness and inconnection may be 
 found even in their later writings." Of the addi- 
 tions which have been made to this our original
 
 84 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 poverty, who shall say what ought to be rejectedj and 
 what retained? who shall say what deficiencies are 
 real, and what imaginary? what the genius of our 
 tongue may admit of, and what it must refuse? and 
 in a word, what that native idiom is, a coalition with 
 which is to be thus studiously consulted? 
 
 Throughout his Lives of the Poets, he constantly 
 betrays a want of relish for the more abstracted 
 graces of the art. When strong sense and reasoning 
 were to be judged of, these he was able to appreciate 
 justly. When the passions or characters were de- 
 scribed, he could to a certain extent decide whether 
 they were described truly or no. But as far as poetry 
 has relation to the kindred arts of music and painting, 
 to both of which he was confessedly insensible, it 
 could not be expected that he should have much per- 
 ception of its excellences. Of statuary, he said that 
 its value was owing to its difficulty ; and that a fellow 
 will hack half a year at a block of marble to make 
 something in stone that nearly resembles a ihan. 
 WTiat shall be thought of his assertion, that before 
 the time of Dryden there was no poetical diction, no 
 system of words at once refined from the grossness of 
 domestic use, and free from the harshness of terms 
 appropriated to particular arts, and "that words too 
 familiar or too remote, defeat the purpose of a poet?" 
 It might with more show of reason be affirmed, that 
 in proportion as our writers have adopted such a
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 85 
 
 system as he speaks of, and have rejected words for 
 no other cause than that they were either too famihar 
 or too remote, we have been receding from the proper 
 language of poetry. One of the chief ornaments, or 
 more properly speaking, the constituents of poetical 
 language, is the use of metaphors ; and metaphors 
 never find their way to the mind more readily, or 
 affect it more powerfully, than when they are clothed 
 in familiar words. Even a naked sentiment will lose 
 none of its force from being conveyed in the most 
 homely terms which our mother tongue can afford. 
 They are the soimds which we have been used to 
 from our infancy, which have been early connected 
 with our hopes and fears, and still continue to meet us 
 in our own homes and by our firesides, that will most 
 certainly awaken those feehngs with which the poet is 
 chiefly concerned. As for the terms which Johnson 
 calls remote, if I understand him rightly, they too may 
 be employed occasionally, either when the attention 
 is to be roused by something unusual, or for the sake 
 of harmony ; or it may be for no other reason than 
 because the poet chooses thus to diversify his diction, 
 so as to give a stronger relief to that which is familiar 
 and common, by the juxtaposition of its contrary. Of 
 this there can be no doubt, that, whoever lays down 
 such arbitrary rules as Johnson has here prescribed, 
 will find himself mocked at every turn by the power 
 of genius, which meets with nothing in art or nature
 
 86 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 that it cannot convert to its own use, and which 
 deHghts to produce the greatest effects by means 
 apparently the most inadequate. 
 
 He particularly valued himself on the Life of 
 Cowley, for the sake of those observations which he 
 had introduced into it on the metaphysical poets. 
 Here he has mistaken the character of Marino, whom 
 he supposes to be at the head of them. Marino 
 abounds in puerile conceits ; but they are not far- 
 fetched, like those of Donne and Cowley ; they 
 generally lie on the siirface, and often consist of nothhig 
 more than a mere play upon words ; so that, if to be 
 a punster is to be a metaphysician, Marino is a poe- 
 tical Heraclitus. But Johnson had caught the cant 
 of the age, in which it was usual to designate almost 
 any thing absurd or extravagant by the name of me- 
 taphysical. 
 
 It is difficult to suppose that he had read some of 
 the works on which he passes a summary sentence. 
 The comedy of Love's Riddle, which he says, "adds 
 little to the wonders of Cowley's minority," deserved to 
 be commended at least for the style, which is a specimen 
 of pure and imaffected English. Of Congreve's novel, 
 he tells us, that he had rather praise it than read it. 
 Judging from the letters of Congreve, his only writings 
 in prose which it has been my good fortune to meet 
 with, and which, as I remember, contain some ad- 
 mirable remarks on the distinction between wit and
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 8/ 
 
 humour, I should conclude that one part of his 
 character as a writer has yet to make its way to the 
 pubhc notice. I have heard it observed by a lady, 
 that Johnson, in his Life of Milton, is like a dog in- 
 censed and terrified at the presence of some superior 
 creature, at whom he snarls, then runs away, and 
 then returns to snarl again. If the comparison be a 
 just one, it may be added, in extenuation of Johnson's 
 malignity, that he is at least a dog who thinks him- 
 self to be attacking the inveterate foe of his master ; 
 for Milton's hostility to a kingly government was the 
 crime which he could not forgive. 
 
 The mention of Milton, and of his politics, brings 
 to my mind two sayings of Johnson's that were re- 
 lated to me by Mr. Price, of Lichfield. After passing 
 an evening together at Mr. Seward's, the father of 
 the poetess, where, in the course of conversation, the 
 words " Me miserable !" in Paradise Lost, had been 
 commended as highly pathetic, they had walked 
 some way along the street in silence, which the good 
 man was not Ukely first to break, when Johnson sud- 
 denly stopped, and turning round to him, exclaimed, 
 " Sir ! don't you think that ' Me miserable' is miser- 
 able stuff?" On another occasion he thus whimsically 
 described the different manner in which he felt himself 
 disposed towards a Whig and a Tory. " If," said he, 
 " I saw a Whig and a Tory drowning, I would first 
 save the Tory ; and when I saw that he was safe, not
 
 88 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 till then, I would go and help the Whig ; but the 
 dog should duck first ; the dog should duck :" laugh- 
 mg with pleasure at the thoughts of the Whig's 
 ducking. 
 
 The principal charm of the Lives of the Poets is in 
 the store of information which they contain. He had 
 been, as he says somewhere of his own father, " no 
 careless observer of the passages of the times." In 
 the course of a long life, he had heard, and read, and 
 seen much; and this he communicates with such 
 force and vivacity, and illustrates by observations so 
 pertinent and striking, that we recur again and again 
 to his pages as we would to so many portraits traced 
 by the hand of a great master, in spite of our belief 
 that the originals were often misrepresented, that 
 some were flattered, and the defects of others still 
 more overcharged. In his very errors as a critic there 
 is often shewn more abihty than in the right judgments 
 of most other. When he is most wrong, he gives us 
 some good reason for his being so. He is often mis- 
 taken, but never trivial and insipid. It is more safe 
 to trust to him when he commends than when he 
 dispraises ; when he enlarges the boundaries of 
 criticism which his predecessors had contracted, than 
 when he sets up new fences of his own. The higher 
 station we can take, the more those petty hmits will 
 disappear, which confine excellence to particular forms 
 and systems. The critic who condemns that which
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 89 
 
 the generality of mankind, or even the few of those 
 more refined in their taste, have long agreed in admir- 
 ing, may naturally conclude the fault to be in himself; 
 that there is in his mmd or his organs some want of 
 capacity for the reception of a certain species of plea- 
 sure. When Johnson rejected pastoral comedy, as 
 being representative of scenes adapted chiefly "to 
 please barbarians and childi-en," he might have sus- 
 pected that his own eye-sight, rather than pastoral 
 comedy, was to blame. When he characterized blank 
 verse, " as verse only to the eye," he might reason- 
 ably have questioned the powers of his own hearing. 
 But this, and more than this, we may forgive him, 
 for his successful vindication of Shakspeare from the 
 faults objected to him by the French critics. 
 
 It is in his biographical works that Johnson is 
 most pleasing and most instructive. His querulousness 
 takes away much both from the agreeableness and the 
 use of his moral writings. Addison has represented 
 our nature in its most attractive forms ; but Swift 
 makes us turn with loathing from its deformities, and 
 Johnson causes us to shudder at its misery. 
 
 Like most of the writers of that time, he made use 
 of his poetry only as the means of introducing him- 
 self to the public. We cannot regret, as in the case 
 of Goldsmith, that he put it to no further service. 
 He took little delight in those appearances either of 
 nature or art, for which the poet ought to have the
 
 90 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 eye of a painter. Nor had he much more sense of 
 the elegant in numbers and in sound. There were 
 indeed certain romids of metrical arrangement which 
 he loved to repeat, but he could not go beyond them. 
 How very limited his perceptions of this kind were, 
 we may be convinced by reading his strictures on 
 Dionysius the Halicarnassian in the Rambler, and the 
 opinions on Milton's versification, which in the Idler 
 he has put into the mouth of a minute critic, only to 
 ridicide them, though they are indeed foimded m 
 truth. Johnson was not one of those whom Plato 
 calls the (j)iXi)kool kuI (piXodeafjLovec, " who gladly ac- 
 knowledge the beautiful wherever it is met with, in 
 sounds, and colours, and figures, and all that is by art 
 compounded from these ;" much less had he ascended 
 " to that abstract notion of beauty" which the same 
 philosopher considers it so much more difficult to 
 attain.* 
 
 In his tragedy, the dramatis personse are like so 
 many statues " stept from their pedestal to take the 
 air." They come on the stage only to utter pompous 
 sentiments of morality, turgid declamation, and frigid 
 similes. Yet there is throughout, that strength of 
 language, that heavy mace of words, with which, as 
 with the flail of Talus, Johnson lays every thing 
 prostrate before him. This style is better suited to 
 
 * Plato de Kepublicaj 1. v. 476.
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 91 
 
 his imitations of the two satires of Juvenal. Of 
 the first of these, "the Loudon," Gray, in a letter to 
 Horace Walpole, says that " to him it is one of those 
 few imitations, that has all the ease and all the spirit 
 of an original." The other is not at all inferior to it. 
 Johnson was not insensible to such praise ; and, 
 could he have known how favourably Gray had 
 spoken of him, would, I doubt not, have been more 
 just to that poet, whom, besides the petulant criticism 
 on him in his Life, he presumed in conversation to 
 call "a heavy fellow." 
 
 In his shorter poems it appears as if nature could 
 now and then thrust herself even into the bosom of 
 Johnson himself, from whom we could scarcely have 
 looked for such images as are to be foimd in the 
 following stanzas. 
 
 By gloomy twilight half reveal'd, 
 
 With sighs we view the hoary hill, 
 The leafless wood, the naked field, 
 
 The snow-stopp'd cot, the frozen rill. 
 
 No music warbles through the grove, 
 
 No vivid colours paint the plain ; 
 No more with devious steps I rove 
 
 Through verdant paths, now sought in vain. 
 
 Aloud the driving tempest roars, 
 
 Congeal'd impetuous showers descend ; 
 
 Haste, close the window, bar the doors, 
 Fate leaves me Stella and a friend.
 
 92 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Sappho herself might have ow-ned a touch of passion- 
 ate tendeniess, that he has introduced into another of 
 these Httle pieces : 
 
 The Queen of night 
 
 Round us i:>ours a lambent light, 
 Light that seems but just to show 
 Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow. 
 
 His Latin poetry is not without a certain barbaric 
 splendour ; but it discovers, as might be expected, 
 no skill in the more refined graces of the Augustan 
 age. The verse he quoted to Thomas "Warton as his 
 favourite, from the translation of Pope's Messiah, 
 
 Vallis aromaticas fundit Saronica nubes, 
 
 evinces that he could be pleased without elegance in 
 a mode of composition, of which elegance is the chief 
 recommendation. If we wished to impress foreigners 
 with a favourable opinion of the taste which our 
 countrymen have formed for the most perfect pro- 
 ductions of the Roman muse, we should send them, 
 not to the pages of Johnson, but rather to those of 
 Milton, Gray, Warton, and some of yet more recent 
 date. 
 
 It was the chance of Johnson to fall upon an age 
 that rated his great abilities at their full value. His 
 laboriousness had the appearance of something
 
 JOHN ARMSTRONG. 93 
 
 stupendous, when there were many Hterary hut 
 few very learned men. His vigour of intellect im- 
 posed upon the multitude an opinion of his wisdom, 
 from the solemn air and oracular tone in which he 
 uniformly addressed them. He would have been of 
 less consequence in the days of Elizabeth or of 
 Cromwell. 
 
 JOHN ARMSTRONG. 
 
 John Armstrong, the son of a Scotch minister, 
 was born in the parish of Castleton, in Roxburgh- 
 shire. The date of his birth has not been ascertained, 
 nor is there any thing known concerning the earlier 
 part of his education. The first we hear of it is, 
 that he took a degree in medicine at Edinburgh, on 
 the fourth of February, 1 732 ; on which occasion he 
 pubUshed his Thesis, as usual, and chose De Tabe 
 Purulenta for the subject of it. A copy of a Latin 
 letter, which he sent to Sir Hans Sloane with this 
 essay, is said to be in the British Museum. In an 
 advertisement prefixed to some verses which he calls
 
 94 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Imitations of Shakspeare, he informs the reader 
 that the first of them was just finished when 
 Thomson's Winter made its appearance. This was 
 in 1/26, when he was, he himself says, very young. 
 Thomson ha\-ing heard of this production hy a youth, 
 who was of the same country with himself, desired 
 to see it, and was so much pleased with the attempt, 
 that he put it into the hands of Aaron Hill, Mallet, 
 and Young. With Thomson, further than in the 
 subject, there is no coincidence. The manner is a 
 caricature of Shakspeare's. 
 
 In 1735, we find him in London, publishing a 
 humorous pamphlet, entitled An Essay for abridging 
 the Study of Physic, which, though he did not pro- 
 fess himself the writer, Mr. Nichols says,* he can, 
 on the best authority, assert to be his. In two years 
 after he pubUshed a Medical Essay. This was soon 
 followed by a licentious poem, which I have not seen, 
 and the title of which I do not think it necessary to 
 record. — While thus employed, it was not to be ex- 
 pected that he should rise to much eminence in his 
 profession. The dying man does not willingly see by 
 his couch one who has recently disgraced himself by 
 an open act of profligacy. In January 1741, he soli- 
 cited Dr. Birch to use his influence with Mead in 
 
 * Isichols's Literary Anecdotes, Vol. ii. p. 307, &c.
 
 JOHN AKMSTKONG. 95 
 
 recommending him to the appointment of Physician 
 to the Forces which were then going to the West 
 Indies. It does not appear that this apphcation was 
 successful ; but in five years more, (February 1 746,) 
 he was nominated one of the Physicians to the Hos- 
 pital for Invalid Soldiers behind Buckingham House ; 
 and in 1 760, Physician to the Army in Germany. 
 Meantime (in 1744) he had published his Art of Pre- 
 serving Health, a didactic poem, that soon made its 
 way to notice, and which, by the judiciousness of the 
 precepts, might have tended to raise some opinion 
 of his medical skill. At the beginning he addresses 
 Mead : — 
 
 Beloved by all the graceful arts, 
 
 And long the favourite of the healing powers. 
 
 He had now become intimate with Thomson, to 
 whose Castle of Indolence he contributed the three 
 stanzas which conclude the first canto. One of the 
 alterations made in them by Thomson is not for the 
 better. He had written — 
 
 And here the gout, half tyger, half a snake, 
 Raged with a hundred teeth^ a hundred stings ; 
 
 which was changed to — 
 
 The sleepless gout here counts the crowing cocks, 
 A wolf now gnaws him, now a serpent stings.
 
 96 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 "When Thomson was seized with the illness of 
 which he died, Armstrong was one of those who were 
 sent for to attend him. 
 
 In 1/51, he published Benevolence, an Epistle to 
 Eumenes ; and in 1 753, Taste, an Epistle to a Young 
 Critic. In the next year, he wrote the Forced Mar- 
 riage, a tragedy, which Garrick did not think fitted 
 for the stage. It was printed in 1 770, with such of 
 his other writings as he considered worthy of being 
 collected. In this book, which he entitled Miscella- 
 nies, in two volumes, first appeared the second part 
 of Sketches or Essays on Various Subjects, by Launce- 
 lot Temple, Esq. ; the former had been published in 
 1758. Wilkes was supposed to have contributed 
 something to these lively trifles, which, under an air 
 of impertinent levity, are sometimes marked by origi- 
 nality and discernment. B[is poem called Day, aii 
 epistle which he had addressed to Wilkes in 1761, 
 was not admitted by the author to take its place 
 among the rest. For the dispute which gave rise to 
 this omission he was afterwards sorry ; and in his 
 last illness declared, that what he had got in the 
 army he owed to the kindness of Wilkes ; and that 
 although he had been rash and hasty, he still retamed 
 a due sense of gratitude. In attacking Wilkes, he 
 contrived to exasperate Churchill also, who was not 
 to be provoked with impunity, and who revenged
 
 JOHN ARMSTRONG. 97 
 
 himself in the Journey. In 1771, he published a 
 Short Ramble through some parts of France and 
 Italy. In the neighbourhood of Leghorn he passed 
 a fortnight with Smollett, to whom he was always 
 tenderly attached. Of his book I regret the more 
 that I caimot speak from my own knowledge, be- 
 cause the journey which it narrates is said to have 
 been made in the society of Mr. Fuseli, with whom 
 it is not easy to svippose that any one could have 
 travelled without profiting by the elegance and learn- 
 ing of his companion. I have no better means of 
 bringing my reader acquainted with some Medical 
 Essays which he published in 1773; but from the 
 manner in which they are spoken of in the Biogra- 
 phical Dictionary,* it is to be feared that they did 
 not conduce to his reputation or advancement. He 
 died in September, 1 US), in consequence, as it is 
 said, of a contusion which he received when he was 
 getting into a carriage. His friends were surprised 
 to find he had laid by three thousand pounds, which 
 had been saved chiefly out of his half-pay. 
 
 Armstrong appears to have been good-natured and 
 indolent, httle versed in what is called the way of the 
 world, and, with an eagerness of ostentation which 
 looks like the result of mortified vanity, a despiser of 
 
 * Chalmers's Biographical Dictionary, vol. ii. p. 486. 
 
 H
 
 98 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the vulgar, whether found among the Httle or the 
 great. 
 
 His Art of Preserving Health is the only produc- 
 tion by -which he is likely to be remembered. The 
 theme which he has chosen is one, in which no man 
 who lives long does not at some time or other feel an 
 interest ; and he has handled it with considerable 
 skill. In the first Book, on Air, he has interwoven 
 very pleasing descriptions both of particular places 
 and of situations in general, with reference to the 
 effects they may be supposed to have on health. 
 The second, which treats of Diet, is necessarily less 
 attractive, as the topic is less susceptible of ornament ; 
 yet in speaking of water, he has contrived to embel- 
 lish it by some lines, which are, perhaps, the finest 
 in the poem. 
 
 Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead ; 
 Now let me wander through your gelid reign. 
 I burn to view th' enthusiastic wilds 
 By mortals else untrod. I hear the din 
 Of waters thund'ring o'er the ruin'd chffs. 
 With holy reverence I approach the rocks 
 Whence glide the streams renown'd in ancient song. 
 Here from the desart, down the rumbling steep, 
 First springs the Nile : here bursts the sounding Po 
 In angry waves : Euphrates hence devolves 
 A mighty flood to water half the East : 
 And there, in Gothic solitude reclin'd,
 
 JOHN ARMSTRONG. 99 
 
 The cheerless Tanais pours his hoary urn. 
 
 What solemn twilig-ht ! What stupendous shades 
 
 Enwrap these infant floods ! Through every nerve 
 
 A sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fear 
 
 Glides o'er my frame. The forest deepens round ; 
 
 And more gigantic still th' impending trees 
 
 Stretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom. 
 
 Are these the confines of another world ? 
 
 A land of Genii ? Say, beyond these wilds 
 
 What unknown regions 1 If indeed beyond 
 
 Aught habitable lies. 
 
 This has more majesty, and more to fill the imagi- 
 nation, than the corresponding paragraph in Thom- 
 son's Autumn. 
 
 Say then where lurk the vast eternal springs, &c. — 771. 
 
 Yet it is inferior in beauty to some verses in a 
 Latin poem by a writer who is now living. 
 
 Quippe sub immensis terrse penetralibus altse 
 Hiscunt in vastum tenebrse : magnarum ibi princeps 
 Labitur undarum Oceanus, quo patre liquoris 
 Omnigeni latices et mollis lentor aquai 
 Profluxere, nova nantes isestate superne 
 Aerii rores nebularum, et liquidus imber. 
 Fama est perpetuos illinc se erumpere fontes, 
 Florigerum Ladona, et lubrica vitra Selemni, 
 Crathidaque, imbriferamque Lyceeis vallibus Hagno, 
 Et gelidam Panopin et Peirenen lacrymosam, 
 Illinc et rapido amnes fluere et mare magnum.
 
 100 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Ill the third book, he once more breathes freely, 
 and in recounting the various kinds of exercise by 
 which the human frame may be invigorated, his 
 poetic faculty again finds room to play. Joseph 
 Warton, in his Essay on Pope, has justly commended 
 the Episode on the Sweating Sickness, with which 
 it concludes. In the fourth and last, on the Passions, 
 he seems to have grown weary of his task ; for he 
 has here less compression and less dignity. 
 
 His verse is much more compact than Thomson's, 
 whom he resembles most in the turn of the expres- 
 sion ; although he has aimed now and then, but 
 with an ill-assured and timid hand, at a Miltonic 
 boldness in the numbers or the phrase. "When he 
 takes occasion to speak of the river with which his 
 remembrances in early life were associated, he has, 
 contrary to his usual custom, indulged himself with 
 enlarging on his prototype. 
 
 Thomson had mentioned incidentally the Tweed 
 and the Jed : 
 
 The Tweed, pure parent stream. 
 
 Whose pastoral banks first heard my Doric reed, 
 With sylvan Jed! thy tributary brook. — Auttimn, 889. 
 
 He has thus expanded it : — 
 
 Such the stream, 
 
 On whose Arcadian banks I first drew air, 
 Liddal ; till now, except in Doric lays
 
 JOHN ARMSTRONG. 101 
 
 Tun'd to her murmurs by her love-sick swains, 
 Unknown in song': though not a purer stream, 
 Through meads moi.e f(o>yfry. or more romantic groves, 
 Rolls towards the wp,?,i;efn mair. Hail, bacred flood ! 
 May still thy hospitable^ swains ]sq TsJest 
 In rural innocenc 9-, thy mountains stil: 
 Teem with the fleecy race ; thy tuneful woods 
 For ever flourish ; and thy vales look gay 
 With painted meadows, and the golden grain ! 
 Oft with thy blooming sons, when life was new. 
 Sportive and petulant, and charm'd with toys, 
 In thy transparent eddies have I lav'd ; 
 Oft trac'd with patient steps thy fairy banks, 
 With the well-imitated fly to hook 
 The eager trout, and with the slender line 
 And yielding rod, solicit to the shore 
 The struggling panting prey ; while vernal clouds 
 And tepid gales obscur'd the ruffled pool, 
 And from the deeps call'd forth the wanton swarms. 
 
 B. iii. V. 96. 
 
 What he has here added of his love of fishing is 
 from another passage in the Seasons.* 
 
 But his imitations of other writers, however fre- 
 quent, have no semblance of study or labour. They 
 seem to have been self-suggested, and to have glided 
 tacitly and insensibly into the current of his thoughts, 
 
 Si)ring, V. 376, &c.
 
 102 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 This is evinced by the little pains he took to work 
 upon and heighten such resemblances. As he did 
 not labouf-"th6- detai'ls iarudicionsly, so he had a 
 clear conception of his 'matter as a whole. The con- 
 sequence 'is?, 'titat 'the poem has'- that imity and just 
 subordination of parts which renders it easy to be 
 comprehended at one view, and, on that account, 
 more agreeable than the didactic poems of his con- 
 temporaries, which having detached passages of much 
 more splendour, are yet wanting in those recommen- 
 dations. One objection to his subject is, that it is 
 least pleasing at that period of hfe when poetry is 
 most so ; for it is not till the glow of youth is gone 
 by, and we begin to feel the infirmities and the cold- 
 ness of age, that we are disposed to bestow much 
 attention on the Art of Preserving Health. 
 
 His tragedy is worth but little. It appears from 
 his Essays, that he had formed a contracted notion 
 of nature, as an object of imitation for the tragic 
 poet ; and he has failed to give a faithful representa- 
 tion of nature, even according to his own imperfect 
 theory. 
 
 The two short epistles on Benevolence and Taste, 
 have ease and \igour enough to shew that he could, 
 with a httle practice, have written as well in the 
 couplet measure as he did in blank verse. If Arm- 
 strong cannot be styled a man of genius, he is at 
 least one of the most ingenious of our minor poets.
 
 103 
 
 RICHARD JAGO. 
 
 Richard, the third son of Richard Jago, Rector 
 of Beaudesert, in Warwickshire, was horn on the 
 1st of October, 1715. His mother was Margaret, 
 daughter of Wm. Parker, a gentleman of Henley in 
 Arden, a neighbouring town in the same county. 
 He received the earlier part of his education at Soli- 
 hull, under Mr. Crumpton, whom Johnson, in his 
 life of Shenstoue, calls an eminent schoolmaster. 
 Here Shenstone, who was scarcely one year older, 
 and who, according to Johnson, distinguished him- 
 self by the quickness of his progress, imparted to 
 Jago his love of letters. As the one, in his School- 
 mistress, has dehvered to posterity the old dame who 
 taught him to read ; the other has done the same 
 for their common preceptor, but with less ability and 
 less kindness, in his Edgehill, where he terms him 
 " Pedagogue morose." 
 
 At the usual time he was admitted a servitor of 
 University College, Oxford. His humble station in 
 the University, though it did not break oif his inti- 
 macy with Shenstone, must have hindered them from 
 associating openly together.
 
 104 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 In 1 738, he took the degree of Master of Arts, 
 having been first ordained to the curacy of Snitter- 
 field, a \dllage near the benefice of his father, who 
 died two years after. Soon after that event, he mar- 
 ried Dorothea Susannah, daughter of John Fancourt, 
 Rector of Kimcote, in Leicestershire. In 1746, he 
 was instituted to Harbury, where he resided ; and 
 about the same time was presented, by Lord Wil- 
 loughby de Broke, to Chesterton, which lay at a short 
 distance ; both li\'ings together amomiting to about 
 lOOl. a year. In 1754, Lord Clare, afterwards Earl 
 Nugent, obtained for him, from Dr. Madox, Bishop of 
 Worcester, the vicarage of Snitterfield, worth about 
 140/. After having inserted some small poems in 
 Dodsley's Collection, he published (in 1767) Edge- 
 hill, for which he obtained a large subscription ; and 
 in the folloT\dng year, the fable of Labour and 
 Genius. In 1771, his kind patron. Lord Willoughby 
 de Broke, added to his other preferment the rectory 
 of Kimcote, worth nearly 300/. in consequence of 
 which he resigned Harbury. 
 
 His first wife died in 1751, leaving him seven 
 children. He had known her from childhood. The 
 attention paid her by Shenstone shews her to have 
 been an amiable woman. In eight years after, he 
 married Margaret, daughter of James Underwood, 
 Esq. of Rugeley, in Staffordshire, who survived him. 
 During the latter part of. his life, his infirmities con-
 
 KICHAUD JAGO. 
 
 105 
 
 fined him to the house. He died, after a short 
 ilhiess, on the 8th of May, 1/81, and was huried in 
 the church of Snitterfield. In his person he was 
 ahove the middle stature. His manner was reserved 
 before strangers, but easy even to sprightliness in the 
 society of his friends. He is said to have discharged 
 blamelessly all the duties of his profession and of 
 domestic life. As a poet, he is not entitled to very 
 high commendation. The distinguishing feature of 
 his poetry is the ease of its diction. Johnson has 
 obsen-ed, that if blank verse be not tumid and gor- 
 geous, it is crippled prose. To disprove this, it 
 would be svifficient to quote the greater part of that 
 story from the Tatler* of the Young Man restored to 
 Sight, which Jago has introduced into his Edge-hill. 
 Nothing can be described more naturally, than his 
 feelings and behaviour on his first recovery. 
 
 The friendly wound was given ; th' obstructing film 
 Drawn artfully aside ; and on his sight 
 Burst the full tide of day. Surprised he stood, 
 Not knowing where he was, nor what he saw. 
 The skilful artist first, as first in place, 
 He view'd, then seized his hand, then felt his own, 
 Then mark'd their near resemblance, much perplex'd, 
 And still the more perplex'd the more he saw. 
 
 * No. LV.
 
 106 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Now silence first tli' impatient mother broke, 
 And, as her eager looks on him she bent, 
 *' My son (she cried), my son !" On her he gazed 
 With fresh surprise. " And what !" he cried, " art thou 
 My mother 1 for thy voice bespeaks thee such, 
 Though to my sight unknown." — " Thy mother I 
 (She quick replied) ; thy sister, brother, these." — 
 " O ! 'tis too much (he said) ; too soon to part. 
 Ere well we meet ! But this new flood of day 
 Cerpowers me, and I feel a death-like damp 
 Chill all my frame, and stop my faltering tongue." 
 
 Now Lydia, so they call'd his gentle friend, , 
 
 Who, with averted eye, but in her soul 
 Had felt the lancing steel, her aid applied, 
 " And stay, dear youth (she said), or with thee take 
 Thy Lydia, thine alike in life or death !" 
 
 At Lydia's name, at Lydia's well known voice, 
 He strove again to raise his drooping head 
 And ope his closing eye, but strove in vain, 
 And on her trembling bosom sunk away. 
 
 Now other fears distract his weeping friends : 
 But short their grief! for soon his life return'd, 
 And, with return of life, return'd their peace. — (B. iii.) 
 
 The country which he has undertaken to describe 
 in this poem is fertile and tame. There was little left 
 to him, except to enlarge on its antiquities, to speak 
 of the habitations that were scattered over it, and to 
 compliment the most distinguished among their pos- 
 sessors. Every day must detract sometliing from the
 
 KICHARD JAGO. 107 
 
 interest, such as it is, that arises from these sources. 
 A poet should take care not to make the fund of his 
 reputation hable to be affected by dilapidations, or to 
 be passed away by the hands of a conveyancer. 
 
 It would seem as if he had never visited a tract of 
 land much wilder than that in which he was bred and 
 born. In speaking of " embattled walls, raised on 
 the mountain precipice," he particularises " Beau- 
 desert ; Old Montfort's seat ;"*— a place, which, 
 though it is pleasantly diversified with hill and dale, 
 has no pretensions of so lofty a kind. This, he tells 
 us, was " the haunt of his youthful steps ;" and here 
 he met with Somerville, the poet of the Chase, to 
 whom both the subject and the title of his poem 
 might have been suggested by that extensive common, 
 known by the name of Cannock Chase,f on the border 
 of which Beaudesert is situated. 
 
 * Edge-Hill, Book I. 
 
 t The author has here fallen into an error in con- 
 founding Beaudesert, near Henley in Arden, with a 
 place of the same name, near Cannock Chase. The 
 mistake was pointed out to him a few days after its 
 publication, by his valued friend and relative, the Rev. 
 Thomas Price, Rector of Enville, StaiFordshire. Mr. 
 Price's letter wiU furnish the best explanation. He 
 writes: — 
 
 " My DEAii Cary, 
 
 " In your life of Jago, I am afraid you have fallen 
 into a mistake, by confounding the two Beaudeserts.
 
 108 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 The digressions, with which he has endeavoured 
 to enHven the monotony of liis subject, are sometimes 
 very far-fetched. He has scarcely finished his ex- 
 ordium, when he goes back to the third day of the 
 creation, and then passes on to the deluge. This 
 reminds one of the Mock Advocate in the Plaideurs of 
 Racine, who, ha\4ng to defend the cause of a dog that 
 had robbed the pantry, begins, 
 
 Avant la naissance du monde 
 
 on which the judge yawns and interrupts him. 
 
 That one of which Jago's father was Rector, and near 
 which Somerville resided, is, as you have stated in the 
 beg-inning of the life, near Henley, and to that the 
 words, " Old Montfort's seat" must refer, because 
 Dugdale, treating of Beldesert, near Henley, says, 
 " on the east side of the last mentioned brook runneth 
 a hilly tract, bordered with deep vallies on each part ; 
 the point whereof maketh a kind of promontory, whose 
 ascent being somewhat steep, gave occasion of the 
 fortifying thereat first, considering its situation in these 
 woodland parts, where, through the opportunity of so 
 much shelter, advantage was most like to be taken by 
 the disherited English and their offspring, to make 
 head for their redemption from the Norman yoke. Tis 
 not unlike, but this monntainoiis ground, &c. Thurslem 
 de Montfort, near kinsman of the first Norman Earl of 
 "Warwick, erected that strong castle, whereunto, by 
 reason of its pleasant situation, the French name Belde- 
 sert, was given, and which continued the chief seat of 
 his descendants for divers ages.' " — Ed.
 
 KICHAKD OWEN CAMBEIDGE. 109 
 
 Avocat, ah ! jmssons au deluge. 
 
 Of his shorter pieces, the three Elegies on Birds 
 are well deserving of notice. That entitled the Black- 
 birds is so prettily imagined, and so neatly expressed, 
 that it is worth a long poem. Thrice has Shenstone 
 mentioned it in his Letters, in such a manner as to 
 show how much it had pleased him. The Gold- 
 finches is only less excellent. He has spoiled the 
 Swallows by the seriousness of the moral. 
 
 Nunc non erat his locus. 
 
 The first half of Peytoe's Ghost has enough in it 
 to raise a curiosity, which is disappointed by the 
 remainder. 
 
 RICHARD OWEN CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 RiCHAKD Cambridge, the son of a Turkey mer- 
 chant, descended from a family long settled in 
 Gloucestershire, was born in London, on the fourteenth 
 of February, 1717. His father dying soon after his 
 birth, the care of his education devolved on his mother 
 and his maternal uncle, Thomas Owen, Esq. a lawyer 
 who had retired from practice to his seat in Bucking-
 
 110 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 ham shire, and who, having no children of his own, 
 adopted his nephew. At an early age he was sent to 
 Eton, where, among his schoolfellows and associates, 
 were Gray, "West, Jacob Biyant, the Earl of Orford, 
 and others eminent for wit or learning. Here he 
 contracted not only a literary taste and habits of study, 
 but that preference for the quiet amusements of a 
 country hfe, which afterwards formed a part of his 
 character. In 1 734 he was removed from Eton to 
 Oxford, and admitted a gentleman commoner of St. 
 John's College. On the marriage of the Prince of 
 Wales, two years after, he contributed some verses to 
 the Congratulatory Poems from that University. A 
 ludicrous picture, which he draws of academical festi- 
 vity, betrays the future author of the Scribleriad : — 
 
 In flowing' robes and squared caps advance, 
 Pallas their guide, her ever-favour'd band ; 
 As they approach they join in mystic dance, 
 Large scrolls of paper waving in their hand; 
 Nearer they come, I heard them sweetly sing. 
 
 He left the University without taking a degree, 
 and in 1/37 became a member of Lincoln's Inn. In 
 four years after he married the second daughter of 
 George Trenchard, Esq. of AVoolverton, in Dorset- 
 shire, who was Member of Parliament for Poole, and 
 son of Sir John Trenchard, Secretary of State to 
 King William. Retiring to his family mansion of
 
 KICHAKD OWEN CAMBRIDGE. Ill 
 
 Whitmluster, in Gloucestershire, on the banks of the 
 Stroud, he employed himself in making that stream 
 navigable to its junction with the Severn, in improv- 
 ing his buildings, and in ornamenting his grounds, 
 which lay pleasantly in the rich vale of Berkeley. 
 Here his happiness was interrupted by the death of 
 one among his former playmates at Eton, whom he 
 had most distinguished by his affection. This was 
 Captain Berkeley, an officer, who in those happy times, 
 when military men were not yet educated apart from 
 scholars, had added to his other accomplishments a 
 love of letters, and who fell in the battle of Fontenoy. 
 This affliction discouraged him from proceeding in a 
 poem on Society, which he had intended as a memo- 
 rial of their friendship. The opening does not pro- 
 mise well enough to make us regret its discontinuance. 
 At Whitminster he had the honour of entertaining 
 the Prince of Wales, with his consort, and their 
 daughter the late Duchess Dowager of Brimswick, 
 then on a visit to Lord Bathurst at Cirencester. The 
 royal guests were feasted in a vessel of his own con- 
 structing, that was moored on a reach of the Severn ; 
 and the Prince gratified him by declaring, that he had 
 often made similar attempts on the Thames, but 
 never with equal success. To the exercise of me- 
 chanical ingenuity in impro\'ing the art of boat-build- 
 ing, he added uncommon skill in the use of the 
 bow and arrow, and had assembled all the varieties of
 
 112 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 those instruments that could be procured from dif- 
 ferent coimtries. 
 
 He appears to have possessed in an unusual degree, 
 the power of suddenly ingratiating himself with those 
 who conversed with him. A gentleman who had 
 never before seen him, and who had reluctantly ac- 
 companied the Prince in his aquatic expedition, was 
 so much pleased with Cambridge, as to be among the 
 foremost to acknowledge his satisfaction ; and having 
 been introduced by Wilham Whitehead, then tutor to 
 the Earl of Jersey's eldest son, into the house of that 
 nobleman, he soon became a welcome guest, and 
 formed a lasting friendship with one of the family, 
 who was afterwards Earl of Clarendon. In the 
 number of his intimates he reckoned Bathurst, after- 
 wards Chancellor, with whom an acquaintance, begun 
 at Eton, had been continued at Lincoln's Inn ; Car- 
 teret, Lyttelton, Gremdlle, Chesterfield, Yorke, Pitt, 
 and Pulteney. In order to facilitate his intercourse 
 with such associates, and perhaps in conformity with 
 the ad\-ice of his departed friend Berkeley, who had 
 recommended London as the proper stage for the dis- 
 play of his poetical talent, he was induced to pass two 
 of his winters in the capital ; but finding that the 
 air of the town was injurious to his health, in 1 75 1 he 
 purchased a residence at Twickenham. He had now 
 another opportunity of showing his taste for rural 
 embelUshment, in counteracting the effects of his pre-
 
 BICHAED OWEN CAMBRIDGE. 113 
 
 decessor's formality, in opening his lawns and group- 
 ing his trees with an art that wore the appearance of 
 neghgence. An addition to his fortune by the decease 
 of his uncle ]Mr. Owen, who left him his name 
 together with his estate, enabled him to gratify these 
 propensities. By some of his powerful friends he 
 had been urged to obtain a seat in Parliament, and 
 addict himself to a public life ; but he valued his 
 tranquillity too highly to comply with their solicita- 
 tions. A sonnet addressed to him by his friend 
 Edwards, author of the Canons of Criticism, and 
 which is not without elegance, tended to confirm him 
 in his resolve. 
 
 In the year* of his removal to Twickenham, the 
 Scribleriad was published, a poem calculated to please 
 the learned, rather than the vulgar, and with respect 
 to which he had observed the rule of the nonum pre- 
 matur in annum. To The World, the periodical 
 paper undertaken soon after by Moore, and continued 
 for four years, he contributed twenty-one numbers. 
 Though determined against taking an active part in 
 public affairs, yet he shewed himself to be far from 
 indifferent to the interests of his country. Her mari- 
 time glory more peculiarly engaged his attention. 
 
 * In 1752 appeared his Dialogue between a Member 
 and his Servant. The Intruder in 1754 ; and the Fakeer 
 in 1756. — MS. addition. En,
 
 114 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Anson, Boscawen, and indeed nearly all the dis- 
 tinguished seamen of his day, were among his inti- 
 mates or acquaintance ; and he assisted some of the 
 principal navigators in drawing up the relations which 
 they gave to the world of their discoveries. In 1/61, 
 he was prompted by his apprehensions, that the 
 nation was not sufficiently on her guard against the 
 endeavours making by the French to deprive her of 
 her possessions in the East, to publish a History of 
 the War upon the Coast of Coromandel. The great 
 work undertaken by Mr. Orme prevented him from 
 pursuing the subject. 
 
 Continuing thus to pass his days in the enjoyment 
 of domestic happiness and learned ease, surrounded 
 by a train of menials grown grey in his service, ex- 
 ercising the rites of hospitality with uniform cheer- 
 fulness, and performing the duties of religion with 
 exemplarary punctuahty, respected by the good and 
 admired by the ingenious, he reached his eighty- 
 third year with little inconvenience from the usual 
 infirmities of age. His faculties then declining, he 
 was dismissed by a gradual exhaustion of his natural 
 powers, and resigning his breath without a sigh on the 
 seventeenth of September, 1802 — 
 
 Like ripe fruit he dropp'd 
 
 Into liis mother's lap 
 
 for death mature.
 
 EICHAED OWEN CAMBEIDGE. 115 
 
 Having always lived in an union of the utmost 
 tenderness with his family, he exhibited a pleasing 
 instance of the "ruling passion strong in death." 
 " Having passed," says his son, " a considerable time 
 in a sort of doze, from which it was thought he had 
 hardly strength to revive, he awoke, and upon seeing 
 me, feebly articulated, ' How do the dear people do V 
 When I answered that they were well ; with a smile 
 upon his coiuitenance, and an increased energy of 
 voice, he rephed, ' I thank God ;' and then reposed 
 his head upon his pillow, and spoke no more." 
 
 He was buried at Twickenham, where, on inquir- 
 ing a few years ago, I found that no monument had 
 been raised to his memory. 
 
 He left behind a widow, a daughter, and two sons. 
 From the narrative of his life written by one of these, 
 the Reverend Archdeacon Cambridge, and prefixed 
 to a handsome edition of his poems and his papers in 
 The World, the above account has been chiefly 
 extracted. 
 
 Chesterfield, another of the contributors to The 
 World, inserted in it a short character of him under 
 the name of Cantabrigiensis, introduced by an 
 encomium on his temperance ; for he was a water- 
 drinker. 
 
 That he was what is commonly termed a news- 
 monger, appears from the following laughable storyj
 
 116 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 told by the late Mr. George Harclinge, the Welch 
 Judge : — 
 
 I wished upon some occasion to borrow a Martial. 
 He told me he had no such book, except by heart. I 
 therefore inferred, that he could not immediately detect 
 me. According-ly I sent him an epigram which I had 
 made, and an English version of it, as from the original. 
 He commended the latter, but said, that it wanted the 
 neatness of the Roman. When I undeceived him, he 
 laughed, and forgave me. 
 
 It originated in a whimsical fact. Mr, Cambridge 
 had a rage for news ; and living in effect at Richmond, 
 though on the other side of the Thames, he had the 
 command of many political reporters. As I was then 
 in professional business at my chambers, I knew less of 
 public news than he did ; and every Saturday, in my 
 way from Lincoln's Inn to a villa of my own near him, 
 ■called upon him for the news from London. This I 
 told him was not unlike what Martial said, L. iii. 7. 
 
 Deciano salutem. 
 
 Vix Roma egressus, villa novus advena, ruris 
 Vicini dominum te " quid in urbe ?" rogo. 
 
 Tu novitatis amans Roma si Tibura malles 
 Per nos " de villa quae nova" disce " tua." 
 
 Nichols's lUust. of the Literary 
 Hist, of the xviii. Cent. v. i. p. 131. 
 
 Of his poems, which are neither numerous, nor 
 exliibit much variety of manner, little remains to be
 
 EICHARD OWEN CAMBKIDGE. 117 
 
 said, Arcliimage, though a sprightly sally, cannot 
 be ranked among the successful imitations of Spenser's 
 style. Jls ne and mote, how often soever repeated, 
 do not go far towards a resemblance of the Faery 
 Queene. 
 
 In his preface to the Scribleriad, which betrays 
 great solicitude to explain and \dndicate the plan of the 
 poem, he declares that his intention is " to shew the 
 vanity and uselessness of many studies, reduce them 
 to a less formidable appearance, and invite our youth 
 to application, by letting them see that a less degree 
 of it than they apprehend, judiciously directed, and a 
 very few books indeed, well recommended, will give 
 them all the real information which they are to 
 expect from human science." The design was a lau- 
 dable one. In the poem itself we feel the want of 
 some principal event, on the development and issue 
 of which the interest of the whole may turn ; as in 
 those patterns of the mock-heroic, the Secchia Ra- 
 pita, the Lutrin, and the Rape of the Lock ; an ad- 
 vantage, which these poems in some measure derive 
 from having been founded in fact ; for however 
 trifling the incident by which the imagination of the 
 poet may have been first excited, when once known 
 or believed to be true, it communicates something of 
 its own reality to all the fictions that grow out of it. 
 The hero too is one of the dixevrjva Kuorfya ; or 
 rather is but the shadow of a shade ; for he has taken
 
 118 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the character of INIartinus Scriblerus, as he found it 
 in the memoirs of that unsubstantial personage. The 
 adventures uideed in which the author has engaged 
 liim, though they did not require much power of in- 
 Acntion, are yet sufficiently ludicrous ; and we join, 
 perhaps, more willingly in the laugh, as it is aimed 
 at general folly and not at indi\-idual weakness. The 
 wit is not condensed and sparkling as in the Dimciad ; 
 the writer's chief resource consisting in an adaptation 
 of passages from writers, ancient and modern, to the 
 purposes of a grave burlesque ; and for the apphca- 
 tion of these, by a contrivance not very artificial, it is 
 sometimes necessary to recur to the notes. The 
 style, if it be not distinguished by any remarkable 
 strength or elegance, is at least free and miaffected. 
 
 The imitations of Horace are often happy : that 
 addressed to Lord Bathurst, particularly towards the 
 latter part, is perhaps the best. Of the original 
 jeux d'esprits, the verses occasioned by the Marriage 
 and Game Acts, both passed the same session, have, 
 I think, most merit. The Fable of Jotham, or the 
 Borough Hunters, does not make up by ingenuity 
 for what it wants in reverence. In the Fakeer, a tale 
 professedly borrowed from Voltaire, the story takes 
 a less humorous turn than as it is told in the extracts 
 frome Pere Le Comte's memoirs in the preface.
 
 119 
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 
 Tobias Smollett was born in the parish of Card- 
 ross, in Dumbartonshire, in the year 1721. His 
 father, Archibald, a Scotch gentleman of small for- 
 tmie, was the youngest son of Sir James Smollett, 
 who was knighted on King William's accession, 
 represented the borough of Dumbarton in the last 
 Scotch Parliament, and was of weight enough to be 
 chosen one of the commissioners for framing the 
 treaty of union between the two countries. On his 
 return from Leyden, where it was then the custom 
 for young Scotchmen to complete their education, 
 Archibald married Barbara, the daughter of Mr. 
 Cunningham, of Gilbertfield, near Glasgow ; and died 
 soon after the birth of our poet, leaving him, with 
 another son and a daughter, dependent on the boimty 
 of their grandfather. The place of Smollett's nati\'ity 
 was endeared to him by its natural beauties ; inso- 
 much that, when he had an opportunity of comparuig 
 it with foreign coimtries, he preferred the neighbour- 
 ing lake of Loch Lomond to those most celebrated 
 in Switzerland and Italy. Being placed at the school 
 of Dumbarton, which was conducted by John Love,
 
 120 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 a man of some distinction as a scholar, he is said to 
 have exercised his poetical talents in writing satires 
 on the other hoys, and in panegyrising his heroic 
 countryman Wallace. From hence, at the usual age, 
 he was removed to Glasgow ; and there making 
 choice of the study of medicine, was apprenticed to 
 Mr. John Gordon, a chirurgeon, who afterwards took 
 out a diploma, and practised as a physician. His 
 irresistible propensity to burlesque did not suffer the 
 peculiarities of this man, whom he has represented 
 under the character of Potion, in Roderick Random, 
 to escape him. He made some amends for the inchg- 
 nity, by introducing honourable mention of the name 
 of Dr. Gordon in the last of his novels, A more overt 
 act of contumacy to his superiors, into which his 
 vivacity hurried him, trifling as it may appear, is so 
 characteristic, that I cannot leave it untold. A lad, 
 who was apprenticed to a neighbouring chirurgeon, 
 and with whom he had been engaged in frolic on a 
 winter's evening, was receiving a severe reprimand 
 from his master for quitting the shop ; and having 
 alleged in his excuse, that he had been hit by a 
 snow-ball, and had gone out in pursuit of the person 
 who had thrown it, was listening to the taunts of his 
 master, on the improbability of such a story. " How 
 long," said the son of ^sculapius, with the confident 
 air of one fearless of contradiction, " might I stand 
 here, and such a thing not happen to me ?" when
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 121 
 
 Smollett, who stood behind the pillar of the shop- 
 door, and heard what passed, snatching up a snow- 
 ball, quickly delivered his playmate from the dilemma 
 in which this question had placed him, by an answer 
 equally prompt and conclusive. Not content with 
 this attack, he afterwards made the offender sit for 
 his whole-length portrait, in_ the person, as it is sup- 
 posed, of Crab, in the same novel. 
 
 In the midst of these childish sallies, he meditated 
 greater things ; and the sound of the pestle and 
 mortar did not prevent him from attending to the 
 inspirations of Melpomene. At the age of eighteen 
 he had composed a tragedy on the murder of James 
 I. the Scottish monarch, and about that time losing 
 his grandfather, by whom he had been supported, 
 and discovering that he must thenceforth rely on his 
 own exertions for a maintenance, he set forth with his 
 juvenile production for London. On his arrival 
 there, failing as might be expected, to persuade the 
 managers to bring his tragedy on the stage, he so- 
 licited and obtained the place of a chirurgeon's mate, 
 on board the fleet destined for the attack of Cartha- 
 gena. Of this ill-conducted and unfortunate expe- 
 dition, he not only made a sketch in his Roderick 
 Random, but afterwards inserted a more detailed 
 account of it in the Compendium of Voyages. After 
 a short time, he was so little pleased vdth his em- 
 ployment, that he determined to relinquish it, and
 
 122 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 remain in the West Indies. During liis residence in 
 Jamaica, he met with Miss Anne Lascelles, to whom, 
 after a few years, he was married, and with whom he 
 expected to receive a fortune of three thousand pounds. 
 In the islands he probably depended for a subsistence 
 on the exercise of his skill as a chirurgeon. He re- 
 turned to London in the year 1746 ; and though his 
 family had distinguished themselves by their revolu- 
 tionary principles, testified his sympathy with the 
 late suiferings of his countrymen, in their expiring 
 struggle for the house of Stuart, by some lines, 
 entitled the Tears of Scotland. Wlien warned of his 
 indiscretion, he added that concluding stanza of re- 
 proof to his timid counsellors : — 
 
 While the warm blood bedews my veins, 
 And unimpair'd remembrance reig-ns, 
 Resentment of my country's fate 
 Within my filial breast shall beat ; 
 And spite of her insulting- foe, 
 My sympathizing verse shall flow : 
 Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
 Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! 
 
 His first separate pubhcation was, Ad\ace, a satire, 
 in the autumn of this year. At the beginning of the 
 next it was followed by a second part, called Reproof, 
 in which he took an occasion of venting his resent- 
 ment against Rich, the manager of Covent Garden, 
 with whom he had quarrelled concerning an opera,
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 123 
 
 written by him for that theatre, on the story of Al- 
 cestis. In consequence of their dispute the piece was 
 not acted ; nor did he take the poet's usual revenge 
 by printing it. 
 
 The fallacious prospects of his wife's possessions 
 now encouraged him to settle himself in a better 
 house, and to live with more hospitality than his cir- 
 cumstances would allow him to maintain. These 
 difficulties were in some measure obviated by the 
 sale of a new translation which he made of Gil Bias, 
 and still more by the success of Roderick Random, 
 which appeared in 1748. In none of his succeeding 
 novels has he equalled the liveliness, force, and nature 
 of this his first essay. So just a picture of a sea- 
 faring life especially had never before met the public 
 eye. Many of our naval heroes may probably trace 
 the preference which has decided them in their 
 choice of a profession to an early acquaintance with 
 the pages of Roderick Random. He has not, in- 
 deed, decorated his scenes with any seductive colours ; 
 yet such is the charm of a highly wTOught descrip- 
 tion, that it often induces us to overlook what is dis- 
 gusting in the objects themselves, and transfer the 
 pleasure arising from the mere imitation to the 
 reality. 
 
 Strap was a man named Lewis, a book-binder, who 
 came from Scotland with Smollett, and who usually 
 dined with him at Chelsea on Smidays. In this
 
 124 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 book he also found a niche for the exhibition of his 
 own distresses in the character of Melopoyn the dra- 
 matic poet. His applications to the directors of the 
 theatre, indeed, continued so unavailing, that he at 
 length resolved to publish his unfortunate tragedy 
 by subscription ; and in 1/49 the Regicide appeared 
 with a preface, in which he complained grievously of 
 their neglect, and of the faithlessness of his patrons, 
 among whom Lord Lyttelton particularly excited his 
 indignation. In the summer of this year his \iew of 
 men and manners was extended by a journey to 
 Paris. Here he met with an acquaintance and coun- 
 tryman in Doctor Moore, the author of Zeluco, who 
 a few years after him had been also an apprentice to 
 Gordon, at Glasgow. In his company Smollett 
 visited the principal objects of curiosity in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the French metropolis. 
 
 The canvas was soon stretched for a display of 
 fresh follies : and the result was, his Adventures of 
 Peregrine Pickle, in 1/51. The success he had 
 attained in exhibiting the characters of seamen led 
 him to a repetition of similar delineations. But 
 though drawn in the same broad style of humour, 
 and, if possible, discriminated by a yet stronger 
 hand, the actors do not excite so keen an interest on 
 shore as in their proper element. The Memoirs of 
 a Lady of Quality, the substance of which was com- 
 municated by the woman herself, whose story they
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 125 
 
 relate, quickened the curiosity of liis readers at the 
 time, and a considerable sum which he received for 
 the insertion of them augmented the profits which 
 he derived from a large impression of the work. But 
 they form a very disagreeable interruption in the 
 main business of the narrative. The pedantic phy- 
 sician was intended for a representation of Akenside, 
 who had probably too much dignity to notice the 
 affront, for which some reparation was made by a 
 compliment to his talents for didactic poetry, in our 
 author's History of England. 
 
 On his return (in 1749) he took his degree of 
 Doctor in Medicine, and settled himself at Chelsea,* 
 where he resided till 1763. The next effort of his 
 pen, an Essay on the External Use of Water, in a 
 
 letter to Dr. , with particular remarks upon the 
 
 present method of using the mineral waters at Bath, 
 in Somersetshire, &c. (in 1752) was directed to views 
 of professional advancement. In his profession, how- 
 ever, he did not succeed ; and meeting vnth. no en- 
 couragement in any other quarter, he devoted himself 
 henceforward to the service of the booksellers. More 
 novels, translation, historical compilation, ephemeral 
 criticism, were the multifarious employments wliich 
 they laid on him. Nothing that he afterwards 
 produced quite came up to the raciness of his first 
 
 * He first settled at Bath. — MS. addition. En.
 
 126 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 performances. In 1753, lie published tlie Adventures 
 of Ferdinand Count Fathom. In the dedication of 
 this novel he left a blank after the word Doctor, 
 which may probably be supplied with the name of 
 Armstrong. From certain phrases that occur in the 
 more serious parts, I should conjecture them to be 
 hastily translated from another language. Some of 
 these shall be laid before the reader, that he may 
 judge for himself. " A solemn profession, on which 
 she reposed herself with the most implicit confidence 
 and faith ;" ch. xii. (v. 4. p. 54, of Dr. Anderson's 
 edition.) — "Our hero would have made his retreat 
 through the pori, by which he had entered ;" instead 
 of the door ; ch. xiii. p. 55. — " His own penetration 
 pointed out the canal, through which his misfortime 
 had flowed upon him ;" instead of the channel ; ch. 
 XX. p. 94. — " Public ordinaries, walks, and spec- 
 tacles ;" instead of places of entertainment ;" ch. 
 XXV. p. 125. — "The Tyrolese, by the canal of Fer- 
 dinand's finger, and recommendation, sold a pebble 
 for a real brilliant ;" ch. xxx-vii. p. 204. — "A young 
 gentleman whose pride was indomitable ;" ch. xlvi. 
 p. 242. In one chapter we find ourselves in a stage- 
 coach, with such a company as Smollett loved to 
 introduce to his readers. 
 
 He was about this time prosecuted in the King's 
 Bench, on a charge of having intended to assassinate 
 one of his countrymen, whose name was Peter Gor-
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 127 
 
 don. A few blows of the cane, which, after being 
 provoked by repeated insolence, he had laid across 
 the shoulders of this man, appeared to be the sole 
 grounds for the accusation, and he was, therefore, 
 honourably acquitted by the jury. A letter, addressed 
 to the prosecutor's counsel, who, in Smollett's 
 opinion, by the intemperance of his iuyective had 
 abused the freedom of speech allowed on such occa- 
 sions, remains to attest the irritability and vehemence 
 of his own temper. The letter was either not sent, 
 or the lawyer had too much moderation to make it 
 the subject of another action, the consequences of 
 which he could have ill borne ; for the expense, in- 
 curred by the former suit, was already more than he 
 was able to defray, at a time when pecuniary losses 
 and disappointments in other quarters were pressing 
 heavily upon him. A person, for whom he had given 
 security in the sum of one hundred and eighty 
 pounds, had become a bankrupt, and one remittance 
 which he looked for from the East Indies, and 
 another of more than a thousand pounds from Jamaica, 
 failed him. From the extremity to which these 
 accidents reduced him, he was extricated by the kind- 
 ness of his friend. Doctor Macaulay, to which he had 
 been before indebted ; and by the liberality of Pro- 
 vost Drummond, who paid him a hundred pounds 
 for revising the manuscript of his brother Alexander 
 Drummond' s travels through Germany, Italy, Greece,
 
 128 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 &c. which were printed in a foho volume in 1 754. He 
 had long anticipated the profits of his next work. 
 This was a translation of Don Quixote, published at 
 the beginning of 1755. Lord Woodhouselee, in his 
 Essay on Translation, has observed, that it is little 
 else than an improvement of the version by Jarvis. 
 On comparing a few passages with the original, I 
 perceive that he fails alike in representing the dignity 
 of Cerv^antes in the mock-heroic, and the famiharity 
 of his lighter manner. These are faults that might 
 have been easily avoided by many a writer of much 
 less natural abilities than Smollett, who wanted both 
 the leisure and the command of style that were re- 
 quisite for such an undertaking. The time, how- 
 ever, which he gave to that great master, was not 
 throAvn away. He must have come back from the 
 study with his mind refreshed, and its powers invigo- 
 rated by contemplating so nearly the most skilful 
 dehneation that had ever been made of human nature, 
 according to that view in which it most suited his 
 own genius to look at it. 
 
 On his return from a \isit to Scotland, where a 
 pleasant story is told of his being introduced to his 
 mother as a stranger, and of her discovery of him 
 after some time, with a burst of maternal affection, in 
 consequence of his smiling, he engaged (1756) in an 
 occupation that was not likely to make him a wiser, 
 and certainly did not make him a happier man. The
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 129 
 
 celebrity obtained by the Monthly Review had raised 
 up a rival publication, under the name of the Cri- 
 tical. The share which Smollett had in the latter is 
 left in some uncertainty. Doctor Anderson tells us, 
 that he undertook the chief direction ; and Mr. 
 Nichols,* that he assisted Archibald Hamilton the 
 printer. Whatever his part might be, the perform- 
 ance of it was enough to waste his strength with 
 ignoble labour, to embitter his temper by useless 
 altercation, and to draw on him contempt and insult 
 from those who, however they surpassed him in learn- 
 ing, could scarcely be regarded as his superiors in 
 native vigour and fertility of mind. " Sure I," said 
 Gray, in a letter to Mason, "am something a 
 better judge than all the man-midwives and presby- 
 terian parsons that ever were born. Pray give me 
 leave to ask you, do you find yourself tickled 
 with the commendations of such people? (for you 
 have your share of these too) I dare say not ; your 
 vanity has certainly a better taste. And can then the 
 censure of such critics move you ?" And Warburton, 
 who had probably been exasperated in the same way, 
 called his History of England the nonsense of a 
 vagabond Scot. 
 
 In the same year was published a Compendium of 
 Authentic and Entertaining Voyages, in seven volumes. 
 
 Literary Anecdotes, vol. iii. p. 398, 
 E
 
 130 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 which was said to have been made under his super- 
 intendence. We have his own word,* that he had 
 written a very small part of it. In 1757, his Re- 
 prisal, or the Tars of Old England, an entertainment 
 in two acts, in which the scene throughout is laid 
 on board ship, and which describes seamen in his 
 usual happy vein, was acted at Drury-lane with toler- 
 able success. In 1758, he published his History of 
 England from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the 
 Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1 748, four volumes. Of 
 this work, hasty as it was, having been compiled in 
 fourteen months, ten thousand copies were speedily 
 sold. 
 
 Some strictures in the Critical Review, which, in 
 order to screen the printer of it, he generously 
 avowed himself to have written, once more exposed 
 him to a legal prosecution. The offensive passages 
 were occasioned by a pamphlet, in which Admiral 
 Knowles had vindicated himself from some reflections 
 that were incidentally cast on him in the course of 
 Sir John Mordaunt's trial for the failure of a secret 
 expedition on the coast of France, near Rochefort. 
 In his comments on the pamphlet, Smollett had 
 stigmatized Knowles, the author of it, as "an admi- 
 ral without conduct, an engineer without knowledge. 
 
 * In a Letter in Dr. Anderson's Editionofliis Works, 
 vol.i.p. 179.
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 131 
 
 an officer without resolution, and a man without 
 veracity." It can scarcely be wondered, if, after 
 such provocation, the party injured was not deterred 
 by menaces, or diverted by proposals of agreement, 
 from seeking such reparation as the law would afford 
 him. This reparation the law did not fail to give ; 
 and Smollett was sentenced to pay a penalty of one 
 hundred pounds, and to be confined for three months 
 in the prison of the King's Bench. Cervantes wrote 
 his Don Quixote in a gaol ; and Smollett resolved, 
 since he was now in one, that he would write a Don 
 Quixote too. It may be said of the Spaniard, accord- 
 ing to FalstafTs boast, " that he is not only vritty 
 in himself, but the cause that wit is in other men ;" 
 and among the many attempts at imitation, to which 
 the admirable original has given rise. Sir Launcelot 
 Greaves is not one of the worst. That a yomig man, 
 whose brain had been slightly affected by a disappoint- 
 ment in love, should turn knight-errant, at a time 
 when books of chivalry were no longer in vogue, is 
 not, indeed, in the first instance, very probable. But 
 we are contented to overlook this defect in favour of 
 the many original touches of character, and striking 
 views of hfe, particularly in the mad-house, and the 
 prison into which he leads his hero, and which he has 
 depicted with the force of Hogarth. If my recollec- 
 tion does not mislead me, he will be found in som€
 
 132 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 parts of this novel to liave had before him the Phar- 
 samond of Marivaux, another copy of Cervantes. 
 But it does not anywhere hke Count Fathom, betray 
 symptoms of being a mere translation. Sir Launcelot 
 Greaves was first printed piecemeal in the British 
 Magazine, or Monthly Repository, a miscellany to 
 which Goldsmith was also a contributor. It has 
 the recommendation of being much less gross and 
 indelicate than any other of his novels. 
 
 During the same period, 1/61 and 1762, he pub- 
 hshed, in numbers, four volumes of a Continuation 
 of his History of England; and in 1/65, a fifth, 
 which brought it down to that time. 
 
 Not contented with occupation under which an 
 ordinary man would have sunk, he undertook, on the 
 29th of May, 1/62, to publish the Briton, a weekly 
 paper, in defence of the Earl of Bute, on that day 
 appointed first commissioner of the treasury ; and 
 continued it till the 1 2th of February in the ensuing 
 year, about two months before the retirement of that 
 nobleman from office. By his patron he complained 
 that he was not properly supported ; and he incurred 
 the hostihty of Wilkes, who had before been his 
 staunch friend, but who espoused the party in oppo- 
 sition to the Minister, by an attack, the malignance 
 of which no provocation could have justified. 
 
 In 1763, his name was prefixed, in conjunction
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 133 
 
 witli that of Francklin, the Greek professor at Cam- 
 bridge, and translator of Sophocles and Lucian, to a 
 version of the works of Voltaire, in twenty-seven 
 volumes. To this he contributed, according to his 
 own account, a small part, including all the notes 
 historical and critical. To the Modern Universal 
 History, which was published about the same time, 
 he also acknowledged himself to be a contributor, 
 though of no very large portion. 
 
 His life had hitherto been subjected to the toil 
 and anxiety of one doomed to earn a precarious sub- 
 sistence by his pen. Though designed by nature for 
 the light and pleasant task of painting the humours 
 and follies of men, he had been compelled to undergo 
 the work of a literary drudge. Though formed to 
 enjoy the endearments of friendship, his criticisms 
 had made those who were before indifferent to him 
 his enemies ; and his politics, those whom he had 
 loved, the objects of his hatred. The smile, which 
 the presence of his mother for a moment recalled, 
 had almost deserted his features. Still we may sup- 
 pose it to have Ughtened them up occasionally, in 
 those hours of leisure when he was allowed to unbend 
 himself in the society of a wife, with whom he seems 
 always to have lived happily, and of an only daughter, 
 who was growing up to share with her his caresses, 
 and to whom both looked as the future support of 
 their age.
 
 134 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Tavrr], ■yiyrjBa, KUTriXi'idofxaL kukuiv' 
 "H^' apTi TuXXwv tari fioi Trapa\liv\ii, 
 UoXig, TidrivT], ficiKTpov, yyejiiuv bcov 
 
 In her, rejoicing, I forgot mine ills. 
 
 I have lost much ; but she remains, my comfort, 
 
 My city and my nurse, my staff and guide. 
 
 He had bemoaned his distresses as an author ; but 
 was now to feel calamity of a different kind. This 
 only daughter was taken from him by death, in her 
 fifteenth year. Henceforward he was, with some 
 short intervals, .a prey to querulousness and disease. 
 Soon after this loss (in June, 1763,) being resolved 
 to try what change of climate would do for him, he 
 set out with his disconsolate partner on a journey 
 through France and Italy. On quitting his own 
 country, he describes himself " traduced by malice, 
 persecuted by faction, abandoned by false patrons, 
 and overwhelmed by the sense of a private calamity, 
 which it was not in the power of fortune to repair." 
 The account which he published of this expedition 
 on his return, shews that he did not derive from it 
 the relief which he had expected. The spleen with 
 which he contemplated every object that presented 
 itself to him, was ridiculed by Sterne, who gave him 
 the name of Smelfungus. With this abatement, the 
 narration has much to interest and amuse, and con- 
 veys some information by which a traveller might
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 135 
 
 perhaps still profit. When he brings before vis the 
 driver pointing to the gibbeted criminal whom he had 
 himself betrayed, and unconsciously discovering his 
 own infamy to Smollett, we might suppose ourselves 
 to be reading a highly wrought incident in one of his 
 own fictions. His prognostics of the approaching 
 Revolution in France are so remarkable, that I am 
 tempted to transcribe them. " The King of France, 
 in order to give strength and stability to his adminis- 
 tration, ought to have sense to adopt a sage plan of 
 economy, and vigour of mind sufficient to execute it 
 in all its parts with the most rigorous exactness. 
 He ought to have courage enough to find fault, and 
 even to punish the delinquents, of what quality soever 
 they may be ; and the first act of reformation ought 
 to be a total abolition of all the farms. There are un- 
 doubtedly many marks of relaxation in the reins of the 
 French government ; and in all probability, the sub- 
 jects of France will be the first to take the advantage 
 of it. There is at present a \-iolent fermentation of 
 different principles among them, which under the 
 reign of a very weak prince, or during a long mino- 
 rity, may produce a great change in the constitution. 
 In proportion to the progress of reason and philoso- 
 phy, which have made great advances in this king- 
 from, superstition loses ground ; ancient prejudices 
 give way ; a spirit of freedom takes the ascendant. 
 All the learned laity of France, detest the hierarchy
 
 136 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 as a plan of despotism, founded on imposture and 
 usurpation. The protestants, who are very numerous 
 in the southern parts, abhor it with all the rancour 
 of religious fanaticism. Many of the Commons, 
 enriched by commerce and manufacture, grow impa- 
 tient of those odious distinctions, which exclude them 
 from the honours and pri\-ileges due to their import- 
 ance in the commonwealth ; and all the parliaments 
 or tribunals of justice in the kingdom seem bent upon 
 asserting their rights and independence in the face of 
 the king's prerogative, and even at the expense of 
 his power and authority. Should any prince, there- 
 fore, be seduced, by evil counsellors, or misled by his 
 own bigotry, to take some arbitrary step that may be 
 extremely disagreable to all those communities, with- 
 out having spirit to exert the violence of his power 
 for the support of his measures, he will become equally 
 detested and despised, and the influence of the Com- 
 mons will insensibly encroach upon the pretensions 
 of the crown." (Travels through France and Italy, 
 c. xxxvi. Smollett's Works, vol. v. p. 536.) This 
 presentiment deserves to be classed with that pro- 
 phecy of Harrington in his Oceana, of which some 
 were fond enough to hope the speedy fulfilment at 
 the beginning of the revolution. Smollett passed 
 the greater part of his time abroad at Nice, but pro- 
 ceeded also to Rome and Florence. 
 
 About a year after he had returned from the con-
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 137 
 
 tinent (in June, 1766,) he again visited liis native 
 country, vi^here he had the satisfaction to find his 
 mother and sister still living. At Edinburgh he 
 met with the two Humes, Robertson, Adam Smith, 
 Blair, and Ferguson ; but the bodily ailments, under 
 which he was labouring, left him little power of enjoy- 
 ing the society of men who had newly raised their 
 comitry to so much eminence in literature. To his 
 friend. Dr. Moore, then a chirurgeon at Glasgow, 
 who accompanied him from that place, to the banks 
 of Loch Lomond, he wrote, in the February following, 
 that his expedition into Scotland had been productive 
 of nothing but misery and disgust, adding, that he 
 was convinced his brain had been in some measure 
 affected ; for that he had had a kind of coma 
 vigil upon him from April to November, without 
 intermission. He was at this time at Bath, where 
 two chirurgeons, whom he calls the most eminent in 
 England, and whose names were Middleton and 
 Sharp, had so far relieved him from some of the 
 most painful symptoms of his malady, particularly an 
 inveterate ulcer in the arm, that he pronounced him- 
 self to be better in health and spirits than during 
 any part of the seven preceding years. But the flat- 
 tering appearance which his disorder assumed was 
 not of long continuance. A letter written to him by 
 Da\-id Hume, on the 18th of July following, shews 
 that either the state of his health, or the narrowness
 
 138 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of his means, or perhaps both these causes together, 
 made him desirous of obtaining the consulship of 
 Nice or Leghorn. But neither the sohcitations of 
 Hume, nor those of the Duchess of Hamilton, could 
 prevail on the Minister, Lord Shelburne, to confer 
 on him either of these appointments. In the next 
 year, September 21, 17G8, the following paragraph 
 in a letter from Hume con^-inced him that he had 
 nothing to expect from any consideration for his 
 necessities in that quarter. " What is this you tell 
 me of your perpetual exile and of your never return- 
 ing to this country ? I hope that, as this idea arose 
 from, the bad state of your health, it will vanish on 
 your recovery, which, from your past experience, you 
 may expect from those happier cHmates to which you 
 are retiring ; after which, the desire of revisiting your 
 native country will probably return upon you, miless 
 the superior cheapness of foreign comitries prove an 
 obstacle, and detain you there. I could wish that 
 means had been fallen on to remove this objection, 
 and that at least it might be equal to you to live 
 anjTvhere, except when the consideration of your 
 health gave the preference to one climate above ano- 
 ther. But the indifference of ministers towards 
 literature, which has been long, and indeed almost 
 always is the case in England, gives little prospect 
 of any alteration in this particular." 
 
 If ministers would in no other way conduce to his
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 139 
 
 support, he was determined to levy on them at least 
 an involuntary contribution, and accordingly (in 
 1769,) he published the Adventures of an Atom, in 
 which he laid about him to right and left, and with a 
 random humour, somewhat resembling that of Rabe- 
 lais and Swift, made those whom he had defended 
 and those whom he had attacked, alike the subject of 
 very gross merriment. 
 
 But his sport and his suffering were now coming 
 to a close. The increased debility imder which he 
 felt himself sinking, induced him again to try the 
 influence of a more genial sky. Early in 1 770, he 
 set out vdth his wife for Italy ; and after staying a 
 short time at Leghorn, settled himself at Monte 
 Nero, near that port. In a letter to Caleb "Whitefoord, 
 dated the 18th of May, he describes himself rusti- 
 cated on the side of a mountain that overlooks the 
 sea, a most romantic and salutary situation. One 
 other flash broke from him in this retirement. His 
 novel, called the Expedition of Humphry CUnker, 
 which he sent to England to be printed in 1770, 
 though abounding in portraitures of exquisite drol- 
 lery, and in situations highly comical, has not the 
 full zest and flavour of his earlier works. The story 
 does not move on with the same impetuosity. The 
 characters have more the appearance of being broad 
 caricatures from real life, than the creatures of a rich 
 and teeming invention. They seem rather the repre-
 
 140 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 sentation of individuals grotesquely designed and 
 extravagantly coloured, than of classes of men. 
 
 His bodily strength now giving way by degrees, 
 while that of his mind remained unimpaired, he 
 expired at his residence near Leghorn, on the 21st 
 of October, 1/71, in the 51st year of his age. 
 
 His mother died a little before him. His widow 
 lived twelve years longer, which she passed at Leg- 
 horn in a state of unhappy dependence on the 
 bounty of the merchants at that place, and of a few 
 friends in England. Out of her slender means she 
 contrived to erect a monument to her deceased 
 husband, on which the following inscription from the 
 pen of his friend Armstrong was inscribed : 
 
 Hie ossa conduntur 
 
 TOBIiE SMOLLETT, Scoti; 
 
 Qui prosapia g-enerosa et antiqua natus, 
 
 Priscse virtutis exemplar emicuit ; 
 
 Aspectu ing-euuo, 
 
 Corpore valido, 
 
 Pectore animoso, 
 
 Indole apprime benigna, 
 
 Et fere suj^ra facultates munifica 
 
 Insignia. 
 
 Ingenio feraci, faceto, versatili, 
 
 OmnigeniB fere doctringe mire capaci, 
 
 Varia fabularum dulcedine 
 
 Vitam moresque bominum, 
 
 Ubertate summa ludens depinxit.
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT, 141 
 
 Adverse, interim, nefas! tali tantoque alumno, 
 
 Nisi quo satyrse opipare supplebat, 
 
 Seculo impio, ig-navo, fatuo, 
 
 Quo Musse vix nisi nothse 
 
 MiJerenatulis Britannicis 
 
 Fovebantur. 
 
 In memoriam 
 
 Optimi et amabilis omnino viri, 
 
 Permultis amicis desiderati, 
 
 Hocce marmor, 
 
 Dilectissima simul et amantissima conjunx 
 
 L. M. 
 
 Sacravit. 
 
 A column with a Latin inscription was also placed 
 to commemorate him on the banks of his favourite 
 Leven, near the house in which he was born, by his 
 kinsman Mr. Smollett of Bonhill. 
 
 The person of Smollett is described by his friend 
 Dr. Moore as stout and well-proportioned, his coun- 
 tenance engaging, and his manner reserved, with a 
 certain air of dignity that seemed to indicate a con- 
 sciousness of his own powers. 
 
 In his disposition, he appears to have been careless, 
 improvident, and sanguine ; easily swayed both in 
 his commendation and censures of others, by the 
 reigning humour of the moment, yet warm, and 
 (when not influenced by the baneful spirit of faction) 
 steady in his attachments. On his independence he 
 particularly prided himself. But that this was
 
 142 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 sometimes in danger from slight causes is apparent, 
 from an anecdote related by Dr. Wooll, in his Life 
 of Joseph Warton. When Huggins* had finished 
 his translation of Ariosto, he sent a fat buck to 
 Smollett, who at that time managed the Critical 
 Review; consequently the work was highly ap- 
 plauded ; but the history of the venison becoming 
 pubhc, Smollett was much abused, and in a future 
 number of the Review retracted his applause. Per- 
 petual employment of his pen left him little time for 
 reflection or study. Hence, though he acquired a 
 greater readiness in the use of words, his judgment 
 was not proportionably improved ; nor did his man- 
 hood bear fruits that fully answered to the vigorous 
 promise of his youth. Yet it may be questioned 
 whether any other writer of English prose had 
 before his time produced so great a number of works 
 of invention. When, in addition to his novels, we 
 consider his various productions, his histories, his 
 travels, his two dramatic pieces, his poems, his 
 
 * From a letter of Granger's (the author of the 
 Biographical History of England,) to Dr. Ducarel (see 
 Nichols's Illustrations of the Literary History of the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. iii. p. 601,) it appears that 
 Huggins made also a translation of Dante, which wae 
 never printed. He was son of that cruel keeper of the 
 Fleet prison who was punished for the ill treatment of 
 his prisoners. — (Ibid.)
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 143 
 
 translations, his critical labours, and other occasional 
 publications, we are surprised that so much should 
 have been done in a life of no longer continuance. 
 
 Excepting Congreve, I do not remember that any 
 of the poets, whose lives have been written by John- 
 son, is said to have produced anything in the shape 
 of a novel. Of the Incognita of Congreve, that 
 biographer observes, not very satisfactorily, that he 
 would rather praise it than read it. In the present 
 series, Goldsmith, Smollett, and Johnson himself, if 
 his Rasselas entitle him to rank in the number, are 
 among the most distinguished in this species of 
 writing, of whom modern Europe can boast. To 
 these, if there be added the names of De Foe, 
 Richardson, Fielchng, and Sterne, not to mention 
 living authors, we may produce such a phalanx as 
 scarcely any other nation can equal. Indeed no 
 other could afford a writer so wide a field for the 
 exercise of this talent as ours, where the fullest 
 scope and encouragement are given to the human 
 mind to expand itself in every direction, and assume 
 every shape and hue, by the freedom of the govern- 
 ment, and by the complexity of civil and commercial 
 interests. No one has portrayed the whimsical 
 varieties of character, particvdarly in lower life, with 
 a happier vein of burlesque than Smollett. He 
 delights, indeed, chiefly by his strong delineation of 
 ludicrous incidents and grotesque manners derived
 
 144 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 from tills source. He does not hold our curiosity 
 entangled by the involution of his story, nor suspend 
 it by any artful protraction of the main event. He 
 turns aside for no digression that may serve to 
 display his own ingenuity or learning. From the 
 beginning to the end, one adventure commonly rises 
 up and follows upon another, like so many waves of 
 the sea, which cease only because they have reached 
 the shore. 
 
 The billows float in order to the shore, 
 The wave behind rolls on the wave before. 
 
 Admirable as the art of the novelist is, we ought not 
 to confound it with that of the poet; nor to conclude, 
 because the characters of Parson Adams, Colonel 
 Bath, and Squire Western in Fielding ; and of Strap, 
 Morgan, and Pipes, in Smollett, impress themselves 
 as strongly on the memory, and seem to be as really 
 individuals whom we have seen and conversed with, 
 as many of those which are the most decidedly 
 marked in Shakspeare himself; that therefore the 
 powers requisite for producing such descriptions are 
 as rare and extraordinary in one instance as in the 
 other. For the poet has this pecuhar to himself; 
 tliat he communicates something from his own 
 mind, which, at the same time that it does not 
 prevent his personages from being kept equally 
 distinct from one another, raises them all above the 
 level of our common nature. Shakspeare, whom we
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 145 
 
 appear not only to know, personally, but to admire 
 and love as one superior to the cast of his kind, — 
 
 Sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, 
 
 has left some trick of his own lineaments and fea- 
 tures discoverable in the whole brood. 
 
 Igneus est ollis vigor et ccelestis origo 
 Seminibus. 
 
 It is this which makes us wiUing to have our 
 remembrance of his characters refreshed by constant 
 repetition, which gives us such a pleasure in sum- 
 moning them before us, as " age cannot wither, nor 
 custom stale." This is a quahty which we do not 
 find in Fielding, with all that consummate skill 
 which he employs in developing his story ; nor in 
 Smollett, mth all that vivacity and heartiness of 
 purpose Avith which he carries on his narrative. 
 
 Of Smollett's poems much does not remain to be 
 said. The Regicide is such a tragedy as might be 
 expected from a clever youth of eighteen. The 
 language is declamatory, the thoughts inflated, and 
 the limits of nature and verisimilitude transgressed 
 in describing the characters and passions. Yet there 
 are passages not wanting in poetical vigour. 
 
 His two satires have so much of the rough flavour 
 of Juvenal, as to retain some relish, now that the 
 occasion which produced them has passed away. 
 
 The Ode to Independence, which was not pub-
 
 146 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 lished till after his decease, amid much of common 
 place, has some very nervous hues. The personifica- 
 tion itself is but an awkward one. The term is 
 scarcely abstract and general enough to be invested 
 with the attributes of an ideal being. 
 
 In the Tears of Scotland, patriotism has made 
 him eloquent and pathetic ; and the Ode to Leven 
 Water is sweet and natural. None of the other 
 pieces, except the Ode to Mirth, which has some 
 sprightliness of fancy, deserve to be particularly 
 noticed. 
 
 THOMAS WARTON. 
 
 The life of Thomas Warton, by Dr. Mant, now 
 Bishop of Killaloe, prefixed to the edition of his 
 poems published at Oxford, is drawn from sources so 
 authentic, and detailed with so much exactness, that 
 little remains to be added to the circumstances which 
 it relates. 
 
 Thomas Waetox was descended from a Aery 
 respectable family in Yorkshire. His grandfather, 
 Anthony Warton, was rector of a village in Hamp- 
 shire ; and his father was a fellow of jNIagdalen 
 College, and Poetry Professor in the University of 
 Oxford. His mother, daughter of Joseph Richard-
 
 THOMAS WARTOIT. 147 
 
 son, who was also a clergyman, gave birth to three 
 children : — Joseph, of whom some accomit will 
 hereafter be given, Thomas, and Jane. Thomas was 
 born at Basingstoke, in 1 728 ; and very early in Hfe 
 afforded promise of his future excellence. A letter, 
 addressed to his sister from school when he was 
 about nine years of age, containing an epigram on 
 Leander, was preserved with affectionate regard by 
 their brother. Dr. "Warton. What school it was, 
 that may claim the honour of contributing to the 
 instruction of one who was afterwards so distin- 
 guished as a scholar, has not been recorded. 
 
 On the I Gth of March, 1 743, he was admitted a 
 commoner of Trinity College, Oxford ; and about 
 two years after lost his father, — a volume of whose 
 poems was, soon after his death, printed by sub- 
 scription, by his eldest son Joseph, with two elegiac 
 poems to his memory, one by the editor, the other 
 by his daughter above-mentioned. The latter of 
 these tributes is termed by Mr. Crowe, in a note to 
 one of his eloquent Creman Orations, — "Odetenera, 
 simplex, venusta," — " tender, simple, and beautiful." 
 
 In 1745 he published his Pastoral Eclogues, 
 which Mr. Chalmers has added to the collection of 
 his poems ; and in the same year he published, 
 without his name, the Pleasures of INIelancholy; 
 having, perhaps, been influenced in the choice of a 
 subject, thus sombre, by the loss of his parent. In
 
 148 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 this poem, his imitations of Milton are so frequent and 
 palpable, as to discover the timid flight of a young 
 writer not daring to quit the track of his guide. Yet 
 by some (as appears from the letters between Mrs. 
 Carter and Miss Talbot) it was ascribed to Akenside. 
 In 1/46 was produced his Progress of Discontent, — 
 a paraphrase on one of his own exercises, made at the 
 desire of Dr. Huddesford, the head of liis college. 
 
 His next effort attracted more general notice. In 
 consequence of some disgrace which the University 
 had incurred with Government, by its supposed 
 attachment to the Stuart familv. Mason had written 
 his Isis, an Elegy ; and in 1 749, Warton was encou- 
 raged by Dr. Huddesford to publish an answer to it, 
 with the title of the Triumph of Isis. It may na- 
 turally be supposed, that so spirited a defence of 
 Oxford against the aspersions of her antagonist would 
 be welcomed with ardour ; and among other testimo- 
 nies of approbation which it received. Dr. King, 
 whose character is eulogized in the poem, coming 
 into the bookseller's shop, and inquiring whether five 
 guineas would be acceptable to the author, left for 
 him an order for that sum. After an interval of 
 twenty-eight years, his rival. Mason, was probably 
 sincere in the opinion he gave, — that "Warton had 
 much excelled him both " in poetical imagery, and in 
 the correct flow of his versification." 
 
 He now became a contributor to a monthly mis-
 
 THOMAS WARTON. 149 
 
 cellany called The Student ; in wliich, besides his 
 Progress of Discontent, were inserted A Panegyric 
 on Oxford Ale, a professed imitation of the Splendid 
 Shilling ; The Author confined to College ; and A 
 Version of the twenty-ninth chapter of Job. 
 
 His two degrees haiang been taken at about the 
 usual intervals, in 1751 he succeeded to a fellowship 
 of his college, where he found a peaceful and un- 
 emied retreat for the remainder of his days, without 
 betraying any ambition of those dignities, — which, to 
 the indignation of Bishop Warburton, were not con- 
 ferred upon him. 
 
 At this time appeared his Newttiarket, a Satire ; 
 An Ode written for Music, performed in the Univer- 
 sity Theatre ; and two copies of verses, one in Latin, 
 the other in English, on the Death of Frederic, Prince 
 of Wales. 
 
 In 1753, liis Ode on the approach of Summer, — 
 The Pastoral, in the Manner of Spenser — (which has 
 not much resemblance to that writer), and Verses 
 inscribed on a beautiful Grotto, — were printed in 
 the Union, a poetical miscellany, selected by him, and 
 edited at Edinburgh. 
 
 The next year we find him employed in drawing 
 up a body of statutes for the Eadcliife Library, by 
 the desire of Dr. Huddesford, then Vice-Chancellor ; 
 in assisting Colman and Thornton in the Connois- 
 seur ; and in publishing his Observations on the
 
 150 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Faerie Queene of Spenser, which he afterwards 
 enlarged from one to two volumes. Johnson compli- 
 mented him " for ha\iDg shewn to all, who should 
 hereafter attempt the study of our ancient authors, 
 the way to success, by directing them to the perusal 
 of the books which their author had read ;" a method 
 of illustration which since, certainly, has not wanted 
 imitators. Much of his time must have been now 
 diverted from his favourite pursuits, by his engage- 
 ment in the instruction of college pupils. During 
 his excursions in the summer vacations, to different 
 parts of England, he appears to have occupied him- 
 self in making remarks on such specimens of Gothic 
 and Saxon architecture as came in his way. His 
 manuscript on this subject was in the possession of 
 his brother, since whose decease, unfortunately, it 
 has not been discovered. Some incidental observa- 
 tions on our ancient buildings, mtroduced into his 
 book on the Faerie Queene, are enough to make us 
 regret the loss. The poetical reader would have 
 been better pleased if he had fulfilled an intention 
 he had of translating the Argonautics of Apollonius 
 Rhodius. 
 
 Though it was not the lot of Warton to attain dis- 
 tinction in his clerical profession, yet literary honours, 
 more congenial to his taste and habits, awaited him. 
 In 1 75 6, he was elected Professor of Poetry at Ox- 
 ford, and faithfully performed the duties of his office.
 
 THOMAS WAKTON. 151 
 
 by recommending the purest models of antiquity in 
 lectures which are said to have been " remarkable for 
 elegance of diction, and justness of observation," and 
 interspersed with translations from the Greek epigram- 
 matists. 
 
 To Johnson he had already rendered a material 
 service by his exertions to procure him the degree of 
 Master of Arts, by diploma ; and he increased the 
 obligation, by contributing some notes to his edition 
 of Shakspeare, and three papers to The Idler. The 
 imputation cast on one, from whom such kindness 
 had been received, of his " being the only man of 
 genius without a heart," must have been rather the 
 effect of spleen in Johnson, than the result of just ob- 
 servation ; and if either these words, or the verses in 
 ridicule of his poems — 
 
 Endless labour all along, 
 Endless labour to be wrong ; 
 Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, 
 Ode, and elegy, and sonnet ; 
 
 had been officiously repeated to Warton, we cannot 
 much wonder at what is told, of his passing Johnson 
 in a bookseller's shop without speaking, or at the 
 tears which Johnson is related to have shed at that 
 mark of alienation in his former friend. 
 
 A Description of Winchester, and a Burlesque on 
 the Oxford Guides, or books professing to give an
 
 152 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 account of the University, both anonymous, are among 
 the next pubhcations attributed to his pen. 
 
 In 1758, he made a selection of Latin inscriptions 
 in verse ; and printed it, together with notes, under 
 the title of Inscriptionum Romanarum Metricarum 
 Delectus ; and then first undertook, at the suggestion 
 it is said of Judge Blackstone, the splendid edition of 
 Theocritus, which made its appearance twelve years 
 after. The papers left by Mr. St. Amand,* formed the 
 
 * There is a little memoir of James St. Amand, in 
 the preface, that will interest some readers. He was 
 of Lincoln College, Oxford, about 1705, where he had 
 scarcely remained a year, before his ardour for Greek 
 literature induced him to visit Italy, chiefly with a view 
 of searching MSS. that might serve for an edition of 
 Theocritus. In Italy, before be had reached his twen- 
 tieth year, he was well known to the learned world, 
 and had engaged the esteem of many eminent men ; 
 among others, of Vincenzo Gravina, Niccolo Valletto, 
 Fontanini, Quirino, Anton Maria Salvini, and Henry 
 Newton, the English Ambassador to the Duke of Tus- 
 cany. Their letters to him are preserved in the Bodleian. 
 By his researches into the MSS. of Italian libraries, he 
 assisted his learned friends, Kuster, Le Clerc, Potter, 
 Hudson, and Kennet, and other literary characters of 
 that time, in their several pursuits. He then returned 
 to England by way of Geneva and Paris, well laden 
 with treasures derived from the foreign libraries, all 
 which, with a large collection of valuable books, he 
 bequeathed to the Bodleian. He died about 1 750. He
 
 THOMAS WAETON. 153 
 
 basis of tliis work : to them were added some valuable 
 criticisms by Toup ; and though the arrangement of 
 the whole may be justly charged with a want of 
 clearness and order, and Dr. Gaisford has since em- 
 ployed much greater exactness and diligence in his 
 edition of the same author, yet the praise of a most 
 entertaining and delightful variety cannot be denied 
 to the notes of Warton. In a dissertation on the 
 Bucohc poetry of the Greeks, he shews that species 
 of composition to have been derived from the ancient 
 comedy ; and exposes the dream of a golden age. 
 
 La bella eta dell' or unqua non venne, 
 
 Nacque da nostre menti 
 
 Entro 11 vago pensiero, 
 
 E nel nostro desio chiaro divenne. 
 
 Guidi. 
 
 The characters in Thedferitus, are shewn to be dis- 
 
 desisted from his intention of publishing Theocritus, 
 either from ill health, or weariness of his work, or some 
 fear about its success. His preparations for this edition, 
 together with some notes on Pindar (an edition of which 
 he also meditated), Aristophanes, the Argonautics of 
 Apollonius Rhodius, Demosthenes, and others, remain 
 in the Bodleian. Dr. Shaw, in his edition of Apollo- 
 nius Rhodius, has since made use of his notes on that 
 poet, and pays a tribute to his critical abilities in the 
 preface.
 
 154 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 tinguished into three classes, — herdsmen, shepherds, 
 and goatherds ; the first of which was superior to 
 the next, as that in its turn was to the third ; and 
 this distinction is proved to have been accurately 
 observed, as to allusions and images. The discrimi- 
 nation seems to have been overlooked by Virgil : in 
 which instance, no less than in all the genuine graces of 
 pastoral poetry, he is inferior to the Sicihan.* The 
 contempt with which Warton speaks of those eminent 
 and unfortunate Greek scholars, who diffused the 
 learning of their coimtry over Europe, after the cap- 
 ture of Constantinople, and whom he has here termed 
 " GraecuU famehci," is surely reprehensible. But for 
 their labours, Britain might never have required an 
 editor of Theocritus. 
 
 In 1760, he contributed to the Biographia Britan- 
 nica a Life of Sir Thomas Pope, twice, subsequently 
 published, in a separate form, with considerable 
 enlargements : in the two following years he wrote 
 a Life of Dr. Bathurst, and in his capacity of Poetry 
 
 * Warton's distinction between them is well imagined. 
 " Similis est Theocritus amplo cuidam pascuo per se 
 satis foecundo, herbis pluribus frug-iferis floribusque 
 pulchris abundant!, dulcibus etiam fluviis uvido : similis 
 Virg-ilius horto distincto nitentibus areolis ; ubi larga 
 florum copia, sed qui studiose dispositi, curaque meliore 
 nutriti, atque exculti diligenter, olim hue a pascuo illo 
 majore transferebantur."
 
 THOMAS WAKTON. 155 
 
 Professor, composed Verses on the Death of George 
 II., the Marriage of his Successor, and the Birth of the 
 Heir Apparent, which, together with his Complaint 
 of Cherwell, made a part of the Oxford Collections. 
 Several of his humorous pieces were soon after (in 
 1 764) published in the Oxford Sausage, the preface 
 to which he also wrote ; and in 1766, he edited the 
 Greek Anthology of Cephalas. In 1767, he took the 
 degree of Bachelor in Divinity; and in 1771, was 
 chosen a Fellow of the Antiquarian Society ; and on 
 the nomination of the Earl of Lichfield, Chancellor 
 of the University, was collated to the Rectory of 
 Kiddington, Oxfordshire, a benefice of small value. 
 Ten years after, he drew up a History of his Parish, 
 and published it as a specimen of a Parochial History 
 of Oxfordshire. Meanwhile, he was engaged in an 
 undertaking, of higher interest to the national anti- 
 quities and literature. 
 
 In illustrating the origin, and tracing the progress 
 of our vernacular poetry, we had not kept pace with 
 the industry of our continental neighbours. To 
 supply this deficiency, a work had been projected by 
 Pope, and was now contemplated, and indeed entered 
 on, by Gray and Mason, in conjunction. We cannot 
 but regret, that Gray relinquished the undertaking, 
 as he did, on hearing into whose hands it had fallen, 
 since he would (as the late publication of his papers 
 by Mr. Mathias has shewn) have brought to the task
 
 156 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 a more accurate and extensive acquaintance with those 
 foreign sources from whence our early writers derived 
 much of their learning, and would, probably, have 
 adopted a better method, and more precision in the 
 general disposition of his materials. Yet there is no 
 reason to complain of the way in which Warton has 
 acquitted himself, as far as he has gone. His History 
 of English Poetry is a rich mine, in which, if we 
 have some trouble in separating the ore from the 
 dross, there is much precious metal to reward our 
 pains. The first volume of this laborious work was 
 pubhshed in 1/74 ; two others followed, in 17/8, and 
 in 1781 ; and some progress had been made at his 
 decease in printing the fourth. In 1 IT], he increased 
 the poetical treasure of his country by a volume of 
 his own poems, of which there was a demand for 
 three other editions before his death. In 1782, we 
 find him presented by his college to the donative of 
 Hill Farrance, in Somersetshire, and employed in 
 publishing an Inquiry into the Authenticity of the 
 Poems attributed to Thomas Rowley, and Verses on 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds's painted window at New Col- 
 lege : about the same time, probably, he was chosen 
 a member of the Literary Club. 
 
 In 1785, he echted Milton's minor poems, with 
 very copious illustrations ; and in the year following, 
 was elected to the Camden Professorship of History, 
 and was appointed to succeed Whitehead, as Poet
 
 THOMAS WARTON. 157 
 
 Laureate. In his inaugural speech as Camden Pro- 
 fessor, subjoined to the edition of his poetical works 
 by Dr. Mant, he has shewn that the public duties 
 required at the first foundation of the Professorship, 
 owing to the improvement in the course of academical 
 studies, are rendered no longer necessary. From one 
 who had already voluntarily done so much, it would 
 have been ungracious to exact the performance of 
 pubUc labours not indispensably requisite. In the 
 discharge of his function as Laureate, he still con- 
 tinued, as he had long ago professed himself to be, — 
 
 Too free in servile courtly phrase to fawn ; 
 
 and had the wish been gratified,— expressed by him- 
 self before his appointment, or by Gibbon after it, — 
 that the annual tribute might be dispensed vdth, 
 we should have lost some of his best lyric effusions. 
 
 Till his sixty-second year, he had experienced no 
 interruption to a vigorous state of health. Then a 
 seizure of the gout compelled him to seek relief from 
 the use of the Bath waters ; and he returned from 
 that place to college, with the hope of a recovery from 
 his complaint. But on the 20th of May, 1790, 
 between ten and eleven o'clock at night, as he was 
 sitting in the common room with two of the college 
 fellows, and in higher spirits than usual, a paralytic 
 affection deprived him of his speech. Some indistinct 
 sounds onlv, in which it was thought the name of
 
 158 LIVES OP "ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 his friend, Mr. Price, the Ubrarian of the Bodleian, 
 was heard, escaped him, and he expired on the day 
 but one after. His funeral was honoured by the 
 attendance of the Vice-Chancellor, and a numerous 
 train of followers, to the ante-chapel of his college, 
 where he is interred, with a very plain inscription to 
 his memory. 
 
 His person was short and thick, though in the 
 earlier part of his life he had been thought handsome- 
 His face, latterly, became somewhat rubicund, and 
 his utterance so confused, that Johnson compared it 
 to the gobbling of a turkey. The portrait of him by 
 Reynolds, besides the resemblance of the features, is 
 particularly characterized by the manner in which the 
 hand is di'awn, so as to give it a great air of truth. 
 He was negligent in his dress ; and so httle studious 
 of appearances, that having despatched his labours, 
 while others were yet in bed, he might have been 
 fomid, at the usual hours of study, loitering on the 
 banks of his beloved Cherwell, or in the streets, fol- 
 lowing the drum and fife, a soimd which was known 
 to have irresistible attraction for his ears, — a spec- 
 tator at a military parade, or even one amongst a 
 crowd at a public execution. He retained to old age 
 the amiable simplicity and unsuspecting frankness of 
 boyhood : his affection for his brother, to whose 
 society at Winchester he latterly retired from college, 
 during the vacations in summer, does not seem ever
 
 THOMAS WAB.TON. 159 
 
 to have suffered any abatement ; and his manners 
 were tranquil and unassuming. The same amenity 
 and candour of disposition, which marked him in pri- 
 vate life, pervade his writings, except on some few 
 occasions, when his mind is too much under the 
 influence of party feelings. This bias inclined him, 
 not only to treat the character of Milton with a most 
 imdue asperity, but even to extenuate the atrocities 
 committed under the government of Mary, and some- 
 what to depreciate the worth of those di\-ines, whose 
 attachment to the reformed religion led them to suffer 
 death in her reign. 
 
 The writer of this paper has been told by an Italian, 
 who was acquainted with Warton, that his favourite 
 book in the Itahan language (of which his knowledge 
 was far from exact) was the Gerusalemme Liberata. 
 Both the stately phrase, and the theme of that poem, 
 were well suited to him. 
 
 Among the poets of the second class, he deserves 
 a distinguished place. He is almost equally pleasing 
 in his gayer, and in his more exalted moods. His 
 mirth is without malice or indecency, and his serious- 
 ness Tvithout gloom. 
 
 In his lyrical pieces, if we seek in vain for the 
 variety and music of Dryden, the tender and moral 
 subUme of Gray, or the enthusiasm of Collins, yet 
 we recognize an attention ever awake to the appear-
 
 160 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 ances of nature, and a mind stored with the images 
 of classical and Gothic antiquity. Though his dic- 
 tion is rugged, it is like the cup in Pindar, which 
 Telamon stretches out to Alcides, ypvaa Tr£(ppiKvlav, 
 rough with gold, and embost with curious imagery. 
 A lover of the ancients would, perhaps, be offended, 
 if the birth-day ode, beginning 
 
 Within what fountain's craggy cell 
 Delights the goddess Health to dwell? 
 
 were compared, as to its subject, with that of the 
 Theban bard, on the illness of Hiero, which opens 
 with a wish that Chiron were yet living, in order 
 that the poet might consult him on the case of the 
 Syracusan monarch ; and in its form, with that in 
 which he asks of his native city, in whom of all her 
 heroes she most delighted. 
 
 Among the odes, some of which might more pro- 
 perly be termed idylliums. The Hamlet is of imcom- 
 mon beauty ; the landscape is truly English, and has 
 the truth and tenderness of Gainsborough's pencil. 
 Those To a Friend on his leaving a Village in Hamp- 
 shire, and the First of April, are entitled to similar 
 praise. The Crusade, The Grave of King Arthur, 
 and most of the odes composed for the court, are in 
 a higher strain. In the Ode written at Vale Royal 
 Abbey, is a striking image, borrowed from some lent
 
 THOMAS WARTON. 161 
 
 verses, written by Archbishop Markham, and printed 
 in the second volume of that collection. 
 
 High o'er the trackless heath, at midnight seen, 
 No more the windows ranged in long array 
 (Where the tall shaft and fretted arch between 
 Thick ivy twines) the taper'd rites betray. 
 
 Prodidit arcaitas arcta fenestra faces. 
 
 His sonnets have been highly and deservedly com- 
 mended by no less competent a judge than Mr. Cole- 
 ridge. They are alone sufficient to prove (if any proof 
 were wanting) that this form of composition is not 
 luisuited to our language. One of our longest, as it 
 is one of our most beautiful poems, the Faerie Queene, 
 is written in a stanza which demands the continual 
 recmrence of an equal number of rh}Tnes ; and the 
 chief objection to our adopthig the sonnet is the pau- 
 city of our rhymes. 
 
 The lines to Sir Joshua Reynolds are marked by 
 the happy turn of the compliment, and by the strength 
 and harmony of the versification, at least as far as 
 the formal couplet measure will admit of those qua- 
 lities. They need not fear a comparison with the 
 verses addressed by Dryden to Kneller, or by Pope 
 to Jervas. 
 
 His Latin compositions are nearly as excellent as 
 his Enghsh. The few hendecasyllables he has left, 
 have more of the vigour of Catullus than those by 
 
 M
 
 162 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Flaminio ; but Flaminio excels him in delicacy. The 
 Mons Catharinse contains nearly the same images as 
 Gray's Ode on a Prospect of Eton College. In the 
 word " cedrmae," which occurs in the verses on 
 Trinity College Chapel, he has, we believe, erroneously 
 made the penultimate long. Dr. Mant has observed 
 another mistake in his use of the word " Tempe" as 
 a feminine noun, in the hues translated from Aken- 
 side. ^^len in his sports with his brother's scholars 
 at Winchester he made their exercises for them, he 
 used to ask the boy how many faults he would have : 
 — one such would have been sufficient for a lad near 
 the head of the school. 
 
 His style in prose, though marked by a character 
 of magnificence, is at times stiff and encumbered. 
 He is too fond of alUteration in prose as well as in 
 verse ; and the cadence of his sentences is too evi- 
 dently laboured.
 
 163 
 
 JOSEPH WARTON. 
 
 The Memoirs of Joseph Warton, by Dr. Wooll, 
 the present Head-master of Rugby school, is a book 
 which, although it contains a faithful representation 
 of his life and character by one who had been his 
 pupil, and though it is enriched with a collection of 
 letters between some of the men most distinguished 
 in literature during his time, is yet so much less 
 known than it deserves, that in speaking of it to Mr. 
 Hayley, who had been intimate with Warton, and to 
 whom some of the letters are addressed, I found him 
 ignorant of its contents. It will supply me with 
 much of what I have to relate concerning the sub- 
 ject of it. 
 
 There is no instance in this country of two bro- 
 thers having been equally celebrated for their skill in 
 poetry with Joseph and Thomas Warton. What has 
 been already told of the parentage of the one renders it 
 unnecessary to say more in this respect of the other. 
 He was born at Dunsfold, in Surrey, under the roof 
 of his maternal gi'andfather, in the beginning of 1722. 
 Like his brother, he experienced the care of an affec- 
 tionate parent, who did the utmost his scanty means
 
 164 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 would allow to educate them both as scholars ; but 
 with this difference, that Joseph being three-and- 
 twenty years old at the time of Mr. Warton's decease, 
 whereas Thomas was but seventeen, was more capable 
 of appreciating, as it deserved, the tenderness of such 
 a father. To what has been before said of this esti- 
 mable man, I have to add, that his poems, of which 
 I had once a cursory view, appeared to me to merit 
 more notice than they have obtained ; and that his 
 version of Fracastorio's pathetic .amentation on the 
 death of his two sons particidarly engaged my atten- 
 tion. Sua\-is adeo poeta ac doctus, is the testimony 
 borne to him by one* who will himself have higher 
 claims of the same kind on posterity. 
 
 Having been some time at New College school, 
 but principally taught by his father till he was four- 
 teen years old, Joseph was then admitted on the 
 foundation of Winchester, under Dr. Sandby. Here, 
 together with two of his school-fellows, of whom 
 Collins was one, he became a contributor to the Gen- 
 tleman's Magazine. Johnson, who then assisted in 
 editing that miscellany, had sagacity enough to dis- 
 tingmsh, from the rest, a few lines that were sent by 
 Collins, which, though not remarkable for excellence, 
 ought now to take their place among his other poems. 
 
 In 1740, Warton being superannuated at Win- 
 
 * Mr. Crowe, in one of his Crewian Orations.
 
 JOSEPH WAKTON. 165 
 
 Chester, was entered of Oriel College, Oxford ; and 
 taking his bachelor's degree, in 1 744, was ordained 
 to his father's curacy at Basingstoke. Having lost 
 his father about a year after, he removed to the 
 curacy of Chelsea, in February, 1746. Near this 
 time, I suppose a letter, that is without date of time 
 or place, to have been written to his brother. As it 
 informs us of some particulars relating to Colhns, of 
 whom it is to be wished that more were known, I am 
 tempted to transcribe it. 
 
 Dear Tom, — You will wonder to see my name in an 
 advertisement next week, so I thought I would apprize 
 you of it. The case was this. Collins met me in Sur- 
 rey, at Guildford races, when I wrote out for him my 
 Odes, and he likewise communicated some of his to 
 me : and being both in very high spirits, we took cou- 
 rage, resolved to join our forces, and to publish them 
 immediately. I flatter myself, that I shall lose no 
 honour by this publication, because I believe these 
 Odes, as they now stand, are infinitely the best things 
 I ever wrote. You will see a very pretty one of Col- 
 lins's, on the Death of Colonel Ross before Tournay. 
 It is addressed to a lady who was Ross's intimate ac- 
 quaintance, and who, by the way, is Miss Rett God- 
 dard. Collins is not to publish the Odes unless he gets 
 ten guineas for them. 
 
 I returned from Milford last night, where I left 
 Collins with my mother and sister, and he sets out 
 to-day for London. I must now tell you, that I have
 
 166 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 sent liim your imitation of Horace's Blandusian Foun- 
 tain, to be printed amongst ours, and which you shall 
 own or not as you think proper. I would not have done 
 this without your consent, but because I think it very 
 
 poetically and correctly done, and will get you honour. 
 * * * * 
 
 You will let me know what the Oxford critics say. 
 
 Adieu, dear Tom. 
 
 I am your most aflfectionate brother, 
 
 J. Warton. 
 
 On this Dr. Wooll founds a conjecture, that War- 
 ton published a volume of poems conjointly with his 
 brother and Collins ; but adds, that after a diligent 
 search he had not been able to discover it. I think 
 it more likely that the design was abandoned. How- 
 ever this may be, it is certain that he himself pub- 
 lished a volume of Odes in 1746, of which, as I 
 learn from a note to the present Bishop of Killaloe's 
 verses to his memory, a second edition appeared in 
 the following year. To complete his recovery from 
 the small-pox, which he had taken at Chelsea, he 
 went, in May 1746, to Chobham ; and then, after 
 officiating for a few months at Chawton and Droxford, 
 returned to his first curacy of Basingstoke. In the 
 next year he was presented by the Duke of Bolton to 
 the rectory of Wynslade, by which preferment he 
 was enabled immediately to marry a young lady in 
 that neighbourhood, of the name of Daman, to whom
 
 JOSEPH WAUTON. 167 
 
 he had been long attached. Of the country adjacent 
 to Wynslade, Thomas Warton has given a very pleas- 
 ing description in one of his sonnets, and in an " Ode 
 sent to a friend, on his leaving a favourite village in 
 Hampshire." Both were written on the occasion of 
 his brother's absence, who had gone in the train of 
 the Duke of Bolton to France. One motive, on 
 which he went, would not now be thought quite 
 creditable to a clergyman. It was that he might be 
 at hand to join the Duke in marriage to his mistress, 
 as soon as the Duchess, who was far gone in a 
 dropsy, should be no more. Warton set out reluct- 
 antly, but with the hope that he might benefit his 
 family by comphance. He had not been away five 
 months, when the impatience for home came on him 
 so strongly, that he quitted Montauban, where the 
 Duke was residing, and made his way towards Eng- 
 land by such conveyances as he could meet with ; at 
 one time in a courier's cart ; at another, in the com- 
 pany of carriers who were travelling in Britanny. 
 Thus he scrambled on to Bourdeaux, and till he 
 reached St. Malo's, where he took ship and landed at 
 Southampton. When he had been returned a month 
 the Duchess died. He then asked permission to go 
 back, and perform the marriage ceremony ; but the 
 chaplain of the embassy at Tuiin was already on his 
 way for that purpose. 
 
 He was now once more at Wynslade, restored to a
 
 168 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 domestic life, and the miiuterrupted pursuit of his 
 studies. Before going abroad, he had published (in 
 1749) his Ode on West's translation of Pindar ; and 
 after his return, employed himself in writing papers, 
 chiefly on subjects of criticism, for the Adventurer, 
 and in preparing for the press an edition of Virgil, 
 which (in 1/53) he published, together with Pitt's 
 translation of the ^neid, liis own of the Eclogues 
 and Georgics, his notes on the whole, and several 
 essays. The book has been found useful for schools ; 
 and was thought at the time to do him so much 
 credit, that it obtained for him the degree of Master 
 of Arts by diploma from the University of Oxford, 
 and no doubt was instrumental in recommending him 
 to the place of second master of Winchester School, 
 to which he was appointed in 1/55. In the mean- 
 time he had been presented by the Jervoise family to 
 the rectory of Tim worth, and resided for a short time 
 at that place. 
 
 In 1756, appeared the first volume of his Essay 
 on the genius and writings of Pope, dedicated to 
 Young. The name of the author was to have been 
 concealed, but he does not seem to have kept his own 
 secret very carefully, for it was immediately spoken 
 of as his by Akenside, Johnson, and Dr. Birch. 
 The second volume did not follow till after an in- 
 terval of twenty-six years. The information con- 
 tained in this essay, which is better known than his
 
 JOSEPH WAKTON. 169 
 
 Other writings, is such as the recollection of a scholar, 
 conversant in pohte hterature, might easily have 
 supphed. He does not, like his brother, ransack the 
 stores of antiquity for what has been forgotten, but 
 deserves to be recalled ; nor, like Hurd, exercise, on 
 common materials, a refinement that gives the air of 
 novelty to that with which we have been long fami- 
 Uar. He relaxes, as Johnson said of him, the brow 
 of criticism into a smile. Though no longer in his 
 desk and gown, he is still the benevolent and con- 
 descending instructor of youth ; a writer, more capable 
 of amusing and tempting onwards, by some pleasant 
 anticipations, one who is a novice in letters, than of 
 satisfying the demands of those already initiated. 
 He deserves some praise for ha\ing been one of the 
 first who attempted to moderate the extravagant 
 admiration for Pope, whom he considered as the poet 
 of reason rather than of fancy ; and to disengage us 
 from the trammels of the French school. Some of 
 those who followed have ventured much further, with 
 success ; but it was something to have broken the 
 ice. I do not know that he published anytliing else 
 while he remained at Winchester, except* an edition 
 of Sir Philip Sydney's Defence of Poesy, and Obser- 
 vations on Eloquence and Poetry from the Discoveries 
 of Ben Jonson, in 1/87. His literary exertions. 
 
 * Nichols's Literarv Anecdotes, vol. ix.
 
 170 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 and the attention he paid to the duties of his school, 
 did not go unrewarded. In 1766 he was advanced 
 to the Head-mastership of Winchester, and took his 
 two degrees in divinity ; in 1 782, Bishop Lowth gave 
 him a prebend of St. Paul's, and the rectory of 
 Chorley, which he was allowed to exchange for Wick- 
 ham, in Hants. In 1788, through the intervention 
 of Lord Shannon with Mr. Pitt, he obtained a pre- 
 bend of Winchester ; and soon after, at the solicita- 
 tion of Lord Malmesbury, was presented by the 
 Bishop of that diocese to the rectory of Easton, 
 which, in the course of a twelve-month, he exchanged 
 for Upham. 
 
 In his domestic relations, he enjoyed as much hap- 
 piness as prudence and affection could ensure him, 
 but not unembittered by those disastrous accidents to 
 which every father of a family is exposed. Some 
 years after his marriage (1763) his letters to his 
 brother discover him struggling under his anguish 
 for the loss of a favourite daughter, who had died 
 under inoculation, but stri\'ing to conceal his feehngs 
 for the sake of a wife whom he tenderly loved. In 
 1772, this wife was also taken from him, leaving him 
 with six children. His second son, Thomas, fellow 
 of New College, a man on whom the poetic spirit of 
 the Wartons had descended, was foimd by him, one 
 day when he returned from the college prayers, 
 sitting in the chair in which he had left him after
 
 JOSEPH WAUTON. 171 
 
 dinner, without life. It was the termination of a 
 disease under which he had long laboured. This 
 happened in 1786 ; and before he had space to re- 
 cover the blow, in four years after, his brother ched. 
 In 1773, he had solaced himself by a second mar- 
 riage with IMiss Nicholas, the daughter of Robert 
 Nicholas, Esq. In both his matrimonial connexions, 
 his sister described him as having been eminently 
 fortunate. 
 
 The latter part of his hfe was spent in retirement 
 and tranquillity. In 1793, he resigned the master- 
 ship of Winchester, and settled himself on his li\'ing 
 of "Wickham . He had intended to finish his brother' s 
 History of English Poetry, which wanted another 
 volume to complete it ; and might now have found 
 time enough to accomphsh the task. But an obstacle 
 presented itself, by which it is hkely that he was 
 discouraged from proceeding. The description given 
 by Daniel Prince, a respectable old bookseller at Ox- 
 ford, of the state in which his brother's rooms were 
 found at his decease, and of the fate that befell his 
 manuscripts and his property, may be edifymg to 
 some future fellow of a college, who shall employ 
 himself in similar pursmts.* " Poor Thomas War- 
 ton's papers were in a sad litter, and his brother Joe 
 has made matters worse by confusedly cramming all 
 
 * Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. ix.
 
 172 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 together, sending them to Winchester, &c. Mr. 
 Warton could not give so much as his old clothes ; 
 his very shoes, stockings, and wigs, laid about in 
 abundance. Where could his money go ? It must 
 lay iu paper among his papers, or be laid in a book ; 
 he could not, nor did not spend it ; and his brother, 
 on that score, is greatly disappointed." 
 
 A repubUcation of Pope's works, with notes, offered 
 him an easier occupation than the digesting of those 
 scattered materials for the History of Poetry which 
 he had thus assisted in disarranging. He was pro- 
 bably glad to escape from inaction, and set himself to 
 parcel out his Essay into comments for this edition ; 
 which, in 1797, was published in nine volumes. His 
 indiscretion, in adding to it some of Pope's produc- 
 tions which had been before excluded, has been most 
 bitterly censured. That it would have been better to 
 let them remain where they were can scarcely be 
 questioned. But I should be more willing to regard 
 the insertion of them as proof of his own simplicity, 
 in suspecting no harm from what he had himself 
 found to be harmless, than of any design to commu- 
 nicate injury to others. A long Hfe, passed ^vithout 
 blame, and in the faithful discharge of arduous duties, 
 ought to have secured him from this misconstruction 
 at its close. After all, the pieces objected to are 
 such as are more offensive to good manners than 
 dangerous to moraHty. There are some other of
 
 JOSEPH WARTON. 173 
 
 Pope's writings, more likely to inflame the passions, 
 which yet no one scruples to read ; and Dr. Wooll 
 has suggested that it was inconsistent to set up the 
 writer as a teacher of virtue, and in the same breath 
 to condemn his editor as a pander to vice. 
 
 He bestowed on his censurers no more considera- 
 tion than they deserved, and went on to prepare an 
 edition of Dry den for the press. Two volumes, with 
 his notes, were completed, when his labours were 
 finally broken off by a painful disease. His malady 
 was an affection of the kidneys, which continued to 
 harass liim for some months, and ended in a fatal 
 paralysis on the twenty-third of February, 1800, in 
 the seventy-eighth year of his age. 
 
 He was interred in the cathedral at Winchester, 
 where, by the contributions of his former scholars, 
 a monument, executed by JNIr. Flaxman, was raised 
 to his memory, of a design so elegant, as the tomb 
 of a poet has not often been honoured with. It is 
 inscribed with the following epitaph — 
 
 H. S. E. 
 
 Josephus Warton, S. T. P. 
 
 Hujus Ecclesise 
 
 Prebendarius : 
 
 Scolse Wintoniensis 
 
 Per annos fere triginta 
 
 Informator ; 
 
 Poeta fervidus, facilis, expolitus :
 
 1/4 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Criticus eruditus, j^erspicax, elegans : 
 
 Obiit XXIIK Feb. M.D.CCC. 
 
 Mtat. LXXVIII. 
 
 Hoc qualecunque 
 
 Pietatis monumentum 
 
 Prteceptori optimo, 
 
 Desideratissimo, 
 
 Wiccamici sui 
 
 P. C. 
 
 In the frankness of his disposition he appears to 
 have resembled his brother, but with more hveUness 
 and more love of general society. I have heard, 
 that in the carelessness of colloquial freedom, he was 
 apt to commit himself by hasty and undigested ob- 
 servations. As he did not aim at being very oracular 
 himself, so he was unusually tolerant of ignorance in 
 others. Of this, a diverting instance is recorded by 
 Dr. WooU : meeting in company with a lady who was 
 a kinswoman of Pope's, he eagerly availed himself of 
 the occasion offered for learning some new particulars 
 concerning one by whom so much of his time and 
 thoughts had been engaged. " Pray, Sir," began 
 the lady, " did not you wTite a book about my 
 cousin Pope?" "Yes, Madam;" was the reply. 
 " They tell me 'twas vastly clever. He wrote a 
 great many plays, did not he ?" was the next ques- 
 tion. " I never heard but of one attempt. Madam ;" 
 said Warton, beginning perhaps to expect some
 
 JOSEPH WAUTON. 175 
 
 discovery, when his hopes were suddenly crushed by 
 an " Oh ! no," from the lady, " I beg your pardon. 
 Sir. That was Mr. Shakspeare. I always confound 
 them." He had the good breeding to conceal his 
 disappointment, and to take a courteous leave of the 
 kinswoman of Pope. 
 
 He was regarded with great affection by those 
 whom he had educated. The opinions of a man so 
 long experienced in the characters of children, and 
 in the best methods 'of instruction, are on these 
 subjects entitled to much notice. " He knew," says 
 his biographer and pupil, " that the human mind 
 developed itself progressively, but not always in the 
 same consistent degrees, or at periods uniformly 
 similar. He conjectured, therefore, that the most 
 probable method of ensuring some valuable improve- 
 ment to the generality of boys was not to exact what 
 the generality are incapable of performing. As a 
 remedy for inaccurate construction, arising either 
 from apparent idleness or inabihty, he highly ap- 
 proved, and sedulously imposed, translation. Mo- 
 desty, timidity, or many other constitutional impedi- 
 ments, may prevent a boy from displaying before his 
 master, and in the front of his class, those talents of 
 which privacy, and a relief from these embarrass- 
 ments, will often give proof. These sentiments were 
 confirmed by that most infallible test, experience ; as 
 he declared (within a few years of his death) that
 
 1/6 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 " the best scholars he had sent into the world were 
 those whom, whilst second master, he had thus habi- 
 tuated to translation, and given a capacity of com- 
 paring and associating the idiom of the dead lan- 
 guages with their own." 
 
 It is pleasant to observe the impression which 
 men, who have engrossed to themselves the attention 
 of posterity, have made on one another, when chance 
 has brought them together. Of Mason, whom he 
 fell in with at York, he tells his brother, that " he 
 is the most easy, best natured, agreeable man he ever 
 met with." In the next year, he met with Gold- 
 smith, and observed of him, " that of all solemn 
 coxcombs, he was the first, yet sensible ; and that he 
 affected to use Johnson's hard words in conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 Soon after the first volume of his Essay on Pope 
 had been pubhshed, Lyttleton, then newly raised to 
 the peerage, gave him his scarf, and submitted some 
 of his writings, before they were printed, to his 
 inspection. 
 
 Harris, the author of Hermes, and Lowth, were 
 others in whose friendship he might justly have 
 prided himself. 
 
 He was one of the few that did not shrink from a 
 colhsion with Johnson ; who could so HI endure a 
 shock of this kind, that on one occasion he cried out 
 impatiently, " Sir, I am not used to contradiction."
 
 JOSEPH WAETON. 1/7 
 
 " It would be better for yourself and your friends, 
 Sir, if you were ;" was the natural retort. Their 
 common friends interfered, to prevent a ruder alter- 
 cation. 
 
 Like Johnson, he delighted in London, where he 
 regularly indulged himself by passing the holidays 
 at Christmas. His fondness for everything relating 
 to a military life was a propensity that he shared with 
 his brother ; and while the one might have been 
 seen following a drum and fife at Oxford, the other, 
 by the sprighthness of his conversation, had drawn 
 a circle of red coats about him at the St. James's 
 Coffee House, where he frequently breakfasted. 
 Both of them were members of the Literary Club, 
 set on foot by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 This gaiety of temper did not hinder him from 
 discharging his clerical office in a becoming manner. 
 *' His style of preaching," we are told by Mr. 
 Wooll, " was unaff'ectedly earnest and impressive ; 
 and the dignified solemnity with which he read the 
 Liturgy, particularly the Communion Service, was 
 remarkably awful." 
 
 His reputation as a critic and a scholar has pre- 
 served his poetry from neglect. Of his Odes, that to 
 Fancy, written when he was very young, is one that 
 least disappoints us by a want of poetic feeling. Yet 
 if we compare it with that by Collins, on the 
 Poetical Character, we shall see of how much higher 
 
 N
 
 178 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 beauty tlie same subject was capable. In tbe Ode to 
 Evening, he has again tried bis strength with Collins. 
 There are some images of rural life in it that have 
 the appearance of being drawn from nature, and 
 which therefore please. 
 
 Hail, meek-eyed maiden, clad in sober grey, 
 Whose soft approach the weary woodman loves. 
 As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes, 
 
 He jocund whistles through the twilight groves. 
 
 ****** 
 
 * * ^ ^if * * 
 
 To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair. 
 Light skims the swallow o'er the watery scene, 
 And from the sheep-cotes, and fresh-furrow'd field. 
 Stout ploughmen meet to wrestle on the green. 
 
 The swain that artless sings on yonder rock. 
 His nibbling sheej) and lengthening shadow spies ; 
 Pleased with the cool, the calm, refreshful hour. 
 And the hoarse hummings of unnumberd flies. 
 
 But these pretty stanzas are interrupted by the 
 mention of Phoebus, the Dryads, old Sylvan, and 
 Pan. The Ode to Content is in the same metre as 
 his school-fellow's Ode to Evening ; but in the num- 
 bers, it is very inferior both to that and to Mrs. 
 Barbauld's Ode to Spring. 
 
 In his Dying Indian, he has produced a few lines 
 of extraordinary force and pathos. The rest of his
 
 JOSEPH WARTON. 179 
 
 poems, in blank verse, are for the most part of an 
 
 indifferent struotm-e. 
 
 In his Translations from Virgil, he will probably 
 
 be found to excel Dryden as much in correctness, as 
 
 he falls short of him in animation and harmony. 
 
 When his Odes were first published. Gray per- 
 ceived the author to be devoid of invention, but 
 praised him for a very poetical choice of expression, 
 and for a good ear, and even thus perhaps a little 
 over-rated his powers. But our lyric poetry was not 
 then what it has since been made by Gray himself, 
 the younger Warton, Mason, Russell, and one or 
 two writers now living. 
 
 If he had enjoyed more leisure, it is probable that 
 he might have written better ; for he was solicitous 
 not to lose any distinction to be acquired by his 
 poetry ; and took care to reclaim a copy of humorous 
 verses, entitled, an Epistle from Thomas Hearne, 
 which had been attributed by mistake to his brother, 
 among whose poems it is still printed.
 
 180 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY. 
 
 An account of Christoplier Anstey, written by his 
 second son, is prefixed to the handsome edition of 
 his works, printed at London, in 1808. He was 
 born on the thirty-first of October, 1 724, and was 
 the son of Doctor Anstey, rector of Brinkley, in 
 Cambridgeshire, a Uving in the gift of St. John's 
 College, Cambridge ; of which the Doctor had for- 
 merly been fellow and tutor. His mother was Mary, 
 daughter of Anthony Thompson, Esq. of Trumping- 
 ton, in the same county. They had no offspring 
 but our poet, and a daughter born some years before 
 him. 
 
 His father was afflicted with a total deafness for 
 so considerable a portion of his life, as never to have 
 heard the sound of his son's voice ; and was thus 
 rendered incapable of communicating to him that 
 instruction which he might otherwise have derived 
 from a parent endowed with remarkable acuteness of 
 understanding. He was, therefore, sent very early to 
 school at Bury St. Edmunds. Here he continued, 
 under the tuition of the Rev. Arthur Kinsman, till 
 he was removed to Eton ; on the foundation of which 
 school he was afterwards placed. 
 
 His studies ha^iug been completed with great credit
 
 CHRISTOPHER. ANSTEY. 181 
 
 to himself, under Doctor George, the head-master of 
 Eton, hi the year 1742 he succeeded to a scholarship 
 of King's College, Cambridge, where his classical 
 attainments were not neglected. He was admitted 
 in 1 745 to a fellowship of his college ; and, in the 
 next year, he took his degree of Bachelor of Arts. 
 He now resided chiefly in the University, where his 
 resistance to an innovation, attempted to be intro- 
 duced into King's College, involved him in a dispute 
 which occasioned the degree of Master to be refused 
 him. That College had immemorially asserted for 
 its members an exemption from the performance of 
 those public exercises demanded of the rest of the 
 University as a quaUfication for their degrees. This 
 right was now questioned ; and it was required of 
 the Bachelor Fellows of King's, that they should 
 compose and pronounce a Latin oration in the public 
 schools. Such an infringement of privilege was not 
 to be tamely endured. After some opposition made by 
 Anstey, in common with the other junior Fellows, the 
 exercise in dispute was at lenth exacted. But 
 Anstey, who was the senior Bachelor of the year, 
 and to whose lot it therefore fell first to deliver this 
 obnoxious declamation, contrived to frame it in such 
 a manner, as to cast a ridicule on the whole pro- 
 ceeding. He was accordingly interrupted in the 
 recitation of it, and ordered to compose another ; 
 in which, at the same time that he pretended to ex-
 
 182 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 culpate himself from his former offence, he contimied 
 in the same vein of raillery. Though his degree was 
 withheld in consequence of this pertinacit}^, yet it 
 produced the desired effect of maintaining for the 
 College its former freedom. 
 
 While an under-graduate, he had distinguished 
 himself by his Latin verses, called the Tripos Verses ; 
 and, in 1748, by a poem, in the same language, on 
 the Peace ; printed in the Cambridge Collection. 
 
 His quarrel with the senior part of the University 
 did not deprive him of his fellowship. He was still 
 occasionally an inmate of the College, and did not 
 cease to be a Fellow, till he came into the possession 
 of the family estate at his mother's death, in 1754. 
 
 In two years after he married Anne, third daugh- 
 ter of Felix Calvert, Esq. of Albury-Hall,in Hertford- 
 shire, and the sister of John Calvert, Esq. one of his 
 most intimate friends, who was returned to that and 
 many successive Parliaments, for the borough of 
 Hertford. " By this most excellent lady," says 
 his biographer, with the amiable warmth of filial 
 tenderness, "who was allowed to posses^ every en- 
 dowment of person, and qualification of mind and 
 disposition which could render her interesting and 
 attractive in domestic life, and whom he justly re- 
 garded as the pattern of every virtue, and the source 
 of all his happiness, he lived in uninterrupted and 
 undimmished esteem and affection for nearly half a
 
 CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY. 183 
 
 century ; and by her (who for the happiness of her 
 family is still li\ing) he had thirteen children, of 
 whom eight only survive him." 
 
 This long period is little checquered with events. 
 Having no taste for public business, and his circum- 
 stances being easy and independent, he passed the 
 first fourteen years at his seat in Cambridgeshire, in an 
 alternation of study and the recreations of rural life, in 
 which he took much pleasure. But, at the end of that 
 time, the loss of his sister gave a shock to his spirits, 
 which they did not speedily recover. That she was 
 a lady of superior talents is probable, from her having 
 been admitted to a friendship and correspondence with 
 Mrs. Montague, then Miss Robinson. The effect 
 which this deprivation produced on him was such as 
 to hasten the approach, and perhaps to aggravate 
 the violence, of a bilious fever, for the cure of which 
 by Doctor Heberden's advice, he visited Bath, and by 
 the use of those waters was gradually restored to 
 health. 
 
 In 1766 he published his Bath Guide, from the 
 press of Cambridge ; a poem, wliich aiming at the 
 popular follies of the day, and being written in a very 
 lively and uncommon style, rapidly made its way to 
 the favour of the public. At its first appearance. 
 Gray, who was not easily pleased, in a letter to one 
 of his friends observed, that it was the only thing in
 
 184 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 fashion, and that it was a new and original kind of 
 humour. Soon after the pubUcation of the second 
 edition, he sold the copy -right for two hundred pounds 
 to Dodsley, and gave the profits previously accruing 
 from the work to the General Hospital at Bath. Dods- 
 ley, about ten years after his purchase, candidly 
 owned that the sale had been more productive to 
 him than that of any other book in which he had 
 before been concerned ; and with much liberality 
 restored the copy-right to the author. 
 
 In 1767 he wrote a short Elegy on the Death of 
 the Marquis of Tavistock ; and the Patriot, a Pindaric 
 Epistle, intended to bring into discredit the practice 
 of prize-fighting. 
 
 Not long after he was called to serve the office of 
 high-sheriff for the county of Cambridge. In 1770 
 he quitted his seat there for a house which he pur- 
 chased in Bath. The greater convenience of obtain- 
 ing instruction for a numerous family, the education 
 of which had hitherto been superintended by himself, 
 was one of the motives that induced him to this 
 change of habitation. 
 
 The Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers 
 appearing soon after his arrival at Bath, and being 
 by many imputed to a writer who had lately so much 
 distinguished himself by his talent for satire, he was 
 at considerable pains to disavow that publication ;
 
 CHKISTOPHER ANSTEY. 185 
 
 and by some lines containing a deserved compliment 
 to his sovereign, gave a sufficient pledge for the 
 honesty of his disclaimer. 
 
 In 1 11%, a poem entitled An Election Ball, founded 
 on a theme proposed by Lady Miller, who held a sort 
 of little poetical court at her villa at Batheaston, did 
 not disappoint the expectations formed of the author 
 of the Bath Guide. It was at first written in the 
 Somersetshire dialect, but was afterwards judiciously 
 stripped of its provincialism. 
 
 About 1 786 he entertained a design of collecting 
 his poems, and pubhshing them together. But the 
 painful recollections which this task awakened, of 
 those friends and companions of his youth who had 
 been separated from him by death during so long a 
 period, made him relinquish his intention. He com- 
 mitted, however, to the press, translations of some of 
 Gay's Fables, wliich had been made into Latin, chiefly 
 with a view to the improvement of his children ; an 
 Alcaic Ode to Doctor Jenner, on the discovery of the 
 Cowpock ; and several short poems in his own lan- 
 guage. " His increasing years," to use the words of 
 his son, " stole inperceptibly on the even tenor of his 
 life, and gradually lessened the distance of his journey 
 through it, without obscuring the serenity of the 
 prospect. Unimpeded by sickness, and unclouded 
 by sorrow, or any serious misfortune, his life was a
 
 186 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 life of temperance, of self-denial, and of moderation, 
 in all things ; and of great regularity. He rose early 
 in tlie morning, ante diem poscens chartas, and was 
 constant on horseback at his usual hour, and in all 
 seasons. His summers were uniformly passed at 
 Cheltenham, with his family, during the latter part 
 of his life ; and upon his return to Bath in the 
 autumn, he fell habitually into the same unruffled 
 scenes of domestic ease and tranquillity, rendered 
 every day more joyous and interesting to him by the 
 increase of his family circle, and the enlargement of 
 his hospitable table ; and by many circumstances and 
 occurrences connected with the welfare of his children, 
 which gave him infinite dehght and satisfaction." 
 
 At the beginning of 1 805, he experienced a sudden 
 and general failure of his bodily faculties, and a corres- 
 pondent depressure of mind. The little confidence he 
 placed in the power of medicine made him reluctantly 
 comply with the wishes of his friends, that he should 
 take the opinion of Doctor Haygarth. Yet he was not 
 without hope of alleviation to his complaints from 
 change of air ; and, therefore, removed from Bath to 
 the house of his son-in-law, Mr. Bosanquet, in Wilt- 
 shire. Here having at first revived a little, he soon 
 relapsed, and declining gradually, expired in the 
 eighty-first year of his age, without apparent suffer- 
 ing, in the possession of his intellectual powers, and.
 
 CHKISTOPHEE ANSTEY. 18? 
 
 according to the tender wish of Pindar for one of 
 his patrons — 
 
 VLUiv, ■^av/xi, Trapiora/itVwv, 
 
 in the midst of his children. 
 
 He was buried in the parish church of Walcot, in 
 the city of Bath, in the same vault with his fourth 
 daughter the wife of Rear- Admiral Sotheby, and her 
 two infant children. 
 
 A cenotaph has been erected to his memory among 
 
 the poets of liis country in Westminster Abbey, by 
 
 his eldest son, the Rev. Christopher Anstey, with the 
 
 following inscription : — 
 
 M.S. 
 
 Christopheri Anstey, Arm. 
 
 Alumni Etonensis, 
 
 Et Collegii Regalis apud Cantabrigienses olim Socii, 
 
 Poetse, 
 
 Literis eleg'antioribus adprime ornati, 
 
 Et inter principes Poetarum, 
 
 Qui in eodem genere floruerunt, 
 
 Sedem eximiam tenentis. 
 
 lUe annum circiter 
 
 MDCCLXX. 
 
 Rus suum in agro Cantabrigiensi 
 
 Mutavit Bathonia, 
 
 Quem locum ei prseter omne dudum arrisisse 
 
 Testis est, celeberrimum illud Poema, 
 
 Titulo inde ducto insignitum : 
 
 Ibi deinceps sex et triginta annos commoratus, 
 
 Obiit A.D. MDCCCV. 
 
 Et setatis su8e 
 
 Octogesimo primo.
 
 188 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 To this there is an encomium added, which its pro- 
 Uxity hinders me from inserting. 
 
 A painter and a poet were, perhaps, never more 
 similar to each other in their talents than the con- 
 temporaries Bunbury and Anstey. There is in both 
 an admirable power of seizing the ludicrous and the 
 grotesque in their descriptions of persons and inci- 
 dents in famiUar life ; and this accompanied by an 
 elegance which might have seemed scarcely com- 
 patible with that power. There is in both an absence 
 of any extraordinary elevation or vigour ; which we 
 do not regret, because we can hardly conceive but 
 that they would be less pleasing if they were in any 
 respect different from what they are. Each possesses 
 a perfect facihty and command over his own peculiar 
 manner, which has secured him from having any 
 successful imitator. Yet as they were both employed 
 in representing the fortuitous and transient follies, 
 which the face of society had put on in their own day, 
 rather than in portraying the broader and more per- 
 manent distinctions of character and manners, it may 
 be questioned whether they can be much rehshed out 
 of their own country, and whether even there, the 
 effect must not be weakened as fatuity and absurdity 
 shall discover new methods of fastening ridicule upon 
 themselves. They border more nearly on farce than 
 comedy. They have neither of them any thing of 
 fancy, that power which can give a new and higher
 
 CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY. 189 
 
 interest to the laughable itself, by mingling it with 
 the marvellous, and which has placed Aristophanes 
 so far above all his followers. 
 
 When Anstey ventures out of his own walk, he does 
 not succeed so well. It is strange that he should 
 have attempted a paraphrase of St. Paul's eulogium 
 on Charity, after the same task had been so ably 
 executed by Prior. If there is anything, however, 
 that will bear repetition, in a variety of forms, it is 
 that passage of scripture ; and his verses though not 
 equal to Prior's, may still be read with pleasure. 
 
 The Farmer's Daughter is a plain and aflfecting 
 
 tale. 
 
 His Latin verses might well have been spared. In 
 the translation of Gray's Elegy there is a more than 
 usual crampness ; occasioned, perhaps, by his having 
 rendered into hexameters the stanzas of four hues, 
 to which the elegiac measure of the Romans would 
 have been better suited. The Epistola Poetica Fa- 
 miharis, addressed to his friend Mr. Bamfylde, has 
 more freedom. His scholarship did him better ser- 
 vice when it suggested to him passages in the poets 
 of antiquity, which he has parodied with singular 
 happiness. Such is that imitated in one of Simkin's 
 Letters : 
 
 Do the gods such a noble ambition inspire 1 
 Or a god do we make of each ardent desire 1
 
 190 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 from Virgil's 
 
 Dine hunc ardorem mentibus addunt, 
 Euryale ? an sua cuique deus fit dira cupido ? 
 
 a parody that is not the less diverting, from its hav- 
 ing been before gravely made by Tasso : 
 
 O dio I'inspira, 
 O I'uom del suo voler suo dio si face. 
 
 On the whole, he has the rare merit of having 
 discovered a mode of entertaining his readers, which 
 belongs exclusively to himself. 
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 
 
 It is to be regretted that no one of Mason's 
 friends has thought fit to pay the same tribute of re- 
 spect to his memory, which he had himself paid to 
 that of his two poetical friends. Gray and ^Tiitehead. 
 In this dearth of authentic biography, we must be 
 contented with such information concerning him, as 
 either his own writings, or the incidental mention 
 made of him by others, will furnish. 
 
 "William Mason was born on the 23rd of February, 
 1 725, at Hull, where his father, who was vicar of St. 
 Trinity, resided. Whether he had any other precep- 
 tor in boyhood, except his parent, is not known.
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 191 
 
 That this parent was a man of no common attain- 
 ments, appears from a poem which his son addressed 
 to him when he had attained his twenty-first year, and 
 in which he acknowledged with gratitude the instruc- 
 tions he had received from him in the arts of paint- 
 ing, poetry, and music. In 1742, he was admitted 
 of St. John's College, Cambridge ; and there, in 
 1744, the year in which Pope died, he wrote Mu- 
 sseus, a monody on that poet ; and II Bellicoso and 
 II Pacifico, a very juvenile imitation, as he properly 
 calls it, of the Allegro and Penseroso. In 1745, he 
 took his degree of Bachelor of Arts ; and in the en- 
 suing year, with a heavy heart, and with some fear 
 lest he should grow old 'in northern clime,' bade 
 farewell to Granta in an Ode, which commemorates 
 the virtues of his tutor. Dr. Powell. He soon, how- 
 ever, returned; by his father's permission visited 
 London ; and removing from St. John's College to 
 Pembroke Hall, was miexpectedly nominated Fellow 
 of that society in 1747, when by the advice of Dr. 
 Powell, he pubhshed Musseus. His fourth Ode ex- 
 presses his delight at the prospect of being restored 
 to the banks of the Cam. In a letter to a friend 
 written this year, he boasts that his poem had al- 
 ready passed through three impressions. At the 
 same time, he wrote his Ode to a Water Nymph, not 
 without some fancy and elegance, in which his pas- 
 sion for the new style of gardening first shewed
 
 192 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 itself; as his political bias did the year after in Isis, 
 a poem levelled against the supposed Toryism of Ox- 
 ford, and chiefly valuable for having called forth the 
 Triumph of Isis, by Thomas Warton. To this he 
 prefixed an advertisement, declaring that it would 
 never have appeared in print, had not an interpolated 
 copy, published in a country newspaper, scandalously 
 misrepresented the principles of the author. Now 
 commenced his intimacy with Gray, who was rather 
 more than eight years his senior, a disparity which, 
 at that period of life, is apt to prevent men at college 
 from uniting very closely. His friend described him 
 to Dr. Wharton as having much fancy, httle judg- 
 ment, and a good deal of modesty. " I take him," 
 continued Gray, " for a good and well-meaning crea- 
 ture ; but then he is really in simplicity a child, and 
 loves every body he meets with : he reads little or 
 nothing, writes abundance, and that with a design to 
 make his fortune by it." On reviewing this cha- 
 racter of himself twenty-five years after, he confessed, 
 what cannot be matter of surprise, that this interval 
 had made a considerable abatement in his general 
 philanthropy ; but denied having looked for more 
 emolument from his pubUcations than a few guineas 
 to take him to a play or an opera. Gray's next re- 
 port of him, after a year's farther acquaintance, is, 
 that he grows apace into his good graces, as he 
 knows him more ; that "he is very ingenious, with
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 193 
 
 great good nature and simplicity; a little vain, but 
 iu so harmless and so comical a way, that it does not 
 offend one at all ; a little ambitious, but withal so 
 ignorant in the world and its ways, that this does 
 not hurt him in one's opinion; so sincere and so 
 midisguiscd, that no mind with a spark of generosity 
 would ever think of hurting him, he lies so open to 
 injury ; but so indolent, that if he cannot overcome 
 this habit, all his good qualities will signify nothing 
 at all." At this time, he published an Ode on the 
 Installation of the Duke of Newcastle, which his 
 friend, who was a laughing spectator of the cere- 
 mony, considers " the only entertainment that had 
 any tolerable elegance," and thinks it, "with some 
 little abatements, uncommonly well on such an occa- 
 sion :" it was, however, very inferior to that which 
 he himself composed when the Duke of Grafton was 
 installed. 
 
 His next production (in 1751) was Elfrida, written 
 on the model of the ancient Greek Tragedy ; a deli- 
 cate exotic, not made to thrive in our " cold septen- 
 trion blasts," and which, when it was long after 
 transferred to the theatre by Colman, was unable to 
 endure the rough aspect of a British audience. The 
 poet complained of some trimming and altering that 
 had been thought requisite by the manager on the 
 occasion ; and Colman, it is said, in return, threa- 
 tened him with a chorus of Grecian washerwomen. 
 

 
 194 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Matters were no better when Mason himself under- 
 took to prepare it for the stage. 
 
 In 1752, we find him recommended to Lord Rock- 
 ingham, by Mr. Charles Yorke, who thought him, 
 said Warburton, likely to attach that Lord's hking 
 to him, as he was a young nobleman of elegance, and 
 loved painting and music. In the following year he 
 lost his father, in the disposition of whose affairs he 
 was less considered than he thought himself entitled 
 to expect. What the reason for this partiality was, 
 it would be vain to conjecture ; nor have we any 
 means of knowing whether the disappointment deter- 
 mined him to the choice of a profession which he 
 made soon after (in 1754), when he entered into the 
 church. From the following passage, in a letter of 
 Warburton' s, it appears that the step was not taken 
 without some hesitation. "Mr. Mason has called 
 on me. I found him yet unresolved whether he 
 would take the living. I said, was the question 
 about a mere secular employment, I should blame 
 him without reserve if he refused the offer. But as 
 I regarded going into orders in another Ught, I 
 frankly owned to him he ought not to go unless he 
 had a call ; by which I meant, I told him, nothing 
 fanatical or superstitious, but an inclination, and on 
 that a resolution, to dedicate all his studies to the 
 science of religion, and totally to abandon his poetry : 
 he entu'ely agreed with me in thinking that decency.
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 195 
 
 reputation, and religion, all required this sacrifice of 
 him, and that if he went into orders he intended to 
 give it." This was surely an absurd squeamishness 
 in one of the same profession, as Warburton was, 
 who had begun his career by translations in prose 
 and verse from Latin writers, had then mingled in 
 the literary cabals of the day, and afterwards did not 
 think his time misemployed in editing and comment- 
 ing on Shakspeare and Pope. Yet he was unrea- 
 sonable enough to continue his expectations that 
 Mason should do what he had, without any apparent 
 compunction, omitted to do himself; for after speak- 
 ing of Brown, the unfortunate author of Barbarossa, 
 who was also an ecclesiastic, he adds : " How much 
 shall I honour one, who has a stronger propensity to 
 poetry, and has got a greater name in it, if he per- 
 forms his promise to me of putting away these idle 
 baggages after liis sacred espousal." After all, this 
 proved to be one of the vows at which Jove laughs. 
 The sacred espousal did not lessen his devotion to 
 the idle baggages ; and it is very doubtful whether 
 he discharged his duties as King's Chaplain or Rector 
 of Aston (for both which appointments he was in- 
 debted to the kindness of Lord Holdernesse) at all 
 the worse for this attachment, which he was indeed 
 barefaced enough to avow two years after by the 
 publication of some of his odes. At his Rectory of 
 Aston, in Yorkshire, he continued to live for great
 
 196 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 part of his remaining life, with occasional absences 
 in the metropolis, at Cambridge, or at York, where 
 he was made Precentor and Canon of the Cathedral, 
 and where his residence was therefore sometimes re- 
 quired. I have not learnt whether he had any 
 other preferment. Hurd, in a letter written in 1/68, 
 mentions that the death of a Dr. Atwell threw a good 
 lining into his hands. Be this as it might, he was 
 rich enough, and had an annual income of about 
 fifteen hundred nounds at his death. Lord Orford 
 says of him somewhere in his letters, that he intended 
 to have refused a bishopric if it had been offered him. 
 He might have spared himself the pains of coming 
 to this resolution ; for mitres, " though they fell on 
 many a critic's head," and on that of his friend 
 Hurd among the rest, did not seem adapted to the 
 brows of a poet. When the death of Cibber had 
 made the laurel vacant, he was informed that " being 
 in orders he was thought merely on that account less 
 eligible for the office than a layman." " A reason," 
 said he, " so politely put, I was glad to hear assigned; 
 and if I had thought it a weak one, they who know 
 me will readily believe that I am the last man in the 
 world who would have attempted to controvert it." 
 Of the laurel, he probably was not more ambitious 
 than of the mitre ; though he was still so obstinate 
 as to beheve that he might unite the characters of a 
 clerk and a poet, to which he would fain have super-
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 197 
 
 added that of a statist also. Caractacus, another tra- 
 gedy on the ancient plan, but which made a better 
 figure on the stage, appeared in 1759 ; and in 1762, 
 three elegies. In 1769, Harris heard him preach at 
 St. James's early prayers, and give a fling at the 
 French for the invasion of Corsica. Thus politics, 
 added his hearer, have entered the sanctuary. The 
 sermon is the sixth in his printed collection. A fling 
 at the French was at all times a favourite topic with 
 ■him. In the discourse deUvered before George III. 
 on the Sunday preceding his Coronation, he has 
 stretched the text a little that he may take occasion 
 to descant on the blessings of civil liberty, and has 
 quoted Montesquieu's opinion of the British Govern- 
 ment. In praising our religious toleration, he is 
 careful to justify our exception of the church of Rome 
 from the general indulgence. Nor was it in the 
 pulpit only that he acted the politician. He was 
 one of those, as we are told in the Biographical Dic- 
 tionary, who thought the decision of Parhament on 
 the Middlesex election a violation of the rights of 
 the people ; and when the counties began, in 1779, 
 to associate for parliamentary reform, he took an 
 active part in assisting their dehberations, and wrote 
 several patriotic manifestos. In the same year ap- 
 peared his Ode to the Naval Officers of Great Bri- 
 tain, on the trial of Admiral Keppel, in which the 
 poetry is strangled by the politics. His harp was in 
 better tune, when, in 1 782, an Ode to Mr. Pitt de-
 
 198 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 clared the hopes he had conceived of the son of 
 Chatham ; for, hke many others, who espoused the 
 cause of freedom, he had ranged himself among the 
 partisans of the youthful statesman, who was then 
 doing all he could to persuade others, as he had no 
 doubt persuaded himself, that he was one of the 
 number. 
 
 In the mean time Gray, who, if he had Hved longer, 
 might, perhaps, have restrained him from mixing in 
 this turmoil, was no more. The office which he per- 
 formed of biographer, or rather of editor, for his 
 deceased friend, has given us one of the most delightful 
 books in its kind that our language can boast. It is 
 just that this acknowledgment should be made to 
 Mason, although Mr. Mathias has recently added 
 many others of Gray's most valuable papers, which 
 his former editor was scarcely scholar enough to esti- 
 mate as they deserved ; and Mr. Mitford has shewn 
 us, that some omissions, and perhaps some alterations, 
 were unnecessarily made by him in the letters them- 
 selves. As to the task which the latter of these gen- 
 tlemen imposed on himself, few will think that every 
 passage which he has admitted, though there be 
 nothing in any to detract from the real worth of 
 Gray, coidd have been made public consistently with 
 those sacred feelings of regard for his memory, by 
 which the mind of Mason was impressed, and that 
 reluctance which he must have had to conquer, before 
 he resolved on the pubUcation at all. The following
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 199 
 
 extract from a letter, written by the Rev. Edward 
 Jones, brings us into the presence of Mason, and 
 almost to an acquaintance with his thoughts at this 
 time, and on this occasion. " Being at York in Sep- 
 tember 1771," (Gray died on the thirtieth of July 
 preceding), " I was introduced to Mr. Mason, then 
 in residence. On my first visit, he was sitting in an 
 attitude of much attention to a drawing, pinned up 
 near the fire-place ; and another gentleman, whom I 
 afterwards found to be a Mr. Varlet, a miniature 
 painter, who has since settled at Bath, had e\'idently 
 been in conversation vdth him about it. My friend 
 begged leave to ask whom it was intended to repre- 
 sent. Mr. INIason hesitated, and looked earnestly at 
 Mr. Varlet. I could not resist (though I instantly 
 felt a wish to have been silent) saying, surely from 
 the strong likeness it must be the late Mr. Gray. 
 Mr. Mason at once certainly forgave the intrusion, 
 by asking my opinion as to his fears of having cari- 
 catured his poor friend. The features were certainly 
 softened down, preiiously to the engraving,"* — Ni- 
 chols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. ix. p. 718. 
 
 * It is said, that the best likeness of Gray is to be 
 found in tlie figure of Scipio, in an engraving for the 
 edition of Gil Bias, printed at Amsterdam, 1735, vol. iv. 
 p. 94. — See Mr. Mitford's Gray, vol. i. Ixxxi. A copy 
 of this figure would be acceptable to many of Gray's 
 admirers.
 
 200 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 la the next year, 1/72, appeared the first book of 
 the English Garden, The other three followed sepa- 
 rately in 1 111, 1 779, and 1 782. The very title of this 
 poem was enough to induce a suspicion, that the art 
 which it taught (if art it can be called) was not 
 foimded on general and permanent principles. It 
 was rather a mode which the taste of the time and 
 country had rendered prevalent, and which the love 
 of novelty is already supplanting. In the neighbovtr- 
 hood of those buildings which man constructs for use 
 or magnificence, there is no reason why he should 
 prefer irregularity to order, or dispose his paths in 
 curved lines, rather than in straight. Homer, when he 
 describes the cavern of Calypso, covers it with a vine, 
 and scatters the alder, the poplar, and the cypress, 
 without any symmetry about it ; but near the palace 
 of Alcinous he lays out the garden by the rule and 
 compass. Our first parents in Paradise, are placed 
 by Milton amidst 
 
 A happy rural seat of various view ; 
 
 but let the same poet represent himself in his pen- 
 sive or his cheerful moods, and he is at one time 
 walking "by hedge-row elms on hillocks green ;" and 
 at another, " in trim gardens." When we are willing 
 to escape from the tedium of uniformity, nature and 
 accident supply numberless varieties, which we shall 
 for the most part vainly strive to heighten and im-
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 201 
 
 prove. It is too much to say, that we will use the 
 face of the country as the painter does his canyas ; 
 
 Take thy plastic spade, 
 It is thy pencil ; take thy seeds, thy plants, 
 They are thy colours. 
 
 The analogy can scarcely hold farther than in a 
 parterre ; and even there very imperfectly. Mason 
 could not hear to see his own system pushed to that 
 excess into which it naturally led ; and bitterly re- 
 sented the attempts made by the advocates of the 
 picturesque, to introduce into his landscapes more fac- 
 titious wildness than he intended. 
 
 In 1783 he published a Translation from the 
 Latin of Du Fresnoy's Art of Painting, in which the 
 precepts are more capable of being reduced to prac- 
 tice. He had undertaken the task when young, 
 partly as an exercise in versification, and partly to 
 fix on his mind the principles of an art in which he 
 had himself some skill. Sir Joshua Reynolds, hav- 
 ing desired to see it, added some notes, and induced 
 him to revise and publish it. The artist found in it 
 the theory of ideal beauty, which had been taught 
 him by Zachary Mudge, from the writings of Plato, 
 and which enabled him to rise above the mere me- 
 chanism of his predecessors. That Mason's version 
 surpasses the original, is not saying much in its 
 praise. In some prefatory lines addressed to Rey-
 
 202 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 nolds, he has described the character of Dryden with 
 much happiness. 
 
 The last poem which he published separately, was 
 a Secular Ode on the Revolution in 1688. It was 
 formal and vapid ; but sufficed to shew that time, 
 - though it had checked " the lyric rapture," had left 
 him his ardour in the cause of freedom. Like the 
 two leaders of the opposite parties, Pitt and Fox, he 
 hailed with glad voice the dawn of French Uberty. 
 It was only for the gifted eye of Burke to foresee the 
 storm that was impending. 
 
 At the same time he recommended the cause of the 
 enslaved Negroes from the pulpit. The abolition of 
 the slave trade was oue of the few political subjects, 
 the introduction of which seemed to be allowable in 
 that place. In 1 788, appeared also his Memoirs of 
 William Whitehead, attached to the posthumous 
 works of that writer ; a piece of biography, as little to- 
 be compared in interest to the former, as Whitehead 
 himself can be compared to Gray. 
 
 His old age glided on in solitude and peace amid 
 his favourite piirsuits, at his rectory of Aston, where 
 he had taught his two acres of garden to command 
 the inequalities of " hill and dale," and to combine 
 " use with beauty." The sonnet in which he dedi- 
 cated his poems to his patron, the Earl of Holder- 
 nesse, describes in his best manner the happiness he 
 enjoyed in this retreat. He was not long permitted
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 203 
 
 to add to his other pleasures the comforts of a con- 
 nubial life. In 1765 he had married Mary, daughter 
 of William Shermon, Esq., of Kingston-upon-HuU, 
 who in two years left him a widower„ Her epitaph 
 is one of those little poems to which we can always 
 return with a melancholy pleasure. I have heard 
 that this lady had so little regard for the art in which 
 her husband excelled, that on his presenting her with 
 a copy of verses, after the wedding was over, she 
 crumpled them up and put them into her pocket 
 unread. When he had entered his seventieth year, 
 Hurd, who had been his first friend, and the faithful 
 monitor of his studies from youth, confined him " to 
 a somiet once a year, or so ;" warning him, that 
 "age, like infancy, should forbear to play with 
 pointed tools." He had more latitude allowed in 
 prose ; for in 1 795 he published Essays, Historical 
 and Critical, on English Church Music. In the 
 former part of his subject, he is said, by those who 
 have the best means of knowing, to be well informed 
 and accurate ; but in the latter to err on the side of 
 a dry simplicity, which, in the present refined state 
 of the art, it would not answer any good purpose to 
 introduce into the music of our churches. In speak- 
 ing of a wind instrument, which William of Malms- 
 bury seems to describe as being acted on by the 
 vapour arising from hot water, he has imfortunately 
 gone out of his way to ridicule the projected inven-
 
 204 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 tion of the steam-boat by Lord Stanhope. The 
 atrocities committed during the fury of the French 
 Revolution had so entirely cured him of his predi- 
 lection for the popular part of oiir Government, that 
 he could not resist the opportunity, however ill-timed, 
 of casting a slur on this nobleman, who was accused 
 of being over-partial to it. In the third Essay, on 
 Parochial Psalmody, he gives the preference to 
 Merrick's weak and affected version over the two 
 other translations that are used in our churches. 
 The late Bishop Horsley, in his Commentary on the 
 Psalms, was, I believe, the first who was hardy 
 enough to claim that palm for Stemhold, to which, 
 with all its awkwardness, his rude vigour entitles 
 him. 
 
 When he comes to speak of Christianizing our 
 hymns, the apprehension which he expresses of de- 
 viating from the present practice of our establish- 
 ment, seems to have restrained him from saying 
 something which he would otherwise have said. The 
 question surely is not so much, what the practice of 
 our present establishment is, as what that of the 
 first Christians was. There is, perhaps, no altera- 
 tion in our service that could be made with better 
 effect than this, provided it were made with as great 
 caution as its importance demands. 
 
 His death, which was at last sudden, was caused 
 by a hurt on his shin, that happened when he was
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 205 
 
 stepping ovit of liis carriage. On the Sunday (two 
 days after) he felt so httle inconvenience from the 
 accident, as to officiate in his church at Aston. 
 But on the next Wednesday, the 7th of April, 1/97, 
 a rapid mortification brought him to his grave. His 
 monument, of which Bacon was the sculptor, is 
 placed in Westminster Abbey, near that of Gray, with 
 the following inscription ; — 
 
 Optimo Viro 
 
 Gulielmo Mason, A.M. 
 
 Poetse, 
 
 Si quis alius 
 
 Culto, Casto, Pio 
 
 Sacrum. 
 
 Ob. 7. Apr. 1797. 
 
 iEt. 72. 
 
 Mason is reported to have been ugly ip his person. 
 His portrait by Reynolds gives to features, ill-formed 
 and gross, an expression of intelligence and benignity. 
 In the latter part of life, his character appears to 
 have undergone a greater change, from its primitive 
 openness and good nature, than mere time and expe- 
 rience of the world should have wrought in it. Per- 
 haps this was nothing more than a slight perversion 
 which he had contracted in the school of Warburton. 
 What was a coarse arrogance in the master himself, 
 assumed the form of nicety and superciliousness in 
 the less confident and better regulated tempers of
 
 206 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Mason and Hurd. His harmless vanity cleaved to 
 him longer. As a proof of this, it is related that, 
 several years after the publication of Isis, when he 
 was travelling through Oxford, and happened to pass 
 over Magdalen Bridge at a late hour of the evening, he 
 turned round to a friend who was riding with him, 
 and remarked that it was luckily grown dusk, for 
 they should enter the University unobserved. When 
 his friend, with some surprise inquired into the rea- 
 son of this caution : WTiat, (said he) do you not 
 remember my Isis ? 
 
 He was very sensible to the annoyance of the 
 periodical critics, which Gray was too philosophical 
 or too proud to regard otherwise than as matter of 
 amusement. He was the butt for a long line of 
 satirists or lampooners. Churchill, Lloyd, Colman, the 
 author of the Probationary Odes, and, if I remember 
 right, Paul Whitehead and Wolcot, all levelled their 
 shafts at him in turn. In the Probationary Odes, his 
 pecuKarities were well caught : when the wTiter of these 
 pages repeated some of the lines in which he was 
 imitated to Anna Seward, whose admiration of Mason 
 is recorded in her letters, she observed, that what 
 was meant for a burlesque was in itself excellent. 
 There is reason to suppose that he sometimes in- 
 dulged himself in the same license under which he 
 suffered from others. If he was indeed the author of 
 the Heroic Epistle to Sir AYilliam Chambers, and of
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 207 
 
 some other anonymous satires which have been im- 
 puted to him, he must have felt Hayley's intended 
 compUment as a severe reproach : 
 
 Sublimer Mason ! not to thee belong 
 The reptile beauties of invenom'd song. 
 
 Of the Epistle, when it was remarked, in the hear- 
 ing of Thomas "Warton, that it had more energy than 
 could have been expected from Walpole, to whom 
 others ascribed it, Warton remarked that it might 
 have been written by Walpole, and buckramed by 
 Mason. Indeed, it is not unUkely that one supplied 
 the venom, and the other spotted the snake. In 
 a letter of expostulation to Warton, Mason did not go 
 the length of disclaiming the satire, though he was 
 angry enough that it should be laid at his door. I 
 have heard that he received with much apathy the 
 praises offered him by Hayley, in the Essay on Epic 
 Poetry. He has remarked, " that if rhyme does not 
 condense the sense, which passes through its vehicle, 
 it ceases to be good, either as verse or rhyme."* 
 This rule is laid down too broadly. His ot\ti practice 
 was not always consonant with it, as Hayley's never 
 was. With Dar^nn's poetrj^ it is said that he was 
 much pleased. 
 
 * Essays on English Church Music, Mason's Works, 
 vol. iii. p. 370.
 
 208 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 His way of composing, as we learn from Gray's 
 remarks upon his poems, was to cast down his first 
 thoughts carelessly, and at large, and then clip them 
 here and there at leisure. " This method," as his 
 friend observed, "will leave behind it a laxity, a 
 diffuseness. The force of a thought (otherwise well- 
 invented, well-turned, and well-placed) is often weak- 
 ened by it." He might have added, that it is apt to 
 give to poetry the air of declamation. 
 
 Mason wished to join what he considered the cor- 
 rectness of Pope with the high imaginative power of 
 Milton, and the lavish colouring of Spenser. In the 
 attempt to xmite quahties so heterogeneous, the effect 
 of each is in a great measure lost, and httle better 
 than a caput mortuum remains. "With all his praises 
 of simplicity, he is generally much afraid of saying 
 any thing in a plain and natural manner. He often 
 expresses the commonest thoughts in a studied peri- 
 phrasis. He is hke a man, who being admitted into 
 better company than his birth and education have 
 fitted him for, is under continual apprehension, lest 
 his attitude and motions should betray his origin. 
 Even his neghgence is studied. His muse resembles 
 the Prioresse in Chaucer, 
 
 That pained her to counterfete chere, 
 Of court and be stateliche of manere, 
 And to been holden digne of reverence. 
 
 Yet there were happier moments in which he de-
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 209 
 
 livered himself up to the ruhug inspiration. So it 
 was when he composed the choruses in the Caracta- 
 cus, beginning, 
 
 Mona on Snowdon calls — 
 
 Hail, thou harp of Phryg-ian frame — 
 
 and 
 
 Hark! heard ye not yon footstep dread — 
 
 of which it is scarcely too much to say that in some 
 parts they remind us of the ancient tragedians. 
 
 In each of his two Tragedies, the incidents are 
 conducted with so much skill, and there is so much 
 power of moving the affections, that one is tempted 
 to wish he had pursued this hue, though he perhaps 
 would never have done any thing much better in it. 
 One great fault is, that the dramatis personse are too 
 much employed in pointing out the Claudes and Sal- 
 vator Rosas, with which they are surrounded. They 
 seem to want nothing but long poles in their hands 
 to make them very good conductors over a gallery of 
 pictures. When Earl Orgar, on seeing the habitation 
 of his daughter, begins — 
 
 How nobly does this venerable wood, 
 Gilt with the glories of the orient sun, 
 Embosom yon fair mansion ! The soft air 
 Salutes me with most cool and temperate breath 
 And, as I tread, the flower-besprinkled lawn 
 Sends up a cloud of frag'ance — 
 
 P
 
 210 LIVES OP ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 and Aulus Didius opens the other play with a de- 
 scription somewhat more appropriate : 
 
 This is the secret centre of the isle : 
 
 Here, Eomans, pause, and let the eye of wonder 
 
 Gaze on the solemn scene ; behold yon oak, 
 
 How stern he frowns, and with his broad brown arms 
 
 Chills the pale plain beneath him : mark yon altar, 
 
 The dark stream brawling round its rug'g'ed base, 
 
 These cliiFs, these yawning caverns, this wide circus, 
 
 Skirted with unhewn stone : they awe my soul, 
 
 As if the very genius of the place 
 
 Himself appear'd, and with terrific tread 
 
 Stalk'd through his drear domain— 
 
 we could fancy that both these personages had come 
 fresh from the study of the English garden. The 
 distresses of Elfrida, and the heroism of Caractacus, 
 are in danger of becoming objects of secondary con- 
 sideration, while we are admiring the shades of Hare- 
 wood, and the rocks of Mona. He has attempted to 
 shelter himself under the authority of Sophocles ; 
 but though there are some exquisite touches of land- 
 scape-painting in that drama, the poet has introduced 
 them Avith a much more sparing hand. It is said 
 that Hurd pruned away a great deal more luxuriance 
 of this kind, with which the first draught of the 
 Elfrida was overrun ; and we learn from Gray, in 
 his admirable letter of criticism on the Caractacus, 
 that the opening of that tragedy was, as it at first
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 211 
 
 stood, even much more objectionable than at present. 
 Such descriptions are better suited to the Masque, 
 a species of drama founded on some wild and ro- 
 mantic adventure, and of which the interest does 
 not depend on the manners or the passions. It is 
 therefore more in its place in Argentile and Curan, 
 which he calls a legendary drama, written on the old 
 English model. He composed it after the other two, 
 and during the short time that his wife lived ; but, 
 like several of his poems, it was not published till 
 the year of his decease. The beginning promises 
 well : and the language of our old writers is at first 
 tolerably well imitated. There is afterwards too 
 much trick and too many prettinesses ; such is that 
 of the nosegay which the princess finds, and con- 
 cludes from its tasteful arrangement to be the work 
 of princely fingers. The subordinate parts, of the 
 Falconer, and Ralph, his deputy, are not sustained 
 according to the author's first conception of them. 
 The story is well put together. He has, perhaps, 
 nothing else that is equal in expression to the fol- 
 lowing passage. 
 
 Thou know'st, when we did quit our anchor'd barks, 
 
 We cross'd a jjleasant valley ; rather say 
 
 A nest of sister vales, o'erhung with hills 
 
 Of varied form and foliage ; every vale 
 
 Had its own proper brook, the which it hugg'd 
 
 In is green breast, as if it fear'd to lose
 
 212 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 The treasur'd crystal. You might mark the course 
 Of these cool rills more by the ear than eye, 
 For, thoug-h they oft would to the sun unfold 
 Their silver as they past, 'twas quickly lost ; 
 But ever did they murmur. On the verge 
 Of one of these clear streams, there stood a cell 
 O'ergTown with moss and ivy ; near to which, 
 On a fall'n trunk, that bridged the little brook 
 A hermit sat. Of him we ask'd the name 
 Of this sweet valley, and he call'd it Hakeness. 
 
 {Argentile and Curan, A. 1.) 
 
 In two lines more, we are unluckily reminded that 
 this is no living landscape. 
 
 Thither, my Sewold, go, or pitch thy tent 
 Near to thy ships, for they are near the scene. 
 
 Since the time of Mason, this rage for describing 
 what is called scenery (and scenery indeed it often 
 is, having little of nature in it) has infected many of 
 our play-writers and novelists. 
 
 Argentile' s intention of raising a rustic monument 
 to the memory of his father, is taken from Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 This grove my sighs shall consecrate ; in shape 
 Of some fair tomb, here will I heap the turf 
 And call it Adelbright's. Yon aged yew. 
 Whose rifted trunk, rough bark, and gnarled roots 
 Give solemn proof of its high ancientry,
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 213 
 
 Shall canopy the shrine. There's not a flower, 
 That hangs the dewy head, and seems to weep, 
 As pallid blue-hells, crow-tyes and marsh lilies. 
 But I'll plant here, and if they chance to wither, 
 My tears shall water them ; there's not a bird 
 That trails a sad soft note, as ringdoves do, 
 Or twitters painfully like the dun martlet, 
 But I will lure by my best art, to roost 
 And plain them in these branches. Larks and finches 
 Will I fright hence, nor aught shall dare approach 
 This pensive spot, save solitary things 
 That love to mourn as I do. 
 
 How cold and lifeless are these pretty lines, when 
 compared to the " wench-like words," of the young 
 princes, which suggested them. 
 
 If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed 
 With female fairies will his tomb be haunted. 
 And worms will not come to thee. 
 
 Arv. With fairest flow'rs, 
 Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
 The azured hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock would 
 With charitable bill (O bill, fore-shaming 
 The rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument!) bring thee all this ; 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none. 
 To winter-ground thy corse.
 
 214 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Tliis is grief, seeking to relieve and forget itself in 
 fiction and fancy ; the other, though the occasion 
 required an expression of deeper sorrow, is a mere 
 pomp of feeling. 
 
 His blank verse in the English Garden has not 
 the majesty of Akenside, the sweetness of Dyer, or 
 the terseness of Armstrong. Its characteristic is 
 delicacy ; but it is a delicacy approaching nearer to 
 weakness than to grace. It has more resemblance 
 to the rill that trickles over its fretted channel, than 
 to the stream that winds with a full tide, and " war- 
 bles as it flows." The practice of cutting it into 
 dialogue had perhaps crippled him. As he has made 
 the characters in his plays too attentive to the deco- 
 rations of the scene-painter, so in the last book of 
 the English Garden he has turned his landscape into 
 a theatre, for the representation of a play. The story 
 of Nerina is too long and too comphcated for an 
 episode in a didactic poem. He will seldom bear to 
 be confronted with those writers whom he is found 
 either by accident or design to resemble. His pic- 
 ture of the callow young in a bird's-nest is, I think, 
 with some alteration, copied from Statins. 
 
 Her young meanwhile 
 
 Callow and cold, from their moss-woven nest 
 Peep forth ; they stretch their little eager throats 
 Broad to the wind, and plead to the lone spray 
 Their famish'd plaint importunately shrill. 
 
 [English Garden, b. 3.)
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 215 
 
 Volucrum sic turba recentum, 
 
 Cum reducem long'o prospexit in sethere matrem, 
 Ire cupit contra, summaque e margine nidi 
 Extat Mans ; jam jam que cadat ni pectore toto 
 Obstet aperta parens et amantibus increpet alis. 
 
 {Theh. lib. x. 458.) 
 
 Oppian's imitation of this is happier. 
 
 i2c h'oTTOT aTrrijviaai (pipei (ioaiv S'opraXi-^OLdi 
 Mr]rr)p, eiapivi) Ze<pvpov irpwrayytkoQ opvig, 
 O'l S'a.Trakuy rpvi^oyreg e^iSrpuxrKOvcri KaXirj, 
 FrjSrotTvyui Trepl firjrpl, Kai IfxtipovTiQ idowriQ 
 l^EiKoQ ava-KTvaaovaiv' dirav h'ttrl ^w/xa XiXriKEV 
 AvBpoQ ^£ivo^6y(oio Xiya nXdiiovai veoaaoiQ. 
 
 (Halieut. 1. iii. 248.) 
 
 Hurcl, in the letter he addressed to him on the 
 Marks of Imitation, obserred, that the imagery 
 with which the Ode to Memory opens, is borrowed 
 from Strada's Prolusions. The chorus in Elfrida, 
 beginning 
 
 Hail to thy living' light, 
 
 Ambrosial morn ! all hail thy roseate ray : 
 
 is taken from the Hymnus in Auroram, by Fla- 
 minio. 
 
 His Sappho, a lyrical drama, is one of the few at- 
 tempts that have been made to bring amongst us 
 that tuneful trifle, the modern Opera of the Italians.
 
 216 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 It has been transferred by Mr. MatMas into that 
 language, to which alone it seemed properly to be- 
 long. Mr. Glasse has done as much for Caractacus 
 by giving it up to the Greek. Of the two Odes, 
 which are all, excepting some few fragments, that 
 remain to us of the Lesbian poetess, he has intro- 
 duced Translations into his drama. There is more 
 glitter of phrase than in the versions made, if I 
 recollect right, by Ambrose Phillips, which are in- 
 serted in the Spectator, No. 222 and 229 ; but much 
 less of that passionate emotion which marks the ori- 
 ginal. Most of my readers will remember that 
 which begins. 
 
 Blest as the immortal Gods is he, 
 The youth who fondly sits by thee, 
 And hears and sees thee, all the while, 
 Softly speak and sweetly smile. 
 
 It is thus rendered by Mason : 
 
 The youth that gazes on thy charms, 
 Rivals in bliss the Gods on high, 
 
 Whose ear thy pleasing converse warms, 
 Thy lovely smile his eye. 
 
 But trembling awe my bosom heaves, 
 "When placed those heavenly charms among ; 
 
 The sight my voice of power bereaves, 
 And chains my torpid tongue.
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 217 
 
 Througli every thrilling- fibre flies 
 The subtle flame ; in dimness drear 
 
 My eyes are veil'd ; a murmuring noise 
 Glides tinkling through my ear ; 
 
 Death's chilly dew my limbs o'erspreads, 
 Shiv'ring, convuls'd, I panting lye ; 
 
 And pale, as is the flower that fades, 
 I droop, I faint, I die. 
 
 The rudest language, in which there was anything 
 of natural feeling, would be preferable to this cold 
 splendour. In the other ode, he comes into contrast 
 with Akenside. 
 
 But lo! to Sapjjho's melting airs 
 Descends the radiant queen of love ; 
 
 She smiles, and asks what fonder cares 
 Her suppliant's plaintive measures move. 
 
 Why is my faithful maid distrest? 
 
 Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast ? 
 
 Say, flies he 1 soon he shall pursue : 
 
 Shuns he thy gifts ? he soon shall give : 
 
 Slights he thy sorrows ? he shall grieve. 
 
 And soon to all thy wishes bow. 
 
 Akenside, b. 1, Ode 13. 
 
 This, though not unexceptionable, and particularly 
 in the last verse, has yet a tenderness and spirit 
 utterly wanting in Mason. 
 
 What from my power would Sappho claim ? 
 Who scorns thy flame ?
 
 218 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 What wayward boy- 
 Disdains to yield tlieejoy for joy? 
 Soon shall he court the bliss he flies ; 
 Soon beg- the boon he now denies, 
 And, hastening back to love and thee, 
 Repay the wrong* with extacy. 
 
 In the Pygmalion, a lyrical scene, he has made an 
 effort equally vain, to represent the impassioned elo- 
 quence of Jean Jaques Rousseau. 
 
 In his shorter poems, there is too frequent a re- 
 currence of the same machinery, and that, such as 
 it needed but little invention to create. Either the 
 poet himself, or some other person, is introduced, 
 musing by a stream or lake, or in a forest, when the 
 appearance of some celestial visitant, muse, spirit, or 
 angel, suddenly awakens his attention. 
 
 Soft gleams of lustre tremble through the grove, 
 And sacred airs of minstrelsy divine 
 
 Are harp'd around, and flutt'ring pinions move. 
 Ah, hark ! a voice, to which the vocal rill, 
 
 The lark's extatic harmony is rude ; 
 Distant it swells with many a holy trill, 
 
 Now breaks wide warbling from yon orient cloud. 
 
 Elegy 2. 
 And, 
 
 But hark ! methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue ! 
 
 In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide ; 
 
 Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free, 
 
 As swells the lark's meridian extacy. 
 
 Ode vi.
 
 WILLIAM MASON. 219 
 
 After the extatic notes have been heard, all vanishes 
 away like some figure in the clouds, which 
 
 Even with a thought, 
 The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct 
 As water is in water. 
 
 His abstractions are often exalted into cherubs and 
 seraphs. It is the " cherub Beauty sits on Nature's 
 rustic shrine ;" " heaven-descended Charity ;" "Con- 
 stancy, heaven-born queen;" Liberty, "heaven-de- 
 scending queen." Take away from him these aerial 
 beings and their harps, and you will rob him of his 
 best treasures. 
 
 He holds nearly the same place among our poets, 
 that Peters does among our painters. He too is best 
 known by— 
 The angel's floating pomp, the seraph's glowing grace ; 
 
 and he too, instead of that gravity and depth of 
 tone which might seem most accordant to his subjects, 
 treats them with a hghtness of pencil that is not far 
 removed from flimsiness. 
 
 In the thirteenth Ode, on the late Duchess of 
 Devonshire, the only lady of distinguished rank to 
 whom the poets of modern times have loved to pay 
 their homage, and in the sixteenth, which he entitles 
 Palinodia, he provokes a comparison with Mr. Cole- 
 ridge. One or two extracts from each will shew the
 
 220 LIVES OP ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 difference between the artificial heat of the schools 
 and the warmth of a real enthusiasm. 
 
 Art thou not she whom fav'ring- fate 
 
 In all her sijlendour drest, 
 To show in how supreme a state 
 
 A mortal might be blest ? 
 Bade beauty, eleg-ance, and health, 
 Patrician birth, jiatrician wealth, 
 
 Their blessings on her darling shed ; 
 Bade Hymen, of that generous race 
 Who freedom's fairest annals grace. 
 Give to thy love th' illustrious head. 
 
 Mason, 
 Light as a dream, your days their circlets ran, 
 From all that teaches brotherhood to man 
 Far, far removed ; from want, from hope, from fear, 
 Enchanting music luU'd your infant ear, 
 Obeisant praises sooth'd your infant heart : 
 Emblasonments and old ancestral crests, 
 With many a bright obtrusive form of art, 
 
 Detain'd your eye from nature ; stately vests, 
 That veiling strove to deck your charms divine, 
 Were your's unearn'd by toil. 
 Coleridge, Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Gloucester. 
 Say did I err, chaste Liberty, 
 
 When, warm with youthful fire, 
 I gave the vernal fruits to thee, 
 
 That ripen'd on my lyre ? 
 W^hen, round thy twin-born sister's shrine 
 I taught the flowers of verse to twine
 
 "WILLIAM MASON. 221 
 
 And blend in one their fresh perfume ; 
 Forbade them, vagrant and disjoin'd, 
 To g-ive to every wanton wind 
 
 Their fragrance and their bloom ? 
 
 Mason. 
 
 Ye clouds, that far above me float and pause, 
 
 Whose pathless march no mortal may controul ! 
 
 Ye ocean waves, that, whereso'er ye roll, 
 Yield homage only to eternal laws! 
 Ye woods, that listen to the night-birds singing, 
 
 Midway the smooth and perilous steep reclin'd ; 
 Save when your own imperious branches swinging, 
 
 Have made a solemn music of the wind ! 
 Where, like a man belov'd of God, 
 Through glooms, which never woodman trod, 
 
 How oft, pursuing fancies ho]y, 
 
 My moonlight way o'er flow'ring weeds I wound, 
 Inspir'd beyond the guess of folly. 
 
 By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound ! 
 O, ye loud waves, and O, ye forests high, 
 
 And O, ye clouds, that far above me soar'd ! 
 Thou rising sun! thou blue rejoicing sky ! 
 Yea, every thing that is and will be free. 
 Bear witness for me wheresoe'er ye be. 
 
 With what deep worship I have still adored 
 The spirit of divinest liberty. 
 
 Coleridge. France, An Ode. 
 
 The Elegy written in a churchyard in South Wales, 
 is not more below Gray's.
 
 222 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 Of eagerness to obtain poetical distinction he had 
 much more than Gray ; but in tact, judgment, and 
 learning, was exceedingly his inferior. He was alto- 
 gether a man of talent, if I may be allowed to use 
 the word talent according to the sense it bore in our 
 old English ; for he had a vehement desire of excel- 
 lence, but wanted either the depth of mind or the 
 industry that was necessary for producing anything 
 that was very excellent. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Oliver, the second son of Charles and Amie 
 Goldsmith, was born in Ireland, on the 10th of 
 November, 1728, at Pallas, in the Parish of Forgany 
 or Forney in the Comity of Longford. By a mis- 
 take made in the note of his entrance in the college 
 register, he is represented to have been a native of 
 the county of Westmeath. 
 
 His father, who had before resided at Smith-hill 
 in the county of Roscommon, (which has by some 
 been erroneously said to be the birth-place of his son, 
 Oliver,) removed thence to Pallas, and afterwards to 
 his Rectory of Kilkeimy West, in the county of 
 "Westmeath ; and in the latter of these parishes, at
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 223 
 
 Lissoy, or Auburn, he built the house described as the 
 Village-Preacher's modest mansion in the Deserted 
 Village. His mother was daughter of the Rev. 
 OUver Jones, master of the diocesan school at 
 Elphin. Their family consisted of five sons and 
 three daughters. 
 
 In a letter from his elder sister, Catherine, the 
 wife of Daniel Hodson, Esq. inserted in the Life 
 of Goldsmith, which an anonymous writer, whom I 
 suppose to have been Cowper's friend, Mr. Rose, 
 from a passage in Mr. Nichol's Literary Anecdotes, 
 prefixed to his Miscellaneous Works, wonders are 
 told of his early predilection for the poetical art ; 
 but those who have observed the amplification with 
 which the sprightly sallies of childhood are related 
 by domestic fondness, will listen to such narrations 
 with some abatement of confidence. It seems pro- 
 bable, that a desire of literary distinction might 
 have been infused into his youthful mind by hearing 
 of the reputation of his countryman, Parnell, with 
 whom, as we learn from his life of that poet, his 
 father and uncle were acquainted. 
 
 He received the first rudiments of learning from 
 a school-master who taught in the village where his 
 parents resided, and who had served as a quarter- 
 master during the war of the Succession in Spain ; 
 and from the romantic accovmts which this man 
 delighted to give of his travels, Goldsmith is sup-
 
 224 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 posed, by his sister, to have contracted his propensity 
 for a wandering Ufe. From hence he was removed 
 successively to the school at Elphin, of which the 
 Rev. Mr. Griffin was master, and to that of Athlone ; 
 kept by the Rev. Mr. Campbell ; and lastly, was 
 placed under the care of the Rev. Patrick Hughes, of 
 Edgeworthstown, in the county of Longford, to 
 whose instruction he acknowledged himself to have 
 been more mdebted than to that of his other 
 teachers. 
 
 It was probably that untowardness in his outward 
 appearance, which never afterwards left him, that 
 made his schoolfellows consider him a dull boy, fit 
 oniy to be the butt of their ridicule. 
 
 On his last return after the holidays to the house 
 of his master, an adventure befel him, which after- 
 wards was made the ground- work of the plot in one 
 of his comedies. Journeying along leisurely, and 
 being inclined to enjoy such diversion as a guinea, 
 that had been given him for pocket-money, would 
 afford him on the road, he was overtaken by night 
 at a small town called Ardagh. Here, inquiring for 
 the best house in the place, he was directed to a 
 gentleman's habitation that literally answered that 
 description. Under a delusion, the opposite to that 
 entertained by the knight of La Mancha, he rides 
 up to the supposed inn ; and having given his horse 
 in charge to the ostler, enters without ceremony.
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 225 
 
 The master of the house, aware of the mistake, 
 resolves to favour it; and is still less incUned to 
 undeceive his guest, when he finds out from his 
 discourse that he is the son of an acquaintance and 
 a neighbour. A good supper and a bottle or two of 
 wine are called for, of which the host, with his 
 wife and daughter, are invited to partake ; and a 
 hot cake is providently ordered for the morrow's 
 breakfast. The young traveller's surprise may be 
 conceived, when in calling for his bill, he finds 
 under what roof he has been lodged, and with whom 
 he had been putting himself on such terms of fa- 
 miliarity. 
 
 In June, 1745, he was sent a sizer to Trinity Col- 
 lege, DubUn, and placed under the tuition of Mr. 
 Wilder, one of the fellows, who is represented to 
 have been of a temper so morose as to excite the 
 strongest disgust in the mind of his pupil. He did 
 not pass through his academical course without dis- 
 tinction. Dr. Kearney (who was afterwards provost), 
 in a note on Boswell's Life of Johnson, informs us, 
 that Goldsmith gained a premium at the Christmas 
 examination, which, according to Mr. IVIalone, is more 
 honourable than those obtained at the other examina- 
 tions, inasmuch as it is the only one that determines 
 the successful candidate to be the first in literary 
 merit. This is enough to disprove what Johnson is 
 reported to have said of him, that he was a plant that 
 
 a
 
 226 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 flowered late ; that there appeared nothing remark- 
 able about him when he was young ; though when he 
 had got into fame, one of his friends began to recollect 
 something of his being distinguished at college. 
 Whether he took a degree is not known.* On one 
 occasion he narrowly escaped expulsion for ha-ving 
 been concerned in the rescue of a student, who, in 
 violation of the supposed privileges of the University 
 had been arrested for debt within its precincts : bvit 
 his superiors contented themselves with passing a 
 pubUc censure on him. 
 
 Having been deprived, in 1 747, by death, of his 
 father, who had vpith difficulty supported him at 
 college, he became a dependant on the bounty of his 
 micle,t the Rev. Thomas Contarine; and after 
 fluctuating in his choice of an employment in life, 
 was at length established as a medical student at 
 Edinburgh, in his twenty-fifth year. 
 
 Dr. Strean mentions, that he was at one time in- 
 tended for the church, but that appearing before 
 the Bishop, when he went to be examined for orders, 
 in a pair of scarlet breeches, he was rejected. 
 
 From Edinburgh, when he had completed his 
 
 * He took the degree of Bachelor of Arts, Feb. 27, 
 1749. Prior's Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. p. 98. Ed. 
 
 t He also helped himself by writing street-ballads. 
 Prior, vol. i. p. 75. Ed.
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 227 
 
 attendance on the usual course of lectures, he re- 
 moved to Leyden, with the intention of continuing 
 his studies a that University. 
 
 Johnson used to speak with coarse contempt of 
 Goldsmith's want of veracity. " Noll," said he to 
 a lady of much distinction in literature, who re- 
 peated to me his words, " Noll, madam, would lie 
 through an inch board." In this instance, John- 
 son's known partiality to Goldsmith fixes the stigma 
 so deeply, that we can place no reliance on the account 
 he gave of what befel him, when he imagined him- 
 self to be no longer within reach of detection. In a 
 letter to his uncle he relates that, before going to 
 Holland, he had embarked in a vessel for Bordeaux, 
 that the ship was driven by a storm into Newcastle- 
 upon-Tyne, that he was there seized on suspicion of 
 being engaged with the rebels, and thrown into 
 prison; that the vessel, meanwhile proceeding on her 
 voyage, was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, 
 where all the crew perished ; and that, at the end of 
 a fortnight, being liberated, he set sail in a vessel 
 bound for Holland, and in nine days arrived safely 
 at Rotterdam. After a residence of about a twelve- 
 month at Leyden, he was involved in difficulties, 
 occasioned by his love of gambling, a ridiculous in- 
 clination that adhered to him for the remainder of 
 his life. He now set out with the resolution of
 
 228 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 visiting the principal parts of the Continent on foot ; 
 and, according to his own report of himself, made 
 his way by a variety of stratagems, sometimes re- 
 cruiting his finances by the acquisition of small sums 
 proposed in the foreign universities to public dispu- 
 tants ; at others, securing himself a hospitable re- 
 ception by the exercise of a moderate share of skill 
 in playing the flute— his " tuneless pipe," as he 
 calls it, in that passage of The Traveller, where 
 he alludes to this method of suppljang his wants. 
 
 Thus, if we are to believe him, he passed hrough 
 the Netherlands, France, and Germany, into the 
 Swiss Cantons ; and in that country, so well suited 
 to awaken the feelings of a poet, he composed a part 
 of The Traveller, and sent it to his elder brother, a 
 clergyman in Ireland. Continuing his journey into 
 Italy, he visited Venice, Verona, Florence, and 
 Padua ; and having spent six months at the Univer- 
 sity in the last mentioned city, returned through 
 France to England in 1/56. From his Inquiry into 
 the Present State of Learning, we collect, that when 
 at Paris he attended the Chemical Lectures of 
 Rouelle. 
 
 In the meantime his uncle had died ; and he found 
 himself, on his arrival in London, so destitute even 
 of a friend to whom he could refer for a recom- 
 mendation, that he with difiiculty obtained first the 
 place of an usher to a school, and afterwards that of
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 229 
 
 assistant in the laboratory of a chemist. At last, 
 meeting with Doctor Sleigh, formerly his fellow- 
 student at Edinburgh, he was enabled, by the kindness 
 of this worthy physician, who appears in so amiable a 
 light as the patron of Barry, in the Memoirs of that 
 painter, to avail himself more effectually of his know- 
 ledge in medicine, and to earn a subsistence, however 
 scanty, by the practice of that art. 
 
 The Bankside in Southwark, and the Temple, or 
 its vicinity, were successively the places where he 
 fixed his residence. To his professional gains he 
 soon added the emoluments arising from his exer- 
 tions as an author. In 1758, he took a share in the 
 conduct of the literary journal called the Monthly 
 Review : and for the space of seven or eight months, 
 while the employment lasted, lodged in the house of 
 Mr. Griffiths, the proprietor of it. The next year he 
 contributed several papers to the Lady's Magazine, 
 and to the Bee, a collection of essays, and published his 
 Inquiry into the Present State of Pohte Learning, 
 in which he speaks of the Monthly Review in terms 
 not very respectful. There is, I doubt, in this little 
 essay more display than reality of erudition. It 
 would not be easy to say where he had discovered 
 " that Dante was persecuted by the critics as long as 
 he lived." The complaints he made of the hard 
 fate of authors, and his censure of odes and of blank 
 verse, were well calculated to conciliate the good Avill,
 
 230 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 and to excite the sympathy of Johnson, vnth. whom 
 he soon became ultimate. 
 
 Poverty and indiscretion were other claims, by 
 which the benevolent commiseration of Johnson 
 could scarcely fail to be awakened ; and his acquain- 
 tance with Goldsmith had not subsisted long, when 
 an occasion presented itself for rescuing him from 
 the consequences of those e\'ils. One day, calling 
 on our poet, at his lodgings in Wine-office Court, 
 Fleet-street, he found him under arrest for debt, and 
 engaged in violent altercation with his landlad3^ 
 Taking from him the Vicar of Wakefield, then just 
 written, Johnson proceeded with it to Newbery the 
 Bookseller, from whom he obtained sixty pounds 
 for his friend ; and Goldsmith's good humour, and 
 the complaisance of his hostess, returning with this 
 accession of wealth, they spent the remainder of the 
 day together in harmony. In this novel, hke Field- 
 ing and Smollett, he exhibits a very natural view of 
 familiar life. Inferior to the first in the artful man- 
 agement of his story, and to the latter in the broader 
 traits of comic character, and not equal to either in 
 variety and fertility, he is, nevertheless, to be pre- 
 ferred to both for his power of passing from the 
 ludicrous to the tender, and for his regard to moral 
 decency. It was not printed till some years after, 
 in 17G6, when his reputation had been in some degree 
 estabUshed by The Traveller. Meanwhile he pub-
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 231 
 
 lished, in a periodical work called the Ledger, his 
 Letters from a Citizen of the World to his Friend in 
 the East, in which, under the character of a Chinese 
 philosopher, he describes the customs and manners 
 of Europeans. But this assumed personage is an 
 awkward concealment for the good-humoured Irish- 
 man, with his never-failing succession of droll stories. 
 Of these there are too many ; and the want of any 
 thing like a continued interest is sensibly felt. I do 
 not know of any book, on the same plan, that is to be 
 compared with the Persian Letters of Montesquieu. 
 
 In the spring of 1 763 he had lodgings in Islington, 
 and continuing there till the follomng year, he revised 
 several petty publications for Newbery, and wrote the 
 Letters on English History, which, from their being 
 published as the letters of a nobleman to his son, 
 have been attributed by turns to the Earl of 
 Orrery and Lord Lyttelton. 
 
 His next removal was to the Temple, where he 
 remained for the rest of his life, not without indulg- 
 ing a project, equally magnificent and visionary, of 
 making a journey into the East, in order to bring 
 back with him such useful inventions as had not 
 found their way into Britain. He was ridiculed by 
 Johnson, for fancying himself competent to so arduous 
 a task, when he was utterly imacquainted with our 
 own mechanical arts. He would have brought back 
 a grinding barrow, said Johnson, and thought that 
 he had furnished a wonderful improvement. The
 
 232 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 more feasible plan of returning with honour and 
 advantage to his native country, was held out to him 
 through the patronage of the Earl of Northumber- 
 land. That nobleman, who was then the Lord 
 Lieutenant of Ireland, sent for him, and made him 
 an offer of his protection. Goldsmith, with his charac- 
 teristic simplicity, replied, that he had a brother 
 there, a clergyman, who stood in need of help ; that, 
 for himself, he looked to the booksellers for support. 
 This reliance happily did not deceive him. By the 
 rewards of his literary labours, he was placed in a 
 comparative state of opulence, in which his propen- 
 sity for play alone occasioned a diminution. 
 
 In 1765, appeared The Hermit, The Traveller, 
 and the Essays. 
 
 About this time a club was formed, at the pro- 
 posal of Reynolds, which consisted, besides that 
 eminent painter and our poet, of Johnson, Burke, 
 Burke's father-in-law. Doctor Nugent, Sir John 
 Hawkins, Langton, Beauclerk, and Chamier, who 
 met and supped together every Friday night, at the 
 Turk's Head, in Gerard-street, Soho. The book- 
 seller's shop belonging to Dr. Griffiths, called the 
 Dunciad, in the neighbourhood of Catheruie-street, 
 was another of his favourite haimts. 
 
 His comedy of the Good Natured Man, though it 
 had received the sanction of Burke's approval, did 
 not please Garrick sufficiently to induce him to ven- 
 ture it on his theatre. It was, therefore, brought
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 233 
 
 forward by Colman, at Covent Garden, on the 29th 
 of January, 1/69; but ha\ing been represented for 
 nine nights, did not longer maintain its place on the 
 stage, though it is one of those comedies which afford 
 most amusement in the closet. For his conception 
 of the character of Croaker, the author acknowledged 
 that he was indebted to Johnson's Suspirius, in the 
 Rambler. That of Honeywood, in its undistinguish- 
 ing benevolence, bears some resemblance to his own. 
 
 In the next year he published his Deserted Village ; 
 and entered into an agreement with Davies, to com- 
 pile a History of England, in four octavo volumes, 
 for the sum of five hundred pounds in the space of 
 two years ; before the expiration of which period, he 
 made a compact with the same bookseller for an 
 abridgment of the Roman History, which he had 
 before published. The History of Greece, which 
 has appeared since his death, cannot with certainty 
 be ascribed to his pen. 
 
 In 1771, he wrote the Life of Bolingbroke, pre- 
 fixed to the Dissertation on Parties. 
 
 The reception which his former play had met 
 did not discourage him from trying his fate with a 
 second. But it was not till after much solicitation 
 that Colman was prevailed on to allow The Mistakes 
 of a Night, or She Stoops to Conquer, to be acted 
 at Covent Garden, on the 15th of March, 1773. A 
 large party of zealous frieuds, with Johnson at their 
 head, attended to witness the representation and to
 
 234 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 lead the plaudits of the house ; a scheme which Mr. 
 Cumberland describes to have been preconcerted 
 with much method, but to have been near failing 
 in consequence of some mistakes in the execution of 
 the mancEuvres, which aroused the displeasure of 
 the audience. That the piece is enlivened by such 
 droll incidents, as to be nearly allied to farce, John- 
 son with justice observed, declaring, however, that 
 " he knew of no comedy for many years that had so 
 much exhilarated an audience ; that had so much 
 answered the great end of comedy, that of making 
 an audience merry." 
 
 The History of the Earth and Animated Nature, 
 in eight volumes, closed the labours of Goldsmith. 
 This compilation, however recommended by the 
 agreeableness of style usual to its author, is but 
 little prized for its accuracy. In a summary of past 
 events, which are often differently related by writers 
 of authority and credit nearly equal, it is in vain to 
 look for certainty. But when we are presented with 
 a description of natural objects that required only 
 to be looked at in order to be known, we are neither 
 amused nor instructed without some degree of pre- 
 cision. History partakes of the nature of romance. 
 Physiology is more closely connected with science. 
 In the one we must often rest contented with proba- 
 bility. In the other we know that truth is generally 
 to be attained, and therefore expect to find it. 
 
 Goldsmith had been for some time subject to
 
 OLIVEB GOLDSMITH. 235 
 
 attacks of strangury ; and having before experienced 
 relief from James's powders, had again recourse to 
 that popular medicine. His medical attendants are 
 said to have remonstrated with him on its unfitness 
 in the stage to which his disorder had reached ; but 
 he persevered ; and his fever increasing, and some 
 secret distress of mind, under which he owned to 
 Dr. Turton that he laboured, aggravating his bodily 
 complaint, he expired on the 4th of April in his 
 forty-fifth year. 
 
 He was privately interred in the Temple burying 
 ground. A monument is erected to his memory in 
 Westminster Abbey, with the following epitaph by 
 Johnson, written at the solicitation of their common 
 
 friends. 
 
 Olivarii Goldsmith, 
 
 Poetse, Physici, Historici, 
 
 Qui nullum fere scribendi genus 
 
 Non tetigit, 
 
 Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit : 
 
 Seu risus essent movendi, 
 
 Sive lacrymce, 
 
 Affectuum potens at lenis dominator : 
 
 Ing-enio sublimis, vividus, versatilis, 
 
 Oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus : 
 
 Hoc monumento memoriam coluit 
 
 Sodalium amor, 
 
 Amicorum tides, 
 
 Lectorum veneratio. 
 
 Natus in Hibernia, Fornise Longfordiensis, 
 
 In loco cui nomen Pallas. 
 
 Nov. XXIX, MDCCXXXI. 
 
 Eblanoe Uteris institutus; 
 
 Obiit Londini, 
 April. IV. MDCCLXXIV.
 
 236 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 It has been questioned whether there is any autho- 
 rity for using the word " tetigit" as it is here em- 
 ployed. I have heard it observed by one, whose 
 opinion on such subjects is decisive, that "contigit" 
 would have better expressed the writer's meaning. 
 
 Another epitaph composed by Johnson in Greek, 
 deserves notice, as it shows how strongly his muid 
 was impressed by Goldsmith's abilities. 
 
 I6v Ta.(pov ii(T0()daQ top OXi^dpioiOf koviijv 
 "A(ppocn fiTj a'luvTjv, ^tive, iroStffai ■Ka.Tif 
 Oiffi fisfiijXt (pvcnc, ixtrpwv x^pi-Si ^PT" iraXaiwv, 
 KXaitTE Tron'iTTiv, laropiKOv, ipixjiKov. 
 
 " Thou beholdest the tomb of Oliver ; press not, 
 O strang'er, with the foot of folly, the venerable dust. 
 Ye who care for nature, for the charms of song", for 
 the deeds of ancient days, weep for the Historian, the 
 Naturalist, the Poet." 
 
 Goldsmith's stature was below the middle height ; 
 his hmbs, sturdy ; his forehead, more prominent 
 than is usual ; and his face, almost romid, pallid, 
 and marked with the small-pox. 
 
 The simpleness, almost approaching to fatuity, 
 of his outward deportment, combined with the power 
 which there was within, brings to our recollection 
 some part of the character of La Fontaine, whom a 
 French lady wittily called the Fable Tree, from his 
 apparent unconsciousness, or rather want of mental 
 responsibiUty for the admirable productions which
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 237 
 
 he was continually supplying. His propriety and 
 clearness, when he expresses his thoughts with his 
 pen, and his confusion and inahility to impart them 
 in conversation, well illustrated the observation of 
 Cicero, that it is very possible for a man to think 
 rightly on any subject, and yet to want the power of 
 conveying his sentiments by speech in fit and be- 
 coming language to others. " Fieri potest ut recte 
 quis sentiat, sed id quod sentit polite eloqui non 
 possit." Yet Mr. Cumberland, who was one of his 
 associates, has informed us, " that he had gleams of 
 eloquence." 
 
 Johnson said of him that he was not a social man ; 
 he never exchanged mind with you. His prevailing 
 foible was a desire of shining in those exterior ac- 
 complishments which nature had denied him. Vanity 
 and benevolence had conspired to make him an easy 
 prey to adulation and imposture. 
 
 His complaints of the envy by which he found 
 his mind tormented, and especially on the occasion 
 of Johnson's being honoured by an interview with 
 the king, must have made those who heard him, lose 
 all sense of the evil passion, in their amusement at 
 a confession so novel and so pleasant. 
 
 One day, we are told, he complained in a mixed 
 company of Lord Camden. " I met him," said 
 he, " at Lord Clare's house in the country, and he 
 took no more notice of me than if I had been an
 
 238 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 ordinary man." The story of his peach-coloured 
 coat will not soon be forgotten. If — 
 
 m some men 
 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies, 
 Goldsmith was one of those in whom their frailties 
 are more hkely to serve them as friends ; for they 
 were such as could scarcely fail to assist in appeasing 
 malevolence and conciliating kindness. Be this as it 
 will, he must, with all his weaknesses, be considered 
 as one of the chief ornaments of the age in which he 
 lived. 
 
 Comparisons have been made between the situation 
 of the men eminent for literature in Queen Anne's 
 time and at the commencement of the reign of 
 George the Third. In the former, beginning to be 
 disengaged from the court, where they were more 
 at home during the reign of the Charleses, they 
 were falling under the influence of the nobihty, 
 amongst whom they generally found their patrons, and 
 often their associates. In the latter, they had been 
 insensibly shaken off alike by the court and the nobles, 
 and were come into the hands of the people and 
 the booksellers. I know not whether they were much 
 the worse for this change. If in the one instance they 
 were rendered more studious of elegance and smart- 
 ness ; in the other, they attained more freedom and 
 force. In the former, they were oftener imitators of 
 the French. In the latter, they followed the dictates
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 239 
 
 of a better sense, and trusted more to their own 
 resources. They lost, indeed, the character of wits, 
 but they aspired to that of instructors. Yet in one 
 respect, and that a material one, it must be owned, 
 that they were sufferers by this alteration in affairs. 
 For the quantity of their labours having become 
 more important under their new masters than it was 
 under their old ones, they had less care of selection, 
 and their originality was weakened by diffusiveness. 
 They indulged themselves but sparingly in the luxury 
 of composing verse, which was too thriftless an occu- 
 pation to be continued long. They used it, perhaps, 
 as the means of attracting notice to themselves at 
 their first entrance on the world, but not as the 
 staple on which they were afterwards to depend. 
 When the song had drawn a band of hearers around 
 them, it had done its duty. The crowd was to be 
 detained and increased, by expectations of advantage 
 rather than of pleasure. A writer consulted Gold- 
 smith on what subjects he might employ his pen 
 with most profit to himself. " It will be better," 
 said the author of The Traveller and the Deserted 
 Village, laughing indeed, but in good earnest, " to 
 relinquish the draggle-tail muses. For my part, 
 I have found productions in prose more sought after 
 and better paid for." This is, no doubt, the reason 
 that his verse bears so small a proportion to his 
 other writings. Yet it is by the former, added to
 
 240 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the few works of imagination which he has left 
 besides, that he will be known to posterity. His 
 histories will probably be superseded by more skilful 
 or more accurate compilations ; as they are now 
 read by few who can obtain information nearer to its 
 original sources. 
 
 In the natural manner of telling a short and 
 humorous story, he is perhaps surpassed by no 
 writer of prose except Addison, In his Essays, the 
 style preserves a middle way between the gravity of 
 Jolmson and the lightness of Chesterfield ; but it 
 may often be objected to them, as to the moral 
 writings of Johnson, that they present life to us 
 under a gloomy aspect, and leave an impression of 
 despondence on the mind of the reader. 
 
 In his poetry there is nothing ideal. It pleases 
 chiefly by an exhibition of nature in her most homely 
 and familiar -views. But from these he selects 
 his objects with due discretion, and omits to re- 
 present whatever would occasion unmingled pain or 
 disgust. 
 
 His couplets have the same slow and stately march 
 as Johnson's ; and if we can suppose similar images 
 of rural and domestic life to have arrested the atten- 
 tion of that writer, we can scarcely conceive that he 
 would have expressed them in diiferent language. 
 
 Some of the lines in The Deserted Village are said 
 to be closely copied from a poem by Welsted, called
 
 OLIVER GOLBSMITH. 241 
 
 the OiKoypafia ; but I do not think he will be found 
 to have levied larger contributions on it, than most 
 poets have supposed themselves justified in making 
 on the neglected works of their predecessors. 
 
 The following particulars relating to this poem, 
 which I have extracted from the letter of Dr. Strean 
 before referred to, cannot fail to gratify that numer- 
 ous class of readers with whom it has been a favourite 
 from their earliest years. 
 
 The poem of The Deserted Village took its origin 
 from the circumstance of General Robert Napper (the 
 grandfather of the gentleman who now lives in the 
 house within half a mile of Lissoy, and built by the 
 General), having purchased an extensive tract of the 
 country surrounding Lissoy, or Auhirn ; in con- 
 sequence of which, many families, here called cottiers, 
 were removed to make room for the intended improve- 
 ments of what was now to become the wide domain of 
 a rich man, warm with the idea of changing the face 
 of his new acquisition; and were forced ^^ with fainting 
 steps," to go in search of " torrid tracts" and " distant 
 climes" 
 
 This fact alone might be sufficient to establish the 
 seat of the poem ; but there cannot remain a doubt in 
 any unprejudiced mind, when the following are added ; 
 viz. that the character of the village-j^reacher, the 
 above-named Henry, (the brother of the poet,) is copied 
 from nature. He is described exactly as he lived ; and 
 his "modest mansion" as it existed. Burn, the name
 
 242 LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of the village-master, and the site of his school-house, 
 and Catherine Giraghty, a lonely widow ; 
 
 The wretched matron forced in age for bread 
 To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread ; 
 
 (and to this day the brook and ditches, near the spot 
 where her cabin stood, abound with cresses) still re- 
 main in the memory of the inhabitants, and Catherine's 
 children live in the neighbourhood. The pool, the 
 busy mill, the house where " nut-hrown draughts in- 
 spired" are still visited as the poetic scene ; and the 
 " hawthorji-bush" growing in an open space in front of 
 the house, which I knew to have three trunks, is now 
 reduced to one ; the other two having been cut, from 
 time to time, by persons carrying away pieces of it to 
 be made into toys, &c. in honour of the bard, and of 
 the celebrity of his poem. All these contribute to the 
 same proof; and the " decent churcli^'' which I attended 
 for upwards of eighteen years, and which " tops the 
 neighhouring hill," is exactly described as seen from 
 Lissoy, the residence of the preacher. 
 
 I should have observed, that Elizabeth Delap, who 
 was a parishioner of mine, and died at the age of about 
 ninety, often told me she was the first who jDut a book 
 into Goldsmith's hand ; by which she meant, that she 
 taught him his letters : she was allied to him, and kept 
 a little school. 
 
 The Hermit is a pleasing little tale, told with that 
 simplicity which appears so easy, and is in fact so 
 difficult, to be obtained. It was imitated in the
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 243 
 
 Ballad of a Friar of Orders Grey, in Percy's Reliques 
 of English Poetry. 
 
 His Traveller was, it is said, pronounced by Mr. 
   Fox to be one of the finest pieces in the English 
 language. Perhaps this sentence was delivered by 
 that great man with some qualification, which was 
 either forgotten or omitted by the reporter of it ; 
 otherwise such praise was surely disproportioned to 
 its object. 
 
 In this poem, he professes to compare the good 
 and evil which fall to the share of those different 
 nations whose lot he contemplates. His design at 
 setting out is to shew that, whether we consider 
 the blessings to be derived from art or from nature, 
 we shall discover "an equal portion dealt to all 
 mankind." And the conclusion which he draws 
 at the end of the poem would be perfectly just, if 
 these premises were allowed him. 
 
 In every government though terrors reign, 
 Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, 
 How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
 That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! 
 Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, 
 Our own felicity we make or find : 
 With secret course, which no loud streams annoy, 
 Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
 The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 
 Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, 
 To men remote from power but rarely known, 
 Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own.
 
 244 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 That it matters little or nothing to the happiness 
 of men whether they are governed well or ill, whether 
 they hve under fixed and known laws, or at the will 
 of an arbitrary tyrant, is a paradox, the fallacy of 
 which is happily too apparent to need any refutation. 
 Nor is his inference warranted by those particular 
 observations which he makes for the purpose of 
 establishing it. When of Italy he tells us, "that 
 sensual bliss is all this nation knows," how is Italy 
 to be compared either with itself when it was 
 prompted by those " noble aims," of which he speaks, 
 or with that covmtry where he sees 
 
 The lords of human kind pass by, 
 Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band. 
 By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand, 
 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
 True to imagined right, above controul ; 
 While e'en the peasant learns these rights to scan, 
 And learns to venerate himself as man 1 
 That good is every where balanced by some evil, 
 none will deny. But that no effort of human 
 courage or prudence can make one scale preponderate 
 over the other, and that a decree of fate has fixed 
 them in eternal equipoise, is an opinion which, if it 
 were seriously entertained, must bind men to a tame 
 and spiritless acquiescence in whatever disadvantages 
 or inconveniences they may chance to find them- 
 selves involved, and leave to them the exercise of no 
 other public \irtue than that of a blind submission.
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 245 
 
 His poetry is happily better than his argument. He 
 discriminates with much skill the manners of the 
 several countries that pass in review before him ; the 
 illustrations, with which he relieves and varies his 
 main subject, are judiciously interspersed ; and as 
 he never raises his tone too far beyond his pitch at 
 the first starting, so he seldom sinks much below it. 
 The thought at the beginning appears to have pleased 
 him ; for he has repeated it in " the Citizen of the 
 World :" 
 
 Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
 My heart untravel'd fondly turns to thee ; 
 Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, 
 And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 
 
 " The further I travel, I feel the pain of separation 
 with stronger force ; those ties that bind me to my 
 native country and you are still unbroken. By every 
 remove I only drag a gi'eater length of chain." 
 
 To the poetical compositions of Goldsmith, in 
 general, may be applied with justice that tem- 
 perate commendation which he has given to the 
 works of Parnell in his life of that Poet. "At 
 the end of his course the reader regrets that his way 
 has been so short ; he wonders that it gave him so 
 little trouble; and so resolves to go the journey over 
 again." There is much to solace fatigue and even 
 to excite pleasure, but nothing to call forth rapture. 
 We stay to contemplate and enjoy the objects on our
 
 246 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 road ; but we feel that it is on this earth we have 
 been travelhng, and that the author is either not 
 willing or not able to raise us above it. No writer 
 in the English language has combined such various 
 excellences as a novelist, a writer of comedies, and a 
 poet. 
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 
 
 Erasmus, the seventh child and fourth son of 
 Robert Darwin, Esq. by his wife Ehzabetb Hill, was 
 bom at Elston, near Newark, in Nottinghamshire, 
 on the 1 2th of December 1 73 1 . He was educated at 
 the Grammar school of Chesterfield, in Derbyshire, 
 under the Rev. Mr. Burrows, and from thence sent 
 to St. John's College, Cambridge, where he had for 
 his tutor Dr. Powell, afterwards Master of the 
 College, to whose learning and goodness. Mason, 
 another of his pupils, has left a testimony in one of 
 his earliest poems. 
 
 After proceeding Bachelor in Medicine at Cam- 
 bridge, Darwin went to Edinburgh, in order to 
 pursue his studies in that science to more advantage. 
 When he had been there long enough to entitle him 
 to the degree of Doctor in Medicme, he quitted Ediu-
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 247 
 
 burgh, and began his practice at Nottingham, but 
 soon after (in 1756) removed to Lichfield. In the 
 following year he married Mary, daughter of Charles 
 Howard, Esq. a proctor in the Ecclesiastical Court of 
 Lichfield. He was very soon distinguished for his pro- 
 fessional skill. The first case which he treated with 
 so much success as to attract the pubUc notice, was 
 that of a young man of fortune, who, being in a fever, 
 was given over by his ordinary physician, but whom 
 Darwin restored, probably by one of those bold 
 measures from which others would have shrunk, but 
 to which he wisely had recourse whenever a desperate 
 malady called for a desperate cure. His patient, 
 whose name was Inge, was, I believe, the same whom 
 Johnson, in his Ufe of Ambrose Phillips, has termed 
 a gentleman of great eminence in Staffordshire. 
 Part of the wealth that now flowed in upon him, from 
 an extensive and opulent circle, was employed with 
 that liberality which in this country is perhaps 
 oftener exercised by men of his profession than by 
 those of any other. 
 
 At Lichfield, he formed an intimacy with several 
 persons, who afterwards rose to much distinction. 
 Of these, the most remarkable were Mr. Edgeworth, 
 whose skill in mechanics made him acceptable to 
 Darwin ; Mr. Day, a man remembered to more advan- 
 tage by his writings, than by the singularities of his 
 conduct ; and Anna Seward, the female most eminent
 
 248 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 in her time for poetical genius. The manner in 
 which the first of these introduced himself shall be 
 told in his own words, as they convey a lively descrip- 
 tion of Darwin's person and habits of life at this 
 time. " I wrote an account to the Doctor of the 
 reception which liis scheme" (for preventing accidents 
 to a carriage in turning) " had met with from the 
 Society of Arts. The Doctor wrote me a very civil 
 answer ; and though, as I afterwards found out, he 
 took me for a coach-maker, he invited me to his 
 house : an invitation which I accepted in the ensuing 
 summer. When I arrived at Lichfield, I went to 
 inquire whether the Doctor was at home. I was 
 shewn into a room where I found Mrs. Darwin. I 
 told her my name. She said the Doctor expected 
 me, and that he intended to be at home before night. 
 There were books and prints in the room, of which I 
 took occasion to speak. Mrs. Darwin asked me to 
 drink tea, and I perceived that I owed to my litera- 
 ture the pleasure of passing the evening with this 
 most agreeable woman. We talked and conversed 
 upon various literary subjects till it was dark ; when 
 Mrs. Darwin seeming to be surprised that the 
 Doctor had not come home, I offered to take my 
 leave ; but she told me that I had been expected for 
 some days, and that a bed had been prepared for me : 
 I heard some orders given to the housemaid, who had 
 destined a different room for my reception from that
 
 EUASMUS DARWIN. 249 
 
 ■which her mistress had upon second thoughts ap- 
 pointed. I perceived that the maid examined me 
 attentively, hut I could not guess the reason. When 
 supper was nearly finished, a loud rapping at the 
 door announced the Doctor. There was a hustle in 
 the hall, which made Mrs. Darwin get up and go to 
 the door. Upon her exclaiming that they were 
 bringing in a dead man, I went to the hall. I saw 
 some persons, directed by one whom I guessed to be 
 Doctor Darwin, carrying a man who appeared to be 
 motionless. ' He is not dead,' said Doctor Darwin. 
   He is only dead drunk. I found him,' continued 
 the Doctor, ' nearly suffocated in a ditch : I had him 
 hfted into my carriage, and brought hither, that we 
 might take care of him to-night.' Candles came ; 
 and what was the surprise of the Doctor and of Mrs. 
 Darwin, to find that the person whom he had saved 
 was Mrs. Darwin's brother ! who, for the first time in 
 his life, as I was assured, had been intoxicated in this 
 manner, and who would undoubtedly have perished 
 had it not been for Doctor Darwin's humanity. 
 During this scene I had time to survey my new 
 friend. Doctor Darwin. He was a large man, fat, 
 and rather clumsy ; but intelligence and benevolence 
 were painted in his countenance : he had a consi- 
 derable impediment in his speech, a defect which is 
 in general painful to others ; but the Doctor repaid 
 his auditors so well for making them wait for his wit
 
 550 
 
 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 or his knowledge, that he seldom found them im- 
 patient. When his brother was disposed of, he came 
 to supper, and I thought that he looked at Mrs. 
 Darwin as if he was somewhat surprised when he 
 heard that I had passed the whole evening in her 
 company. After she withdrew, he entered into con- 
 versation with me upon the carriage that I had made, 
 and upon the remarks that fell from some members 
 of the Society to whom I had shewn it. I satisfied 
 his curiosity ; and having told him that my carriage 
 was in the town, and that he could see it whenever 
 he pleased, we talked upon mechanical subjects, and 
 afterwards on various branches of knowledge, which 
 necessarily produced allusions to classical hterature ; 
 by these, he discovered that I had received the edu- 
 cation of a gentleman. ' Why ! I thought,' said the 
 Doctor, ' that you were a coach-maker !' ' That was 
 the reason,' said I, 'that you looked surprised at 
 finding me at supper with Mrs. Darwin. But you 
 see. Doctor, how superior in discernment ladies are 
 even to the most learned gentlemen : I assure you 
 that I had not been in the room five minutes before 
 Mrs. Darwin asked me to tea !' " 
 
 These endeavours to improve the construction of 
 carriages were near costing him dear; nor did he 
 desist till he had been several times thrown down, 
 and at last broke the pan of the right knee, which 
 occasioned a slight but incurable lameness. The
 
 EUASMUS DAEWIN. 251 
 
 amiable woman, of whom Mr. Edgeworth has here 
 spoken, died in 1770. Of the five children whom 
 she brought him, two were lost in their infancy. 
 Charles, the eldest of the remaining three, died at 
 Edinburgh, in 1778, of a disease supposed to be 
 communicated by a corpse which he was dissecting, 
 when one of his fingers was sUghtly wounded. He 
 had obtained a gold medal for pointing out a test by 
 which pus might be distinguished from mucus ; and 
 the Essay in which he had stated his discovery was 
 published by his father after his death, together with 
 another treatise, which he left incomplete, on the 
 Retrograde Motions of the Absorbent Vessels of 
 Animal Bodies in some Diseases. Another of his 
 sons, Erasmus, who was a lawyer, in a temporary fit 
 of mental derangement put an end to his existence, 
 in 1799. Robert Waring, a physician, now in high 
 reputation at Shrewsbury, is the only one of these 
 children who survived him. 
 
 A few years before he quitted Lichfield, in conse- 
 quence of a second marriage, he attempted to establish 
 a Botanical Society in that city ; but his only asso- 
 ciates were the present Sir Brooke Boothby, and a 
 proctor whose name was Jackson. Of this trium- 
 virate, Miss Seward, who knew them well, tells us 
 that Jackson admired Sir Brooke Boothby, and wor- 
 shipped and aped Dr. Darmn. He became a useful 
 drudge to each in their joint work, the translation of
 
 252 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the Linnsean system of vegetation into English from 
 the Latin. His illustrious coadjutors exacted of him 
 fidelity to the sense of their author, and they cor- 
 rected Jackson's inelegant English, weeding it of its 
 pompous coarseness. Darwin had already conceived 
 the design of turning the Linnsean system into a 
 poem, which, after he had composed it, was long 
 handed about in manuscript ; and, I believe, fre- 
 quently re\ased and altered with the most sedulous 
 care. The stage on which he has introduced his 
 fancied Queen of Botany, and her attendants from 
 the Rosicrusian world, has the recommendation of 
 being a real spot of ground within a mile of the place 
 he inhabited. A few years ago it retained many 
 traces of the diligence he had bestowed on it, and 
 has probably not yet entirely lost them. Of this 
 work, called the Botanic Garden, which he retained 
 till he thought there was no danger of his medical 
 character suffering from his being known as a poet, 
 he pubhshed, in 1789, the second part, containing 
 the Loves of the Plants, first ; believing it to be 
 more level to the apprehension of ordinary readers. 
 It soon made its way to an almost universal popu- 
 larity. With the lovers of poetry, the novelty of the 
 subject, and the high polish, as it was then con- 
 sidered, of the verse, secured it many favourers, and 
 the curiosity of the naturalist was not less gratified 
 by the various information and the fanciful conjee-
 
 ERASMUS DAEWIN. 253 
 
 tures which abounded in the notes. The first part 
 was given to the pubhc in three years after. 
 
 In 1795 and 1796, appeared the two volumes of 
 Zoonomia, or Laws of Organic Life, the produce of 
 long labour and much consideration. What profit 
 a physician may derive from this book I am unable 
 to determine ; but I fear that the general reader will 
 too often discover in it a hazardous ingenuity, to 
 which good sense and reason have been sacrificed. 
 When the writer of these pages, who was then his 
 patient, ventured to intimate the sensuality of one 
 part of it to its author, he himself immediately 
 referred to the passage which was likely to have 
 raised the objection ; and, on another occasion, as if 
 to counteract this prejudice in the mind of one 
 whose confidence he might be desirous of obtaining, 
 he recommended to him the study of Paley's Moral 
 Philosophy. 
 
 In 1781, he married his second vn£e, the vddow of 
 Colonel Pole, of Radburne, near Derby, with whom 
 he appears to have lived as happily as he had done 
 with his first. By her persuasion, he was induced 
 to pass the latter part of his days at Derby. Here 
 his medical practice was not at all lessened ; and he 
 had a second family to provide for out of the emolu- 
 ment which it brought him. His other publications 
 were a Tract on Female Education, a slight per- 
 formance, written for the purpose of recommending
 
 254 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 a school kept by some ladies, in whose welfare his 
 relation to them gave him a warm interest ; and a 
 long book in 1800, on the Philosophy of Agriculture 
 and Gardening, which he entitled Phytologia. 
 
 On Lady Day, 1 802, he took possession of an old 
 house, called the Priory, which had belonged to his 
 son Erasmus, and was situated at a short distance 
 from Derby ; and on the 1 7th of the next month, 
 while he was writing to his friend, Mr. Edgeworth, 
 the following letter, he was arrested by the sudden 
 approach of death. 
 
 Priory, near Derby, April 17, 1802. 
 
 Dear Edgeworth, — I am g-lad to find that you still 
 amuse yourself with mechanism, in spite of the trou- 
 bles of Ireland. 
 
 The use of turning aside, or downwards, the claw of 
 a table, I don't see, as it must be reared against a wall, 
 for it will not stand alone. If the use be for carriage, 
 the feet may shut up, like the usual brass feet of a 
 reflecting telescope. 
 
 We have all been now removed from Derby about 
 a fortnight, to the Priory, and all of us Uke our change 
 of situation. We have a pleasant home, a good gar- 
 den, ponds full of fish, and a pleasing valley somewhat 
 like Shenstone's — deep, umbrageous, and with a talk- 
 ative stream running- down it. Our home is near the 
 top of the valley, well screened by hills from the east 
 and north, and open to the south, where at four miles' 
 distance we see Derby Tower.
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 255 
 
 Four or more strong springs rise near the house, and 
 have formed the valley, which, like that of Petrarch, 
 may be called Valchiusa, as it begins, or is shut at the 
 situation of the house. I hope you like the description, 
 and hope farther, that yourself or any part of your 
 family will sometime do me the pleasure of a visit. 
 
 Pray tell the authoress that the water-nymphs of 
 our valley will be happy to assist her next novel. 
 
 My bookseller, Mr. Johnson, will not begin to print 
 the Temple of Nature till the jirice of paper is fixed 
 by Parliament. I suppose the present duty is paid 
 
 ^ ^ * ¥ 
 
 To this imperfect sentence was added on the 
 opposite side by another hand ; 
 
 Sir, — This family is in the greatest affliction. I am 
 truly grieved to inform you of the death of the inva- 
 luable Dr. Darwin. Dr. Darwin got up apparently in 
 o-ood health ; about eight o'clock, he rang the library 
 bell. The servant who went, said he appeared fainting. 
 He revived again. Mrs. Darwin was immediately 
 called. The Doctor spoke often, but soon appeared 
 fainting ; and died about one o'clock. 
 
 Our dear Mrs. Darwin and family are inconsolable : 
 
 their affliction is great indeed, there being few such 
 
 husbands or fathers. He will be most deservedly 
 
 lamented by all who had the honour of being known 
 
 to him. 
 
 I remain. Sir, 
 
 Your obedient humble servant, 
 
 S. M. 
 
 P.S. This letter was begun this morning by Dr. 
 Darwin himself.
 
 256 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 The complaint wliicli thus suddenly terminated 
 his life, in his seventy-first year, was the Angina 
 Pectoris. 
 
 The Temple of Nature was printed in the year 
 after his death; hut the public had either read 
 enough of his writings or were occupied with other 
 things, for little attention was paid to this poetical 
 bequest. That ingenious burlesque of his manner, 
 the Loves of the Triangles, probably contributed to 
 loosen the spell by wliich he had for a while taken 
 the general ear. 
 
 His person is well described by his biographer. 
 Miss Seward, as being above the middle size, his 
 form athletic, and his limbs too heavy for exact pro- 
 portion ; his comitenance marked by the traces of 
 a severe small-pox, and, when not animated by social 
 pleasure, rather saturnine than sprightly. In youth 
 his exterior was rendered agreeable by florid health, 
 and a smile that indicated good-humour. His por- 
 trait, by Wright of Derby, gives a very exact, but 
 inanimate, representation of his form and features. 
 In justice to the painter, it must be told, that I 
 beheve the likeness to have been taken after death. 
 
 In his medical practice he was by some accused 
 of empiricism. From this charge, both Miss Seward 
 and Mr. Edgeworth have, I think, justly vindicated 
 him. The former has recorded a project which he 
 suggested, on the supposed authority of some
 
 ERASMUS DAEWIN. 257 
 
 old practitioners, but which he did not execute, for 
 curing one of his consumptive patients by the trans- 
 fusing of blood from the veins of a person in health. 
 I have been told, that -when a mother, who seemed 
 to he in the paroxysm of a delirium, expressed an 
 earnest wish to take her infant into her arms, and 
 her attendants were fearful of indulging her lest she 
 should do some violence to the object of her affection, 
 he desired them to commit it to her without appre- 
 hension, and that the result was an immediate abate- 
 ment of her disorder. This was an instance rather 
 of strong sagacity than of extraordinary boldness ; 
 for nothing less than a well-founded confidence in 
 the safety of the experiment could have induced him 
 to hazard it. 
 
 I know not whether it be worth relating, that 
 when sent for to a nobleman, at Buxton, who con- 
 ceived his health to have suffered by the use of tea, 
 to which he was immoderately addicted, Darwin 
 rang the bell, and ordered a pot of strong green tea 
 to be brovight up, and, filling both his patient's cup 
 and his own, encouraged him to frequent and lavish 
 draughts. I have heard that he was impatient of 
 inquiries which related to diet ; thinking, I suppose, 
 that after the age of childhood, in ordinary cases, 
 each person might regulate it best for himself. But 
 from an almost entire abstinence from fermented 
 liquors, he was, both by precept and example, a 
 
 s
 
 258 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 strenuous ad\iser. " He believed," says Miss 
 Edgeworth, in her Memoirs of her Father, " that 
 almost all the distempers of the higher classes of 
 people arise from drinking, in some form or other, 
 too much vinous spirit. To this he attributed the 
 aristocratic disease of gout, the jaundice, and all 
 bilious or liver complaints ; in short all the family 
 of pain. This opinion he supported in his writings 
 with the force of his eloquence and reason ; and 
 still more in conversation, by all those powers of 
 wit, satire, and peculiar humour, which never ap- 
 peared fully to the public in his works, but which 
 gained, him strong ascendancy in private society. 
 During his lifetime, he almost banished wine from 
 the tables of the rich of his acquaintance ; and per- 
 suaded most of the gentry in his own and the neigh- 
 bouring counties to become water-drinkers." Here, 
 I doubt. Miss Edgeworth has a little over-rated the 
 extent of his influence. " Partly in jest, and partly 
 in earnest, he expressed his suspicions, and carried 
 his inferences on this subject, to a preposterous ex- 
 cess. When he heard that my father was bilious, he 
 suspected that this must be the consequence of his 
 having, since his residence in Ireland, and in com- 
 pliance with the fashion of the country, indulged 
 too freely in drinking. His letter, I remember, 
 concluded with — Farewell, my dear friend. God 
 keep yovi from whiskey — if he can."
 
 ERASMUS DABWIN. 259 
 
 His opinion respecting the safety of inoculating 
 for the small-pox at a proper age, as it was expressed 
 in the following letter to the writer of these pages, 
 will be satisfactory to such parents as are yet un- 
 convinced of the efficacy of vaccination ; and his 
 opinion is the more valuable, because it was given at 
 a time when there was neither prejudice nor pre- 
 possession on the subject. 
 
 Derhj, Oct. 9, 1797. 
 Dear Sir, — On the best inquiry I have been able to 
 make to-day, I cannot hear that the small-pox is in 
 Derby. I can only add, that all those who have died 
 by inoculation, whom I have heard of these last twenty 
 years, have been children at the breast ; on which ac- 
 count it may be safer to defer inoculation till four or 
 five years old, if there be otherwise no hazard of 
 taking the disease naturally. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 E. Darwin. 
 
 On the accounts which his patients gave him of 
 their own maladies, he placed so httle dependence, 
 that he thought it necessary to wring the truth from 
 them as a lawyer would do from an unwilling wit- 
 ness. His general distrust of others, in all that 
 related to themselves, is well exemplified by a casual 
 remark that has been lately repeated to me by a 
 respectable dignitary of the church, to whom when 
 he was apologizing for his want of skill in the game
 
 260 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of cliess, at which they were going to play, Darwin 
 answered, that he made it a rule, not to believe 
 either the good or the harm that men spoke of them- 
 selves. 
 
 This want of reliance in the sincerity of those 
 with whom he conversed has been attributed, vrith 
 some colour of reason, to his habitual scepticism on 
 matters of higher moment. Mr. Fellowes has ob- 
 served of him, that he dwelt so much and so 
 exclusively on second causes, that he seems to have 
 forgotten that there is a first. There is no solution 
 of natural effects to which he was not ready to listen, 
 provided it would assist him in getting rid of what 
 he considered an unnecessary intervention of the 
 Supreme Being. A fibre capable of irritability was 
 with him enough to account, not only for the origin 
 of animal life, but for its progress through all its 
 stages. He had thus involved himself in the 
 grossest materialism ; but, being endued with an 
 active fancy, he engendered on it theories so wild 
 and chimerical, that they might be regarded with 
 the same kind of wonder as the fictions of romance, 
 if our pleasure were not continually checked by re- 
 membering the error in which they originate. What 
 more prodigious transformation shall we read of in 
 0\dd, than that which he svipposes the organs of his 
 strange ens to have undergone during the change of 
 our globe from moist to dry ?
 
 EKASMUS DARWIN. 261 
 
 As in dry air the sea-born stranger roves, 
 Each muscle quickens, and each sense improves ; 
 Cold gills aquatic form respiring lungs, 
 And sounds aerial flow from slimy tongues. 
 
 Temple of Nature, c. 1. 
 
 The peculiarities of the shapes of animals, which 
 distinguished them from each other, he supposes to 
 have been gradually formed by these same irritable 
 fibres, and to have been varied by reproduction. As 
 to the faculties of sensation, volition, and association, 
 they come in afterwards as matters of course, and in 
 a manner so easy and natural, that the only wonder 
 is, what had kept them waiting so long. He men- 
 tions, with something like approbation, the hypothesis 
 of Buffon and Helvetius, who, as he tells us, seem 
 to imagine, that mankind arose from one family of 
 monkeys, on the banks of the Mediterranean, who 
 accidentally had learned to use the adductor pollicis, 
 or that strong muscle which constitutes the ball of 
 the thumb and draws the point of it to meet the 
 points of the fingers, which common monkeys do 
 not ; and that this muscle gradually increased in 
 size, strength and activity, in successive generations ; 
 and that, by this improved use of the sense of the 
 touch, monkeys acquired clear ideas, and gradually 
 became men. 
 
 To this he gravely adds, that perhaps all the pro- 
 ductions of nature are in their progress to greater
 
 262 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 perfection ! an idea countenanced by modem dis- 
 coveries and deductions concerning the progressive 
 formation"of the sohd parts of this terraqueous globe, 
 and consonant of the dignity of the Creator. 
 
 His description of the way in which clear ideas 
 were acqmred is not much improved when he puts it 
 into verse. 
 
 Nerved with fine touch above the bestial throngs, 
 The hand, first gift of Heaven ! to man belongs : 
 Untipt with claws, the circling fingers close, 
 With rival points the bending thumbs oppose, 
 Trace the nice lines of form with sense refined, 
 And clear ideas charm the thinking mind. 
 
 Temple of Nature, c. 3. 
 
 He tells us of a naturalist who had found out a 
 shorter cut to the production of animal life, who 
 thought it not impossible that the first insects were 
 the anthers and stigmas of flowers, which had by 
 some means loosened themselves, from their parent 
 plant, and that other insects in process of time had 
 been formed from these ; some acquiring wings, 
 others fins, and others claws, from their ceaseless 
 efforts to procure food, or to secure themselves from 
 injury. What hindered but these insects might 
 have acquired hands, and by those means clear ideas 
 also, is not explained to us. 
 
 As great improvements, however, have certainly 
 been made in some way or other, he sees reason to
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 263 
 
 hope that not less important ameliorations may in 
 time succeed. If our improved chemistry (says he,) 
 should ever discover the art of making sugar from 
 fossile or aerial matter, without the assistance of 
 vegetation, food for animals would then become as 
 plentiful as water, and they might live upon the 
 earth without prejang on each other, as thick as 
 blades of grass, without restraint to their numbers 
 but the want of local room : no very comfortable 
 prospect, it must be owned, especially to those who 
 are aware of the alarming ratio in which, according 
 to later discoveries, population is found to multiply 
 itself ; a consummation that would scarcely produce 
 that at which he thought it the chief duty of a philo- 
 sopher to aim : namely, the greatest possible quantity 
 of human happiness. On being made acquainted 
 with reveries such as these, through the means of 
 the press, we are inclined to doubt the justice of his 
 encomium on the art of printing, since which dis- 
 covery, he tells us, superstition has been much 
 lessened by the reformation of religion ; and necro- 
 mancy, astrology, chiromancy, witchcraft, and 
 vampyrism, have vanished from all classes of society ; 
 though some are still so weak in the present enlight- 
 ened times as to believe in the prodigies of animal 
 magnetism, and of metallic tractors. What then is 
 to be said of the prodigies of spontaneous vitality ? 
 To a system which removes the Author of all so far
 
 264 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 from our contemplation, we might well prefer the 
 faith of 
 
 the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind 
 
 Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind. 
 
 The father of English poetry, who well knew what 
 qualities and habits might with most probability be 
 assigned to men of different professions, has made it 
 a trait in the character of his Doctour of Phisike, 
 that 
 
 His study was but little in the Bible. 
 
 Though there are illustrious examples of the con- 
 trary, yet it may sometimes be with the physician as 
 Shakspeare said of himself, when complaining of 
 the influence which the business of a player had 
 on his mind, that 
 
 his nature is subdued 
 
 To that it works in. 
 
 A propensity to materialism had not, however, so 
 subdued the mind of Darwin, as to prevent him from 
 acknowledging the existence of what he terms the 
 Great Cause of Causes, Parent of Parents, Ens 
 Entium. Nay, he went the length of maintaining, 
 that his doctrine of spontaneous vitality was not 
 inconsistent with Scripture. 
 
 But whatever may be thought of his creed, it must 
 be recorded of him that he discharged some of the 
 best duties of religion in a manner that would have
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 
 
 265 
 
 become its most zealous professors. He was boun- 
 tiful to the poor, and hospitable to his equals. To 
 the inferior clergy, when he resided at Lichfield, he 
 gave his advice unfeed, and he attended diligently to 
 the health of those who were unable to requite him. 
 Johnson is said, when he visited his native city, to 
 have shmmed the society of Darwin : Cowper, who 
 certainly was as firm a believer as Johnson, thought 
 it no disparagement to his orthodoxy, to address some 
 complimentary verses to him on the publication of 
 his Botanic Garden. 
 
 This poem ought not to be considered more than as 
 a capriccio, or sport of the fancy, on which he has 
 expended much labour to httle purpose. It does not 
 pretend to anything like correctness of design, or con- 
 tinuity of action. It is like a picture of Breughel's, 
 where every thing is highly coloured, and every thing 
 out of order. In the first part, called the Economy of 
 Vegetation, the Goddess of Botany appears with her 
 attendants, the Powers of the Four Elements, for no 
 other purpose than to describe to them their several 
 functions in carrying on the operations of nature. In 
 the second, which has no necessary connection with 
 the first, the Botanic Muse describes the Loves of 
 the Plants. Here the fiction is puerile, and built on 
 a system which is itself in danger of vanishing into 
 air. At the end of the second canto, the Muse takes 
 a dish of tea? which I think is the only thing of any
 
 266 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 consequence that is done throughout. The second 
 part has been charged with an immoral tendency ; 
 but Miss Seward has observed, with much truth, 
 that it is a burlesque upon morality to make the 
 amours of the plants responsible at its tribunal ; and 
 that the impurity is in the imagination of the reader, 
 not in the pages of the poet. For these amours, he 
 might have fomid a better motto than that which he 
 has prefixed from Claudian, in the following stanza 
 of Marini. 
 
 Ne' fior ne' fiori istessi Amor ha loco, 
 Ama il g'iglio il ligustro e I'amaranto, 
 E Narciso e Giacinto, Ajace e Croco, 
 E con la bella Clitia il vago Acanto ; 
 Arde la Rosa di vermiglio foco, 
 L'odor sosjjiro e la rugiada e pianto : 
 Ride la Calta, e pallida e essangue 
 Vinta d'amor la violetta langue. 
 
 Adone, Canto 6. 
 
 He was apt to confound the odd with the gro- 
 tesque, and to mistake the absurd for the fanciful. 
 By an excellent landscape-painter now Hving, I was 
 told that Darwin proposed as a subject for his pencil, 
 a shower, in which there should be represented a red" 
 breast holding up an expanded umbrella in its claws. 
 
 An ItaUan critic, following a division made by 
 Plotinus, has distributed the poets into three classes, 
 which he calls the musical, the amatorial, and the
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 267 
 
 philosophic. In the first, he places those who are 
 studious of softness and harmony in their numbers ; 
 in the second, such as content themselves with de- 
 scribing accurately the outward appearances of real or 
 fanciful objects ; and in the third, those who penetrate 
 to the quahties of things, draw out their hidden beau- 
 ties, and separate what is really and truly fair from that 
 which has only its exterior semblance. Among the 
 second of these, Darwin might claim for himself no 
 mean station. It was, indeed, a notion he had taken 
 up, that as the ideas derived from visible objects (to 
 use his own words) are more distinct than those 
 derived from any other source, the words expressive 
 of those ideas belonging to \ision make up the prin- 
 cipal part of poetic language. So entirely was he 
 engrossed by this persuasion, as, too frequently, to 
 forget that the admirers of poetry have not only eyes 
 but ears and hearts also ; and that therefore harmony 
 and pathos are required of the poet, no less than a 
 faithful delineation of visible objects. 
 
 Yet there is something in his versification also that 
 may be considered as his own. His numbers have 
 less resemblance to Pope's, than Pope's to those of 
 Dryden. Whether the novelty be such as to reflect 
 much credit on the inventor, is another question. His 
 secret, was, I think, to take those lines in Pope which 
 seemed to him the most diligently elaborated, and to
 
 268 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 model his own upon tliem. But with those forms of 
 verse which he borrowed more particularly from Pope, 
 in which one part is equally balanced by the other, 
 and of which each is complete in itself without re- 
 ference to those which precede or follow it, he has 
 mingled one or two others that had been used by our 
 elder poets, but almost entirely rejected by the re- 
 finers of the couplet measure till the time of Lang- 
 horne ; as where the substantive and its epithet are 
 so placed, that the latter makes the end of an iambic 
 in the second, and the former the beguming of a tro- 
 chee in the third foot. 
 
 And showers | the still | snow from | his hoary urns. 
 
 Darwin, Botanic Garden, p. 1, c. 2, 28. 
 Or dart | the red | flash through | the circling band. 
 
 Ihid.mi. 
 Or rests | hSr fair | cheek on | his curled brows. 
 
 Ibid. c. 2, 252. 
 Deserve | a sweet | look from | Demetrius' eye. 
 
 Shakspeare, Mid. N. D. 
 Infect I the sound | pine and | divert his grain. 
 
 Shakespeare, Tempest. 
 Which on | thy soft | cheek for | complexion dwells. 
 
 SJuikspeare, Sonnet 99. 
 To lay j their just | hands 6n | the golden key. 
 
 Milton, Comus. 
 
 Or where they make the end of an iambic in the
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 269 
 
 first, and the begiuuing of a spondee in the second 
 foot, as 
 
 The wan | stars glimlraering through its silver train. 
 
 Botanic Garden, p. 1, c. 1, 135. 
 The bright | dr5ps roljUng from her hfted arms. 
 
 Ihd. c. 2, 59. 
 The pale | lamp glim|mering through the sculptur'd ice. 
 
 Ihid. 134. 
 
 Her fair | cheek press'd | upon her lily hand. 
 
 Temple of Nature, c. 1, 436. 
 The foul I boar's con|quest on her fair delight. 
 
 Shahspeare, Venus and Adonis, 1030. 
 The red | blood rock'd | to show the painter's strife. 
 
 Ibid. Rape of Lucrece, 1377. 
 
 There is so little complexity in the construction of 
 his sentences, that they may generally be reduced to 
 a few of the first and simplest rules of syntax. On 
 these he rings what changes he may, by putting the 
 verb before its nominative or vocative case. Thus in 
 the following verses from the Temple of Nature : 
 
 On rapid feet o'er hills, and plains, and rocks, 
 Speed the sacred leveret and rapacious fox ; 
 On rapid pinions cleave the fields above. 
 The hawk descending, and escaping dove ; 
 With nicer nostril track the tainted ground, 
 The hungry vulture, and the prowling hound ; 
 Converge reflected light with nicer eye, 
 The midnight owl, and microscopic fly ;
 
 270 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 With finer ear pursue their nightly course, 
 The listening lion, and the alarmed horse. 
 
 C. 3, 93. 
 
 Sometimes he alternates the forms ; as 
 
 In Eden's groves, the cradle of the world, 
 Bloom'd a fair tree with mystic flowers unfurl'd ; 
 On bending branches, as aloft it sprung. 
 Forbid to taste, the fruit of knowledge hung ; 
 Flow'd with sweet innocence the tranquil hours, 
 And love and beauty warm'd the blissful bowers. 
 
 Ihid. 449. 
 
 The last line or the middle of the last line in almost 
 every sentence throughout his poems, begins with a 
 conjunction affirmative or negative, and, or nor ; and 
 this last line is often so weak, that it breaks down 
 under the rest. Thus in this very pretty impression, 
 as it may almost be called, of an ancient gem ; 
 
 So playful Love on Ida's flowery sides 
 With ribbon-rein the indignant lion guides ; 
 Pleased on his brindled back the lyre he rings. 
 And shakes delirious rapture from the strings ; 
 Slow as the pausing" monarch stalks along, 
 Sheathes his retractile claws, and drinks the song. 
 Soft nymphs on timid step the triumph view, 
 And listening fauns with beating hoofs pursue ; 
 With pointed ears the alarmed forest starts. 
 And love and music soften savage hearts. 
 
 Botanic Garden, c. 4. 252.
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN. 271 
 
 And in an exceedingly happy description of what is 
 termed the picturesque : 
 
 The rush-thatch'd cottage on the purple moor, 
 Where ruddy children frolic round the door, 
 The moss-grown antlers of the aged oak, 
 The shaggy locks that fringe the colt unbroke, 
 The bearded goat with nimble eyes, that glare 
 Through the long tissue of his hoary hair, 
 As with quick foot he climbs some ruin'd wall, 
 And crops the ivy which prevents its fall, 
 With rural charms the tranquil mind delight, 
 And form a picture to the admiring sight. 
 
 Temple of Nature, c. 3, 248. 
 
 And in his Unes on the Eagle, from another gem : 
 
 So when with bristling plumes the bird of Jove, 
 Vindictive leaves the argent fields above. 
 Borne on broad wings the guilty world he awes, 
 And grasps the lightning in his shining claws. 
 
 Botanic Garden, p. 1, c. 1, 205. 
 
 where I cannot but observe the peculiar beauty of the 
 epithet applied to the plumes of the eagle. It is the 
 right translation of the word by which Pindar has 
 described the ruffling of the wings on the back of Zetes 
 and Calais. 
 
 -TTTEOoiaiv vwra tte- 
 
 (bpiKOvraQ audxi) Trop^vpioig. 
 
 Pyth. 4, 326.
 
 272 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 which an Itahan translator has entirely mistaken ; 
 
 Uomin' ambi, cli'orrore a' risguardanti 
 Facean coi rosseggianti 
 Vanni del tergo. 
 
 But Darwin could have known nothing of Pindar ; 
 and the word may perhaps be foimd with a similar 
 application in one of our own poets. 
 
 As the singularity of his poems caused them to be 
 too much admired at first, so are they now more 
 neglected than they deserve. There is about as much 
 variety in them as in a bed of tuhps, of which the 
 shape is the same in all, except that some are a little 
 more rounded at the points than others ; yet they are 
 diversely streaked- and freckled, with a profusion of 
 gay tints, in which the bizarre (as it is called by the 
 fanciers of that flower) prevails. They are a sight 
 for one half hour in the spring, and no more ; and are 
 utterly devoid of odour.
 
 273 
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 
 
 William Julius Mickle was born on the 29th of 
 September, 1734, at Longholm, in the county of 
 Dumfries, of which place his father, Alexander Mei- 
 kle, or Mickle, a minister of the church of Scotland, 
 was pastor. His mother was Julia, daughter of 
 Thomas Henderson, of Ploughlands, near Edinburgh. 
 In his thirteenth year, his love of poetry was kin- 
 dled by reading Spenser's Faery Queen. Two years 
 after, his father, who was grown old and infirm, and 
 had a large family to educate, by an unusual indul- 
 gence obtained permission to reside in Edinburgh, 
 where Mickle was admitted a pupil at the High 
 School. Here he remained long enough to acquire 
 a relish for the Greek and Latin classics. When he 
 was seventeen years old, his father unluckily em- 
 barking his capital in a brewery, which the death of 
 his wife's brother had left without a manager, Wil- 
 liam was taken from school, and employed as clerk 
 under the eldest son, in whose name the business 
 was carried on. At first he must have been atten- 
 tive enough to his employment ; for on his coming 
 of age, the property was made over to him, on the 
 condition of paying his family a certain share of the 
 profits arising from it. Afterwards, he suffered 
 
 T
 
 2/4 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 himself to be seduced from business by the attrac- 
 tions of Uterature. His father died in 1/58; and, 
 in about three years he pubhshed, without his name. 
 Knowledge, an Ode, and a Night Piece, the former 
 of which had been written in his eighteenth year. 
 In both there is more of seriousness and reflection 
 than of that fancy which marks his subsequent pro- 
 ductions. Beside these, he had finished a drama, 
 called the Death of Socrates, of which, if we may 
 judge from his other tragedy, the loss is not to be 
 lamented, and he had begun a poem on Pro\'idence. 
 The difficulties consequent on his trusting to ser- 
 vants the work of his brewery, which he was too 
 indolent to superintend himself, and on his joining 
 in security for a large sum with a printer who failed, 
 were now gathering fast upon him. His creditors 
 became clamorous ; and at Candlemas (one of the 
 quarter days in Scotland) 17G2, being equally un- 
 willing to compound with them, as his brother ad- 
 vised him to do, and unable to satisfy their demands, 
 he prevailed on them to accept his notes of hand, 
 payable in four months. When the time was ex- 
 pired, he fomid himself, as might have been expected, 
 involved in embarrassments from which he could 
 de\ise no means of escaping. His mind was ha- 
 rassed by bitter reflections on the distress which 
 threatened those whom his parent had left to his 
 protection; and he was scared by the terrors of
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 275 
 
 a jail. But they, with whom he had to reckon, 
 were again lenient. He consoled himself with re- 
 collecting that his delinquency had proceeded from 
 inadvertence, not from design, and resolved to be 
 more sedulous in future : but had still the weakness 
 to trust for relief to his poem on Providence. This 
 was soon after published by Dodsley, and, that it 
 might win for itself such advantages as patronage 
 could give, was sent to Lord Lyttelton, under the 
 assumed name of William Moore, with a representa- 
 tion that the author was a youth, friendless and un- 
 known, and with the offer of a dedication if the poem 
 should be again edited. This proceeding did not 
 evince much knowledge of mankind. A poet has as 
 seldom gained a patron as a mistress, by solicitation 
 to which no previous encouragement has been given. 
 It was more than half a year before he received an 
 answer from Lyttelton, with just kindness enough to 
 keep alive his expectations. In the meantime, the 
 friendly offices of a carpenter in Edinburgh, whose 
 name was Good, had been exerted to save his pro- 
 perty from being seized for rent ; but the fear of 
 arrest impelled him to quit that city in haste ; and 
 embarking on board a coal vessel at Newcastle, he 
 reached London, penny less, in May, 1763. His 
 immediate necessities were supplied by remittances 
 from his brothers, and by such profits as he could 
 derive from writing for periodical publications.
 
 276 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 There is no reason to suppose that he was indebted 
 to Lyttelton for more than the commendation of his 
 genius, and for some criticism on his poems ; and 
 even this favour was denied to the most beautiful 
 among them, his Elegy on Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 The cause assigned for the exclusion was, that poetry 
 should not consecrate what history must condemn, a 
 sacred principle if it be applied to the characters of 
 those yet h-ving, but of more doubtful obligation as 
 it regards past times. When Euripides, in one of 
 his dramas, chose to avail himself of a wild and 
 unauthorized tradition, and to represent Helen as 
 spotless, he surely \'iolated no sanction of moral 
 truth ; and in the instance of Mary, Mickle might 
 have pleaded some uncertainty which a poet was at 
 liberty to interpret to the better part. 
 
 During his courtship of Lyttelton he was fed at 
 one time by hopes of being recommended in the 
 "West Indies ; and, at another, of being served in the 
 East ; till by degrees the great man waxed so cold, 
 that he wisely relinquished his suit. His next pro- 
 ject was to go out as a merchant's clerk to Carolina ; 
 but some unexpected occurrences defeating this plan 
 also, he engaged himself as corrector of the Claren- 
 don press, at Oxford. Here he published (in 1/67) 
 the Concubine, a poem, in the manner of Spenser, 
 to which, when it was printed, ten years after, ha\dng
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 277 
 
 in the meantime passed through several editions, he 
 gave the title of Syr Martyn. 
 
 Early in life, his zeal for rehgion had shewn itself 
 in some remarks on an impious book termed the 
 History of the Man after God's own Heart ; and in 
 1767, the same feelings induced him to publish A 
 Vindication of the Divinity of Jesus Christ, in a 
 Letter to Dr. Harwood ; and, in the year following, 
 Voltaire in the Shades, or Dialogues on the Deistical 
 Controversy, 
 
 He was now willing to try his fortune with a tra- 
 gedy, and sent his Siege of Marseilles to Garrick, 
 who observed to him, that though abounding in 
 beautiful passages, it was deficient in dramatic art, 
 and ad\'ised him to model it anew ; in which task, 
 having been assisted by the author of Douglas, and 
 having submitted the rifacciamento of his play to 
 the two Wartons, by whom he was much regarded, 
 he promised himself better success ; but had the 
 mortification to meet vpith a second rebuif. An 
 appeal from the manager to the public was his 
 unquestioned privilege ; but not contented with seek- 
 ing redress by these means, he threatened Garrick 
 with a new Dunciad. The rejection which his drama 
 afterwards underwent at each of the playhouses, 
 from the respective managers, Harris and Sheridan, 
 perhaps taught him at least to suspect his own 
 judgment.
 
 2/8 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 In 1772, being employed to edit Pearch's Collec- 
 tion of Poems, he inserted amongst them his Hengist 
 and Mey, and the Elegy on Mary. About the same 
 time he wrote for the Whitehall Evening Post. But 
 his mind was now attracted to a more splendid pro- 
 ject. This was a translation of the great Epic Poem 
 of Portugal, the Lusiad of Camoens, which had as 
 yet been represented to the English reader only 
 through the inadequate version of Fanshaw. That 
 nothing might hinder his prosecution of this labour, 
 he resigned his employment at Oxford, and retired 
 to a farm-house at Forrest-hill, about five miles from 
 that city, the village in which MUton found his first 
 wife, and where Mickle afterwards fomid his in the 
 daughter of his landlord. By the end of 1775, his 
 translation was completed and published at Oxford, 
 with a numerous list of subscribers. Experience 
 had not yet taught him wariness in his approaches 
 to his patron. At the suggestion of his relative. 
 Commodore Johnstone, in an unlucky moment he in- 
 scribed his book to the Duke of Buccleugh. This 
 nobleman had declared his acceptance of the dedica- 
 tion in a manner so gracious, that Mickle was once 
 more decoyed vrith the hope of having found a 
 powerful protector. After an interval of some 
 months, he learnt that his incense had not been 
 permitted to enter the nostrils of the new idol, and 
 that his offering lay, where he left it, without the
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 279 
 
 slightest notice. For this disappointment he might 
 have considered it to be some compensation that his 
 work had procured him the kindness of those who 
 were more able to estimate it. Mr. Crowe assisted 
 him in compiling the notes ; Lowth offered to ordain 
 him, with the promise of making some provision for 
 him in the church ; and one, whose humanity and 
 candour are among the chief ornaments of the bench 
 on which Lowth then sate, Doctor Bathurst, soothed 
 him by those benevolent offices which he delights 
 to extend to the neglected and the oppressed. Nor 
 were the public insensible to the value of his trans- 
 lation. A second edition was called for in 1778 ; 
 and his gains amounted on the whole to near a 
 thousand pounds, a larger sum than was likely to 
 fall to the share of an author, who so little under- 
 stood the art of making his way in the world. It 
 was not, however, considerable enough to last long 
 against the calls made on it for the payment of old 
 debts, and for the support of his sisters ; and he 
 was devising further means of supplying his neces- 
 sities by a subscription for his poems, when Commo- 
 dore Johnstone (in 1779) being appointed to head 
 a squadron of ships, nominated him his secretary, 
 on board the Romney. Mickle had hitherto strug- 
 gled through a life of anxiety and indigence ; but a 
 gleam of prosperity came over the few years that 
 remained. A good share of prize-money fell to his
 
 280 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 lot ; and the squadron ha\'ing been fortunately or- 
 dered to Lisbon, he was there received with so much 
 distinction, that it would seem as if the Portuguese 
 had been willing to make some amends for their 
 neglect of Camoens, by the deference which thev 
 shewed his translator. Prince John, the uncle to the 
 Queen, was ready on the Quay to welcome him at 
 landing ; and during a residence of more than six 
 months he was gratified by the attentions of the 
 principal men of the country. At the first institu- 
 tion of the Royal Academy at Lisbon, he was 
 enrolled one of the Members. Here he composed 
 Almada Hill, an epistle from Lisbon, which was 
 published in the next year ; and designing to write a 
 History of Portugal, he brought together some ma- 
 terials for that purpose. 
 
 When he had returned to England, he was so 
 much enriched by his agency for the disposal of the 
 prizes which had been made during the cruise, and 
 by his own portion of the prize-money, that he was 
 enabled to discharge honourably the claims which 
 his creditors still had on him, and to settle himself 
 with a prospect of independence and ease. He ac- 
 cordingly married Mary, the daughter of Mr. Robert 
 Tompkins, of Forrest-hill, and took a house at Wheat- 
 ley, a little village about five miles from Oxford. 
 Some interruption to his tranquillity occurred from 
 the failure of a banker, \nt\i whom his agency had
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 281 
 
 connected him, and from a chancery suit, in which 
 he too hastily engaged to secure a part of his wife's 
 fortune. He then resumed his intention of publish- 
 ing his poems by subscription, and continued still 
 to exercise his pen. His remaining productions 
 were a tract, entitled The Prophecy of Queen Emma, 
 an ancient Ballad, &c., with Hints towards a Vindi- 
 cation of the Authenticity of the Poems of Ossian 
 and Rowley (in 1782), and some essays, called 
 Fragments of Leo, and some reviews of books, both 
 which he contributed to the European Magazine. 
 He died after a short illness, on the 25th of October, 
 1 788, at Forrest-hill, while on a visit at the house of 
 his father-in-law ; and was buried at that place. He 
 left one son, who was an extra-clerk in the India 
 House, in 1806, when the Life of Mickle was 
 written by the Rev. John Sim, a friend on whom he 
 enjoined that task, and who, I doubt not, has per- 
 formed it with fidelity. 
 
 Mickle was a man of strong natural powers, which 
 he had not always properly under controul. When 
 he is satisfied to describe with little apparent effort 
 what he has himself felt or conceived, as in his 
 ballads and songs, he is at times eminently happy. 
 He has generally erred on the side of the too much 
 rather than of the too little. His defect is not so 
 much want of genius as of taste. His thoughts were 
 forcible and vivid ; but the words in which he clothed
 
 282 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 them, are sometimes ill-chosen, and sometimes awk- 
 wardly disposed. He degenerates occasionally into 
 mere tm-gidness and verbosity, as in the following 
 lines : 
 
 Oh, partner of my infant grief and joys ! 
 
 Big- with the scenes now past my heart o'erfiows, 
 Bids each endearment fair at once to rise, 
 
 And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. 
 
 ^\Tien his stanza forced him to lop off this vain 
 superfluity of words, that the sense might be brought 
 within a narrower compass, he succeeded better. 
 Who would suppose, that these verses could have 
 proceeded from the same man that had written the 
 well known song, beginning "And are ye sure the 
 news is true," from which there is not a word that 
 can be taken without injury, and which seems so 
 well to answer the description of a simple and popu-. 
 lar song in Shakspeare ? 
 
 It is old and plain : 
 
 The songsters, and the knitters in the sun, 
 
 And the free maids that weave their threads with bone. 
 
 Do use to chaunt it. It is silly sooth, 
 
 And dallies with the innocence of love. 
 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Syr Marty n is the longest of his poems. He 
 could not have chosen a subject in itself much less 
 capable of embelUshment. But whatever the pomp
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS SUCKLE. 283 
 
 of macMnery or profuseness of description could 
 contribute to its decoration has not been spared. 
 After an elaborate invocation of the powers that pre- 
 side over the stream of MuUa, a "reverend wizard" 
 is conjured up in the eye of the poet ; and the wizard 
 in his turn conjures up scene after scene, in which 
 appear the hopeful young knight, Syr Martyn, 
 "possest of goodly Baronie," the dairy-maid, 
 Kathrin, by whose wiles he is inveigled into an illicit 
 amour, the good aunt who soon dies of chagrin at 
 this unworthy attachment, the yoimg brood who are 
 the offspring of the ill-sorted match, his brother, an 
 openhearted sailor, who is hindered by the artifices 
 of Kathrin from gaining access to the house, and 
 lastly, the " fair nymph Dissipation," with whom Syr 
 Martyn seeks refuge from his unpleasant recollec- 
 tions, and who conspires with " the lazy fiend, Self- 
 Imposition," to conduct him to the "dreary cave of 
 Discontent," where the poet leaves him, and "the 
 reverend wizard" (for aught we hear to the contrary) 
 in his company. Mean and familiar incidents and 
 characters do not sort well with allegory, which re- 
 quires beings that are themselves somewhat removed 
 from the common sphere of human nature to meet 
 and join it a little beyond the limits of this world. 
 Yet in this tale, incongruous and disjointed as the 
 dream of a sick man, velut segri somnia, he has 
 interspersed some lines, and even whole stanzas, to
 
 284 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 whicli the poet or the painter may turn again and 
 again with delight, though the common reader will 
 scarce find them sufficient to redeem the want of 
 interest that pervades the whole. 
 
 His elegy on Maiy, Queen of Scots, is also a 
 vision, but it is better managed, at once mournful 
 and sweet. He has thrown a pall of gorgeous em- 
 broidery over the bloody hearse of Mary. 
 
 Wolfwold and Ella, of which the story was sug- 
 gested by a picture of Mortimer's, is itself a picture, 
 in which the fine colouring and spirited attitudes 
 reconcile us to its horrors. 
 
 His tragedy is a tissue of love and intrigue, with 
 sudden starts of passion, and unprepared and impro- 
 bable turns of resolution and temper. Towards 
 the conclusion, one of the female characters puts an 
 end to herself, for little apparent reason, except 
 that it is the fifth act, and some blood must therefore 
 be shed ; Garrick's refusal, in all likelihood, spared 
 him the worse mortification of seeing it rejected 
 on the stage. Yet there is here and there in it a 
 masterly touch like the following : 
 
 Either my mind has lost its energy, 
 Or the unbodied spirits of my fathers, 
 Beneath the night's dark wing's, pass to and fro, 
 In doleful agitation hovering round me. 
 Methought my father, with a mournful look, 
 Beheld me. Sudden from unconscious pause 
 I wak'd, and but his marble bust was here.
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 285 
 
 Almada Hill has some just sentiments, and some 
 pleasing imageiy ; but both are involved in the mazes 
 of an unskilful or ambitious phraseology, from 
 which it is a work of trouble to extricate them. It 
 was about this time, that the laboured style in poetry 
 had reached its height. Not " to loiter into prose," 
 of which Lyttelton bade him beware, was the grand 
 aim ; and in their eagerness to leave prose as far 
 behind them as possible, the poets were in danger of 
 outstripping the understanding and feelings of their 
 readers. It was this want of ease and perspicuity in 
 his longer pieces, which prevented Mickle from 
 being as much a favourite with the public, as many 
 who were far his inferiors in the other qualities of a 
 poet. When a writer is obscure, only because his 
 reasoning is too abstruse, his fancy too lively, or his 
 allusions too learned for the vulgar, it is more just 
 that we should complain of ourselves for not being 
 able to rise to his level, than of him for not descend- 
 ing to our's. But let the difficulty arise from mere 
 imperfections of language, and the consciousness of 
 having solved an involuntary enigma is scarcely 
 sufficient to reward our pains. 
 
 The translation of the Lusiad is that by which he 
 is best known. In this, as in his original poems, 
 the expression is sometimes very faulty ; but he is 
 never flat or insipid. In the numbers, there is much 
 sweetness and freedom : and though they have some-
 
 286 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 what of the masculme melody of Diyden, yet thev 
 have something also that is peculiarly his own. He 
 has in a few instances enriched the language of 
 poetry by combinations unborrowed from any of his 
 predecessors. It is doubtful whether as much can 
 be said for Pope's translation of Homer. Almost all 
 who have written much in the couplet measure, since 
 Waller clipped it into uniformity, have been at times 
 reduced to the necessity of eking out their lines in 
 some way or other so as to make the sense reach its 
 prescribed bound. Most have done it by means of 
 epithets, which were always found to be " friends in 
 need." Mickle either breaks the lines with a free- 
 dom and spirit which were then unusual, or repeats 
 something of what has gone before, a contrivance 
 that ought to be employed sparingly, and used chiefly 
 when it is desirable to produce the effect of sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 The preference which he sometimes claims in the 
 notes for his author, above the other epic poets of 
 ancient and modern times, is less likely to conciliate 
 the good opinion than to excite the disgust of his 
 readers. There is no artifice that a translator can 
 resort to with less chance of success, than this 
 blowing of the showman's trumpet as he goes on 
 exhibiting the wonders of his original. There are 
 some puerile hyperboles, for which I know not 
 whether he or Camoens is responsible ; such as —
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 287 
 
 The mountain echoes catch the big swoln sighs. 
 The yellow sands with tears are silver'd o'er. 
 
 Johnson told him that he had once intended to 
 translate the Lusiad. The version would have had 
 fewer fatdts, but it may be questioned whether the 
 general result would have been as much animation 
 and harmony as have been produced by Mickle. 
 
 In addition to the poems, which were confessedly 
 his, there are no less than seventeen in Mr. Evans's 
 collection of Ballads, of which a writer in the 
 Quarterly Reiaew* some years ago expressed his 
 suspicion that they were from the pen of Mickle. 
 It has been found on inquiry, that the suggestion of 
 this judicious critic is fully confirmed. One of these 
 has lately been brought into notice from its having 
 formed the groundwork of one of those deservedly 
 popular stories, which have lately come to us from 
 the north of the Tweed. It is to be wished that 
 Mickle' s right in all of them were formally recog- 
 
 * For May 1810, No. VI. The title of the Ballads 
 are Bishop Thurston, and the King of Scots, Battle of 
 Caton Moor, Murder of Prince Arthur, Prince Edward, 
 and Adam Gordon, Cumner Hall, Arabella Stuart, 
 Anna Bullen, the Lady and the Palmer, The Fair 
 Maniac, The Bridal Bed, The Lordling Peasant, The 
 Bed Cross Knight, The Wandering Maid, The Triumph 
 of Death, Julia, The Fruits of Jealousy, and The Death 
 of Allen.
 
 288 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 nized, and that they should be no longer withheld from 
 their place amongst his other poetical writings, to 
 which they would form so valuable an accession. 
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 
 
 James Beattie was born on the 25th of October, 
 1735, at Laurencekirk, in the county of Kincardine, 
 in Scotland. His father, who kept a small shop in 
 that place, and rented a httle farm near it, is said to 
 have been a man of acquirements superior to his con- 
 dition. At his death, the management of his concerns 
 devolved on his widow. David, the eldest of her six 
 children, was of an age to assist his mother. James, 
 the youngest, she placed at the parish school of his 
 native village, which about forty years before had 
 been raised to some celebrity by Ruddiman, the 
 grammarian, and was then kept by one Milne. This 
 man had also a competent skill in grammar. His 
 other deficiencies were supplied by the natural quick- 
 ness of his pupil, and by the attention of Mr. Thom- 
 son, the minister of Laurencekirk, who, being a man of 
 learning, admitted young Beattie to the use of his 
 library, and probably animated him by his encourage-
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 289 
 
 merit. He very early became sensible to the charms 
 of English verse, to which he was first awakened by 
 the perusal of Ogilby's Virgil. Before he was ten 
 years old, he was as well acquainted with that wTiter 
 and Homer, as the versions of Pope and Dryden 
 could make him. His schoolfellows distinguished 
 him by the name of the Poet. 
 
 At the age of fourteen, he was sent to Marischal 
 College, Aberdeen, where he attended the Greek class, 
 taught by Dr. Blackwell, author of the Memoirs of 
 the Court of Augustus, and was by him singled out as 
 the most promising of his scholars. The slender 
 pittance spared him by his mother would scarcely 
 have sufficed for his support, if he had not added to 
 it one of the bursaries or pensions that were bestowed 
 onthemost deserving candidates. Of a discourse which 
 he was called on to deUver at the Di\-inity Hall, it 
 was observed, that he spoke poetry in prose. Thomson 
 was censured for a similar impropriety in one of his 
 youthful exercises ; but Beattie gained the applause 
 of his audience. 
 
 His academical education being completed, on the 
 1st of August, 1753, he was satisfied Avith the hum- 
 ble appointment of parish-clerk and schoolmaster at 
 the \dllage of Fordoun, about six miles distant from 
 Laurencekirk. Here he attracted the notice of Mr. 
 Garden, at that time sheriff of the county, and after- 
 wards one of the Scotch judges, with the appellation 
 
 u
 
 290 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of Lord Gardenstowu. In a romantic glen near his 
 house, he chanced to find Beattie with pencil and 
 paper in his hand ; and, on questioning him, disco- 
 vered that he was engaged in the composition of a 
 poem. Mr. Garden desired to see some' of his other 
 poems ; and doubting whether they were his own pro- 
 ductions, requested him to translate the invocation to 
 Venus at the opening of Lucretius, which Beattie did 
 in such a manner as to remove his increduhty. In 
 this retirement, he also became known to Lord Mon- 
 boddo, whose family seat was in the parish ; and a 
 friendly intercourse ensued, which did not terminate 
 till the death of that learned but visionary man. In 
 1758, he was removed from his employment at For- 
 doun, to that of usher in the Grammar School at Aber- 
 deen, for which he had been an unsuccessful com- 
 petitor in the preceding year, but was now nominated 
 without the form of a trial. 
 
 At Aberdeen, his heart seems to have taken up its 
 rest ; for no temptations could afterwards seduce him 
 for any length of time to quit it. The professorship 
 of Natural Philosophy in the Marischal College, 
 where he had lately been a student, being vacant in 
 1760, Mr. Arbuthnot, one of his friends, exerted 
 himself with so much zeal in the behalf of Beattie, 
 that he obtained that appointment; although the 
 promotion was such as his most sanguine wishes did 
 not aspire to. Soon after he was further gratified, by
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 291 
 
 being permitted to exchange it for the professorship 
 of Moral Philosophy and Logic, for which he thought 
 himself better fitted. In discharge of the duties be- 
 longing to his new function, he immediately entered 
 on a course of lectures, which, as appears from his 
 diary in the possession of Sir William Forbes, he 
 repeated with much diligence for more than thirty 
 years. 
 
 This occupation could not have been very favour- 
 able to his poetical propensity. He had, since his 
 twentieth year, been occasionally a contributor of 
 verse to the Scots Magazine; and in 1760, he pub- 
 lished a collection of poems, inscribed to the Earl of 
 ErroU, to whose intervention he had been partly 
 indebted for the office he held in the college. Though 
 the number of these pieces was not considerable, he 
 omitted several of them in subsequent editions, and 
 among others a translation of Virgil's Eclogues, some 
 specimens of which, adduced in a letter written by 
 Lord Woodhouselee, author of the Principles of Trans- 
 lation, will stand a comparison with the parallel pas- 
 sages in Dryden and Warton. 
 
 In the summer of 1 763, his curiosity led him for 
 the first time to London, where Andrew Millar the 
 bookseller, was almost his only acquaintance. Of 
 this journey no particular is recorded but that he 
 visited Pope's house at Twickenham. 
 
 In 1 765, having sent a letter of compliment to Gray,
 
 292 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 then on a \isit to the Earl of Strathmore, he was in- 
 vited to Glammis Castle, the residence of that noble- 
 man, to meet the English poet, in whom he found 
 such a combination of excellence as he had hitherto 
 been a stranger to. This appears from a letter written 
 to Sir WilUam Forbes, his faithful friend and biogra- 
 pher, with whom his intimacy commenced about the 
 same time. 
 
 I am sorry you did not see Mr. Gray on his return ; 
 you would have been much pleased with him. Setting' 
 aside his merit as a poet, which, however, in my opinion, 
 is greater than any of his contemporaries can boast, in 
 this or in any other nation, I found him possessed of the 
 most exact taste, the soundest judgment, and the most 
 extensive learning. He is happy in a singular facility 
 of expression. His conversation abounds in original 
 observations, delivered with no appearance of senten- 
 tious formality, and seeming to arise spontaneously, 
 without study or premeditation. I passed two very 
 agreeable days with him at Glammis, and found him as 
 easy in his manners, and as communicative and frank 
 as I could have Avished. 
 
 Gray could not have requited him with such 
 excess of admiration ; but continued during the rest 
 of his life to regard Beattie with affection and esteem. 
 
 It was not till the spring of this year, when his 
 Judgment of Paris was printed, that he again ap- 
 peared before the public as an author. This piece he
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 293 
 
 inserted in the next editon of his poems, in 1 766, but 
 his more mature judgment afterwards induced him to 
 reject it. Some satirical verses on the death of 
 Churchill, at first published without his name, under- 
 went the same fate. The Wolf and the Shepherds, 
 a Fable, and an Epistle to the Rev. Mr. Thomas 
 Blacklock, which appeared in the second edition, he 
 also discarded from those subsequently pubUshed. 
 He now projected and began the Minstrel, the most 
 popular of his poems. Had the original plan been 
 adhered to, it would have embraced a much wider 
 scope. 
 
 In 1767, he married Mary, the daughter of Dr. 
 Dun, rector of the Grammar School at Aberdeen. 
 This union was not productive of the happiness 
 which a long course of previous intimacy had entitled 
 him to expect. The object of his choice inherited 
 from her mother a constitutional malady which at 
 first shewed itself in capricious waywardness, and at 
 length broke out into insanity. 
 
 From this misery he sought refuge in the exercise 
 of his mind. His residence at Aberdeen had brought 
 him into the society of several among his countrymen 
 who were engaged in researches well suited to em- 
 ploy his attention to its utmost stretch. Of these 
 the names of Reid, author of An Inquiry into the 
 Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense — 
 and Campbell, Principal of Marischal College, author
 
 294 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of An Essay on Miracles, are the most distinguished. 
 His own correspondence with his friends about this 
 time evinces deep concern at the progress of the scep- 
 tical philosophy, diffused by the writings of Hobbes, 
 Hume, Mandeville, and even, in his opinion, of Locke 
 and Berkeley. Concei\-ing the study of metaphysics 
 itself to be the origin of this mischief, in order that 
 the evil might be intercepted at its source, he pro- 
 posed to demonstrate the futility of that science, and 
 to appeal to the common sense and unsophisticated 
 feelings of mankind, as the only infallible criterion on 
 subjects in which it had formerly been made the stand- 
 ard. That his meaning was excellent, no one can 
 doubt ; whether he discovered the right remedy for 
 the harm which he was desirous of remo\-ing, is much 
 more questionable. To magnify any branch of human 
 knowledge beyond its just importance may, indeed, 
 tend to weaken the force of rehgious faith ; but many 
 acute metaphysicans have been good Christians ; and 
 before the question thus agitated can be set at rest, 
 we must suppose a certain proficiency in those in- 
 quiries which he would proscribe as dangerous. After 
 all, we can discover no more reason why sciolists in 
 metaphysics should bring that study into discredit, 
 than that reUgion itself should be disparaged through 
 the extravagance of fanaticism. To have met the sub- 
 ject fully, he ought to have shewn that not only those 
 opinions which he controverts are erroneous, but that
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 295 
 
 all the systems of former metaphysicians were so 
 hkewise. 
 
 The Essay on Truth, in which he endeavoured to 
 estabhsh his own hypothesis, being finished in 1/69, 
 he employed Sir William Forbes and Mr. Arbuthnot 
 to negotiate its sale with the booksellers. They, how- 
 ever, refused to purchase it on any terms ; and the 
 work would have remained unpublished, if his two 
 friends, making use of a little pious fraud, had not 
 informed him that the manuscript was sold for fifty 
 gumeas, a sum which they at the same time remitted 
 him, and that they had stipulated with the booksellers 
 to be partakers in the profits. The book accordingly 
 appeared in the following year ; and having gained 
 many admirers, was quickly followed by a second 
 impression, which he revised and corrected with much 
 pains. 
 
 In the autumn of 1771, he again visited London, 
 where the reputation obtained by the Essay and by 
 the first book of the Minstrel, then recently published, 
 opened for him an introduction into the circles most 
 respectable for rank and hterature. Lord Lyttelton 
 declared that it seemed to him his once most beloved 
 minstrel, Thomson, was come down from Heaven 
 refined by the converse of purer spirits than those he 
 lived vdth here, to let him hear him sing again the 
 beauties of nature and the finest feelings of virtue, 
 not with human, but with angelic strains. He
 
 296 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 added his wishes that it were in his power to do 
 Beattie any service. From Mrs. Montagu he on dif- 
 ferent occasions received more substantial tokens of 
 regard. 
 
 Except the trifling emolument derived from his 
 writings, he had hitherto been supported merely by 
 the small income appended to his professorship. But 
 the Earl of Dartmouth, a nobleman to whom nothing 
 that concerned the interests of rehgion was indifferent, 
 representing him as a fit object of the royal bounty, 
 a pension of two hundred pounds a year was now 
 granted him. Previously to his obtaining this favour, 
 he was first presented to the King, and was then 
 honoured by an interview with both their Majesties. 
 The particulars of this visit were minutely recorded 
 in his diary. After much commendation of his Essay, 
 the sovereign pleasantly told him that he had never 
 stolen but one book, and that was his. " I stole it ' 
 from the Queen," said his Majesty, " to give it to 
 Lord Hertford to read." In the course of the con- 
 versation, many questions were put to him concerning 
 the Scotch Universities, the revenues of the Scotch 
 clergy, and their mode of preaching and praying. 
 When Beattie replied, that their clergy sometimes 
 prayed a quarter or even half an hour without inter- 
 ruption, the King observed, that this practice must 
 lead into repetitions ; and that even om* own Hturgy, 
 excellent as it is, is faulty in this respect. While
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 297 
 
 the subject of his pension was under consideration, 
 the Queen made a tender of some present to him 
 through Dr. Majendie, but he decUned to encroach 
 on her Majesty's munificence, unless the appUcation 
 made to the crown in his behalf should prove imsuc- 
 cessful. A mercenary spirit, indeed, was not one of 
 his weaknesses. Being on a visit at Bulstrode, his 
 noble hostess the Duchess of Portland, would have 
 had him take a present of a hundred pounds to defray 
 the expenses of his journey into England ; but he 
 excused himself, as well as he was able, for not ac- 
 cepting her Grace's bounty. 
 
 With his pension, his wishes appear to have been 
 bounded. Temptation to enter into orders in our 
 church was thrice offered him, and as often rejected ; 
 once in the shape of a general promise of patronage 
 from Dr. Drummond, Archbishop of York ; next, of 
 a small living in Dorsetshire, in the gift of Mr. John 
 Pitt : and the third time, of a much more valuable 
 benefice, which was at the disposal of Dr. Thomas, 
 Bishop of Winchester. In answer to Dr. Porteus, 
 through whom the last of these oifers came, and 
 whose friendship he enjoyed during the remainder of 
 his Hfe, he represented, in addition to other reasons 
 for his refusal, that he was apprehensive lest his 
 acceptance of preferment might render the motives 
 for his writing the Essay on Truth suspected. He at 
 the same time avowed, that if "he were to have
 
 298 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 become a clergyman, the church of England would 
 certainly have been his choice ; as he thought that 
 in regard to church-government and church-ser^dce, 
 it had many great and peculiar advantages." Unwil- 
 lingness to part from Aberdeen was, perhaps, at the 
 bottom of these stout resolutions. It was con- 
 fessedly one of the reasons for which he declined a 
 proposition made to him in the year 1773, to remove 
 to the chair of Moral Philosophy in Edinburgh ; 
 though he was urged by his friends not to neglect 
 this opportunity of extending the sphere of his 
 usefulness, and the change woiild have brought him 
 much pecuniary advantage. His reluctance to com- 
 ply was increased by the belief that there were cer- 
 tain persons at Edinburgh to whom his principles had 
 given offence, and in whose neighbourhood he did 
 not expect to hve so quietly as he wished. In the 
 same year, he was complimented with the honorary 
 degree of Doctor' of Laws, by the University of 
 Oxford, at the installation of Lord North in the 
 Chancellorship. 
 
 He now, therefore, lived on at Aberdeen, making 
 occasionally brief visits to England, where he was 
 always welcome, both at the court and by those many 
 individuals of eminence to whom his talents and 
 virtues had recommended him. In the summers he 
 usually indulged himself with passing some time at 
 Peterhead, a town situated on the most easterly
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 299 
 
 promontory of Scotland, and resorted to for its 
 medicinal waters, which he thought beneficial to his 
 health ; for he had early in life been subject to a 
 vertiginous disorder, the recurrence of which at 
 times incapacitated him for any serious application. 
 
 The second book of the Minstrel appeared in 1 774. 
 In 1776 he was prevailed on to pviblish, by subscrip- 
 tion, in a more splendid form, his Essay on Truth, 
 which was now accompanied by two other essays, on 
 Poetry and Music, and on Laughter and Ludicrous 
 Composition ; and by Remarks on the Utihty of 
 Classical Learning. This was succeeded in 1783, 
 by dissertations moral and critical, on Memory and 
 Imagination, on Dreaming, on the Theory of Lan- 
 guage, on Fable and Romance, on the Attachments of 
 Kindred, and on Illustrations of Sublimity ; being, 
 as he states in the preface, "part of a course of pre- 
 lections read to those young gentlemen whom it was 
 his business to initiate in the elements of moral 
 science." In 1786, he published a small treatise, 
 entitled E%ddences of the Christian Religion, at the 
 suggestion of Porteus, who was now a bishop ; and 
 in 1790 and 1793 two volumes of Elements of 
 Moral Science, containing an abridgment of his 
 public lectures on moral philosophy and logic. 
 
 His only remaining publication was an edition of 
 the juvenile works of the elder of his two sons, who 
 was taken off by a consumption (November 1 790),
 
 300 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 at the age of twenty-two. To the education of this 
 boy he had attended with such care and discern- 
 ment as the anxiety of a parent only could dictate, 
 and had watched his unfolding excellence with fond- 
 ness such as none but a parent could feel. At the 
 risque of telling my reader what he may, perhaps, 
 well remember, I cannot but relate the method which 
 he had taken to impress on his mind, when a child, 
 the sense of his dependence on a Supreme Being ; 
 of which Porteus well observed, that it had all the 
 imagination of Rousseau, without his folly and ex- 
 travagance. 
 
 " The doctrines of religion," said Beattie, " I had 
 wished to impress on his mind, as soon as it might be 
 prepared to receive them ; but I did not see the pro- 
 priety of making him commit to memory theological 
 sentences, or any sentences which it was not possible 
 for him to understand. And I was desirous to make a 
 trial how far his own reason could go in tracing out, 
 with a little direction, the great and first j)rinciple of 
 all religion, the being of God. The following fact is 
 mentioned, not as a proof of superior sagacity in him 
 {for I have no doubt that most children would, in like 
 circumstances, think as he did), but merely as a moral 
 or logical experiment. He had reached his fifth or 
 sixth year, knew the alphabet, and could read a little ; 
 but had received no particular information with respect 
 to the Author of his being : because I thought he 
 could not yet understand such information ; and be-
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 301 
 
 cause I had learned, from my own experience, that to 
 be made to repeat words not understood, is extremely- 
 detrimental to the faculties of a young mind. In a 
 corner of a little g-arden, without informing any person 
 of the circumstance, I wrote in the mould, with my 
 finger, the three initial letters of his name ; and sowing 
 garden cresses in the furrows, covered up the seed, and 
 smoothed the ground. Ten days after, he came 
 running to me, and with astonishment in his counte- 
 nance told me, that his name was growing in the 
 garden. I smiled at the report, and seemed inclined to 
 disregard it ; but he insisted on my going to see what 
 had happened. ' Yes,' said I, carelessly, on coming to 
 the place, ' I see it is so ; but there is nothing in this 
 worth notice ; it is mere chance ;' and I went away. 
 He followed me, and taking hold of my coat, said with 
 some earnestness, ' It could not be mere chance, for 
 that somebody must have contrived matters so as to 
 produce it.' I pretend not to give his words, or my 
 own, for I have forgotten both ; but I give the sub- 
 stance of what passed between usin such language aswe 
 both understood. — ' So you think,' I said, 'that what 
 appears so regular as the letters of your name cannot 
 be by chance.' 'Yes,' said he, with firmness, 'I think 
 so.' ' Look at yourself,' I replied, ' and consider your 
 hands and fingers, your legs and feet, and other limbs ; 
 are they not regular in their appearance, and useful to 
 you V He said, ' they were.' ' Came you then hither,' 
 said I, 'by chance?' ' No,' he answered, ' that cannot 
 be ; something must have made me.' ' And who is 
 that something ?' I asked. He said, ' he did not know.'
 
 302 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 (I took particular notice, that he did not say, as Rous- 
 seau fancies a child in like circumstances would say, 
 that his parents made him.) I had now gained the 
 point I aimed at ; and saw, that his reason taught him 
 (though he could not so express it) that what begins to 
 be must have an intelligent cause, I therefore told 
 him the name of the Great Being who made him and 
 all the world ; concerning whose adorable nature I 
 gave him such information as I thought he could, in 
 some measure, comprehend. The lesson affected him 
 greatly, and he never forgot either it or the circum- 
 stance that introduced it." 
 
 So great was the docility of this boy, that before 
 he had reached his twentieth year, he had been 
 thought capable of succeeding his father in his office 
 of public professor. When death had extinguished 
 those hopes, the comfort and expectation of the 
 parent were directed to his only surviving child, who, 
 with less application and patience, had yet a quick- 
 ness of perception that promised to supply the place 
 of those qualities. But this prospect did not con- 
 tinue to cheer him long. In March 1796, the youth 
 was attacked by a fever, which, in seven days, laid 
 him by the side of his brother. He was in his 
 eighteenth year. The sole consolation, with which 
 this world could now supply Beattie, was, that if his 
 sons had lived, he might have seen them a prey to 
 that miserable distemper under which their mother, 
 whose state had rendered a separation from her
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 303 
 
 family unavoidable, was still labouring. From this 
 total bereavement he sometimes found a short relief 
 in the estrangement of his own mind, which re- 
 fused to support the recollection of such a load of 
 sorrow. "Many times," says Sir "William Forbes, 
 " he could not recollect what had become of his sou ; 
 and after searching in every room of the house, he 
 would say to his niece, ' Mrs. Glennie, you may think 
 it strange, but I must ask you, if I have a son, and 
 where he is ?' " That man must be a stern moralist 
 who would censure him very severely for having 
 sought, as he sometimes did, a renewal of this obli- 
 vion in his cups. 
 
 He was unable any longer to apply himself to 
 study, and left most of the letters he received from 
 his friends unanswered. Music, in which he had 
 formerly delighted, he could not endure to hear from 
 others, after the loss of his first son ; though a few 
 months before the death of the second, he had begun 
 to accompany him when he sang, on his own favourite 
 instrument, which was the violoncello. Afterwards, 
 as may be supposed, the sound of it was painful to 
 him. He still took some pleasure in books, and in 
 the company of a very few amongst his oldest 
 friends. This was his condition till the beginning of 
 April 1799, when he was seized with a paralytic stroke, 
 which rendered his speech imperfect for several days. 
 During the rest of his life he had repeated attacks of 
 the same malady : the last, which happened on the
 
 304 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 5th of October, 1802, entirely deprived him of mo- 
 tion. He languished, however, till the 18th of August 
 in the following year, when nature being exhausted, 
 he expired without a struggle. 
 
 He was interred, according to his own desire, by 
 the side of his two sons, in the churchyard of St. 
 Nicholas, at Aberdeen, with the following inscription 
 from the pen of Dr. James Gregory, Professor of 
 Physic, at Edinburgh. 
 
 Memorise. Sacrum. 
 JACOBI. BEATTIE. LL.D. 
 
 Ethices. 
 
 In. Academia. Marescallana. hujus. Urbis. 
 
 Per. XLIII. Annos. 
 
 Professoris. Meritissimi. 
 
 Viri. 
 
 Pietate. Probitate. Ing-enio. atque. Doctrina. 
 
 Prtestantis. 
 
 Scriptoris. Elegantissimi. Poetse. Suavissimi. 
 
 Pbilosopbi. Vere. Christiani. 
 
 Natus. est. V. Fov. Anno. MDCCXXXV. 
 
 Obiit. XVIII. Aug. MDCCCIII. 
 
 Omnibus. Liberis. Orbus. 
 
 Quorum. Natu. Maximus. JACOBUS. HAY. 
 
 BEATTIE. 
 
 Vel. a. Puerilibus. Annis. 
 
 Patrio.Vig-ens. Ingenio. 
 
 Novumque. Decus. Jam. Addens. Paterno. 
 
 Suis. Carissimus. Patriae. Flebilis. 
 
 Lenta. Tabe. Consumptus. Periit. 
 
 Anno. iEtatis. XXIII. 
 
 GEO. ET. MAR. GLENNIE. 
 
 H. M. P.
 
 JAMES BEATTIB. 305 
 
 " In his person," says Sir William Forbes, "Doctor 
 Beattie was of the middle size, though not elegantly 
 yet not awkwardly formed, but with something of a 
 slouch in his gait. His eyes were black and pierc- 
 ing, with an expression of sensibility somewhat bor- 
 dering on melancholy ; except when engaged in 
 cheerful and social intercourse with his friends, when 
 they were exceedingly animated." In a jjortrait of 
 him, taken in middle life by Reynolds, and given to 
 him as a mark of his regard by the painter, he is 
 represented with his Essay on Truth under his arm. 
 At a little distance is introduced the allegorical figure 
 of Truth as an angel, holding in one hand a balance, 
 and with the other thrusting back the visages of Preju- 
 dice, Scepticism, and Folly. 
 
 He is, I believe, the solitary instance of a poet, 
 having received so much countenance at the Court of 
 George the Third ; and this favour he owed less to 
 any other cause than to the zeal and ability with 
 which he had been thought to oppose the enemies of 
 religion. The respect with which he was treated, 
 both at home and abroad, was no more than a just 
 tribute to those merits and the excellence of his pri- 
 vate character. His probity and disinterestedness, 
 the extreme tenderness with which he acquitted him- 
 self of all his domestic duties, his attention to the 
 improvement of his pupils, for whose welfare his soli- 
 citude did not cease ^vith their removal from the 
 
 X
 
 306 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 college ; his miassuming deportment, which had not 
 been altered by prosperity or by the caresses of the 
 learned and the powerful, his gratitude to those from 
 whom he had received favours, his beneficence to 
 the poor, the ardour of his devotion, are dwelt on by 
 his biographer with an earnestness which leaves us 
 no room to doubt the sincerity of the encomium. 
 His chief defect was an irritabihty of temper in the 
 latter part of his life, which shewed itself principally 
 towards those who differed from him on speculative 
 questions. 
 
 In his writings, he is to be considered as a philoso- 
 pher, a critic, and a poet. His pretensions in phi- 
 losophy are founded on his Essay on Truth. This 
 book was of much use at its first appearance, as it 
 contained a popular answer to some of the infidel 
 ^Titers, who were then in better odour among the 
 more educated classes of society than happily they 
 now are. If (as I suspect to have been the case) it 
 has prevented men, whose rank and influence make it 
 most desirable that their minds should be raised 
 above the common pitch, from pursuing those studies 
 by which they were most likely so to raise them, the 
 good which it may have done has been balanced by 
 no inconsiderable evil. One can scarcely examine it 
 with much attention, and not perceive that the writer 
 had not ascended to the sources of that science, which 
 notwithstanding any thing he may say to the con-
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 307 
 
 trary, it was evidently his aim to depreciate. Througli 
 great part of it he has the appearance of one who is 
 struggling with some unknown power, which he would 
 fain comprehend, and at which, in the failure to com- 
 prehend it, his terror is changed into anger. The 
 word metaphysics, or, as he oftener terms it, meta- 
 physic, crosses him like a ghost. Call it pneumato- 
 logy, the philosophy of the mind, the philosophy of 
 human nature, or what you mil, and he can bear it. 
 
 Take any shape but that, and his firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble. 
 
 Once, indeed, (but it is not till he has reached the 
 third and last division of the essay) he screws up his 
 courage so high as to question it concerning its name ; 
 and the result of his inquiry is this : he finds that to 
 fourteen of the books attributed to Aristotle, which it 
 seems had no general title, Andronicus Rhodius, who 
 edited them, prefixed the words, ta meta ta physica, 
 that is, the books placed posterior to the physics ; 
 either because, in the order of the former arrangement 
 they happened to be so placed, or because the editor 
 meant that they should be studied, next after the 
 physics. And this, he concludes, is said to be the 
 origin of the word metaphysic. This is not very 
 satisfactory ; and if the reader thinks so, he will per- 
 haps, be glad to hear those who, having dealt longer 
 in the black art, are more likely to be conjurors in it.
 
 308 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Harris, who had given so many years of his Ufe to 
 the study of Aristotle, tells us, that "Metaphysics are 
 properly conversant about primary and internal 
 causes."* " Those things which are first to nature, 
 are not first to man. Nature begins from causes, and 
 thence descends to effects. Human perceptions first 
 open upon effects, and thence by slow degrees ascend 
 to causes."'!' 
 
 His own definition might have been enough to 
 satisfy him that it was something very harmless about 
 which he had so much alarmed himself. Still he 
 proceeds to impute to it I know not what mischief; 
 till at last, in a paroxysm of indignation, he exclaims, 
 " Exult, O metaphysic, at the consummation of thy 
 glories. More thou canst not hope, more thou canst 
 
 * Philosophical Arrangements, c. xvii. p. 409, 8vo. ed. 
 
 -j- Hermes, p . 9, 8vo. ed. The same writer ag-ain 
 thus defines the word. " By the most excellent science 
 is meant the science of causes, and, above all others, of 
 causes efficient and final, as these necessarily imply per- 
 vading reason and superintending- wisdom. This science 
 as men were naturally led to it from the contemplation 
 of effects, which effects were the tribe of beings natural 
 or ijhysical, was, from being thus subsequent to those 
 physical inquiries, called metaphysical ; but with a view 
 to itself, and the transcendant eminence of its object 
 was more properly called ») Trpwrj; (piXoao^ia, the first 
 Philosophy." Three treatises (in a note), p. 365. Ibid. — 
 See also Mr. Coleridge's Friend, vol. i. p. 309.
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 309 
 
 not desire. Fall down, ye mortals, and acknowledge 
 the stupendous blessing." 
 
 About Aristotle himself, he is scarce in less per- 
 plexity. He sets out by defining truth according to 
 Aristotle's description of it in these fourteen dreaded 
 books of his metaphysics. Again he tells us, "he is 
 most admired by those who best understand him ;" 
 and once more refers us to these fourteen books. But 
 afterwards it would seem as if he had not himself 
 read them ; for speaking of metaphysics, he calls it 
 that which Aristotle is said to have called theology, 
 and the first philosophy : whereas Aristotle has ex- 
 plicitly called it so in these fourteen books ;* and 
 when he is recommending the study of the ancients, 
 he adds ; " Of Aristotle, I say nothing. We are 
 assured by those who have read his works, that no 
 one ever understood human nature better than he." 
 What are we to infer from this, but that he had not 
 himself read them ? For his distinction between 
 common sense and reason, on which all his theory 
 depends, he sends the reader to the fourth book of 
 Aristotle's Metaphysics, and to the first of his latter 
 Analytics ; and yet somewhere else he speaks of these 
 as the most worthless of Aristotle's writings. As for 
 Plato, who on such a subject might have come in for 
 some consideration, we are told that he was as much 
 
 * Metaph. I. vi. c. ] .
 
 310 
 
 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 a rhetorician as a philosopher ; and this, I think, is 
 nearly all we hear of him. 
 
 Beattie is among the philosophers what the 
 Quaker is among religious sectaries. The koivoc 
 rovg, or common sense, is the spirit whose illapses 
 he sits down and waits for, and hy whose whispers 
 alone he expects to be made wise. It has sometimes 
 prompted him well ; for there are admirable passages 
 in the Essay. The whole train of his argument, 
 or rather his invective, in the second part, against 
 the sceptics, is irresistible. 
 
 Scalda ogni fredda lingua ardente voglia, 
 
 E di sterili fa I'alme feconde. 
 
 Ne mai deriva altronde 
 
 Soave finme d'eloquenza rara. — Celio Mar/no. 
 
 "What comes from the heart, that alone goes to 
 the heart," says a great writer of our own day ;* 
 and there are few instances of this more con\incing 
 than the vehemence with which Beattie dissipates 
 the reveries of Berkeley, and refutes the absurdities 
 of Hume. 
 
 In the second edition, (1771) speaking of those 
 WTiters of genius, to whom he would send the stu- 
 dent away from the metaphysicians, he confined 
 himself to Shakespeare, Bacon, Montesquieu, and 
 Rousseau. Few will think that other names might 
 
 Mr. Coleridge.
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 311 
 
 not well have replaced the last of these. In the 
 fourth edition, we find Johnson added to the list. 
 This compliment met with a handsome requital ; 
 for Johnson, soon after, having occasion to speak of 
 Beattie, in his Life of Gray, called him a poet, a 
 philosopher, and a good man. 
 
 In his Essay, he comforts himself vsdth the belief 
 " that he had enabled every person of common 
 sense to defeat the more important fallacies of the 
 sceptical metaphysicians, even though he should not 
 possess acuteness, or metaphysical knowledge, suffi- 
 cient to quaUfy him for a logical refutation of them." 
 It is lamentable to see at how great a cost to himself 
 he had furnished every person of common sense with 
 these weapons of proof. In a letter to Sir William 
 Forbes, written not long after, he makes the following 
 remarkable confession. " How much my mind has 
 been injured by certain speculations, you will jjartly 
 guess when I tell you a fact that is now unknown 
 to all the world, that since the Essay on Truth was 
 printed in quarto, in the summer of 17/6, I have 
 never dared to read it over. I durst not even read 
 the sheets, and see whether there were any errors in 
 the print, and was obliged to get a friend to do that 
 office forme." 
 
 As he proceeded, he seems to have become more 
 afraid of the faculty of reason. In the second 
 edition he had said, " Did not our moral feehngs,
 
 312 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 in concert with what our reason discovers of the 
 Deity, evidence the necessity of a future state, in 
 vain should we pretend to judge rationally of that 
 revelation by which life and immortahty have been 
 brought to light." In the edition of 1776, he 
 softened down this assertion so much, as almost to 
 deprive it of meaning. " Did not our moral feelings, 
 in concert with what reason discovers of the Deity, 
 evidence the prohahility of a future state, and that 
 it is necessary to the full vindication of the divine 
 government, we should he much less qualified than 
 we now are to judge rationally of that revelation by 
 which life and immortality have been brought to 
 light." There was surely nothing, except perhaps 
 the word necessity, that was objectionable in the 
 proposition as it first stood. 
 
 It may be remarked of his prose style in general, 
 that it is not free from that constraint which he, 
 with much candour, admitted was to be found in the 
 writings of his countrymen. 
 
 Of his critical works, I have seen only those ap- 
 pended to the edition of his Essay, in 1776. Though 
 not deficient in acuteness, they have not learning or 
 elegance enough to make one desirous of seeing more. 
 His remarks on the characters in Homer are, I 
 think, the best part of them. He sometimes talks 
 of what he probably knew little about ; as when he 
 tells us that " he had never been able to discover
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 313 
 
 anything in Aristophanes that might not be consigned 
 to eternal obhvion, without the least detriment to 
 literature ;" that " his wit and humour are now 
 become almost invisible, and seem never to have 
 been very conspicuous ;" with more that is equally 
 absurd, to the same purpose. 
 
 The few of his poems which he thought worthy 
 of being selected from the rest, and of being deli- 
 vered to posterity, have many readers, to whom 
 perhaps one recommendation of them is that they 
 are few. They have, however, and deservedly, some 
 admirers of a better stamp. They soothe the mind 
 with indistinct conceptions of something better than 
 is met with in ordinary life. The first book of the 
 Minstrel, the most considerable amongst them, 
 describes with much fervour the enthusiasm of a 
 boy " smit with the love of song," and wakened to 
 a sense of rapture by all that is most grand or lovely 
 in the external appearances of nature. It is evident 
 that the poet had felt much of what he describes, 
 and he therefore makes his hearers feel it. Yet at 
 times, it must be owned, he seems as if he were 
 lashing himself into a state of artificial emotion, as 
 in the follo^ning lines : 
 
 O ! Nature, how in every charm supreme ! 
 
 Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new ! 
 
 O ! for the voice and fire of seraphim, 
 
 To sing' thy glories with devotion due I
 
 314 LIVES or ENGLISH fOETS. 
 
 We hear, indeed, too often of " nature's charms.** 
 
 Even here he cannot let the metaphysicians rest. 
 They are, in his mind, the grievance that is most 
 to be complained of in this "vale of tears." 
 
 There was one other thing that Beattie detested 
 nearly as much as " metaphysic lore." It was the 
 crowing of a cock. This antipathy he contrived to 
 express in the Minstrel, and the reader is startled 
 by the expression of it, as by something out of its 
 place. 
 
 Of the stanza beginning, "O, how canst thou re- 
 nounce," Gray told him that it was, of all others, 
 his favourite ; that it was true poetry ; that it was 
 inspiration ; and, if I am not mistaken, it is related 
 of Bishop Porteus, that when he was once with 
 Beattie, looking down on a magnificent country that 
 lay in prospect before them, he broke out vdih. much 
 delight into the repetition of it. Gray objected to 
 one word, garniture, " as suggesting an idea of 
 dress, and what was worse, of French dress ;" and 
 the author tried, but tried in vain, to substitute 
 another. It would, perhaps, be impossible to find 
 a better for the place in which it stands. There 
 is no groimd of censure which a writer should admit 
 with more caution, than that a particular word or 
 phrase happens to suggest a ludicrous or unsuitable 
 image to the mind of another person. Few pro- 
 bably would have thought of French dress on this
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 315 
 
 occasion : and to some, a passage in our translation 
 of the Bible might have occurred, where it is said, 
 that "the hovd garnished the heavens." Another 
 of Gray's criticisms fell on the vpord " infuriate," 
 as being a new one, although, as Sir William Forbes 
 remarks, it is found not only in Thomson's Seasons, 
 but in the Paradise Lost. 
 
 The second book of the Minstrel is not so pleasant 
 as it is good. The stripling wanders to the habita- 
 tion of a hermit, who has a harp, not a very usual 
 companion for a hermit, to amuse his solitude ; and 
 who directs him what studies to pursue. The youth 
 is pleased with no historian except Plutarch. He 
 reads Homer and Virgil, and learns to mend his song, 
 and the poet would have told us how he learnt to 
 sing still better, if sorrow for the death of a friend 
 had not put a period to his ovra labours. The poem 
 thus comes abruptly to an end ; and we are not 
 much concerned that there is no more of it. His 
 first intention was to have engaged the Minstrel in 
 some adventure of importance, through which it may 
 be doubted whether he could well have conducted 
 him ; for he has not shewn much skill in the narra- 
 tive part of the poem. 
 
 The other little piece, called the Hermit, begins 
 with a sweet strain, which always dwells on the ear, 
 and which makes us expect that something equally 
 sweet is to follow. This hermit too has his " harp
 
 316 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 symphonious." He makes the same complaint, and 
 finds the same comfort for it, as Edwin had done in 
 the first book of the Minstrel. Both are the 
 Christian's comment on a well-known passage in the 
 I dy Ilium of Moschus, on the death of Bion. Of 
 his Ode on Lord Hay's Birth-day, Gray's opinion, 
 however favourable, is not much beyond the truth ; 
 that the diction is easy and noble ; the texture of 
 the thoughts lyric, and the versification harmonious ; 
 to which he adds, " that the panegyric has nothing 
 mean in it." 
 
 The Ode to Hope looks like one of Blair's Ser- 
 mons cast into a lyrical mould. 
 
 There is, I believe, no allusion to any particular 
 'place that was familiar to him, throughout his poems. 
 The description of the owl in the lines entitled Re- 
 tirement, he used to say, was drawn from nature. 
 It has more that appearance than any thing else he 
 has written, and pleases accordingly. 
 
 Between his systems in poetry and philosophy, 
 some exchange might have been made with advantage 
 to each. In the former, he counted general ideas for 
 nearly all in all. (See his Essay on Poetry and 
 Music, p. 431.) In the latter, he had not learnt to 
 generalize at all ; but would have rested merely in 
 fact and experience.
 
 317 
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 
 
 The most remarkable incidents in Hayley's Life 
 are to be collected from his Memoirs of himself, 
 edited by his friend the Rev. Dr. Johnson, better 
 known as the favourite kinsman of Cowper. The 
 Memoirs, though somewhat more copious than many 
 readers might have wished them, are yet far from 
 being devoid of entertainment to the lovers of literary 
 biography. 
 
 William Hayley was born at Chichester, on the 
 29th of October, 1745. His father was a private 
 gentleman, son of one Dean of Chichester, and ne- 
 phew to another. Having enriched himself by an 
 union with the daughter of an opulent merchant, who 
 died without leaving him any children, he married 
 for his second wife, Mary, a daughter of Colonel 
 Yates, a representative in Parliament for the city of 
 Chichester, the mother of the poet. 
 
 His father dying when he was three years old, and 
 his only brother soon after, William became the sole 
 care of a discreet and affectionate woman. A similar 
 lot will be found to have influenced the earlier years
 
 318 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 of many who have been most distinguished for their 
 virtues or abilities in after life. He was taught to 
 read by three sisters, of the name of llussell, who 
 kept a girls' school at Chichester ; and pleased him- 
 self by relating that, when in his 63 rd year, he 
 presented to one of them, who still continued in the 
 same employment with her faculties unimpaired, a 
 recent edition of his Triumphs of Temper. His first 
 instructor in the learned languages was a master in 
 the same city, who appeared to be so incompetent to 
 the task he had xmdertaken, that Mrs. Hayley re- 
 moved her son to the school of a Mr. Woodeson, at 
 Kingston. He had not been long here, when he was 
 seized with a \'iolent fit of illness, which obliged his 
 mother, who had now fixed her residence in London, 
 to take him home, after having nursed him for some 
 weeks at Kingston, with little hopes of life. Of the 
 anxiety with which she watched over him, he has 
 left the following pathetic memorial in his Essay on 
 Epic Poetry. 
 
 Thou tender saint, to whom he owes much more 
 
 Than ever child to parent owed before, 
 
 In life's first season, when the fevers flame 
 
 Shrunk to deformity his slirivel'd frame, 
 
 And turn'd each fairer imag-e in his brain 
 
 To blank confusion and her crazy train, 
 
 'Twas thine, with constantlove, through lingering years, 
 
 To bathe thy idiot orphan with thy tears ;
 
 WILLIAM IIAYLEY. 319 
 
 Day after day, and ni^ht succeeding nig-ht, 
 To turn incessant to the hideous sight, 
 And frequent watch, if haply at thy view 
 Departed reason might not dawn anew. 
 
 The first sign he gave of returning intellect, was 
 an exclamation on seeing a hare run across the road 
 as they were taking an airing in Richmond park. On 
 his recovery, his mother provided him a private tutor 
 in Greek and Latin, of the name of Ayles, formerly 
 a fellow of King's College, Camhridge ; while she 
 herself, and his nurse, a faithful servant in the family 
 for more than fifty years, encouraged his early pro- 
 pensity for Enghsh literature ; the former by reading 
 to him and the other by making him recite passages 
 out of tragedies, of which the good woman was 
 passionately fond. 
 
 In August, 1757, his mother placed him at Eton 
 where he remained about six years, at the end of 
 which time he was removed to Trinity Hall, Cam- 
 bridge. Like many others, he acknowledges the 
 illusion of considering our school-boy days as the 
 happiest of life. The infirmities, which his sickness 
 had brought on, made him extremely sensible to the 
 jibes and rough treatment of the bigger boys, and 
 the accidental neglect of a Greek lesson exposed him 
 to a flogging which he never quite forgave. One of 
 his tutors at Eton was Dr. Roberts, author of Judah
 
 320 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Restored, a poem, iu which the numbers of the 
 Paradise Lost are happily imitated. By him, the 
 young scholar was confirmed in that love of compo- 
 sing verse which he could trace hack to his ninth 
 year. There is little promise in the specimens he 
 gives of his earlier attempts. His English ode on 
 the birth of the present King, inserted in the Cam- 
 bridge collection, is an indifferent performance, even 
 for a boy. At the university, he describes himself to 
 have studied diligently, to have given many of his 
 hours to drawing and painting, and to have formed 
 friendships which were dissolved only by death. On 
 Thornton, a member of the same hall, the most 
 favoured of these associates, whom he lost when a 
 young man, he wrote an elegy, which is one of the 
 best of his works. With him he improved himself 
 in the Spanish and Itahan languages, the latter of 
 which they studied under Isola, a teacher at Cam- 
 bridge, afterwards creditably known by an edition of 
 the Gerusalemme Liberata. Hayley entered his name 
 at the Middle Temple on the 13th of June, 1766, 
 and in the following year quitted Cambridge without 
 a degree. He now made some ineffectual attempts 
 towards fixing his choice of a profession in life; but 
 at last poetry, and especially the drama, were suffered 
 to engross him. In October, 1/69, he married 
 Eliza, the daughter of Dr. Ball, Dean of Chichester. 
 This lady had been the confidant of his attachment
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY, 321 
 
 to another. The match was on his part entered on 
 rather from disappointment than love ; and was made 
 contrary to the advice of his surviving parent, who 
 represented to him the danger there was lest his wife 
 should inherit an incurable insanity under which her 
 mother long laboured. Many years after, he put her 
 away, fancying himself no longer able to endure a 
 waywardness of temper, which, as he thought, 
 amounted nearly to the calamity that had been appre- 
 hended. In the summer of 17/4, he retired with 
 his wife and mother from Great Queen-street, where 
 they had hitherto resided, to his paternal estate at 
 Eartham in Sussex ; but in the ensuing winter his 
 mother went back to London for medical advice and 
 there died. 
 
 He had endeavoured, but in vain, to bring several 
 of his tragedies on the stage. Garrick, with some 
 hollow compliments, rejected one, called the Afflicted 
 Father, of which the story appears to have been too 
 shocking for representation. It was that a father 
 had supplied his son, under sentence of death, with 
 poison, and when too late found that he was pardoned. 
 Another called the Syrian Queen, which he had 
 imitated from the Rodogune of Corneille, was refused 
 with more sincerity by Colman. A third met no 
 better reception from Harris. " Persuaded," as he 
 says, " by his own sensations that he had a consider- 
 able portion of native poetic fire in his mind, he 
 
 Y
 
 322 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 resolved to display it in a composition less subject to 
 the caprice of managers, yet more arduous in its exe- 
 cution. In short, he determined to begin an epic 
 poem." He chose for his subject the extorting of 
 Magna Charta from King John. The death of his 
 friend Thornton in 1 780, who had watched the pro- 
 gress of this essay with much solicitude for its success, 
 chiefly induced him to relinquish a design, which was 
 in truth ill fitted to his powers. In the Essay on 
 Epic Poetry, he recommended it to Mason, who was 
 not much better able to accomplish it than himself. 
 I am unwilling to detain my reader by an account of 
 the numerous poems, which he either did not complete 
 or did not commit to the press. His unpublished 
 verses, as he told me a few years before his death, 
 amounted to six times the number of those in print. 
 
 His first publication was the Epistle on Painting to 
 Romney, in 1/78. The two next in the following 
 year were anonymous, the one A Congratulatory 
 Epistle to Admiral Keppel on his Acquittal ; the 
 other An Essay on the Ancient Greek Model (as he 
 called it) to Bishop Lowth, remonstrating against the 
 contention which the bishop had entered into with 
 Warburton, and which he thought unworthy so ex- 
 cellent a prelate. In ] 780, he produced besides the 
 Verses on the death of Mr. Thornton, an Ode to 
 Howard, and the Epistles on History addressed to 
 Gibbon, which gained him the intimacy of the his-
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 323 
 
 torian and the philanthropist. The success of these 
 works encouraged him to project the Triumphs of 
 Temper, the most popular of all his poems, which he 
 published in 1781. The next year saw the publica- 
 tion of his Essay on Epic Poetry ; in the notes to 
 which he introduced much information on the poetry 
 of Italy and Spain, then less known among us than 
 at present ; and he endeavoured to rouse the spirits 
 of Wright the painter at Derby, by an ode, which was 
 printed for private circulation. In 1/84, he pub- 
 lished a volume of plays, consisting of tragedies and 
 comedies, the latter of which were in rhyme. The 
 gratification of seeing his dramas represented on the 
 stage, which he had before solicited in vain, was now 
 offered by Colman, who proposed through the author's 
 bookseller to bring out a tragedy and comedy. Lord 
 Russell, and The Two Connoisseurs, at the Haymarket. 
 *' A comedy in rhyme," the manager observed, " was 
 a bold attempt ; but when so well executed as in the 
 present instance, he thought, would be received with 
 favour, especially on a stage of a genius somewhat 
 similar to that of a private theatre for which it was 
 professedly written." Both tragedy and comedy 
 were well received, but with so little emolument to the 
 poet, that he had to pay for his own seat at the re- 
 presentation. Marcella, the other tragedy, was also 
 acted, in 1 789, when it was condemned at one house, 
 and in three nights after applauded at the other.
 
 324 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 The author accounted for this whimsical change of 
 fortune by supposing the piece to have been played 
 only on a few hours' preparation by the manager at 
 Drury-Lane, in order to get the start of Harris and 
 prevent his success by having the play damned before 
 it appeared on his theatre. 
 
 Hayley was, however, now in great favour with the 
 public ; the first edition of his plays was sold in a 
 fortnight ; and through the intervention of his friend 
 Thomas Payne, the bookseller, he re-purchased for 
 500/. from Dodsley the copyright of all he had writ- 
 ten. It would have been well if his poetical career 
 had closed here ; for whatever he did afterwards in 
 this way met either with disregard or contempt. 
 Such was the fate of a Poem on the Anniversary of 
 the Revolution in 1 788 ; of an imitation of a German 
 opera, called the Trial of the Rovers, which he sold 
 to Harris for 100/. but which failed at Covent-Garden 
 in 1 789 ; of Eudora, a tragedy, acted with no better 
 success in 1790 ; of the National Advocates, intended 
 to commemorate the triumph of Erksine in his de- 
 fence of Home Tooke in 1795 ; of an Elegy on Sir 
 William Jones in the same year ; of an Essay on 
 Sculpture in 1800 ; of Ballads on Animals, the most 
 empty of his productions that I have seen, in 1 802 ; 
 of the Triumphs of Music in 1804; of Stanzas to 
 the Patriots in Spain in 1 808 ; and of another volume 
 of plays in 1811.
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 325 
 
 Yet he still continued to secure to himself some 
 share of attention by several works in prose. In the 
 Essay on Old Maids, published in 1 785, there is an 
 agreeable combination of learning, sprightliness, and 
 arch humour. He now and then approaches to irre- 
 verence on sacred subjects, but, as I am persuaded 
 without any ill intention ; the dedication of the book 
 to Mrs. Carter gave much oifence to that lady. His 
 Dialogues on Johnson and Chesterfield, in 1787, 
 contrast the character of these writers in a lively 
 manner and with some power of discrimination, but 
 the partiality of the author is very evident. He had 
 himself " sacrificed" too successfully to the Graces to 
 be a fair umpire between the rough scholar and the 
 polished nobleman. The Young Widow, or the His- 
 tory of Cornelia Sedley, a novel, was pubhshed Avith- 
 out his name (as the last-mentioned two books had 
 also been) in 1789. For this he received 200/. from 
 Mr. Nichols. The purchaser found his bargain a 
 hard one : for the novel had little to recommend it, 
 being deficient in probability of incident and charac- 
 ter. He made up for the loss by presenting his book- 
 seller with another anonymous work entitled the 
 "Eulogies of Howard, a Vision," in prose.* His 
 " Life of Milton," was intended for an edition of the 
 poet to be published by Nichols the King's printer ; 
 but an abridgement of it only was employed in 1 79 4, 
 
 * Nichols's Illustrations of Literature, vol. iv. p. 742,
 
 326 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 for the purpose, some passages being not thought 
 courtly enough for the royal eye. He afterwards 
 published it without mutilation. The design of this 
 work, to which he devoted two years of diligent appli- 
 cation, was to vindicate Milton from the asperity of 
 Johnson — a task, which according to the general 
 opinion, has since been more ably executed by Doctor 
 Symmons. He had, however, reason to be satisfied 
 with this undertaking, as it led to an acquaintance 
 and friendship with Cowper, who was at the same 
 time engaged in writing notes to Milton. Eight years 
 after, it fell to his lot to write a Life of Cowper him- 
 self. This proved to him the most lucrative of all 
 his literary engagements ; but its success was owing 
 principally not to the narrative but to the private let- 
 ters of Cowper which accompanied them. Of the 
 Life and Letters he added another volume in 1 804 ; 
 and in 1809 wrote the Life of Romney, which, having 
 no such attraction, did not recommend itself to the 
 public notice. 
 
 From the time that he left London, in 1774, till 
 his death, a period of 46 years, he was seldom long 
 absent from his home, first at Eartham, and after- 
 wards at Felpham, a pleasant village on the sea-shore, 
 distant only a few miles from his former residence. 
 Cowper, who visited him at Eartham, in 1792, speaks 
 of the house as " the most elegant mansion he had 
 ever inhabited, surrounded by the most delightful 
 pleasure grounds he had ever seen," and observes
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 327 
 
 "he had no conception that a poet could be the 
 owner of such a paradise." The house was built, 
 and the pleasure grounds laid out by himself. Here 
 I saw him in the next summer but one after Cowper's 
 visit. His habits appeared to me such as they were 
 long afterwards described by Mrs. Opie— those of 
 extreme retirement, of abstemiousness, and of family 
 devotion. He was at that time employed on his Life 
 of Milton, and in educating his son, a promising boy, 
 who under the age of fourteen, had began to translate 
 the Epistles of Horace into tolerable blank verse. 
 On accompanying me the next morning out of 
 "Paradise," the lad spoke to me with some sorrow of 
 his father's refusal to let him "join a pack of hounds 
 in the neighbourhood." He died in his 20th year, 
 a victim probably to the secluded life and the studious 
 habits to which his parent had so early devoted him. 
 His mother, a servant in the family, as I was told by 
 Anna Seward, declared him to be the son of a young 
 orphan, named Howell, who having been benevolently 
 received by Hayley into his house, and through his 
 means promoted in the military ser\ice of the East 
 India Company, soon after perished by shipwreck. 
 But the features of the boy told a different story, 
 and one more consonant to that of the poet, by 
 whom he was always acknowledged for his son. He 
 was, for some time the pupil of Mr. Flaxman, who 
 augured highly of his abilities, and who, if the young
 
 328 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 man had lived, would certainly have done all that 
 could be done by example and instruction to render 
 him illustrious in his art and respectable as a man. 
 
 Considering his independence on any profession, 
 the ease of his manners, his talents for conversation, 
 and his knowledge of modern languages, it may be 
 wondered that Hayley did not mix more in society, 
 or visit other comi tries besides his own. Once, 
 indeed, when a young man he made an excursion to 
 Scotland ; and, in the summer of 1 790, passed three 
 weeks at Paris with his friends, Carwardine and 
 Romney, from whence, much to the scandal of the 
 neighbourhood, he brought back a French governess 
 for his son. Mrs. Hayley had then left him, or 
 rather had been gently forced out of his house ; and, 
 afterwards when she begged for leave to return, was 
 denied it. From his own account of the matter, 
 and from the letters that passed between them, 
 some of which he has published in his Memoirs, it is 
 difficult to acquit him of blame, and not to wish that 
 he had endured with more patience the foibles of a 
 woman, who, though irreproachable in her own 
 conduct, was more indulgent than she need have 
 been to his frailties. He* appears, however, to have 
 been anxious for her happiness after they were 
 separated. She died in London in 1797, and re- 
 ceived from her husband, the empty honours of a 
 funeral sermon and an epitaph. He was loth to
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 329 
 
 quit his home except on some errand of friendship, 
 when he was ever ready to run to the Land's End. 
 I remember his quoting to me the following line out 
 of ^schylus, on the advantage of a master's presence 
 in his own family. 
 
 ''Oyujua yap ^OfiLJf rofAi^u) cectttotov Trapovcriav. 
 
 He seems to have taken delight in the instruction 
 of youth ; besides liis own boy, he undertook to 
 educate gratuitously two sons of his friend, Mr. 
 Carwardine, and one of his neighbour Lord Egremont. 
 On the death of Warton, he declined some advances 
 that were made him through his friends, towards an 
 offer of the laureatship. Nothing but a high sense 
 of independence could have prompted this refusal ; 
 for, though no courtier, he was not wanting in 
 loyalty ; and the stipend would have been a welcome 
 addition to an income which barely sufficed his own 
 moderate wants and his liberal contributions to the 
 necessities of others. 
 
 He was not more fortunate in a second marriage 
 than he had been in his first. The vain confidence 
 which he placed in his good stars on this occasion 
 shall be told in his own words, which are as follows : 
 
 While he was deeply engaged in his biographical 
 compositions he used to say, ' I have not leisure to 
 wander from my hermitage, and look into the world 
 in quest of a wife ; but I feel a strong persuasion that
 
 330 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 if it is really g-ood for me to venture once more on 
 marriage, 
 
 that step 
 Of deepest hazard and of highest hope, 
 
 my kind stars will cojiduct to my cell some com- 
 passionate fair one, fond of books and retirement, who 
 may be willing to enliven, with the songs of tenderness, 
 the solitude of a poetical hermit.' 
 
 Such was the frame of mind in the recluse when an 
 incident occurred, that gradually seemed to accomplish 
 a completion of his prophecy. This incident was a 
 visit from an old ecclesiastical acquaintance, attended 
 by two young ladies, Mary and Harriet Welford, 
 daughters of an aged and retired merchant on Black- 
 heath. 
 
 The countenance and musical talents of the elder 
 sister made a strong impression on the sequestered 
 poet. Their accidental visit gradually led to his second 
 marriage, on the 23d of March 1 809, an event attended 
 vnth much general exultation and delight, though 
 evidently, like the usual steps of poets in the world, 
 rather a step of hasty affection than of deUberate 
 prudence. 
 
 In three years they were separated ; I know not 
 for what reasons. On shewing me some gaps in his 
 library, he said that they had been made by proceed- 
 ings in Doctors Commons. 
 
 To Felpham where he passed the last twenty
 
 "WILLIAM HAYLEY. 331 
 
 years of Lis life, there retired also, to end his days in 
 privacy and quiet. Doctor Cyril Jackson, who had 
 been many years Dean of Christ Church, and in that 
 time had refused some of the highest honours in the 
 church. It is said that when Hay ley waited on 
 him, the Doctor declined entering upon an inter- 
 change of visits ; but said that he should be happy 
 to establish an intercourse of a different kind, and to 
 send him occasionally books, or anything else which 
 he might happen to have, and which Hayley might 
 be without, and to receive from him the same 
 neighbourly accommodations in return. Accordingly 
 when the poet took a wife in his old age, he sent the 
 Doctor a piece of the wedding cake, with a message, 
 that he hoped at some future time to receive a 
 neighbourly communication of the same sort in return. 
 In 1818, he told me that his medical attendant 
 was apprehensive of his becoming dropsical, and had 
 prescribed him a glass of port wine after his dinner. 
 His usual drink before this had been water. In the 
 October of the following year he wrote to me that 
 "he had been assailed by two of the most formidable 
 enemies of the human frame ; and had been almost 
 demolished by a fit of apoplexy, and a fit of the 
 stone : the blow from the former," he adds, " was so 
 violent, that my physician despaired of my revival ; 
 but, by the mercy of Heaven, I am so far revived, 
 that I can again enjoy a social and hterary intercourse
 
 332 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 with my friends ; and even dabble again in rhyme ; 
 but, as I suspect, that my rhymes, hke the HomiUes 
 of Gil Bias' Archbishop, may savour of apoplexy, 
 I think it right to keep them in utter privacy." 
 
 His other complaint the stone, terminated his Ufe 
 on the 12th of November, 1820. 
 
 Under all his suffering's (says his early friend, Mr. 
 Sargent), he was never heard to express a querulous 
 word ; and if I had not seen it, I could not have 
 thought it possible for so much constant patience and 
 resignation to have been exhibited under so many 
 years of grievous pain. Of his severe disease be spoke 
 with great calmness ; and when there seemed to be 
 some doubt among his medical friends, as to the exist- 
 ence of a stone in the bladder, he said to me in a gentle 
 tone, " I can settle the controversy between them ; I am 
 sure there is, for I distinctly feel it." A very large stone 
 was found, after his decease. An accidental fall from 
 the slipping of his foot, brought on his last illness and 
 death. When I came to him, the day before he died, 
 he mentioned this circumstance, and expressed a strong 
 hope that God was, in mercy, about to put a period to 
 his sufferings. He had received the Sacrament about 
 a fortnight before, from the Rev. Mr. Hardy, a minister 
 in the neighbourhood, towards whom he always ex- 
 pressed a most friendly regard. 
 
 To this satisfactory accoimt of Hayley's latter days, 
 let me be allowed to add, that which is given by the 
 son of his friend, the Rev. John Sargent.
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 333 
 
 More perfect patience tlian Hayley manifested under 
 his excruciating- tortures, it never was my lot to witness. 
 His was not only submission, but cheerfulness. So far 
 could he abstract himself from his intense suffering's, 
 as to be solicitous, in a way that affected me tenderly, 
 respecting- my comfort and accommodation as his guest ; 
 a circumstance that might appear trivial to many, but 
 which, to my mind, was illustrative of that disinterested- 
 ness and affection which were so habitual to him in life, 
 as not to desert him in death. That his patience emana- 
 ted from principles far superior to those of manly and 
 philosophical fortitude, I feel a comfortable and con- 
 firmed persuasion, not merely from the sentiments he 
 expressed when his end was approaching-, but from the 
 more satisfactory testimony of his declarations to his 
 confidential servant in the season of comparative health. 
 Again and again, before his last seizure, did he read 
 over a little book I had given him, Corbett's Self-Exa- 
 mination in Secret, and repeatedly did he make his 
 servant read to him that most valuable little work, of 
 which, surely, no proud and insincere man can cor- 
 dially approve ; and to her did he avow, when recom- 
 mending it for private perusal, " In the principles of that 
 book I wish to die." He also mentioned to her, at the 
 same time, his approbation of the Rev. Daniel Wilson's 
 Sermons, which had been kindly sent to him. He per- 
 mitted me frequently to pray with him, as a friend and 
 minister ; and when I used the confessional in the com- 
 munion service of our church, and some of the verses of
 
 334 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the fifty-first psalm, he appeared to unite devoutly in 
 those acts of penitence, and afterwards added, " I thank 
 you heartily." 
 
 With emphasis did I hear him utter the memorable 
 words, " I know that my Redeemer liveth, &c." and on 
 my reminding him that Job exclaimed also, " Behold 
 I am vile," he assented to the excellence of that lan- 
 guage of repentance aud humility. Indeed, I well re- 
 member his heartily agreeing with me in an observation 
 I made some months before, " That a progress in religion 
 was to be discerned by a progressive knowledge of our 
 own misery and sinfulness." The last words almost I 
 heard fall from him, contained a sentiment I should 
 wish, living and dying, to be my own — " Christ, have 
 mercy upon me ! O my Saviour, look down upon me, 
 forsake me not." 
 
 Of his habits during the latter part of his life, Mrs. 
 Opie, who has the art of conferring an interest on 
 whatever she relates, has given this very pleasing 
 accoimt, in a letter addiessed to the Editor of his 
 Memoirs. " In consequence of a pre\'ious correspon- 
 dence with INIr. Hayley, the result of his flattering 
 mention of me in the twelfth edition of the "Tri- 
 umphs of Temper," I went to his house on a visit, 
 in the year 1814. Nothing could exceed the regu- 
 larity and temperance of Mr. Hayley' s habits. We 
 did not breakfast till a little before eight, out of com- 
 pliment to me I believe ; but, as he always rose at
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 335 
 
 six,* he breakfasted at half-past seven when he was 
 alone ; and as soon as he returned from his usual 
 walk in the garden ; you remember how rapidly he 
 walked, spite of his lameness, bearing on his stick on 
 one side, and his umbrella on the other. f During 
 
 * In a similar sketch from the pen of the Rev. Samuel 
 Greatheed, referring- to an earlier period, it is stated 
 that " lie usually rose and took a dish of coffee at four 
 A.M," and that " while dressing-, he most frequently 
 composed a few stanzas of a devotional turn." This 
 practice of early rising' he continued many years after 
 the Editor became acquainted with him, walking in his 
 garden, even in winter, and when the ground was 
 covered with snow, with a lantern in his hand, some 
 hours before daylight ; and repeatedly throwing up the 
 sasli of his friend's sleeping room, on the ground floor, 
 to give him the benefit of the morning air. Note by 
 Doctor Johnson. 
 
 t To the best of his recollection, the Editor never 
 saw him abroad without an umbrella ; which in fine 
 weather he used as a parasol, to preserve his eyes. He 
 even rode with it on horseback, a very awkward opera- 
 tion, considering the high-spirited animals that com- 
 posed his stud, and the constitutional malady in his 
 hip-joint, which, in addition to his weight (for he was 
 a remarkably strong-built man), and his never riding 
 without military spurs, reduced his danger of falling 
 almost to a certainty, when he opened his umbrella with- 
 out due precaution. But he was a stranger to fear in 
 equestrian matters, and always mounted his horse again, 
 as soon as he could be caught. The Editor was once
 
 336 LIVES OF ENGLISH FOETS. 
 
 breakfast, at which he drank cocoa only, he always 
 read ; and while I was with him, he read aloud to 
 me. We then adjourned to his sitting room, the 
 upper library, and he read to me, or I to him, till 
 coffee was served in the dining room, which was, I 
 think, at eleven o'clock. That repast over, we walked 
 in the garden, and then returned to our books ; or I 
 ^ang to him till it was time for us to dress for dinner 
 • — with him a very temperate meal. He drank water 
 
 riding gently by his side, on the stony beach of Bognor, 
 when the wind suddenly reversing his umbrella, as he 
 unfolded it, his horse, with a sudden but desperate 
 plunge, pitched him on his head in an instant. Provi- 
 dentially he received no hurt, and some fishermen being 
 at hand, the plunging steed was stopped at a gate, 
 and being once more subjected to his rider, took him 
 home in safety. On another occasion, in the same visit 
 of the Editor, he was tost into the air on the Downs, at 
 the precise moment when an interesting friend, whom 
 they had just left, being apprehensive of what would 
 happen, was anxiously viewing him from her window 
 through a telescope. 
 
 These anecdotes may serve to illustrate that deter- 
 mined feature of his character, which has been already 
 noticed, and which impelled him, contrary to the ad- 
 vice of his friends, to persevere in a favourite, though 
 perilous exercise, even at the manifest hazard of his life. 
 At length, however, they prevailed ; and for some years 
 before he died, he gave up riding on horseback alto- 
 gether. Note ly Dr. Johnson.
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 337 
 
 only at dinner, and took coffee instead of wine after it. 
 The coffee was served up with cream and fruit in the 
 upper hbrary. 
 
 " After dinner I read to him, or he read to me, till 
 it was near tea-time, when we again walked in the 
 garden, and on our return to the house, cocoa was 
 served for him, and tea for me. After tea I read 
 aloud or sang to him, till nine o'clock, when the ser- 
 vants came in to prayers, which were manuscript 
 compositions, or compilations of his own ; and which, 
 as you well know, he read in a very impressive man- 
 ner. He then conversed for half an hour or I sang 
 one or two of Handel's songs to him, or a hymn of 
 his own ; and then we retired for the night. I think 
 he had for some years been in the habit of waking at 
 five o'clock, and composing a hymn, but I do not 
 remember to have heard him mention having been so 
 employed, while I was his guest. 
 
 " With the single exception of a drive to Chiches- 
 ter, and to Lavant, where we spent a day with Mrs. 
 Poole, and of ha^dng one or two friends to tea three 
 times, there was no variety in the life which I have 
 above described, during the whole month I passed 
 with Mr. Hayley ; and, I believe, the years that fol- 
 lowed, to the time of his death, were as little varied 
 as the days I have detailed. The Honourable Miss 
 Moncktons, and their sister, ]Mrs. Milnes, drank tea 
 
 z
 
 338 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 with us once, as they were very amhitious of being 
 presented to Mr. Hayley, and their conversation 
 and great musical powers were justly appreciated by 
 him. 
 
 " The next year I repeated my visit to Felpham, 
 and found the Moncktons at Bognor, with their 
 brother and sister, Viscount and Viscountess Galway. 
 The latter were eager to make Mr. Hayley' s acquain- 
 tance, and I easily obtained leave to introduce them. 
 At the same time, the Countess of Mayo, and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Thomas Smith, requested of me a similar 
 introduction, and this apphcation drew from our 
 friend the following remark ; ' I think, my dear, you 
 had better show me at a shillmg a-head.' Leave was 
 granted me to present these new visitants ; and they 
 afterwards, I found, introduced Lord Mayo. That 
 year Mr. Hayley was unable to bear the motion of a 
 carriage, from the increased pain in his hip-joint, 
 and, from that time he scarcely ever left his own pre- 
 cincts. 
 
 " The next year I went to Scotland, and did not 
 see Felpham till the year 1817. I found Mr. Hayley 
 was become fond of seeing occasional visitors, and 
 that Earl and Countess Paulett, and Lady Mary 
 Paulett, as well as Lord and Lady Mayo, and Mr. 
 and Mrs. T. Smith, were frequent callers on him 
 that year. The Miss Godfreys were also his guests
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 339 
 
 and with them I occasionally paid visits, but for the 
 most part our life was as unvaried as it was in 1814 
 and 1815. 
 
 "In 1818, I was unable to \isit Felpham ; but in 
 1819, I went down to Bognor in considerable alarm, 
 on hearing of our poor friend's illness ; and I was not 
 certain that I should not arrive too late to see him. 
 But I found him out of danger ; and had the happi- 
 ness of returning to London at the end of the week, 
 leaving him recovering. But I saw him no more. 
 He died in November of the following year. 
 
 "You will wish to know what we read aloud. 
 Chiefly manuscript poems and plays of Mr. Hayley's, 
 and modern publications. One of the former was a 
 sensible, just, and, as he read it, an apparently well- 
 written Epistle to a Socinian friend on the errors of 
 his belief. You know, I suppose, that our friend 
 always read the Bible and Testament before he left 
 his chamber in a morning." Hayley's Memoirs, vol. 
 ii. p. 204. The epistle, of which Mrs. Opie speaks, 
 was printed with a few other " Poems on serious and 
 sacred Subjects," to be distributed among the friends 
 of the author, two years before his death. 
 
 His person and character are well described by the 
 Rev. Doctor Johnson, in the following words : " He 
 was considerably above the middle stature, had a 
 countenance remarkably expressive of intellect and 
 feeling, and a commanding air and deportment that
 
 340 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 reminded the beholder rather of a military officer, 
 than of the character he assumes in the close of his 
 epistolary addresses (he used to sign himself the 
 Hermit) . The deplorable infirmity, however, of his 
 early years, had left a perceptible lameness, which at- 
 tended him through life, and induced a necessity of 
 adventitious aid, towards procuring him the advan- 
 tage of a tolerably even walk. 
 
 " As to his personal quahties, of a higher order, 
 these were cheerfulness and sympathy in a very emi- 
 nent degree ; so eminent, indeed, that as no afflic- 
 tions of his own could divest him of the former, so 
 neither could the afflictions of others find him desti- 
 tute of the latter. His temper also was singularly 
 sweet and amiable, being not only free from ebulli- 
 tions of anger, but from all those minor defects 
 which it is needless to enumerate, and to which social 
 peace and harmony are so repeatedly sacrificed. It 
 was the most even in its exercise, that the writer of 
 this brief account of him ever witnessed. Whether 
 this regular flow of good humour was owing to the 
 native cheerfulness of his mind, to the habit which 
 he had contracted of viewing every adverse circum- 
 stance on its bright side, to a course of self dis- 
 cipline, which he did not avow to others, or to the 
 joint operation of all these, it is not possible to say ; 
 but certain it is that it was one of his most striking 
 peculiarities.
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 341 
 
 " In all these respects there can he no douht that 
 the character of Hayley was worthy of imitation ; 
 and the Editor feels that he should be deficient in a 
 becoming attention to the expressed wish of the 
 author, in the close of his Memoir, if he did not 
 briefly advert to the importance, both to individual 
 and social happiness, of endeavouring to cultivate to 
 the utmost those eminent ingredients of a beneficial 
 life, cheerfulness, sympathy, and good temper. 
 
 " Closely connected with these was a rich assem- 
 blage of amiable qualities, which the Editor cannot 
 do better than display in the following extract, from 
 the before-mentioned sketch, by the Rev. Samuel 
 Greatheed. ' Hayley retained, I believe, throughout 
 his life, a high sense of honour, inflexible integrity, 
 a warmth of friendship, and overflowing benevolence. 
 The last was especially exerted for the introduction 
 of meritorious yomig persons into useful and re- 
 spectable situations ; and it was usually eflScient, as 
 it never relaxed while they justified his patronage. 
 He did not, indeed, scruple, while it was in his 
 power, to entrust them with large sums, when there 
 appeared a prospect of their future ability for re- 
 payment ; but as this prospect not seldom failed, 
 either through death or imavoidable impediments, his 
 property was greatly reduced by such beneficence. 
 
 "Another distinctive mark of the character of 
 Hayley, which few possess by nature, and still fewer
 
 342 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 attain to by art, was an eminently great conversa- 
 tional ability. It was scarcely possible for any one 
 to be in his company an hour, how distinguished so- 
 ever his own gifts or acquirements might be in the 
 possession and exercise of colloquial powers, without 
 being conscious of his superiority in this respect. It 
 has been a subject of repeated astonishment to the 
 Editor, that in a soil so unfavourable to the growth 
 of this faculty, as seclusion must necessarily be, it 
 should yet have arrived at such a pitch of exube- 
 rance, in the case of the retired subject of this Memoir, 
 as only an interchange of the best informed minds, 
 and that continually exercised, could be supposed capa- 
 ble of producing. He can only attempt to account 
 for it from the opportunities which the author en- 
 joyed, through the advantage of one of the finest 
 private libraries in the kingdom, of conversing at all 
 hours, and in all conceivable frames of mind, with the 
 illustrious dead of every age and nation. But the 
 solution of the difficulty is still incomplete, for al- 
 though these hterary " Pleiades" could furnish as it 
 were "the sweet influences of rain and sunshine," to 
 foster his native talent ; yet, breath being denied them, 
 its improvement is more than his friend Cowper could 
 have accounted for, without violating his poetical 
 axiom, that 
 
 Ev'n the oak 
 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm.
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 343 
 
 "As to the defects of the character of Hayley, 
 perhaps the most prominent feature was a pertmacity 
 of determination with regard to his modes of action, 
 which has been seldom exempUfied to the same ex- 
 tent in the case of others. When, in the contempla- 
 tion of supposed advantage, whether to himself or 
 his friends, he had once matured his purpose, it was 
 an attempt of no ordinary difficulty to divert him from 
 the pursuit of it. To this may, perhaps, be attri- 
 buted the perpetual disappointments with which his 
 life was chequered. Certain it is, that his matri- 
 monial infelicities may be traced to this source. His 
 first adventure of the kind alluded to, had the warn- 
 ing voice of his surviving parent against it, and it 
 may naturally be supposed, the dissuasive arguments 
 of all his thinking andjudicious friends. And as to the 
 similar connexion he formed in the decline of life, he 
 must have overcome obstacles both numerous and 
 weighty, with respect to his own situation and habits 
 in accomplishing that object of his vFishes. Instead 
 of entering into a detail of these, however, it will be 
 more profitable to secure the good effect that may 
 arise from the contemplation of the former part of 
 his character, from the danger of being neutralized by 
 the present exhibition of it. This may, perhaps, be 
 accomplished by reminding the reader of that prin- 
 ciple of our lapsed nature, which inclines us, too 
 often, to confomid evil vnih good. The good, in
 
 344 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Hayley's case, appears to have been the viewing, 
 through his native cheerfuhiess, every dispensatiori of 
 Providence on its bright side ; and the evil, his ap- 
 plying this rule to what might be not improperly de- 
 signated the dispensation of his own will. There 
 can be no doubt that his example in the first instance 
 and his mistake in the last, are equally to be followed 
 and avoided. 
 
 "Another failing observable in the character of 
 Hayley, was the little attention he paid to public opi- 
 nion, in regard to his modes and habits of life. 
 During his long residence in his paternal seat of 
 Eartham, though he occasionally received friends 
 from a distance, and especially the votaries of litera- 
 ture and the fine arts, yet to the families in his vici- 
 nity he was not easily accessible. He seems, indeed, 
 to have been almost an insulated mortal among them ; 
 and one who, discharging himself from the obligation 
 of what is commonly called etiquette, made it im- 
 possible to maintain with him the reciprocities of 
 intercourse. It is true, indeed, that the attention of 
 the possessor of Eartham was considerably engrossed 
 by meditation and study ; but this increased rather 
 than lessened his adaptation to society, and made the 
 eflFect of his seclusion the more to be lamented." 
 Hayley's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 220. 
 
 As Hayley was too much extolled at the beginning 
 of his poetical course, so was he undeservedly neg-
 
 WILLIAM IIAYLEY. 345 
 
 lected or ridiculed at the close of it. The excessive 
 admiration he at first met with, joined to that flatter- 
 ing self-opinion which a solitary life is apt to engen- 
 der, made him too easily satisfied with what he had 
 done. Perhaps he wrote worse after his acquaintance 
 with Cowper ; for, aiming at a simplicity which he 
 had not power to support, he hecame flat and insipid. 
 He had at no time much force of conception or lan- 
 guage. Yet if he never elevates he frequently amuses 
 his reader. His chief attraction consists in setting 
 off some plain and natural thought or observation, by 
 a sparkling and ingenious similitude, such as we com- 
 monly find in the Persian poets. To this may be 
 added a certain sweetness of numbers peculiar to 
 himself, without the spirit and edge of Pope, or the 
 boldness of Dryden, and fashioned as I think to his 
 own recitation, which though musical, was somewhat 
 too pompous and monotonous. He was desirous 
 that all his rhymes should be exact ; but they are 
 sometimes so only according to his own manner of 
 pronouncing them. He holds about the same rank 
 among our poets that Bertaut does among the French ; 
 but differs from him in this ; that, whereas Bertaui: 
 was the earliest of a race analogous to the school of 
 Dryden and Pope, so Hayley was the latest of the 
 correspondent class amongst ourselves. 
 
 In one respect he is deserving of most honourable 
 notice. During the course of a long literary life, I
 
 346 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 doubt whether he was ever provoked to use a single 
 word of asperity or sarcasm towards any of his 
 contemporaries. This was praise which alone ought 
 to have exempted him from the harsh and unmerited 
 censure of Porson, by whom he was called Criticorum 
 et Poetarum pessimus. He sometimes on the other 
 hand, indulged himself too much in a lavish and 
 indiscriminate commendation of contemporary writers. 
 But from whatever might appear like flattery of the 
 great, he scrupulously abstained. When the Princess 
 Charlotte visited him at Felpham, he would not 
 present some verses he had written on her, lest he 
 should be thought capable of that meanness. 
 
 His Essays on Painting, History, and Poetry, 
 contain much information that may be useful to 
 young artists and students. That on Sculpture is 
 very inferior to the rest ; as the Triumph of Music 
 is to the Triumphs of Temper. The last of these is 
 a poem that still continues to interest a class of 
 readers, whose studies are intimately connected with 
 the happiness and well being of society. The design 
 of it, which is to shew the advantages of self-control 
 to the mind of a well-educated girl, is much to be 
 commended. The machinery though it required no 
 great effort in the production, yet suffices to give some 
 relief to the story. It has been remarked that the 
 trials of the Heroine are too insignificant. But of 
 one of them, at least, the calumny in the newspaper.
 
 \ 
 
 TV 
 
 LLIAM HAYLEY. 347 
 
 this cannot projJ^lylbe said. Nor would the purpose 
 of the writer have been so well answered, if he had 
 been more serious, and had uttered his oracles from 
 behind a graver mask. 
 
 The taste which has been lately excited amongst 
 us for Spanish and Italian literature, after having 
 slept nearly since the age of EUzabeth, may be 
 attributed in a great measure to the influence of his 
 example. Gray, Hurd, and the two Wartons, had 
 done something towards awakening it, but the spell 
 was completed by him. The decisive impulse was 
 given by the copious extracts from the great poets in 
 those languages, which he inserted in the notes to his 
 Essay on Epic Poetry, and which he accompanied by 
 spirited translations. Lord Holland, the best in- 
 formed and most elegant of our vsriters on the subject 
 of the Spanish theatre, declared that he had been 
 induced to learn that language by what Hayley had 
 vsritten concerning the poet Ercilla. 
 
 I have heard his Greek scholarship questioned m 
 consequence of an error which, in his Epistles on 
 History, he has made in the quantity of the word 
 Olorus, the name of the father of Thucydides ; but 
 from a casual mistake of this sort, no decisive inference 
 can be drawn. 
 
 There is little knowledge of human life and character 
 to be gained from his writings. He had seen man-
 
 348 LIVES or English 
 
 kind chiefly through the medium of books, and those 
 such as did not represent them very faithfully to him, 
 that is, in ordinary plays and novels. Indeed he 
 appeared to consider the real affairs of life in which 
 he was concerned much in the light of a romance, 
 and himself and his friends as so many personages 
 acting in it, all meeting with marvellous adventures 
 at every turn, and all endowed with admirable qualities, 
 to which their petty frailties served only as foils. It 
 is impossible in reading his memoirs to avoid smiling 
 at the importance he attaches to very ordinary 
 occurrences. I am not sure whether it was not this 
 propensity that led him to magnify his own distresses 
 in living with his first wife. That lady I well recollect 
 to have been lively and elegant in her manners, and 
 much addicted to literary pursuits, of which she gave 
 a proof in translating Madame de Lambert's Essay 
 on Friendship. Her excessive zeal for her husband's 
 reputation as an author, he has bantered with some 
 humour in the play of the Mausoleum, where Mrs. 
 Rumble, the wife of a poet is introduced : 
 
 Who crows o'er her husband's poetical eggs. 
 
 The character of Rumble in the same play appeared 
 so evidently designed for Johnson, though the author 
 disclaimed that intention, that Boswell, when he read 
 it on its first coming out, at Anna Seward's, exclaimed, 
 " It is we. It is we." Trope, who
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 349 
 
 Talks in a hig-li strutting style of the stars, 
 Of the eagle of Jove, and the chariot of Mars , 
 
 was meant for Mason ; and by Facil, 
 
 Whose verse is the thread of tenuity, 
 
 A fellow distinguish'd by flippant fatuity, 
 
 Who nonsense and rhyme can incessantly mingle, 
 
 A poet — if poetry's only a jingle, 
 
 he intended to represent himself. 
 
 The name of Facil was but too appropriate. The 
 slender thread of his verse was hastily and slightly 
 spun. 
 
 His comedies are adapted to the entertainment of 
 those readers only who have formed their taste on the 
 French drama. His tragedies are some of the most 
 endurable we have in what a lively modern critic* has 
 termed the rhetorical style. Yet he had some skill 
 in moving compassion. 
 
 His diction, both in poetry and prose, is vitiated 
 by the frequent recurrence of certain hj^erbolical 
 expressions, which he applies on almost all occasions. 
 
 He was particularly fond of composing epitaphs, of 
 which, as I remember, he shewed me a manuscript 
 book full. One of these on Henry Hammond, the 
 parish clerk at Eartham, is among the best in the 
 language. It is inserted in the Memoirs which 
 Hay ley wrote of his son. 
 
 * My friend Mr. Darley, MS. addition.— Ed.
 
 350 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 An active spirit in a little frame, 
 
 This honest man the path of duty trod ; 
 
 Toil'dwhilehe could, and, when death's darkness came, 
 
 Soug'ht in calm hope his recompense from God. 
 
 His sons, who loved him, to his merit just. 
 
 Raised this plain stone to guard their parent's dust. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 
 
 The life of Sir "William Jones has been written by 
 his friend Lord Teignmouth with that minute- 
 ness which the character of so illustrious and ex- 
 traordinary a man deserved. He was born in London, 
 on the twenty-eighth of September, 1746. His 
 father, whose Christian name he bore, although 
 sprung immediately from a race of yeomen in Angle- 
 sea, could yet, like many a Cambro-Briton beside, 
 have traced his descent, at least in a maternal line, 
 from the ancient princes of Wales. But what dis- 
 tinguished him much more was, that he had attained 
 so great a proficiency in the study of mathematics 
 as to become a teacher of that branch of science in 
 the English metropolis, under the patronage of Sir 
 Isaac Newton, and rose to such reputation by his 
 writings, that he attracted the notice and esteem of 
 the powerful and the learned, and was admitted to 
 the intimacy of the Earls of Hardwicke, and Mac-
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 351 
 
 clesfield ; Lord Parker, President of the Royal So- 
 ciety; Halley ; Mead; and Samuel Johnson. By 
 his wife, Mary, the daughter of a cabinet-maker in 
 London, he had two sons, one of whom died an 
 infant, and a daughter. In three years after the 
 birth of the remaining son, the father himself died, 
 and left the two children to the protection of their 
 mother. An extraordinary mark of her presence 
 of mind, sufficiently indicated how capable this 
 mother was of executing the difficult duty imposed 
 on her by his decease. Dr. Mead had pronounced 
 his case, which was a polypus on the heart, to be a 
 hopeless one ; and her anxious precautions to hinder 
 the fatal intelHgence from reaching him were on the 
 point of being defeated by the arrival of a letter of 
 condolence and consolation from an injudicious but 
 well-meaning friend, when, on discovering its purport, 
 she had sufficient address to substitute the lively 
 dictates of her own invention for the real contents 
 of the epistle, and by this affectionate delusion not 
 merely to satisfy the curiosity but to cheer the spirits 
 of her dying husband. 
 
 So great was her solicitude for the improvement 
 of her son, that she declined the pressing instances 
 of the Countess of Macclesfield to reside under her 
 roof, lest she should be hindered from attending ex- 
 clusively to that which was now become her main 
 concern. To the many inquiries which the early
 
 352 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 vivacity of the boy prompted him to put to her, the 
 invariable answer she returned was, read and you 
 will know. This assurance, added to the other 
 means of instruction, from which her fondness, or 
 more probably her discernment, induced her to ex- 
 clude every species of severity, were so efficacious 
 that in his fourth year he was able to read at sight 
 any book in his own language. Two accidents oc- 
 curred to hinder this rapid advancement from pro- 
 ceeding. Once he narrowly escaped being consumed 
 by flames from having fallen into the fire, while en- 
 deavouring to scrape down some soot from the chim- 
 ney of a room in which he had been left alone ; and 
 was rescued only in consequence of the alarm given 
 to the servants by his shrieks. At another time, his 
 eye was nearly put out by one of the hooks of his 
 dress, as he was struggling under the hands of the 
 domestic who was putting on his clothes. From the 
 effects of this injury his sight never completely re- 
 covered. 
 
 In his fifth year he received a strong impression 
 from reading the twentieth chapter of the Apoca- 
 lypse. The man must have a cold imagination who 
 would deny that this casual influence might have 
 first disclosed not only the lofty and ardent spirit, 
 but even that insatiable love of learning, by which 
 he was afterwards distinguished above all his contem- 
 poraries. Amidst the general proscription of reading
 
 SIK WILLIAM JONES. 353 
 
 adapted to excite wonder, that germ of knowledge, 
 in the minds of our children, it is lucky that the 
 Bible is still left them. 
 
 At the end of his seventh year he was placed 
 under the tuition of Dr. Thackeray, the master of 
 Harrow school ; but had not been there two years 
 before a fracture of his thigh bone, that happened 
 in a scramble among his play-fellows, occasioned 
 another suspension of his studies. During the 
 twelvemonth which he now passed at home with his 
 mother, he became so conversant with several writers 
 in his own language, especially Dryden and Pope, 
 that he set himself about making imitations of them. 
 
 On his return to Harrow, no allowance was made 
 for the inevitable consequences of this interruption ; 
 he was replaced in the class with those boys whose 
 classical learning had been progressive while his was 
 stationary, or rather retrograde, and unmerited chas- 
 tisement was inflicted on him for his inferiority to 
 those with whom he had wanted the means of main- 
 taining an equality. Impelled either by fear, by 
 shame, or by emulation, he laboured hard in private 
 to repair his losses : of his own accord recurred to the 
 rudiments of the grammar ; and was so diligent that 
 he speedily outstripped all his juvenile competitors. 
 
 In his twelfth year he entered into a scheme for 
 representing a play in conjunction with his school- 
 fellows ; but instead of seeking his Dramatis Per- 
 
 2 A
 
 354 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 sonse among the heroes of Homer, as Pope had done 
 in his boyhood, Jones, by a remarkable effort of 
 memory, committed to paper what he retained of 
 Shakspeare's Tempest, which he had read at his 
 mother's ; and himself sustained the part of Pros- 
 pero in that Comedy. Meanwhile, his poetical fa- 
 culty did not lie dormant. He turned into English 
 verse all Virgil's Eclogues and several of Ovid's 
 Epistles ; and wrote a Tragedy on the fable of Me- 
 leager, which was acted during the hohdays by him- 
 self and his comrades, and in which he sustained 
 the character of the hero. A short specimen of the 
 drama is preserved. The language brings to our 
 recollection that of the Mock Tragedy in Hamlet. 
 
 When the other boys were at their sports, Jones 
 continued to linger over his book, or, if he mingled 
 in their diversions, his favourite objects were still, 
 uppermost in his thoughts ; he directed his play- 
 mates to di\-ide the fields into compartments to 
 which he gave the names of the several Grecian 
 republics ; allotted to each their pohtical station ; 
 and " wielding at will the fierce democracies," ar- 
 ranged the complicated concerns of peace and war, 
 attack and defence, councils, harangues, and negocia- 
 tions. Dr. Thackeray was compelled to own that "if 
 his pupil were left naked and friendless on Sahsbury 
 plain, he woidd yet find his way to fame and riches." 
 
 On the resignation of that master, the manage-
 
 SIR "WILLIAM JONES. 355 
 
 ment of the school devolved on Dr. Sumner, by 
 whom Jones, then in his fifteenth year, was particu- 
 larly distinguished. Such was his zeal, that he 
 devoted whole nights to study ; and not contented 
 with applying himself at school to the classical lan- 
 guages, and during the vacations to the Italian and 
 French, he attained Hebrew enough to enable him 
 to read the Psalms in the original, and made himself 
 acquainted with the Arabic character. Strangers, 
 who visited Harrow, frequently inquired for him by 
 the appellation of the great scholar. 
 
 Some of his compositions from this time to his 
 twentieth year, which he collected and entitled 
 Limon,* in imitation of the ancients, are printed 
 among his works. A young scholar who should now 
 glance his eye over the first chapter, containing 
 speeches from Shakspeare and Addison's Cato trans- 
 lated into Greek iambics on the model of the Three 
 Tragedians, would put aside the remainder with a 
 smile of complacency at the improvement which has 
 since been made in this species of task under the 
 auspices of Porson. 
 
 His mother was urged by several of the legal pro- 
 fession, who interested themselves in his welfare, to 
 place him in the office of a special pleader : but con- 
 siderations of prudence, which represented to her 
 that the course of education necessary to qualify 
 
 * Afijuuv, a meadow.
 
 356 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 him for the practice of the law was exceedingly ex- 
 pensive and the advantages remote, hindered her 
 from acquiescing in their recommendation ; at the 
 same time that his own inchnation and the earnest 
 wishes of his master concurred in favour of pro- 
 secuting his studies at college. Which of the two 
 universities should have the credit of perfecting in- 
 struction thus auspiciously commenced was the next 
 subject of debate. But the advice of Dr. Glasse, 
 then a private tutor at Harrow, prevailing over that 
 of the head master, who, by a natural partiahty for 
 the place of his own education would have given the 
 preference to Cambridge, he was in 1764 admitted of 
 University College in Oxford, whither his mother de- 
 termined to remove her residence, either for the pur- 
 pose of superintending his health and morals, or of 
 enjoying the society of so excellent a son. 
 
 Before quitting school he presented to his friend 
 Parnell, nephew of the poet, and afterwards Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer in Ireland, a manuscript vo- 
 lume of Enghsh verses, consisting, among other pieces, 
 of that essay which some years after he moulded 
 into his Arcadia ; and of translations from Sophocles, 
 Theocritus, and Horace. If the encouragement of 
 Dr. Sumner had not been overruled by the dissuasion 
 of his more cautious friends, he would have com- 
 mitted to the press his GreeTc and Latin composi- 
 tions, among which was a Comedy in imitation of 
 the style of Aristophanes, entitled Mormo.
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 357 
 
 Like many other lads whose talents have unfolded 
 in all their luxuriance under the kindness of an in- 
 dulgent master, he experienced a sudden chill at his 
 first transplantation into academic soil. His reason 
 was perplexed amid the intricacies of the school logic, 
 and his taste revolted by the barbarous language that 
 enveloped it. 
 
 On the 31st of October he was unanimously elected 
 to one of the four scholarships founded by Sir Simon 
 Bennet. But as he had three seniors, his prospect 
 of a fellowship was distant ; and he was anxious to 
 free his mother from the inconvenience of contributing 
 to his support. His disgust for the University, 
 however, was fortunately not of long continuance. 
 The college tutors relieved him from an useless and 
 irksome attendance on their lectures, and judiciously 
 left the employment of his time at his own disposal. 
 He turned it to a good account in perusing the 
 principal Greek historians and poets, together with 
 the whole of Lucian and of Plato ; writing notes, and 
 exercising himself in imitations of his favourite authors 
 as he went on. In order to faciUtate his acquisition 
 of the Arabic tongue, more particularly with regard 
 to its pronunciation, he engaged a native of Aleppo, 
 named Mirza, whom he met with in London, to 
 accompany him to Oxford, and employed him in 
 re-translating the Arabian Nights' Entertainments 
 into their original language, whilst he wrote out the
 
 358 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 version himself as the other dictated, and corrected 
 the inaccuracies hy the help of a grammar and lexicon. 
 The affinity which he discovered between this lan- 
 guage and the modern Persian, induced him to extend 
 his researches to the latter dialect ; and he thus laid 
 the foundation of his extraordinary knowledge in 
 oriental literature. 
 
 During the vacations he usually resorted to London, 
 where he was assiduous in his attendance on the 
 schools of Angelo, for the sake of accomplishing 
 himself in the manly exercises of fencing and riding ; 
 and, at home, directed his attention to modern lan- 
 s;uag;es ; and familiarised himself with the best writers 
 in Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese : " thus," he 
 observed, " with the fortune of a peasant, he gave 
 himself the education of a prince." 
 
 The year after his entrance at college, he accepted 
 a proposal that was made him to undertake the edu- 
 cation of Lord Althorpe, then a child about seven 
 years old ; and for that purpose spent much of his 
 time at Wimbledon, where he composed many of his 
 English poems, and studied attentively the Hebrew 
 Bible, particularly the prophetical writings, and the 
 book of Job. 
 
 In the summer of 1 766, a fellowship of University 
 College unexpectedly became vacant ; and being 
 conferred on Jones, secured him the enjoyment of 
 that independence which he had so much desired.
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 359 
 
 With independence he seems to have been satisfied ; 
 for, on liis return to Wimbledon, he decHned an offer 
 made him by the Duke of Grafton, then first Lord of 
 the Treasury, of the place of interpreter for eastern 
 languages. The same answer which conveyed his 
 refusal recommended in earnest terms his friend 
 Mirza as one fitted to perform the duties of the office, 
 but the application remained unnoticed ; and he 
 regretted that his inexperience in such matters had 
 prevented him from adopting the expedient of nomi- 
 nally accepting the employment for himself, and con- 
 signing the profits of it to the Syrian. 
 
 In 1767 he began his treatise De Poesi Asiatica, 
 on the plan of Lowth's Prselectiones, and composed 
 a Persian grammar for the use of a school-fellow, 
 who was about to go to India. His usual course of 
 study was for a short time interrupted by an attend- 
 ance on Earl Spencer, the father of his pvipil, to Spa. 
 The ardour of his curiosity as a linguist made him 
 gladly seize the opportunity afforded him by this expe- 
 dition of obtaining some knowledge of German. Nor 
 was he so mdifferent to slighter accomplishments as 
 not to avail himself of the instructions of a cele- 
 brated dancing master at Aix-la-Chapelle. He had 
 before taken lessons from Gallini in that trifling art. 
 From a pensioner at Chelsea he had learnt the use of 
 the broadsword. He afterwards made an attempt, in 
 which, however, he does not seem to have persevered,
 
 360 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 to become a performer on the national instrument of 
 his forefathers, the harp. Ambition of such various 
 attainments reminds us of what is related concerning 
 the Admirable Crichton, and Pico of Mirandola. 
 
 Christian the Seventh, Kmg of Denmark, who in 
 1768 was on a visit to this country, had brought 
 with him a Persian history of Nadir Shah in manu- 
 script, which he was desirous to have translated from 
 that language into the French. On this occasion 
 Jones was applied to by one of the under secretaries 
 to the Duke of Grafton, to gratify the wishes of the 
 Danish monarch. The task was so little to his mind 
 that he would have excused himself from engaging 
 in it ; and he accordingly suggested Major Dow, a 
 gentleman already distinguished by his translations 
 from the Persic, as one fit to be employed ; but he 
 likewise pleading his other numerous occupations as a 
 reason for not undertaking this, and the application to 
 Jones being renewed, with an intimation that it would 
 be disgraceful to the country if the King should be 
 compelled to take the manuscript into France, he was 
 at length stimulated to a compliance. At the expi- 
 ration of a twelvemonth, during which interval it had 
 been more than once eagerly demanded, the work was 
 accomplished. The pubUcation of it was completed 
 in 1770, and forty copies were transmitted to the 
 court of Denmark. To the History was appended a 
 treatise on Oriental poetry, written also in French.
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 361 
 
 One of the chief difficulties imposed on the translator 
 had been the necessity of using that language in the 
 version, of which it could not be expected that he 
 should possess an entire command ; but to obviate 
 this inconvenience, he called in the aid of a French- 
 man, who corrected the inaccuracies in the diction. 
 Christian expressed himself well satisfied with the 
 manner in which his intentions had been fulfilled : 
 but a diploma constituting the translator a member 
 of the Royal Society at Copenhagen, together with 
 an earnest recommendation of him to the regard of 
 his own sovereign, were the sole rewards of his labour. 
 Of the history he afterwards published an abridgment 
 in English. 
 
 The predilection he had conceived for the Muses of 
 the East, whom, with the blind idolatry of a lover, he 
 exalted above those of Greece and Rome, was fiu'ther 
 strengthened by his intercourse with an illustrious 
 foreigner, whom they had almost as much captivated. 
 The person, with whom this similarity of taste con- 
 nected him, was Charles Reviczki, afterwards imperial 
 minister at Warsaw, and ambassador at the English 
 court with the title of Count. Their correspondence, 
 which turns principally on the object of their common 
 pursuits, and is written in the French and Latin 
 languages, commenced in 17G8. At this time he took 
 his degree of Bachelor of Arts. 
 
 In the summer of the ensuing year, Jones accom-
 
 362 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 panied his pupil to the school at Harrow. During 
 his residence there he transcribed his Persian grammar. 
 He had already begun a dictionary of that language, 
 with illustrations of the principal words from cele- 
 brated writers, a work of vast labour, which he 
 resolved not to prosecute without the assurance of an 
 adequate remuneration from the East India Company. 
 At the entreaty of Dr. Glasse, he now dedicated 
 some portion of his time to religious inquiry. The 
 result was a conviction of the truth of Christianity, 
 in his belief of which, it is said, he had hitherto been 
 unconfirmed. In the \\anter he made a second visit 
 to the Continent with the family of his noble patron. 
 After a longer stay at Paris, than was agreeable to 
 him, they passed down the Rhine to Lyons, and 
 thence proceeded by Marseilles, Frejus, and Antibes, 
 to Nice. At the last of these places they resided 
 long enough to allow of his returning to his studies, 
 which were divided between the arts of inusic and 
 painting ; the mathematics ; and military tactics ; a 
 science of which he thought no Briton could, without 
 disgrace, be ignorant. He also wrote a treatise on 
 education ; and begun a tragedy entitled SoHman, on 
 the murder of the son of that monarch by the 
 treachery of his step-mother. Of the latter, although 
 it appears from one of his letters that he had com 
 pleted it, no traces were found among his papers, 
 except a prefatory discourse too unfinished to
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 363 
 
 meet the public eye. The subject has been treated 
 by Champfort, a late French writer, and one of the 
 best among Racine's school, in a play called Mustapha 
 and Zeangir. I do not recollect, and have not now 
 the means of ascertaining, whether that fitie drama, 
 the Solimano of Prospero Bonarelli is founded on the 
 same tragic incident in the Turkish History. 
 
 An excursion which he had meditated to Florence, 
 Rome, and Naples, he was under the necessity of 
 postponing to a future occasion. On his way back 
 he diverged to Geneva, in hopes of seeing Voltaire ; 
 but was disappointed, as the Frenchman excused him- 
 self, on account of age and sickness, from conversing 
 with a stranger. At Paris he succeeded by the help 
 of some previous knowledge of the Chinese character, 
 and by means of Couplet's Version of the Works of 
 Confucius, in construing a poem by that writer, from 
 a selection in the king's library, and sent a literal 
 version of it to his friend Reviczki. From the French 
 capital the party returned through Spa to England. 
 During their short residence at Spa he sketched the 
 plan of an epic poem, on the discovery of Britain by 
 the Prince of Tyre. The suggestion and advice of his 
 friends, who thought that abilities and attainments 
 like his required a more extensive sphere of action 
 than was afforded him by the discharge of his duties 
 as a private tutor, strengthened, probably, by a con- 
 sciousness of his own power, induced him to relinquish
 
 364 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 that employment, and henceforward to apply himself 
 to the study and practice of the law. An almost 
 enthusiastic admiration of the legal institutions of his 
 own country, a pure and ardent zeal for ci^il liberty, 
 and an eminent independence and uprightness of 
 mind, were qualifications that rendered this destina- 
 tion of his talents not less desirable in a public view, 
 than it was with reference to his indi\idual interests. 
 He accordingly entered himself a member of the 
 Temple, on the 19th of September, 1770. To facul- 
 ties of so comprehensive a grasp, the abandonment of 
 his philological researches was not indispensable for 
 the successful prosecution of his new pursuit. Variety 
 was perhaps even a necessary aliment of his active 
 mind, which without it might have drooped and lan- 
 guished. Indeed, the cultivation of eastern learning 
 eventually proved of singular service to him in his 
 juridical capacity. 
 
 In 1771 he pubhshed in French a pamphlet in 
 answer to Anquetil du Perron's Attack on the Uni- 
 versity of Oxford, in the discourse prefixed to his 
 " Zind-A vesta ;" and entered on " A History of the 
 Turks," the introduction to which was printed, but 
 not made pubUc till after his death. He had a design 
 to apply for the office of minister at Constantinople, 
 in the event of a termination of the war with Russia, 
 and looked forward with eagerness to an opportunity 
 of contemplating the Turkish manners at their source.
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 365 
 
 A small volume of his poems, consisting chiefly of 
 translations from the Eastern languages, with two prose 
 dissertations annexed, made their appearance in the 
 following year, when he was elected a Fellow of the 
 Royal Society. From the preface to the poems, it 
 appears that his relish for the Greek and Roman 
 writers had now returned ; and that he justly re- 
 garded them as the standard of true taste. His terms 
 not having been regularly kept in the University, 
 (where his mother and sister had still continued to 
 reside) he did not take liis degree of Master of Arts 
 till the Easter of 1 773. In the January following he 
 was called to the bar. At the conclusion of the pre- 
 face to his Commentaries de Poesi Asiatica, pub- 
 lished at this period, he announces his determination 
 to quit the ser^dce of the muses, and apply himself 
 entirely to his professional studies. In a letter to 
 Reiiczki, of February, 1 775, we find him declaring 
 that he no longer intended to solicit the embassy to 
 Constantinople. This year he attended the spring 
 circuit, and sessions at Oxford ; and the next was 
 appointed one of the commissioners of bankrupts, 
 and was to be found regularly as a legal practitioner 
 in Westminster Hall. At the same time, that he 
 might not lose sight of classical literature, he was 
 assiduous in his perusal of the Grecian orators, and 
 employed himself in a version of the Orations of 
 Isseus ; nor does he appear to have broken oif his
 
 3GG LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. • 
 
 correspondence with learned foreigners, among whom 
 were the youngest Schultens, and G. S. Michaelis. 
 The translation of Isiaeus, which appears to he exe- 
 cuted with fidelity, was pubhshed in 1778, with a 
 dedication to Lord Bathurst, in which he declares 
 "his Lordship to have been his greatest, his only 
 benefactor," His late appointment is the obhgation 
 to which he refers. 
 
 A vacancy had now occurred on the bench at Fort 
 William, in Bengal ; and Jones was regarded by his 
 brethren at the bar as the fittest person to occupy 
 that station. The patronage of the minister, how- 
 ever, was requisite to this office ; and the Aiolent 
 measures which government had lately adopted, with 
 respect to the American Colonies, were far from being 
 such as accorded with his notions of freedom and 
 justice. He was resolved that no consideration should 
 induce him to surrender the independence of his 
 judgment on this, or any other national topic. " If 
 the minister," says he, in one of his letters to his 
 pupil. Lord Althorpe, " be offended at the style in 
 which I have spoken, do speak, and will speak, of 
 public affairs, and on that account, shall refuse to 
 give me the judgeship, I shall not be at all mortified, 
 having already a very decent competence without a 
 debt, or a care of any kind." His patriotic feelings 
 displayed themselves in a Latin Ode to Liberty ; pub- 
 lished in March, 1 780, under the title of Julii Mele-
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 367 
 
 sigoni ad Libertatem, an assumed name, formed by 
 an anagram of his own in Latin. 
 
 The resignation of Sir Robert Newdigate, one of 
 the members returned to parUament for the Univer- 
 sity of Oxford, in the meantime, induced several mem- 
 bers of that learned body, who were friendly to Jones, 
 to turn their eyes towards him as their future repre- 
 sentative. The choice of a candidate undistinguished 
 by birth or riches, and recommended solely by his 
 integrity, talents, and learning, would have reflected 
 the highest honour on his constituents ; but many 
 being found to be disinclined to his interest, it was 
 thought more prudent to relinquish the canvass. He 
 published in July a small pamphlet, entitled an In- 
 quiry into the Legal Mode of suppressing Riots, with 
 a constitutional Plan of future Defence. The insur- 
 rection which had for some days disgraced the British 
 metropolis, at the beginning of June, suggested the 
 publication of this tract. In the autumn of this year 
 he made a journey to Paris, as he had done the pre- 
 ceding summer. During a fortnight's residence in 
 that capital, he attended some causes at the Palais ; 
 obtained access to a fine manuscript in the royal 
 library, which opened to him a nearer insight into 
 the manners of the ancient . Arabians ; and mingled 
 in the society of as many of the American leaders as 
 he could fall in with, purposing to collect materials 
 for a future history of their imhappy contest with the
 
 368 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 mother country. In the midst of this keen pursuit 
 of professional and hterary eminence he had the mis- 
 fortune to lose his mother, who had lived long enough 
 to see her tenderness and assiduity in the conduct of 
 his education amply rewarded. 
 
 An Essay on the Law of Bailments, and the transla- 
 tion of an Arabian Poem, on the Mohammedan Law of 
 Succession to the Property of Intestates, to the latter 
 of which undertakings he was incited by his views 
 of preferment in the East, testified his industry in the 
 pursuit of his legal studies ; while, on the other hand, 
 several short poems evinced, from time to time, his 
 intended relinquishment of the tuneful art to be 
 either impracticable or unnecessary. 
 
 In the summer of 1 782 the interests of one of his 
 clients led him again to Paris, from whence he re- 
 turned by the circuitous route of Normandy, and the 
 United Provinces. In the spring of this year he had 
 become a member of the Society for Constitutional 
 Information. A more equal representation of the 
 people in parliament was at this time the subject of 
 general discussion, axid he did not fail to stand forward 
 as the strenuous champion of a measure which seemed 
 likely to infuse new spirit and vigour into our consti- 
 tutional liberties. His sentiments were pubhcly pro- 
 fessed in a speech before the meeting assembled at 
 the London Tavern, on the 28th of May ; and he 
 afterwards gave a wider currency to them from the
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 369 
 
 press. He maintained that the representation ought 
 to be nearly equal and universal ; an opinion in which 
 few would now be found to coincide ; and which, if 
 he had lived a little longer, he would probably him- 
 self have acknowledged to be erroneous. At Paris, 
 he had written a Dialogue between a Farmer and a 
 Country Gentleman on the Principles of Government, 
 and it was published by the Society. A bill of in- 
 dictment was found against the Dean of St. Asaph, 
 whose sister he afterwards married, for an edition 
 printed in Wales ; and Jones avowed himself the 
 author. 
 
 In the beginning of 1 783 appeared his translation 
 of the seven Arabian poems, suspended in the temple 
 at Mecca about the commencement of the sixth 
 century. 
 
 In the March of this year, he was gratified by the 
 long desired appointment to the office of judge in the 
 supreme court of judicature, at Fort William, in 
 Bengal, which was obtained for him through the 
 interest of Lord Ashburton ; and he received the 
 honour of knighthood usually conferred on that occa- 
 sion. The divisions among his political friends, after 
 the decease of that excellent nobleman, the Marquis 
 of Rockingham, afforded him an additional motive 
 for wishing to be employed at a distance from his 
 country, which he no longer hoped to see benefited 
 by their exertions. He was immediately afterwards 
 
 2 iJ
 
 3/0 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 united to Anna Maria Shipley, the daughter of the 
 Bishop of St. Asaph, a learned and liberal prelate. 
 His attachment to this lady had been of long con- 
 tinuance, and he had been waiting only for an honour- 
 able independence before he could resolve to join the 
 fortunes of one so tenderly beloved to his own. 
 
 Sir William Jones embarked for the East in April, 
 1783. It is impossible not to sympathise with the 
 feelings of a scholar about to visit places over which 
 his studies had thrown the charm of a mysterious 
 interest ; to explore treasures that had rested as yet 
 in darkness to European eyes ; and to approach the 
 imagined cradle of human science and art. During 
 his voyage he made the following memoranda of 
 objects for his inquiry, and of works to be begun or 
 executed during his residence in Asia. 
 
 1 . The laws of the Hindus and Mahommedans. 
 
 2. The History of the Ancient World. 
 
 3. Proofs and Illustrations of Scripture. 
 
 4. Traditions concerning the Deluge, &c. 
 
 5. Modern Politics, and Geography of Hindustan. 
 
 6. Best Mode of Governing Bengal. 
 
 7. Arithmetic and Geometry, and Mixed Sciences of 
 the Asiatics. 
 
 8. Medicine, Chemistry, Surgery, and Anatomy, of 
 the Indians. 
 
 9. Natural Productions of India. 
 
 10. Poetry, Rhetoric, and Morality of Asia 
 
 11. Music of the Eastern Nations.
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 3/1 
 
 12. The Shi-King', or 300 Chinese Odes. 
 
 13. The best Accounts of Thibet and Cashmir. 
 
 14. Trade, Manufactures, Agriculture, and Commerce 
 of India. 
 
 15. Mogul Constitution contained in the Defteri 
 Alemghiri, and Ayein Acbari. 
 
 16. Mahratta Constitution. 
 
 To print and publish the Gospel of St. Luke, in 
 Arabic. 
 
 To publish Law Tracts, in Persian or Arabic. 
 
 To print and publish the Psalms of David, in Persian 
 Verse. 
 
 To compose, if God grant me life, 
 
 1. Elements of the Laws of England. 
 Model — the Essay on Bailment. Aristotle. 
 
 2. The History of the American War. 
 Model — Thucydides and Polybius. 
 
 3. Britain Discovered, an Heroic Poem on the Consti- 
 
 tution of England. 
 Machinery. Hindu Gods. 
 Model— Homer. 
 
 4. Speeches, Political and Forensic. 
 Model — Demosthenes. 
 
 6. Dialogues, Philosophical and Historical. 
 
 Model— Plato. 
 6. Letters. 
 
 Model — Demosthenes and Plato. 
 
 In the course of the voyage the vessel touched at
 
 372 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Madeira ; and in ten weeks after quitting Cape Verd 
 Islands arrived at that of Hinzuan or Joanna, of 
 which he has left a very lively and pleasing descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 In September he landed at Calcutta ; and before 
 the conclusion of the year, entered on the perfor- 
 mance of his judicial function, and delivered his first 
 charge to the grand jury, on the opening of the 
 sessions. This address was such as not to disappoint 
 the high expectations that had been formed of him 
 before his arrival. 
 
 It was evident that the leisure, or perhaps even 
 the undivided attention and labour of no one man, 
 could have sufficed for prosecuting researches so 
 extensive and arduous as those he had marked out 
 for himself. The association of others in this design 
 was the ob\-ious method of remedying the difficulty. 
 At his suggestion, accordingly, an institution was, in 
 January, 1784, framed as closely as possible on the 
 model of the Royal Society in London ; and the 
 presidency was offered to Mr. Hastings, then Governor- 
 general in India, who not only was a liberal encourager 
 of Persian and Sanscrit literature, but had made him- 
 self a proficient in the former of these languages at a 
 time when its importance had not been duly appreci- 
 ated; and was familiarly versed in the common dialects 
 of Bengal. That gentleman, however, declining the 
 honour, and recommending that it should be conferred
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 3/3 
 
 on the proposer of the scheme, he was consequently 
 elected president. The names of Chambers, Gladwyn, 
 Hamilton, and "Wilkins, among others, evince that it 
 was not difficult for him to find coadjutors. How 
 well the institution has answered the ends for which 
 it was formed the public has seen in the Asiatic 
 Researches. 
 
 A thorough acquaintance with the religion and 
 
 literature of India appeared to be attainable through 
 
 no other medium than a knowledge of the Sanscrit ; 
 
 and he therefore applied himself without delay to 
 
 the acquisition of that language. It was not long 
 
 before he found that his health would oblige him 
 
 to some restriction in the intended prosecution of 
 
 his studies. In a letter written a few days after his 
 
 arrival in India, he informs one of his friends that 
 
 "as long as he stays in India, he does not expect 
 
 tobe free from a bad digestion, themorbus literatorum ; 
 
 for which there is hardly any remedy but abstinence 
 
 from too much food, hterary and culinary. I rise," 
 
 he adds, " before the sun, and bathe after a gentle 
 
 ride ; my diet is light and sparing, and I go early to 
 
 rest ; yet the activity of my mind is too strong for my 
 
 constitution, though naturally not infirm ; and I must 
 
 be satisfied with a valetudinarian state of health." 
 
 All these precautions, however, did not avail to secure 
 
 him from violent and reiterated attacks. In 1784, 
 
 he travelled to the city of Benares, by the route of
 
 374 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 Guyah, celebrated as the birth-place of the philoso- 
 pher Boudh, and the resort of Hmdu pilgrims from 
 all parts of the East ; and returned by Gour, formerly 
 the residence of the sovereigns of Bengal. During 
 this journey he laboured for some time under a fit of 
 illness that had nearly terminated his hfe. Yet no 
 sooner did he become a convalescent than he applied 
 himself to the study of botany, and composed a metri- 
 cal tale, entitled The Enchanted Fruit, or Hindu 
 Wife ; and a Treatise on the Gods of Greece, Italy, 
 and India ; the latter of which he commmiicated to 
 the Society. He had not been many months settled 
 after his return to Calcutta, when he found the de- 
 mand made on him for his company, by the neigh- 
 bourhood of that place, so frequent as to produce a 
 troublesome interruption to the course of his hterary 
 engagements. He therefore looked out for a situa- 
 tion more secluded, to which he might betake himself 
 during the temporary cessations of his official duties ; 
 and made choice of Chrishnanagur, at the distance of 
 about fifty miles, which, besides a dry soil and pure 
 air, possessed an additional recommendation in its 
 vicinity to a Hindu College. Indeed, he omitted no 
 means that could tend to faciUtate his acquaintance 
 with the learning and manners of the natives. A 
 considerable portion of his income was set aside for 
 the purpose of supporting their scholars, whom he 
 engaged for his instruction.
 
 SIR. WILLIAM JONES. 375 
 
 The administration of justice was frequently inter- 
 rupted by the want of integrity in the Pundits, or 
 expounders of the statutes. To prevent the possibi- 
 lity of such deception, this upright magistrate under- 
 took to compile and translate a body of Hindu and 
 Mohammedan laws, and to form a digest of them in 
 imitation of that of the Roman law framed by the 
 order of the Emperor Justinian. The mind can scarcely 
 contemplate a plan of utility more vast or splendid 
 than one which aimed at preserving the fountain of 
 right uncontaminated for twenty millions of people. 
 During the period of sessions and term, when his 
 attendance was required at Calcutta, he usually re- 
 sided on the banks of the Ganges, five miles from the 
 court. 
 
 In 1 785 a periodical work, called the Asiatic Mis- 
 cellany, which has been erroneously attributed to the 
 Asiatic Society, was undertaken at Calcutta ; and to 
 the first two volumes, which appeared in that and the 
 following year, he contributed six hymns addressed to 
 Hindu deities ; a literal version of twenty tales and 
 fables of Nizami, expressly designed for the help of 
 students in the Persian language ; and several smaller 
 pieces. 
 
 A resolution, which had passed the Board of the 
 Executive Government of Bengal, for altering the 
 mode of paying the salaries of the judges, produced 
 from him a very spirited remonstrance. The affair.
 
 376 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 however, seems to have heen misconceived by himself 
 and his brethren on the Bench ; and on its being ex- 
 plained the usual harmony was restored. At the 
 commencement of 1/86, while this matter was pend- 
 ing, he made a voyage to Chatigan, the boundary of 
 the British dommions in Bengal towards the east. 
 In this "Indian Montpelier," where he describes 
 " the hillocks covered with pepper vines, and sparkling 
 with blossoms of the coffee tree," in addition to his 
 other literary researches he twice perused the poem of 
 Ferdausi, consisting of above sixty thousand couplets. 
 This he considered to be an epic poem as majestic and 
 entire as the Iliad ; and thought the outline of it re- 
 lated to a single hero, Khosrau, (the Cyrus of Hero- 
 dotus and Xenophon), whom, as he says, " the Asia- 
 ticks, conversing with the Father of European History, 
 described according to their popular traditions by his 
 true name, which the Greek alphabet could not ex- 
 press." A nearer acquaintance with the great epic 
 bard of Persia had now taught him therefore to retract 
 the assertion he had made in his Commentary on 
 Asiatic Poetry, that " the hero, as it is called, of the 
 poem, was that well known Hercules of the Persians, 
 named Rustem ; although there are several other he- 
 roes, or warriors, to each of whom their own particular 
 glory is assigned." At the time of writing this, he 
 had an intention, if leisure should be allowed him, of 
 translating the whole work. A version of Ferdausi,
 
 SIK WILLIAM JONES. 377 
 
 either in verse unfettered by rhyme, or in such nume- 
 rous prose as the prophetical parts of the Bible are 
 translated into, would, I think, be the most valuable 
 transfer that our language is now capable of receiving 
 from foreign tongues. 
 
 In 1787 he flattered himself that his constitution 
 had overcome the cUmate ; but his apprehensions 
 were awakened for the health of Lady Jones, to which 
 it had been yet more unfavourable ; and he resolved, if 
 some amendment did not appear likely, to urge her 
 return to her native country ; preferring, he said, the 
 pang of separation for five or six years, to the anguish, 
 which he should hardly survive, of losing her. 
 
 At the beginning of 1 789 appeared the first volume 
 of the Society's Researches, selected by the President. 
 Two other volumes followed during his hfe-time, and 
 a fourth was ready for the press at the time of his 
 decease. 
 
 In the same year he published his version of an 
 Indian drama of Calidas, entitled Sancontala, or the 
 Fatal Ring ; a wild and beautiful composition, which 
 makes us desire to see more by the same writer, who 
 has been termed the Shakspeare of India, and who 
 Uved in the last century before the Christian era. 
 The doubts suggested by the critics in England, con- 
 cerning the authenticity of this work, he considered as 
 scarcely deserving of a serious reply. 
 
 In his discourses, delivered before the Society, he
 
 378 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 discusses the origin of the several nations which in- 
 habit the great continent of Asia, together with its 
 borderers, mountaineers, and islanders ; points out 
 the advantages to be derived from the concurrent re- 
 searches of the members of the Society, amongst which 
 the confirmation of the Mosaic account of the primitive 
 world is justly insisted on as the most important ; and 
 enlarges on the philosophy of the Asiatics. Besides 
 several other essays, particular dissertations are allot- 
 ted to the subjects of the Indian chronology ; the 
 antiquity of their zodiac, which he maintains not to 
 have been formed from the Greek or Arabs ; the lite- 
 rature of the Huidus ; and the musical modes used by 
 that people. 
 
 In the course of the last two years he edited the 
 Persian poem by Hatefi, of Laile and Majnoon, the 
 Petrarch and Laura of the Orientals. The book was 
 published at his own cost ; and the profits of the 
 sale appropriated to the rehef of insolvent debtors in 
 the gaol at Calcutta. 
 
 In 1793 Lady Jones, to whose constitution, natu- 
 rally a weak one, the climate continued still unpropi- 
 tious, embarked for England. The physicians had 
 long recommended a return to Europe as necessary 
 for the restoration of her health, or rather as the only 
 means of preserving her life ; but her mawilhngness 
 to quit her husband had hitherto retained her in 
 India. His eagerness to accomphsh his great object
 
 SIE WILLIAM JONES. 379 
 
 of preparing the Code of Laws for the natives would 
   not suffer him to accompany her. He hoped, how- 
 ever, that by the ensuing year he should have executed 
 his design ; and ginning up the intention he had had 
 of making a circvdt through Persia and China on his 
 return, he determined to follow her then without any 
 deviation from his course. In the beginning of 1 794 
 he published a translation of the Ordinances of Menu, 
 on which he had been long employed, and which may 
 be regarded as initiatory to his more copious pandect. 
 
 The last twenty years of his life he proposed pass- 
 ing in a studious retreat after his return to England ; 
 and had even commissioned one of his friends to 
 look out for a pleasant country-house in Middlesex, 
 with a garden, and ground to pasture his cattle. 
 
 But this prospect of future ease and enjoyment 
 was not to be realized. The event, which put an 
 unexpected end both to that and to his important 
 scheme for the public advantage, cannot be so well 
 related as in the words of Lord Teignmouth. *"' On 
 the 20th of April, or nearly about that date, after pro- 
 longing his walk to a late hour, during which he had 
 imprudently remained in conversation in an miwhole- 
 some situation, he called upon the writer of these 
 sheets, and complained of agueish symptoms, men- 
 tioning his intention of taking some medicine, and 
 repeating jocularly an old proverb, that " an ague 
 in the spring is medicine for a king." He had no
 
 380 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 suspicion at the time of the real nature of his indispo- 
 sition, which proved in fact to be a complaint common 
 in Bengal, an inflammation in the liver. The disorder 
 •was, however, soon discovered by the penetration of 
 the physician, who after two or three days was called 
 in to his assistance ; but it had then advanced too 
 far to yield to the efficacy of the medicines usually 
 prescribed, and they were administered in vain. The 
 progress of the complaint was uncommonly rapid, 
 and terminated fatally on the 27th of April, 1794. 
 
 "On the morning of that day, his attendants, 
 alarmed at the evident symptoms of approaching 
 dissolution, came precipitately to call the friend who 
 has now the melancholy task of recording the 
 mournful event : not a moment was lost in repairing 
 to his house. He was lying on a bed in a posture of 
 meditation, and the only symptom of remaining 
 life was a small degree of motion in the heart, which 
 after a few seconds ceased, and he expired without ar 
 pang or groan. His bodily suffering, from the com- 
 placency of his features, and the ease of his attitude, 
 could not have been severe ; and his mind must have 
 derived consolation from those sources where he had 
 been in the habit of seeking it, and where alone in 
 our last moments it can be found." " The funeral 
 ceremony," adds his noble biographer, " was per- 
 formed on the following day, with the honours due 
 to his public station ; and the numerous attendance
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 381 
 
 of the most respectable British inhabitants of Cal- 
 cutta evinced their sorrow for his loss, and their 
 respect for his memory. The Pundits who were in 
 the habit of attending him, when I saw them at a 
 public durbar, a few days after that melancholy 
 event, could neither restrain their tears for his loss, 
 nor find terms to express their admiration at the 
 wonderful progress which he had made in the sciences 
 which they professed." 
 
 A domestic affliction of the severest kind was 
 spared him by his removal from life. Eight years 
 after that event, his sister, who was married to an 
 opulent merchant retired from business, perished 
 miserably, in consequence of her clothes havhig taken 
 fire. 
 
 His large collection of Sanscrit, Arabic, and other 
 eastern manuscripts, was presented by his widow to 
 the Royal Society. A catalogue of them, compiled 
 by Mr. Wilkins, is inserted in his works. 
 
 The following list of desiderata was found among 
 his papers, after his decease. 
 
 India. 
 
 The Ancient Geography of India, &c., from the 
 Puranas. 
 
 A Botanical Description of Indian Plants, from the 
 Cochas, &c. 
 
 A Grammar of the Sanscrit Language, from Panini. 
 
 A Dictionary of the Sanscrit Language, from thirty- 
 two original Vocabularies and Niructi.
 
 382 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 On the ancient Music of the Indians. 
 On the Medical Substances of India, and the Indian 
 Art of Medicine. 
 On the Philosophy of the Ancient Indians. 
 A Translation of the Veda. 
 
 On Ancient Indian Geometry, Astronomy, and 
 Algebra. 
 A Translation of the Puranas, 
 Translation of the Mahabharat, and Ramayan. 
 On the Indian Theatre, &c. &c. 
 On the Indian Constellations, with their Mythology, 
 from the Puranas. 
 
 The History of India, before the Mohammedan 
 Conquest, from the Sanscrit Cashmir Histories. 
 
 Arabia. 
 The History of Arabia before Mohammed. 
 A Translation of the Hamasa. 
 A Translation of Hariri. 
 
 A Translation of the Facahatal Khulafa. Of the 
 Cafiah. 
 
 Persia. 
 The History of Persia, from authorities in Sanscrit, 
 Arabic, Greek, Turkish, Persian, ancient and modern. 
 The five Poems of Nizami, translated in prose. 
 A Dictionary of pure Persian — Jehangiri. 
 
 China. 
 Translation of the Shi-cing. 
 The Text of Con-fu-tsu, verbally translated. 
 
 Tartary. 
 A History of the Tartar Nations, chiefly of the 
 Moguls and Othmans, from the Turkish and Persian.
 
 SIR "WILLIAM JONES. 383 
 
 By an unanimous vote of the East India Company 
 Directors, it was resolved, that a cenotaph, vdth a 
 suitable inscription, should be raised to his memory 
 in St. Paul's Cathedral ; and that a statue of him 
 should be sent to Bengal, for the purpose of being 
 placed there in a proper situation. 
 
 A monument has also been erected to his memory 
 in the anti-chapel of University College, Oxford, by 
 Lady Jones, with the following inscription : 
 
 M. S. 
 
 Guliehni Jones equitis aurati, 
 
 Qui clarum in Uteris nomen a patre acceptum 
 
 Magna cumulavit gloria. 
 
 Ingenium in illo erat scientiarum omnium capax, 
 
 Disciplinisque optimis diligentissime excultum. 
 
 Erat indoles ad virtutem eximia, 
 
 Et in Justitia, Libertate, Eeligione vindicanda 
 
 Maxime probata. 
 
 Quicquid autem utile vel honestum 
 
 Consiliis, Exemplo, Auctoritate vivus promoverat, 
 
 Id omne scriptis suis immortalibus 
 
 Etiam nunc tuetur atque ornat. 
 
 Prsestantissimum liunc virum, 
 
 Ciim a provincia Bengala, 
 Ubi judicis integ'errimi munus 
 
 Per decennium obierat, 
 
 Reditum in patriam meditaretur, 
 
 Ingruentis morbi vis oppressit, 
 
 X. Kal. Jun. A. C. MDCCLXXXXIV. iEt. XLVIII. 
 
 Ut quibus in tedibus 
 
 Ipse olim socius inclaruisset, 
 
 In iisdem memoria ejus potissimum conservaretur, 
 
 Honorarium hoc monumentum 
 
 Anna Maria tilia Jonathan Shipley, Epis. Asaph. 
 
 Conjugi suo, B. M. 
 
 P.C.
 
 384 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 To the name of poet, as it implies the possession 
 of an inventive faculty. Sir William Jones has but 
 Uttle pretension. He borrows much ; and what he 
 takes he seldom makes better. Yet some portion of 
 sweetness and elegance must be allowed him. 
 
 In the hymns to the Hindu deities, the imagerv, 
 which is derived chiefly from Eastern sources, is 
 novel and attractive. That addressed to Narayena is 
 in a strain of singular magnificence. The descrip- 
 tion, in the fourth stanza, of the creative power or 
 intelligence, issuing from the primal germ of being, 
 and questioning itself as to its o^vn faculties, has 
 something in it that fills the mind with wonder. 
 
 What four-form'd godhead came, 
 With graceful stole and beamy diadem, 
 Forth from thy verdant stem ? 
 Full-g-ifted Brahma ! Rapt in solemn thought 
 
 He stood, and round his eyes fire-darting threw 
 But whilst his viewless origin he sought, 
 
 One plain he saw of living waters blue, 
 
 Their spring nor saw nor knew. 
 Then in his parent stalk again retired, 
 With restless pain for ages he inquired 
 What were his powers, by whom, and why, conferr'd, 
 With doubts perplex'd, with keen impatience tired, 
 
 He rose, and rising heard 
 
 Th' unknown, all-knowing word, 
 Brahma ! no more in vain research persist. 
 My veil thou canstnotmove. — Go, bidall worlds exist.
 
 SIR WILLIAM JOXES. 385 
 
 To the hymns he subjoins the first Nemean ode of 
 Pindar, " not only," he says, " in the same measure 
 as nearly as possible, but almost word for word with 
 the original ; those epithets and phrases only being 
 necessarily added which are printed in Italic letters." 
 Whoever will be at the trouble of comparing him 
 with Pindar, will see how far he is from fulfilling this 
 promise. 
 
 Of the Palace of Fortune, an Indian tale, the 
 conclusion is unexpected and affecting. 
 
 The Persian song from Hafez, is one of those 
 pieces that, by a nameless charm, fasten themselves 
 on the memory. 
 
 In the Caissa, or poem on Chess, he is not minute 
 enough to gratify a lover of the game, and too parti- 
 cular to please one who reads it for the poetry. The 
 former will prefer the Scacchia Ludus of Vida, of 
 which it is a professed imitation ; and the latter will 
 be satisfied with the few spirited lines which the 
 Abbe de Lille has introduced into his L' Homme des 
 Champs, on this subject. Vida's poem is a surpris- 
 ing instance of difficulty overcome, in the manner 
 with which he has moulded the phraseology of the 
 classics to a purpose apparently alien from it ; and 
 he has made his mythology agreeable, trivial as it is, 
 by the skill with which it is managed. But I find 
 that both the Caissa, and the Arcadia, which is taken 
 from a paper in the Guardian, were done, as the 
 
 2 c
 
 3S6 LIVES OF ENGLISH' POETS. 
 
 author says, at the age of 1 6 or 17 years, and were 
 saved from the fire iu preference to a great many 
 others, because they seemed more correctly versified 
 than the rest. It is, therefore, hardly fair to judge 
 them very strictly. 
 
 His Latin commentary on Asiatic poetry is more 
 valuable for the extracts from the Persian and Arabic 
 poets, which he has brought together in it, than to 
 be commended for anythuig else that it contains, or 
 for the style in which it is written. Certain marks 
 of hurry in the composition, which his old school- 
 fellow. Doctor Parr, had intimated to him with the 
 ingenuousness of a friend and a scholar, are still ap- 
 parent. He takes up imphcitly with that incomplete 
 and partial, though very ingenious system, which 
 Burke had lately put forth in his essay on the 
 Sublime and Beautiful. He has supported that 
 writer's definition of Beauty by a quotation from 
 Hermogenes. A better confirmation of his theory 
 might have been adduced from the Philebus of Plato, 
 in which Socrates makes the same distinction as our 
 eloquent countryman has taken so much pains to 
 establish between that sensation which accompanies 
 the removal of pain or danger, and which he calls 
 dehght — and positive pleasure. * 
 
 * 'AXr]9E7Q dav rivar^ut 'SwKpaTeg, vTroXafx^dvoji', opBwQTiQ 
 Siai'ooir^ av ; 2Q. Tciq Trtpi n ra KoKa Xeyo/xEva xp<^fiaTa
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 387 
 
 As the work, however, of a young man, the com- 
 mentary was such as justly to raise high expectations 
 of the writer. 
 
 His style in English prose, where he had most im- 
 proved it, that is, in his discourses dehvered in India 
 on Asiatic History and Literature, is opulent without 
 being superfluous ; dignified, yet not pompous or in- 
 flated. He appears intent only on conveying to 
 others the result of his own inquiries and reflections 
 on the most important topics, in as perspicuous a 
 manner as possible ; and the embellishments of dic- 
 tion come to him unbidden and unsought. His 
 prohxity does not weary, nor his learning embarrass, 
 the reader. If he had been more elaborate, he 
 might have induced a suspicion of artifice ; if he had 
 been less so, the weightiness of his matter would 
 seem to have been scarcely enough considered. 
 
 Kal Tcepi ra axnjJiaTa, Kai rCbv oajxCov tuq TrXi'iaraQ, 
 Kai ruQ Twv (pOoyyuJV, Kal oaa tciq evSsiag avaiad!]TOVQ 
 tXOvra Kai ciXvitovq, tuq 7r\?jpaiff£ic aiaOrjrds Kai I'lStias 
 KaOapag Xvttuiv vapaSioojin. " What pleasures then, 
 Socrates, may one justly conclude to be true ones? — Soc. 
 Those which regard both such colours as are accounted 
 beautiful ; and figures ; and many smells and sounds ; 
 and whatsoever things, when they are absent, we 
 neither feel the want of, nor are uneasy for ; but when 
 present, we feel and enjoy without any mixture of un- 
 easiness." He then goes on to exemplify these true 
 pleasures in forms, colours, &c. Compare the De 
 Rep. p. 584.
 
 388 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 But he lias higher claims to the gratitude of his 
 country, and of mankind, than either prose or 
 poetry can give. His steady zeal in the cause of 
 liberty, and justice, and truth, is above all praise ; 
 and will leave his name among the few 
 
 quos sequus amavit 
 
 Jupiter, aut ardens evexit ad sethera virtus, 
 
 Dis geniti. 
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 
 
 If it were allowable for one who professes to write 
 the hves of English poets to pass the name of Chat- 
 ter ton in silence, I should think the hterature of our 
 country more honoured by the concealment of his fate 
 than by the record of his genius. Yet from his brief 
 story, the young will learn, that genius is likely to 
 lead them into misery, if it be not accompanied by 
 something that is better than genius ; and men, whom 
 birth and station have rendered eminent, may discover 
 that they owe some duty to those whom nature has 
 made more than their equals ; and who — 
 
 Beneath the good the' far — are far above the great.
 
 THOMAS CHATTEUTON. 389 
 
 Thomas Chatterton was born in the parish of St. 
 Mary Redcliffe, at Bristol, on the twentieth of No- 
 vember, 1752. His father, who was of the same 
 name, and who died about three months before the 
 birth of his son, had been writing-master to a classi- 
 cal school, singing-man in Bristol cathedral, and mas- 
 ter of the free-school in Pyle-street in that city ; and 
 is related to have been inclined to a behef in magic, 
 and deeply versed in CorneUus Agrippa. His fore- 
 fathers had borne the humble office of sexton to St. 
 Mary Redcliffe church for a century and a half, till 
 the death of John Chatterton, great uncle of the 
 poet. 
 
 From what is recorded of the infancy of Chatter- 
 ton, parents may be satisfied that an inaptness to 
 learn in childhood, is far from being a prognostic of 
 future dullness. At the age of five years, he was 
 sent to the school of which his father had been mas- 
 ter, and was found so incorrigibly stupid, that he was 
 rejected by the teacher, whose name was Love, as 
 incapable of profiting by his instruction. His mother, 
 as most mothers would have done in the like case, 
 bitterly lamented her son's untowardness ; when an 
 old musical manuscript in French coming in his way, 
 he fell in love, as she expressed it, with the illumi- 
 nated capitals. Of this fancy she eagerly availed 
 herself to lead him on to an acquaintance with the 
 alphabet ; and from hence proceeded to teach him to
 
 390 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 read in an old Testament or Bible in the black letter. 
 Doctor Gregory, one of bis biographers, justly 
 observes, that it is not unreasonable to suppose his 
 peculiar fondness for antiquities to have originated in 
 this incident. 
 
 It is related, on the testimony of his sister, as a 
 mark of his early thirst for distinction, that being 
 offered a present of china-ware by a potter, and asked 
 what device he would have painted on it, he replied, 
 " Paint me an angel with wings, and a trumpet to 
 trumpet my name about the world." It is so usual 
 with those who are fondly attachedto a child, to deceive 
 themselves into a belief, that what it has said on the 
 suggestion of others, has proceeded from its own mind, 
 that much credit is seldom due to such marvels. 
 
 A little before he had attained his eighth year, he 
 was admitted into Colston's charity school in Bristol, an 
 institution in some respects similar to that excellent one 
 of Christ's Hospital in London, the boys being boarded 
 and clothed, as well as instructed, in the house. In 
 two years his dishke to reading was so thoroughly 
 overcome, that he spent the pocket-money allowed 
 him by his mother in hiring books from a circulating 
 hbrary. He became reserved, thoughtful, and at 
 times melancholy ; mixed httle in childish sports ; 
 and between his eleventh and twelfth years had made 
 a catalogue of the books he had read to the number 
 of seventy. It is to be regretted, that with a dispo-
 
 THOMAS CHATTEKTON. 391 
 
 sition thus studious, he was not instructed in any 
 language but his own. The example of one of the 
 assistants in the school, named Thomas Phillips, 
 spread a poetical emulation among the elder boys, 
 of whom Thistlethwaite, Gary, and Fowler, figured 
 in the periodical publications of the day. Chatterton 
 did not escape the contagion ; and a pocket-book pre- 
 sented to him by his sister, as a new-year's gift, was 
 returned at the end of the year filled ^vith his writing, 
 chiefly in verse. Phillips is probably the person 
 whose skill in poetry is extolled by Chatterton in an 
 elegy on the death of his acquaintance of that name, 
 which has some stanzas of remarkable beauty. 
 
 Soon after his confirmation by the bishop, at twelve 
 years of age, he was prompted by the serious reflec- 
 tions which the performance of that ceremony had 
 awakened in him, to compose some lines on the Last 
 Day, and a paraphrase of the ninth chapter of Job, 
 and of some chapters in Isaiah. Had his life been 
 protracted, there is every reason to believe, from the 
 process which usually takes place in minds constituted 
 like his, that after an interval of scepticism, these 
 feelings of piety would have returned in their full 
 force. At the same time he indulged himself in sati- 
 rical efPusions on his master, and such of his school- 
 fellows as had provoked either his resentment or his 
 ridicule. 
 
 On the first of July, 1767, he was taken from
 
 392 LIVES OP ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 school, and apprenticed for seven years to Mr. John 
 Lambert, attorney, of Bristol, to be instructed in the 
 art of a scrivener. The apprentice fee was only ten 
 pounds ; he slept in the room with the footboy, and 
 was confined to the office from light o'clock in the 
 morning, with the usual interval for dinner, till the 
 same hour at night. His conduct was such as left 
 his master no room for blame. He never exceeded 
 the hours limited for his absence, except on one occa- 
 sion, when he had been to spend an evening in the 
 company of his mother and some friends. Once only 
 he incurred correction. His old schoolmaster had 
 received an abusive anonymous letter ; and Lambert 
 having discovered from the hand-writing, which was 
 ill disguised, and by the paper, which was the same 
 as that used in his office, that Chatterton was the 
 writer, thought it necessary to check so mischievous 
 a propensity, by inflicting on him one or two blows. 
 Though he was compelled to pass so large a portion 
 of time in confinement, he had much leisure left 
 him, as his master's business frequently did not occupy 
 more than two hours in the day. His chief employ- 
 ment was the copying of precedents, with which he 
 filled a folio book of 344 pages closely written. 
 
 At the beginning of October, 1768, the new bridge 
 at Bristol was completed ; and about the same time 
 there appeared in the Bristol Journal a paper, pur- 
 porting to be a description of the Fryar's first passing
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 393 
 
 over the old bridge, taken from an ancient manu- 
 script, and signed Dunhelmus Bristoliensis. By 
 this the pubUc curiosity was excited ; and the printer 
 not being able to satisfy the inquiries that were made 
 concerning the quarter from whence he had received 
 the communication, it was with some difficulty traced 
 to Chatterton. To the menaces of those, who first 
 roughly demanded from him an account of the means 
 by which the paper had come into his hands, he 
 refused to give any reply ; but on being more mildly 
 questioned, after some prevaricating, said, that he 
 had got it, together with several other manuscripts, 
 that had been in the possession of his father, by 
 whom they were found in a large box, in an upper 
 room, over the chapel, on the north side of RedcUflfe 
 church. That some old parchments had been seen 
 by him in his mother's house is nearly certain ; nor 
 is it at all improbable that they might have been dis- 
 covered in a neglected coiFer in the church, according 
 to the account he gave of them. But that either the 
 description of the Fryar^s passage over the bridge, or 
 the most considerable of the poems attributed to 
 Rowley were among them, can scarcely be credited. 
 The delusion supposed to have been practised on the 
 public by Macpherson, and that acknowledged to 
 have been so by Walpole, in passing off the Castle of 
 Otranto for a translation from the Italian, were then 
 recent; and these examples might have easily engaged 
 Chatterton to attempt a fraud, which did not seem
 
 394 LIVES or English poets. 
 
 likely to be more injurious in its consequences than 
 either of them. 
 
 About the same time he became known to a Mr. 
 Catrott, and to a Mr. Barrett, a chirurgeon at Bristol, 
 who intended to publish a history of that city, and 
 was then collecting materials for the purpose. To 
 the former he showed the Bristowe Tragedy, the 
 Epitaph on Robert Canynge, and some other short 
 pieces ; to the latter several fragments, some of con- 
 siderable length, affirming them to be portions of the 
 original manuscripts which had fallen into his hands. 
 From both he received at different times some pecu- 
 niary reward for these communications, and was 
 favoured by the loan of some books. Among those 
 which he borrowed of Mr. Barrett, there were several 
 on medical subjects ; and from him he obtained also 
 some instructions in chirurgery. He is represented 
 by one of his companions to have extended his 
 curiosity, at this time, to many other objects of in- 
 quiry ; and to have employed himself not only in the 
 lighter stvidies of heraldry and English antiquities, 
 but in the theory of music, mathematics, metaphysics, 
 and astronomy. 
 
 He now became a contributor of prose and verse 
 to the Magazines. Among the acknowledgments to 
 correspondents in the Town and Country Magazine 
 for November, 1768, one of his letters appears to be 
 noticed ; but nothing of his writing in that mis-
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 395 
 
 cellany, the first with which he is known to have 
 corresponded, has been discovered before the Fe- 
 bruary of the following year. 
 
 The attention he had drawn to himself in his 
 native city soon induced him to aspire after higher 
 notice. In March he addressed the following letter 
 to the Honourable Horace Walpole ; 
 
 Sir, — Being- versed a little in antiquities, T have met 
 with several curious manuscripts, among which the fol- 
 lowing may be of service to you in any future edition 
 of your truly entertaining- Anecdotes of Painting. 
 In correcting the mistakes (if any) in the notes, you 
 will greatly oblige 
 
 Your most humble servant, 
 Thomas Chattekton. 
 Bristol, March 25th, Corn Street. 
 
 This was accompanied by a manuscript, entitled 
 " The Ryse of Peyneteyne in Englande, wroten by 
 T. Rowleie, 1469, for Mastre Canynge :" to which 
 Chatterton had annexed his own remarks. Walpole 
 returned a pohte answer, and asked for further com- 
 munications. On the receipt of a second letter from 
 Chatterton, Walpole repeated his wish to know more 
 concerning Rowley and his poems ; in reply to 
 which, Chatterton took occasion to represent his own 
 situation, that he was the son of an indigent widow, 
 and clerk to an attorney, but that his incKnations led 
 him to more elegant pursuits ; and he intimated a
 
 396 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 hope that Walpole would assist in placing him where 
 he might be able to gratify such propensities. His 
 letter was accompanied by more of the Rowleian 
 poems, and contained an assurance, that the person 
 who had lent them to him to transcribe, possessed 
 other valuable relics of ancient poetry. Some in- 
 quiries which Walpole made, confirmed the account 
 given by Chatterton of himself; but in answer to his 
 sohcitation for patronage, Walpole declared that he 
 had not the means of exerting it ; and recommended a 
 sedulous attention to business, as the most certain 
 way of recompensing his mother for her care, and of 
 securing his own independence. He mentioned that 
 more competent judges, than he pretended to be, 
 were not satisfied of the manuscripts being genuine ; 
 and at the same time stated their reasons for con- 
 cluding them to be of another age than that to 
 which they were assigned. Shortly after, Chatterton 
 wrote to him two letters, which though querulous, 
 are not disrespectful. In the first, while he thanks 
 his correspondent for the advice he had given him, 
 he professes his resolution " to go a little beyond it, 
 by destroying all his uselesslumber of hterature, and 
 never using his pen again but in the law ;" and in 
 the other, declaring his settled conviction that the 
 papers of Rowley were genuine, he asks him to re- 
 turn the copy which had been sent him. Owing to 
 the absence of Walpole, who was then in Paris, some
 
 THOMAS CHATTEUTON. 397 
 
 time elapsed without any notice being taken of this 
 request ; and on his return Walpole found the fol- 
 lowing letter, which he terms singularly impertinent. 
 
 Sir, — I cannot reconcile your behaviour to me with 
 the notions I once entertained of you. I think myself 
 injured, Sir ; and did you not know my circumstances, 
 you would not dare to treat me thus. I have sent for a 
 copy of the M.S. No answer from you. An explana- 
 tion or excuse for your silence would oblige 
 
 Thomas Chatterton. 
 July 24th. 
 
 The manuscripts and letters were all returned in a 
 blank cover, on the fourth of August, and here the 
 intercourse was at an end. Gray and Mason were 
 the friends whom Walpole had consiilted about the 
 manuscripts, and they had no hesitation in pro- 
 nouncing them to be forgeries. It may seem strange, 
 that with such men, the uncommon beauty of the 
 poetry they contained did not create some interest for 
 the author. But Gray was now in a state of health 
 that, perhaps, left him little power of being interested 
 in anything ; or the wonder may resolve itself into 
 that blindness which poets, no less than patrons, too 
 frequently discover for the excellence of their con- 
 temporaries. Chatterton himself spoke with con- 
 tempt of the productions of Collins. As to Walpole, 
 he had no doubt more pleasure in petting the lap-dog 
 that was left to his care by the old blind lady at
 
 398 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Paris, than he could ever have felt in nursing the 
 wayward genius of Chatterton. 
 
 During his residence in Lambert's house, his con- 
 stitutional reserve had assumed an air of gloomy sul- 
 lenness : he had repeatedly betrayed to the servants 
 an intention of committing suicide ; and at length a 
 paper, entitled the last Will and Testament of 
 Thomas Chatterton, which was found l}^g on his 
 desk, manifested a design of perpetrating this act on 
 the ensuing day, Easter Sunday, April 15th, 1770. 
 On so unequivocal a proof as this appeared to be of 
 his desperate resolution, his master no longer thought 
 it safe to retaia him. 
 
 A few months before, he had written letters to 
 several booksellers and printers in London, and from 
 them received assurances of protection and employ- 
 ment if he should remove to the capital. This de- 
 cided him as to his future course. When he was 
 questioned by Thistlethwaite as to the plan of life he 
 intended to pursue, if the prospect which was thus 
 held out, should fail him, he answered : " The pro- 
 mises I have had are sufficient to dispel doubt ; but 
 should I be deceived I will turn Methodist preacher. 
 Creduhty is as potent a deity as ever, and a new 
 sect may easily be devised. But if that too should 
 fail me, my last and final resource is a pistol." It is 
 almost unnecessary to observe, that when he thus 
 speculated on his futiire proceedings, his mind had
 
 THOMAS CHATTEUTON. 399 
 
 been strongly tainted with infidelity. — Towards the 
 conclusion of April he set forth on his ill-omened 
 journey. He had never yet gone farther than a Sun- 
 day's walk from his native city ; and at the age of 
 seventeen, equally inexperienced and confident, with- 
 out a friend or a guide, and with principles shaken 
 and perverted, he was about to enter oii a new and 
 perilous theatre ; nor could it have been diflficult to 
 divine what the event must soon be. On the 26th of 
 April 1770, immediately after his arrival in London, 
 he writes to his mother, and speaks in high spirits of 
 the encouragement he has met with from the book- 
 sellers to whom he has applied, " who," says he, 
 " all approve of my design." On the sixth of the 
 next month, he informs her that " he gets four 
 guineas a month by one Magazine, and that he shall 
 engage to write a history of England and other 
 pieces, which will more than double that sum." 
 " Mr. Wilkes had known him by liis writings, since 
 he first corresponded with the booksellers. He is to 
 visit him the following week, and by his interest 
 would ensure Mrs. Ballance the Trinity House." 
 In short he is in raptures at the change in his condi- 
 tion and views ; and talks as if his fortune were 
 already made. He now inhabited the house of 
 Walmsley, a plasterer, in Shoreditch, where his kins- 
 woman Mrs. Ballance also lived. 
 
 The other letters to his mother and sisters betray
 
 400 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 the same intoxication. At the Chapter Coffee-house, 
 he meets with a gentleman " who would have intro- 
 duced him as a companion to the young duke of North- 
 umberland in his intended general tour, had he not 
 been unluckily incapacitated for that office by his 
 ignorance of any tongue but his own. His present 
 profession obliges him to frequent places of the best 
 resort. He employs his money in fitting himself 
 fashionably, and getting into good company ; this 
 last article always brings him in good interest. He 
 has engaged to hve with a gentleman, the brother of 
 a lord (a Scotch one indeed) who is going to advance 
 pretty deeply into the bookselling branches, and is 
 to have lodging and boarding, genteel and elegant, 
 gratis, besides no inconsiderable premium. He is 
 introduced to Beckford, the Lord Mayor, to whom 
 he had addressed an Essay, and who received him 
 with all the politeness a citizen could assume, and 
 warmly in^ited him to come again. He might have 
 a recommendation to Sir George Colebrook, an East 
 India Director, as qualified for an office no ways 
 despicable ; but he shall not take a step to the sea 
 while he can continue on land. If money flowed as 
 fast upon liim as honours, he would give his sister a 
 portion of jG5000." The kind-hearted boy did in- 
 deed find means out of the little profits arising 
 from his writings, to send her, his mother, and his 
 grandmother, several trifling presents.
 
 THOMAS CHATTEETON. 401 
 
 In July he removed to lodgings at Mrs. Angel's, a 
 sack-maker in Brook Street, Holborn. He assigned 
 no reason for quitting those he had occupied in 
 Shoreditch ; but Sir Herbert Croft supposes, not 
 without probability, that it was in order to be nearer 
 to the places of public entertainment, to which his 
 employment as a writer for ephemeral publications, 
 obliged him to resort. On the 20th of July, he ac- 
 quaints his sister that he is engaged in writing an 
 Oratorio, which when finished would purchase her a 
 gown, and that she might depend on seeing him be- 
 fore the first of January, 1771. "Almost all the 
 next Town and Country Magazine," he tells her, "is 
 his." He boasts that " he has an imiversal acquain- 
 tance ; that his company is courted every whei'e ; and 
 could he humble himself to go behind a compter, 
 he could have had twenty places, but that he must 
 be among the great : state matters smt him better 
 than commercial." Besides his communications to 
 the above mentioned miscellany, he was a frequent con- 
 tributor of essays and poems to several of the other 
 literary journals. As a pohtical writer, he had 
 resolved to employ his pen on both sides. " Essays," 
 he tells his sister, " on the patriotic side, fetch no 
 more than what the copy is sold for. As the pa- 
 triots themselves are searching for a place, they have 
 no gratuities to spare. On the other hand, un- 
 popular essays will not be accepted, and you must 
 
 2 D
 
 402 LIVES OF EKGLISH POETS. 
 
 pay to hare them printed ; but then you seldom lose 
 by it. Courtiers are so sensible of their deficiency 
 in meritj that they generally reward all who know 
 how to daub them with an appearance." But all his 
 visions of emolument and greatness were now be- 
 ginning to melt away. He was so tired of his Uterary 
 drudgery, or found the returns it made him so inade- 
 quate to liis support, that he condescended to solicit 
 the appointment of a chirurgeon's mate to Africa, 
 and applied to Mr. Barrett for a recommendation, which 
 was refused him, probably on account of his incapa- 
 city. It is diflScult to trace the particulars of that 
 sudden transition from good to bad fortune which 
 seems to have befallen him. That his poverty was 
 extreme cannot be doubted. The younger Warton 
 was informed by Mr. Cross, an apothecary in Brook 
 Street, that while Chatterton hved in the neighbour- 
 hood, he often called at his shop ; but though 
 pressed by Cross to dine or sup with him, constantly 
 declined the invitation, except one evening, when he 
 was prevailed on to partake of a barrel of oysters, 
 and ate most voraciou«^ly. A barber's wife who hved 
 within a few doors of Mrs. Angel's, gave testimony, 
 that after his death Mrs. Angel told her, that " on 
 the 24th of August, as she knew he had not eaten 
 anything for two or three days, she begged he would 
 take some dinner with her ; but he was offended at 
 her expressions, which seemed to hint that he was in
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 403 
 
 want, and assured her lie was not hungry." The 
 striphng whose pride would not let him go behind a 
 compter, had now drunk the cup of bitterness to the 
 dregs. On that day he swallowed arsenic in water, 
 and on the following expired. His room was broken 
 into, and found strewn over with fragments of papers 
 which he had destroyed. He was interred in the 
 burying-ground of Shoe Lane work-house. Such 
 was the end of one who had given greater proofs of 
 poetical genius than perhaps had ever been shown in 
 one of his years. By Johnson he was pronounced 
 " the most extraordinary young man that had ever 
 encountered his knowledge ;" and Warton, in the 
 History of English Poetry, where he discusses the 
 authenticity of the Rowleian poems, gives it as his 
 opinion, that Chatterton "would have proved the 
 first of English poets if he had reached a maturer 
 age." 
 
 " He was proud," says his sister, "and exceedingly 
 imperious ;" but both she and his school-fellow This- 
 tlethwaite, vindicated him from the charge of hber- 
 tinism, which was brought against him by some who 
 thought they could not sufficiently blacken his me- 
 mory. On the contrary, his abstemiousness was 
 uncommon ; he seldom used animal food or strong 
 liquors, his usual diet being a piece of bread and a 
 tart, and some water. He fancied that the full of 
 the moon was the most propitious time for study, and
 
 404 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 would often sit up and write the whole night by- 
 moonlight. His spirits were extremely uneven, and 
 he was subject to long and frequent fits of absence, 
 insomuch that he would look stedfastly in a person's 
 face without speaking or seeming to see him for a 
 quarter of an hour or more. There is said to have 
 been something peculiarly pleasing in his manner and 
 address. His person was marked by an air of man- 
 liness and dignity that bespoke the superiority of his 
 mind. His eyes, one of which was more remarkable 
 than the other, were of a grey colour, keen, and bril- 
 liant, especially when any thing occurred to animate 
 him. 
 
 Of all the hypotheses concerning those papers 
 which have been the subject of so much controversy, 
 none seems more probable than that suggested by 
 Warton, who, in the History of Enghsh Poetry, 
 admits that some of the poems attributed to Rowley 
 might have been preserved in Canynge's chest ; and 
 in another publication allows that Chatterton "might 
 have discovered parchments of humble prose contain- 
 ing local memoirs and authentic deeds illustrating 
 the history of Bristol, and biographical diaries, or 
 other notices, of the Hves of Canynge, Ischam, and 
 Gorges. But that many of the manuscripts were 
 not genuine, is proved not only by the dissimilitude 
 of the style to any composition of the age of Henry 
 VI. and Edward IV. and by the marked resemblance
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 405 
 
 to several passages in modern poets, but by certain 
 circumstances which leave little or no doubt of their 
 having been fabricated by Chatterton himself." One 
 of his companions, at the time that he was an appren- 
 tice to Lambert, affirms, that he one day produced a 
 piece of parchment on which he wrote several words, 
 if not lines, in a character that appeared to his com- 
 panion totally unlike English, that he then held it over 
 a candle to give it the appearance of antiquity, which 
 changed the colour of the ink, and made the parch- 
 ment appear black and contracted. Another person 
 declares, that he saw him rub a piece of parchment 
 in several places in streaks with yellow ochre, and 
 then rub it on the ground which was dirty, and after- 
 wards crumple it in his hand. Ha\dng concluded 
 the operation, he said it would do pretty well, but he 
 could do it better at home. The first part of the 
 Battle of Hastings, he confessed to Mr. Barrett, that 
 he had written himself. 
 
 Some anachronisms as to particular allusions have 
 been pointed out. The irregular, or Pindaric mea- 
 sure as it has been called, used in the song to ^Ua, 
 in the verses on the Mynster, and in the chorus in 
 Goddwyn, was not employed till a much later aera. 
 There are also in the ^EUa some lines in blank verse, 
 not introduced among us till the time of Surrey, who 
 adopted it from the Italian. 
 
 Another criterion of a more general nature, which
 
 406 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 has not yet, at least that I am aware, been apphed to 
 those compositions, is, I think, very strongly against 
 the antiquity of them ; and that is, that the intention 
 and purpose of the writer in the longer pieces is not 
 sufficiently marked and decisive for the remoter ages 
 to which they are ascribed. In the early stages of a 
 language, before conventional phrases have been 
 formed, and a stock of imagery, as it were, provided 
 for the common use, we find that the plan of a work 
 is often rude and simple indeed, but that it almost 
 always bears evident signs of having subsisted ante- 
 riorly in the mind of the writer as a whole. If we try 
 JEWa, the longest of the poems, by this test, we shall 
 discover strong e\'idence of its being modern. A 
 certain degree of uniformity is the invariable charac- 
 teristic of the earlier productions of art ; but here is 
 as much desultoriuess and incoherence, as can well be 
 possible in a work that makes any pretensions to a 
 plan. On this internal proof alone I should not 
 hesitate in assigning it to Chatterton rather than to 
 Rowley, to the one who luxuriated in an abundance of 
 poetic materials poured out before him for his use or 
 his imitation, rather than to the other who had com- 
 paratively but a few meagre models to work upon. 
 
 Where he is much inspirited by his subject, being 
 thrown ofF his guard, he forgets himself and becomes 
 modern, as in these lines, from which I have removed 
 nothing hut the old spelling.
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 407 
 
 First DanCi 
 Fly, fly, ye Danes ! Magnus, the chief, is slain ; 
 The Saxons come, with iEUa at their head ; 
 Let's strive to get away to yonder green ; 
 Fly, fly! this is the kingdom of the dead. 
 
 Second Dane. 
 
 O o-ods! have Romans at my anlace bled? 
 
 And must I now for safety fly away ? 
 
 See ! far besprenged all our troops are spread, 
 
 Yet I will singly dare the bloody fray. 
 
 But no ; I'll fly, and murder in retreat ; 
 
 Death, blood, and fire shall mark the going of my feet. 
 
 The following repetitions are, if I mistake not, 
 quite modern : 
 
 Now ^Ua look'd, and looking did exclaim ; 
 
 and, 
 
 He falls, and falling rolleth thousands down. 
 
 As is also this antithetical comparison of the quali- 
 ties of a war-liorse to the mental aifections of the rider: 
 
 Bring me a steed, with eagle-wings for fight. 
 Swift as my wish, and as my love is, strong. 
 
 There are sometimes single lines, that bear little 
 relation to the place in which they stand, and seem to 
 be brought in for no other purpose than their effect 
 on the ear. This is the contrivance of a modern 
 and a youthful poet.
 
 408 LIVES or ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 Thy words be high of din, but nought beside, 
 
 is a line that occurs in ^Ella, and may sometimes be 
 applied to the author himself. 
 
 Nothing indeed is more wonderful in the Rowley 
 poems than the masterly style of versification which 
 they frequently display. Few more -exquisite speci- 
 mens of this kind can be found in our language than 
 the Minstrel's song in ^lla, beginning, 
 
 O sing unto my roundelay. 
 
 A young poet may be expected to describe warmly 
 and energetically whatever interests his fancy or his 
 heart ; but a command of numbers would seem to be 
 an art capable of being perfected only by long-con- 
 tinued and dihgent endeavours. It must be recol- 
 lected, however, that much might be done in the 
 time which was at Chatterton's disposal, when that 
 time was undivided by the study of any other lan- 
 guage but his own. We see, in the instance of 
 Milton's juvenile poems in Latin, not to mention 
 others, to what excellence this species of skill may be 
 brought, even in boyhood, where the organs are finely 
 disposed for the perception of musical dehght ; and 
 if examples of the same early perfection be rarer in 
 our own tongue, it may be because so much labour is 
 seldom or ever exacted, at that age, in the use of it. 
 
 Tyrwhitt, whose critical acumen had enabled him 
 to detect a supposititious passage in a tragedy of Euri-
 
 THOMAS CHATTEKTON. 409 
 
 pides, was at first a dupe to the imposture of Chatter- 
 ton, and treated the poems as so decidedly genuine, 
 that he cited them for the elucidation of Chaucer ; 
 hut seeing good grounds for changing his opinion, as 
 Mr. Nichols* informs us, he cancelled several leaves 
 before his volume vpas published. Walpole was 
 equally deceived; though his vanity afterwards would 
 not suffer him to own that he had been so. Mr. Ty- 
 son, in a letter to Dr. Glynn, f well observed, that 
 he could as soon believe that Hogarth painted the 
 cartoons, as that Chatterton wrote Rowley's poems : 
 yet (he adds) they are as unlike any thing ancient, 
 as Sir Joshua's flowing contour is unlike the squares 
 and angles of Albert Durer. 
 
 The poems that were written after his arrival in 
 London, when his mind was agitated by wild specu- 
 lations, and throvra off its balance by noise and 
 bustle, were, as might be expected, very unequal to 
 those which he had produced in the retirement of his 
 native place. Yet there is much poignancy in the 
 satires. The three African eclogues have a tumid 
 grandeur. Heccar and Gaira is the best of them. 
 
 The following verses are strong and impassioned : 
 
 The children of the wave, whose pallid race 
 Views the faint sun display a lang'uid face, 
 
 * Illustrations of Literature, vol. i. p. 158. 
 t Nichols's Literary An. vol. viii. p. 640.
 
 410 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 From the red fury of thy justice fled, 
 Swifter than torrents from their rocky bed. 
 Fear with a sicken'd silver tinged their hue, 
 The guilty fear where vengeance is their due. 
 
 Many of the pieces, confessedly his own, furnish 
 descriptions of natural objects, equally happy with 
 those so much admired in the Rowleian poems. 
 When golden Autumn, wreath'd in ripen'd corn, 
 From purple clusters pour'd the foamy wine, 
 Thy g'enius did his sallow brows adorn. 
 And made the beauties of the season thine. 
 With rustling sound the yellow foliage flies. 
 And wantons with the wind in rapid whirls. 
 The gurgling rivulet to the vallies hies, 
 Whilst on its bank the spangled serpent curls. 
 
 Pale rugged Winter bending o'er his tread; 
 His grizzled hair bedropt with icy dew ; 
 His eyes a dusky lig'ht congeal'd and dead. 
 His robe a tinge of brig'ht ethereal blue. 
 
 His train a motley'd, sanguine, sable cloud. 
 He limps along the russet dreary moor. 
 Whilst rising whirlwinds, blasting keen and loud, 
 KoU the white surges to the sounding shore. 
 
 The lofty elm, the oak of lordly look. 
 The willow shadowing the babbling brook, 
 The hedges blooming with the sweets of May, 
 With double pleasure mark'd the gladsome way. 
 
 In " Resignation," from which these lines are taken,
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON. 411 
 
 there is a fine personification of Hope, though the 
 apphcation of it is designedly ludicrous. 
 
 See Hope array'd in robes of virgin white, 
 Trailing an arch'd variety of light, 
 Comes showering blessings on a ruin'd realm, 
 And shows the crown'd director of the helm. 
 
 With him poetry looks best when she is 
 All deftly mask'd as hoar antiquity. 
 
 Scarcely any of these later poems are free from 
 grammatical incorrectness or ambiguity of expression. 
 Some are debased by the more serious fault of 
 ribaldry and profaneness. His irreligion, however, 
 seems to have been rather the fluctuating of a mind 
 that had lost its hold on truth for a time, than the 
 scepticism of one confirmed in error. He acknow- 
 ledges his dependence on a Creator, though he casts 
 off his belief in a Redeemer. His incredulity does 
 not appear so much the oifspring of viciousness refus- 
 ing the curb of moral restraint, as of pride unwilling 
 to be trammelled by the opinions of the multitude. 
 We cannot conceive that, with a faculty so highly 
 imaginative, he could long have continued an unbe- 
 liever ; or, perhaps, that he could ever have been so 
 in his heart. But he is a portentous example of the 
 dangers to which an inexperienced youth, highly 
 gifted by nature, is exposed, when thrown into the 
 midst of greedy speculators, intent only on availing
 
 412 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 themselves of his resources for their own advantage, 
 and without any care for his safety or his peace. 
 
 Some years ago the present laureat (Southey) 
 undertook the office of editing his works, for the 
 benefit of his sister, Mrs. Newton. It is to be 
 lamented, that a project so deserving of encourage- 
 ment does not appear to have been successful. 
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 Henky Kirke White was bom at Nottingham, 
 on the twenty-first of March, 1785. His father, John, 
 was a butcher ; his mother, Mary Neville, was of a 
 respectable family in Staffordshire. Of the school- 
 mistress, who taught him to read and whose name 
 was Garrington, he has drawn a pleasing picture in his 
 verses entitled Childhood. At about six years of age 
 he began to learn writing, arithmetic, and French, 
 from the Rev. John Blanchard ; and when out of 
 school was employed in carrying about the butcher's 
 basket. Some lines " On being confined to School 
 one pleasant Summer Morning," written at the age of 
 thirteen, by which time he had been placed under the 
 tuition of a Mr. Shipley, are nearly equal to any he
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 413 
 
 afterwards produced. Next year he was made to 
 work at a stocking-loom, preparatively to his learn- 
 ing the business of a hosier ; but his mother, seeing 
 the reluctance with which he engaged in an employ- 
 ment so ill-suited to his temper and abilities, prevailed 
 on his father, though not without much difficulty, to 
 fix him in the office of Messrs. Coldham and Endfield, 
 attorneys in Nottingham. As his parents could not 
 afford to pay a fee, he was (in 1799) engaged to serve 
 for two years, and at the end of that term he was 
 articled. Most of his time that could be spared from 
 the duties of the office was, at the recommendation of 
 his masters, spent in learning Latin, to which, of his 
 own accord he added Greek, Italian, Spanish, and 
 Portuguese. Some knowledge of chemistry, astronomy, 
 electricity, and some skill in music and dravving, were 
 among his other voluntary acquirements. White was 
 one of those, who feel an early and importunate crav- 
 ing for distinction. He had already been chosen 
 member of a literary society in his native town ; and 
 soon after his election, as Mr. Southey relates, " he 
 lectured upon genius, and spoke extempore for 
 about two hours, in such a manner, that he received 
 the unanimous thanks of the society, and they elected 
 this young Roscius of Oratory their Professor of Li- 
 terature." He next became a writer in several of the 
 Monthly Miscellanies ; and (in 1803) put forth a 
 volimie of poems. A few words of unfortunate criti-
 
 414 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 cism in one of the Reviews, wliich in a few years more 
 he would have learned to smile at, had nearly crushed 
 his hopes as an author ; when Mr. Southey, into 
 whose hands both the Review and the Poems them- 
 selves chanced to fall, generously came to his relief. 
 The protection of one so deservedly eminent could not 
 fail of affording him some comfort : though he still 
 complained that " the Re\dew went before him where- 
 ever he turned his steps, that it haunted him inces- 
 santly, and that he was persuaded it was an instrument 
 in the hands of Satan to drive him to distraction. 
 
 It is not usual to hear a poet, much less a young 
 poet, complaining that Satan is busied about his con- 
 cerns. But his mind, which had before been disposed 
 to scepticism, was now determined with such force to 
 an extreme of devotional feeling, as scarcely to retain 
 its due balance. In what manner the change was 
 effected, it is not very material to inquire ; hut the 
 different accounts which Mr. Southey has given of the 
 matter, according to the information he received at 
 different times, may serve to shew how little dependance 
 is to be placed on relations of this kind. At first he 
 tells us " that Mr. Pigott, the curate of St. Mary's, 
 Nottingham, hearing whatwas the bent of his religious 
 opinions, sent him, by a friend, Scott's Force of Truth, 
 and requested him to peruse it attentively, which he 
 promised to do. Having looked at the book, he told 
 the person who brought it to him, that he would soon
 
 HENllY KIUKE WHITE. 415 
 
 write an answer to it ; but about a fortniglit after- 
 wards, when this friend inquired how far he had pro- 
 ceeded in his answer to Mr. Scott, Henry's reply 
 was in a very different tone and temper. He said, 
 that to answer that book was out of his power, and 
 out of any man's, for it was founded upon eternal 
 truth ; that it had convinced him of his error ; and 
 that so thoroughly impressed was he with a sense of 
 the importance of his Maker's favour, that he would 
 wilhngly give up all acquisitions of knowledge, and all 
 hopes of fame, and live in a wilderness unknown till 
 death, so he could ensure an inheritance in heaven." 
 In a subsequent correction of this statement, Mr. 
 Southey informs us that Scott's Force of Truth was 
 put into his hands by his friend and fellow-pupil Mr. 
 Almond, since Rector of St Peter's, Nottingham, with 
 an entreaty that he would peruse it at his leisure : 
 that the book produced little effect, and was returned 
 with disapprobation ; but that afterwards in a con- 
 versation with Mr. Almond, he declared his belief 
 with much vehemence and agitation. This was soon 
 after he had reached his eighteenth year. Maturer 
 judgment" convinced him that 'zeal was to be tempered 
 with discretion ; that the ser\'ice of Christ was a ra- 
 tional service' ; that a strong assurance ' was not to be 
 resorted to as the touchstone of our acceptance with 
 God,' that it was not even the necessary attendant 
 of rehgious hfe ;" as more experience of his spiritual
 
 416 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 associates discovered to liim that their professions of 
 zeal were too frequently accompanied by want of cha- 
 rity ; and that in matters of rehgion, as in every thing 
 else, they who feel the most, generally talk the 
 least." 
 
 That even before his conversion, as it is rather im- 
 properly called, he was not without a sense of religious 
 duty, may be inferred from his ha\'ing already chosen 
 the Church as a profession in preference to the Law. 
 To this alteration in his plan of life he might have 
 been directed by a love of study, or by the greater 
 opportunities held out to him of gratifying his literary 
 ambition ; but it is unreasonable to suppose that he 
 would have voluntarily taken such a measure, if his 
 own conviction had run counter to it. The attorneys 
 to whom he was bound, were ready enough to release 
 him ; since, though well satisfied with his conduct 
 and attention to their concerns, they perceived him to 
 be troubled with a deafness which would incapacitate 
 him for the practice of the law. The means of sup- 
 porting him at the University were accordingly sup- 
 phed by the liberality of the friends whom he had 
 gained ; and after passing a twelvemonth with the 
 Rev. Mr. Grainger, of Winteringham in Lincolnshire, 
 to prepare himself, he was in 1805 entered a sizar of 
 St John's, Cambridge. Here his application to books 
 was so intense, that his health speedily sank under it. 
 He was indeed " declared to be the first man of his
 
 HENEY KIRKE WHITE. 417 
 
 year ;" but the honour was dearly purchased at the 
 expense of " dreadful palpitations in the heart, nights 
 of sleeplessness and horrors, and spirits depressed to 
 the very depths of wretchedness." In July, 1806, 
 his laundress on coming into his room at College, saw 
 him fallen down in a convulsive fit, bleeding and in- 
 sensible. His great anxiety was to conceal from his 
 mother the state to which he was reduced. At the 
 end of September, he went to London in search of 
 relaxation and amusement ; and in the next month, 
 returned to College with a cough and fever, which this 
 effort had encreased. His brother, on being informed 
 of his danger hastened to Cambridge, and found him 
 delirious. He recovered sufficiently to know him for 
 a few moments ; but the next day sank into a stupor, 
 and on the 19th of October expired. It was the 
 opinion of his medical attendants, that if he had lived 
 his intellect would have failed him. 
 
 He was buried in All-Saints Church, Cambridge, 
 where his monument, sculptured by Chantrey, has 
 been placed by Mr. Francis Boott, a stranger from 
 Boston in America. 
 
 After his death all his papers were consigned to the 
 hands of Mr. Southey. Their contents were multi- 
 farious ; they comprised observations on law ; elec- 
 tricity ; the Greek and Latin languages, from their 
 rudiments to the higher branches of critical study ; 
 on history, chronology, and divinity. He had begmi 
 
 2e
 
 418 LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 three tragedies, on Boadicea, Ines de Castro, and a 
 fictitious stor}'^ ; several poems in Greek, and a trans- 
 lation of Samson Agonistes. The selection which 
 Mr. Southey has made, consists of copious extracts 
 from his letters, poems, and essays. 
 
 Mr. Southey has truly said of him, that what he is 
 most remarkable for is his uniform good sense. To 
 Chatterton, with whom this zealous friend and bio- 
 grapher has mentioned him, he is not to be compared. 
 Chatterton has the force of a young poetical Titan, 
 who threatens to take Parnassus by storm. White is 
 a boy differing from others more in aptitude to follow 
 than in ability to lead. The one is complete in every 
 limb, active, self-confident, and restless from his own 
 energy. The other, gentle, docile, and animated ra- 
 ther than •vigorous. He began, as most youthful 
 writers have begun, by copying those whom he saw to 
 be the objects of popular applause, in his own day. 
 He has httle distinct character of his own. We may 
 trace him by turns to Goldsmith, Chatterton, and 
 Coleridge. His numbers sometimes oflFend the ear 
 by unskilful combinations of sound, as in these lines — 
 
 But for the babe she bore beneath her breast : 
 
 And — 
 
 While every bleaching breeze that on her blows ; 
 
 And sometimes, though more rarely, ihey gratify it 
 by unexpected sweetness. He could occasionally look
 
 HEKKY KIRKE WHITE. 419 
 
 abroad for himself, and describe what he saw. In 
 his CHfton Grove there are some little touches of land- 
 scape-painting which are, as I think, unborrowed. 
 
 What rural objects steal upon the sight, 
 * * * * 
 
 The brooklet branching from the silver Trent, 
 The whispering birch by every zephyr bent, 
 The woody island and the naked mead, 
 The lowly hut half hid in groves of reed, 
 The rural wicket and the rural stile, 
 And frequent interspersed the woodman! s file. 
 
 Among his poems of later date, there is one unfi- 
 nished fragment in this manner, of yet higher beauty. 
 
 Or should the day be overcast, 
 We'll linger till the show'r be past ; 
 Where the hawthorn's branches spread 
 A fragrant cover o'er the head ; 
 And list the rain-drops beat the leaves, 
 Or smoke upon the cottage eaves ; 
 Or silent dimpling on the stream 
 Convert to lead its silver gleam. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 G. ^ORMAN, I'KINTEK, MAIDEN LANE, COVLNT GARDEN.
 
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